by James Lear
“Bet you can’t guess who it was.” He was smiling now, his eyes twinkling.
“You swam across the bay to meet him?”
“Yes. There’s a little cave over the other side, with steps leading all the way up to the top of the cliff. I’ll have to show you.”
“And that’s where you go to have sex with people.”
“Not people. Just one person.”
I saw Martin mixing drinks behind the bar. Of course! It all fell into place. Martin’s distress, his money worries. A whole new narrative spiraled in my mind, accelerating too fast for reason to keep up with it.
“My God. Martin Dear.”
“What? Martin Dear?” Once again Henry laughed. “Oh, Mitch. You’re barking up the wrong tree. He’s married.”
“It’s never stopped anyone before.”
“No. Guess again.”
I racked my brains. Who else was there on the island—a man, young and attractive enough to be of interest to Henry, or perhaps old and wealthy. Someone who could get to a clifftop rendezvous.
It clicked at last. “I see. So you keep away from married men, but you don’t mind fucking priests.”
“He’s not a priest,” said Henry, coyly. “At least, not yet.”
“Nor is he likely to be, by the sound of it. So—you and Deacon Peter. It was you that he had seen before.”
Now it was Henry’s turn to look perplexed. “What do you mean?”
“He told me there was someone he knew back home. Someone who presented a danger.”
“Is that what he said? Well, that’s me. Do you think I’m dangerous?”
“I think some men would be willing to risk everything for you.”
“I’m flattered, Mitch.”
“And I think you know exactly what you’re worth.”
“You make me sound calculating.”
“And what about your parents? Are they aware of your worth?”
The color drained from Henry’s face. Fortunately for him, Ralph brought two glasses of cold beer at that moment. We ate and drank for a while, considering our next move.
Henry was the first to speak. “My parents know nothing about me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“They may suspect things. But they don’t know.”
“Is that why they guard you like a prisoner?”
“They are very religious people.”
“You mean they appear to be good, but underneath they’re the same as the rest of us.”
“They’re certainly not like you and me, Mitch.”
I couldn’t come right out and ask him if his parents were, by any chance, using him as bait to blackmail queers all over Europe. I drank my beer and ate my meal.
“Henry, if I ask you a question, will you give me a truthful answer?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Did you take money from my room?”
“Of course I didn’t.”
“Why did you go up there?”
“That’s a bloody silly question.” He was blushing again, a vein standing out on his forehead.
“You mean you just wanted to fuck?”
“Yes.”
“And what about Peter?”
“What about him?”
“Aren’t you and he…serious?”
“Yes, we’re serious. Very serious, worst luck.”
“What does that mean?”
“Would you mind if we get out of here? All this whispering is giving me a headache.” He downed his beer, and I watched his throat working, remembering how it had looked when he sucked my cock. I was getting hard again, and I suspected he was too.
“Come on then.”
We took a short stroll along the harbor wall, away from eavesdroppers.
“We met a couple of years ago.”
“Where? Here?”
“Back in England.” He sighed deeply. “I was still at school. It was my last term, and I was supposed to be concentrating on exams. Father wanted me to go to university to study theology. They have this idea that I’m going into the church.”
“That doesn’t seem very likely.”
Henry shrugged. “What else do people like me do?”
“You can do anything, Henry.”
“I’m not very clever, that’s the trouble. I failed my exams.”
“Why?”
“I was distracted.”
We took a few more paces along the path, then sat. “Go on.”
“It wasn’t my fault. There was this teacher. Well, not really a teacher. He came in to do extra tuition in divinity. He was a seminarian at the Jesuit college. They were always sending priests in to tell us what to do. Most of them were old and ugly, but this one…”
“Was Peter Allinson?”
“Yes.” He sighed. “We both knew it was wrong, but what could we do? Every day I had a lesson with him, just the two of us, and we were allowed to go out into the gardens to sit under the trees by the lake. It was a lovely place, my school. I was quite happy there, away from Mother and Father.”
“I thought you said you didn’t go to that kind of school.”
He shrugged. Another lie, obviously. “With Peter, it was different.”
Isn’t it always? I thought, but held my peace.
“Usually, with older boys and teachers, I let them do all the running. But Peter was even more scared than I was. He kept telling me that it was wrong for two men to fall in love, to kiss, even to touch each other’s hands.”
“You believed all that crap?”
“I’d never thought about it before. I mean, all the boys did it, and half the teachers. Nobody thought much about it—we just knew it wasn’t something that you talked about afterwards, and you certainly didn’t tell your parents. Sometimes there was a bit of trouble, two boys would get a bit too serious, and one of them would suddenly disappear in the school hols and not come back. But most of the time we just got on with it.”
“Sounds like a great school. Think they’re looking for teachers?”
He shuffled a little closer to me; there was a cool breeze coming off the sea. Our legs touched.
“So when it happened for the first time, it was me that started. He was so frightened, but then, I suppose, nature took over.”
“Yeah. It has a habit of doing that. And afterwards?”
