The Way You Say My Name (36 page)

“I didn’t--”
Kilgore held up his hand. “Calm down, James. I talked to the D.A., and there won’t be any charges filed against you.”
Jamie sank back down into his chair, some of the frustration and anger subsiding as he digested what Kilgore had said. “There won’t be?”
Kilgore shook his head, his magnificent braids trailing over his shoulder. “Nope. You have your buddy Nash, here, to thank for that one. I may be grateful to you for giving us our prime suspect in Carpenter’s murder, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t ready to lock your lily-white ass up for screwing with my files. Lucky for you, Nash and I made a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
Brandon answered that one. “Hank has a case he wants me to profile for him.”
“Profile? You mean, like F.B.I. stuff?”
Brandon nodded. “I was with the F.B.I. before I came back to Reed and ran for sheriff.” He laughed. “Despite what you might think, I’m not totally incompetent. No, I prefer to think of myself as only an occasional imbecile.”
Jamie’s own angry words flashed back to him. Before he could say anything, Kilgore said, “I’m not even gonna touch that one. As it so happens, I gotta run, anyway. Morgan just came out of surgery. I want to be there to question the bastard as soon as the anesthesia wears off.” Kilgore patted Jamie on the shoulder. “I know I should be grateful to you for everything you did, James, but heartfelt thanks aren’t exactly my style.”
“Not arresting me is thanks enough.”
Kilgore threw back his head and laughed. “I like you kid. I swear I do.” He left before Jamie could respond.
Jamie swallowed hard. He was still mad as hell, but he knew he owed Brandon for getting his ass out of a sling with Kilgore. He needed to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. As it happened, he didn’t have to say a word. Brandon did it for him.
Pointing to the file in Jamie’s hand, Brandon said, “If you’ll read over your statement there on the last page and sign it, I’ll send it over to the D.A.’s office and we’ll wrap your part of the investigation up. I’ve sent your aunt home already, though God knows if my deputies are still in one piece after taking her back to her house. She was one pissed off lady.”
Jamie didn’t doubt that, but it wasn’t Brandon’s statement about his aunt that had Jamie narrowing his eyes. “I thought you said all the things you were gonna charge me with were listed on the last page.”
Brandon’s grin was one part cockiness, two parts caring. “Yeah, well, I had to say something, didn’t I? From the minute I brought you in here, I could tell that you were about ten seconds away from imploding. I had to do something to get all that stuff out of your system.” When Jamie started to speak, Brandon held up his hand. “Before you start trying to take back what you said or make it sound better than it was, don’t. You were right. I did drop the ball.” Brandon sighed and leaned back in his chair. “It might surprise you to know this, Jamie, but I’m not perfect.”
Jamie bit back a smile. “No? Really?”
“I know, I know. It shocked the hell out of me, too, the day I realized it.” He came forward again, resting his elbows on his desk and looking Jamie right in the eyes, making his sincerity impossible to doubt. “I let you down in a big way by not believing you when you told me about Sledge and how you were sure he wasn’t the one responsible for Ben’s death. Of course,” Brandon wrinkled his nose, “you knew a few things that I didn’t, namely blackmail and extortion, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t have a job to do. I should have investigated your claim.” Brandon stood up and extended his hand. Jamie rose to his feet and grasped it, surprised at how comforting Brandon’s warm strength was to him. “I’m sorry, kid. Sorry for not listening, and sorry you didn’t feel like you could come to me for help.”
“That sorry business works both ways. I owe you for not coming to you in the beginning, the minute I found out about the money and then the pictures.” Jamie dropped Brandon’s hand and closed his eyes, the memory of Morgan’s shot and the sound of breaking glass still ringing in his ears. “Dillon begged me to go to you for help, but I was too damn stubborn. My mistake could’ve cost him his life.”
Jamie heard movement and opened his eyes to see that Brandon had rounded the desk and was now standing over him. He laid his hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “It takes one hell of a man to admit his mistakes, Jamie. I almost lost Nate once because of a mistake I made. I left him alone with the wrong man, and Nate almost paid for it with his life. It took me months to forgive myself for that one, and still, I have trouble accepting it.” Brandon shuddered. “Take my advice, kid. Spend a good, solid hour beating yourself up over it, and then let it go. Life’s too short to what-if yourself into an early grave.”
Jamie nodded. “I’ll do that.” He shuffled his feet as Brandon gave his shoulder one more squeeze and then returned to his side of the desk. Jamie had one more question to ask, and it was one he dreaded. “What happens now, with Morgan?”

