by Morgan Brice
“What did you have in mind?” Vic asked, looking as if it pained him to speak the words.
“Let me take the drawing around to the shops and bars on the boardwalk, where people know me,” Simon suggested. “I’ve already started a neighborhood watch with the other shopkeepers, trying to look out for the hat guy. If anyone recognizes the scars, they’re more likely to tell me than to tell a uniform.”
Vic was silent for so long Simon feared he might explode, and then Vic closed his eyes and sighed. “All right,” he said quietly. “Just on the boardwalk, not all over town,” he cautioned. “Because I can’t stop you from doing that. And I think you’re right about the trust issue.”
“Thank you.” Simon slipped his arms around Vic’s waist and pressed himself against his lover’s chest, nestling his head beneath the taller man’s chin. He was afraid for a moment that Vic would step away, and then Vic tightened his hold, moving his hands to grip Simon’s back and draw him closer.
“Be careful,” Vic murmured. “I don’t want you to get hurt, and I don’t want you to get arrested. Just…try to stay out of trouble? Please?”
“I’ll try,” Simon replied because that much was true. He had no desire to cause problems, for himself or Vic. “Can you come by tonight?”
Vic shook his head. “I barely got out of there long enough to come over here, and Ross will be on my ass about it when I get back. I’m going to be pretty tied up for a while. I’ll text, but we’ll have to play the rest by ear.” He lifted a finger to trace Simon’s jaw. “Not forever, I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Simon said, and this time it was Vic who leaned in for the kiss. His lips were warm, and he tasted like coffee and mints, but he pulled back before their clinch could become more.
“Be careful,” Vic warned one more time as he reluctantly let go and headed for the door. “I mean it.”
“You, too,” Simon echoed, watching as Vic let himself out and headed down the boardwalk.
He glanced at his phone. Still half an hour until the shop was due to open. Time enough to run down to Mizzenmast Coffee and see if Tracey could help him make sense of the jumble in his heart and his head.
When Simon got to Le Miz, the line was no worse than he expected, but Tracey was not behind the counter. He got in the queue but had barely moved forward when he looked up and saw her motioning to him from the back room. Curious, Simon left the line to follow her into the pirate room.
“I wondered when you’d show up,” Tracey said, and then ducked into the kitchen and returned with two cups of coffee. “I came in early to do paperwork, and so Lana’s covering the front. Come with me,” she ordered, and Simon followed her into the tiny office that barely had room for a desk and two chairs. “Sit. And tell me what’s going on with you.”
Simon caught her up on everything that had happened since their last chat and gave her a copy of the scar sketch, which she promised to show her staff. Tracey’s eyes widened as he finished his story. “Damn, boy! When you do something, you don’t do it halfway!”
Simon sipped at the hot drink, knowing that the coffee should be making him jittery by now, but with how poorly he had been sleeping, it barely kept him coherent. “I don’t seem to be able to do the right thing no matter what I do,” he confided. “I thought I could help by seeing if my crew noticed anything funny going on, and I might have put them in worse danger. I’ve tried to help by talking to the ghosts, but the more on-target their information is, the more I seem to be putting a bull’s eye on my own back. I don’t want to end up dead or in jail. And I don’t want to lose Vic.”
Tracey watched him, her dark eyes stormy. “You never met my grandma, but she would have had a few words for you.” She lifted her chin like a matriarch. “First off, you haven’t done wrong trying to look out for people who aren’t as blessed as you are. That’s no sin. Money, education, even gifts like yours—when you’ve got more than some do, you’ve got a responsibility. Nothing wrong with taking that seriously.”
“But—”
“Did I look like I was done talking?” Tracey challenged him, winding one red-tipped braid around her finger as she spoke. “Secondly, the ghosts don’t have any voice but yours, Simon. If they were alive, the police would be all over them as witnesses, but the police can’t reach them. You can. They want to testify,” she said, dark eyes boring into him until he felt like squirming in his seat. “They have a powerful testimony, and you’re the only one who can hear it. That’s important.”
