Picking up a strawberry, Anderson couldn't help staring at it. Normally he would be the first person ready to devour them but as he stared at the fruit, he had no desire to see or eat anything red. Byung's words came to him once more and he inhaled before shoving the piece of fruit into his mouth. Byung was right. The best revenge was to live—but he felt so guilty being alive, breathing while his father sat in pieces in a medical examiner's fridge with a tag on his toe. No one deserved to die like that.
"Bee, do you remember dad ever having flowers in the house?"
"Uhm—flowers? What kind of flowers?"
"I don't know."
"Er—no. Pops was allergic to flowers, wasn't he? I remember once I brought you over some roses for your room and he couldn't stop sneezing. Why?"
"Do you think he could have found one he wasn't allergic to—that he was only allergic to some and not others?"
"I don't know—Andy, what's going on in that head of yours?"
Anderson shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe it's nothing. Just something the detective asked me. Can you stay?"
"Always." Byung nodded.
Anderson lay on his side, body half curled facing his best friend. He remembered the last time they lay like that he and his mother had just passed away. Clutching Byung's hand, the two lay awake, staring at each other all night and in the morning they rose together and sat on the balcony silently. The same situation caused them to share a bed again—sadness.
Blinking, he inhaled and his body shook. Byung reached for his hand and he gave it over without hesitation. They lay there in the same position until sun streamed through the window and the only reason Anderson got up was to call in sick to work. Thankfully he didn't have to explain what happened for they had it splashed all over the news. His dean told him to take all the time he needed and it would be explained to his students.
* * * *
But after being at home freaking out and losing his mind, Anderson returned to work the first chance he could.
When he walked into the class, the students went silent. He knew they'd heard what had happened. He bit down on his lower lip and inhaled to calm his senses before looking up. "Hi," he managed. His voice cracked. Clearing his throat, he moved to sit on the edge of his desk and faced the large lecture hall. "I'm sure most of you know what happened. And I know I probably should be home right now but if I stay home, I'm going to rip out all the hair I have and as you can see, it's not much."
That got chuckles from the students so he hopped from the desk and smiled at them tightly. "Besides, you paid me to be here so it's not fair to you. Any questions?"
A hand shut up from the center and Anderson nodded. "Yes, Jacob."
"I know," the student began, "that we're all thinking it so I'm just going to say it. We are really sorry for what happened. I'm not saying I know how you feel but… you know?"
Anderson nodded. "Thanks, guys." When no other hands went up, Anderson walked around his desk to his notes. He turned back to face the class. "All right, so we'll pick up where we left off last lecture but do not forget your paper is due next class. So if you have any questions about that, ask them now…"
Normally, the class would fly by. But this day the class dragged on and on. The students were on their best behavior and he knew it was because of his father. At certain points in the lecture he would have to stop, clear his throat, and continue. He threw himself into the lesson for it was something he was passionate about. Over and over Anderson had to push his father from his mind and focus with all his might on his students. He used every ounce of strength he had in him to take in each answer the class gave to his questions. He even managed a few jokes.
"Once we've finished Jane Eyre, we'll be doing Homer. He described the Trojan War, including Greek characters such as Agamemnon, Menelaos, Achilles, Calchas, Clytaemnestra, Odysseus, Ajax." Anderson Williams walked amongst the two hundred students he taught Classical Literature. "Can anyone think of an easy way to remember this?"
"Think Homer Simpson!" a student shouted and Anderson laughed.
"Don't know how effective that would be." He grinned. "But whatever floats your boat."
The lecture hall erupted in laughter.
The regular shuffling of students began and Anderson knew it was time for the lecture to end. The students seemed to enjoy the class but three hours was a lot for a bunch of young people to sit listening to things about dead authors they'd probably never use once they graduated. When the shuffling began, Anderson knew time was up.
"Don't forget!" he shouted above the ruffling of chairs, zippers, papers and the like, "your paper on Homer's Odyssey is due next lecture. Therefore if you haven't started it yet, now may be a good time." A few nervous chuckles erupted from the departing students and Anderson had to laugh and shake his head. He watched the students all leave, waiting to see if any of the regulars would have any questions or comments on the day's topic. When no one stuck around, he exhaled and slipped back into his darkened, fatherless world. It was harder to get out of bed since his father's murder, but he did it. He'd shoved his feet from the bed, showered, laced his coffee with Jamaican white rum then walked the block to campus from his home. By the time he got there, he would have sweat out the alcohol and was left blissfully numb. The numbness didn't last and by the time his second lecture of the day rolled around, he could feel everything, twice as much.
Anderson glanced at the clock.
"Fuck!" he swore. "I am so late!"
Quickly, he shoved his copy of Jane Eyre into his bag, followed by the surprise quiz he had dropped on the students that day. Yanking his jacket off the back of a chair, he tossed the bag over his shoulder and breezed out the door. He was late for pretending to be straight and completely in love with some model or another for his best friend's latest music video. He hated it, but if Byung Ho Fung had asked Anderson to move the earth, Anderson would have found some way to do it.