Brandon sat down hard, weariness taking over. “It’s hard to say. Hank’s going to question him, confront him with the statements you and Mitchell Harding gave. And from what I’ve gathered, it shouldn’t be too hard to prove that Morgan was Burke Carpenter’s partner. His name alone is a good tip off.”
His name? “Don’t tell me . . .”
Brandon laughed. “You guessed it. The stupid fucker ran teenage prostitutes using his middle name. Seems Mr. Daniel Jared Morgan isn’t as smart as he wants the world to think he is.” Brandon waited until Jamie sat back down, then said, “We’ll have to wait until the investigation is done to get the full story on Morgan, but I have a feeling he’ll want to make some kind of deal before all this is over with.”
Jamie’s stomach clenched on the word “deal.” He remembered all too well how Barry Sledge had gotten off with a lighter sentence because the D.A. was overworked and ready to bargain. That brought on a whole new set of questions. “Brandon, what about Barry Sledge? Will he get out of jail now that Morgan is a suspect?”
Brandon hesitated. “Here’s the thing about Sledge, kid. He’s already admitted to running down Ben, and the damage to his car proves that he did hit Ben’s body. The only question now is whether or not Ben was already dead at the time of impact.”
Jamie shook his head. “But Morgan--”
Brandon picked up the sentence. “According to my deputy, Morgan swore up and down in the ambulance that Burke Carpenter is the one who killed Ben. Morgan claims he killed Carpenter because he thought that Carpenter was responsible for Ben’s death. Because of the blackmail, Morgan figured that he was next on Carpenter’s list.”
“There’s your confession, then.”
“I wish it were that easy, Jamie, but it isn’t. A good lawyer could claim that Morgan’s words were simply the rantings of an injured man, brought on by the pain. And even if we prove that Morgan killed Carpenter, that still doesn’t prove that Carpenter killed Ben. For all we know, Morgan may have killed them both. Or, Barry Sledge could have killed Ben, and then Morgan offed Carpenter thinking he was to blame.”
Jamie’s head was starting to hurt. He didn’t exactly relish the thought of Sledge being a free man--free, that is, to terrorize the streets during any one of his drunken marathons--but at the same time, Jamie wanted the man responsible for Ben’s death to pay. Not just any man, but the right man. He lifted his tired eyes to Brandon. “So, what now?”
“We wait until the investigation is finished, sift through the findings, and hope we have enough evidence to clear up this damned mess.” Brandon gave Jamie an apologetic shrug. “I know you were hoping for some smoking-gun conclusion straight out of the movies, but real police work doesn’t usually go that way. All we can do now is process what we’ve got, then wait until Morgan gives his statement and take it from there.”
Jamie nodded. “I understand, Brandon.” And he did. But knowing that Brandon was doing the best he could didn’t stop Jamie from hoping this would all be over. Soon.
* * *
The first person Jamie saw when he finished reading over his statement and signing off on it was Dillon. He was slumped in one of the waiting area chairs, his hair matted to his head with sweat and dirt. He needed a good shave, the shadow on his face leaving a dark line. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and sheer exhaustion. And still, he was the most beautiful creature Jamie had ever seen in his life. Nothing could have stopped Jamie from rushing across the room and pulling Dillon from his chair, his arms wrapping around Dillon’s waist so tight Jamie was in danger of knocking the breath out of him.
Dillon didn’t seem to notice. His sole focus was Jamie. He cradled him close, whispering words of love and offerings of devotion into Jamie’s ear. The words were nice, but Jamie didn’t need them. He had all he needed there, in his arms.
After a minute, Dillon pulled back enough to see him. His eyes searched Jamie’s face. “Are you okay?”
Jamie nodded. “I am now. God, Dillon, I was so scared for you. This is all my fault. If I’d only listened--”
Dillon put one finger to his lips. “Hush, baby. None of this is your fault. It’s Morgan’s fault--and Carpenter’s--for being such sick fucks.”
Jamie appreciated Dillon’s easy forgiveness, but he knew it was going to be a long time before he forgave himself. Then Brandon’s words came back to him. Spend a good, solid hour beating yourself up over it, and then let it go. Life’s too short to what-if yourself into an early grave. Jamie closed his eyes and took Brandon’s advice.
When he finally opened then again, Jamie scanned the room but saw no sign of the man he was looking for. “Where’s Mitch?”
