The Orchid Murders

by The Orchid Murders [eXtasy MM] (lit)

  “Look Evans, it’s quite possible you’ve been working for a serial killer. We need to pick this guy up and fast before he kills again. Will you cooperate with us?”

  “Sure. How could I not help get this guy off the street? How many has he killed?”

  “Three that we know of and he cut up the bodies of all three victims and laid them out like the symbol from your Yale fraternity,” Sam answered.

  “Oh man, that is sick. What the fuck is this world coming to?” Evans asked.

  Roger came back into the room and turned over Evans’ property and had him sign for it. Roger then took him to be printed, photographed, and formally booked. The entire process was ordered expedited by the Chief of Detectives so that Evans could get back onto the street and be able to respond to any possible contact from the suspect.

  When the booking process was completed, Roger brought him back to the office so that Sam could finish talking with him. When Sam saw him, he pulled an extra chair up to his desk and told Evans to take a seat.

  “Okay, here’s how I want to play this. You go about your normal routine and when this guy contacts you again, set up a meet with him. Tell him you have discovered something about Anderson Williams that will make his day, or rock his world, or something like that. Tell him you need to meet as soon as possible so that you know how to proceed with the job. The minute you have the meet set, call me at these numbers until you get me,” Sam said as he handed Evans his business card with an additional number written on the back in ink.

  “Make it for at least an hour after you get the call so that we have time to respond to the meet and nail the fucker. Any questions?”

  “Nope. You do remember that I retired as a police officer, right?”

  “Yeah, I remember. I also remember that you forgot what it meant to be a cop when you began breaking into people’s houses for a paycheck. Now get on the street and make this happen. You help us bring this guy down and I’ll do what I can for you on your court date.”

  “Okay, I do appreciate that. Let me get going. Oh, I only plan to stay in the city for another day or so, then it’s back to New Haven if I don’t hear from this guy. Without further instructions, I’m just burning up my paycheck on expenses of a hotel and that. Unless of course, the NYPD wants to put me up somewhere till this is over?”

  “I’ll check on that today. Call me before you leave the city and I’ll let you know what the deal is,” replied Sam.

  “Okay, I’m outta here then. Good luck gentlemen,” he said as he stood up and headed for the door.

  Sam turned to Roger and said, “Look, I’m going head over to the university and see Anderson just to let him know what we’re doing and that we might be closing in on the killer. You need me, get me on the radio or cell phone.”

  “All right, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” his partner said with a smile.

  “Oh, but that’s not fair Rog, there’s a whole lot of what you don’t do, that I do engage in. So, we can forget that admonition right from the jump.”

  They both laughed and Sam headed out of the office to find Anderson.

  * * * *

  Anderson spent a few hours digging through the internet trying to find a new home. It wasn’t easy and expensive as hell. He wanted to find something before approaching a realtor because he just wanted to find his perfect place first. The house he was selling was the perfect house until someone decided it was perfectly all right to taint it. He also had to put his father’s place on the market once he got that all packed up.

  It was first thing in the morning but which each thought Anderson felt himself falling into a potentially devastating migraine. He rubbed his temples and pressed his eyes shut just as the alarm beside his bed began blaring. He had forgotten to shut it off. Emailing Jack the places he had found so far, Anderson sent Byung an email then shut down the computer. He had precisely half an hour to shower, dress and head out. He didn’t have his first lecture until one in the afternoon but he spent time at work in the library, marking papers by hand. That way he had no disturbances and his mind could stray.

  When he finally dug himself out from under papers and grading, Anderson made his way to lunch then to his first lecture. As soon as that class started to file out, his next lecture’s students began piling into the room. He made a quick bathroom run, stopped for tea then re-entered his class just in time. He took a sip from the sweet liquid and swallowed.

  “So,” Anderson hopped onto the desk and faced the large lecture hall for his second lecture of the day. “Let’s talk Jane Eyre—” He stopped to glance around the room at the faces staring back at him. “Let’s talk the significance of symbolism—the symbolism of suicide, madness, fire… can you name some?”

  A hand shot up from the very back of the room and Anderson hopped from the desk and ran up one aisle to be closer to the student, “Keegan.”

  “The symbolism of the color red,” the young man replied.

  Anderson pointed at him like a game show host would at the next contestant, “we have a winner!” The class chuckled, “the color red will be overtly important to this story. Anyone else?”

