In a Bind

by D. D. VanDyke

  Carol’s eyes sharpened at me. “Consulting. So you’re not a police officer.”

  “Not anymore,” I admitted. “But Frank was my client before he died, so I feel an obligation to him.”

  “Client? For what?”

  “A personal case. I’m not at liberty to say more.”

  “Then maybe I’m not at liberty to answer your insinuations.”

  “Carol,” Davis broke in with a placating hand motion, “we’re not accusing you of anything. We know your relationship ended a while back. But you knew him well. We were hoping you could think of where to look for the reasons behind his death.”

  “I already told you it wasn’t suicide. You’re right, I did know him pretty well, and he had no reason to kill himself.”

  “No reason back then, maybe,” I said. “Is there anything you can tell us about his life or relationships now?”

  “You’re from San Francisco?” Carol said to me.

  “Yes. And I know about his night life.”

  “All of it?”

  “I think so,” I said cautiously. I felt we were both trying to figure out how much the other knew and not add to the knowledge much. From my side, this was about client confidentiality and preserving Frank’s reputation. For her? It could be the same, or she might be trying to give up the minimum because she was involved. She certainly was large and strong enough to have manhandled Frank’s drugged body into the noose, but I didn’t see a motive.

  Carol said, “I’d appreciate it if the people here in town didn’t get those details. The fact that Frank liked to party in the big city shouldn’t detract from the good work he did here. I’d like him to be remembered well.”

  That would protect her own reputation too, but I didn’t say it. “Then we’re in agreement.” I folded my hands in front of me. “Did you know about his tastes in clothing?”

  “The drag shows? Of course.”

  “And the drug use?”

  “A few pills or some coke here and there. Nothing hard, nothing heavy.”

  “Was he seeing anyone now?” Davis asked, taking over the questioning. “Anyone in town, I mean.”

  “Maybe. I got the impression there was someone, but he was keeping it low key.”

  “Why low key?”

  “In this town everything’s either hush-hush or it’s public knowledge. You of all people ought to know that, what with your employee’s rampant gossip.” For a moment Carol’s attitude turned condescending, even vicious, a flash of contempt that showed she wasn’t all poise and smiles.

  “So he had a girlfriend in town?”

  “That was my impression, though the relationship may have been rather one-sided.”

  “Meaning?”

  Carol glanced away sourly. “Frank had a kind heart but he never grew up. That’s why he did so well with kids, but not with adults. I doubt he could maintain a real relationship for long. I mean, if I couldn’t keep him interested…” She made a “look at me” gesture from head to waist with the back of her hand, like Vanna White showing off a new refrigerator on a game show.

  “So someone had feelings for him that he didn’t reciprocate?” I broke in.

  “I doubt Frank could reciprocate any real feelings of love. With him it was all about the sex and the fun, the attention he got from everyone around him. Why do you think he liked being on stage?”

  “And you don’t know who that might be?”

  “No.”

  I cleared my throat. “What about Kerry?”

  Carol’s face smoothed. “My nephew?”

  “Not by blood, in your case.” I scratched a nail idly on the tabletop, looking down. “He kind of…spilled the beans about you and him.”

  Carol mumbled something vulgar. “That was a fling, a foolish mistake on my part, and I’d trouble you to keep it to yourselves. Kerry is another boy in a man’s body, and he has a big head. My husband coddles him too much. He should have been fired and sent packing long ago.”

  “About your husband…”

  Davis put a hand on my arm and squeezed, and then stood. “That’s enough for now. Thanks for your time, Carol. You’ve been a big help.”

  Carol and I stood as well, eying each other like wary cats. “You’re welcome, Mike,” she said. “Please let me know if I can do anything.”

  “I will.” Davis pulled gently on my arm, leading me out of the room and down the hallway to the church’s deserted foyer.

  “Why did you cut me off?” I asked. “We might have found something out about Jerry.”

  “I know Carol better than you do. Whether or not her husband is dirty, she’d have lawyered up just on principle. She has an old-fashioned streak of loyalty I’ve seen before.”

