Page 63 of Dissection of a Murder
The camera is positioned on the wall, higher than eye height but not on the ceiling. The “boudoir” looks as awful as it sounds, with leather-looking sofas positioned around the room. There’s a time and date stamp in the corner of the black-and-white image. The quality is poor, not helped by the dim lighting. I begin at midnight on the day of the alleged murder, and it starts to dawn on me that this could take a long time to go through. Time I simply don’t have.
It’s occupied by punters, seedy and sordid. Young girls walk in, leading the way. Glass of champagne in one hand, the hand of a man in the other. Even with the bad quality of the video you can see that their bodies are barely covered; long limbs stand out against the grainy darkness of the room. Within minutes, they’re engaging in sexual acts. I fast-forward without looking at Davina. We don’t need to see this. It goes on until 4 a.m. It’s empty as the time stamp races through the morning: 10 a.m., 11 a.m.
At 11:24 a.m. the door opens, and a man walks in. The camera is positioned in such a way that you can’t see who’s entering; you can only see who is in the middle of the room.
“This is the one place in the building we won’t be heard by anyone,” the man says. “Trust me, we’re safe.”
The sound is slightly muffled, but I know his voice. As the man moves to the center of the room, I recognize his dark hair and sleeve tattoos that I can just about make out against the white sleeveless top he’s wearing.
It’s Jack.
Behind him is a man who isn’t in shot. All I can see are his legs; he’s wearing black trousers and shoes. But I know one thing: Jack has led him here because he knows there’s a camera in the room.
“Listen,” the other voice says. “I can’t stay long—I start work at 12. But I can’t do it. I’ve thought about it—I really have—but I just can’t.”
“You have to,” Jack interrupts.
“Come on, man! Do you understand what you’re asking?” the other voice says. Even with the inadequate sound quality, I can tell it’s laced with panic. “My life will be over!”
“That’s not my problem,” Jack says. “It has to be today. I’ve given you enough time, longer than others would.”
“Please.”
“No. No excuses. It’s going to get so much worse if you don’t do it. Trust me.”
“You know, you’re messing with the wrong person here. Do you even know what you’re getting into with this? Who I am? Once this gets out—”
“Do you realize whoyou’remessing with here? Because I don’t think you do. I gave you until noon today. You’ve had a week and you know what will happen if you don’t.”
“We’re talking about killing someone!” the other man says. Davina’s hand lands briefly on my arm. My eyes don’t leave the screen. “I’ll go to prison for the rest of my life. I’m going to universitytomorrow! Please…please!”
“You’ll do it today.”
There’s silence for a few moments.
“No,” he replies. “I won’t. I’m not messing my life up because of a stupid mistake. This will go away. I’ll make sure it goes away.”
“There’s a video,” Jack says calmly.
The other man doesn’t reply for a few moments.
“What?”
“I have a video,” Jack says. “I filmed it.”
The room goes quiet.
“I don’t believe you…”
“Yes, you do.”
“What kind of sick person are you?”
“Not so cocky now, are you?” Jack asks, making no attempt to hide the satisfaction in his voice.
“You filmed it? What’s wrong with you?”
“You’ll do it by the end of today, or I’ll make sure everyone sees it.”
