Safeword (19 page)

“You find out this cop’s name, Jeanie?” I asked yet again. But Jeanie was lost in her own personal nightmare, oblivious to us, her only anchor to the real world the coffee she clutched in her hands.

“The trees wasn’t thick enough, and it was snowing already. I got us on some leaves nobody raked yet, but we was frozen, even with us both wrapped into my coat. When I woke up in the morning, Ali was blue, not breathing, and stiff. I yelled for help for an hour, and finally, a guy running in the park called the cops on his fancy phone and they took my Ali away from me. I know she frozed to death, but that prick cop put us out or we’da been fine. So he killed her. He knowed what he was doing, too. That’s why I gotta know if he’s really dead. If he got what he deserved.”

“Jeanie, I need to know the officer’s name,” I said gently. “I can’t tell you anything about him, or about your daughter, or any reports filed about the incident, without his name.”

“His name thingy when he throwed me to the floor of that nice warm store said Halloran. D. Halloran.”

§§§

“SO I asked around after I dropped Jeanie off,” Myah began as she sat at her desk after returning from escorting Jeanie to a shelter we knew would keep her for a few days, feed her, and get her some grief counseling. “Her daughter did die about a week before we discovered Halloran’s body. The shelter workers said Jeanie herself was very sick. They took her to the hospital to be treated for exposure, and she was there four days with pneumonia. When she got out, the shelter made an exception for her on how long she could stay, and kept her for another week, until her prescriptions ran out. Even if she has a decent motive, she also has a rock solid alibi.”

“What about some of her acquaintances? Would any of them have gone vigilante on her behalf?”

Myah shrugged. “It’s possible, I guess. Several of Jeanie’s acquaintances were at the shelter when I dropped her off. They had plenty to say about the treatment the homeless community receives from St. Louis’ finest. I assured them we were looking into it, but it’s kind of a moot point where Halloran is concerned. None of them seemed at all horrified at his death, but no one seemed particularly gleeful about it, either. It sort of took the wind out of their sails, actually.”

I leaned back in my chair, folding my hands behind my head. “Yeah, they lost the target of their crusade.” We’d seen it before. The disenfranchised homeless got up in arms about nearly any treatment they received from those in authority, but they lacked focus, and after the immediate situation, they were all too quick to disappear back into the ether, never seeing the original complaint through. Many of them huddled in the shadows, hoping not to be noticed in the first place, sliding under authority’s radar and becoming little more than ghosts. The mountain climb to help the homeless in a meaningful way was one that took special, dedicated people who refused to let the helpless shrink into oblivion.

“I asked a few questions, but many of them only knew what Jeanie had told them. One of the two boys she said were with her and Ali the night of the storm was there, but he corroborated only that he and the other guy left the empty store before she and Ali did, and that they were ousted. He couldn’t identify the officer or his companion. Said he and the other homeless guy didn’t know each other and split up right after leaving the vacant storefront.”

“So a dead end.”

“Yeah,” she said, tossing a pen across her desk in frustration. “We’ve got shit to go on.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. We could canvass pawn shops forever and get nowhere. We have this guy’s face, or what we believe he looks like. What if we went to the media with it, something as generic as ‘have you seen this man’ and a number to call?”

Myah shot me a disbelieving look. “Do you know how many false leads that could bring up?”

“Tons. But you just said we got nothing else.”

“I don’t like wasting time turning up nothing at every pawn shop we’ve hit either, but the chances of us getting a decent tip on Dennan’s whereabouts are slim. Besides, what we’ve got is circumstantial.”

I couldn’t have stopped the sarcasm if I’d wanted to. “Are you kidding me? Coincidence is leaving his DNA at one scene. Maybe one of the victims had a secret about their sexuality their coworkers were too blind to see. But both of them? C’mon, Myah. You’re not a dumb blonde, so stop acting like one.”

She flipped me off.

“We’ve got a print from the flogger left at my house. At the least, we get the guy in, print him to eliminate him from the scenes, and if he matches the flogger print, we’ve got him on B and E. We get a DNA sample once he’s in custody and compare it to Stevenson’s and Halloran’s attacker, and bam. Case closed. You know matched prints
and
DNA are more than enough. But the kid’s been
missing
for seven years. It’s not like we can look him up in the goddamned phone book.”

She shrugged, swiveling her chair back and forth and looking at the ceiling as if she was questioning the powers that be how she got saddled with me as a partner. Finally she looked at me and straightened.

