MATCHSTICK MEN: a Hunter Dane investigation

by Adira August

  I needed to see those lyrics.

  When I left the Sacristy, I found Chez obediently on his knees by the Angel.

  "Chez," I said to his bent head. "You have to get up. C'mon. You can't be doing this, now."

  I put a hand under his arm and felt him resist.

  "Cam told me to," he whispered.

  I squatted next to him. "Chez, Cam's not a Dom right now. He's a twenty-three year old kid throwing up in your bathroom."

  I helped Chez up. He was over fifty, and couldn't take some of the disciplines of younger men.

  "Listen. Do you have hot cocoa here?"

  "Of course," he said. "It's November."

  "It's going to be a long night. How about you make some fresh coffee and hot cocoa for Cam?"

  He nodded and hurried off.

  Cam was in the bathroom, transporting handfuls of running water from the sink to his mouth. The air had the slightly acrid smell of vomit mixed with cleaning products. I'd dealt with a lot worse.

  I got a clean hand towel from the shelf, wet it and laid it across the back of Cam's neck.

  "It wasn't the blood," he said. "I've seen horrible shit on the slopes. Bones sticking out that tore right through the flesh and the clothes. All kinds of stuff."

  He looked up at me, his eyes red-rimmed. "We slept there. We slept in that bed, Friday night."

  "I know," I said, trying for a calm tone. Rinsing the towel, wiping his face and neck. He stood and faced me.

  "It wasn't the blood on the pipe, it was"--he went even paler than before--"there was something on it, you know?"

  "I do." We'd just seen her. It was so recognizably EllBee's shiny black hair. The razor cut flip at the end.

  "You need to stop thinking about it," I told him. "Get the image out of your head."

  "How?"

  "Think about something else. And if that doesn't work, go find some wandering Olympic champion to beat the fuck out of you while you're strapped to a big metal X."

  A ghost of a smile. Some color returned to his face.

  "I'm okay," he said. "Let's get out of here."

  We left The Church, but didn't go far. There was an octagonal game table nearby and we each sat in a wood barrel chair. I'd lusted after many a poker game being played on this gold felt. But I'd never have a buy-in.

  Chez showed up with a serving tray. He put mugs of hot cocoa down in front of us and a pot of coffee and clean cups on the table. He followed all this with a plate of cookies and cream cheese strudel.

  Then he took a small bottle of brandy out of his pocket and set it down, too. He pointed at the platter.

  "Sherrilynne bakes," he said proudly. He started to withdraw.

  "Sit with us, Chez. Please," I asked. "I still need your input."

  He nodded. "In a minute."

  Cam looked at the brandy, sighed, and picked up his virgin cocoa. So I poured a dollop into his cup.

  "I think I need to be sharp."

  "I think a half ounce of brandy will not make you dull. Especially if you eat something."

  Cam nodded and then, peered around in the direction Chez had disappeared.

  "Hey. Didn't I leave him on his knees?"

  "I got him up. Cam, the man's got arthritis in his knees."

  "Oh." He looked stricken. "Oh, shit. I keep fucking up tonight."

  "You're fine. But, Chez makes a nice place for us. I mean, Sherrilynne keeps the lights on and the sidewalk shovelled, but all this stuff that makes this club our home, that's all Chez. He's kind of an artist with the play areas. And a great host. That's not easy with a lot of spoiled, rich guys."

  Cam sipped more cocoa and his cheeks bloomed. "You're telling me I need to respect my elders?"

  "I'm giving you facts. What you do with them is up to you. But for what it's worth, it's easy to underestimate Chez."

  He munched on an oatmeal raisin cookie. "Do you think he can kill?"

  I blinked. What?

  "Did you ever think the problems with the case would disappear if there were two killers, like a team?"

  "You think Chez and Sherrilynne …?" I wondered if he'd vomited his IQ into the toilet along with his lunch. But it would solve the problem of no one leaving the club in time to have killed Bryant. There were no cameras watching the fire door exit.

  "I'm just asking if you'd considered it was more than one person."

