Busted (14 page)

"That seems… unusual," Chris said. He chose his words carefully. Joe wasn't lying. As far as he could remember Joe hadn't ever lied to him. They hadn't managed to have a civil conversation from the first moment they'd met, though, so Chris was trying to be diplomatic as he prodded.

"Why? My family's all like Billy, a bunch of drunkards, losers, and lunatics. I was gay, and I wanted a real life." Joe sighed. "I got out as soon as I could, and they were happy to see me go. Graduated high school, left, and haven't looked back. That was…" Joe cocked his head and thought. "Fifteen years ago. I'd heard I had some nieces and nephews, but I've never met any of them. Didn't even know Billy was married, honestly."

Steve gave Chris a surreptitious look. Chris nodded; Joe was telling the truth. Steve sighed.

"I don't suppose you know where Stephanie's mother's family lives?"

"I don't even know her name, Steve."

Steve shrugged. "Had to ask," he said.

"Well, she's sleeping," Maryanne said, as she came back into the room. "The sedative should be enough for a few hours, at least." She sat down at the table and rubbed the bridge of he nose. "I don't suppose you've found any relatives? Someone to authorize treatment?"

"As a matter of fact," Steve said. "I think we have."

Joe's eyes widened and he sat up in his chair. "No. No, you can't be serious."

"You're her uncle, Joe. In the absence of any other family members you can sign the papers and get things started."

"Yeah, but I've never… Ow! Hey!" Joe glared at Chris, who'd just kicked him hard in the shin.

"Unless the system has a reason to think otherwise," Chris said, glaring back at him and nodding at Maryanne, "immediate family can take custody and authorize treatment for minors. That includes uncles, aunts, and grandparents if the parents can't be found or aren't alive."

"Asshole," Joe muttered, rubbing his leg. "Fine. Her dad's my brother," he said to Maryanne. "Until someone finds him, I guess it's me, my parents, or one of my brothers or sister. It's after three, I'm probably the only sober one."

"We haven't located any other relatives yet," Steve said quickly.

"I only need one," Maryanne said. The fatigue showed on her face, though she sounded happy. Well-spoken and well dressed, Joe was far better than she'd hoped for. That Stephanie was clearly comfortable with him was a bonus.

"If you can get me the paperwork from the court I can get her on my insurance," Joe said. "It's better than the state plan, and I'll cover anything it doesn't."

"That could be expensive," Maryanne said, with just the slightest hesitation. Joe had some money, that was clear. The jacket he'd left with Stephanie wasn't a cheap one, and he'd let it go like it was nothing. She'd seen far too many relatives balk when it came to talking money to take any chances.

"Expensive meaning what?" Joe asked. He was a little worried by that. He'd negotiated the insurance contracts for his company for the past decade, and he knew how much expensive could be. "Million dollars, half a million dollars, something like that?"

"It depends, but she probably needs at least a few weeks of intensive treatment, then counseling after that. It could be ten or twenty thousand dollars after insurance."

Joe relaxed. It was a fair amount of money, especially for someone he'd just met, but she was family, family he actually liked. More than that, she trusted him, and felt safe enough around him to talk about something horrific enough that it still made him queasy. It was strange, but he felt responsible. He could do this for her, if nothing else.

"Not a problem," he said, as he took out his cell phone and hit the speed dial for his secretary. "D'you have her SSN, and maybe any medical records? I'll get the paperwork started."

"It's here," Maryanne said, handing him a sheet from the folder.

"Do I need to bail you out?" Joan asked as soon as she answered the phone.

"No, you do not need to bail me out, and thanks for your concern," he said, rolling his eyes. He glared at the smirk that appeared on Chris' face. "I need to add someone to my insurance."

* * *

The interview with Stephanie that afternoon had left Chris with a desperate need to spend some time with his son, so the two of them were maneuvering a cart through the aisles of Stop ‘n Shop doing some early shopping. Or, rather, Chris was shopping and pushing around a cart shaped like a truck, while Toby sat behind its steering wheel and bounced.