“You can imagine. He felt so guilty. He said he would have to ask the college not to send him; he would apply for a transfer or go on a pilgrimage or something. But the next day he was back, and instead of talking about Bible studies he spent the whole lesson telling me that the sins of the flesh would condemn our souls to eternal fire, and so on.”
“And then?”
“He fucked me again.”
“How was it?”
Henry pressed his leg against mine; one hand was in his crotch.
“Wonderful.”
“Better than me?” I reached around and grabbed his ass.
“Not the first couple of times. But he learned fast.”
“The student became the teacher?”
“I suppose so. And the thing was, well, I don’t really know why this happened, what with him being a deacon and feeling so guilty and lecturing me all the time, which was really boring, but…I fell in love with him.”
“Forbidden fruit tastes sweeter.” I could picture the two of them, Peter with his cassock pulled up, Henry with his school pants pulled down, fucking beneath the trees by the lakes, books and lessons forgotten, just the urgency of cock and ass. I was rock hard, and slipped my hand inside his waistband. He fidgeted around until I could get a finger between his cheeks and find his hole.
“It went on for a few weeks, and every time he said it would be the last. And then, just before the exams, he disappeared, and I never heard from him again. I tried to ask what had happened to him, but nobody would say a thing. Of course, I flunked all my exams. Even divinity. Didn’t pass a single one. Bang went all of Mother and Father’s dreams of getting me into a good colle
ge. Now they’re trying to get me in through the back door, pulling in favors to find me a job as a verger or something in a little rural parish where they’re absolutely desperate for whatever they can get. In other words, they’re ashamed and they want to get rid of me.”
“Did they find out?”
“Nothing’s ever been said. Father went storming in to see the headmaster, demanding to know why his son had done so badly, but when he came out he was very quiet and wouldn’t discuss it. So I suppose that old bastard told him something. People must have known. It was impossible to keep secrets, and we weren’t as careful as we should have been. And now they watch me all the time.”
“Your parents? The truth this time, please.”
“They think I’m some kind of whore.”
I pushed around his hole. “Yeah? Think they might have a reason for that?”
He gasped and bit his lip. “It’s not fair. Everyone else is allowed to do whatever they want to. Half the chaps I was at school with are engaged or even married now, and the others are all boasting about how many girls they’ve had. They don’t get consigned to some living death in the country. Oh! You’re going to have to fuck me, Mitch.”
“All in good time. First of all, I want some answers.”
“I’ve told you everything.”
“Why is Peter here? Don’t try telling me it’s a coincidence.”
“It is. It’s a horrible, wonderful coincidence. Until I saw him on the ferry I had absolutely no idea he was coming.”
“Rubbish. You come here every year. You wrote to him and told him to meet you here.”
“How could I possibly do that? I didn’t know where he was.”
“So you expect me to believe that, of all the places in the world, you both happened to end up on this little rock in the middle of the Mediterranean by chance?”
“I don’t care what you believe, quite honestly.” He moved his hand to my crotch and started rubbing. “Please just…please…oh— oh God.”
I thought for a moment he’d burst into tears, but in fact, he was coming, just from the sensation of my finger up his ass. So much for fucking him. He sat there with his pants full of jizz, breathing heavily. I guess the memory of those Arcadian afternoons with Deacon Pete’s dick inside him was just too much.
“I’d better go. Really. I must get back. They’ll be looking for me.” He stood up, my hand still awkwardly caught inside his pants, and wriggled free.
“Are you telling me the truth?” I shouted after his retreating shadow, but answer came there none.
For the first time in two days the shutters were open at Vella’s bar, so I walked slowly in that direction, wondering how much, if any, of Henry’s story I could believe. It seemed so farfetched—and yet coincidences do happen, people’s paths cross under the strangest circumstances. Perhaps Henry had told Peter that his family came to Gozo every year, and Peter had engineered the whole thing without Henry’s knowledge. That’s not what Peter told me—he seemed startled, almost terrified, by Henry’s presence on the island. One of them was lying. Who? The thief or the deacon?
Peter Allinson wouldn’t be the first cleric to lie about sex. Western civilization is built on such lies.
I took a seat, ordered a beer and surveyed the promenade. After ten minutes, I heard footsteps running down from the Continental, pounding across the prom.
“Bill! Over here!”
XI
BILL LOOKED FURIOUS. “MITCH! WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU been?”
“Interrogating suspects.”
“Yeah, right. While I risk my neck.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“I don’t think so. I heard the Jessops coming up the stairs so I had to leg it. Climbed over the balcony into the son’s room. Just as well I did too.”
“Why?”
Bill lifted up his shirt and showed me a loose bundle wrapped in a towel. “Jackpot.”
“In Henry’s room?”
“Yeah. In a sponge bag hidden in a suitcase under the bed. Looks like our little friend’s been busy.”
“What have you got?”
He looked around. “Not here. When the Jessops find out someone’s been in their room the hotel’s going to be in uproar.”
“You left tracks?”
“Well excuse me for not tidying up properly, but it was either that or get caught. Next time, do it yourself.”
“Okay, okay. Where shall we go?”
“Up to the barracks. You need an operational HQ, mate.”
“As long as there’s a lock on the door, I don’t care where we go.”
