He shuffled papers, looked at them, and read a few things off. I kept my answers as short as possible. Yes, Damon had spoken roughly to me more than once. Yes, we'd met in the past, while he was undercover. I'd considered him a friend, but we'd had a falling out. No, he had never assaulted me. I did not think my ability to be in this situation was compromised, and I did not hold a personal grudge.
"I'll be very professional," I promised.
The officer nodded, filled out a few forms, had me repeat a few answers for the record, and then sign three papers. He filed them and told me I was cleared to proceed. I had the feeling there was some ass-covering going on here. If they'd had access to another empath, they'd no doubt have used him or her to keep things aboveboard, but I was the one they had, and really, I wasn't so very compromised against Damon.
The fact that we'd had sex? I didn't share that. I was pretty sure I'd go to my grave without sharing that information with the precinct. And that Damon Mercer would, too — the guy I'd been falling for, loved as a friend, wanted as a boyfriend, and had eventually hurt over as nothing more than a one-night stand and someone who didn't like or respect me at all in the end.
But it was nothing new in my life, and I wouldn't hold it against him. A lot of people ended up hating me, and for less screwed-up reasons than a personal problem with the fact that they were attracted to men.
After all, it was better to be hated because I was strangely irresistible than because I was such an annoying fucker.
#
The captain led me to my regular spot behind the two-way mirror outside an interrogation room. I would be able to "listen" from here without compromising the interview with my presence — or having to deal with face-to-face hostility, as had happened in the past when I was in the same room as the questioning officer. Having them look to me to see whether the prisoner was answering truthfully had been a real problem. It was distracting, had earned me some serious irritation and hostility, and it never didn't interrupt. It was far better if I watched from the outside, noting my readings to another officer, who could mark down or record my observations on the truthfulness of the interviewee. The record could then be gone over later without interrupting the interview at all.
Now we did the same thing, with the captain in the same room as me. Another officer — an IA guy, I thought, but wasn't sure — went through some questions for Mercer in a bored manner.
Damon looked sadder, older, and he felt very, very tired. I saw lines where I hadn't before. He slouched when he sat, as if he was giving up. But he was still a strong, handsome, vital man, even so diminished. I hated to see him like this, a lion shorn of its mane, now being treated like a bad guy instead of catching them.
Damon, my old Jeff, was feeling discomfort, resignation, and deep grief. He was not surprised to be here, or that he was taking the fall for the woman's murder. His feelings about her were the most complicated of all, and I found myself hesitating more and more, searching for words as I tried to read what was going on, to put it into a way to tell the captain.
It pretty soon became apparent that I couldn't, not without saying something Damon would rather I didn't.
But I had to do my job. And I had to save his life and help the cops catch a murderer.
I looked at the captain, feeling torn, wishing he could help. Wishing I could trust him with what I was getting off Mercer. My old friend, my new enemy — and the man taking a fall for someone else.
"Spit it out," growled the captain. "I can tell you're getting something good." He glared at me, hostility rolling off him. I got the strong impression he'd have liked to backhand me across the face to get my attention and make me stop stalling.
I straightened up automatically, to take the blow if I had to. If you're my size, you learn pretty early never to flinch, even if you can see the blow coming. But it was a passing feeling; the captain didn't intend to hit me. His hand didn't even twitch.
"Come on," he said, more gently now. I got the feeling he was reminding himself how fragile I could be. Not because I was small, and gay, but because I always felt things so strongly and they could become too much for me. He hadn't been that sympathetic in the past; he must've had time to think about it, and had gained some empathy himself for how it felt, being bombarded with intense, private, and often violent emotions.
"Uh . . . it's complicated," I told the captain. "Can we sit down, and I'll try to go over it? The thing my new boss does is, he just lets me talk, and talk, and get it out however I can, and then we go over it and he asks me to clarify things." I looked at him.
He gave a tight nod. "We can go back to my office, if you want."
"Good."
We went; we sat. He was trying very hard to be patient, steepling his fingers together on his desk as I began.
"He didn't kill her," I said.
The captain stopped holding his breath, very slowly letting it out. "But?"
"But he knows something; he's being less than honest. He's feeling conflicted about it." I looked at him helplessly. "The victim was someone he cared about. Someone he was trying to get to testify, and earn her trust. He . . . he didn't want to hurt her, but his feelings were . . . complex."
"Spit it out," said the captain. "Or do I have to threaten you?"
I smiled at the thought. Kev would have a field day if he did.
"Cap, I don't know how to say it. Can you just listen?"
He blinked, startled. I realized after a second why that was. I'd never called him Cap before. It was far more of a friendly nickname than I'd ever used in the past, or ever would've considered using at all. It had slipped out, but it impressed him enough to stay silent and nod for me to continue.
"He . . . tried to . . ." How to put it delicately? "Tried to date her. It . . ." I licked my lips and shifted in my seat, looking away. "She was very pretty, and she liked him. Even in his undercover role, he seemed like a good man to her, one of the best she knew, and she liked him — liked him a lot. Uh, physically. That was his impression. Thought he'd even be a good stepfather for her son, maybe. But . . . it . . . wasn't that easy for Jeff — I mean Damon."