“Almost done, Toby,” Chris said. They were in the cooler aisles in search of frozen orange juice and waffles. The glass doors of the freezers were frost covered, nearly obscuring the view of their contents. Chris pulled one open, the cold air inside spilling out into the aisle and sending a chill down his spine.

“Look, Papa! Ice cream!”

“No, they’re waffles, Toby,” Chris said, showing the box he held to his wiggling son.

“Papa,” Toby said. He had a frown on his little face — his papa was being slow again. “Over there,” he pointed. “Ice cream!”

“I see, Toby. I dunno, the cart’s looking pretty full…” Chris let the statement trail off. He tried not to keep too many sweets around the house. Toby was active enough as it was, and Chris found it was tough enough to keep in shape without the temptation of junk food around the house.

“Please, Papa. Ice cream? I’ve been good.” Toby turned and gave him a pleading look that would’ve put the saddest puppy to shame.

Chris sighed and couldn’t help but smile at the earnest little boy. “Fine, Toby,” he said, tousling his hair and giving in to the inevitable. “What flavor?”

“Green, Papa! ‘S yummy!”

“Fine, just this once.” Chris opened up the freezer door and pulled out a gallon tub of lime sherbet. It was neon green and not all that good, but Chris knew that when you were four the bright colors and massive amounts of sugar beat out trivial things like flavor. On a whim he grabbed a pint of Rocky Road and stuck that in the cart with the sherbet. He tried hard not to think about how he knew that was Joe’s favorite flavor. Or why he’d care.

Toby looked at him oddly. “‘S’got nuts, Papa,” he said as he looked at the ice cream Chris had just put in the cart.

“I know, Toby,” Chris said. He pushed the cart towards the checkout, hoping something shiny would distract Toby so they could both not think about the ice cream.

“You don’t like nuts, Papa.”

“Well,” Chris said weakly, “sometimes trying something you think you don’t like is good. Just to see if maybe things have changed.”

Toby thought about that for a moment. “Oh. Okay, Papa. Can I have some?”

“Sure, when we open it up,” Chris said.

Thankfully for him one of the self-service checkout lanes was open. Chris hefted Toby up with his left arm and started handing things to the boy, who swiped them over the laser scanner with a huge grin on his face. Toby let out a loud ‘Boop!’ each time the machine registered one of the groceries. It took twice as long as using one of the cashiers, but Chris didn’t really care.

The bagging went much more quickly than the scanning did. Toby sat in the cart and squirmed as Chris loaded up the groceries into paper bags, and the bags into his basket.

“We done yet, Papa?” Toby asked as Chris put the last few items into a bag.

“We’re done, sport,” Chris replied. “Now it’s time to go home and put them away.”

“Yay!” Toby bounced up and down in the cart. “Ice cream!”

Chris smiled as he pushed the cart out of the store and toward his car.

He lost his smile when he heard a loud yip and shout from across the parking lot. There was a small dog limping away from an elderly man and three kids. The kids looked like they were cowering as the man shook his cane at them.

“Y’don’t throw rocks at animals, y’little shits!” The man may have been old, but his voice was strong enough to carry. Chris reached for his phone, ready to call in a cruiser. He wanted to run over and break up the group himself, but he couldn’t do that and still keep Toby safe. The helplessness ate at his stomach, leaving him queasy.

Luckily an old man with a cane and bad attitude was more than a match for three punks, and Chris breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t had to choose between his son’s safety and an old man’s life. A moment later he caught sight of red and blue flashing lights — apparently someone else had called the police on the boys.

“What’s that, Papa?” Toby asked. He was too low to the ground to see anything, and was squirming around.

“Nothing, Toby,” Chris said. “Just an old man doing the right thing.”

Animal
control,” Chris said, as he threw himself into his chair. The boys in the grocery store parking lot had nagged at him all night, in between thoughts of Joe going down on him. He wasn’t sure which of the two had been more disturbing.

He dropped his cup onto his desk. Coffee slopped over the edge, a tiny tendril of steam rising from the small puddle as it soaked into the blotter. Chris ignored it as he banged on the keys of his computer, as if the extra force would log him in faster.

“What? Finally going to get rid of Mike for me?”

