***
“Fuck, this is epic.” Tate stared at him, excitement gleaming in his hazel eyes. “Exactly as Taylor said it happened.” Tate had come back from Madrid two days ago exhausted but triumphant, and Clay was glad his man was home.
Clay looked up over his reading glasses—damn things, he hated wearing them although Tate always seemed to get turned on, which was a plus—and blinked owlishly. “Exactly how did he do that?”
Tate slapped a hand down on the dining room table. “Babe, he said a bear was involved. Remember? And he said he couldn’t breathe and felt like he was reaching for something he couldn’t get. JJ must have been trying to get at his inhaler but for whatever reason, he didn’t make it.” He muttered, searching feverishly among the strewn papers on the table. “Shit, what else did Tay say. I forget…” He picked up a piece of paper laced with his untidy scrawl and squinted at it. Clay still had the recording on his phone, but Tate was a visual individual; he preferred writing things down. He’d scribbled notes down the first time they’d listened to the recording.
As endearing the sight was of his lover getting excited about the case and, for once in his life, perusing the case notes instead of saying he had it all in his head, Clay was still unsure Taylor’s words signified much. “Well, yes he did say that, and I guess the bear clue came to fruition after all. The other thing, the red aura thing, that seems like a bit of a leap. We know someone was sitting on JJ’s chest so that alone would have made it difficult to breathe, let alone the asthma attack. The man had a broken rib for God’s sake so that would have made breathing tough too. I’m not convinced the inhaler is going to prove much of a clue.”
Tate scoffed. “Look at you, being all Debbie Downer. I thought you were the positive one in this relationship?” He practically bounced over to Clay and punched him on the shoulder. “The clues Tay gave us were the lack of breathing, which, yeah, could be any of the things you mentioned. The fact JJ was trying to ‘get something.’ The whole red thing, which I still haven’t figured out, the bear, which is now pretty clear, and the perfume.”
Clay gave a resigned sigh. “I was there. I remember what Taylor said, babe. And yes, it all fits in, but seems to do that after the fact. There doesn’t seem to be a way to actually use those clues to get any closer to finding out who the killer is.”
Tate glared at him. “Wow, way to burst my bubble.” He mock pouted and Clay couldn’t help chuckling at the sight. Tate popped his lips and observed Clay keenly. “I tell you what, let’s go see the delightful Ms Vos and rattle her cage a bit. She sounds bloody awful, and for that alone I’d like her to be the killer. If not, at least we’ll have done a little something more to try to advance the case.”
He paused and did the thoughtful thing for a moment. “I’d like to stop by the alley anyway on our way to see her. Freddy and Mitch have been at me to go down and see a new mural they painted before it gets taken down. We can swing by there, then go see the evil ex. Does that sound like a plan?” He was already striding off to the hall cupboard to get his jacket. He threw Clay’s at him and indicated for Clay to put it on. Once Clay had shrugged his shoulders into his windbreaker, Tate grinned evilly.
“Rock, paper, scissors time,” he declared and proceeded once again to win the round. Clay didn’t know how he did it. Surely Clay wasn’t that predictable? As he mounted the bike behind his lover, Clay promised himself to try to be a little more creative in the future. It seemed ages since he’d driven his own motorbike.
***
An hour later they stood in the alley, watching as one of the graffiti artists put the finishing touches to what looked like an urban sprawl of lemurs racing across the top of a grey brick building. Clay wasn’t sure what it was supposed to be, but Tate had enthused about it and was currently talking animatedly to the artist. Clay slumped back against the wall and waited for Tate’s excitement over the mural to wane.
They hadn’t seen Freddy or Mitch yet, but Tate assured him they’d be here soon. Clay heaved a long-suffering sigh loud enough that Tate could hear it. Tate turned around, eyes filled with amusement.
“We boring you there, old-timer? I promise Freddy will be here any minute.” He turned and was drawn back into conversation by the artist pulling on his sleeve.
Clay glanced at his watch. The appointment to see Ingrid Vos was in half an hour so Freddy had better hurry up. It was a good ten-minute walk to the woman’s home. He sighed again and turned to watch a woman on stilts walking down the alley.