I hesitated again. "Because he didn't find her attractive, and, uh, he kept trying, but it was . . . he couldn't fake it very well. It was interfering with earning her trust. She was starting to resent him. He thought she might've talked to someone because of it. Because she felt . . . jilted? Unwanted?"
"Hold on," said the captain, raising his big hands placatingly. "How are you getting all of this? We didn't ask him any of those questions. Are you saying they engaged in a sexual relationship while he was undercover?" He felt disapproval, along with resignation. What a sleazy world undercover cops sometimes lived in — but Damon shouldn't have led on a woman wanting to find a man to love her and be a stepfather to her son.
The captain was a family man. Although he kept his loved ones out of his thoughts and emotions as much as he could at work, so they didn't interfere with his being a hard-ass, he cared a lot about his family, and family in general.
I tried to explain better. "He has strong feelings about the whole thing, and a lot of it came through while he was being questioned. He was sort of in a sexual relationship with her."
The captain stared at me, not understanding.
Other things I'd gotten? Regret. Personal doubt. Lots and lots of angst about his inability to perform. He could recognize she was beautiful, tell himself he wanted her . . . but when it came down to it, he didn't. He'd enjoyed jacking off to gay porn, or doing something else he felt guilty about, instead of being with her. And I'd gotten the distinct impression that she'd caught him at whatever it was.
I was pretty sure it was gay porn, from the feelings he'd had. The same dark, twisty, guilty and angry feelings he'd had about being with me.
About wanting a man.
I put my face in my hands and scrubbed it, groaning. How could I put this into words without outing him? I was going to give myself an ulcer if this got any more twisty
and complicated.
And it did. I hadn't even gotten to the worst part of it yet.
"Can I say something off the record? You can decide how important it is later," I added quickly as he was starting to say no. "If it's really important . . . I guess it can't stay a secret." I shrugged.
He gave me a hard look, then nodded tightly. His whole body seemed clenched, leaning forward, listening hard, filled with dread.
"Pretty sure he's not interested in women," I said. "And that interfered with, ah . . . things."
The captain blinked. "How sure?"
"Pretty damned sure." I gave him an apologetic grimace, ducking my head. My cheeks felt hot.
The captain stared at me, utterly startled, seeing something I didn't like him to see about me.
"Off the record," he said slowly. "Were you and Mercer . . . ?" He registered disgust — but at least it wasn't with me. It was with Damon, fucking me and then being angry with me, like I had tempted him into it. Hating me because he'd wanted me, at least once.
"I'd prefer not to answer that."
He gave a slow nod. "Okay. So, off the record still, you'd say it's pretty clear that Mercer, uh, has an orientation problem. He hasn't come to terms with it, but he has certain . . . inclinations."
I grinned at the wording, but nodded quickly. I couldn't have put it any better, I supposed.
"And this interfered with the relationship with Yolanda," he said, musing.
"Yeah." I drummed my fingers on my thighs, unable to sit still, wanting to look anywhere but at the captain's face. He understood things a little too well now, and frankly, my "relationship" with Damon was still a sore spot I didn't like having probed, like a bad tooth.
"All right," he said very quietly. "Is there anything else?"
I hated that suddenly gentle tone to his voice, and the way he was feeling. Damn, I hate pity.
I looked up and glared at him. "Yeah. There is, actually. And I'm not sure how to say that, either, so give me a chance, all right?"
"I'll be patient. Don't make me pry it out of you, though. Just tell me in your own time."
In your own words, officer. Hah. I snorted bitterly. It was still hard working with cops, and this wasn't even work — not really. I certainly wouldn't accept any payment for it. "He knows something," I said quietly. "But . . . I couldn't get a better read on it than that. He knows something — something he doesn't want to tell. It felt like he was protecting someone, or confused about something, or . . . or just messed up about the whole thing. Like, as sad as it made him knowing Yolanda was dead and he couldn't protect her after all, it would be worse if he told what he knew — or suspected. Like, all this trouble and pain and suspicion about himself — even maybe going to jail if it's not sorted out — all of that is still better than the truth." I looked at him helplessly. "But how could that be? It didn't make any sense. But those were the vibes I got from him."
The captain tapped his fingertips against each other. Thoughts ran through his head, mechanical and well-arranged. He really was a very smart man.
I suddenly missed my boyfriend and Kevin very much. Kev, who was the easiest boss in the world to work for, because although he expected a lot from me, he always believed in me and supported me and really liked me, wholeheartedly and unreservedly. And I missed Ellery with a pang of heartsickness I hadn't expected. I knew I liked him, I knew I hadn't wanted to be parted from him, but it still caught me by surprise to feel this way.
Ellery was the one person in all the world who never seemed to get fed up with me. He really liked me, and he didn't think I was stupid and annoying for my restless, loud-mouthed nature. He appreciated my good points and seemed to accept my flaws philosophically — and sometimes, he didn't even realize they were flaws.
Because I could sense people's feelings about me, I suppose it made me more affected by criticism and unpleasant feelings aimed at me. But Ell didn't get like that. He liked me. He just really liked me. Whether we were hanging out in the weight room sculpting our abs, or cuddling up in bed — or doing more intimate things. Even if we were just laughing over a movie, or taking a stroll together on Ell's rounds.
