by A. P. Eisen
“So am I.”
Without bothering to make eye contact with Shane, who hovered near the front, Cliff stuffed the T-shirt and shorts into the trash basket and walked outside. Twilight had set in, bathing the sky in soft, muted shades of gray, lavender, and blue, and the moon hung like a bright silver crescent. Thornwood Park was settling in for the night, and most of the shops had closed, leaving the streets quiet except for the occasional car. As promised, Paul had waited and was leaning against his sedan.
“Ready?”
“Yeah. Yours or mine?”
“I’m fine with either.”
He wanted to be in Paul’s bed and lie in the sheets that smelled like Paul. Shane didn’t know what he was talking about. Paul had kissed him in front of his friends in a public place. He’d come out to Rob and his wife, had finally told his father he was gay. Three months wasn’t a long time. There was no need to rush.
“Let’s do you tonight.”
A fleeting smile crossed Paul’s lips. “I’m looking forward to it.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Cliff seemed oddly quiet tonight. They’d gone upstairs and changed, then settled down on the couch to watch some true-crime show on television while they waited for their pizza. They always had one cheat night per week, and tonight it was extra cheese and pepperoni.
He handed Cliff his beer. “Did that idiot Shane say something?”
Cliff sipped from the long-necked bottle. “Eh, not really. I mean, he was a dick, but I can handle that.”
“So to speak.” Paul tipped his beer to Cliff, who raised a brow.
“Aren’t you the funny one?”
“I have my moments. And don’t say nothing’s wrong.” Watching Cliff’s face fall, he had a pretty good idea. “It’s your parents, right? Did something happen tonight?” At Cliff’s shrug, he set his beer down. “Want to talk about it?”
“I never thought they’d want to see me after the way we left it, and when my father called, of course I jumped and said yes. My mother’s sick. I know some people can’t forgive, but I wanted to. I wanted to be that bigger person who rose above holding a grudge. Choose love not hate, you know?”
“I can’t imagine it’s a situation you just walk right into without a lot of soul-searching.” Paul wondered how his father was processing their discussion the other night, or if he even remembered it. Shame washed over him for being okay with it if he did, in fact, forget.
“Exactly. But now I’m thinking, did they only want to reconcile because she’s sick? Hopefully the treatments work and she goes into remission, but then what? I go into hiding for them?”
Paul didn’t have an easy answer. “It’s okay to be uncertain. Maybe they said those words in anger and fear, but they waited years to rescind, and only did so under duress, because of your mother’s illness. I think you have the right to take a day or two for yourself and soul-search about clearing the slate. It doesn’t make you a bad son. You can still love someone and be angry with them. Even think you hate them.”
“I don’t hate them. I hate what they said and how they made me feel all those years ago.” His humorless laugh sent a chill down Paul’s spine. “I thought I was strong and could let it go, but I guess I failed.”
Into the silence that followed, outside sounds intruded—someone’s keys jingled in the hallway as they passed by Paul’s apartment, along with the low murmurs of voices; a fire engine drove by, its siren blaring, and car horns beeped. The world could catch on fire, for all he cared. All that mattered was the two of them, wrestling with the devil of Cliff’s past.
“You didn’t fail. You love them. If you didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. The opposite of love isn’t hate; it’s indifference. Tell them you need time.”
Cliff’s first real smile of the night spread across his face. “Did anyone ever tell you, you’re pretty smart?”
“Occasionally.”
“Mmm.” Cliff rubbed his foot over Paul’s knee. “And good-looking?”
“Keep going,” Paul said.
“I’d rather show you.”
Paul picked up the remote and turned off the set.
* * *
“I’ve missed our runs,” he said to Cliff the next morning as they rounded the second loop of the park.
“I have too. That’s why I joined the gym, but I canceled it last night.”
“Why?”
“That guy Shane.”
Paul darted a glance at Cliff. “Did he hit on you?”
