by Hank Edwards
"Oh, really? I didn't know that."
"It's the truth. I did that after he escaped at the beginning of the year, and I knew he was not only a psychopath but also gay—and, by the way, thanks to Morgan for fulfilling the Hollywood stereotype, you know? Anyway, I printed off his picture from the most wanted page of the FBI website and hung it up. That fucker's not getting to anyone else I know if I can help it."
"But he got to Erik," Mark said.
Calvin was quiet a moment. "Yeah, he got to Erik."
"I wonder if he's got an accomplice," Mark suggested. "Someone he's working with who meets guys and takes them back to Morgan."
"That's pretty fucking twisted," Calvin said. "And it would mean he'd have to find another gay man to help him murder five men."
"Or someone who hates gays and isn't afraid of the attention they'd receive at a gay bar or some place in order to get what they want."
"Can we not discuss this any longer?" Calvin asked in a quiet voice. "I'd like to keep that delicious lunch down."
"Yeah, of course," Mark replied. "I'm sorry. I guess I tend to think darker thoughts these days."
They were quiet the rest of the way to the center. Calvin found a parking spot at the back of a large lot that serviced a number of shops and restaurants as well as the community center.
He shut off the engine and looked over at Mark. "Out of the victims, I only really knew Erik, but when I saw the pictures of the other men, I recognized each of them. I'd seen them at the bar on occasion, though not on the nights they disappeared. But it makes me wonder, you know, if maybe I hadn't just missed being selected by whoever is hunting these men."
Mark took Calvin's hand and squeezed it. Calvin's palm was damp with sweat, and Mark could see a line of it glistening just above his lip.
"I'm sorry, Cal. But I like to think you're pretty smart when it comes to going off with strange men."
"I like to think so, too," Calvin said. "But there's always the chance the guy wants to just walk me to my car, or have me follow him somewhere for a nightcap. I mean, how many times have I done that? When you and I met at the bar, we went out to a diner and had pie."
Mark smiled. "I remember that. It was really good pie."
"It was," Calvin agreed. "We should go back to that place again while you're in town."
"It's a date."
Calvin pulled him in across the center console for a strong hug. As Mark clung to him, Calvin whispered, "I'm so scared for you, Mark. Please keep yourself safe."
"I'm scared for me, too," Mark whispered back. "And I promise."
Calvin leaned back and smiled at him with tears in his eyes. "See what you've done to me? I can't go in there like this. They'll think I'm weak."
They both laughed, and Calvin grabbed a couple of tissues from a box in the backseat, handing one to Mark before dabbing at his eyes. A few moments later, with their emotions in check, they nodded to each other, then got out of the car and crossed the parking lot to enter the community center.
While Calvin stopped to talk to the people at the front desk, Mark walked around the lobby with a smile on his face. Floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto the street seemed to state "We're done hiding," to the world. A coffee bar was up and running with a short line of people waiting to be served and a number of others sitting in comfortable furniture and at cafe tables scattered throughout the area. Colorful artwork adorned the walls, as well as an 8-x-10 picture of a handsome young man. Cards and Post-It notes surrounded the photograph, and Mark stepped up for a closer look. The name under the picture read Erik Hamill, and the cards and notes had been left by a variety of people stating how much they missed him.
"Mark?" Calvin called from the desk. "I want to introduce you."
Mark tamped down the melancholy welling within him and walked over to stand before the chest-high counter. He smiled and reached over to shake the hands of the man and woman sitting behind it as Calvin introduced them.
"This is Brenda and Harry," Calvin said. "This is my very dear friend, Mark Beecher. He's abandoned me here in Detroit for a life in Washington, DC with a hunky FBI agent."
"Oh my," Harry said.
"Do tell," Brenda added.
Mark laughed and felt himself blush. "Not much I can tell." He leaned in a little over the counter and lowered his voice. "Top secret stuff, you know."
They all laughed, and then Calvin led Mark to a flight of stairs and a second level where small offices looked down over the coffee shop area.
