Busted (31 page)

Chris
woke up Sunday morning feeling like crap. That didn't surprise him – he'd had dreams again last night. Not his normal dreams, the ones where he and Joe were dancing, or kissing, or having enthusiastic sex. There had been more panic, and he didn’t remember them the way he remembered most of the dreams.

He actually started welcoming the dreams, the past few weeks. If he just relaxed and didn't think about it, it could be him in them instead of Alex. He was fine with those dreams, with a feeling of rightness that he'd never had with anyone else, and of comfort that he never had with Megan. It was almost a pity Joe was a guy.

Joe had thrown him off-balance since the very beginning, when Chris had pulled him over for speeding. That feeling he was familiar, that Chris almost knew him. It had scared him how much he had wanted Joe, from that very first kiss. Scared him nearly as much as finding that Joe knew Alex.

Chris still couldn't wrap his head around that. Alex wasn't real. He'd never been real, just a childhood fantasy. His imaginary friend, the brother he never had. His parents had said they'd seen him sometimes, but his parents were drunks, and probably mad. He wasn't sure if their hallucinations were because they drank, or they drank because they hallucinated. Either way, hardly reliable witnesses.

A whole bar full of people knew Alex, though. Dozens of them. He would've thought it an elaborate joke of Steve's, but they were all telling the truth about it. All of them. Especially Joe. It was kind of sad, really. Chris' imaginary childhood friend had better taste in partners and was getting better sex than he was.

Still, Joe had spent the night with him, for real. He'd wanted to spend the night, and Chris had wanted him to. And then he'd put the pieces together, found the pattern that connected the murders. That pattern gave them a schedule, and with enough work would give them the motive, and the connection between the victims. From there they could find this guy, hopefully before he killed someone else.

One night of panic wasn’t enough to squash Chris’ good mood, and he decided it was worth celebrating. It was a gorgeous day, the sun was shining brightly through his window.

'Miniature golf,' he thought. 'Never taken Toby golfing. Time to fix that.'

Whistling off-key, Chris got up and got dressed. He walked into Toby's room. The boy was asleep, curled up with his gingham rabbit, the one Chris' grandmother had given him when he first came to live with her. He'd spent a lot of nights curled up with that rabbit, though at eleven he'd have sworn up and down that he never did. Toby wasn't that old, and made no excuses for it.

Chris smiled, just watching Toby sleep. The boy was so peaceful, his raven hair all mussed, a faint smile on his face like a little angel.
His
little angel. Chris bent down and woke Toby with a big wet raspberry at the base of his throat.

Toby woke up with a scream and a giggle, and latched on to Chris with a big hug. Chris was grinning like a maniac.

"Good morning, Toby," he said.

"Morning, Papa," Toby said. "You'd scareded me!"

"You want to go miniature golfing, Toby?" Chris asked.

Toby cocked his head and frowned in concentration as he thought. "With windmills, papa?"

"Yeah, Toby. With windmills."

"Yay!" The boy gave Chris another big hug and scrambled off his bed to go get dressed. "Can we have ice cream, Papa?" He was pulling on a pair of cargo shorts and a loose hawaiian shirt covered with Scooby Doo characters.

"Well, I don't know," Chris said, pretending to think.

"Papa!” Toby protested. He had his hands on his hips and was frowning at Chris. “You're teasin'!"

"I am? I guess you can have ice cream, then."

"Yay!" Toby scampered downstairs. Chris followed, hearing the boy dragging the step stool along the kitchen floor and slamming through cupboards.

"Breakfast, Papa! Pop-tarts! Let's go!"

Chris laughed. "Hold on, sport. We'll stop at McDonalds and get something on the way. How's that sound?"

Toby didn't stop to answer, he just dashed for the car. His Papa had been sad and grumpy for Toby's whole life. Even when they were playing he was always sad, but now he was happy. Toby wasn't taking any chances, he was going to enjoy it while he could.

* * *

“Look, Papa! Windmills!” Toby shouted and pointed as he bounced in his car seat. The miniature golf course Chris had chosen was tucked into a wooded copse on the edge of town, where development hadn’t quite spread. As promised it had a windmill on one hole, and a waterfall that cascaded into a stream that wound through half the holes to a pond on the far end of the course.

The complex had more than golfing; there was a driving range, a go-kart track, and a set of batting cages, along with a snack bar and a restaurant. Chris had driven past it occasionally, though thankfully he’d never had any reason for a professional visit.