Anderson had no ill feelings for women. He thought they were beautiful creatures, but they never did anything sexually for him. Give him a sexy, intelligent, independent man and Anderson would be in heaven. Being one of Byung's video actors was supposed to be a one-time deal after the original model had gotten hurt. How someone could injure himself during sex escaped Anderson but he wouldn't judge. After that video, the directors were so impressed with Anderson, they were absolutely gushing.
"Taxi!" Anderson flailed a hand above his head.
The yellow machine skidded to a stop before him and Anderson hopped in, gave his destination, and slipped back into the seat. Then, he released his control and let memories of his father flood his mind completely. Judge Jazmon Williams spent his life putting away the bad guys. He always told Anderson, "Andy, I'm doing this for you and your mother. I have to make the world safer for both of you."
Anderson pressed his eyes shut. Pain vibrated through him, causing tears to sting his eyes.
"Easy, Andy," he whispered huskily.
"You sayin' somethin', brotha?" the cap driver tossed over his shoulder.
"Nah, man." Anderson sat forward and inhaled deeply. When the car finally stopped, Anderson wasn't ready to face what was ahead. But he was doing it for a friend, a brother. He paid the cab fare and watched the cab drive away until it was a tiny yellow dot intermixed with other cars all running in the same direction.
"'I didn't really expect you to come for this," Byung Ho Fung's voice interrupted Anderson's daze. The literature professor spun around and was instantly in the arms of the Chinese actor/singer.
"I know. But I did promise." Anderson managed a smile while returning the hug. He knew the madness that was to begin and was not looking forward to it.
"Andy, your dad just died…"
"And I need to keep moving. If I sit down, I start thinking and wondering what I could have done better than the tears and the feelings of helplessness—let me do this. Please."
Byung said nothing for a long while, but inhaled and nodded. "All right, bro." He w
aved to someone and the man instantly lifted a bullhorn to his lips.
"Makeup!" he hollered.
Anderson flinched.
Soon he was shirtless, in a white pair of satin pajama pants, lying in a bed with white sheets with a rather pretty Chinese brunette writhing against his body to the music of Byung singing "Tell Me Lies". The song was something Anderson knew all too well with the last two men he had dated. It was about a man who knew his lover was lying about her love and her loyalty to him, but chose not to face the lies in return for keeping what he thought was pure love. The men Anderson dated all told him what they'd thought he wanted to hear. They'd all whispered sweet nothings to him and a part of him loved the fact they were saying those tender words of love. They were the lies he was willing to tolerate, to take in, but soon he realized they were no good for him. They were slowly tearing him apart and he couldn't allow that to happen. They were stealing his control and Anderson would rather die than give that up.
Oh, to be in willing denial, he thought to himself.
Each time the director yelled "Cut!" his mind would shift gears from relationships to his father then to the detective who'd questioned him. Maybe if he thought hard enough, he could remember something to help. Something in the background when his father called him that morning to remind him of their date—something in his father's voice, anything that could catch the person responsible. But the director called "Action!" again far too soon and the thoughts got lost.
By the time the day finally ended, Anderson invited Byung to spend the night. They charged through the front door of Anderson's house and plopped down onto a sofa. Together they exhaled.
"What a day," Byung moaned.
"I feel you," Anderson jargoned softly. "I thought about him today."
"I told you. You didn't have to do the shoot."
"And I told you, if I didn't do it, I'd drive myself crazy."
"Have you spoken to anyone down at the precinct about the murder?" Byung wanted to know.
Anderson inhaled deeply then pushed forward to brace his elbows against his knees, "Not today. I stopped by yesterday but they said the detective in charge of the case wasn't there. I know they're giving me the fucking runaround. I just…" He trailed off.
"I could pull some strings," Byung offered.
Anderson shook his head. He rose and entered the kitchen. Pulling frozen lasagna from the freezer, he prepped it, and placed it in the oven. As he turned the oven on and set the timer, he spoke, "I'll deal with them tomorrow," growling like a bear that had been poked one too many times. "I'm going to let them know I wanna be kept informed of any progress on the case. I am not some disinterested relative of their latest murder victim. This victim was my father and I am very interested in justice!"
Chapter Three
It was less than a month later and the case had stalled. The victim's son had stopped by and called in, but Leo couldn't speak to him. He had no idea what he would say and besides, he wanted to make sure Anderson had nothing to do with the murder. Leo was beginning to feel the lack of sleep kicking in. No matter how much coffee he drank, he still felt as if he could pass out from exhaustion. Though each time he tried sleeping, he'd just lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Taking a sip from the cup in his hand, Leo made a face. "Tastes like motor oil."
"Yeah," Officer Slade agreed. "What else is new? I think the reason why the coffee hasn't gotten better since the beginning of time is because no matter how bad it is, it keeps us awake."
Leo laughed. "So true." He took another sip to stress his point and hauled his tired body back to his desk. Placing his cup on the desk, he pushed from his coat and slung it over the back of his chair. The Williams' file was sitting like an eyesore on his desk. Inside the covers of the file folder he prayed he had something to tell him who the killer could be. Though he had pored over it cover to cover the night before and found nothing.