  “Not that I can see. Two affairs in the last few years, maybe more?”

  “You’ve never been married, have you?”

  I shook my head.

  “There’s different kinds of loyalty, Cal. Trust me on this one.”

  “That’s an unusually enlightened attitude for a guy like you, Mike.”

  “You mean a puritanical Bible-thumper? I didn’t say I approved of her affairs. But I do know the difference between one kind of betrayal and another. Peter denied our Lord three times, but he repented and was forgiven. Judas didn’t seek forgiveness. Instead he went and hanged himself, and so he burns in Hell to this day.”

  I shivered at the certainty in Davis’ voice, reminding me strongly of my father’s. There was no point in arguing, I could tell, so I deflected. “I don’t see Carol asking forgiveness.”

  Davis merely grunted. “You like her for Frank’s murder?”

  “My gut says no, but she had means and opportunity, assuming her alibi is fake. I mean, if Jerry’s dirty, he’d cover for her.”

  “But what about motive?”

  I rubbed my neck. “That’s what I don’t see yet.”

  “Then where do we go from here?”

  I checked my watch. It was after dinnertime and the sun was on its way to setting. Unless I wanted to stay in town, I had to head back. Besides, I had some catching up to do with Allsop and the official investigation into Frank’s murder. I explained this to Davis and said, “You’re going to have a lot to do here as the word spreads. I suggest you do the basic cop work – take statements, fill out the forms – and we’ll get back together tomorrow afternoon or Thursday. You have my number.”

  “Yeah. Keep in touch.”

  I took my leave, hopping into Molly and zooming away in the long coastal evening sun. Hunger gnawed at my gut but I declined to stop in town, not willing to risk another incident. Instead, I grabbed a burrito from a taco truck in Waterford and hurried home.

  I parked at my office around nine thirty p.m., feeling how the day had caught up to me. When I stood and stretched in the courtyard I almost staggered, I was so tired. After briefly checking my office and seeing Mickey wasn’t there, I decided we both needed a good night’s sleep.

  Chapter 12

  As I walked the two blocks home, which revived me somewhat, I wondered whether I had gone about this in the wrong order. With the original plans in my head for Frank and me to go to Granger’s Ford, even when he’d been killed I’d just followed that program. On the other hand, I’d found out a lot today. I had also put enough pressure on someone to try to kill me.

  By tomorrow the whole town would have heard of Frank’s death and everything would get muddy, harder to sort out. I wished Mike Davis well, but didn’t envy him.

  I found our front door unlocked. Mom and three of her ditzy friends were guzzling cheap wine in the living room. “Hi, everyone,” I called with a flutter of my fingers as I entered to plant a kiss on her forehead from behind as she leaned back on the sofa.

  “California! Come sit down. Have some wine.”

  “Sorry, Mom, anything that comes in gallon jugs is a bit too, um…” I ran out of non-insulting banter. It had been one hell of a long day. “Anyway, I’m really tired and I need to sleep.”

  Mo
m rolled her eyes but let the detested M-word pass. “You work too hard, sweetheart. Relax. Live a little!”

  I should have kept my mouth shut. In fact, with her vapid coterie of leftover hippy harpies in their beaded macramé shawls there to egg her on, I should have known what to expect. Unfortunately my irritation got the better of me.

  “Mother, I’m on a case. In the last two days I’ve been at two murder scenes, questioned a dozen people, been chased by angry bikers and someone took a shot at me. You know why? To keep this roof over your head and supply you with thankfully cheap fermented grape juice and oh, by the way, to get a little justice for the victims. I’ll relax and live a little when I’m done, if you don’t mind.” In the shocked silence I walked to the stairs and climbed them to my bedroom, making sure to slam the door and audibly lock it after Snowflake slipped in and leaped onto my bed.

  I rested my forehead against the inside of the bedroom door. Damn. Childish, Cal. No matter how good it felt, I reminded myself that I was the grownup in the relationship and Mom the eternal adolescent.

