Black As Night: A Quentin Black Paranormal Mystery (Quentin Black Mystery Book 2)

by JC Andrijeski

  Thinking about them again, I let out a sharp exhale.

  “You mean apart from all of them being totally okay with referring to living, breathing children as ‘merchandise’?” I said, meeting Black’s gaze. “Or was it ‘acquisitions’?”

  “It was both. And yes. Answer the question, Miriam.”

  I fought to think about what I could feel him asking me.

  “You think one of those four could be doing it?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “And clearly you think it’s not only religious. You also think it’s sexual?”

  “Yes.”

  Frowning harder, I adjusted my weight on his thighs, ignoring Black’s reaction and the pain I still felt coiling between us. I fought to think about the different impressions I’d gotten from the four men sitting on that rooftop terrace. Finally I sighed, combing my fingers through my long hair and ignoring Black’s eyes watching me do it.

  “I don’t know, Black,” I said. “Frankly, it doesn’t really work like that. There are different kinds of pedophiles.”

  “How many different kinds?” he said.

  I looked down to find him watching me intently. His eyes were still glassy as he gripped my leg, but he was definitely listening to me too. Ignoring the hotter flush of... whatever... off him, I averted my gaze with another light shrug, resting my hands on his chest.

  “It’s more like variants on several larger subtypes,” I said, switching to a more clinical-sounding voice. “There are what you call ‘predisposed’ pedophiles, which is what laypeople usually think of as ‘real’ pedophiles. Those are the ones who, for a variety of possible reasons, are specifically attracted to kids. Even within the predisposed, there are exclusive versus non-exclusive varieties.”

  Feeling a whisper of question off him, I clarified,

  “The exclusive ones are only attracted to kids. They often have a specific age bracket they target... usually within two to four years in age span, often under twelve years of age, but on the high end, so pre-pubescent but near pubescent. It’s thought that they target those ages because they’re generally easier to groom. They’re more likely to be curious... or at least confused. The non-exclusive ones can be attracted to both adults and children and generally have much wider age spans in terms of preference within both categories. Either type can be bisexual, homosexual or heterosexual. Sex and gender preferences haven’t been shown to have any bearing at all on the likelihood of pedophilia.”

  Exhaling, I thought again, pretty much out loud that time.

  “...There are also opportunistic pedophiles, Black,” I added. “Which are fairly different from the predisposed ones. The predisposed... even the nonexclusive predisposed... have an active and usually conscious sexual attraction for children. The opportunistic ones may not think about children in that way apart from being presented with a specific opportunity. But they still might act if that opportunity were present.”

  Seeing him listening still, I shrugged, listing off sub-types with my fingers.

  “...Some opportunists simply have impulse-control issues. Some are drug addicts. Some are psychopaths who don’t give a damn about social mores or ethical issues and will gratify themselves with whatever and whoever happens to be available at a given moment. Some are more consciously sadistic and get off on the problems they cause their victims, both during and after. For those it’s more about ‘breaking’ the victim, a process they sexualize...”

  Grimacing, I combed my fingers through my hair again.

  “All of the types I’ve mentioned, meaning all variants of predisposed and opportunistic, have a higher percentage of anti-social personality disorder markers...” At Black’s blank look, I clarified, “Psychopaths. Many more of them display traits of psychopathy... particularly the diminishment of empathy. A fair chunk of the predisposed also have lower IQs than average, although that’s mostly true of the ones with an exclusive preference. The majority are sadists of one kind or another. Or narcissists.”

  Pausing another beat, I shrugged, my hands again on his chest.

  “So really, there’s not much I can tell you about those four on the roof, other than the fact that they all displayed psychopathic markers, so of course it’s possible. Given the different types and variables I listed, I would need to know more to say anything more definitive. The variety in pedophilia-oriented tendencies is what makes pedophiles so difficult to profile unless they’re caught in the act... even the serial ones.”

