Busted (30 page)

"Used to be yours?" Chris asked, puzzled.

"No, Papa. He used to be a mine!" Toby corrected.

"Mime, Toby," Joe said.

"You were a mime?"

Joe shrugged. "I did street theater in college."

"Do the thing with the oranges!"

Joe smiled at Toby and started juggling the oranges that had been sitting on the counter next to him.

"You're just full of surprises," Chris said.

"Oh, you have no idea," Joe said. "Orange?" He didn't wait for the reply and tossed one Chris' way.

Chris was taken by surprise, and the fruit bounced off his chest.

"You didn't catched it, Papa!"

"Now, Toby, you don't know if your Papa catches."

"He does, he does catch!"

Chris blushed furiously at that. There was no innuendo there, he was sure of it. That didn't stop him from thinking about 'catching' with Joe. He'd never done that with anyone ever. He'd never wanted to. Not until right that moment.

"Well, I think it's time for a particular little boy to get himself ready to go."

"Aw, do I haveta?"

"Yeah, sport," Joe said, ruffling Toby's hair. "You do."

Joe looked over at Chris. He was feeling uncomfortable now that Chris was down, like he was intruding. This wasn't his kitchen, and Toby wasn't his son.

"Need a lift back to your car?" Joe asked.

Chris tensed. That'd mean twenty minutes in a small little car with Joe. Twenty uncomfortable minutes. Part of him wanted to take the time. It was twenty more minutes he'd spend with Joe, next to him, smelling him, being with him. Another part was terrified of that, and how badly he wanted it. The parts fought.

"That's okay," he said after a minute. "Steve can give me a lift over."

Joe let out the breath he had been holding. He wasn't sure whether to be pleased or disappointed.

"I'll walk Toby next door, then. I've got to head back to my apartment and shower. C'mon, Toby. Let's go!"

Chris watched Joe as he walked out the back door with Toby in the lead. It gave him a few more seconds to change his mind, to thank Joe for what he'd done, to ask him to fuck him silly.

He peeled his orange instead.

* * *

Steve sat watching Chris as he ate his lunch at his desk. He hadn't said anything when Joe had dropped Toby off, he hadn't said anything when Chris asked him for a lift to the firing range, and he hadn't said anything the whole morning as they both dug through a mountain of paperwork and research. He was finding it hard to keep not saying anything.

Chris had been chipper that morning. He hadn't been chipper in months. Possibly years. That was strange enough for a normal day, but yesterday hadn't been normal. It'd been total crap, the kind of day they both hated to have. He was still feeling it. Chris, though…

"How'd last night—" he started. Chris cut him off, clearly not paying attention.

"There’s a pattern here, dammit," he said. He'd been digging through the reports on Stephanie's family's murders, as well as the killings that Billy O'Malley had told them about, and Joe's friend Jill Sorenson. I can't quite nail it down. It's there, though, I know it is."

"Why? I can see the Spiders and Billy's family. That's easy, I guess, just a vengeance cleanup thing. I don't see how Sorenson fits in, though."

"There's the dates for one. The Spiders and Stephanie's family were exactly thirty days apart. Sorenson's got a window of three days either way, but that's another sixty days before the Spiders.

"And why wait so long for the Spiders? That's two months after the first killing. Why her? She wasn't associated with drugs or anything. Best we could come up for her is she was schizophrenic, but it was under control with medication, and none of it was illegal."

"Are you sure they're even related? They might be something else."

Chris gave Steve a stare. "Do you really want to think there are two
different
people running around and ritually gutting people with sharp knives in the state?"

Steve sighed. That was the last thing he wanted. He didn't really want one of them, but one was better than two.

"So let's mark them out. Maybe something important will show, give us an idea when he's going to hit again. He's due in, what, another fifteen days?"

"I think so," Chris said. He got up and walked over to the wall where they had a full year calendar.

"Here, here, and here," he said, marking the days with magnets. "Nothing special. They're not all holidays, not the same day of the week, not the same day of the month. Just thirty days apart. Why?"

Steve sighed. "Great. This guy's some sort of nutcase, right? The ritual killings make that clear. Any religious holidays that match?"

Chris thought for a moment. "No, not that I can think of. None of the big ones, at least. Just…" He stared at the calendar.

"New moon. Each of the killings took place on the new moon."

"You sure? Sorenson had some slack time. Could be off a day or two."

"No, it follows." Chris sat down and poked at his computer. He pulled up a chart of times.

"Stephanie's family were killed in the morning, while the Spiders were probably killed in the late afternoon or evening. See, it fits. 8:45 AM on the eighth for Stephanie, 8:32 PM on the eighth for the Spiders. I'd bet Sorenson was at… 10:30 in the evening on the eighth.”

"That doesn't seem right. It's awfully late for jogging."