  Sound of a throat clearing behind me brought my hand to my weapon. Whipping it out, I pointed it, textbook-steady, at the dim figure sitting in the chair by the window.

  “No need for that,” said a half-familiar English drawl.

  “Thomas!” I hissed as I lowered the gun, and then clicked it back into its polymer holster. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Come, come, Cal. I just wanted to talk. And please don’t turn on the light.”

  I lowered my reaching hand and sat down on my bed across from him. Moonlight from the window kept Thomas’ face in shadow, but I did see long blonde hair. Suspiciously long. “Nice wig,” I ventured.

  “It serves me.”

  “Sneaking into my room won’t.”

  “My apologies.” Actually, he sounded sincere. “I’ll go back the way I came in, if you like.” He leaned forward slightly in the chair as if to rise.

  I sighed. “Never mind. Sit. What does the most fearsome cleaner I know want today?”

  “I’m the only cleaner you know, Cal. I guess that does make me the best,” he said with an airy wave, a mannerism I remembered from our last conversation. The evening after he'd helped me solve an earlier case he’d decided to stop by for a chat. Now he was doing it again, though in a bit more intimate setting than my office kitchenette.

  Snowflake crawled into my lap, staring interestedly at Thomas. “Why are you here?” My voice remained sharp.

  “Always with the ‘whys.’ Can’t we just be friends?”

  “That makes no sense. We don’t even know each other. You interfered with a case, we talked for a few minutes, and…”

  “And I don’t call, I don’t write. What’s a girl to do?” He flipped his long blonde hair and suddenly I realized where I’d seen his profile before.

  “You’ve been following me. In drag.”

  “Eureka! I did let you catch at least three glimpses of me and you still didn’t pick up on it. I feel as if I’m making allowances. You’re usually more aware.”

  “I’ve been a bit busy and distracted, in case you hadn’t noticed. Blackmail, murder. More murder. Getting chased and shot at.”

  “Interrogating bad guys. That was fun, though you were much gentler than I would have been.” Although I couldn’t see him, I could hear the smile in his voice.

  “So you’ve been following me everywhere?”

  “More or less. I’d have liked to see you inflict a bit more pain on that smug bastard Kerry, though.”

  “A little scare is more effective than full-on torture, Thomas. As soon as they get really terrified, they’ll say anything and the intel becomes unreliable.”

  “That’s always a risk. Still, it warmed my heart to see you finally take direct action. I’m sure it did your soul some good.”

  “What do you know about my soul?”

  “I know it lusts for justice, and I know you know Kerry’s dirty. As is his boss.”

  I didn’t answer, but took off my blazer and hung it up in the closet by feel, and then started to divest myself of all the equipment secreted about my person. Three guns, spare magazines, speed loaders for the revolver, cell phone, burner phone, handcuffs, shiv, lockpicks, knife, multi-tool, pepper spray, mini-maglight – the list went on.

  “Mm. Feel free to continue,” Thomas said as I removed my boots and massaged my feet.

  “You know, between you, Frank and Kerry I’m getting a little tired of the come-ons.”

  “Among.”

  “What?”

  “One says ‘among’ three or more people, not ‘between.’”

  “Oh, dear God in heaven. You kill people for a living and you’re getting huffy about my grammar?”

  “I do not kill people for a living,” Thomas said with a sniff. “I eliminate problems incidental to doing my job, which is to clean up messes. I’d actually rather not kill, but when it’s necessary I refuse to burden myself with remorse.”

  “Other than in self-defense, is killing ever really necessary?”

  Thomas leaned forward, bringing him closer but even deeper into shadow. I could imagine his pale eyes burning into me. Maybe it was a good thing I couldn’t see them. “Have you ever worked with dogs, Cal? Police dogs, K-9 units perhaps?”

  “A little. So?”