A few minutes later there was a loud wolf whistle and Clay looked up from contemplating a particularly tasty-looking cupcake in the nearby bakery window to see Freddy and Mitch waving their arms at them.
“Hey, homey,” Freddy yelled, teeth bright in his dark face. “How you doin’?” He beamed at Tate and the two men gave what Clay would call a bro-hug, lunging from side to side and patting each other’s backs.
He smiled when Freddy turned to him and held out a hand. “Hey, Mr Clay. Your boy here’s looking spank, you must be taking good care of him.” Beside him, Mitch smiled awkwardly and nodded a hello to everyone.
“So, where’s this artwork of yours?” Tate asked. “We’ve got a little while then we have to be somewhere.”
Freddy motioned down one of the dingy alleyways. “It’s down here. The Lewd Food guy let us paint it on his wall, says it brightens up the place somewhat.”
He entered a narrow alley leading off the main one and everyone followed him. After a couple of minutes, Freddy stopped and pointed proudly at a shop front. “There you go,” he exclaimed. “How rad does that look?” He nudged Mitch, who grinned, pushing his strawberry red hair away from his forehead.
“Rad is the word,” Mitch agreed. “And it gets to stay there too. David sorted it somehow. He said it really set the scene of what his shop is all about.”
Clay vaguely remembered being told Lewd Foods sold items of a sexually named nature among other things. He peered at the large mural spread across a fair-sized white painted wall and tried not to laugh. Beside him, he heard Tate give a strangled chuckle and then turn to inspect the artwork, pressing his lips together.
“Wow, guys, that’s…something different,” Tate finally managed. “A little bit Sausage Party meets ‘Alice in Wonderland.’”
The mural appeared to be food getting off with each other among some surreal tea party taking place in a large yellow teacup the size of a swimming pool.
“Yeah,” Freddy said excitedly. “Both me and Mitch, we watched that Sausage Party film and thought, hell, we’d like to do some works like that. And when we were down at the club the other night, the boss man had a BBQ for everyone. Like this whole social thing, and we met this couple that own the shop and bam. They said we could get creative, and here we are.”
Clay blinked. “The boss man?”
Freddy reared back, surprise on his face. “The boss man, yeah. The guy who owns the club, the Italian one?” he smirked. “Mitch has a man crush something fierce on the dude. Dontcha, Mitch?”
Mitch was blushing brightly, his pale face looking ready to explode with heat. “He’s pretty, uhm, sexy,” he got out in between swallows of embarrassment. “Not as sexy as that other dude we met with you guys a few years back,” he cast a glance at Clay and Tate, “but yeah. Mr Borese is well fit.” His eyes brightened. “How is he now, the guy I saw with you? Is he doing okay?”
Tate nodded, his face creasing into an affectionate smile. “His name is Jax, and yes, he’s doing great.” He hesitated. “He graduated with a degree, and has a boyfriend now, a really good man, so Jax is where he wants to be.”
“That’s cool, I’m pleased for him. He seemed like a nice guy,” Mitch said softly.
The door to Lewd Foods opened and a woman scurried out. She held a yellow carrier bag in one hand and stopped short when she saw them.
“Mr Mortimer, Mr Williams,” Eleanor Lixer said, grabbing the bag to her chest. “This is a surprise.”
“Ms Lixer,” Clay acknowle
dged. “We were looking at the artwork on the wall. It’s…something, isn’t it?”
She broke into a smile and gazed at the two young men fondly. “It is indeed. David is so pleased with it.” She regarded Tate with a faint smile. “That aura of yours is looking much clearer,” she murmured. “And yours,” she gestured at Clay, “has always been striking and I see the power in it.”
Freddy coughed. “We have auras too?” he asked, motioning at himself and Mitch. “What can you tell about us?”
Eleanor placed a hand on Freddy’s arm. “You are both good souls,” she said softly, “and I think life will be good to you both.” She turned to Clay. “Have you any further news about JJ’s death? I have been calling the police station, but they tell me they have no new leads and that they will keep us informed.”
Clay shook his head. “We have a few leads we’re following up on, but nothing concrete as yet. I promise you we are doing all we can to find JJ’s killer, as are the police. Unfortunately, these things take time.” He hated the platitude, but it was the truth.
