by Gregory Ashe
“I like ogling you.”
“It’s objectifying.”
“Hell yes, it is.”
“Could you please focus?”
“Have you been doing more crunches? How is that even possible?”
Snapping his fingers, Hazard said, “Hey.”
Somers’s face stilled, and he said, “Honestly, I don’t know. He’s never done this before. Disappeared like this. I can’t think of a single rational explanation for why he’d go AWOL. The last message I got from him was about checking out a lead, but there’s no reason he wouldn’t have followed up by now. Even if he were out of state, he could have called and let me know.”
Hazard spoke slowly: “He might not be contacting you on purpose, John.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think,” Hazard said, picking his words carefully, “it’s very unlikely that Nico and Dulac coincidentally disappeared at the same time.”
“Wait a minute. You think Dulac had something to do with this?”
“I don’t have any evidence of that.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“I think that he fits a lot of the criteria for this killer,” Hazard said. “So do a lot of people. Noah fits them too.”
“And Darnell,” Somers said. “He was on your list too. But it wasn’t Darnell.”
“No, that was a hypothesis. The evidence didn’t bear it out.”
“Who else?”
“Wesley.” Hazard shrugged. “And Nico, although honestly, Nico is a long shot.”
“Because you dated him.”
“No,” Hazard stopped and studied Somers: the color high in his cheeks, hands clenched at his sides. “Why are you angry?”
“I’m not angry. I just think it’s funny that you’re dead set on Dulac being part of this somehow, and Nico barely merits a mention.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“They both disappeared at the same time. Did you think it might be the other way? Maybe Nico had something to do with Dulac disappearing.”
“Maybe,” Hazard said. “Although Nico would have needed some way to overpower Dulac, since, based on what we know, Dulac would be more likely to have an advantage in—where are you going?”
“Work.”
Hazard pounded after him; in her bedroom, Evie was shrieking something about her play kitchen. He caught Somers at the stairs.
“I am not mad,” Somers said, sounding very reasonable again.
“Great.”
“I just have a hard time believing that one of our friends is a psychopath and a serial killer.”
“We talked about why—”
“And we talked about why it might not be, too.”
Hazard cocked his head, and then he hooked a finger behind the knot of Somers’s tie, dragging the blond man up a step.
“Stop messing around.”
Hazard tugged a little harder, and Somers came up another step.
“Stop,” Somers said, “you’re making me late.”
“For someone who’s not mad,” Hazard said, tugging again, “you’re yelling at me a lot.”
Stumbling onto the landing at the top of the stairs, Somers swiped at Hazard’s hand, but Hazard didn’t let go. Instead, Hazard kissed him once and said, “You are the one I’m loyal to. You are the most important thing in my life. If I have to rip down the rest of the world to find this asshole, I will. But you come first.”
Somers squirmed a little, still trying to pry Hazard’s hand free. Then he gave up and folded his arms and focused on a spot over Hazard’s shoulders.
Hazard kissed him again.
“That is not going to work,” Somers muttered.
Hazard kissed him a third time.
With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Somers said, “And Evie.”
“And Evie,” Hazard said. “You and Evie. The most important things in my life.”
Blowing out a breath, Somers said, “Fine. I understand. I just don’t . . . like it.”
“That’s because you’re a nice person, and you like having friends.”
“I believe you were the one who volunteered to babysit for Noah and Rebeca and then gave them tickets to a Lady Gaga concert.”
“That’s because we owed them, and by assigning a dollar amount to the time they spent babysitting and assessing the street value of those tickets—”
Somers covered Hazard’s mouth. “I will honestly scream if I have to deal with this right now. I understand. I do. It’s just not easy for me. Please try not to burn every bridge in this town. I would one day like to be an old man who plays golf with friends, and that is looking less and less likely.”
“Technically,” Hazard said when Somers pulled his hand away, “you can play golf by yourself.”
“Goodbye.”
“Or you could just go to the driving range.”
“I can’t hear you.”
“We could get you one of those putting games and put it in the office.”