I didn't know why I was missing him so much all of a sudden, since I wouldn't have been able to be with him right now anyway, even if he'd come with me. Not that I'd have wished the police station on him just so he'd be nearby. It would've been really selfish of me to do that. He'd had enough hostility in his life.
Still, all of a sudden, and for no reason I could understand, I really, really wanted his hand in mine, nestled safely there, reassuring me. If he was sitting here beside me, the captain couldn't think I was an idiot. Not even for a second — nobody could be, if they'd captured the attention and love of such a good, gentle, and cute man as Ellery.
Ell was many things I hadn't thought I wanted in a boyfriend. He had big, soft blue eyes — I'd always been partial to dark eyes. He was shorter than I was, slender and a bit anxious, and not at all huge and gruff. But somehow he was perfect anyway.
He loved me. He liked me, which mattered just as much. And we had amazing sex together. Sometimes I tried to convince myself it wouldn't break my heart into a million pieces if our relationship didn't work. I'm not sure I ever succeeded.
At those times, I was most tempted to put my trust in his visions. But I was ashamed of myself when I felt that way. I couldn't let my life be ruled by that kind of thing, even from Ellery. He didn't have the world's strongest talent, and even true dreams and impressions weren't always clearly interpretable until after the fact — a not totally uncommon thing for clairs, as I understood it, and something that's frustrated humans throughout history. I wanted the relationship to work, and I wanted to take any comfort for the future that I could, however true (or not) it turned out to be. But I was ashamed of myself for wanting that. It had to work for real.
It had to be real. For once in my life, I really wanted to show up and do the work and be an honest version of myself, not trying to change to please him, not trying to trick him into staying with me. But I still wanted to change enough that I could be a good boyfriend long-term, and I did want him to stay. It was a complicated way of feeling, so many different things at once, and wanting almost more than I could bear. It felt too important to not think about — yet thinking about it didn't fix anything, just let me stew in my own worries.
The captain looked at me, and I realized I'd missed something. His thoughts had been ticking away so professionally on the subject at hand, and I'd been mooning over Ellery. I gave myself a little shake and looked at him. "Yes?"
"Can't you pay attention? Who was he protecting?"
I could only stare at him. Had he never met me before? "Of course I can't. And how would I know? You have to ask the questions. I can only tell if he's saying what's true, or hiding something. Other than that it's all impressions. I can't reach into his head and pry thoughts out."
The captain eyed me with frustration. "You've gotten so much better since you were here. All right, suppose I take over the questioning. You keep watch and we'll see if we can get any closer."
It was a good theory, but the reality ended up with him and Damon having a questioning that drew on longer and longer, with both of them getting harried and angry and short-tempered, and nothing leading to a smoking gun for me to point out. The longer it ran, the more restless and weird I got. I went from jiggling my foot a little, thumping my thighs as if they were bass drums, to pacing the room with restless energy, like a caged lion. I swung my arms; I practiced dance steps. I muttered, twiddling my fingers against my thighs. I leaned against the two-way mirror and sighed loudly.
All the while I kept giving my evidence to the clerk who was taking it down, but was growing progressively more alarmed by my restless behavior. Well, I wasn't good at being still while trapped in a hostile environment. And what were they going to do, put me in detention? It was act like this or throw up my arms, shout at someone, and walk out. And I did want to help — I did. But it was
getting ridiculous, after the third hour of questioning.
I think the captain would have kept going — he was a tireless fucker — but after a while, I started thumping my head against the mirror rhythmically, once every few breaths, and I guess it was louder than I realized.
"Sir," began the officer awkwardly, cringing. At the same time, the captain and then Damon looked up at the mirror. The captain scowled. Damon sat up straighter, as if he'd suddenly realized something. A thought had occurred to him; it seemed to have to do with me. Not as dumb as you look, bozo, I thought angrily.
If he felt anything more sophisticated than that, I couldn't tell. I couldn't get much of an impression about anything else over the captain's sudden rage, incandescent and aimed all at me. It wasn't all about me, but it was aimed at me.
"Terminating the interview, at . . ." He glanced at the clock, snapped off the last few words in a harsh voice, and then scraped his chair back.
The officer who'd been taking down my evidence was nervous. I headed for the door. If it was over, I didn't have to wait to talk to the captain; I didn't have to be trapped in here anymore.
"Durphy," snapped the captain, heading towards me as I headed towards the front door.
"Your officer took down my evidence." I waved a hand back to the little tomb. "See ya. I gotta get out of here."
"You will wait and talk to me like a civilized human being." He caught my arm, not too gently. I was driving him crazy. But frankly, I was about to explode too. I could not be trapped anywhere for a moment longer.
I glared at him. No way was I making a scene in the middle of the place, but he was doing a good job. I glared — but he caught my drift and let me go, glancing around quickly, and then put a hand in the middle of my back and ushered me none too gently into his office. "Did you get anything useful, beyond what the officer recorded?"
"No!" I exploded. "And you sure took long enough."
SURE (Men of the ESRB Book 3) Page 4