“Okay. I guess we’ll be in anonymous tip hell for the foreseeable future. Let’s go talk to Kittridge.”

“Hayes, DeGrassi?” Lawanda called, her fingers flying over her keyboard. Her computer screen showed the green screen program we used for the squad car coms. My stomach bottomed out. “We got a ten-seventy-nine. Residence of Detective John Ditmar, Fourth Precinct. Jencopale’s been notified. Thirty-nine Westminster Drive off Sappington.”

Detective John Ditmar. Another notify medical examiner at another cop’s house.

THE FIRST sound to reach my ears when I got home was the TV, one of those grating laugh tracks from a sitcom. It surprised me; Ben generally didn’t go for that type of viewing fare. The living room was dark, just the flicker from the flatscreen painting the space with irregular strobes of light. I wondered if the patrol officers assigned to watch the place could see it. Kittridge and the brass had agreed with me about baiting Dennan into trying something inside my house, so for the time being, Ben and I had an inconspicuous shadow parked right out front.

Rounding the couch, I couldn’t help smiling despite the horrific day I’d endured. Ben was sprawled on the cushions, limbs flung wide, mouth open. He didn’t snore exactly, but there were small snorts every now and then through his gaping lips. Had I been in a better mood, I’d have kissed him awake, or better yet, pulled his cock from the confines of his sweats and blown him awake.

Instead, I muted the stupid TV show and sat heavily in the armchair, the leather creaking under my weight. The sudden absence of sound was jarring, and Ben stirred. He blinked blearily, sitting up and rubbing his hands through his hair, which stood out in endearing tufts.

“Hey,” his voice rasped. “Wh’time is it?”

“After eleven,” I said. I’d called him from John Ditmar’s crime scene to let him know I wouldn’t be home for dinner, so he wasn’t surprised.

With a wide yawn, he pulled the pillow he’d apparently tossed to the floor into his lap. “How are you after all that?”

I shrugged. “The good thing is Trent’s supervisor won’t let him work on this case, but I still have to deal with his smug ass for questioning first thing in the morning to reconstruct Ditmar’s last few days. He’s belligerent at being shut out. Made a huge scene in the street in front of the house. I don’t understand it. It’s not like he cares about anyone but himself, so why is he adamant about this particular partner?”

“Was this...” his voice trailed off.

“The same as Stevenson and Halloran? I think so.”

“You’re not sure?”

I leaned forward and scrubbed my face with my hands. “Lots of similarities, but not everything. Bump key entry, ransacking, probable theft. We might get a jump on those too, with Ditmar being married. His wife can verify things missing.”

“So what’s different?”

“Time of death is midday instead of dawn. Married instead of single, but his wife was working when it happened.” I didn’t feel guilty telling Ben the details because he was a consultant for the department and had signed a confidentiality agreement, not that he’d break my confidence anyway. “He also wasn’t stabbed like the first two.”

“Cuffed to his bed though?”

“Yes, that was the same. But he was more brutalized, at least from what I can tell. It’s hard to say.” My voice petered out.

Wordlessly, Ben stood and walked to my chair, sinking to his knees in front of me. His fingers slipped over my hands, which I hadn’t noticed were locked together in a death grip. I loosened up at his touch and controlled my next exhale.

“He was beaten with a hammer from his garage. Claw end.” Ben winced. “Lotta officers in the neighbors’ yards, losing their lunches.”

Ben smiled at my attempt to deflect, but it was wan, more grimace than anything. “What about you? Did you panic?”

I shook my head. “I never thought I’d say it, but this was worse than what we went through. Our biggest hell is that we survived. It’s really best Ditmar didn’t. I couldn’t even guess at how much of his mind would have been left anyway.”

Ben nodded, and then pulled me into his arms. I clung to him and exhaled into his shoulder, eyes stinging. He made wordless, soothing sounds, tugging his fingers through my hair, nails scratching my scalp. I concentrated on letting go of the tension I carried, feeling it ebb in increments. A tear or two slipped free, and I didn’t fight them. Then I backed off. Ben’s hands fell to my hips; my knees were on either side of his ribcage.

“He’s escalating. It’s like last time all over again, Ben.”

He smoothed my hair from my forehead. “No. Not like last time.”

I didn’t acknowledge his words. “Trent said Ditmar left work because someone from the power company called. They’d had a report of a gas leak and needed to be let into his house, where they’d pinpointed the source. John went home to let them in. Ameren UE has no record of an odor of gas call to Ditmar’s neighborhood, and once again, we have no leads. Shit, Ben. We’re all sitting fucking ducks.”