“All right,” Simon agreed. “But—”
Tracey held up a hand, palm out, and Simon went silent. “Now about that man of yours,” she said, and her eyes narrowed. “He’s either with you, or he isn’t. It’s as simple as that. Because if you go forward with him, there are things both of you are gonna have to adjust to, like his crazy schedule and working all hours of the night, and your talent. Those aren’t negotiable,” she warned. “Don’t be thinking either of you is going to change. That’s what got you where you were before,” she added, with a look that made Simon cringe as he thought of Jacen.
“So he’s going to have to figure out whether he’s in or out,” Tracey went on. “Whether he’s in love, whether he’s out of the closet, and whether he’s in your corner when it comes to believing in your talent. It’s not enough that you’ve made up your mind about him,” she said with a knowing grin. “He’s got to decide about you.”
“I know he cares,” Simon defended Vic, remembering the kiss from earlier, and the conflict in Vic’s eyes. “And I think he believes in the supernatural deep down, but he got hurt for it before, and now it’s harder for him to trust.”
“That’s what he’s got to decide, sweetie,” Tracey said, laying her hand over Simon’s. “Because real love isn’t easy, and there’s always a price to pay.”
14
Vic
“Do I want to know who you got the tip from about the scars?” Ross asked. “Or the blue fish hotel and big nose?”
“Don’t ask, and I won’t tell,” Vic replied. The tension between him and Ross had grown over Vic’s admission that he had brought Simon in on the case. While he hated being at odds with his partner, he still believed he had done the right thing. The big question was, how could he make use of Simon’s insights without making Simon a prime suspect?
“So you think that maybe the Slitter had a bolt hole around here?” Ross waited while Vic parked the car, and they both got out and headed for the street. Vic had parked in the bottom of the garage where they had found Cindy’s body. He climbed to the top level to get its view of the Grand Strand, and that’s when pieces started to click.
“Yeah, I do. From the top level of the garage, you can see the locations where all the other victims have been found,” Vic replied.
Ross snorted. “From that high, you can see half of Myrtle Beach. That’s not a real revelation.”
Vic gave him a look. “It’s probably what, a mile radius? Two miles? And all the bodies have been left within that area.”
“Why leave bodies near his own hiding place?” Ross argued. “You don’t shit where you sleep.”
Vic sighed. “I can always count on you to be a class act.” He couldn’t help teasing Ross, even if they were a bit on the outs with each other.
“So? It’s a good point. Why leave bodies near where he’s holed up?”
Vic frowned, thinking. “Maybe we’re missing the point. What if it’s not about where he lives, but where something important happened to him? Where he worked, or where he had a run-in that set him off?”
“It’s possible,” Ross admitted grudgingly. “So you just want to hit the streets asking people if they’ve seen a guy with scarred hands?”
“A guy who usually wears a baseball cap and aviators, and who has weird pink scars on his hands,” Vic corrected. “That’s pretty specific.”
“This is a beach town. Most of the men here wear a baseball cap and sunglasses,” Ross protested.
“Bu
t they don’t give off the vibe that they’re hiding something,” Vic replied. “If he’s been around here, either someone’s seen him or one of the video cameras has picked up images we can use. Now we’ve just got to find out about it.”
They each took a copy of the drawing Simon had made and split up to cover both sides of the street. After a block, they regrouped.
“So why do you think the Slitter killed that guy?” Ross asked. “Kinda late in the game to switch targets, don’t you think?”
Vic remembered Simon’s theory but knew he couldn’t back it up with any evidence Ross would accept. “There’s probably a link we don’t know about between the victims.”
“The victims didn’t work together. As far as we can tell, they didn’t know each other. No schools in common, no club memberships. The first several kills were J-ones, but now these last two aren’t,” Ross grumbled. “You know how rare it is for a serial killer to change his habits.”
