by Dirk Greyson
“The actor who plays Sheldon is gay.” He figured it might be smart to change the subject.
Barty didn’t react to that. “Is he your kind of man?” He turned while Jim was still swallowing his teeth. He hadn’t been expecting that kind of question.
“My ex is a professor. Philosophy at Stanford, and my boyfriend before that was a professor. Neither of them lasted.” Jim was treading on thin ice, and he hoped Barty would let it go. But that was too much to wish for.
“So you like professors.” Barty was grinning like some cat who ate the canary.
“I suppose I have a type. Don’t we all, Professor?” Jim waggled his eyebrows.
“I’m not familiar personally with any research on the subject. But then there is a lot out there, and everyone can’t be familiar with all of it. So I guess I could say that I don’t really know.” Jim shook his head, and after about five seconds, Barty slapped his hand over his mouth. “You were teasing me.”
“Yes.”
“I am like that character,” Barty gasped. “That’s awful.”
“No. You just remind me of him a little. You aren’t annoying. Oh, and Sheldon doesn’t drive, so there’s one thing you have on him. You are willing to drive.”
“Gee, thanks,” Barty said. “So because the question made you so uncomfortable and psychologists love uncomfortable questions, is this professor thing you have going on your only attractor, or are there others?”
“You mean what’s my ideal guy?” Jim leaned forward. “You know, if you want to play this game, then you have to be prepared to answer the questions too, and I’m a cop. We specialize in questions that people don’t want to answer.”
Barty shifted slightly in the chair.
“I seem to have a thing for professor types, especially tall, skinny guys, kind of geeky, with glasses. Particularly glasses. I think they’re hot, and there are things I like to do with the glasses when we’re in bed.” Jim figured he might as well have some fun. If Barty wanted to go there, he was sure as hell going to make the journey as fascinating as possible.
Barty swallowed, and Jim saw a crack in his composure. “Are those the only kind of guys you like?”
“No. I suppose there are others. I mean, a handsome man is a handsome man, if you know what I mean. But I like men who are smart and fun to be around. I guess that once the sex wears off, I like there to be someone to talk to.” He was quickly getting much deeper into this conversation than he intended to. This was supposed to be a game, and now he was spilling his guts to Barty about things he didn’t talk to anyone about. Barty was obviously very good at getting people to talk to him. “So what’s your type?” Jim asked, the whole goose-and-gander thing coming into play.
Barty seemed lost. “I don’t know.”
Suddenly the conversation had shifted from playful to much too serious, and Jim hadn’t really realized it until he’d opened his mouth to say something really stupid and then stopped himself. Teasing Barty at a moment like this wasn’t a good idea.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” He swallowed. “Barty, you’re a handsome man and you have a lot to offer.”
“Thank you, I guess, but no one has seemed interested.”
Jim got up and went back to the refrigerator. He grabbed a couple of beers and returned, handing one to Barty. “If we’re going to have this kind of conversation, we deserve a beer.” He popped his open and drank half of it to give Barty a chance to figure out what to say. Now Jim was warm and tugging at his collar. Part of it was the fact that Barty had just gone up a few steps on his attractive scale, and he was nervous that he might say the wrong thing.
“I don’t really drink.”
“That isn’t the point,” Jim said as he sat back in his chair, which felt much less comfortable than it had. “You’ve never been with anyone?” he asked, and Barty shook his head. “Not in any way?”
Another shake of the head, and Barty opened the beer and took a tentative sip before setting it aside.
“You know that’s okay.”
“Sure it is. I mean, I know who and what I am. I’m a geeky, kind of weird guy who teaches people about the pathology of rapists and murderers. That isn’t the kind of guy people line up to date.” Barty put his hand in the air and waved his hand like a kid in first grade. “Yeah, please pick me, I want to sleep with the guy who studies serial killers because he was afraid that he might turn into one.” He was trying to be funny, only it wasn’t.
“What do you mean, you’re afraid you might turn into one?” Jim asked, his police officer senses on high alert.
“There are some commonalities between the people I study and myself. Remember how I told you I was raised with everything structured and organized, without time for play like the other kids, because I was special? That lack of play leads to a lack of empathy. I’ve had to learn to understand how other people feel. It’s not instinctual, and I get it wrong a lot of the time. That’s a trait many of the subjects I study exhibit. Do you remember the man who shot people from the clock tower at the University of Texas? It was people like me trying to figure out why he did what he did that started this line of research, and when I first encountered it, my own picture stared me in the face, so to speak. I nearly freaked.”
“But you haven’t done anything like that, have you?”
“Of course not!” Barty answered, jumping to his feet.
“Then why worry about it?” Jim asked. “We don’t punish people for their potential to do things, only for their actions.”
“But I could. It’s inside me.” Barty patted his chest.
Jim didn’t want to believe it. “I’m a cop, right? And some cops take bribes and shift to the dark side of the law. Does that mean that I could do that? That I have the potential? Probably. Have I and will I? No. Because I choose not to. I believe we all have free will and make our own decisions. You may have the potential to shoot people from a bell tower, but that doesn’t mean you will. Our killer may have the same potential, but he chose to act on it. Do you really believe that he doesn’t know what he’s doing?”