“I do not like this side of you that thinks he’s allowed to manhandle and tease,” Somers shouted back, his voice distant now. “One or the other, please.”
“Happy Fourth of July,” Hazard called as the door to the garage shut.
Hazard got Evie ready, dropped her at Cora’s, and drove to Wahredua Regional. The holiday had manifested in red, white, and blue bunting, miniature American flags, and paper decorations in the shape of fireworks that some patriotic soul had taped to the walls. Near the elevators, a laser-printer sign announced RIBS! PULLED PORK! COLE SLAW! JOIN US IN THE DINING HALL FOR A TASTE OF AMERICA! If the smell were anything to go by, the taste of America would be lemon disinfectant and chrome polish.
Visiting hours were already in effect, so Hazard took the elevator up and made his way to see Darnell. The big man was in a room with two beds; he occupied the one near the door, while a woman with inch-long turquoise nails took the other. She waved at Hazard, twiddling the nails at him, and popped her gum.
“Hiya, doll.”
Hazard ignored her and took a chair by Darnell.
“Well,” gum-popper said. “Rude.”
“That’s Sheila,” Darnell said.
“Good for her,” Hazard said, studying Darnell. The big man’s color was better, although he still had the dark circles under his eyes. “Why are you in here?”
“Heart attack. They said I’ve got three blocked—”
“No, in here.” Hazard stabbed a finger at the other bed. “With Sheila.”
“Insurance,” Darnell said with a shrug. “If you’re not a town hero, they don’t provide special accommodations. Most people’s insurance only gives you a semi-private room.”
“There’s no such thing as semi-private,” Hazard said. “Either something is private, or it isn’t. This isn’t. This is a fucking nightmare.”
“It’s not so bad,” Sheila said. “Donny and I have all sorts of great talks. I put on my stories, and I tell him about everybody because Donny hasn’t ever seen General Hospital. Can you believe that? Tell him, Donny.”
“Who the fuck is Donny?” Hazard said.
Darnell raised his hand discreetly.
“Jesus Christ,” Hazard said.
“And then Ellen comes on,” Sheila said, “and I like to tell Donny about her dancing because he can’t see her. That’s usually when he gets tired, though, and he has to close his eyes and rest for a little while.”
“Does your TV not work?” Hazard said, glancing up at the wall-mounted unit.
“Uh,” Darnell said, glancing away, a flush lighting him up behind the beard.
“It’s too loud with both of them,” Sheila said, popping her gum again. “It’s so much easier if I just tell him what’s going on.”
“All right,” Hazard said. “That’s enough of that.” He stood up and pulled the curtain.
“Hey, no fair. Donny, we had a deal—”
“For th
e love of God,” Hazard snapped, dragging the curtain back so he could stare at Sheila for a moment. She shrank back in the bed, turquoise nails pressed to her face. “Be. Quiet.”
He held her gaze for a moment longer, and then he let the curtain drop. Darnell was staring at him.
“Sorry,” Hazard mumbled.
“Are you kidding?” Darnell whispered. “Thank you. It’s like a bad dream. I’ve even started thinking of myself as Donny sometimes.” The big man fumbled with the bedding, and his gaze slid away. “Have you heard anything about Gray?”
“No,” Hazard said, drawing the laptop out of a backpack. “In fact, we need your help.”
“That’s Gray’s,” Darnell said. “What’s going on?”
“We don’t know. All we know is that Nico was supposed to pick up a friend, get the moving truck, and help Dulac load it. Nico never showed up. And now no one can get in touch with Dulac. With either of them, actually.” Hazard passed the laptop. “We’re hoping you can get us past his password and help us figure out where he might be.”
Opening the device, Darnell pressed something, and the screen came to life. The Windows 10 background appeared, and when Darnell tapped something, the computer prompted him for a password. Darnell stopped and looked up at Hazard.
“Isn’t there some way to reset it?” Hazard said. “I know how to do that on older versions, but not on this new one.”