Looking uncomfortable, Cliff nodded and shrugged. “Yeah. But he also gave me a bad vibe.”
Visions of punching Shane’s pretty face came to Paul and he saw red. “He uses the gym like a personal Grindr account. I think he got Jerry’s leftovers.”
“Oh, yeah? Are you trying to tell me Shane was involved with Ulrich?”
Paul blinked. Damn, Cliff was quick. “Well, let’s just say I’m happy you’re away from him for many reasons.”
After they returned to his apartment, showered, and changed, Paul dressed quickly to get to the station early. He and Rob had some calls to make concerning Chase Ulrich, and the more facts they had when he came in for questioning, the better off they’d be.
“Will I see you later?” Cliff asked, finishing his coffee while Paul pocketed his keys.
“Hope so.” He smiled and gave Cliff a kiss. “Unless something blows up that forces me to stay late. I’ll try and let you know.”
“Okay. Be careful.”
“I always am. You have the keys? Lock up when you leave.”
He left Cliff sitting at the kitchen table, again thinking how natural it all seemed.
Just like the day before, Rob beat him into work.
“Don’t tell me. You miss me so badly, you can’t wait to see my face.”
Chuckling, Rob swiveled around in his chair. “Dude. I’ve got a house of six women. It’s fine when it’s my wife and daughters. But add in my mother and mother-in-law?” He shuddered. “They’re a force. Even Annabel has had it.”
“How’s she doing?” He sifted through the morning bulletins while waiting for his computer to power on.
“Great. She’s amazing.”
“In every respect. Even her choice of husband wasn’t a total failure.” Paul smirked.
“I can’t deny I got the better end of the deal. How’s Cliff?”
Paul filled him in on the situation with Cliff’s parents, curious to hear Rob’s take on it.
“That’s shitty. And I’m completely behind Cliff. He’s the injured party here.”
“Yeah, I agree. I told him he has the right to be upset and step back from his parents if it’s too stressful. They waited this long.” Paul’s computer flickered to life. “And speaking of parents, I think we need to call the boarding school where Catherine Ulrich sends her baby boy. I want to know his full discipline history, and we should talk to security there.”
“Good idea. And before you do, since I always like to try and know the answers to the questions I’m asking, let’s pull up Chase’s criminal record.”
“We’ve done that, remember?” Paul flicked through the report. “Almost as clean as a baby’s bottom.”
“Not my kid this morning. Let me tell you—”
“Spare me,” Paul said with a shudder and held up his hand. “That’s why I want to check with the school security. See what they have.”
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
Paul got through to Lester Fogerty, Chief of Security at Thornwood Prep, without much trouble, and the man was more than willing to talk about Chase Ulrich.
“Damn kid thought he could throw his name and money around and we’d look the other way. He even had two of my guards in his pocket. Former guards, that is. Fired their asses when I found out.”
“How?” Paul was intrigued.
“Chase had a nice little setup. Seems he’d gotten hold of one of Daddy’s prescription pads and was selling them for twenty bucks a pop. Had the kids lined up.”
&nb
sp; Jesus. “So you busted him?”
“Him and one of my staff. And that cheeky little fucker had the nerve to say, ‘Call my mother.’ But I didn’t. I called his daddy. ’Cause I know Dr. Ulrich and couldn’t imagine him being okay with that.”
“What’d he do?”
Paul could almost taste the smirk in Fogerty’s smile. “Oh, he took care of him. Took away his car, cell phone, and put his bank account on lockdown. I heard he even got his ass whopped with a belt for real.”
“No shit,” Rob said, nodding his head. “I didn’t think Dr. Ulrich had it in him.”
“Oh, he was the strict one. Now Mrs. Ulrich, she babied that boy. I once saw the parents get into a screaming match in the parking lot, with Dr. Ulrich telling her he was at the end of his rope with that boy. Next time he’d ship him off to a military academy.”