  Black said, “So it could be any one of them?”

  “Yes,” I said, looking down with a frown. “That’s what I just said. I’d need to know more, Black. Or I’d have to be able to use...” I glanced at the driver then back at Black, biting my lip. “...Other methods. To discern the truth.”

  “What does your gut tell you?”

  “My ‘gut,’ as you call it, was switched off, Black. That’s kind of my point.”

  He shook his head, his eyes skeptical. “It’s never off entirely.” Massaging my leg with one hand, he tugged me closer again. “Your intellect would still be pulling connections. Past experience... impressions.” He lowered his voice, leaning closer to me. “You still have a seer’s mind, Miriam. Highly structured abstract thought. More ability to find relationships between seemingly inconsequential and unrelated details... highly empathic...”

  I thought about that too.

  Sighing when he realized he was right, that I had formed a few opinions, even without my psychic ability, I resettled my weight in his lap after he pulled me towards him again. I ignored it when another plume of that heat left him.

  “All right,” I said, my clinical voice back on. “If it were me, I would look at the guy who didn’t talk.”

  “Which one was that?”

  “The doughy-faced one,” I said. “Sitting to my right.”

  “Donald?”

  I shrugged, looking down at him. “I didn’t get a name. But he displayed a few of the secondaries for an exclusive preferential. He wore a kind of ‘little kid’ mask when I looked him directly in the eye. And he hid from me... socially, I mean... when I wasn’t looking at him, which was pretty much the entire meeting. He also seemed to be feigning arousal when the others joked about me sexually...”

  I felt the beginnings of Black’s smile and cut him off.

  “...The lack of arousal isn’t strange,” I said, my voice a touch warning as I refolded my arms. “But pretending to be aroused is. It suggests he’s used to pretending to be aroused by what other men are sexually aroused by. Other things could explain that, of course. You sometimes see the same thing in closeted homosexuals, especially those from very traditional, religious or certain high-status backgrounds. You also see it with pedophiles.”

  Watching Black turn over my words, I opened my mind. I didn’t really think about it much before I did it––well, other than the thought that showing him would be easier.

  I’d also forgotten he’d told me not to use my psychic ability.

  I sent him a snapshot of the man in question. I picked the moment when “Donald” had been smiling at me, staring at my chest with that blank, boyish look... right after he’d let out that odd, off-putting laugh. I felt a flush of reaction off Black, right before he pressed up against me.

  “Gaos,” he murmured. “Don’t do that, doc.”

  I bit my lip. “Sorry.” I glanced around the car. “...Although it can’t possibly matter now, right? We’re blocks away from the hotel... in a moving vehicle.”

  “It could,” he said cryptically.

  When that heat coming off him intensified, I gave his shoulder a light shove.

  “Did you get that?” I said. “The actual information I showed you?”

  “I’m still in shock,” he murmured. “You’re a fast learner, doc. I know I should yell at you for doing that, but instead I’m harboring dirty thoughts again...”

  I smacked his shoulder a second time, but I couldn’t help laughing too.

  I found
myself thinking how strange it was that things could flip between us so easily. I wondered if my relaxing around Black stemmed partly from the contrast I felt between him and what I’d gotten off those men on the roof.

  “Yes,” he said, glancing up. “Yes, that’s part of it. Instinct, doc. You could tell those men were dangerous.” Tugging me closer, he murmured in my ear, “You trust me, doc. Whether you know it or not, your light knows it. You trust me... and I trust you.”

  When I pressed my lips together, he stroked the hair out of my face. Still holding me close, he lowered his voice even more.

  “It’s normal for a seer to want to share light with someone they trust after feeling themselves in danger.” He kissed my cheek, caressing it with his. “Those men scared you. You want to be in my light... just like I want to be in yours.”

  I felt myself flush. After he kissed my face again, I raised my head, withdrawing from the contact. I found myself avoiding the more intense feelings he began to emanate, too.