“I’m not a hacker,” Darnell said. “I told you that. If I had time, I could ship this out to some guys I work with. They could have a go at it. But we’re talking, I don’t know, probably three days minimum.”
“We don’t have that kind of time. What about his password?”
“I don’t know his password.”
“You’re his boyfriend.”
“I don’t know his password. He never told me.”
“You helped him with his computer before.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t ask for his password.”
Gum popped on the other side of the curtain; Hazard was almost certain he could smell Juicy Fruit. A page rustled.
“Nobody asked me,” Sheila said, “but I read in Better Homes and Gardens that most people use password as their password. Or 1234. Or their birthday.”
With a shrug, Darnell began typing.
“Don’t you dare,” Hazard said.
“It’s a good suggestion.”
Hazard tried not to groan.
Darnell typed and clicked and shook his head. Then he went through it again. Then again.
“Well?” Sheila asked.
“It didn’t work,” Hazard said through gritted teeth.
“That’s why I said most people.” Gum popped again, definitely Juicy Fruit. “Oh! What about names of pets?”
“He doesn’t have pets.”
“What about pets he had as a kid?”
“He didn’t have pets as a kid,” Hazard roared, yanking the curtain back and fixing Sheila with another glare. She jumped as though she’d been goosed, and then she put a hand over heart and made a cooing noise. “Please turn on the TV and watch your program,” Hazard said, trying to moderate his tone and not doing very well. “Thank you for trying to help.”
Then he jerked the curtain back into place.
“Most people don’t yell when they’re saying thank you,” Darnell said.
Hazard turned slowly toward him.
“Uh,” Darnell said, “right. Anyway. You’re sure Gray didn’t have pets when he was a kid.”
“It’s logical.”
“Wait. You don’t know?”
“Based on the details I do know—”
“I’m going to check his Facebook page,” Darnell said, getting out his phone and tapping at the screen.
Hazard sank into the vinyl-covered chair, trying to think. What would Dulac use as a password? Dulac liked partying; he liked hot guys; he liked himself—young and attractive and in charge. Something to do with police work? An important case he had closed? Or something more . . . personal. A porn star he liked? A high-end alcohol that was trendy right now? A favorite sex toy or position or inclination?
The door opened, and the curtain billowed on the sudden movement of air. A woman’s voice asked, “What’s going on in here? We heard some yelling.”
A snap-crackle-pop of gum followed, and Sheila said, “Nothing, doll. Just the TV.”
“How are you doing today, Miss Sheila?”
“Better, doll. A lot better.”
“Let’s get your vitals while I’m here.”
Hazard tuned out the rest of the conversation, trying to get his thoughts back on track. He had watched, statistically, a sub-average amount of porn, and it was unlikely he’d be able to guess who Dulac favored. He also doubted that he’d be able to guess a sex toy or predilection, if Dulac were using one as a password. Hazard had been mildly shocked in a few unfortunate conversations to find that Dulac was substantially more . . . worldly than he was. At least, in some areas.
Pulling out his phone, Hazard decided to try to look for old news stories about Dulac’s cases in Springfield. Maybe something there had been big enough, career defining, and Dulac might refer to it in a password. As he tapped through the search, bits and pieces of Sheila’s conversation with the nurse filtered through.
“. . . and very take charge . . . just walked right in here . . . says please and thank you . . . easy on the eyes, oh yes,” and, salted through the whole conversation, “tingling.”
Hazard’s head came up slowly. Darnell was staring at him.
“Tingling,” Darnell breathed.
“If you ever say a fucking word of this,” Hazard said.
Darnell nodded frantically and then started scratching at his beard. It must have been a bad itch because he had his hand up there a long time.
“Well?” Hazard said.
“No pets,” Darnell said.
Hazard struggled for a moment and then said, “Huh.”
“I’m going to ask John-Henry how he does this every day.”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. What do you have?”
Hazard tossed his phone on the seat next to him and rubbed his face. “Nothing. He did good work in Springfield, but nothing earth shattering.”
“What about a number?” Darnell said. “He’s got a pin enabled for this device. I already tried his birthday.”