  More hands.

  “Craig.”

  “Windows and death!”

  “Bingo!”

  “How about Gateshead and Mr. Brucklehurst?” another student called and Anderson smiled and turned to her.

  “Brilliant Angela!” Anderson cheered.

  Anderson nodded and the class was off to a full swing. He was still feeling somewhat down but with the students around him, he felt his spirits rise. They got deep within the pages of Jane Eyre, read some sections at the beginning and debated about numerous topics.

  “I have a question,” someone called and Anderson looked up.

  “Yes, Michelle?”

  “Why did she write it under the name Currer Bell? I mean it’s obvious that’s a man’s name.”

  “Great question. Back in those days, women weren’t seen as very intelligent—and that’s putting it nicely. No one would ever publish something this amazing, this brilliant that was written by a woman. As a matter of fact if a woman wrote something and it wasn’t about house duties, raising children, that sort of thing, no one paid it much attention. If they thought it was written by a man then they were all ears.”

  “And eyes,” a female student blurted out. The class laughed; Anderson had to nod in agreement.

  “That too,” he told them and moved with his book bag to the front of the class. He flipped on the overhead projector and glanced at the screen, “this is what Charlotte Brontë looked like…”

  When he was around his students, his life was perfect. He loved seeing their faces while they tried to figure something out. He would oftentimes force them to think and to figure out most answers. That way he knew what a feeling of utmost pleasure that can be had from getting an answer yourself. If he sees that they truly didn’t get it or know, he would give hints until eventually the answer is found. The truth was Anderson didn’t have all the answers—no one did. But if he didn’t have the answer he would tell them so but then he would go home and research it to have the answer to the question the next day.

  In no time flat the time was over—all one and a half hours of it. He moaned when he heard shuffling and knew the students knew what time it was. “Finish up the story for next class,” he called before glancing at the clock. “Remember, your final paper is coming due within a few weeks so if you want help on it let me know. I’ve placed a few tips and things I hope will be helpful to you on the class’ website.”

  Some students moaned but others went silent. “Oh, and yes I know that there’s a party this weekend and most of you are going, but do not kill too many brain cells because Monday is your final quiz.”

  Once more they showed their displeasure by moaning.

  “Go on, git,” Anderson laughed. The students leapt from their seats and most exited but the regular stragglers remained to speak with him. When that was over he began packing
his things to exit the class when a throat was cleared behind him.

  “Excuse me Professor, but I had a question.”

  Anderson laughed but didn’t turn around. “Really? Maybe I got an answer.”

  “What can a cop do to get a kiss after a long day around here?”

  Anderson turned around and folded his arms over his chest. He leant his back against the desk and looked at Sam. The cop was leaning against the door frame with the day wearing on his handsome face.

  “It all depends,” Anderson replied.

  “On what?” Sam stepped forward and reached for him.

  “Whether or not this cop wanted a professor’s kiss.”

  Sam didn’t reply with words. Instead he stepped into the circle of Anderson’s arms and kissed him. He kissed him because unlike the other men that Sam had dated, Anderson had been in his mind all day. He would love them and leave them because he knew they weren’t good enough but with Anderson, his brain shut off as he delved into the kiss. When he absolutely needed to breathe or his body would implode, he pulled back and smiled.

  “I’ve been waiting for that all day,” Sam whispered.

  He had stood by the door and watched Anderson work. He saw a love there that Sam once felt for his job as a cop. He watched the way the students’ hands would shoot up into the air when a question was asked, the way Anderson didn’t just stand at the front of the class and read from the projector but was up on his feet, up and down the aisle, speaking with students. That was something Sam had always thought a teacher should be like and his heart simply soared. He had to smile then and press another kiss to Anderson’s lips.

  “I take it you missed me?” Anderson asked with a cheeky grin.

  “Uh-huh,” Sam kissed Anderson once more. It seemed lately he couldn’t keep his hands or mouth away from the professor. “Like hemorrhoids,” he joked.

  He knew Anderson was about to smack him so he growled, “If you’re going to spank me could we wait until we’re home, or at least in my car.”

  “Sam Morgan, you’re incorrigible,” Anderson shook his head but laughed nonetheless. “If you’re driving that cruiser…cameras, remember?”