“Damn. I thought he was as much a patsy as the mother.” Rob took down some notes.
“But he also made a large donation to the school that sealed the record on the prescription bust. We reported it to the cops over here but never heard anything other than it was ‘handled.’ ”
“I’ll bet it was.” Paul wondered about the captain of that precinct. There’d been rumors for years that he was dirty, but nothing ever stuck. “Anything else? Did Chase ever get caught using drugs himself?”
“That kid was high almost all the time, but he never got caught. I don’t know if he was using his own stuff or stealing from his father, but the days he wasn’t on something became few and far between. I know they took him out of here and tried to sober him up, but not sure how well that worked.”
“Is that a frequent occurrence at the school?”
“What, Detective? Kids getting high, selling drugs, or parents paying hush money to cover it up? Pick one or all three. I’ve been here twenty-five years, and nothing’s changed. Money talks, and the more money, the louder the conversation.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? I wish I did. These kids have everything, including a leg up. Some are great, don’t get me wrong. But when they have that attitude…let’s just say I’ve learned to keep my big mouth shut.”
“Back to Chase. So you’re saying as far as you know he’s still getting high, but is he still selling?”
He and Rob waited. If Chase needed money because his father cut him off, he would be selling. But what if his father found out and they had a fight, which led to his son whacking him over the head? Not intentional murder, but involuntary manslaughter for sure.
“I’m not sure. You could ask his roommate, Bryce Nichols. The two of them were thick as thieves. Literally. If Chase was still using, Bryce not only knew it, but helped him along.”
“Is Bryce at school?”
“He’s here. Whether he goes to classes, I can’t say. But he’s at school.”
In the way one partner had a sixth sense of what the other thought, Rob was already mapping out the quickest route to Thornwood Prep.
“Does the school have an issue with us coming by to talk to him?”
“I don’t. Lemme call the headmaster to check and call you in a few?”
“Sounds good. Impress on him that it’s for a murder investigation. We won’t impinge on the students’ right to privacy.”
“Will do.”
Rob was staring at him when he hung up the phone.
“What’s wrong?” He put together his notebook and several pens to take along. He had no doubt the headmaster would want them to come without them issuing a warrant to search the school.
“Impinge? Who says that?”
“Me. I read, you know. Not all men are uncultured swine.”
“Okay, Shakespeare.”
“Do I need to call Annabel and tell her I think she should keep you at home with your mother and in-laws?”
“You know, Paulie, you used to be a nice guy.”
His phone rang, and it was Fogerty. “The headmaster said it was okay. See you soon.”
When he hung up the phone, Rob clapped him on the shoulder. “Ready to go back to school?”
School had never been a happy place for Paul. He’d gone through the motions, the smiles, the pretense that he was the golden boy everyone believed. He pushed himself to be the jock when he didn’t care a damn about playing basketball and football, or date the cheerleaders when he had no desire to kiss one. He did what was expected.
“Let’s go,” he said gruffly, pushing away the bitter memories. Reminiscing had no place in his day when there was a murder to be solved.
The drive to the school took close to forty minutes, and in that time they decided how to handle Bryce Nichols. His type didn’t usually respond well to playing nice, so both would go in hardball, hoping to rattle him enough.
They entered through the tall iron gates, and Paul saw groups of young men in their uniforms, walking on the paths or sitting in the sun. He wondered how many of them struggled as he did or if society was more open now. Rob parked the car, and after asking a few people, and receiving sideways looks from students and faculty alike, they found the headmaster’s office. The administration building was built on the theory that if it looked like a miniature castle from eighteenth-century England, then your children were getting a stellar education worthy of the half a million dollars spent.
“Come in.” A deep voice answered his knock.
The headmaster, a short, rather doughy-looking man with a bad comb-over, was seated behind a massive wooden desk with two large computer screens and files in neat stacks.