  "Briefly. And if it leads that way, fine. But it feels like one person to me. One mind."

  "One personality obsessed with you," he said, and dunked his cookie into his cocoa.

  It occurred to me then, that Camden Snow was possibly the most complex, interesting person I'd ever met. Child. Champion. Clever analyst. Extreme Dom. And I barely knew him. It would be easy to become kind of obsessed with him, with solving the puzzle that he was.

  But why would anyone fixate on me?

  "Keep looking at me like that and I'll drag you into the phone booth and make you beg."

  I laughed. Cam was back. "No can do, master. I have to stay here and guard the door. There's evidence inside."

  He poured coffee into his half empty mug of cocoa. "You aren't half as much fun when you're working." He selected another cookie. "But you are still sexy as hell." He tilted his head. "You have to do me a solid."

  "What?"

  "You have to take seriously that some deranged asshole has a sick thing for you that can become the same rage that killed EllBee. You have to not get dead."

  I saw that he was serious and not a little frightened. Fear is about having no control.

  "I'll do my best," I said. "Maybe you'd like to help?"

  "That's why I'm here."

  "I need the lyrics to the music from the scene. If it's a message to me or about me and not to the police generally, it's a direct link to the killer."

  He already had his cell in his hand. "You want lyrics, only, right?"

  "Yeah."

  Chez showed up with bottles of water for all of us. "Sherrilynne's on her way back, but the property's in Arapahoe County, so she'll be a few minutes."

  I told him the lab was on the way. "Right now, we need to figure out who was here last night and came back to leave the murder weapon. So we need arrivals after nine last night and today, when you opened."

  He was nodding. "I'll grab my laptop."

  I'd left the briefcase with my own laptop in the Sacristy. Since the big wood doors were the only way inside and I was sitting a few feet away from them, the nuclear launch codes were safe.

  Cam handed me my cell.

  "You have to scroll, to read it all. A swipe takes you to the next screen with the original lyrics. You know, Hunt, someone had some pretty decent editing and mixing software and knew what they were doing."

  I read the screen while Cam did commentary.

  Windows all reflect your face.

  Your eyes I see, a haunting tired yellow.

  I see you look up to the sky, your

  tired, you cry, your reflection echo

  "The first two lines are similar to the original. Almost normal. Or as normal as a reference to funny yellow eyes in windows can be," he said. "Standard from the LSD generation.”

  “You’re judging? You're a control freak addicted to adrenaline." I swiped the screen back and forth.

  "Unless something jumps out at you, it seems like the writer wants you to think they're close to you. They see you. And, like most fans, they project onto you," he said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well," he started, blushing a little. "You know. I have fans. I meet them, I sign shit. They say stuff. Write letters."

  "You read them?" I asked.

  He looked a offended. "No! They get screened, now. But, at the start, it was just a few and I did." He looked around as if seeking something from the air. "It's weird. After my first gold, this one girl went on and on about how courageous I was because she could see I was all exhausted and in pain and I still went back for the last run and broke the record and all that. She kept on
about the pain.

  "Hell, Hunt, I never felt better. I was flying, that day. In the zone. I was living in the sky, you know? I knew I was going to win, I knew when I hit the last gate I had the record and the gold. I was eighteen and I was king of the mountain."

  I waited. His face tightened and crumpled a little for a second. He looked at me.

  "Fans are crazy, man. Some of them. They just decide you are something. Make you not real. They tell you they love you and all that and then they don't sign their name. Like they don't want to be real, either."

  "K-girl," I said.

  "What about her?"

  I laughed. "Nothing, just …" Cam's face went all do not fuck with the Dom. "Cam it was nothing. It was her birthday, so I took her to the Drive-in."

  The Drive-in was at the far end of the club. Movies from the 50s, 60s and 70s "played" there. Chez had three car bodies installed. There was an old-fashioned popcorn machine and a soda dispenser.

  "She said she wanted two things for her birthday. To go to the Drive-in and to call me by one of my other names."

  Cam cocked his head, "Like, middle names?"

  "No. I model for stock photos, right? They go on a lot of books covers."

