Geography of Murder (16 page)

"Clarence Dutton." No flash of recognition.

"Why would someone send a dead raven to anyone?"

"Not only dead, but stuffed. That took some thought. I don't imagine just anyone knows how to stuff an animal."

"I never liked stuffed animals. I know why they do it, but to me it seems ... creepy," he said. He stared at the screen.

"Beautiful birds. There are a lot of myths associated with ravens. More so than most birds."

152

Geography of Murder

by P. A. Brown

"What kind of myths?"

"They were deities to the Native Americans, not always benevolent ones. Some of their stories make the raven sound like coyote—a trickster. A game player. They're part of almost all creation myths. Sometimes ravens led dead souls to the underworld, other times they are harbingers of doom." He shrugged, clearly embarrassed by his overabundance of knowledge. It didn't suit his image as a party boy.

"Would the underworld be like hell?"

"Could be. Hades was the underworld in some stories. The overworld was heaven, I guess."

"Someone sending a message that this guy was going to hell?"

"Maybe," Jason said cautiously.

"Dutton was like Blunt. A pedophile who never got convicted. It's beginning to look like someone wanted to rectify that." More than anything I needed that warrant for Blunt's place. Tomorrow.

"Not necessarily a bad thing."

"Maybe, but it's still a crime and I have to investigate it."

He put his hands on my shoulders. I smelled him; clean musk and the lingering scent of sandalwood. "Do you ever wish that you aren't successful sometimes?"

"I can't be." I covered his hand with my own. "If I don't believe in the system, then it's time to quit."

I started the shut down process on the PC and stood up, signaling the conversation was over. I took his arm.

"Come on, I want a beer before hitting the sack."

153

Geography of Murder

by P. A. Brown

He cocked his head at me. "You mean I can have one, too?"

"Sarcasm, boy? You think that's a good idea?"

He flushed. "No, Sir. I'd love a beer. Thank you, Sir."

I headed for the living room. "Then go get us each one."

"Yes, Sir." He disappeared toward the kitchen. In the living room I sank back down on the sofa we were sharing. He came in and handed me an open Mexicali. Didn't sit.

I waited a good minute before looking back up at him.

"Sit."

He slid down beside me.

"Are you not happy with me?" he asked softly.

I didn't look at him. I raised my beer to my lips and took a deep swallow. Finally, "You have reason to believe I'm unhappy?"

"No ... I don't know. You don't make it easy to tell what you're thinking."

"And you think you're entitled to know my thoughts?"

"No—oh, forget it."

"No, I won't forget it. You want to challenge me, that's okay, but know what it means. I will rein you in. I think that's what you want." I reached over and took his chin in my hand, forcing him to look at me. "Is it?"

"No—Yes!" he said when I pinched his jaw. "Yes, it is what I want. What I need. You—"

I pushed his face away from me. "Not tonight." I stood up.

"Tonight you sleep here," I indicated the leather sofa. "Now, I'm going to bed."

154

Geography of Murder

by P. A. Brown

And I left him in the living room, the blank TV screen hissing softly in the background. I closed the bedroom door behind me. The whole time I spent preparing for bed I didn't hear a sound from the other room. Then after a while I heard the soft sounds of the TV. He was channel surfing. Was he restless with his need? Or just pissed off?

Eventually my exhaustion from nearly thirty-six hours of not sleeping caught up with me. I drifted into an easy sleep.

[Back to Table of Contents]

155

Geography of Murder

by P. A. Brown

I hugged one of the sofa's pillows to my chest and
fumed. Asshole. Couldn't even say thank you when I
helped him identify that bird. Why the hell did I put up
with it? Why didn't I tell him to go fuck himself and the
jackass he rode in on? What was it about this guy that
I put up with this shit? I
—

Except I knew why, didn't I? My body craved him, it was an addiction sicker than any desire I'd ever had for drugs. I wanted him and only him. I had no illusions that he understood the concept of monogamy. Yet he seemed to expect it of me. I threw the pillow across the room. The TV

showed some insipid late night infomercial with an equally insipid anorexic blonde bimbo hawking some insipid cooking utensil. I watched as she dumped meat and vegetables into a pan and seconds later produced something that looked like what I might feed a dog—if I didn't like the dog.