“I see, Toby. I dunno, it looks kind of boring. Maybe we should go shop for socks instead. That sounds like it could be fun.”

“Papa!” Toby squawked. “Windmills!”

Chris gave him a fond smile. “Yeah. And hot dogs for lunch.”

“Out, out!” Toby said as he scrambled at the buckles of his car seat. He couldn’t undo them but that didn’t stop him from trying. The boy was so excited he was almost vibrating, and Chris found the happiness was contagious. The bright summer sun flooded the parking lot, with just enough of a breeze to be comfortable.

The two made their way to the admission booth at the edge of the course. The booth had a collection of golf clubs of different sizes and the counter had bins of golf balls in a dozen different colors.

“Choose your color,” Chris said as he lifted the boy up so he could see.

“Green, Papa,” Toby said decisively as he reached for one of the emerald balls.

“Not red, Toby?” Chris asked, surprised that he’d passed over the balls painted the deep crimson that Toby almost always favored.

“No. Green,” Toby repeated. “Like Uncle Joe.”

Chris was floored by that, unsure what to say. He knew Toby and Joe had met, but he had no idea that Joe had made such a big impression.

The woman in the booth smiled at Chris. “Two?”

“Yes, thanks,” he said, glad for the interruption. He chose a bright orange ball for himself, and pulled out a pair of golf clubs from the racks, one small for Toby and a normal sized one for him.

“Enjoy!” she chirped, as Chris paid for their game.

It was early enough in the day that the course was half-empty. That was a good thing for Toby’s first time golfing, as they had the leisure to play through as they liked without getting in anyone’s way. Chris watched Toby knock the ball through curves, down slopes, and over a little bridge that crossed the stream that wound through the course, and he laughed as Toby faced off against the windmill, taking eight tries to get his ball past the slowly spinning blades.

The two of them took almost two hours to play through all eighteen holes, and by Chris’ informal count Toby had a score of about a hundred and fifty. It didn’t matter, Toby was almost glowing with happiness by the time they got to the end.

The ball return at the end of the course was a small putting green set on a 45 degree angle with a clown face in the center. The clown’s mouth was the hole, and at the bottom of the green was a trough for failed balls to go in. You didn’t win anything for making it, but that wasn’t really the point. Chris watched Toby set the ball up and give it a smack with his club.

Amazingly enough, the ball bounced twice and went straight into the clown’s mouth.

“Hole in one!” Toby shouted as he broke out into a happy dance. Chris had to reach out and grab Toby’s club before he hit anyone with it, but even that made him smile.

“You know what that means, sport?” Chris asked. He knelt down to give Toby a hug.

“What, Papa?” Toby asked in his ear.

“Means… Ice cream!” And with that Chris tightened his arms around Toby and stood, lifting the giggling boy’s feet far off the ground. He ran the two of them into the snack bar, just stopping for a second to drop their clubs in the return box by the door to the building. He didn’t put Toby down until they’d ordered, hot dogs and chili cheese fries and vanilla soft-serve ice cream with hot fudge and cherries.

Chris watched as Toby wolfed the food down, smearing his face orange in the process. He only picked at his own food, not all that hungry for the greasy fast food, but it didn’t matter. Soon enough he bundled the sated boy up and carried him out to the parking lot. Their car had been warmed by the sun, and combined with a full stomach and an afternoon spent with his Papa it was enough to send Toby nodding off.

“Love you, Papa,” Toby said, voice fuzzy with sleep as Chris buckled him into his car seat.

“Love you too, Toby,” Chris said. He gave the boy a kiss on his forehead and quietly shut the car door.

It was the last good moment of the day.

Chris stood and turned, then froze when he saw her by the batting cages. Megan. She was with some bruiser of a guy in a rumpled black t-shirt that was a size too small, one that made it clear he worked out a lot, though the padding around his middle showed he liked his beer as much as his free weights.

He knew the exact second when she noticed him. Her face twisted into a look of utter contempt, then she turned, grabbed the man’s arm, and rubbed up against him. Chris was only glad that Toby hadn’t seen her.

It shouldn’t have hurt. The last few years of their marriage had been hell, and he’d honestly been relieved when she left, but right then that just didn’t matter. All he saw, when he looked at her, were the failures that had dogged him from before their wedding — he’d never been able to make her happy, or satisfied, and the years they were together were a testament to his inadequacy. Chris thought he’d finally put all that behind him, but it all came crashing back.