“Gavin,” Ben said, worry in his voice. “Gavin,” he repeated when I didn’t answer him, lost in memories of blood and gore and immense pain. He held onto my name like a talisman. “Can you keep doing this job?” he asked gently. “Because it’s hard for me to watch you go off every day, knowing what could happen to you while on duty.” He caressed my face, his eyes molten liquid, burning into my core. “And it tears you up. Sure, this is worse since it’s cops, but what about the next one? And the one after that? It’s all atrocious, isn’t it?”

I nodded, leaning forward until our foreheads met. “I can’t stop now. I owe it to Stevenson. But I’ll think about it, Ben. I don’t know what to do if I don’t do this.”

“We’ll figure it out, baby.” He kissed the corner of my mouth. “Think you can sleep? You look exhausted.”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I’m meeting Myah first thing to talk to Trent. Need to have my wits, so I have to try.”

“Can I hold you?” he asked, still respecting my restraint aversion.

“I’d like that.”

He led me to our room, and I got ready for bed quickly, settling into the bed with Ben behind me, his arm draped over my waist and his knees tucked up behind mine. The rise and fall of his chest helped calm me, and I stared out the sliding glass doors to the patio for a long time before sleep overtook me.

The morning found me groggy and muzzy-headed. Myah called to make sure I was up, threatening me if I didn’t bring her coffee.

“I will make you my maid of honor, and there will be no getting out of it.”

Tall skim caramel macchiato in hand, I entered the nearly deserted building just as the sun skimmed the horizon, turning the bruised clouds a vibrant orange.

“Why are we here so early?” I grouched, shoving my bribe at her. “There’s your caffeine, Your Highness, but if you’re going to hold the wedding over my head every time you want something, I’m going to find the most hideous wedding gift ever. If that’s not enough, remember this: you make me your maid of honor, that puts me in charge of your bachelorette party, and more specifically, the quality of stripper booked for said party. How far do you want to take this?” I sipped my coffee, pretending she wasn’t gaping at me in horror.

“You play dirty.”

“Damned right. Let’s get this interview over with.”

I tossed her coat to her, earning myself a glare. “Cranky.”

“Fuck yes, I’m cranky. Three dead cops, we have bulletproof DNA evidence, but no way to find the guy.”

“I say we go to Kittridge with the age progression composite. But which one to use?”

“Why can’t we use all three?” I asked, getting in the car and cranking up the heat.

“It’s hard enough for people to remember one face, Gavin. Three will be impossible. We have to pick.”

“My bet is the one with longer hair. Strange had a reaction when he saw that photo, whether we can prove he has something to do with this or not. I’d put money on his involvement.”

Myah hummed noncommittally while I drove south on I-270 to get to Fourth Precinct’s home base. Trent was outside smoking a cigarette and pacing restlessly when we arrived.

“This is new.” I gestured to the cigarette as we approached.

He sneered at me. “Don’t pretend we know each other anymore, DeGrassi. We were never friends, even when we were partners. Let’s just drop the act now.”

“Wow, okay,” I agreed. “I’m not interested in befriending you, so relax. Just surprised Victoria lets you in the door smelling like smoke, that’s all.”

“It’ll wear off before then, or I’ll go home and shower first.” Huh. So they didn’t live together. Not that I cared.

“Show us to Ditmar’s desk,” Myah said when the seconds ticked by awkwardly.

Flicking his butt to the sidewalk despite the outdoor ash can nearby, Trent grumbled unintelligibly and led us inside to a bullpen very much like our own. He pointed to one desk, settling into the chair at the adjacent one.

“Active files are in the middle drawer. Recently closed on the bottom.”

“How recently closed?” I ignored the photo of Loretta Ditmar smiling from a frame on the desk and opened the bottom drawer.

“Six months and newer.”

I hefted the stack onto the desk and opened one after handing a few to Myah, who made herself comfortable in Ditmar’s chair.

“Is there another chair I can use?” I asked Trent. He sneered but stood to find one. I was just getting immersed in the file in my hand when the clang of a metal folding chair rang loudly in the room. Several pairs of eyes trained on me as more detectives filtered in for the start of their day.

“Your throne, Your Majesty.”

I shifted uncomfortably, debating the wisdom of saying what I thought of him. Ultimately, it wasn’t worth it. Plus, the man’s partner had been murdered the day before. He was allowed a tantrum, even at my expense.

“Was John involved on the Strange case in any way?” Myah asked, pulling another file from the stack.