“Oi, enough of that. Let’s get one fucking mess sorted out at a time, eh? Then you can have as much of this as you want.” He squeezed his crotch. “I’ve got some furlough saved up for you, my boy. Wait here. I’ll commandeer transport.”
He shoved the bundle into my hands and marched up the road. I couldn’t resist a peek. Bank notes, letters, and something gleaming in the bottom of the bag.
An engine revved.
“Come on, Mitch. Jump on.” Bill sat astride a dusty, rusty motorcycle that he seemed to have conjured out of nowhere. “Don’t look so bloody surprised. I know a bloke who owes me a favor. Let’s go.”
I climbed onto the pillion seat, wrapped my arms around Bill’s waist and held on tight as we sped up the bumpy road to Victoria. I could smell his sweat mingling with the pervasive island odors of pine, dust and herbs. It was mid-afternoon now, the sun at its fiercest. Out of the corner of my eye I saw lizards scampering for cover as the bike whizzed past. We made it to the capital in less than ten minutes.
Bill was every inch the regimental sergeant major when we got to the barracks.
“I need a room with a telephone, right now.”
“What’s your authorization?” said the bored soldier at the front desk.
“Major Fucking Telford, you cunt. And you address me as ‘sir,’ private. Got that?”
“Yes sir.”
“Better.” Bill turned to me, a wolfish smile on his face. “These lads need to be reminded who’s boss sometimes, Mitch.”
The private blushed as he unhooked keys from the pegboard. “Number four, sir.”
“What’s your name, private?”
“Rhys, sir.”
“Right, Rhys. Tell the CO I’m going to need another pair of hands later on, and he’ll need to find someone else to cover the desk. Got it?”
“Sir!”
Bill pocketed the key and led the way upstairs. “He looks useful, doesn’t he?”
“Depends what for.”
“Oh, you know,” said Bill. “Fetching, carrying, fucking.”
“Aren’t I enough for you?”
“Yeah. But you’re not sticking around, are you? I’ve got to plan ahead.”
“Who knows? I might be.”
He stopped on the stairs and turned around so suddenly that I bumped into him. “Don’t take the piss, Mitch. I like you. I told you that. If you were serious, I’d go anywhere with you. Give up the army if necessary. But you’re not. You’re here for a holiday and a bit of fun, and somehow we got caught up in all this.”
Jesus. A declaration of love was the last thing on my mind, especially from someone like Bill Conrad, especially when my mind was focused on catching a killer—or killers? Was the same person responsible for both deaths? And what about the blackmail? What would I find in the bag?
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Of course I am.”
“Could have fucking fooled me. Think I’m in the habit of this kind of—”
Poor Bill. He looked so sad. So I stood on tiptoes, put my arm around the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. “Bill, if there was any way on God’s earth that you and I could be together, I’d make it work.”
“But?”
“One thing at a time. Let’s clean up this mess first.”
“And then?”
“We’ll see.”
“Yeah. Right.�
� He turned, walked ahead. “This should do you. Room four. A desk, a telephone, a bed, and there’s a toilet down the hall if you need a piss. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be downstairs talking to Rhys.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake, Bill, come here.” I pulled him into the room and kissed him again. “What do you want to hear? You’re probably the best fuck I’ve had in my life. You’re everything I could ever want in a man. But we’ve known each other for three days. I’ve got history, Bill. I’ve made mistakes that I need to sort out before I start something new.”
“Right.”
“When this is finished, take some time off. Come stay with me. See if you can persuade me there’s a future for us.”
“You know there is. You feel it as much as I do.” He grabbed my hand and moved it down to his cock, which was rock hard inside his pants. “Nobody else does this to me. Nobody. Ever.”
“Not even your wife?”
“Fuck off. I’m serious.”
“So am I.” I was hard too, and made him feel it.
We stood there in the bare, stuffy room, hands rubbing each other’s stiff cocks, lips joining in a kiss, both contemplating a future that could never be…could it? Why couldn’t it be? Possibilities flashed and tumbled like colors in a kaleidoscope.
“Come on, then,” Bill said at last. “Let’s get the job done.” He was Sergeant Major Conrad again, albeit with a damp patch the size of a dime on the front of his pants. “What are my orders?”
I could think of several things unconnected to the deaths of Ned Porter and Joseph Vella, but with a huge and totally uncharacteristic effort I cleared my mind of sex and concentrated on something else.
“First we’re going to see what’s in this bag.” I put Henry’s loot on the desk. “Then, I’m going to have to make some calls and send some telegrams. I need a few key pieces of information. Do they have phone directories at the front desk?”
“Of course.”
“Right. Let’s do it.”
The time had come to arrive at a hypothesis—and to act on it. By now, Hercule Poirot or Miss Marple would have had that moment when they say, “Of course! I have been so stupid! It was staring me in the face all along!” much to the bafflement of their readers. They would then summon all the main characters in the lounge before a long and entertaining denouement in which the chief suspect would say, “you haven’t got a shred of evidence for this fantastic story.” And then—aha! Evidence would be produced, the guilty would be led off cursing and we would turn off the lights and retire to bed.
