Geography of Murder (30 page)

Reluctantly the copilot pulled out gear, a thick rubbery suit that I pulled on over my clothes and a harness that strapped on my upper body and went around my thighs to keep it from slipping off. He handed me a simpler harness and explained what to do with it, "Get this strap under his armpits. Once it's in place hang on to him no matter what. He may panic, but do not release him. If he goes in the water, we won't be able to affect a rescue. Are you sure you want to do this? We can have the response boat here in ten minutes."

"I'm sure."

So they lowered me off the side. I struggled to see where I was going, to keep my eyes open against the wind from the rotors. The impact of the water was a jolt. That water was cold. My heart seized in my chest, and I struggled to keep breathing.

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I hauled myself into the dinghy and felt along Jason's throat for a pulse, but my fingers were so numb I couldn't feel anything. His skin was waxy and pale and his eyes were closed. Then I thought I saw them flutter. I took him in my arms, trying to transmit some of my own fading warmth to his shivering body.

His fist caught me unawares. It glanced off my left eye and slammed into my nose with a solid thunk. I reeled backwards with a startled '
umph
' and grabbed his arm before he could do it again. His entire body went rigid, nearly jack-knifing both of us out of the shallow dinghy.

"Jason," I shouted, not knowing if he heard me or not.

"Stop it. Hold still."

I fought to get the strap around him. I got it secured and raised my thumbs up to the hovering chopper. I think the copilot flashed one back.

Now all I could do was wait.

Maybe it was only ten minutes. Maybe it was less. It felt like hours before the orange and white Coast Guard response boat hove into view. It cut its engines and glided to a stop beside us. They made quick work of getting us on board, wrapping both of us in thermal blankets. We huddled together on the rolling deck as the cutter roared and raced back toward shore.

I was shaking almost as much as Jason, but I wouldn't let him go, even when my stomach decided to remind me I wasn't a boat person. Only the fact that I hadn't had much of anything to eat over the last couple of days kept me from decorating the deck with the contents of my stomach.

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I scrunched as close to him as I could. His eyelids fluttered open again and for the first time he focused on me.

"A-Alex?"

I picked up his cool hand, holding it tightly. Wishing some of my warmth into him. Hoping he was strong enough.

"You're going to be okay."

"Thought I was dreaming..." Before I could respond his eyes slid shut and he lapsed back into unconsciousness.

An ambulance waited dockside. They bundled Jason into one and wouldn't let me in, instead directing me to a second ambulance. Then they raced off, lights flashing and sirens cutting through the crowds that remained around the marina.

I spotted Nancy but before she could force her way to my side the EMTs had bundled me into the back of the second ambulance and were following the first one. I was told to lie back and shut up, that I could talk soon enough after a doctor saw me.

I fell into an uneasy silence, lay back and watched lights flash across the ambulance windows. Nancy followed me, barely paused when she saw my by now swollen and blackening eye. She stood around while I was discharged from Emergency. I tried to see Jason. No one would let me know where he was. No one would even tell me how he was doing.

Finally Nancy dragged me out to her car and delivered me back to the marina to pick up my own wheels. I would have gone straight back to the hospital but she hung around and made sure I got on the freeway to Goleta.

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Jason had been quiet every one of the four days I visited him prior to today. Ever since he had come around from his exposure to both the cold and the ketamine Phil pumped him full of—again—he had rarely spoken. He would look at me when I entered the room and follow me with his eyes, but unless I asked him a direct question, he wouldn't talk to me.

He hadn't said much to Nancy either, when she interviewed him about Phil and what he had told him. She did say he revealed that there was another man, the one whom Jason had been taking to the boat when Phil caught them. Jason said Phil told him the kid ran away. Nancy seemed convinced Phil had killed him, and the only reason he hadn't done the same to Jason was that he meant to use Jason to throw suspicion away from him. I was inclined to believe Jason.

We'd had the harbor dredged every day since just in case, but to no avail. It's possible the currents and tides had been right that night, and Roger's body could have washed out to sea.

When I thought of how close Jason had come to sharing that imagined fate, I shivered. Nancy and I had canvassed the Vault and other area clubs looking to find anyone who might remember a boy recently in from Bakersfield but though we had a couple of 'maybes,' Roger remained a ghost. We had sent word to Bakersfield to look over their missing person's files, but I didn't hold out much hope. Another faceless runaway whose own parents didn't care enough to report him missing. San Francisco was put in the loop too, but without a better physical description or full name, no one could do much of anything. Phil's probably right, he's in the wind.

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I took some vacation time and spent all my spare time at the hospital until I became a fixture and the hospital staff took to greeting me by name and asking after Jason. Nancy came by once, but she could tell something wasn't right, and when I refused to talk she stayed away. Big things were going on down at the station. I heard rumors that Lieutenant Garcia was retiring. I guess I should have cared. I didn't. I rarely talked to anyone these days, except Jason At least I talked, even if he didn't. I guess I never really shut up. "We finally got those federal subpoenas for Blunt and Dutton. Turned out they served together in Korea. There were rumors flying around that they operated some kind of procurement ring for young Korean kids. I guess Dutton liked the boys, and of course Blunt was partial to little girls. They were drummed out of the service because of it, but neither of them was ever charged with pedophilia."

He listened, I knew he did, but he didn't respond. I kept talking.

"Get this, they got them for smuggling. Phil served over there too, in the Navy. We don't know if he ever met either of them there, but he may well have heard about them. They were quite the scandal until the military hushed it up. But when Blunt abused his daughter Lucy, that was the last straw. The law let him slip away and he vanished. When he resurfaced last year, Phil didn't know until he applied to coach a Little League team at his granddaughter's school. Blunt didn't have a record. He'd never been convicted of anything.

