It took them a while before they realized what they were looking at.

There, as the centerpiece of the room, was a gigantic surgical table. Each corner had straps that allowed a person to be restrained, along with padlocks attached to each corner.

“Oh my God,” said Mayweather. “That’s disgusting.”

“Is this what I think it is?” asked Tyler.

Cael approached the surgical bench and leaned down to inspect it. No foul odors emanated from it. There was no sense that it may have been a device for extracting simultaneous pleasure and pain from paying customers.

“I can’t believe a tenant of mine would do this kind of weird shit on my property,” said Mayweather. He walked toward it.

“No. Don’t touch it,” said Cael. “We need to know some things first.”

“Like what?”

“This may not be what we think it is. I’ve seen this equipment before.”

“And here’s me thinking you were a missionary-only type of guy,” said Tyler.

“Hey, I’m 40 years old,” said Cael. “I’ve been around the block.”

“I’m 41 and I’ve never seen this shit before,” said Tyler.

“That’s what marriage will do to you.”

Tyler shot Cael a withering look.

“Can we get forensics here?” asked Cael. “I need to know a few things about this bench. How many types of DNA are on it? How recently has it been used? I’ve got a few ideas about what might be going on.”

“Care to share?” asked Tyler.

“Not yet. However, this might not be what we think it is at all.”

“Call me old fashioned but this has all the hallmarks of a prostitute’s lair,” said Tyler.

“She has a boyfriend, right?” asked Cael.

“Apparently so, according to the tech guys at HQ.”

“Good. We need to pay him a visit.”

“I dread to think of what kind of guy is okay with his girlfriend tying other men to sex benches.”

Cael pulled his jacket sleeve over his hand, so he wouldn’t leave any of his DNA on potential evidence. He reached out to one of the padlocks on the corner of the surgical table and pulled down on it.

To everyone’s surprise, the padlock immediately came loose. No key was necessary.

“What the hell?” asked Tyler. “I’d get a refund on those padlocks if I was her.”

Cael did the same to all four locks surrounding the table. Each of them came loose with minimal force.

“I don’t think Stephanie Brady was restraining men on here at all. I think we’ve got this all wrong,” said Cael.

“No?” asked Tyler. “What then?”

“I think she was restraining herself.”


8

 

 

“How does gambling fit into all this?”

“I’m not even sure it does but let’s find out,” said Cael.

The pair were travelling to a gambling hotspot in the back streets of Camden. In the past, the place had been responsible for a number of deaths relating to people’s debts. High-stakes gambling was a vicious circle that preyed on the desperate, the rich and the adrenaline-seeking. It was a long shot to believe that Stephanie Brady would be any of these.

“Can you really see a 23-year-old being a successful gambler?” asked Tyler. “Successful enough to afford a Gloucester Road apartment and all manner of revealing outfits?”

“Can you see a 23-year-old being a successful anything?” Cael asked.

“You know what I mean. It looks to me like she was just an easy target.”

Tyler’s beliefs did indeed hold weight. Sex workers were easy targets for serial killers because of the anonymity their profession afforded. Most transactions were done via untraceable communication, and judging by the equipment discovered in Stephanie Brady’s apartment, she may have been involved in more extreme sexual pursuits.

“Tech are tracking down her boyfriend as we speak,” Tyler said, “and I’ve told them to look for any information about her involvement in escort services or prostitution.”

“Done. What’s this place called again?” asked Cael.

“Nothing. It doesn’t have a name.”

“How do you know about it?”

“A lot of cases have brought me here.