“The two kidnapped kids? No,” Trent answered, sounding surprised. “That wasn’t our jurisdiction or division. But I guess he could have volunteered for the searches or manned hotline phones or something. If he did, it was after hours.”

We kept at the files until they were nearly finished, working forward in time.

“Why’s this in here?” I asked, holding up a Vice file for a solicitation of prostitution arrest.

Trent took it and looked it over. “I don’t know for sure, but I think the guy arrested was a college friend of John’s. Someone with a family he couldn’t afford to lose.”

I took the file back, perusing it further. “For someone with John’s opinion of homosexuality, he was awfully helpful to a friend arrested for picking up a male prostitute. An
underage
male prostitute, as it turns out.” I pointedly raised an eyebrow. Ditmar had been clear on his distaste for me while working the Halloran crime scene.

“I don’t know what happened there,” Trent said wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Maybe he and that guy were best friends or frat brothers or something. You, he didn’t know, so he had no reason to be tolerant of your fudge packing ass.”

“Besides being a decent human being, you mean?” Myah asked dryly.

Trent pegged her with a hard stare. “John
was
a decent human being. He volunteered at his church’s soup kitchen all the time, coached Little League even though he and Loretta didn’t have kids yet. He held doors open for people, and said please and thank you every single time. Just because he wasn’t a fan of fairies doesn’t... didn’t make him a bad person. It made him
normal.
”

I ignored the slight. “Soup kitchen? Which church?”

“The one on Gravois, on the other side of Lindbergh. I don’t know the name. Big one though. Built about ten years ago. Why?”

“I know it, I think.” I jotted a note to myself to call down there and talk to the kitchen manager.

“Do you know which recreation league he was part of?”

Trent looked at me strangely. “Crestwood Parks and Rec. Why?” he repeated.

“No stone unturned,” I answered vaguely.

Trent snorted. “There’s a surprise.”

Genuinely irritated he would think I wouldn’t do my job to the best of my ability simply because the victim had once insulted me (and not that sharply), I glared at him.

“Why wouldn’t I do everything I can to find his killer?”

Leaning into my personal space, which I remembered as one of his favorite intimidation techniques, Trent spoke low and menacing. “Because when the work gets hard, you cut and run, don’t you? It’s what you did to Victoria. Instead of sticking around to work out your problems, you bailed at the first sign of trouble.”

I clenched my jaw. “Well, that’s actually a bonus for you, since you’re with her now. I found her playing giddy-up on your dick, asshole. That’s the last sign of trouble, not the first. Besides, I don’t know how to save a marriage between a gay man and his beard.”

Trent went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “Then, after you caught Lane last year.” I flinched at that man’s name. Trent’s smug smile grew at my reaction. “And I use the term ‘caught’ loosely. As soon as you could, you ran from the department.”

“Fuck off, Trent,” I warned, my palms sweating. His poisonous words hit me like repeated blows... or whip lashes.

“You couldn’t hack it, so you abandoned yet another partner, left her to fend for herself while you hid from your friends, your family, anyone who gave a shit about you.”

“You’re way out of line, Sawyer,” Myah snapped, coming to her feet.

“Or maybe you were just telling everybody you were getting help while holed up with your shrink man candy.” The edges of my vision darkened, Trent and his insolent mouth taking up my whole focus. “Or,” he went on, satisfaction on his slimy face. “Maybe you liked what Lane did to you so much you spent the last year having your shrink reenact it.”

The inhuman growl in the room was the last thing I heard before I became aware of cold wind and bright sun on my face and more than one pair of hands on me.

“Easy there, Sugar Ray,” a voice from behind me intoned, masculine and deep, but unrecognizable. Myah was in front of me, her hands clamped to my shoulders, dancing eyes studying mine.

“You got yourself under control again?” she asked, amused.

The hand on my bicep eased some as did the arm around my waist, still firm but no longer controlling. I waited for the panic at being held immobile, especially by someone other than Ben.

It didn’t come.

Giving Myah a slight nod, I pulled myself away from the man, who stepped to Myah’s side, friendly concern on his face. I recognized him instantly as one of my dad’s friends, Lieutenant Chad Bachman. He was a tank of a man, barrel chested with arms big enough that calling them canons wasn’t actually a stretch. Unfortunately, though he radiated fatherly concern, he still outranked me, and my behavior, at minimum, merited a reprimand and written warning through Talcott. I waited for his rebuke, not even trying to form an excuse. His hand landed warm and heavy on my shoulder.