I retrieved the pillow and grabbed the other one, pumping them both up under my head. I lay on my side, still watching the moving images on the TV without really seeing them. I wish I hadn't taken off my flannel shirt. I could feel the chill invade the room. I thought about going in search of a blanket or sheet, but knew he'd hear my snooping. More punishment.

But this was worse than the punishment he'd meted out earlier. At least then he'd delivered the pain. Pain which so quickly become pleasure. But this, this was terrible. I felt more alone than I ever felt when I was by myself in my 156

Geography of Murder

by P. A. Brown

apartment for days on end. When I didn't have money enough to put gas in the car to go find someone to hold me for a few hours. Putting myself in danger every time I climbed into someone's car or took them home. I knew I had barely made it out of San Francisco in one piece. I was damn lucky I wasn't dying alone of some nasty plague like I had seen happen to others. I'd managed to avoid hustling on the streets for my living expenses, but only barely. There were times when I almost gave in to the offers, but I figured, why prove to my parents that they were right all along?

I never wanted to visit that place again. Was that why I put up with this shit? So I wouldn't be alone? How fucking sick was that? But he wanted me, didn't he? Had come looking for me when he could have found someone else down at the Vault. The Friday night he came to get me the Vault would have been alive with twinks and tweakers, happy to give him what he wanted in exchange for something. But he had wanted me. He invited me back here, even after he firmly told me he didn't want anyone in his life. So what had made him change his mind? Me?

Then why the silent treatment? The cold shoulder? To teach me a lesson?

Well, lesson taught. Grumpily I turned on my side, curling into a fetal position trying to get comfortable and warm enough to get some sleep. Eventually exhaustion dragged me down into a shallow sleep plagued by unpleasant dreams where a big black raven kept trying to pull me down into the earth to face unspeakable horrors, while Alex stood beside me, and didn't try to save me.

157

Geography of Murder

by P. A. Brown

I woke the next morning when the day was breaking with the first soft blush of pink. I was stiff and could barely move when I tried to sit up. Leather creaked and my face stuck to the pillow under me. I shoved it onto the floor and nearly followed it when two legs appeared in my narrow field of vision.

Hands grabbed me under the armpits and hauled me upright. "You look like you had a restful night." Alex looked down at my morning erection chafing against my jeans. "You might want to take care of that."

I shuffled past him into the bathroom, which was still filled with steam from his shower. I longed to take one too, but Alex appeared in the doorway. "Hurry up. I've got something for you."

"I can hardly wait," I muttered to his retreating back.

In the kitchen he had a mug of coffee already in front of him and had set out a second mug which I filled with blessedly hot strong coffee. He waited until I prepared a cup then pointed at the bar stool beside him.

"I want you to go to your place this morning," he said.

Despair filled me. He was sending me home. "I—"

"Listen first. I want you to get your car and bring it back here. You have a key. Bring some more clothes if you want."

"My car? Why—?"

"I don't like you being out here on your own without a vehicle. I wasn't kidding about some people looking for trouble. Most don't know about me, but once they realize you're staying here, they're going to put two and two 158

Geography of Murder

by P. A. Brown

together, and it's not going to paint a pretty picture. You got a cell, right?"

I nodded, confused by the turn the day had taken. The guy kept me permanently off-balance.

"Don't go anywhere without it."

"Where am I going to go?"

"You like to hike through the woods right? I don't want you getting caught out there. Keep your cell phone close. Does it have a GPS locater in it?"

"I-I don't know—"

"If it's less than five or six years old I'm sure it does. Try to keep it charged, so that when you're out you can keep it turned on."

"Jesus, what do you think is going to happen?"