Dillon stroked Jamie’s hair back from his face. “They took him back to Chicago to answer some questions about Burke’s murder and about the day-to-day dealings of his operation. He promised to get back in touch with us when all this is over with, and I believe him.”
Jamie leaned, again, into Dillon’s embrace. “Yeah. For everything that’s happened to him, Mitch seems like a decent guy. Not like . . .” He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t, even now, form words against his best friend.
Dillon understood. He planted a kiss just below Jamie’s jaw. “Ben did what he had to do to survive, Jamie. I’m not saying I approve of his methods, but after seeing how he was forced to live, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done something just as desperate in the same situation.”
“You wouldn’t have. You’re stronger than that. I just thank God you’re okay. That my fuck-up didn’t kill you.”
Dillon pulled out of the embrace and took Jamie’s hand. “I told you I didn’t want to hear that kind of talk.” He led him towards the door. “Let’s get out of here. I want to give you a good going over to make sure you aren’t hurt.” When Jamie started to protest, Dillon laughed. “I know the medics checked us when we got to the station, but I have a different kind of examination in mind, and I don’t think the Reed County Sheriff’s Office is ready to see it.”
Jamie didn’t need any more encouragement that that.
* * *
It was pushing five o’clock in the morning when Dillon and Jamie finally left the station. They took a cab back to the apartment, even though Brandon and several of the deputies offered them a ride. Dillon wanted Jamie all to himself, and he was pretty sure the cab driver would pretend not to notice all the cuddling and kissing going on in the backseat. As it turned out, he was right. The cabby didn’t so much as comment, though Dillon was sure he must have seen Dillon fondling Jamie as he glanced in the rearview mirror. Dillon could have cared less. Let him look.
The driver refused to take any money when he dropped them off, saying Sheriff Nash had already taken care of the fare, tip included. Dillon thanked the guy one last time as he and Jamie got out and headed up the driveway to their apartment.
The front door was open. That was the first thing Dillon noticed as he topped the stairs and hit the landing. He felt a frisson of unease race down his back until he heard the sounds of a broom raking up broken glass. That could only be one person. He pushed the door open further and was told, “Well, don’t just stand there like a ninny. Grab the dust pan and hold it for me.”
Dillon leaned down and gave Sadie a kiss on the cheek. “You don’t have to do this, you know. Jamie and I can clean up this mess.”
Sadie waved that away as Jamie bent down to give her a kiss of his own and Dillon grabbed the dustpan. “The fact remains that Morgan should be over here cleaning this place up, not us. I wish now I’d shot the scoundrel in his good-for-nothing ass.” Sadie swept the last of the glass into the pan. “That way, he’d think of me every time he sat down.”
Dillon grinned. “I don’t think he’s gonna forget you anytime soon.” He took the dustpan over to the trash and emptied it. “Nobody else will, either. You’re a hero. You saved our lives.”
Sadie shook her head. “A lot of nonsense, that. Morgan isn’t exactly a crack shot. I doubt seriously if he actually had the skill to hit you. Not at that range, anyway.” But even as she said it, Dillon could see that she was shaking.
Jamie must have seen it, too. He took the broom away from his aunt and set it aside, folding her into a tight hug. “You always did have trouble taking compliments. Well, tough. I’m gonna give you one anyway. You saved our butts tonight. Thank you.”
Sadie returned his hug tenfold. “I’m just so thankful you’re both okay.” She pinched Jamie’s side, causing him to jump back with a yelp.
“Ouch. What did you do that for?”
“For scaring me half to death.” Sadie grabbed him back up and hugged him again. “You’ve kept this old woman going for the last fourteen years. Sheriff Nash filled me in on all the little secrets you’ve been keeping.” Jamie tensed, and Sadie continued with, “Now, before you get your drawers all in a twist, I’m not angry, and I’m not going to question you any further. Let me just say this. If you think I’m going to lose you now, just when I’m getting the hang of this mothering thing, you’re sadly mistaken. Next time you need help, you’d better well ask for it.”
Dillon could see Jamie’s smile from over the top of Sadie’s head. “Understood. Now why don’t you go on home and soak in a hot bath? You know that always makes you feel better. Dillon and I will clean up the rest of this.”
Sadie took them at their word. After soundly kissing them both, she left them to it.
It took Dillon and Jamie another half an hour to sweep up all the glass and to cover the window with cardboard. Sadie told them before she left that the glass man would be coming first thing Monday morning to put in a new window pane. Cardboard wasn’t the ideal substitute, but it would have to do.