"You have an office!" Mark exclaimed. He stopped outside the door and smiled as he looked at the nameplate set on the door that read Calvin Gilbert. "I love it."
Calvin sat at a small round conference table situated in the back corner, and Mark sat across from him. A modular metal desk took up the opposite corner and a portion of the wall, leaving space for a file cabinet and a small floor lamp with a decorative scarf draped over it.
"I gotta tell you," Calvin said in a low voice. "When I came in here for the first time, it was like the final scene from Working Girl, you know?"
Mark laughed and grasped Calvin's hand tight. "When Melanie Griffith discovers she's got her own office and her own secretary?"
"Executive assistant, if you please." They both laughed, and then Calvin said, "I saw you noticed the picture of Erik down there."
"I did. It's a lovely tribute."
"Still don't believe it sometimes," Calvin said, and looked away. "I find myself surprised by his death at least once a day, you know? And it's been weeks since it happened. I wonder when that goes away?"
"I'm sure it fades with time."
"That's a sad thought, too, isn't it?" Calvin asked.
Mark nodded. "It is. I'm so sorry, Cal. I know this is hard for you. But anything you or anyone else here might remember could really go a long way toward finding Morgan and stopping him once and for all."
"You know I'll help however I can. And I'm sure everyone around here would as well. I'm not sure how much help we'd be, though. Like I said, it's been weeks."
"You never know. Someone may have remembered something since then, but thought it wasn't important. Maybe we can schedule some time for anyone who would be willing to talk to come here and Aaron could meet up with everyone?"
"I know the other kids would be a lot more comfortable here," Calvin said. "Do you think Aaron would be open to that?"
"Absolutely," Mark said without hesitation. "I can talk to him about it later tonight."
"That would be good. And if he wants to talk to me, I'm available here or down at the bar."
"We're going to find Morgan," Mark said. "You know that, right?"
"I know," Calvin replied. "It's just… I'm worried about what it's going to cost you."
"Me?"
"Yeah, you. I know you took a big step driving yourself here, but you're still not completely over what happened to you, Mark. Being here could disrupt all the progress you've made."
"Or it could be just the thing I need to feel like I'm back in control of my life."
"I hope so, I really do. But you've been scratching at your arm a majority of the time we've spent together today, and I don't remember you having that nervous tick before you moved away."
Mark forced himself to stop scratching at his scar. Now that Calvin had called his attention to it, Mark could practically feel the IV needle sitting beneath his skin and inside his vein. He shuddered involuntarily and crossed his arms as he clenched his fists.
"Some things just take longer to move past, I guess," Mark said.
"Be careful."
"I will," Mark assured him. "I am."
"Good. So, I need to get some work done, but tell that hot hunk of man you live with to come see me sometime," Calvin said, forcing his voice into a happier tone. "How would you like to get back to the hotel? Do you want me to drive you?"
"No, that's not necessary," Mark said, and held up his phone. "I'll call for a ride."
"Look at you, all fancy with Uber.
"
"I use Lyft," Mark said. "Back in DC I started using Lyft before Uber, and I like the service." He got up, then stopped and looked down at his phone as he had a thought.
"Are you getting a call?" Calvin asked. "Why are you staring at your phone?"
"I wonder if they're checking to see if the victims used Uber or Lyft or another ride-share service?" Mark asked.
Calvin widened his eyes. "Oh. I never would have thought about that. That's a good idea. You know, you should become a detective."
Mark gave a distracted laugh. "Yeah. I bet Aaron would have something to say about that."
"Just think of the makeup sex," Calvin said.
Mark laughed. "You've got a dirty mind, you know that?"
"Some say it's my best quality." Calvin smiled. "You sure you don't want me to drive you?"
"No. It's okay, really. I kind of need to do this, you know? I've used it a few times back home, and it's safe. I'll be okay, really. I'll text with Aaron while I'm riding back to the hotel."
"And you'll stay there once you arrive at the hotel?" Calvin asked.
Mark sighed. "Yes, Mom."
"If you were my son, I'd ground you right this minute for that attitude."
"I feel like I've been grounded for the last five months."