“Ass. Your brother in law’s your own problem. No, Animal Control. We think our perp’s a serial killer. He’s carved up at least six people we know of, but we’ve got big gaps between them. I’d bet he’s been busy in the mean time.” The computer beeped at Chris, cheerfully ignoring his password. Chris swore at the thing and gave the monitor a smack.

“Are you sure our guy’s a serial? We’ve only got three murders, and they were done at once. Sure the guy was a psycho, but…”

“We’ve got six,” Chris said. He took a sip of his coffee and winced as the hourglass spun on his screen.

“Six dead bodies, yeah. I’ll grant that maybe the one in the woods is related. Maybe. But I’m not sure about the Ramirez ones. Whoever killed them didn’t do anything fancy. It was just regular knifework on them.”

“Which means he’s escalating.”

“
If
he’s a serial, and they’re all related. It’s not like these guys are all that common,” Steve argued.

“He is. Definitely. Ramirez, then Sorenson, then the McManus kills. They’re all linked, and he’s escalating. It’s going to get worse, and we’ve got to figure out his pattern before he does it again.”

“It was a few months between each of the killings,” Steve remarked as he watched his partner fight with the computer. It was kind of funny, really. Chris was a wonder once he got into the databases, and did most of their research when they needed it, but was always fighting with the mundane things. “At least we’ve got some time until he hits again.”

“Probably,” Chris said absently as he finally got himself logged in. “He might have other vics in the state. Sorenson wasn’t a local.”

“Well, that makes me feel
ever
so much better,” Steve said. “Nothing like a deadline and five million potential targets to concentrate the mind.”

“Yeah,” Chris said. “We need a pattern. If we find it may find him. That’d make it easier.”

“Easier. Sure. Put it together and maybe you can convince the Captain,” Steve said, with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

Chris snorted. “Wouldn’t convince him with witnesses and a signed confession.”

“
GAGNON!
” Chris and Steve winced and turned in unison. Across the room Captain Davidson, a beefy, greying, red-faced man was storming towards them. He had the soggy remains of an unlit cigar in his mouth, and a scowl on his face that could blister paint.

“That goddamn fag in the mayor’s office is busting my ass about the McManus murders. It’s been a fucking week and you two haven’t got shit. Stop dicking around and get me a goddamn suspect.”

“We have a witness description and we’ve run the area,” Steve said quickly. He tried to divert Davidson before Chris could say anything and get himself into trouble. “We don’t have him yet, but—”

“But nothing,” Davidson said, cutting him off. “The mayor wants this guy
now.
”

“Does he want a pony too, while we’re at it?” Chris asked. Davidson set him off at the best of times, and the fag comment had him ready to take a swing at the man.

“He wants a fucking arrest,” Davidson said as he glowered at Chris. “And he wants one before the goddamn six o’clock news asks why he doesn’t fucking have one.”

“It’s been a week,” Steve said. “If they didn’t yell when this happened, why now?”

“Fucking ME report leaked,” Davidson growled. “Mayor wasn’t happy, which means I’m not happy. Suspect. In custody. Goddamn now.” With each word Davidson jabbed at Chris with his cigar. “Or I pitch your fairy ass on fucking crossing guard duty until you fucking die.”

Davidson turned and stormed back towards his office, shouting “Adams! Why isn’t there a goddamn arsonist in jail right goddamn now?” as he went.

Steve put his hand on Chris’ shoulder and could feel his friend trembling. He and Davidson had never gotten along, though their conflicts had been escalating for the past year, and Steve was getting worried this case might be the one to push things over the edge.

“You sure this guy’s a serial?” he asked Chris.

It took Chris a moment to wrench his attention back to Steve. “Yeah,” he said. “I do. It just… he’ll do it again. We need his pattern.”

“Fine,” Steve said. “I’ll start calling Animal Controls. You dig through the databases, see if you can find more matches for our guy. I only hope you’re right.”

“Wish I wasn’t,” Chris said.