By the time they finished, Jamie was swaying on his feet, and Dillon wasn’t far behind him in the tired department. He pushed Jamie into the kitchen. “Sit down while I fix us something to eat. We never did get that late supper we started to have.”
“No, we didn’t. I’ll help you, though. Between the two us, surely we can find something edible.”
“Something edible” turned out to be day-old chocolate donuts and two tall glasses of chocolate milk. Sadie would have had a fit if she’d seen their idea of breakfast, but it would have to do. Dillon was just too tired to go out for anything else.
Jamie finished up and put their glasses in the sink. Turning to Dillon, he said, “You ready for bed?”
It was a mark of Dillon’s exhaustion that Jamie’s words didn’t bring the slightest stirring below his belt. Even the examination he’d promised Jamie at the sheriff’s station was going to have to wait. Holding Jamie in his arms would have to do until they both got some sleep. And from the look on Jamie’s face when they finally climbed into bed together and Dillon had pulled him in as close as possible, holding him was more than enough.
* * *
How long they slept, Dillon wasn’t sure, but it was nearly dark outside when the sounds of loud knocking woke him up. Careful not to wake Jamie, he slid out of bed and grabbed a clean pair of jeans from the closet. Pulling them on, he walked into the living room, wincing when a small piece of glass they’d missed in their cleaning bit into his bare foot. Hopping towards the door, Dillon pulled it open and came face to face with his parents.
Douglas Carver was his usual, disinterested self, looking at Dillon with a mixture of speculation and contempt. It was Angela who took over, her voice sympathetic and soothing. “Oh, Dillon, thank god you’re all right. You father and I were worried sick.” It wasn’t until she’d pushed her way past Dillon and into the apartment that he realized she and Douglas were not alone.
Accompanying them was a slender man about the same height as Dillon. He was carrying a medical bag and wore an old fashioned fedora on his head. Dillon guessed his age to be about sixty, and from the look on his narrow face, the guy was on a mission.
He stuck out his hand, seemingly unfazed when Dillon refused to take it. “Dillon, I’m Dr. Henderson. Your parents have told me so much about you.”
Jesus. Henderson, the shrink his father had been pressuring him to see. “Yeah, I’ll just bet they have.”
Again, Angela stepped in. “Dillon, we brought Dr. Henderson here because we heard about your ordeal from one of the ladies at church this morning. We’re just certain after what happened last night that even you can see how dangerous living this lifestyle is.”
Dillon fought hard not to laugh in his mother’s face. “You think my being gay caused Dan Morgan to try and kill me?”
Angela sniffed. “Don’t be clever with me, Dillon. You know what I mean. You must know that none of this would have happened to you if you hadn’t hooked up with James Walker in the first place.”
Despite the generous amount of sleep he’d had, Dillon was still tired, worn out from all he’d been through. He had no intention of going through all this again. Turning his full attention on the doctor, Dillon said, “You’ve wasted your time coming here. I have no intention of becoming your patient or listening to hour after hour’s worth of lectures on the evils of homosexuality. You and my parents can show yourselves out.”
Henderson ignored Dillon and looked straight to his father. “I see what you mean, Douglas. Dillon is obviously suffering from self-destructive impulses. I might even go so far as to classify him as having suicidal tendencies. I think Dillon is a prime candidate for involuntary commitment.”
Involuntary commitment? Suicidal tendencies? What in the hell was this guy talking about? Dillon was starting to get scared. “You can’t do that to me. There’s nothing wrong with me, and you know it.”
Henderson’s smile turned nasty. “On the contrary, I can and I will. I’m a respected psychologist. All I have to do is sign the papers saying I believe you’re a danger to yourself, and you’ll be locked up in a state hospital by nightfall.”
Dillon felt the cold grip of panic seize his heart. He reached for the only person in the room he thought might have mercy on him. “Mom, please don’t let him do this.”
“I’m sorry, Dillon. It’s the only way.” Turning to Henderson, she said, “Do it. Have him locked up for as long as it takes.”
Dillon backed away, but his father stepped behind him, blocking his path towards the bedroom. “Don’t you have anything in that bag to sedate the boy? The sooner we get him out of here, the better.”
Henderson nodded and reached into his bag, pulling out a pre-filled syringe. “Of course. I never travel without the proper equipment. A mixture of Haldol and Ativan ought to keep him calm. The two of us will have to carry him out, but it’s a small price to pay.” He started towards Dillon with the syringe.