It shouldn’t have hurt. It just felt like he’d been stabbed in the heart.

Monday
morning Joe was a wreck. His conversation with Alex Saturday night had not gone anywhere near where he thought it was going to, and now he was questioning his whole relationship. He thought things had been going fine. Sure, Alex was a little flighty, but he hadn’t expected him to just… bolt. Not like that. He’d brooded the whole day Sunday, drinking cocoa and curled up on the couch in sweats. Not that it did him any good.

The stupidest thing was that Joe realized he didn’t have anyone he could talk to about it. Sure, he could bitch to Tony and they could compare notes on ex-boyfriends, but that wasn’t the same. Jill was the only person he could have turned to, and she was dead.

That wasn’t exactly true. He could probably talk to Steve about it. That was something that made him even more uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable or not, he was sitting at his desk and seriously considering calling his boyfriend’s estranged brother’s partner to talk about it. That, he realized, was deeply fucked up somehow. Not quite as much as the realization that he felt more nervous about this call than the one to his mother.

Didn’t matter. He needed to talk to someone, and he had Steve’s number in his cell.

* * *

Monday morning Steve was seriously questioning the sanity of his partner.

Even after their fight Saturday afternoon Chris had been upbeat. Something about this case had caught his interest, and he’d thrown himself into it with an enthusiasm that Steve hadn’t seen in him in years, not since before Chris had gotten married.

They’d put together enough pieces to make a plausible case linking four sets of murders. Chris had insisted that their guy was going to hit again in a few weeks, and if the corpse Mike had found came from their guy then there was a really good chance he was right. Steve had a nasty feeling that Joe might have been the target.

There wasn’t any good reason for him to think that. Joe just had some creepy feelings, and someone had slashed his tires. That wasn’t the way their killer seemed to work. Joe was probably right, that it was just some disgruntled ex-employee and juvenile vandalism. Building security had dug through the tapes of their cameras, but they said they just had some grainy low-resolution pictures. One of the other officers had taken a look, but Steve hadn’t had a chance, since the cases were, officially at least, unrelated.

Now… Steve watched his partner poke through the papers on his desk. He looked like hell. His shirt was rumpled, he had a two day beard, and bags under his eyes so bad he looked like he’d been punched. He didn’t smell of alcohol, which was something, but that was the only good thing.

When Chris had begged off this weekend Steve had hoped that he was spending it with Joe. Now that he looked at Chris, he hoped he hadn’t.

The morning was turning out to be the last good one he was likely to have for a while, too. They were scheduled for ‘meetings’ starting at three. That was when the handoff started, and if Chris’ evidence was as good as he made it out to be, the case wouldn’t be theirs any more. Steve was pretty sure it was that good. He’d written the report.

“Want some coffee?” Steve asked. Not for any reason, just to break the silence.

Chris shrugged. “Yeah, whatever.”

That was enough. Steve wasn’t sure what had gone on with Joe Tuesday night, but Toby had been bouncy and Chris had been happy. Steve hadn’t seen Joe since, and Chris was miserable. Maybe Chris was

When Steve got to the coffee maker he kept on going. When he was outside he pulled out his cellphone and scrolled through for Joe’s number.

Joe beat him to it, the phone ringing before he was halfway through his phone book.

“Joe,” Steve said into the phone, before he had a chance to say anything. “We have to talk.”

* * *

The diner was as dingy as ever, and Steve was amused that Joe had chosen it as a place to meet.

“I’m surprised you came here willingly,” Steve said as he slid into the booth across from Joe.

“Yeah, well,” Joe said, “it seemed like the best place. I ordered already.”

“Not a salad, I hope,” Steve said.

“Learned my lesson,” Joe said as the waitress came over.

“Hey, hon,” she said. She put a pitcher of Coke and a pair of water-spotted glasses on the table. “Pizzas are up in a minute.”

“Thanks,” said Joe. He gave her a big smile and a small wink. The waitress blushed as she sashayed a little back to the kitchen.

“Decided to bat for my team?” Steve asked.

“Nah,” Joe replied. “But it beats dying of food poisoning. So anyway, I called you. What did you want?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Chris. What did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Alex,” Joe said.

“Good. Same subject,” Steve said.

“What? No, they’re two different people. Close, but not the same.”