* * *

Friday afternoon Joe was still digging through the pile of evaluations on his desk. It was slow going, slower than normal. He'd been playing the events of the past week over in his mind, trying to make sense of it all. A week ago he had been happy and things were simple. Maybe they weren't picture perfect, but he had a quiet life he liked and a boyfriend he loved, and that was enough.

Now his past had resurfaced, as had Alex's. His was ugly. Alex's… wasn't. Alex's past, or its present, very much wasn't ugly. Frustrating, argumentative, snappish, and damned attractive, but not ugly. Joe shifted a little. Even thinking about Chris started getting him aroused.

And the bodies. There were dead bodies. A niece and nephew he never knew he had. Hell, a sister-in-law he never knew he had. Not that he ever would now. He'd even missed the funeral.

Then there was his niece, Stephanie. Maryanne had taken him by surprise, asking about custody. He'd honestly never thought about it before. He'd wanted kids, always, but it was a dream he'd given up for good when he'd left for college. He was gay, kids had never been an option. Except they were now.

Joe slumped back in his chair. He was tired. Maybe he'd just go home and take a nap after work. Hit the club late, catch up with Alex, see if he wanted the weekend. He'd give Alex a call later. Idly he wondered if Alex would be as good a father as Chris was. Somehow he didn't think so.

The ringing of his cell phone took him by surprise. It was set to vibrate, it shouldn't have rung. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked the display, but there wasn't a number on it. He knew who it was and smiled.

"Hi Alex," he said.

"Hey babe," Alex said. His voice was low, and sent a shiver through Joe. The erection that had faded at the thought of dead relatives was back with a vengeance. Alex had always done that to him, from the very beginning. Spooky, but he liked it. A lot.

"Still haven't got your phone straightened out?" This had been an ongoing problem, almost since Joe had browbeaten Alex into getting a cell phone. Sometimes it rang through with a number on his caller ID, but most times it didn't.

"Ah, you know how I am with gadgets. It's probably haunted."

Joe smiled. Alex was phenomenally bad with anything electronic. He didn't even have a stereo at his apartment, and when he was at Joe's half the time things went on the fritz. It had gotten to the point where Joe wouldn't let him within five feet of his television, since Alex always seemed to manage to screw up his DVR.

"What's up, Alex? Miss me?"

"Always," Alex replied. Joe closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He'd unconsciously moved his free hand into his lap. He was lightly stroking himself through his dress pants.

"Well, we'll have to fix that, won't we?"

"Are you going to the club tonight?"

"Yeah," Joe said. "I'll probably be there late. I'm feeling really tired. It's been a hard week."

"Ah, c'mon," Alex wheedled. "You know I love to dance with you. Please?"

Joe was torn. Alex loved to dance, and he loved watching Alex dance. He was so free, so unrestrained, just reveling in the moment. He made Joe feel like a kid just being around him when he was like that. He was really tired, though.

"Maybe you could go without me? Come over in the morning and we'll have the weekend?"

"No!" Alex said, a little too quickly. "I need you tonight, Joe. Tell you what, meet me at the club and we'll dance for a while, then I'll take you home and have my way with you while you sleep."

"Mmmm," Joe said. The idea was tempting. Alex had done that a few times before when he'd spent the night. Joe had joked around about it, but he'd been woken up at three by an amazing orgasm to find Alex's mouth around his dick and his fingers in Joe's ass. He'd only said "More". His one complaint was that it didn't happen more often.

"Okay," Joe said finally. "But only an hour."

"Two? Please?" Joe couldn't see it, but he was sure Alex was making puppy-dog eyes at him over the phone.

"Fine," he said. He tried to sound grudging, but he had a hard time saying no to things Alex really wanted. "Two hours. Then it's off to bed with us."

"As long as we don't have to sleep," Alex said with a laugh. Then he disconnected.

"Tease," Joe said with an amused little smile. He had a hard on that was almost painful and wet spot on the front of his pants. He didn't care. Tonight he was seeing Alex, and that made everything good.

* * *

Joe parked his car at the club and took a quick glance around the parking lot to see if he saw Alex's car. He didn't, but that wasn't much of a surprise. More often than not he didn't. Alex had this knack of parking in odd out of the way places he never noticed.