"The drugs she was on do weird things to you," he said with a shrug. "Wouldn't be too much of a surprise that she was out that late."

"So what was before that?" Steve asked.

"Before that was… the tenth, at just past noon."

Steve sat back in shock. "The Ramirez killings. You were right."

"It makes a kind of sick sense. They were on the run from New Mexico? They sent some nutcase out after them and he hung around."

"Why, though? Why kill like this, and why these people? There's got to be a reason. These psychopaths always have some sort of theme."

Steve shrugged. "Got his jollies this way waiting to kill the Spiders?"

"That doesn't make any
sense
," Chris said. "There's no connection. They were strictly small time, and they only dealt with the Boston and New York gangs. No way there'd be anything between them."

“Okay fine, even if I buy the pattern, why
them
? What’s the connection? They’re too scattered around to be opportunity. Nobody wanders the state like that without a reason. And what does your boyfriend have to do with it?"

Chris jerked his head up. "What?"

"Joe. How's he involved?"

"He's not. Why do you think he's involved? And he's not my boyfriend," he added, a little late.

"Someone did his tires in last week. And he's said he's felt like someone's been stalking him. Maybe he's next."

The thought made Chris' blood run cold. "No. He can't. I mean, why?"

"Joe’s brother thinks he's the target. Maybe he's wrong, and the guy's after Joe. Figure the connection and you'll figure the reason."

"Great," he said. The thought of someone carving Joe up turned his stomach. "Can you talk with him about it? Maybe there's some family history or something linking these people together."

"Sure you don't want to do it? You are da—"

"Stop! Just stop," he said, suddenly furious. "We are
not
dating. We are not screwing around. We aren't having this goddamn conversation."

Steve smirked. "Sure, Chris, whatever you say. You're looking pretty rested today, though."

"Fuck off," Chris muttered. He was blushing hard enough to show it.

Saturday
afternoon found Steve, Mary, and Chris on Steve’s back deck. Their kids were running around the back yard with squirt guns, the sounds of their laughter mixing with the other noises of suburbia that surrounded them.

“There’s nothing wrong with dating him,” Steve said as he flipped burgers on the grill. “Toby likes him. That’s important.”

“Toby’s four,” Chris pointed out, his temper carefully leashed. Steve had been pushing him about Joe all afternoon and he was finding it harder and harder not to get angry.

“He seems like a nice enough man,” Mary remarked.

“I don’t care how nice he is. I’m not dating him. I don’t want to date him. I don’t date.” Chris gritted his teeth at the mental images that flashed through his head. He might not want to date Joe, but there were a number of things that he did want to do with, or to, him. None of them involved pants.

“Fine, you’re sleeping with him. Whatever,” Steve said, waving off Chris’ protests.

“Steve…” Chris warned.

“Grow a spine, man. We don’t give a damn that you’re gay,” Steve said.

That statement was enough to snap the fragile hold that Chris had on his anger. It didn’t matter what Steve thought. He wasn’t the one that everyone would be staring at, the one getting hassled at work, or at school, or on the street. He wasn’t the one people would point at and whisper ‘freak’ when he walked by. “You have no
fucking
idea —”

Chris was cut off by Steve's cell phone.

"What?" Steve asked. His voice was thick with exasperation.

"Steve, man," said the voice on the other end. It sounded like his brother-in-law. " He's dead and I don't know what to do and it's all a mess and…"

Steve stopped at the word 'dead'.

"Mike," he shouted into the phone as he set the spatula down and started to walk into the house. "Calm. Deep breath. Where are you?" He waved at Chris to follow him. Chris had gone professional when Steve had shouted.

"I'm at Doctor Hamilton's house," Mike said. "We hadn't heard from him in a few months so we got worried. Eliza had a key from when she took care of his plants last year and…."

"Okay, you're at Doctor Hamilton's," Steve repeated, his voice slow and steady as he tried to calm Mike’s hysteria. Chris wrote it down on the chalkboard hanging next to the refrigerator. "Where is that?"

"It's in Middletown, by the university. There's this little place that serves the best biscotti just down the street with chai and cocoa."

"Middletown, okay, got it," Steve said. It was way out of their jurisdiction, but that didn't exactly matter right then. "What's the street address?"

"1893 Maple Street."

"1893 Maple Street. Is it a single family house?" Chris was making notes and had a questioning expression on his face. He had his cell phone ready to make a call, but Steve shook his head no.

"Yeah, though sometimes he rents a room to students, but he hadn't this spring."

"Okay, single family and he was living there alone. Are you there now?"

"We're on the front porch. We thought there was something wrong and went in, but it was horrible."

"You're outside, good. That's Linda with you?" Steve shot a look at Chris.

"Yeah," Mike said. Steve nodded and Chris made a note.