Eleanor’s eyes misted up and she nodded. “Thank you. He was a dear man and I would hate for his killer to go unpunished.” She started to move off then turned back. “Did you ever see Ingrid Vos? What did you think of her?”
Clay cleared his throat. “She was rather uncooperative, and in fact we’re on our way to see her again now.” He glanced down at his watch. “You know, we’d better get off for our appointment. It was nice seeing you again, Ms Lixer.”
Eleanor nodded. “You too.” Her voice grew urgent. “Please, don’t write me off as a freak or a hysterical woman. Ingrid Vos had something to do with JJ’s death. I know she did. You cannot have an aura so red and dirty and not be guilty of something bad. Please promise me you will keep pursuing her, and the case until the killer is found.”
Clay nodded. “We will keep pursuing the case and follow the clues wherever they may lead us,” he said gently. “But we can’t go in with preconceptions about people’s auras. That’s not the way it works.”
Clay felt Tate staring a hole in his back, no doubt silently mocking him that they were quite prepared to listen to Taylor’s psychic revelations but not Eleanor Lixer’s.
It’s not the same thing, Clay argued to himself. Taylor is a known presence, I trust him.
Eleanor’s hands gripped the bag she held even tighter. “I understand. Well, thank you for taking the time to speak with me.” She looked over at Freddy and Mitch. “You boys be good and stay out of trouble, you hear? And pop by the shop some time. I have some lovely honey lemonade in the fridge. I make it myself. Being an artist must be thirsty work.”
She hurried down the alley and turned the corner, disappearing. Clay looked over at Tate to see him staring after her thoughtfully. “Babe, if you’re ready to face the evil that is Ingrid Vos, we’d better get a move on.”
Tate nodded. “Yeah, sure. Let me say bye to the guys here, and I’ll catch up with you. I’ll only be a minute.”
Clay said good-bye to the young men and started walking down the alley toward the main road at the back of the block. He took his time, waiting for Tate to join him. They should make it to Ingrid’s place with a minute or two to spare.
Tate caught up five minutes later, before Clay reached the road. His face shone with excitement. “Did you hear what Eleanor said about Ingrid’s aura being red?”
Clay nodded. “I did. What are you thinking?”
“Taylor said he got the impression of something red when he saw his vision. What if it’s her aura Taylor could see?”
Clay considered that with a frown. “It’s possible, I suppose. Could make sense.” He grinned. “Look at you, solving the psychic mystery. You’re on fire.”
Tate chuckled as they crossed the road and walked into the side alley. “I try,” he said modestly.
The smells from the delicatessen were tantalisingly tasty and Clay made a mental note to stop in and get something to eat on their way out.
They entered Ingrid’s building’s foyer, which smelt marginally better than the last time Clay had been there. He pressed the button for the lift. “I’ll ask her the same questions I did last time, see if there’s any change. I’ll let her know I went to interview her colleagues at the hair salon she worked at and let’s see if that throws her. Although, no doubt, they’ve already told her I was there.”
When Clay had visited Styles and Smiles, the ladies and gents at the hair salon had been keen to tell him what a bitch Ingrid Vos was and how they wished she could be taken away and arrested. He’d ascertained that the day of JJ’s murder, she had been at work all day and had left at the usual time of six pm. As JJ’s time of death was later than that, it wasn’t much of an alibi, but at least she hadn’t lied about being there all day.
He’d at least gotten an offer from the young lady working there to have a free haircut, but Clay wasn’t so sure it wasn’t a euphemism for something else given the sly smile she’d sent him when he left. She’d also slipped him a shop business card with her private number on it. He’d chucked it in the first bin he’d found. She was young enough to be his daughter.
The lift travelled up to the fourth floor and they stepped out. Tate looked pensive as Clay knocked on the door. “You got something on your mind?” Clay asked as they waited for the door to open.
Tate grinned. “I have a few thoughts swirling around this pretty head of mine. Follow my lead and I’ll see where it takes me.” He wiggled his fingers. “You know me and my spidey senses.”