“So we need to assume he didn’t, and that there is a link we just aren’t seeing,” Vic replied. And while he knew that Simon was acquainted with Quinn, Cindy, and Katya, he’d found no connection between him and the other victims. He hated checking up on Simon, but the cop in him had to know.
“I can’t shake the feeling that he’s building up to something,” Ross said. “And that worries me. The killings have gotten closer together. What’s next? A bomb?”
Vic shook his head. “That doesn’t feel right. But I agree there’s a build-up going on, or maybe he’s losing control, and he can’t stop himself.”
“He’s too meticulous for that,” Ross disagreed. “He hasn’t left us a bit of evidence yet. I think he’s all about control, and he’s got a master plan we aren’t going to like.”
Three more blocks passed the same way, with shrugs or shakes of the head from all the merchants, restaurant servers, and ice cream stand workers they questioned. Finally, Vic scored a win with the hot dog vendor across the street from the hotel he had glimpsed from the parking garage.
“Scars? Yeah, I remember a guy like that,” the man said, pushing up his striped cap and stepping back from the steaming cart. “Used to come by every week and get hot dogs on Friday. Mustard, no ketchup or onions, pickle on the side like this was Chicago, if you can believe it.”
“Do you remember what he looked like?” Vic pressed, trying to keep his excitement in check.
“Other than the scars?” The hot dog man shook his head. “I keep my eyes on the money. You’d be amazed how good some people are at shorting you if you aren’t watching every move. Never him, though. He always paid.”
“Does he still come around?”
“Nah. Haven’t seen him in three, four months, give or take,” the vendor said. “I figure he changed jobs. Most of my regulars work around here. They like my dogs because they can get a quick meal on their break.” He grinned. “I’m cheap, fast, and good, but I ain’t easy.”
Vic chuckled at the bad joke. “If you see him around, try to get a look at his face, but don’t do anything unusual to draw his attention. That’s important,” he said, meeting the man’s eyes. “This guy is dangerous.”
“Yeah? Didn’t seem like an imposing guy to me. Wasn’t real tall, or a weightlifter. Just a regular dude. But, hey, what do I know? I just sell hot dogs.”
Vic gave the man his card and thanked him, as the wheels spun in his mind. The killings had started four months ago. If the Slitter had been laid off from one of the places in the radius of where he left the bodies or had a run-in with a co-worker or lover, maybe they could guess his end game. Vic glanced around and remembered the large area visible from the top of the parking garage. Trying to gather a list of everyone who had been laid off four months ago from all the businesses in that range would take forever.
Which meant they needed to get started right away before the killer struck again.
Vic’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out. A new text from Simon. Despite everything, it made him smile.
Having a nice day? Been busy here.
Boring legwork, the curse of all cops everywhere.
Don’t forget to eat. Vic loved that Simon worried about him. Nate had shared the demands of being a cop, so he never had any sympathy when the weight of it bore down on Vic. Simon’s quiet nurturing made Vic feel wanted, treasured, and valued without being smothering or controlling. He had never realized how much he liked being cared for until Simon.
I’ll eat. Can’t promise it’ll be healthy. Donuts, you know.
Defy the stereotype, Simon texted back.
Vic was thinking of how to reply when Simon wrote again. Can you come by the shop later? I’ve heard some things.
Sure. I’ll be there by seven, Vic promised. He had been thinking of asking Simon to see if he could pick up anything else from the ghosts, anything that might corroborate his theory about the Slitter having had an upsetting experience with either a business or an individual linked to the area of the kills. He’d have to be careful how he phrased the questions, but years as a cop had trained him how to ask for what he needed without giving anything away.
Looking forward to it. Be safe.