"Nothing if I have anything to do with it."

"Why are you doing this?"

"I don't want anything to happen to you. Be content with that. You're coming to stay here. I want to keep you close."

No mention of needing me, or caring. Just that he wanted me close. But ... was that so horrible? Alex wasn't the type who got sentimental or soft for anyone or anything. He must care in some way to go to all this extra effort.

I nodded solemnly, suppressing the urge to grin like an idiot.

"Come on, get dressed. I need to get going. Do me a favor when you get back. There's some laundry in my room. Take care of it." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. "When do you get paid?"

"Next Thursday."

159

Geography of Murder

by P. A. Brown

He handed me two twenties. "This will tide you over. Put some gas in the car, I don't want you getting stranded up in the hills somewhere trying to chase down whatever it is you're chasing down. I'll be back around six. We'll talk about dinner then."

I was torn between telling him I couldn't take his money, to throwing myself in his arms. He did say until payday, so he probably expected it back. I stuffed it in my jeans pocket and said, "Thanks."

We were silent on the ride to my place. When he let me off he gave me a smoldering look and said simply, "Later."

"I'll be there," I murmured. He nodded and sped away.

I made my way inside my musty, empty room and carefully closed the door behind me. Then I let out a whoop that shook the thin walls and dashed to where my Murphy bed lay unfolded, and unmade, the blankets still rumpled from where I had risen to find Alex at the door. I started pulling out clothes and thinking of what I wanted to take.

There wasn't much I needed from the place. Clothes and books. My notebook with the life list I had been assembling of the birds I sighted over the years. Damn, I had that library book ... I still had two weeks left on it. Surely I'd be back in town in time to take it in or renew it. I decided to take it rather than swing by the library on my way out of town. I was in a hurry to get back before ... before what? Alex came to his senses and changed his mind? It had been his idea, without any prompting from me, so why would he do that? I had the feeling Alex Spider didn't make decisions lightly, nor did he change his mind often.

160

Geography of Murder

by P. A. Brown

For better or worse I was committed to this.

I was whistling again as I finished packing and loaded my little Honda up with everything important in my life, and headed back to the most important thing of all.

[Back to Table of Contents]

161

Geography of Murder

by P. A. Brown

"We need a federal warrant to access those military
records."

I had arrived at the station ten minutes before Nancy. She hadn't even got her jacket off before I hit her with my announcement.

"Good morning to you, too." She dropped into her chair and stabbed the power button on her PC. She didn't wait for it to power up before she swung around to glare at me. "Least you could do is bring me coffee if you're going to drop bombshells. What makes you think we can get a judge—a federal judge, no less—to sign off on a federal warrant on a couple of old Army gits?"

"My winning charm?"

She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, you think it's going to lead to anything?"

"Who knows? It's a long shot, but I got a feeling..."

"Oh right. That old Spidey gut."

"Hey, if it keeps Garcia's nose out of my affairs then it works for me."

"You could keep him out of your affairs by being a little less in his face about said affairs."

"If I was boffing prime pussy you think he'd give a fuck?

He can't stop thinking about me and whoever I'm getting it on with."

"You think?"

162

Geography of Murder

by P. A. Brown

I bent over my keyboard. I intended to get that warrant. It was too much of a coincidence that both our recent victims were ex-military. There had to be a connection but without the records of their service days, I was fishing in the dark.

I spent the morning fielding calls. The papers had made a connection between Blunt and Dutton and splashed it all over the front page. The papers made a big deal of there being no suspects. By eleven-forty I had listened to three confessions, a half a dozen people who swore they saw either Blunt or Dutton, one psychic who said the killer lived near the water—

good one, I felt like saying, we live on the fucking Pacific ocean—and a 5150 who said Elvis did it and was going to do him, too.

Well give him my regards I wanted to say. Instead, per our exalted leader's instructions, I listened to each caller through their rants and thanked them for their help. I'd be sure to get back to them if I had any other questions.