by SJD Peterson
AFTER BREAKFAST, Hutch, Granite, and Struk left to make arrangements for addressing the public. They’d all agreed that it would be detrimental to the case to ostracize the different departments handling the cases. Although, as badly as they’d fucked up the investigations, they actually deserved to have their asses handed to them in the arena of public opinion.
Noah was left behind to grumble about being babysat by Byte. “I still don’t understand why I can’t go see my patients at the outreach center. We’ve all agreed it’s Hutch the sicko wants, not me.”
“Because there is the very real possibility he’d use you to get to Hutch,” Byte responded evenly without looking up from his computer. “But if you absolutely have to go to class, I’ll go with you.”
Noah flopped back on the bed sideways, stretched his arms over his head, and huffed out a pent-up breath. He wasn’t pouting, dammit. He really did need to go to the clinic. Well, actually he’d already called and gotten someone to cover his patients for the day, but he hated having to do it. He especially hated that he’d have to make it up and repay the favor, but he wasn’t about to pull Byte away from his work.
“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll make it up,” Noah assured him. He rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. “What are you working on?”
“I’m putting together a program that will cross-reference every statistic we know about each victim, comparing them with every known case of death of young effeminate gay men in the past ten years.”
“There couldn’t have been that many in Chicago before ’07?”
“No, but worldwide you’d be surprised.”
“Worldwide?” Noah asked incredulously.
“Mmmhmm. Hutch doesn’t believe Jared Martin was our killer’s first victim. The crime was too clean, even if the cops fucked up the investigation. Hutch had every sample tested and retested. No foreign hairs, DNA, prints, fibers, nothing.”
Noah tossed over the theory that there might have been more victims before Martin. He supposed it was possible the killer had moved to Chicago in ’07, but Noah didn’t believe it. “I think this guy is native to the Windy City. The rural dump sites are places an outsider may stumble on by accident once, but not seventeen times.”
“That’s a good point, and I gotta say I agree with you, but I can’t come up with another explanation for why the first kill was so clean.”
“He’s ritualistic,” Noah explained. “Every minute detail is thought out before he even begins the hunt. He’s also extremely knowledgeable about forensics. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if he turns out to be a crime scene investigator or a cop.”
Byte’s head snapped up. “You think he’s a cop?”
Noah shrugged. “Maybe. It could be an explanation for such shoddy police work. Have you done a background check on the investigators and techs that worked the Martin case, compared them to Hutch’s profile?”
“We just assumed—” Byte ran a hand over his face and blew out a low whistle. “Dammit, I know better than to assume. We instantly settled on the notion that the lack of investigation was because of who the victim was.”
Noah pushed up to a sitting position and scooted around until his back was against the headboard. “Martin being gay and into the BDSM lifestyle most certainly could be the reason, but I don’t think it would hurt to look at other possibilities.”
Byte set his laptop aside and went to the makeshift kitchenette. “Want one?” he asked, pulling a Coke out of the minifridge.
“Sure.”
Byte brought over two sodas, handed one to Noah, and then sat in the chair next to the bed, propping his feet on the mattress. “You’re going to be a hell of an investigator, Noah. You want a job?”
Noah popped the top on his can and took a sip. “Nope. I couldn’t imagine doing what you guys do every day. I want a nice office with a big comfy chair and to probe minds, not crime scenes.”
“I don’t hang out at the crime scenes either. Hutch takes Granite to those. I do my investigating sitting in shitty hotel rooms.”
The tone of Byte’s voice was part… disappointment, anger, sadness? Noah wasn’t sure which or if it was a combination of all three. “Would you rather be out in the field?” he asked cautiously.
“Sometimes, but I guess I’m better in cyberspace. Besides, I’m not part of the bureau. They don’t typically hire hackers, at least not officially.” Byte chuckled.
Suddenly Granite’s words came back to Noah. “Do you and Hutch have something going on? You know, intimately?”
He was extremely attracted to Hutch, but he’d never try to break up a relationship, no matter how badly he wanted someone.
“Oh hell no!” Byte hooted, sounding shocked.
“I didn’t mean to offend you. Granite said—”
“You didn’t. I’m bi, but me and Hutch?” Byte laughed heartily. This time the laughter was genuine.
“Why is that so funny? You’re both gorgeous men and obviously have a lot in common. I think it would be cool to work with my partner. I mean literal partner, not work partner…. I mean….” He blew out a flustered breath. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah I do, and I love Hutch to death, but more like a brother. He’s also totally not my type. Too big, too hairy, and too burly for me, plus he has no fashion sense and his table manners are horrible.”
That caused Noah to laugh. Hutch was kind of a Neanderthal, but Noah had always been attracted to alpha males, and oh how Hutch tripped all Noah’s triggers. “I think he’s perfect,” Noah admitted shyly.
Byte studied him for a minute, and then a soft smile played across his lips. “He’s a great guy, but he works too much, and I don’t know if he’s really the relationship kind of guy.”
“Oh, I wasn’t…. I mean…,” Noah blustered as his cheeks heated. “I’m not looking for any kind of relationship either. Hell, I’m more like you. I usually have my nose in a book or am too busy typing away at a computer to really date much.” At all.