Calvin took his arm and walked with him to the steps, then followed Mark down to the first floor.
"Call me later?" Calvin asked.
"I will," Mark replied. "Once I talk with Aaron about everything."
"Well, after that, and then after the makeup sex," Calvin said.
Mark grinned and shook his head, then leaned in to give Calvin a tight hug. "I love you."
"Oh, sweetie, I love you, too. You be careful."
"Always." Mark stepped back, smiled at Calvin one last time, then turned away and headed for the doors.
20
Pearce's leg bounced under the table of the booth as if of its own free will. He and Jake had stopped at a Subway after talking with Thomas Dougherty's family. They'd come away with the names of two friends they could remember Thomas mentioning that he met on his nights out at the bars. Pearce had called in a request for street addresses and mobile phone numbers as they entered the restaurant.
"Didn't the Detroit cops do any of this legwork?" Jake wondered after swallowing a bite of his sandwich.
"They did some of it," Pearce replied. "But there wasn't any follow-up. This is the stuff that might have fallen through the cracks when they turned to case over to the Bureau."
Jake stared. "Was that a bit of an accusation there?"
"What?" Pearce frowned, then understood. Jake had been the agent who had taken over the cases, and Pearce had pretty much just said he'd done a shitty job with the investigation. "No, I didn't mean it like that."
"Sounded like you were saying the names have been in the files, but I just never followed up."
Pearce sighed. "Look, I didn't mean it like that. I meant that…" He stopped talking as Jake's expression darkened. "Fine. Take it how you want. The fact of the matter is we could have talked with these friends days ago and maybe had some more insight. I missed it, too. Okay? We're just working a big case, and now there's a lot more pressure because it's starting to get national media attention."
"Maybe we use that to our advantage," Jake said.
"Yeah, I was thinking that as well. It's more than time we put Morgan's picture out there. Make him sweat a bit."
"Want me to do that?"
"That would be good. Let's try to track down these friends this afternoon, and then I'll go to Danglers tonight and talk with the staff about Tristan."
"What about that friend of Mark's?"
"Calvin?" Pearce nodded. "He'd be a good resource, too. He deejays on Friday nights, and I was thinking about talking to him then."
"He and Mark are good friends?"
"Yeah, they've known each other for years."
"Must have been hard for Mark to move away from Detroit," Jake said.
"I guess."
Jake frowned. "You guess? Haven't you ever talked with him about it?"
"Look, I don't need to get into a therapy session about my relationship," Pearce said. "Let's just focus on what we need to accomplish, okay?"
"Hmm, seems I hit another nerve," Jake said. "A lot more of them right beneath the skin than I would have expected from a tough guy like you."
"And you seem to be getting on each and every one of them," Pearce shot back. He popped the last bite of sandwich in his mouth and chewed it up as he stared at Jake.
"You're just saying that to make me feel better," Jake said.
"Cute."
"So I've been called."
"Come on, Agent Cutie Pie," Pearce said as he got up and dumped his tray. "Let's hit the street."
"It's actually Agent Cute," Jake corrected, dumping his tray as well. "There's no place for a ‘Cutie Pie’ in the Bureau."
"So much for the progressive Bureau." Pearce stopped at the soda dispenser to refill his cup with iced tea.
"You know you'll just have to pee in about an hour if you get a refill," Jake said.
Pearce stared. "I'm thinking flyers with your picture and the name Agent Cutie Pie need to be posted all over the office."
"Point taken," Jake said before he preceded Pearce out the door.
As Jake drove, Pearce received via text message the street addresses and mobile numbers of Thomas Dougherty's friends. He plotted out the address for the first friend, Grant Silver, and gave Jake directions. When they pulled up to the curb, Pearce noted that Grant lived in a small apartment complex that reminded him of his apartment in Washington, DC. Then he mentally corrected himself that it was his and Mark's apartment, which reminded him he would need to send a text to Mark when they left the apartment.
The apartment's doors were secured. Pearce found Grant Silver's name on the intercom and pressed the call button.
"Probably at work," Jake said after several moments of silence.
