Page 40 of Compulsion

“Of course I am,” I replied. I concentrated on keeping my expression steady. “Did Louis get the dance contract?”

Jack’s eyes brightened. “Yes. Great, isn’t it? He’s still keen on his acting, but this means he can earn some money here in Brighton in between TV bookings. He wants to see the guys at the club tonight, share the good news.”

I moved along the counter and put my empty bowl in the sink. “So do you want a coffee, or is that one of those redundant questions?” I turned back, the coffee jar in my hand, to find him peering at me.

“You stayed on the couch last night, Max. Are you having trouble sleeping again?”

I’d forgotten to put the throw back in its place, obviously. “I’m fine. You’re the one looks like something the cat dragged in.”

He blushed and we laughed, though it made him wince. “Okay,” he said. “Just wanted to check. If Seve’s there tonight….”

“That’s fine too,” I said. I was proud of the way my voice sounded almost normal. “You taking Louis breakfast in bed?”

We bustled quietly about the kitchen, fixing orange juice, coffee, lightly browned toast, and plenty of honey for the birthday boy’s favorite breakfast. I was fascinated and amused at Jack’s devotion—I hadn’t celebrated my birthday in any way for years.

Jack reached across the front of me to grab a spoon from the kitchen drawer. “So did you find anything useful at the Jubilee Library?”

“I… what?”

Jack smirked, no other word for it. “We often use the library, and I sent a research student down there yesterday. Suzie’s a local girl, and she told me her friend Will who works there couldn’t stop talking about the fit bloke who’d been in to browse through the newspaper section. Will—and Suzie—gave a very detailed description.”

“Can’t keep a secret from you, can I?” I didn’t know if I was annoyed at being caught out or reassured that Jack had my back.

“It’s only a visit to the library,” Jack said. “Though I think Will is angling for something more.”

I rolled my eyes. I vaguely remembered the man on the desk when I went in—tall, curly blond hair, helpful smile, eyes following me as I searched out newspaper articles over the last year.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Jack was still nosing around, but he was treading carefully too.

“No. Well, I don’t know. I just wanted to read some of the coverage on the Medina Group and London club culture in general. I thought there might be some cross-references between specific clubs and drug busts. Between the Medina Group and the way they’ve been branching out into clubs around the country.”

“And?”

I shrugged. “Nothing much. There were definite accusations against the Medina club in Manchester for drug trade and violence. And alleged stories about London. But there was no coverage on Stewart’s murder, or at least nothing that linked it to the club. The papers reported it as the death of a part-time youth worker, probably killed by one of the addicts who hang around that part of Soho.”

Jack was watching me closely. “And that’s roughly the story.”

I nodded. “Roughly, yeah. But not the whole story.” I sighed. “All the other reports I found just concentrated on the Medina financial results, mostly in import-export businesses.”

“They couldn’t necessarily report any connection even if they suspected it, Max. It’d be libelous unless the management had been charged with something.”

“The police are—or were—interested in investigating the allegations. That’s where the stories were left. You never get the full follow-up on these things in the press, do you?”

Jack made a sympathetic noise, but I think his attention was drifting.

“And, of course, there were plenty of features on Severino Nuñez,” I said wryly. “Rock star charisma, bright graduate, promising businessman, poster boy for gay success. Brighton never had it so good, it seems.” Or he never had Brighton so good.

“Has Seve said anything else about it? About the business in London?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

“Max….”

“I will do it, you know,” I said abruptly.

Jack blinked. “What?”

“I’ll go to the police with what I know. Personally, not anonymously. I owe Stewart that, at least. And not just about Stewart’s murder but about the whole organization.”