  Even so, I thought about his words, staring out the window of the car.

  There was too much there though... too many layers of meaning packed into what he’d said just then... certainly way too much for me to unpack it all right now.

  Anyway, I’d trusted Ian once, too.

  Apparently my decisions around trusting people weren’t always particularly sound.

  Black tightened his hand around my thigh. Feeling something shift in the emotions coming off him, I faced him before he could speak.

  “Did you see what I actually showed you?” I said. “Black?”

  Glancing down, I firmed my lips when I saw the tauter scrutiny in his eyes.

  “Cut it out,” I warned.

  “Doc...” He hesitated. “We should talk about that. About Ian. I can feel you suppressing it. It’s really not healthy for people like us to do that, even more so than with––”

  I smacked his shoulder with my hand, a little less playfully that time.

  “Not now,” I said, my voice openly warning. “I said cut it out, okay? Psychoanalyze me in San Francisco, if you want.”

  “Psychoanalysis isn’t really my specialty,” he said with a wan smile. “I’d rather fuck you repeatedly and share light and help you get over it that way...”

  I smacked him again, and that time he laughed. I felt another ripple go through him from the hit though, and clenched my jaw. Still, it was hard to get genuinely angry at him for some reason. Of course, I knew that could change on a dime, too.

  “Hey,” I said. “Pay attention. I’m trying to teach you something. Did you see how that ‘Donald’ kind of, I don’t know... simpered at me? He was cloaking with a kid’s persona. That’s pretty typical of an exclusive pedophile. They think of themselves as kids too... it’s part of how they normalize and rationalize what they do. I don’t know if you caught it, but I also saw at least one micro-expression there... including a flicker of disgust towards me... specifically, my breasts. So he definitely has ambivalent feelings about adult women. Maybe about females in general. He gave me more of a ‘dirty mommy’ look than one of objectification. Normal homosexuals don’t do that, either. Their affect towards women usually registers as flat. Indifferent.”

  Black nodded. He seemed to be thinking again, even as he continued to massage my thigh. He frowned as he turned his head, gazing out the one-way window.

  “You think whoever is killing these kids is molesting them first?” I said.

  He looked up. “Yes. That might even be why they’re killing them.”

  “So they can’t talk?” I said, still not following him totally. “Why would they care, if they’re trafficking them anyway?”

  “I don’t think ‘they’ do,” Black said somewhat cryptically. “I think for the syndicate, it’s more likely to be about perception. Or...” He gave a sideways shrug. “...It could be a disposal thing. Either way, they wouldn’t take a risk like that for a foot soldier. Which is why I wanted you to look at the leadership here in Bangkok.”

  “But you also said you think the pedophile himself might be killing them?”

  Black nodded more slowly. “Yes.”

  I stared out the window, watching the scenery slide by without really seeing it. “Sometimes a pedophile will kill their victims because they can’t face what they’ve done. It’s not usually empathy, though. It’s more that they can’t reconcile the reality with how they want to see themselves...”

  I trailed when I glanced down at Black.

  I barely comprehended what I was seeing before he wiped his face, using the back of his hand. My grip tightened on his shoulders. Sliding closer to him, I wound my hands into his hair, coaxing him to look up. He didn’t meet my gaze but turned his head obediently. I felt him relax when I didn’t let go, leaning more heavily into my fingers.

  It hit me that I’d blown by a few things he’d said to me. His friend, Kevin. Black saying he was too much of a coward to face him alone.

  Black knew the kid they’d taken.

  He was the child of one of his friends.

  I’d been doing the clinical thing of distancing myself from the victims as we’d talked. I didn’t really blame myself for that; it’s a survival mechanism that most cops and a lot of doctors employ. Some days, it’s the only way to face the kinds of darkness we see in the course of our jobs––at least without going crazy, or maybe living a little too deeply in that darkness ourselves.

  I’d assumed Black had his own protective measures in place.