“What a sad, sad group we are.” Byte snickered.
Noah chased the droplets of condensation on his soda can with his fingertip. Without looking up, he asked, “If Hutch did date, what kind of guys would he go after? Hypothetically, of course.”
“Muscular build, intelligent, blue eyes, shaggy blond hair.”
“Really?” Noah asked excitedly, then met Byte’s laughing gaze. Noah narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You’re just fucking with me.”
“Nope, you’re totally his type. That’s why we never fight, well, at least not about men. While I agree with him that you’re attractive, I like my men like I like my women—feminine.”
“Like CS’s victims,” Noah said sympathetically.
Byte’s features contorted into an ugly mask of anger. “This son of a bitch is taking something beautiful and torturing and disfiguring it.”
Now Noah understood why this case was personal for Hutch and Byte. Hell, it was personal for him too, and not just because of what had happened to his mom and sister. While he might not date or flaunt his sexuality, he’d personally witnessed the inequality and downright hate some members of society could inflict upon those in the gay community.
“We may not be able to make people care about what’s happening in the gay community, but once Hutch addresses the media, law enforcement will at least be forced to do their job.”
“Yeah, I’m not holding my breath on that. I don’t have a lot of faith in their abilities.” Byte sounded jaded.
“Maybe not, but I have a lot of faith in Hutch. He’s an amazing profiler and agent, I have no doubt he’ll… all of you, will catch this guy.”
“He is a great agent. He’s also sensitive.” Byte smiled.
“Hutch? Sensitive?” Noah snorted. “I can’t see him as big on mushy feelings, more the caveman type.”
“He’s definitely a caveman, but I was talking about sensitive as in feeling what others are feeling.”
Noah’s chin nearly hit hi
s lap. “You’re shitting me? Like psychic?”
“No. He can’t foresee the future or contact spiritual beings or any of that crap. I’m talking about being aware of energy… being intuitive, feeling what the killer is feeling, knowing how he thinks. He doesn’t like to talk about it, it freaks him out, so don’t say anything. Granite and I have tried to talk to him about it, but he always brushes it off, tries to act like it’s not bothering him, but I know it does. He thinks he’s crazy, or when he does feel what the killer is feeling, he’s worried there’s the possibility it’s his own subconscious feelings.”
“Wow… just…. Wow. Now I’m even more convinced it’s only a matter of time before you catch this son of a bitch.”
The anger seemed to drain from Byte. He tipped his soda can and downed the contents, then threw the can across the room, hitting the trash can with a perfect shot. “Well, if I’m going to contribute, I better get my ass back to work.”
“I’ll sit here and try not to annoy the babysitter,” Noah responded with a wry grin.
“Fuck that! You’re going to help me with all this data.”
“I am?”
Byte strode across the room and grabbed a large stack of papers from a side table and plopped it down next to Noah. “You start reading off data while I type.”
Noah snatched up the first paper and studied it. Names, dates, physical descriptions, addresses, blah, blah. “I’m sorry I opened my mouth,” Noah grumbled good-naturedly.
“Suck it up, buttercup. We got a madman to catch,” Byte retorted and picked up his laptop.
Chapter 21
HUTCH STOOD behind the podium with a multitude of microphones attached to it, and twice as many pointed at him from the sea of reporters, shoving and crowding each other to get closer to the action. He hated this shit, had never been comfortable addressing a crowd since his brain-to-mouth filter rarely worked and he ended up dropping the f-bomb on national television. Oh well, it had to be done. He wiped his clammy hands on his jeans and cleared his throat.
“I’m Special Agent Todd Hutchinson. The FBI in combination with Jefferson County and Oak Park, as well as numerous other investigative agencies, are working together to bring a killer to justice. Not just any killer, but a cowardly serial killer who is nothing more than a bully preying upon those smaller and weaker than he is. I can assure you, it’s only a matter of time before we are knocking on his door and putting this piece of sh—this degenerate behind bars.”
There were gasps and rumblings from the crowd, as well as some nasty glares from the higher-ups in attendance, but Hutch didn’t care. This little public appearance, while a warning for the public, was basically a direct message. It might be completely unconventional, unprofessional, and crude, but stopping a killer was more important than worrying about image and bureaucratic bullshit. He’d deal with the fallout later.
“We are currently putting together a task force. It will be composed of thirty-six officers from eight jurisdictions, as well as an additional six detectives to review the cases of the known victims and the likeliest suspects. There will also be a special team of undercover officers to patrol the hottest areas from which the victims disappeared. Further details on this team will not be shared with the public. I will take just a couple of questions before turning it over to Captain Crosby. You,” Hutch encouraged as he pointed to an eager-looking man in the second row.
“Logan Aubin from WJJT. It’s been rumored that the killings began as early as 2007. If that is true, why is the public only now learning of a serial killer at work?”
“The cases weren’t connected initially as they were spread out over numerous jurisdictions.”
The crowd roared, all shouting out their questions at the same time. Hutch ignored them and pointed to a patiently waiting older gentleman with his hand raised. “You there, in the blue shirt.” The crowd instantly quieted.
