Free Cold Killing: A Novel by Luke Delaney

not private investigators. We’re investigating the murder of Daniel Graydon. He was killed on Wednesday night, Thursday morning, in his flat. I believe you knew Daniel. Is that correct?”
    “Murdered?” Hellier asked through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. How did it . . . ?”
    Sean watched every flicker in Hellier’s face, every hand and finger movement, every sign that could tell him whether Hellier’s shock was genuine. Did he sense any trace of compassion? “He was stabbed to death in his own flat,” Sean told him and waited for the reaction.
    “Do you know who did it—and why, for God’s sake?”
    “No,” Sean answered as his mind processed Hellier’s performance—and that was what he was sure it was. As polished as it was, as convincing as it was, a performance nonetheless. “Actually, we thought you might be able to help us with the who and why.”
    “I’m sorry, but I really don’t see how. I hardly knew Daniel. I know nothing about his life. We had a brief physical relationship, nothing more.”
    “Did he know you were married?” Sean asked.
    “No, I don’t think so. How could he?”
    “You’re a wealthy man. Did he know anything about your financial circumstances?” Sean picked up the pace of his questioning.
    “Not as far as I’m aware,” Hellier answered quickly and confidently.
    “Did Daniel Graydon at any time try to extort money or other favors from you, Mr. Hellier?”
    “Look, I think I know where you’re going with this, Inspector . . . sorry, I can’t remember your name.”
    “Corrigan. Sean Corrigan.”
    “Well, Inspector Corrigan, I think my solicitor should be present before I say anything.”
    Donnelly leaned in toward him. “That’s fine, Mr. Hellier. You can have a panel of judges present, for all I care, but you’re a witness right now. Not a suspect. So why do you need a solicitor? And I don’t know for sure, but I suspect your wife is unaware of your nocturnal activities. And what about the other partners here at this lovely firm? Do they know you have a taste for young male prostitutes? I guess it’s all a question of how much you trust your solicitor to show absolute discretion. And me too.”
    Hellier stared hard at the two intruders into his life, small intelligent eyes darting between the detectives, before suddenly standing up. “All right. All right. Please keep your voices down.” He sat down again. “I went there once, about a week ago, but please, my wife mustn’t find out. It would destroy her. Our children would become laughingstocks. They shouldn’t be punished for my weaknesses.” He paused. “It may be difficult for you to understand, but I do love my wife and children, I just have other needs. I have suppressed them for more than twenty years, but recently I . . . I couldn’t seem to stop myself.”
    “When did you last see Daniel Graydon?” Sean asked.
    “I can’t remember exactly.”
    “Try harder.”
    “A week or so ago.”
    “We need to know exactly when and where, Mr. Hellier,” Sean insisted.
    “Try checking your diary, iPhone, or whatever it is you use,” Donnelly suggested.
    “It won’t be in my diary,” Hellier told them sharply. “I’m sure you understand why.”
    “But something will be,” Sean said. “A false business meeting, a dinner with clients that never took place. You would have put something in there to cover yourself.”
    Hellier studied Sean, their eyes unconsciously locked together. He reached for his iPad with a sigh. His finger slid around the screen and within seconds he found what he was looking for—a false overnight meeting in Zurich. “The last time I saw Daniel was a week ago last Tuesday—what, ten days ago?”
    “Where?” Sean pressed.
    “In Utopia.”
    “Did you ever go to his flat?”
    “No.”
    Sean felt like being cruel. “And did you pay him to have sex with you in the club or somewhere else?”
    “I pay for sex because it’s less complicated. Keeps