The Intersection of Purgatory and Paradise (19 page)

He wished he could back out of the room, tell Daniels he’d have to do this interview himself, but he couldn’t move.

He stared at the boy, never looking away from a face that should have been too young and too innocent to contemplate the crimes he’d witnessed that night. When Doug kept staring at him, the boy’s story began to change. Maybe he hadn’t just watched, stunned. He might have shoved Caleb. He might have helped Levi hold him down below the seat so the driver wouldn’t see what they were doing. He
might
have even joined in.

“But it was just to teach him a lesson,” Mike insisted. “It’s not like any of us are fags like him.”

Doug didn’t let the boy break eye contact. He didn’t dare look away. Even though he felt like someone was trying to stab him in the stomach, he didn’t look away.

“Did Caleb have any friends on the team? Anyone on the bus who would have stood up for him if they hadn’t been terrified of the three of you?”

“Terrified?” Mike Harris actually laughed. “Caleb didn’t have any friends. He
was
a joke. Really, can you blame him for blowing his own brains out? I mean, who could live with themselves knowing they’re a cocksucker? He did his parents a favor. Everybody knows it.”

The click of the door opening echoed through Doug’s head like a chime, waking him up from his nightmares. Daniels, his face red with quiet rage, loomed in the doorway with a pair of handcuffs. “Mr. Harris, stand up. Turn around, place your hands against that wall, and step your feet apart.”

“But he said….”

“He said you would likely be in trouble. You are in a whole heap of trouble. You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent….”

Doug tried to walk out of the interview room like nothing was wrong, but he knew before he got to his feet he wasn’t going to make it all the way to the bathroom. He got to the open door of the observation room before his stomach decided it had had enough. He managed to hit the trash can.

When the spasms faded to dry heaves, and then to painful tremors, he sat on his knees, panting. It was all he could do to try and crush the memories assaulting him, to try and block out the pain, the humiliation, and the shame he’d felt all those years ago.

Fingers curled around his shoulder, and Doug snapped. He spun around, driving himself to his feet and throwing every ounce of strength he had into a sloppy upward-driven punch. The force of it cracked through his knuckles and down his arm, all the way to his shoulder. It caught Roger Harris in the jaw and threw him back into the safety glass so hard, it flexed and vibrated in the frame.

Harris cupped his jaw and gaped at Doug. His hazel eyes were swollen. Wet tracks lined his cheeks where the man had shed so many tears he’d stopped bothering wiping them away.

Doug climbed to his feet, not sure if he should be apologizing or bracing for Harris to hit him back.

Harris worked his jaw back and forth carefully. “Christ, that hurt,” he muttered, touching the rapidly swelling skin.

“Sorry,” Doug said, keeping his eyes on Harris’s hands. “I don’t handle things like this well, and—”

Harris gave him a slight nod, wincing. “I know. We all know, Heavy Runner.”

The panic rushed through him like a flash flood. “What?” He couldn’t know about Leon. No one but Christopher knew.

“You think we haven’t seen you rush off after working the scene of a bad accident? Hell, last year up at Brubaker’s cabin, you didn’t even make it five feet. You really should see your doctor about that. It’s probably an ulcer or something.”

Doug almost smiled. “An ulcer? Yeah, maybe.”

Harris gestured to his eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “You kept your head better than me.”

“He’s your son,” Doug said simply. “No one should have to go through something like this. I’m sorry,” he said, at a loss for how to make this better.

“He could have ended up like that boy,” Harris whispered. “I know the things he said were horrible, I know they were, but…. An hour ago, I was marking and cataloging evidence, labeling
pieces
of Levi Campbell. That could have been my son. I know he needs to go to court, he needs to answer for his part in this, but I’m fucking grateful he wasn’t the one taped to that goal post.”

“He’s here, in our custody,” Doug said. “That means anybody who wants to hurt him has to go through all of us. It’s not what any parent would want, but nothing is going to hurt him in here.”

Harris ran his hands over his face, wiping at his cheeks. “I just don’t get it. He didn’t say anything. Not a word.”

“Your son?”