“Thank you, Agent Hutchinson. Darrell Metcalf from Queer Town Press. Does the lack of connection and investigation into the deaths have anything to do with the fact that all the victims were gay?”
“I can only speak for myself and my team, but I don’t give a shit about sex, age, religion, or sexual orientation. I chase each scumbag with the same tenacity. I have a nearly flawless record of takedown and arrest, and no offense to the other officers, but had I been called in after the first victim, this insignificant maggot would already be rotting in iron and concrete.”
The stunned looks and roar of the crowd barely registered as Hutch stomped away from the podium. He left Captain Crosby from Jefferson to clean up the mess and give the actual statistics and such. The captain hadn’t been real enthusiastic about what Hutch was going to do—in fact, he’d balked and tried to put a stop to it. Hutch had calmly reminded the good captain that he and his agents didn’t work for the county, and unless the captain wanted to have the incompetence of his force pointed out on the six o’clock news, he had better not interfere. Obviously Hutch had gotten his way. He’d thrown down the gauntlet, and now he’d have to draw from his limited reserves of patience and wait for the killer to make his next move.
“Holy fuck! Did you see the way the captain’s eyes were bugging out of his head?” Granite laughed.
“He did seem a little upset with my methods,” Hutch agreed with a sly smile.
“If that ain’t the understatement of the century. I was hiding behind the guy in front of me, watching the captain’s face get redder and redder. I was sure the dude’s head was going to explode. Kaboom!” Granite hollered as he threw his hands out.
“Yeah, well, we avoided that explosion. Let’s hope this whole thing doesn’t blow up in our faces and we end up with even more bodies on our hands. Did you see anything out of the ordinary, suspicious?”
“Other than a hundred people all pissing themselves in shock? No. Did you really expect me to?” Granite asked as he stopped next to the car and looked over the top of it with a raised brow at Hutch.
“Get in the car, smartass,” Hutch grumbled and slid behind the wheel.
“It is smart, and firm too,” Granite drawled as he got in the car and buckled his seat belt.
“Shut up,” Hutch huffed and fired up the engine. He had carefully maneuvered out of the packed parking lot and gotten them on the road before either of them said another word.
“How long do you think before this guy contacts us?” Granite asked, all joking set aside.
Hutch stared out at the road ahead, a sickening feeling settling into his gut. He had no issue with the bastard coming after him, he’d be more than happy to go toe to toe with the nut bag, but…. He ran a hand over his jaw and rolled his neck as the tension in his muscles caused them to cramp.
“I think it will be fairly quickly. I just hope that his response isn’t another body propped up and displayed, ya know?”
“I can tell by the look on your face what you’re thinking, and it’s utter bullshit, so knock it off,” Granite demanded, waving a finger warningly at Hutch.
“Oh really? And just what in the hell do you think I’m thinking?” Hutch snapped.
“You’re thinking if it happens, it will be your fault. But you know as well as I do unless we stop him, it won’t be one body but an unmeasurable number of corpses.” Granite shifted in the seat until he was looking Hutch straight on. “Look, I wish I could tell you he won’t respond by taking another victim, but I can’t. What I can tell you with absolute fucking certainty is that you did the right thing.”
Hutch didn’t turn to meet Granite’s gaze, instead kept his attention on the road. He didn’t know how to respond or even if he should. There was no sense arguing with Granite. On some level Hutch knew he was right, the notion irrational, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just caused the death of another man. It was another mark to add to his tarnished soul. The silence in the car became thick.
Hutch knew Granite was waiting for some kind of response, but instead of making a comment on Granite’s conviction,
he asked, “You hungry? Should we stop and get something before we head back to the hotel?”
“No. I want you to tell me I’m right,” Granite said adamantly.
“Burgers or Chinese?”
“Goddammit, Hutch!”
“Chinese, it is.”
Granite flopped back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “You are a stubborn son of a bitch,” he grumbled.
Hutch didn’t need to respond; his stubbornness was well established. Instead, he shrugged and pulled in front of a Chinese takeout place just a block from the hotel. He wasn’t hungry, but it was a great way to officially end the conversation when he stepped out of the car.
THE SCENTS of something sugary-sweet, basily chicken, much like those that wafted from Noah’s favorite Chinese restaurant, followed Hutch as he came through the door with a large box. Noah’s belly growled, reminding him he’d only had a danish since earlier that morning.
“Here’s the movie star now. Can I get your autograph?” Byte drawled, holding out a pen toward Hutch.
“No, but you can be my little bitch.” Hutch shoved the box at him.
“Ooh, smells good! Did you remember my wanton-kitty?”
Granite whapped Byte on the back of the head as he got up and took the food to the counter. “No eating pussy in front of company.”
Noah tried to cover his laughter with his hand, but he ended up choking on it, a strange sound escaping him, which caused all eyes to turn toward him. “Sorry,” he muttered. His cheeks heated when Hutch met his gaze and smiled broadly.
Christ, the man could make him all aflutter with just a look. Sexy bastard.
“You hungry?” Hutch asked.
“I could eat.” Noah scooted off the bed, and his gut rumbled again loudly. “Guess I’m hungrier than I thought.”