"And there's someone dead there?" Chris' eyes went a little wide at that.

"I think it was Doctor Hamilton, but it smelled so bad, and I think the body was all ripped up, and he was dead for a while."

"How long, Mike? Minutes? Hours?"

"I think…" Steve heard Mike swallow hard. "I think it was weeks."

Steve winced. They were a lot less likely to find anything useful with a crime scene that old.

"Okay, here's what I want you to do. You go to that place down the street that serves the chai. Get yourselves something nice and warm to drink. I'll call the department and they'll send an officer over to talk to you. Chris and I will be over as soon as we can, probably forty-five minutes. Don't touch anything. If the door's still open, leave it open, okay?"

"Okay," Mike said. He sounded really shaky.

"I know this is tough, but you're doing good. Just keep calm. We'll be there soon. Go get some cocoa," Steve said.

"What the hell was that?" Chris asked after Steve hung up the phone.

"Mike found a body," he said with a sigh. "He's not taking it too well."

Chris winced. As much as he enjoyed hassling Mike with Steve, the first time you came across a dead body was hard to deal with, especially if it was unexpected.

“Natural causes?"

“‘All ripped up’, he said.”

“Fuck,” Chris said.

“Yeah, no kidding.”

"I'll call it in," Chris said as he scrolled through the contacts list in his phone. "The dispatcher owes me a favor anyway.”

"Thanks," Steve said absently. He wasn't done with Chris, but it'd have to wait. There were more immediate things to deal with.

* * *

Joe had begged off coming over to Steve's that weekend. More than anything else he wasn't ready to face Chris again. When he was alone he could keep things under control – he loved Alex, and Chris was just a nice guy. He could work with that, as long as he wasn't around Chris. Or Alex.

Alex had been even more problematic. Joe had tried to talk to him Friday night, but talking had led to kissing which led to dancing which led to sex. On any other night that would've been fine, but it wasn't what he was looking for.

It was Saturday, and he was going to take another shot. The club wasn't the best place to talk, but his apartment wasn't good, and neither was Alex's. Joe wondered a little about what sort of life he was leading that the middle of a gay bar was the best option he had for talking seriously with his boyfriend.

Alex was late. Joe was on his forth ginger ale, it was almost eleven, and his head was pounding from the music and the stress when he finally showed.

"Joe." Alex purred in his ear and kissed the back of his neck. "Sorry I'm late. I had a hard time getting out."

"It's okay, Alex," Joe said. He turned and gave Alex a little smile.

"You ready to dance tonight?"

"I was kind of hoping we could talk, actually."

Alex's face fell. "Can't we talk later? The night isn't getting any younger."

"Neither am I," Joe said. "It'll be quick, okay? Just a few minutes, then we can dance the rest of the night."

"Well, I guess," Alex said, pouting.

Joe stood. "C'mon," he said. He grabbed Alex's hand and pulled him towards the exit.

Alex's face lit up. "If you wanted to 'talk'," he said, "you just had to say so."

Joe ignored him as they left the club. He nodded towards Bernie, who shot him a big grin. Joe scowled. He knew Bernie figured that sex was in the offing. That was the last thing on his mind right then.

Once outside the quiet of the summer evening surrounded them. Joe's ears were ringing a little. The fresh air was nice, a change from the stuffiness of the club. He pulled them around to the side of the building. As soon as they were ten feet back Alex was on him, his hands all over Joe's body and his lips running up and down Joe's neck.

"Alex. Alex!"

"Mmm, what, lover?" His left hand slid down to cup Joe's crotch.

"Stop that," Joe snapped. He slapped Alex's hand away.

Alex pulled back in surprise. "What?"

"Talk, Alex. I want to talk."

"Oh. Um. About what?" Alex cocked his head to the side like a puppy.

"Us, Alex. I want to talk about us."

Alex frowned. "I don't understand. We're fine, aren't we?"

Joe took a deep breath. He did truly love Alex, but the man could be infuriatingly dense some times. This wasn't the time to get upset.

"We are. Alex, we've been together for more than four months now. I love you very much," he said, reaching up to stroke the side of Alex's face. "I want us to be together. For real."

"I don't understand," Alex said. "We are together, aren't we? You're not… you aren't seeing anyone else?" He looked crestfallen.
 
Joe reached out to reassure him.

"No! No, Alex, I'm not. What I mean… Alex, I want you to move in with me."

Joe had expected all sorts of reactions. He figured Alex would be happy, probably bouncy, possibly aggressively sexual. He hadn't expected Alex to panic.

"No! We can't! I mean I can't! It wouldn't be a good idea. I don't think… I've gotta go, Joe. I'm sorry."

And with that, Alex turned and took off, leaving a very puzzled Joe watching the retreating back of the man he'd thought was his boyfriend.