  “Those dogs are trained to do something very unnatural for a domesticated animal. To attack a human being, and more importantly, to stop. To grab an arm, to hold on tight, and yet let go on command. But sometimes, once they’ve tasted human blood, they won’t let go. Instead, they bite, they rip and tear. Sometimes they kill. If that happens, there’s only one thing to be done.” He made a faint pop with his lips. “They must be put down. Regrettable, but…it’s the only way, with beasts.”

  “What about your taste for blood?”

  Thomas sat back, shoulders slumped. “That’s why we’re talking, Cal. The beast lurks and skulks, ever nearer.”

  “Slouching toward Bethlehem? So I’m your shrink now?”

  “I was hoping you could be my friend. Someone who understood.”

  Nonplussed, I looked left and right as if the shadows held answers. “This is just…strange.”

  “It’s often said that life is strange. Oh, yes, but compared to what?” he quoted under his breath.

  “Dylan?”

  “Steve Forbert, actually.”

  “What about Cole Sage?”

  “What about him?”

  “You’re acquainted. He keeps confidences. Why can’t you two be BFFs? Crack a few beers. Get sloshed and weepy. Have a bromance.”

  Thomas sighed and stretched, lounging back farther in the chair and letting the arm I could see near the moonlit window hang down nearly to the floor. He stared at it, his head lowered over the arm of his chair. “Sage is a reporter. By nature he has to tell the stories he hears, eventually. I’m not ready for such confessions. And,” his arm swung idly, as if dipping it in a stream, “you’re a lot more attractive.”

  I forced myself not to lift my hand to my scars. The little voice every woman has inside her head said, besides, I’m ugly. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “I hope you’ll reserve judgment about that for now. We alpha males have fragile egos.” His swagger, his condescending tone, hadn’t varied but I thought I heard a quaver in his voice, just the barest hint of vulnerability.

  Interesting.

  I affected his droll accent. “All right. I shall.”

  Thomas laughed, but said nothing further.

  “You sure it’s me you’re interested in, not one of your drag queen buddies?”

  “Most transvestites are not gay. Not even those on stage. Witness your dead client.”

  “Okay. Had to ask.” I paused. “Do you perform on stage?”

  “Sometimes.”

  I made a connection, only a minute or two late. “You knew Frank Jackson. Biggie Smallie.”

  “I did. He was a friend. I have so few th
at I feel myself quite bereft.”

  “Did you send him to me?”

  “I did.”

  I nodded. “Wondered why he wandered in to my office. Did he know what you do?”

  “No. He believed I was a security consultant, which was why he called me. I told him you were better at this thing than I am.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  Thomas’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “That I told him?”

  “That you believe I’m better at it.”

  “But I do believe that. I have a very specific set of skills that does not include painstakingly questioning every Tom, Dick and Jane and then assembling clues into a coherent whole. I couldn’t do what you do. I don’t have that kind of patience.”

  “I bet you can be very patient when you want to be.”

  Thomas shrugged. “To wait for the target and the shot? Of course. That is the patience of the hunter. I have little patience for talking and questioning, teasing out information. Investigating.”

  “You seem to be talking a lot now.”

  “Even the greatest introvert may open himself to the right person.”

  I felt a shiver run through me and it didn’t feel like a bad thing. “What makes you think I’m the right person?”

  “Because I can’t put you out of my mind. Nor can you me.”

  I crossed my arms, looked away. “That’s arrogant.”

  “Deny it, then. Tell me you don’t think often of me and our little chat over coffee.”

  Silence was all I could give him, because I couldn’t. Deny it, that is. I could lie for the greater good, in an interview or on the phone, to elicit information…but not like this. Something about the darkness brooked no dishonesty, and it occurred to me I had no reason to lie to this stranger. He couldn’t hurt me.

  Not counting the physical, but that held little fear.

  “I can’t deny it.” I took a deep breath and let it out. “I’ve thought of you every damn day, but not like you think. I just want to have all my questions answered. I’m curious that way.”

  “Poppycock.”

  “That’s British for ‘bullshit,’ right?”