“Joe,” Steve said, “I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“What I mean is that Chris and Alex…”

“Shove over, hon,” the waitress said, interrupting Steve. She put a small pepperoni pizza in front of Steve, and a small triple meat special in front of Joe. The smell of spices and hot tomato sauce filled the air around the booth with a promise that the food was inevitably going to fail to follow through on.

“Now whose arteries are going to clog?” asked Steve as he grabbed a slice.

“Hey, it’s the safest thing in here,” Joe said. “Besides, I’ll just spend some extra time on the treadmill. Maybe a week.”

Joe took a bite of his own pizza, mostly to avoid having to talk about what he really wanted to. Steve’s comment had him puzzled enough to finally speak.

“What did you mean that Chris and Alex are the same subject?”

Steve was dreading this conversation, even though he knew that it had to be done.

“Y’see, what I meant was… that is… it’s like… Ah fuck it. There is no Alex Gagnon. Never was. It’s been Chris and I think he’s a little nuts.”

Joe just stared at him for a minute. This wasn’t anywhere near what he’d expected.

“If you were shooting for funny,” he finally said, “you missed.”

Steve sighed. “I’m serious. I looked. There is no record of an Alex Gagnon in the state of Connecticut. There are no birth records for him in this state, and there aren’t any in Arizona where Chris was born. The FBI don’t know about him, he’s got no credit record, and I even called folks back in his hometown who knew his family from way back. One kid, no bastard half-brothers, that’s it.”

“No. You’re wrong, Steve. I don’t know why you can’t find him – he disappears all the time so for all I know he works for the CIA and they blanked him out. He’s not the same guy. They smell different. Chris has a scar on his left shoulder that Alex doesn’t have. Alex’s hair is longer. And what did you mean when you said he was nuts?”

Steve debated not saying anything, but he was in this far, so he might as well continue.

“Chris’ grandmother lived next door to us when I was growing up. The house Chris has used to be hers, and she left it to him when she died. She used to tell us stories, before Chris moved in and after. The men on her husband’s side of the family were all mad. Heard voices, saw things, stuff like that. Chris’ dad did, I remember one Christmas when they were here visiting. I was maybe seven or eight, and he was having a screaming match with the trash cans in back of the house.

“Chris hasn’t ever said anything about it, but once in high school he was making out in the janitor’s closet with some guy named Matthew. Nobody knew, but I overheard the argument they had two days later when Chris wouldn’t even acknowledge the guy existed.

“He’s my best friend, and I love him like a brother, but I’m worried there’s something wrong. I really like you, Joe, you’re a good guy. I thought maybe if I got the two of you together when he was him and not Alex that he’d just deal with it, but he hasn’t. I dunno, maybe this is him having issues with being gay or something.”

Joe sat there idly toying with a piece of pizza as he worked over what Steve had just told him.

“So,” he finally said. “You’re saying Chris has a split personality because he can’t handle being gay?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Steve said. It wasn’t quite what he was thinking but it made a lot of sense.

“And you were trying to set us up because you thought it’d force him to confront it and that’d make everything all better?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s really fucked up, you do realize that, right?”

Steve shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

“And now… what? You want me to go?”

“God no! Are you kidding? You’re the best thing that’s happened to him since he met me. Why would I want you to go? What I want is for you to do is help.”

Joe shook his head. This was way outside of anything he’d ever had to deal with and he had no idea what to do.

“They’re not the same guy. Smell. Scar. Hair. And there’s no way that Chris would leave Toby alone while he went out with me. Not for a night, and definitely not for weekends, and we’ve had weekends.”

Steve waved that away. “Toby spends the nights with us often enough that he’s got stuffed animals in our spare bedroom. Chris and I have weird schedules, so Mary watches him overnight. Couple of times a week sometimes, and has since he was born.”

“No way. I don’t believe it. Besides, I’ve been at Alex’s apartment. It’s not big, but they don’t pay you guys enough to keep a spare around, do they?”

“Maybe they do,” Steve said. “If it’s small enough. I’m curious. Let’s go look.”

“Steve! We can’t just go to his apartment. And I have to get back, lunch is almost over.”

“Sure we can. You’re his boyfriend, what’s wrong with going to drop in on him by surprise during the afternoon?”

“No. Dammit, no. Besides…” Joe glanced down and fiddled with his pizza. “He’s not my boyfriend any more.”

Steve gave Joe surprised look. “Really? What happened?”