Pearce nodded. "I'll call his mobile number when we're back in the car."
Just as they had turned to walk away, the intercom clicked and a tired, congested voice asked, "Yeah? Who is it?"
Pearce stepped up to the speaker. "Grant Silver?"
"Yeah." He coughed several times. "At least I think I am. Who's this?"
"I'm Agent Aaron Pearce with the FBI, and I'm here with my partner, Agent Perrin. We'd like to talk with you about Thomas Dougherty."
"Tom?" Silver said. "Has there been some kind of arrest?"
"We'd like to discuss some things with you, in person if that would be all right," Pearce said.
"Oh, yeah. Okay. I'm home sick from work, but I'll sit away from you. Come on up. I'm in 345."
The door buzzed, and Pearce pushed it open.
"You called me your partner," Jake said as he followed Pearce down the hall. "That's sweet."
"It was an accident."
"Sounded pretty sincere," Jake said. "I think you meant it. I think you've been thinking of me as your partner all this time and you never said anything about it."
Pearce pulled open the stairwell door. "If you don't stop saying things like that, I'm going to have you sit right next to Grant Silver so you can catch whatever he's got."
"He sounds sick enough that I think we both caught it just from talking with him through the intercom."
Pearce followed Jake up the stairs to the third floor. They found Silver's apartment door standing open, and Jake knocked without stepping over the threshold.
"Mr. Silver?" Jake called into the apartment. "Agents Perrin and Pearce with the FBI."
"Come on in," Silver called from another room. "I'm in the kitchen getting some juice."
They entered the apartment and Pearce closed the door, then both of them stood in the entryway waiting for Silver to return. When he appeared, Pearce could tell that Silver was usually a good-looking man, but whatever illness he had contracted had left him disheveled and worn down. He wore plai
d lounge pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a dark green hoodie.
"Sorry for my appearance," Silver said. "This cold has really hit me hard."
"A lot of that going around," Jake said. "Are you up to talking with us about Thomas Dougherty?"
"Yeah, sure," Silver said as he walked to a recliner and sank into it. "Go ahead and sit on the couch. It's pretty much germfree since I've been spending all my time in this chair."
Pearce sat beside Jake and remained quiet to allow him to take the lead.
"I'm Agent Perrin, and this is Agent Pearce. Can you tell us about the last time you saw Mr. Dougherty?"
Silver took a breath, which triggered a coughing fit. He grabbed a tissue from a box on the table beside him and blew his nose.
"Sorry about that."
"No problem," Jake said. "Take your time."
"The last time I saw Tom was when we were at the bar."
"Which bar?" Pearce asked.
Silver blushed. "Um, Danglers."
Pearce made a note and wondered briefly if meeting Tristan at Danglers was just a coincidence or if they might have found their first common link.
"Mr. Silver, I want you to know we don't care where you went or who you may have ended up with," Jake said. "We're not here to investigate your private life. Our job is to find out who murdered your friend, and that's it. But to do that, we need you to be as forthcoming and honest with any details you may remember about Thomas Dougherty. Do you understand?"
"I do. Thank you. It's just…" Silver hesitated. "You guys are both really hot, and talking about this is embarrassing."
Pearce barely managed to contain his grin.
Jake nodded in acknowledgement. "We appreciate the compliment, Mr. Silver, but we're here to discuss Thomas Dougherty."
"Right. Of course. Sorry, it's the cold medication."
"No apologies necessary," Jake assured him. "Please continue."
"We were at Danglers that night," Silver said. "Tom wanted to see some strippers, and Danglers has dancers on Saturday nights. He was just in that kind of mood."
"Did you drive together or meet there?" Pearce asked.
"We met there," Silver replied. "Tom and I both liked to have our own rides home. We're friends, but we tend to run in opposite cycles of one of us wanting to stay out partying while the other one wants to go home early." He stopped and looked away. "Sorry. Wanted. It's hard to remember to use past tense. I know it's been months, but I still think he'll call or text and want to meet up." He shook his head. "I haven't been able to delete his number from my phone."