Vic stared at the message for a moment before pocketing his phone. Despite Ross’s warnings and Vic’s unfortunate past, he couldn’t get Simon out of his mind. Yes, the dark-haired ex-professor was surprisingly hot and enthusiastic in bed, a compatibility Vic had feared he might never find in a partner. But what he felt was grounded in more than just mind-blowing sex. Simon set him at ease, made it possible for Vic to let down his guard, and that was something very few people managed to do. Being with Simon felt right; and thinking about being with him for the long-term was ridiculously—frighteningly—easy.
Now if Vic could just protect Simon from the Slitter, and from Simon’s own misguided amateur detecting.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a tedious slog, going door to door, showing the drawing and being turned away without leads. A few people remembered seeing the man, but not recently, and no one knew where he worked or why he was in the neighborhood.
“I’m beat,” Ross confessed when he and Vic met up as the sun was low in the sky. “We didn’t get much, but at least we confirmed you were right about him having some tie to this area.” He cleared the sweat from his face with his sleeve. “We gonna do this again tomorrow?”
“You got any better leads to track down?”
“Nah. This is more than we’ve had to go on in a while. Good thinking, by the way.”
Vic shrugged. “You’d have come up with it, too. Eventually,” he added with a grin.
“I need to get home,” Ross said, checking the time. “My wife is very patient with the job, but she’s starting to send me pictures of the kids to remind me of their names. I can take a hint.”
“Go,” Vic replied. “I’m planning to grab something to take back with me for dinner and crash in front of the TV.”
Ross gave him a skeptical look. “No psychic action on the side?”
Vic was surprised how quickly his anger spiked. “I know you don’t like Simon—”
“I don’t trust him,” Ross corrected.
“Fine. But I’m tired of you talking about him like he’s just a piece of ass.”
Ross’s eyebrows rose. “Isn’t he?” He gave Vic an assessing once-over. “Shit, Vic. You care about this guy.”
Vic swallowed. “Yeah. I do. And the timing is lousy, and it should be all kinds of wrong after what happened in Pittsburgh, but…it’s different than with anyone else.”
Vic expected a lecture from Ross about his stupidity, about being conned by a man Ross considered to be a fraud, about putting his career and their partnership in jeopardy. Instead, Ross just shook his head like he was having a conversation with himself. “Huh,” he replied.
“That’s it?”
Ross huffed out a breath. “I still don’t like it. I’m still on the fence about his motives, and I worry about you being played—”
“You�
��re worried about me being played?” Vic echoed incredulously.
“It happens to the best of us.”
“How is being involved in this to Simon’s benefit in any way?” Vic demanded.
“He has a cop in his corner, defending him, for one thing.”
“Ross, if you—”
Ross held up a hand to stop Vic mid-argument. “I’m not saying that he’s the Slitter—”
“He isn’t.”
“Or that he’s an accomplice. But Jesus, Vic, this is like basic police academy stuff. The guy that keeps showing up for no good reason usually has a bad reason.”
Vic rubbed his neck, trying to keep his temper in check. He knew Ross was worried about him, and if he were in Ross’s place, he’d probably have been even less tactful. But Ross didn’t know Simon—had never even met him—and Vic had to trust that his ability to read witnesses was as good as it always had been. There’d been no gain for Simon in any of this, except for his relationship with Vic, and no way that Vic could see for Simon to benefit from the deaths. Until something proved him wrong, Vic was going to trust his gut—and his heart.
“I hear you, Ross. But we’ve played hunches before, and they’ve worked out. That’s part of being a detective, isn’t it? Intuition? So trust me a little bit longer on this, will ya? Because I think Simon’s the key to this, not because he’s guilty, but because he’s got a perspective we don’t.”
“You mean, he talks to dead people.”
“Look at it as debriefing hard-to-reach witnesses,” Vic said with a wry grin, and Ross groaned. “Seriously, if we could talk to them, we would. But we can’t. So if he can—”
“You sound crazy.”
“Belief,” Vic replied, raising his chin and meeting Ross’s eyes. “Think of it as a matter of belief.”