Background checks never turned up anything. And of course 295

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using a phony name when he first approached the school about coaching kept him under the radar."

I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck, wishing he'd say something. Anything.

"So he was on the verge of being given the job when Phil saw him. He knew right away he was the monster who had abused his little girl. But he wasn't satisfied to make him lose the volunteer job. He decided he had to stop Blunt all together. He decided to kill him. I'm not sure I blame him.

But the rest..." I shook my head. "He went too far. Tried to frame you, then tried to kill you so no one would know what he had done."

I took his hand in mine. "I'm sorry about your friend, Jason. I wish I could tell you we'd find him, but I don't know if we can. We have the PD in Bakersfield checking on his ID.

If we get more, we'll give it to the San Francisco cops..."

He didn't answer me. After a while I left, promising to return.

The next day I made a trip down to L.A. I hated visiting the place, but what I wanted I couldn't find in Santa Barbara, and it was too special to order online. I needed to see what I was getting, to find the right one.

The Leather Crib was the largest bondage and fetish store in L.A. I was immediately assaulted by the rich odor of animal hide and cleaner. I spent far too much time studying assorted gear, fingering an exquisite braided cat-o-nine tails, wondering if Jason was ready to go to the next level. I tried to imagine it; Jason suspended by my cuffs, his back glowing pink, his cries for release growing more desperate with each 296

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carefully controlled stroke of the lash. My reverie was broken by a 'roid-bulked leatherman in full gear who seemed bemused by my trance.

"Looking for something?"

I looked him up and down. I took note of the tats across his arms and throat. He postured like a Dom, but from the vibes I was getting the guy would have been on his knees in thirty seconds licking my boots. I didn't feel like telling him I wasn't interested.

"I'll let you know," I said.

He nodded and turned away. I worked my way through rack after rack of leather, latex and vinyl. Then I spotted the collars. Leather and suede with metal studs, rings and chains.

I picked one up, fingering the brass rings on one thick leather piece, a second one had a diamond inlaid heart—a bit much I thought. Then I scooped up a third one that caught my eye. It had slender chain links that ended in nipple clamps. The gold chains slid through my fingers and I touched the large ring they were attached to—large enough for a leash if I chose to do that. The prospect left me excited. When I took the collar to the check out and pulled out my Visa, the sub eyed me, lingering a long time on my crotch. I brushed my hand over my dick, letting him see the swelling then dropped the collar and credit card on the counter in front of him, jerking his attention back to the job at hand. He was smiling when he rang up my charge, but I ignored him now. Another time I might have taken him up on his silent offer, but right now all I could think of was tomorrow when Jason was being 297

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discharged, and I would be there to bring him home. We were going to start over. And this time we'd both get it right.

I entered the ward the next morning and approached his bed. He was staring out the nearest window, though from where I stood he couldn't see much more than the wall of the next building. No blue sky, no trees. Not even a pigeon strayed across his field of vision. I handed him the
Audubon
Book of Birds
I had finally tracked down. I'd ordered it online and had it express shipped to me earlier that week. He didn't take it, so I set it down on his bedside table beside the last meal he had left mostly uneaten.

His eyes were hollow and held nothing when they met mine. I took his hand.

"Hey, Jason. I'm here to take you home. You ready to go?"

He didn't speak. He just stared at me as if I had spoken in a foreign language. I rubbed his cool hand with my thumb hoping to evoke some reaction from him.

"The doctor says you're well enough." I reached in my pocket and fingered the finely tooled leather collar I had purchased in L.A. The one that would seal our relationship.

"You just need to rest—and you can do that at my place. I've taken some vacation time, so I can be there—"

"No." He withdrew his hand and tucked it under the thin sheet that covered his chest. He lowered his head, the light from the buzzing fluorescents overhead reflected off the bald dome of his head. His lips moved but no words came out.

There were still faint scars on his chest that I could see through the gap in his pajama top.

"It's okay. I'll take care of you. I'll protect you—"

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"You couldn't protect me from him, could you? All your talk and in the end it was nothing. I walked right into his arms and you didn't do anything to help me." His voice was low and savage and I flinched at the coldness it held. "You talk a lot but you don't mean any of it."

"Jason, please—"

He finally met my gaze. "I don't think I've ever heard you say please once since I met you. You don't say thank you either, even when I bent over backward trying to make myself perfect for you. It was never good enough. I was never good enough."

"That's not true. You were good enough." I closed my fist over the collar. "You were perfect."

He touched his chest, and I could tell he was remembering the pain. "Then what was this about? What did I do to deserve this?"

"Nothing," I whispered, not caring if the other people in the room heard me. Not caring who knew what anymore.

"That was the biggest mistake of my life. I should have been cherishing you, instead of ... that. But I was so afraid I was going to lose you. I lost control. I shouldn't have done that. It was wrong. I know that now."

"But you did 'that' didn't you? And when did you ever cherish me?"

"Always." My shoulders slumped as I released my gift and raised both hands toward him. "You were the most precious thing of all. I—"

"I'm going home," he finally said. "To my sister's. She's said I can come stay with her. We're going to try to mend our 299

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family. Dad won't be there—oh, that's right I think I told you he was dead. Well guess what? I lied. He's alive and well and living in Petaluma and hasn't talked to me in six years. But my sister will talk to me. I'm sure it won't be nice things she has to say, but at least she won't beat me."

"I will never hit you again."

"I don't believe you. How long before you lose control again? How long before you think I'm fucking around on you again?" He plucked at the sheets restlessly. "I never did, you know."

"I know," I said, wishing I could take away the pain I had brought to both of us.