“Detectives? I’m John Davenport.” The deep-timbred voice seemed oddly out of place on the rather placid, soft-looking man.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Detective Paul Monroe, and this is my partner, Detective Rob Gormley. Your chief of security spoke to you about why we’re here?”
“Yes, Lester gave me the details. Let me assure you, we here at Thornwood Prep are fully committed to helping the police with whatever you need.”
Recalling the conversation with Fogerty, where he revealed that nothing had been done about Chase getting caught selling prescriptions once a fat donation had been made, Paul doubted that, but he kept a neutral demeanor.
“We appreciate that. We’d like to talk to Bryce Nichols if that’s possible.”
“If he wants to talk to you. That one is too smart for his own good.”
“Aren’t they all, nowadays?” Rob lifted a shoulder. “If you’d point us to a room we could use?”
“Come with me, and I’ll set you up in my personal conference room. I looked up his schedule before you arrived, and he has an hour break in about ten minutes.”
Davenport led them down the darkly paneled hallway with its oil paintings of disapproving former teachers and headmasters looking down upon them. He opened a door marked PRIVATE in gilt block letters and gestured to the shining, dark wooden table.
“Have a seat, and I’ll make sure Bryce comes as soon as he’s finished with class.”
“Thanks.”
Davenport left, closing the door behind him. Paul sat, while Rob strolled around the room. “How’d you like to go to school here?”
“No thanks.”
“Yeah. You need tons of money to survive. I doubt they take many scholarship kids.”
And, Paul doubted the gay kids dared to be out for fear of bullying. After hearing Chase’s attitude, it didn’t bode well for the rest of the student population, but maybe he was wrong.
Paul took out his notepad, and he and Rob waited. Fifteen minutes after Davenport left, the door opened and a young man walked in.
“Hello, Detectives.”
Tall, confident, and good-looking with that classic square jaw and chiseled cheekbones that must melt the heart of every girl he glanced at, Bryce Nichols reached out a hand, teeth flashing in a grin. Already practicing, Paul surmised, to run for office in the future.
“I’m Bryce Nichols. I hear you want to speak to me?”
“Sit down, please. Yes. We’re looki
ng into the death of your friend Chase’s father.”
“Oh, yeah. Sad. I hope you catch the guy who did it.” He pulled his features into the obligatory sad expression, but Paul doubted it meant anything to him.
“We’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Me?” For the first time, doubt crept into that confident, cocky voice. “I didn’t do it.” His eyes narrowed. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“You’re not a suspect, so no. If you want one, of course you’re free to stop the conversation. But we’re here to talk to you about Chase.”
Was that relief in his eyes? Paul couldn’t be sure.
“Chase? What about him?”
“To your knowledge, does he use drugs?”
Bryce’s gaze grew thoughtful. “A little weed never hurt anyone, Detectives. That’s a medical fact.”
“Are you studying to be a doctor?” Rob asked. “And we’re talking other than weed. Like pills or stronger stuff.”
“No, just something I’ve heard.” He gave Rob a toothy grin. “But to answer your question, Chase isn’t above trying anything for fun.”
“What about selling?”
“Hey now. I never—”
“We’re not accusing you. We’re talking about Chase. We know he took his father’s prescription pad and got busted for it. We also know he was using pills. What we want to know is what he told you, if anything, about the relationship he had with his father.”
“Well, that’s a different story.” Bryce’s eyes gleamed. “He hated him. Said he was screwing some guy behind his mother’s back. Imagine seeing your father kissing another dude. That’s gross. And yeah, they had a big fight about it ’cause his father locked down his credit cards and started being chintzy with his allowance, you know? Chase got pissed, and I heard him screaming at him over the phone. He’d go to his mom if he needed extra cash, but she was wishy-washy. Sometimes she’d fork it over, and sometimes she’d try to be on his father’s side. He and his dad even got a little physical because Chase was stupid enough to get caught doing what he did.”
“That was last year, right? What about recently? Did they fix their relationship? Was Chase still using?”