“No. You’re right. He’s choosing to do this.”
“And under the same circumstances, what would you choose?” Jim asked and became worried when Barty didn’t answer right away.
“I don’t know, because I haven’t been presented with those circumstances.” Barty truly seemed baffled.
“I think you do. See, from what you’ve said, it’s likely our shooter didn’t have your nana.”
Barty jumped forward. “Of course. Nana is like my conscience. Of course. How could I have missed that? She’s the voice in my head that helps me understand the consequences of my actions and their effect on others.” He grinned. “That’s why we never see ourselves as research subjects. We never see ourselves as clearly as we think we do.” He sat back down. “But that doesn’t really change anything. The potential is still inside. With the right triggers and pushing, I could be the shooter.”
Jim finished his beer and set the empty bottle on the table. Their conversation had taken a turn he hadn’t expected at all. From teasing each other about who they like to talking about compulsions that lead to shooting sprees. Time spent with Barty wasn’t dull, that’s for sure.
“I can’t argue with you because I don’t have the facts to back me up. All I know is what I believe.” And Jim wanted to think that Barty wasn’t capable of shooting anyone. “I think there’s a lot more to who we are and how we behave than just how our parents treat us and whether we have a chance to play or not.” He got up, grabbed his phone, and pulled up a traffic application. He could call in to the station, but it was easier if he didn’t have to disturb them. “It looks like the freeway is moving again.”
“Thank you for the beer and for the dinner,” Barty said. “I’ll do some more research on what we’ve found to see if I have any more ideas that we can apply.”
Jim walked Barty back through the house and out to his car. “Drive safely,
and I’ll be in touch when we have something new.” He hoped to hell it wasn’t another shooting. Jim waited as Barty got into his car and then pulled out of the drive and away from the house. He didn’t go inside right away, watching after Barty and wondering what the hell had just happened.
Barty was someone special, incredibly interesting, and as much as he hated to admit it, attractive as all hell. In many ways Barty pushed his buttons, but he’d told himself more than once that he wasn’t going down that path again. The crap with Garrett was more than enough heartbreak to last one lifetime, and his fascination with geeky guys with glasses had already led him astray more than once. He’d told Barty that he believed people made their own choices, and he was going to choose to date a different kind of guy, and that was all there was to it. On top of that, he’d already seen more of humanity’s worst than any man had a right to. So why in the hell would he open himself up again? It was easier to just live his life and do his job.
With that decided, he closed his front door, shutting the outside world away for a little while and closing the book on any thoughts he might have had for Barty Halloran. They were going to work together, that was all, and the incredibly hot, innocent, and thought-provoking man in the hottest, geekiest set of glasses on God’s green earth was going to remain only a colleague and nothing more.
Jim’s resolution was sound, and he was determined. He checked the clock and actually thought about going out for the evening to some place where he could have a little fun and maybe get some action. All these thoughts about Barty had to be frustration building around the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in so very long. There were plenty of clubs where he could find someone interesting for a few hours. When Jim turned around, he bumped his briefcase and it fell on its side, scattering papers on the floor.
“Right,” Jim said to himself as he gathered them up. He had work to do and reports and evidence to review yet again. His case was the most important one that his community had seen in years, and he was going to catch this guy if it was the last thing he did. Clubs and boyfriends, all kinds, geeky or not, were going to have to wait until this thing was over and their shooter was behind bars.
Jim activated the alarm and turned off the lights except in the family room, where he spread out his papers and got to work. There was a solution in here somewhere, and he needed to figure out what it was.
After working for hours, Jim sat back in his chair, letting his eyes drift closed. He saw Barty almost immediately, as big as life, smiling like he had over dinner, only now it was from behind a rifle looking down from a rooftop. Jim woke with a start, half expecting to see a pair of crosshairs superimposed over him. But everything was fine. Still, he was out of sorts and the chill didn’t dissipate. Jim needed to get some rest and try to let his mind clear. He’d been cramming everything into it, and talking to Barty had mixed everything up in his head.
Chapter 4
BARTY DIDN’T sleep at all that night, or the one after. His day had been full, and he’d talked to Jim. They were still running down the leads on the various organizations.
“Is there anything you might be able to tell us so we know what we’re looking for?”
“I wish I did,” Barty told him. “Other than to look for the best chess player, the club champion. If he’s a member, it’s going to be because he’s the best of the best. Though I’ll admit that’s a stretch, but it’s worth a shot. I’m really curious as to how he could get the equipment needed to make the kind of shots he’s making from the roofs without anyone seeing him. I mean, a lot can be said for people not looking for someone, but I think after what’s happened, that everyone would be on the lookout.”
“Guns and shooting equipment can be very compact,” Jim said. “But you’re right. We’re looking for someone who is very adept at blending into the crowd when he wants to. This isn’t someone who leaves anything to chance.”