“Nobody asked me,” pop-pop-pop, “but I used Mr. Twistyknicker’s birthday for my ATM machine card.”
“ATM,” Hazard snapped. “The M already means machine. And he didn’t have a pet.”
Pages rustled. “Of course, if I had someone significant in my life, I might use their birthday.” Pause. “But I don’t.” A longer pause, and more page rustling. “I’m unattached.”
Darnell was scratching his beard again.
“I swear to Christ, Darnell, one word.”
“Let me just—” Darnell had to stop to try to catch his breath. “I guess I’ll just try my birthday.” He keyed in the numbers and shook his head.
“What about an ex?” Hazard asked. “Was he dating anyone seriously before you? Back in Springfield? Maybe something that ended badly, and he might have fixated?”
Darnell’s face paled. He pushed the laptop away, until it rested on his knees.
“What?” Hazard said.
“Did—” Darnell toyed with the laptop, working the hinged screen back and forth. “Did John-Henry talk to you about this?”
“About what?”
“Geez. Ok. Um, I tried to keep this, uh, quiet, I guess. Because Gray promised me it was over. And because I didn’t want to, um, make waves.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What’s John-Henry’s birthday?”
“December 24, 1983.”
Darnell typed four numbers, and then he passed the laptop to Hazard. Hazard accepted it, staring as the log-in screen changed to the virtual desktop.
“I really don’t want to talk about it,” Darnell said in a quiet voice.
Hazard nodded. He didn’t want to talk about it either. He just wanted to find Gray Dulac and beat the ever-living shit out of him.
Letting that rage take control was dangerous, though, so Hazard focused on the device in front of him. A web browser was already open on the screen, with what looked like a hundred tabs; a kind of virtual version of not cleaning up your own mess. Hazard clicked through them one by one: an email web client, with about twenty missed BIGGEST SALE OF THE SUMER messages from the previous few days; multiple pages with tips and suggestions for making your move as easy as possible (one genius tip was throw it all away and buy new stuff, which made Hazard cringe); and then, right in the middle, a tab open to the Missouri State Beekeeper’s Association. It was their list of local honey sellers. Hazard had to admit, he was impressed that Dulac had taken the same route in his search for the bees, but he already knew it was a dead end. He clicked to the next tab and found a webpage giving directions to somewhere in Golden City, Missouri, a town in the southwest corner of the state. Hazard moved to click past it—it was near Springfield, where Dulac had lived before moving to Wahredua, and Hazard assumed it was a personal connection— and then he stopped.
There were no local chapters of the Missouri State Beekeepers in Golden City. There were no local honey sellers. Hazard knew; he had memorized those damn printouts from looking at them so many times.
But he had trained himself to be thorough and rigorous and critical.
He clicked back and scanned the Missouri State Beekeepers list and saw it at the bottom. Victor Kleinheider Family Hives.
He had printed off the lists.
He hadn’t checked. Hadn’t seen if they’d been updated.
“Shit,” he said, grabbing the laptop and running for the door.
“What?” Darnell shouted after him.
“I made a huge mistake.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JULY 4
THURSDAY
11:16 AM
HOLIDAY TRAFFIC REALLY wasn’t bad, probably because most people traveled before and after the Fourth, instead of on the day itself. Hazard made excellent time. He called and left a message for Somers, letting him know where he was headed, and he still hadn’t heard back from him by the time he got to the outskirts of Golden City, a twin to every other small Midwestern town. On the outskirts, fields of alfalfa and corn crashed to a stop against cinderblock buildings with tin roofs and sheds of corrugated metal; then came matchbook-sized homes from the 50s, 60s, and 70s, small, with peeling paint or crumbling tuckpointing; then a downtown of brick storefronts. When he idled at a light, a boy and girl, each holding a joint, both dressed in ripped black denim, jogged in front of him. At the sidewalk they dropped the skateboards under their arms and kept moving, not missing a beat as they transitioned. He thought they were both probably twelve.