“Marshall. He investigated that trouble on the bus. He had to have figured out the connection. Why the hell wouldn’t he say anything? Why would he arrest that—” Harris swallowed whatever insult was about to come out of his mouth.

“That highly decorated veteran homicide detective who’s never done anything but show this town the truth about Peter Hayes and Greg Brubaker? And put up with a lot of bullshit because your kids, and everyone else you interact with, see you talk about him like he’s less than human and treat him accordingly?” Daniels asked from the door.

“Well, I never meant….” Harris gestured wildly, as if flinging his hand through the air might help him communicate something he’d never be able to put into words without risking his job.

Daniels glared at him and strode forward. “I know exactly what you meant. If you can’t see how big a problem your behavior has become, you are not going to do any good here. You’re going to surrender your side arm and badge until this is sorted out.”

Harris flinched as if he’d been stung. “What? You don’t think I’d…. Daniels, you know you can trust me.”

“No, I don’t.” Daniels held out his hand for the weapon. “Here’s your chance to convince me.”

Harris looked from Daniels to Doug and back again. He carefully withdrew his revolver from his harness and handed it over.

“That’s a start,” Daniels said simply.

“But you can’t suspend me. Now we know the killer has some connection to Caleb Owens, we’ve got to start interviewing his friends, his family, try to find whoever did this.”

“Not you.” Daniels nodded toward Doug. “It’s Heavy Runner’s case now.”

“But one of the bodies was found on his land, and Hayes is still….”

“If you really believed Hayes was guilty, you wouldn’t be worried about your boy,” Daniels pointed out. “Add that to the list of matters we’re going to discuss before this is all said and done.”

“What about Marshall?” Doug asked.

Daniels looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well now, Heavy Runner’s just found something you can do if you want to stay on duty. You and I will chat with Marshall. Heavy Runner and Jackson, wherever the hell he went, are taking over the investigation.”

Doug wanted to argue, to point out he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to take on a case that triggered so many of his bad memories, but he couldn’t. There was no getting out of this assignment without an honest explanation, and there was no chance in hell Doug was going to provide one. Talking about what Leon did to him again would be breathing life back into the memories he’d tried so damned hard to kill.

“Caleb’s family and friends are the place to start, but I’m not going to have much luck getting more information out of Mrs. Owens,” Doug pointed out. “Maybe she’ll talk to Jackson.”

D
OUG
HAD
to admit Jackson had been busy. In just a few hours, he’d gotten all of the hotel’s security footage, along with statements from both hotel clerks placing Christopher inside Doug’s room from eight o’clock last night until they’d both left early in the morning. By the time Doug tracked him down, he’d already gotten the county attorney to dismiss the remand form and get Christopher out of jail.

Doug was relieved and grateful despite his confidence in Christopher’s ability to cope in jail and his own bravado. “How’d you manage this so fast, Jackson? It always takes me days to get the county attorney to see me.”

Jackson shrugged it off. “Not a big deal. Their office is following the investigation closely, just like everybody else. They all want us to find this killer, but I sort of pointed out how it wouldn’t do to look like a bunch of hillbilly bigots who jump to conclusions despite lots of contradictory evidence. No matter how much diversity we’ve got, it won’t look good.”

“You did that?” Doug asked.

Jackson managed a sheepish grin. “Yeah.”

“You know, I’m pretty much
it
as far as diversity goes,” Doug pointed out.

“Not entirely. Sexuality counts, you know. With you being Salish and gay, and me being bi, we’re at like 10 percent minority representation.”

“You’re bi?” Doug asked, trying not to sound incredulous. “Since when?”

“Not your business. You’re still not my type,” Jackson said.

Doug looked at the sheriff, who was busy giving directions to additional members of the state highway patrol, who’d arrived to assist with the crime scene. When he finished, Daniels slid open the holding cell door and ushered Christopher out without any ceremony. “Go on. Get the hell out of my jail.”

“Thank you,” Doug said to Jackson before he hurried toward Christopher.

