Page 41 of Nothing But the Night (Basic Instincts 2)

Jason sipped his pint and nodded. He licked the foam off his top lip. “I found Tyrone and tracked down Theo’s photographer.”

Marc straightened. “You did? How?”

“I just called the number we got from The Viaduct for Tyrone.”

“He agreed to speak to you?”

“For a hundred quid.”

“Huh. And what did he say?”

“Apart from offering to fuck me in one of his videos, quite a lot. He was rude and offensive, but I think it was all an act. Underneath, he was just a kid who’s had to look after himself for a long time. He’s getting by the only way he knows how.”

Jason filled him in on what had occurred at Tyrone’s flat.

“Does he really think Theo was a conman?” Marc asked.

“Nah. He’s just pissed off because Theo had more subscribers than he did and therefore was making a lot more money. As he should have, Theo paid for everything relating to the shoot. He did Tyrone a favour by letting him share the clip fifty-fifty.”

Marc sighed. He still hadn’t watched any of Theo’s adult content. He doubted he ever would. As much as he wanted to learn more about his brother and understand his life, he didn’t need to see that.

“And the photographer?”

“Very cagey. He didn’t want to talk to me at all. He tried to play down that he had even worked with Theo.”

“Does that make him a suspect? Was he so possessive of Theo he would have hurt him? It sounds like a stretch.”

“It makes him a person of interest. And it ties in with what Roaul told me. He’s now at the top of my list for further investigation.”

“I wonder if we’ll ever know what happened?”

Jason reached across the table and put his hand over Marc’s. “Every day we’re learning something new and getting closer to the truth. We’ll find out eventually.”

The pub began to fill up around them. The after-work crowd moved on and were replaced by the genuine evening punters. The good-looking couple who had arrived earlier carried their drinks from the bar into the beer garden, where they joined a small group of people who were as happy to see them as the bartender had been. There were hugs and tears all around.

“Do you know who they are?” Marc asked quietly.

The French man sat down, and a pretty black woman put an arm around his shoulder, while wiping away a tear.

“They’re the guys who caught the Blyham Strangler,” Jason spoke in a hushed tone. “The older guy, Mallon, he was stabbed in the process. The younger one is called Roman. They were his intended victims.”

Marc had heard details of the case on the local radio while driving, but he’d never read any of the news articles.

“No wonder they are getting heroes’ welcomes,” he said.

“They’re lucky to be alive. Even luckier to have each other.”

Marc felt a lump in his throat as watched them, then turned away. He knew what it was like to be stared at and be the centre of ghoulish attention. Those men deserved their privacy. Despite being heroes, he recognised the cloud of grief that hung over the men and their friends.

“Shall we go for food soon? I’m starving.” He’d been so caught up with work at the hotel, his lunch had consisted of a cup of tea and a small packet of complimentary biscuits.

Jason nodded. “Me too. Though we might struggle to get in anywhere on a Friday night.”

“Where do you suggest?”

“Well, if you appreciate good-quality food, without the fancy frills of a posh restaurant, Chez Michelle is always good. It’s up in the city centre. About a five-minute walk.”

Marc laughed. “You think I’m a snob, don’t you?”

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