  He’d been a soldier, after all. Hell, like Nick, I’d assumed Black had done time as an assassin, given his sealed military service records and the number of his ops marked highly classified. I’d wondered if he might even still be one... say for the occasional specialty job for the United States government or one of their sub-contractors, for example.

  I watched, silent, as Black wiped his eyes again, using the heel of his hand.

  I was still watching as he looked back out the window.

  “They’re going to terrorize that poor kid for two weeks because of me,” he said, quieter.

  Watching his eyes as they tracked the scenery going by, I had no idea what to say.

  Something else hit me too as I thought over our conversation, tracking different pieces of it back to the look on Black’s face now as he stared out the window.

  Nick was wrong about Black.

  I’d been wrong about him too... especially when I first met him in that interrogation room at the Northern District SFPD building.

  Whatever else he might be, Black wasn’t a psychopath.

  In fact, I was beginning to think he was about as far from a psychopath as a person could possibly be.

  7

  LAWLESS

  BLACK’S FRIEND, KEVIN Lawless, wasn’t what I expected.

  For one thing, he was a lot older than I’d thought he’d be. I’d expected someone more or less Black’s and my age, partly because Black muttered about having met Lawless in the military, and partly because of the age of the missing child.

  Instead, after an older Thai woman ushered us through the foyer and into a high-ceilinged living room with bamboo shades and traditional-looking ceiling fans, a grizzled man who had to be at least in his mid-seventies got up to greet us. He looked a little surprised to see me, but broke out in a guileless grin when he saw Black standing just behind me.

  After nodding a greeting in my direction, he walked right up to Black to throw his arms around him in a bear hug. I watched, smiling a little in spite of myself as Lawless broke out in a full-on grin, right before he smacked Black on the back and then began dragging him bodily into the room, despite the fact that Black had to be over a foot taller than him and probably had thirty pounds on him at least.

  I don’t think Lawless let go of him once after that initial hug. Even as he extended a hand towards me after Black told him my name, he gripped Black’s arm in his other hand.

  He still looked openly curious as he gave me a warm, strong hand
shake.

  He didn’t bother to hide that curiosity either as he looked me over before raising his eyebrows at Black in an open question.

  “Welcome, welcome,” he said to me, pumping my arm energetically.

  He had calloused hands at the end of long, tanned, tattooed arms. The tattoos had faded quite a bit with time and were half-covered in a light coating of gray hair, but I still recognized one of them beside the blurred images of dragons and jungle cats and Thai characters––the distinctive de oppresso liber crossed arrows and sword mark of Army Special Forces.

  So he’d been a green beret. Interesting.

  I glanced around nonchalantly while Lawless said something to the older Thai woman, who acted more like a maid or a housekeeper than a girlfriend, I noticed, despite the fact that she yelled at him a few times in the course of their discussion. Maybe a caretaker, I thought, given his age and the fact that he appeared to live alone.

  This didn’t look like a place where a child lived, although I definitely saw signs that one visited.

  A widescreen television sat in the corner by a long cloth couch, with two brand new game controllers on the carpet below. A trunk stood against the same wall that might have toys in it. Most of the room had a distinct “bachelor” look to it, however. Art hung on the walls. Tall bookshelves contained spines written in Thai and English and in front of them stood pictures of people, some in color and some black and white. In at least one I glimpsed, a red-haired child smiled out of the frame, covered in freckles.

  I didn’t get close enough to really look, though.

  Holding both arms out to herd us deeper into the room, Lawless continued chatting to Black about what he’d done to the house, motioning towards the back end where apparently he’d re-landscaped the backyard. I happened to glance at the older Thai woman as he did it, and saw her watching me, a harder scrutiny in her eyes. Her face blanked as soon as I looked at her, so completely and seamlessly that I blinked, doubting that I’d seen that scrutiny at all. Did she know who Black was? Was she curious about me showing up here with him too?