  Enlightenment. "She wanted to call you by a character name."

  "I told you it was nothing. What you said about fans, reminded me, that's all."

  "So who was the character?" Cam asked.

  "I have no idea, I don't read the fucking things, some writer just puts my picture on it." I sighed. I never should have opened my mouth. "Let's get back to the lyrics."

  "The next part isn't the lyrics at all," he said. "It's not just different to be different and get your attention. It's a message."

  Alone I see the matchstick men

  You underneath the matchstick men

  Your tired of the matchstick men

  To make them stop, I will face them

  Alone I stop the matchstick men

  "But I don’t think it’s talking about the game. The matchstick men aren't your opponents, because you're undefeated." His face scrunched up, like he was in pain. "There were windows," he said.

  "What?" He'd lost me.

  "In the cars. It was dark in the Drive-in, and the light was from the screen." Cam held out the cell to show the first lines. "You would have been reflected in the windows."

  Windows all reflect your face.

  Your eyes I see, a haunting tired yellow.

  I see you look up to the sky, your

  tired, you cry, your reflection echo

  "What was her fantasy?" he asked.

  The idea of K-girl, cheery, blond, perpetual teen-ager as killer was absurd. "Cam," I started, trying not to sound patronizing. "You have to avoid reading too much into every random datum in an investi-"

  "What was her goddamned fantasy?" Cam demanded.

  "Virgin and bad boy. Look, she's a nice girl. She's a TV and movie freak. And a bit of an exhibitionist. I got one of the Doms to help. I gave him an old uniform of mine to wear, and a flashlight. He came by when her tits were exposed. Said he should call her parents.

  "It was perfect, really. I negotiated, said I'd spank her, so he didn’t need to call her parents to punish her. He said he had to watch to make sure I did it. The girl almost squirmed out the door, she was so turned on."

  He didn’t look satisfied. "Cam, everyone likes K-girl. Sherrilynne had a cake delivered for her. Chez got her favorite movie from highscho-" Crap.

  "What was the movie, Hunter?" Cam asked with deadly calm.

  "Yellow," I answered. "She had a crush on John Cho. Look," I needed to head this off before it distracted us from the real suspects. "It was a fun night, we put on a play and K-girl starred in it."

  Cam was making a note in his phone. "What Dom played the cop? You're a big guy. Bigger than me. Not that many could wear your uniform."

  "Ad volunteered," I told him.

  Cam's ice blue eyes had gone flat and gray. "I was out on the deck with a couple Doms a few weeks ago. Talking about you. Know what Ad said?"

  I shook my head.

  "I'd give him the fucking world."

  Oh, well, shit.

  "I need to find out what time he left," Cam said looking around. With the instinctive timing of the perfect host, Chez returned with his laptop. Cam reached for it.

  "Let him," I said at Chez startled look. "It'll be much faster."

  "Oh. Of course." He gave it up with a smile.

  I gestured for him to sit and took out my notebook. Putting Cam and what he was doing aside, I switched gears to focus on Chez. "How exactly did you find the weapon?"

  He paled. "So you do think it's what killed her?"

  "We'll know for sure later. How'd you find it?"

  "I opened the drawer."

  A literalist. "Okay. Why?"

  He looked confused. "To get at what was in it?"

  Cam sucked in his lips and bit down to keep from laughing behind the laptop.

  "Good," I said, making a note so he'd believe his answer was important. "Now, why exactly did you need to open it today? What did you want to get?"

  "That thing I showed you. The suspension bar. You see," he warmed to a subject that was his area of expertise. "The Angel has so many parts. Too many, really, which is why Hart didn't manufacture it and I got the prototype for a song."

  "Hang on. You're talking about Nicky's billionaire brother?"

  "Nicky's a billionaire, too. A mini one," Cam piped up.

  "That's gotta be an oxymoron," Hunt told him.

  "Yes, the brother," Chez went on. "Sherrilynne thought we should at least mount the suspension bars. You see, if you angle out the top, the bar just slips right in. It's totally stable and you can make it any height by changing the beam angle. I mean, you could hang Michael Jordan up there!"