The door opened, and a glowering Ingrid Vos stood there in a beige tracksuit and an e-cig dangling from her fingers.
“It’s about time,” she snapped. “I can’t wait in all day to see you, you know.” She motioned them in impatiently, as Clay darted a look at his watch. It was exactly seven pm, the time he’d said they would be there.
She slammed the door shut, flounced over to a chair, and threw herself down. “You may as well sit,” she said ungraciously, indicating the couch. “But don’t get comfortable, because you won’t be here long.” She took a puff of her e-cig and sweet-smelling steam puffed out of the end. It wafted in their direction, the sweet smell of something nostalgic from Clay’s childhood.
Bubblicious. Grape bubble gum. Sweet and a little sickening.
Clay could see the exact moment Tate registered the scent too, his fingers drumming urgently on his knee as he cast quick flicks of excitement Clay’s way. As kids, the two of them had consumed packs of the stuff to hide their breath when they’d both tried smoking for the first few times. Neither of them had enjoyed it and they’d remained non-smokers.
“So, get on with it. What else do you want to ask me I haven’t already told people a thousand times?”
Clay leaned back on the couch and crossed his legs as he pulled out his notebook. For some reason, it always made people a little more wary and unsure when he did that. “That’s an interesting blend of vape oil you have there. I’m partial to vaping myself. What flavour is that one? I may have to give it a try.”
Ingrid stared at him. “It’s Bubble Perp-E juice. I buy it from a place called Chubby Bubble.” She took another hit and scowled at them. “You didn’t come here to talk about my vaping habits. What do you want?”
Tate interjected. “I’m sorry, could I trouble you to use your bathroom? I’ve had far too much coffee today and I desperately need a pee.”
Ingrid’s eye roll was a masterpiece. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. The bathroom is along the hall, on the left. Knock yourself out.”
Once Tate had disappeared, no doubt to snoop, Clay began again. “This is simply a follow-up visit to the last one I did. We always do it in case a potential witness remembers something a few weeks or months down the line. You are aware I visited your colleagues and they confirmed you were at work that day, and left around five pm?”
Ingrid leaned forward, her shoulders hunching. “I left around six pm, not five. Those twats couldn’t get anything right even
if the answers were given to them. Bunch of losers.” She sniffed and took another hit of her vape.
“I apologise, I’ll make a note.” Clay pretended to scribble on his notepad. “And you still say you didn’t go to the taxidermy shop on the day of the murder?”
“Yes. I still say that.” Her tone grew hard. “And I still say I didn’t see JJ since we broke up and that I have no fucking alibi for when he was killed. Nothing has changed.”
She looked over at the hallway. “Your partner must be having a wonderful piss. He’s been gone ages.”
No sooner had she said that than Tate appeared in the doorway. He sat down beside Clay and threw a charming grin at Ingrid. “Thanks for that. My back teeth were floating.”
Clay noticed him holding his jacket closed and thought ruefully that perhaps it was time to go. “One last question. No doubt, as you were in a relationship with him, you knew JJ had asthma?”
She laughed rather cruelly, Clay thought, and his dislike for the woman intensified. “Yes, I knew about it. God, I’d seen him use that damn inhaler and try to get his breath back more times than I could count,” she sneered. “It was a pain in the arse sometimes. We tried to go hiking once in the Cotswolds and ended up coming home early because his asthma flared up. He said it was all the pollen in the air.” She waved a hand. “He hadn’t wanted to go in the first place, but I told him it was what I wanted to do, so he could suck it up for once in his life.”
Tate made a sound like a growl and Clay stood up hurriedly. “Well, thank you very much for your hospitality.” No doubt his sarcasm would be wasted on her. Ingrid Vos was a classic example of a narcissist and a textbook example of a truly evil bitch.
Tate stood up and cocked an eyebrow at Ingrid. “One last question,” he said smoothly. “Did you ever get the impression JJ may have been seeing someone else after your breakup?”
Ingrid stilled. She too stood up and the look of hatred in her eyes would have made a lesser man quail with fear. “JJ was mine,” she bit off. “He didn’t want to see reason. He would have come around eventually. I know he would have.”
Death By C*ck (Fetish Alley Book 2) Page 12