Barty got a flash of inspiration. “I bet he does trial runs. Without the gun, of course, but he has to be there a day or so ahead of time to set the casings. If you haven’t, check with the people in the buildings used as shooting nests and see if they remember seeing someone a few days prior to the shooting.”
“I have officers on that right now. He has to show up somewhere, and someone will have to have seen him.”
Barty had to get to a class, so he’d ended the call and then had to hurry. That call had been yesterday, and he hadn’t heard from Jim since. Granted, it was less than a day, but he was anxious about it and thought of calling him. Instead, he called his sister. Sometimes she understood things that he didn’t.
“Barty, how’s the world of crazy killers?” Nicole said when she answered the phone.
“Interesting. I’m working with the police on a case.” He was happy to have been asked to consult. “It’s a good one, and I think I’m helping.” He wanted to.
“You be careful,” Nicole told him. “Don’t get in the line of fire or anything. Though if you’re a consultant, you probably stay in your office where it’s safe.”
“I’m pretty much working out of the police station, but I got to visit the crime scenes, and I’m starting to think the way he does and it’s scaring me a little. I think the killer is a lot like me.”
“How so?” Nicole asked.
“I think he had a different childhood, like I did. It’s a little disturbing to see someone that you could become on the other side of the work I’m doing. Like we’re two sides of the same coin.”
“You know that isn’t true because you’d never hurt anyone. Yeah, you’re my supersmart brother who looks at everything from a completely different angle, and you always have to know why. You’re worse than Danielle, and she’s three. But hurt someone… I don’t think so. Think of it this way: you’re worried about something happening. Therefore, it won’t. Does that make sense?” She was way smarter than most people gave her credit for, including Barty, and he needed to change that. “Is that all that has you upset? Because you could just back away if you need to.”
“No…,” he answered quickly. “There are things I don’t understand.” He was very uncomfortable talking about things like this, but he needed someone, and Nicole was his best resource for more personal, emotional stuff. “The guy I’m working with… I….” He was rarely at a loss for words. “Okay. I get this weird feeling in my belly when I’m around him, and then I’m hot all the time. I was wondering if I was sick, because I felt flushed a few times and—”
Nicole cut him off with laughter. “You like him.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes. He’s really interesting, and he seemed to talk to me like I’m not just some freak who should have the answers to all his problems.”
“No. I mean you like him like him. Is he good-looking?” Nicole asked. “Give me details.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Sure I am. Now just answer the question,” she said firmly.
“He has really nice brown eyes, and his hair looks like he has bedhead all the time, but I think that’s because he’s always really busy. He’s a little shorter than me but with wider shoulders, and I think he’s pretty strong.”
“Does he have a nice backside?”
“Nicole!”
“Well, does he?” She could be like a terrier with a bone sometimes.
“Yes. I followed him up some stairs and peeked. He’s really handsome, but what does that have to do with it?”
“Barty. When was the last time you noticed anything like that about anyone? You never talk about people’s hair or their shoulders and stuff. You were always more interested in what’s going on in their head—which was pretty freaky at times, let me tell you—than you ever were about the color of someone’s eyes. You like this policeman. Does he like you?”
“I think so. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Is he gay? Because if not, you don’t want to go there.”
She sounded like she knew from firsthand experience, and he really wanted to find out
how…. He pulled his thoughts back to the current conversation.
“He is. We had dinner the other night.”
“Was it a date?”
“No. I think he was saying thank you because I helped him. Then there was a shooting and we had to go, but it wasn’t for the case and they caught the guys. But the freeway was backed up bad, so he asked me back to his house and we talked and I kept feeling weird and anxious. My stomach did these little flips, and I thought it may have been the food, but I didn’t know. The house seemed cool enough, but I was hot, and then… things happened and I thought I might have daydreamed about him a little. But then we changed the conversation and we talked about me. Then I went home.”
“Did you take a breath?” Nicole teased. She was one of the few people that he knew when she was teasing. Usually because it was a lot of the time, so it was a good bet. “And I stick with what I said before. You like him. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Yes, there is. I don’t know what to do about it. What if he doesn’t like me that way? Should I ask him, or do I…? This is so complicated. He’s a smart guy, and I think I really might like him.”
“It sounds like you do. So you can tell him, if you want, and see how he feels. You can work with him and say nothing and hope he says something, but that sucks because all you end up doing is wondering if every little thing is him trying to tell you something. Believe me, those kinds of games are pretty bad. You can also just forget about it, work together, and go home every night and sleep with your cat.” Nicole was a dog person, and she’d never liked cats.
“Penelope is a good cat.”
“I’m sure she is. But unless you want to live your life with a series of cats for company, you’re going to have to take a chance and find someone that you like to spend your life with. Being loved is a good thing.”
“I didn’t say I was in love with him,” Barty explained.
“No. But you’re in like with him, and that’s a good thing. So if you want my advice, I’d say you should talk to him when you get the chance. Feel him out and see if he acts the same way. Look for signs that he gets warm around you. And watch the way he looks at you. Guys watch you if they’re interested. It’s part of the whole ‘guys are visual’ thing. You’re good at observing people, so watch him and see what it tells you.”