  "Also a billionaire," Cam mumbled.

  "So you just decided to do it today after you opened up? Put the suspension bar on?"

  "Well, I mean, I'd intended to for a while. It was early and hardly anyone was here and we were all gathered in the Lounge and got to talking about the Angel and I mentioned the suspension bar and one of the members got very interested and her Dom said he wanted to see it up, and so I opened the drawer."

  One long breath. I was impressed.

  "Who was the sub?"

  "Twinkerbelle."

  Who the hell was -

  "Spanko, to you," Cam offered. "Her handle changed when she decided to transition." He checked his screen. "Five-feet six and a half inches of trans female. She left with her Dom around nine-thirty."

  Nine-thirty would fit with time of death but the mosquito timer was off.

  "Chez, you said you got to talking about the Angel. How'd it come up? Did Spanko mention it?"

  "No."

  Back to reticent.

  "Chez!" Cam spoke sharply without looking up. Chez jumped. "Talk, think, explain."

  "Chez, can you remember how the subject came up?"

  "Um," he swallowed hard with a glance to Cam. "Well, people were just talking about suspension. And someone said it would be nice to have two stations. And everyone was agreeing. I said the Angel had a bar. And Twinkerbelle's Dom agreed and he … I can't remember his name-"

  "Ink," I supplied.

  "Yes! I don't know why I can never remember - "

  "Chez," I spoke over him. "Who was there talking about wanting two suspension stations?"

  Chez' eyebrows came down. He thought hard. "I'm not sure. The Rev said something and LittleBit mentioned it to Twink - um - Spanko and then Ink asked me to show them."

  Cam's head came up, he eyed Chez. "LittleBit was here today?"

  "Surprised me, too." Chez looked at me. "Maybe it was that spanking and she's looking for a new mama duck."

  "And she was just hanging out with you all? Talking?" Cam asked.

  Chez shrugged, offering up his palms. "Just to the subs. Maybe that's how she always is when she's not in sub mode. And, you know," a nervous
glance at Hunter, "she pretty much always is."

  "What are you two talking about?" I asked.

  Chez opened his mouth to speak but Cam suddenly stood and interrupted.

  "Chez! I could really use more of that cocoa."

  Happy to serve Cam in any way, Chez scurried off.

  "Cam?"

  He held his hand up until he was sure Chez was out of earshot.

  "I think … look, I saw your face just now. Do you not know LittleBit only comes to the club when you're here?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The Doms call her Hunterette."

  "What Doms?" I hadn't known I was so often a topic of conversation.

  He sat back and gave me a look of exasperation mingled with affection. Like a mother with a stubborn three-year-old.

  "Hunter, you aren't a joiner. You're pleasant and they like you but - there's a culture, you know. Doms hang out with each other. So do subs. We share our stories."

  "You gossip. About each other," I said. "And me, apparently. I'm not antisocial or whatever you're trying to say. You're missing the fact that there is a very essential difference between me and the other members. They are rich, famous or noteworthy in some way.

  "I'm only here so if something happens, I can hopefully handle it quietly. I don't socialize because it's not appropriate. If someone sits down with me, there's usually an agenda."

  Cam looked thunderous. Incongruously, I thought what a great look it was on him.

  Focus, Dane.

  “You won’t take this seriously, will you?” He went from thunderous to murderous. With me as potential victim.

  "Cam, you can't make everyone who likes me, or ever said they did, into a suspect." That didn't help. "Yesterday, LittleBit screwed up and called me by name. So, yeah, subs get crushes. Crushes are not obsessions."

  Chez arrived with fresh cocoa. Just as he set the cup in front of Cam, Sherrilynne came in the front door and he hurried away to greet her.

  Cam looked like the clouds were moving off.

  "Motive is a big part of a crime story on television, but it isn't that much help in a real investigation," I told him. "People kill each other over extra helpings of beans. Motive can be found for almost anyone connected to a victim. Understanding what happened, what data points where, that's how you unravel the crime."