Christopher caught Doug in his arms and studied his features carefully, as if he didn’t recognize him. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Doug leaned into his touch, not caring that everyone from Daniels to the highway patrol officers were staring at them. Through the small glass window of the last holding cell, Mike Harris was gaping at them too. He was pale, his expression alternating between shock and horror. Doug met his gaze through the safety glass for a moment. He had to swallow the bile rising in his throat again.

“Hey,” Christopher said, cupping his cheeks and forcing him to shift his attention. “Let’s get you a Gatorade. It’ll help.”

Doug let himself get lost in Christopher’s blue eyes for a moment, wondering for the millionth time how they could possibly be so bright and so sad at the same time. This time, it wasn’t the pain in Christopher’s past Doug glimpsed. It was worry over Doug. “Gatorade doesn’t fix everything,” he said.

“Sure it does. And if Gatorade’s not enough, there’s coffee and then liquor. But,” Christopher smiled at him, “maybe not all mixed together. Not until your stomach calms down, anyway.”

“I think combining those would make me sick even if I didn’t feel like shit. I’m sorry you were stuck in that cell for so long. Work… happened.”

“It’s okay. I can bounce in one spot for hours on end in a cell as well as I can in a hotel room.”

“I’m still sorry. Jackson was the one who did all the legwork to get you out.”

“Thanks for that,” Christopher said, nodding to the younger blond.

“The crime scene is pretty much under control,” Jackson chimed in, trying to give them privacy but hovering all the same. “And the Ice Queen’s said she’s going to be another hour or two at least since the crime lab guys just got back into town. If you wanted a break, there’d be time.”

Doug glanced at Daniels, who nodded discreetly.

“All right,” Doug agreed. To Jackson, he said, “I’ll meet you at the school in about an hour.”

“Gatorade,” Christopher said again.

Doug nodded. “Home.”

H
OME
,
OF
course, still wasn’t an option. But they’d shared enough memories in the interchangeable rooms of the Super 8, it was starting to feel like a decent substitute.

“Can we talk?” Christopher asked, throwing himself on the bed.

Doug didn’t even bother taking his shoes off; he crawled onto the bed beside him and tugged him close. “We can always talk.”

“I found the body,” Christopher said with the same easy tone Doug might use to say he’d picked up groceries.

He knew better than to accept the matter-of-fact tone, though. Christopher felt things deeply, not just with his heart but with his entire soul, and Doug knew he’d long ago learned to bury his feelings so he could carry on each day. If he had to talk about it like it wasn’t a big deal, it had shaken him hard.

“It was a mess, Doug. Like, slasher flick psychotic mess. And the moment those dipshits showed up, they trampled, touched, or contaminated hundreds of possible pieces of evidence. Have they ever investigated something like this?”

“I’m not sure they’ve ever investigated anything,” Doug admitted. “And it’s possible Marshall’s been botching this whole damn thing to cover up his own mistake.” Slowly, trying not to think about what Caleb Owens must have felt that night as he was assaulted over and over again with most of the junior varsity football team watching, Doug told Christopher about Mike Harris’s rambling confession. Christopher’s arms closed around him as each detail spilled out. Doug’s memories poured out, too, surging out of the darkest parts of his mind as he speculated about how alone and hurt Caleb Owens had to have felt.

“Nate Marshall,” Christopher said, his voice still calm and soothing.

“Hmm?”

“He wasn’t alone. When Nate Marshall came in to the sheriff’s office yesterday looking for his dad, I expected him to be upset over Jeff Lowe. But he was almost in tears when he talked about Caleb. He had one friend, at least.”

Doug winced. “A friend whose father told him he wasn’t allowed to have anything to do with him. It keeps coming back to that bastard, no matter how I run it through my head.”

Christopher squeezed him tight. “Look, I know this isn’t the time, but I need to tell you something.”

“You can tell me anything.”

“I have to go back to work when this is done.”

“Back to work?”

“Back to San Diego.”

Doug sat up and looked at Christopher, but his expression was a carefully guarded blank. “What aren’t you saying?” he asked.

“Nothing. I promised an old friend I’d go back.”

“But he’s with someone else,” Doug muttered, instantly regretting it.

“What?”

“Your partner. I know you felt something for him, and I know he was crazy about you, but he’s with someone else. He’s married.”