He was desperately trying to be positive, to remain calm. But it was getting harder. One of the officers hurried in and handed him a file. "The background check you wanted," he explained.
Leo grunted his thanks and instantly leafed through the information. A background check on Anderson Williams brought back nothing of consequence. All he found out was he was a wealthy smart-ass who spent way too much time teaching and not enough time spending his millions. There went that suspect.
"Hey, Leo. I got the medical examiner's final report on the Williams' case."
"The son checks completely out," Leo said, accepting the file and opening it. He placed it on his desk and skimmed through it. "He was at NYU that morning from about six at the gym, then class right afterward; the access card records and video surveillance proved it." Daniel stopped for a bit to read. "Well, the judge wasn't alive when his head came off. I guess that's something. Says here the cause of death was asphyxiation."
"Yeah—someone strangled him."
"But why strangulation? I mean it's so personal and up close."
"Do you think it's someone he put away? Or a family member of someone he put away?"
Leo shrugged. "Who knows? I spent the night just poring over the pictures from the scene, especially that excerpt from the Edgar Allan Poe poem. I just kept drawing blanks. The internet wasn't any use. Just some big shots talking a bunch of crap that make my fucking brain hurt."
"And the son didn't tell you anything?"
"He couldn't. It's like he had to force himself to remain sane while I was speaking to him. He was out of it, Danny. I didn't think he had anything to do with it. No one could fake that much grief."
"You going to tell him we looked into his alibi?" Daniel smirked.
"He already knew we were going to. I mean he's a literature professor. After that Poe quote on the wall, he must have known."
Daniel chuckled.
Falling into his seat, Leo stretched his legs out before him and tilted his neck one way then the next. He hadn't had a wink of sleep the night before. Perhaps that was why he hadn't come up with anything at all. His mind was painfully numb with rage. Even though some time had passed, sometimes at nights, he had to lock himself into the bathroom and just scream before he felt as if he wasn't going to implode.
"Look. I'll keep reaching out to my contacts to see if they've heard anything."
"Me too. In the meantime, I asked the DA for a list of his cases going back about ten years. She said there are plenty of them, so we'll have our hands full."
"We're running solo on this one, Kim. The boss said he can't spare the manpower. I managed to keep the few uniforms we took off the Petrol case to help us with any more legwork we may come up with, but we can't hold them indefinitely. The minute they manage to locate the suspect, we have to give the uniforms back."
"I figured. Go ahead and send them back now. But tell Hoffstan we may need to borrow them again. In the meantime, there is no reason why the both of us should stick around here."
"I'll let you know what they find out. Did you tell him how you know his father yet?"
Leo shook his head. "I think he suspects. He said my name sounded familiar. But who knows? I just have to find the right time. He's going through enough as it is."
"There's never the right time, man. Just tell him."
"I have to…"
A uniform walked up to them and Leo addressed him.
"Sorry to interrupt, detective, but an Anderson Williams is here to see you."
Leo and Daniel exchanged glances before Leo stood.
"We will talk later," he assured his partner before following the officer out to the front. He greeted Anderson with a handshake then escorted him into an interrogation room.
"Have a seat." Leo motioned to the chair.
"That's fine. I think I'll stand." Anderson folded his arms over his massive chest.
Leo took a seat. "What can I do for you?"
I'm here to check the progress of my father's case."
"These cases don't move as fast as on television and we don't have any fancy music mo
ntage to pass the time."
"In other words, you have nothing."
Leo bit his lower lip and tilted his head. He leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on the desk and met Anderson's eyes. "We have nothing definitive right now. But you can't rush these cases. They will take time and you have to be prepared for that."
"May I ask what exactly are you doing to find this bastard?"
"We just got the full report back from the medical examiner and we're still waiting for a bunch of other lab results that could put us where we need to be. But until then, you have to be patient. I can understand you're upset right now but I—"
"Of course I'm upset. Wouldn't you be, walking in and finding your father in that state? But I'm also enraged at the killer who could do this to another human being. Have you looked into the fact this guy may have done this to someone else? I mean who just makes their first kill and starts with cutting someone's head off?"
Leo felt like a moron. He hadn't even thought to look into that. He made a mental note not to let his feelings for Jazmon Williams cloud his judgment but it was getting to be a major pain in his ass.
"Of course we're looking into that," he lied. "Like I said, you have to give us a chance to do our work and do it properly."
"I get it. You can't rush this."
He watched the way Anderson walked over to the two-way mirror and stared through it as though he could see beyond it. Leo knew better.
"There's something I need to talk to you about, Anderson."
The dark-skinned Adonis turned and leveled sad eyes on Leo. Any control Leo had then was quickly vanishing. Anderson's beautiful lips pressed into a determined line left his perfectly chiseled features brimming with dark danger. Rubbing his sweat-covered palms against his thighs, he took a breath and rose to stand beside Anderson.
"There's another reason why I have to be careful with this case," Leo explained. "I knew your father."
Love Lies Bleeding Page 3