  “I know,” Sam stole another kiss then released Anderson’s arms. “You ready to head out or do you have another class?”

  “I’m done for the day. I only teach full-time students so I’m usually finished by this time on most days,” Sam leant against the desk when Anderson moved to finish his packing. Allowing his eyes to drink in Anderson’s body, Sam began thinking again. For the second time that day he thought about what if…what if Anderson was it? What if Anderson was the one man he had been looking for? Anderson had a job, was respected in the community, had a clean record—Sam had checked. There was no reason for Anderson not to be the one Sam settled down with.

  “You all right?” Anderson’s voice cut through Sam’s haze. He nodded his head.

  “Fine, just thinking. Have you found a new house yet?”

  Anderson nodded before lifting his bag in one hand and began reaching for his laptop. Sam took it instead and the two walked out the door, “Jack’s looking into it for me. I haven’t had much time to breathe.”

  Sam felt his body tensed. Jealousy rose its ugly head within him, “Jack?”

  “Yeah, Jack Masterson—my lawyer?”

  Sam frowned, “I remember him, the fag with the attitude.”

  He saw Anderson shake his head and Sam moaned. That must have been the wrong thing to say.

  “Yes, Sam. The fag with the attitude.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No you’re not. You were jealous!” Anderson stopped to face him but Sam kept on walking. He’d never admit that…would he?

  “Admit it, Sammy boy. When you thought I was sticking it to Jack you got jealous.”

  They exited the school building and headed to the parking lot. Sam tried to steer the conversation away from Jack and jealousy but Anderson wasn’t having it.

  “Fine, I was jealous. Happy now?”

  Anderson kissed Sam’s neck and smiled. “Yes, thank you,” he replied sweetly.

  Sam shook his head but couldn’t help the smile that crossed his lips. “Just for that, you owe me dinner.”

  Anderson moaned and stopped to chuck his book bag into the back seat of his car. He had driven to work that day out of sheer laziness. “You know, one of these days—”

  “You’ll what?” Sam smacked Anderson’s ass.

  Anderson moaned, “No public spankings, remember?”

  Sam only smirked. “About dinner?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Anderson took the laptop from Sam, “how about we, er, order in? I have some ideas of my own you know.”

  “Really? Does that include taking advantage of this body?” Sam motioned to his own body. Anderson licked his lower lip.

  “Oh baby…you have no idea,” Anderson managed.

  * * * *

  Anderson drove to his place and parked then watched as Sam did the same. The two walked into the house to Anderson’s machine flashing a red light. He chucked his keys into the bowl by the door, placed his stuff on a large, leather chair and pressed a button on the machine. While he shrugged out of his coat and placed it behind the door he listened.

  “Hey Andy, it’s Jack. Listen, I found a place I think you might like. It’s in Long Island and there’s a commute. I don’t know if you want that. And where in the hell is your cell phone? B said you lost it? Something about a police station? Call me.”

  Beep

  “Andy, Byung, listen, I just got a call that I’m to head to China at the end of the week. Gimme a call and let me know if you wanna use my place. If you do then I won’t have to hire some punk kid to house sit.”

  Beep.

  “Mister Williams, this is Mason Angelos over at the Paradise Condos. I am just calling to see if you had any plans for your father’s place. I know it’s a bit early but you have to understand that this is a business. We have someone who would like to take a look at it. Give me a call at…”

  Anderson rubbed his eyes, China, his father’s condo and Long Island? There was no way he was moving to Long Island.

  “Long Island?” Sam wrapped his arms around Anderson from behind. “You moving to Elmont?”

  Anderson laughed and turned in the circle of his lover’s arms, “not moving to Elmont. I’d rather get a condo in Manhattan and buy a country house in Jamaica for some peace and quiet. Oh and speaking of Jamaica, after my father is cremated, I have to head down there to sprinkle his ashes. You want in?”

  Sam nodded his head and turned sad eyes Anderson’s way. “When are you having the service?”

  “Sometimes next week. The funeral home is making the arrangements.”

  “Family coming in from out of town?”

  Anderson shook his head, “Dad only had me left and his friends down by the courthouse. They will be notified by the home—” he took a deep breath and snuggled into Sam.

  “I know this may be a bit much but I have to talk to you,” Sam released Anderson and walked for the kitchen. Anderson followed and hopped onto a stool while Sam pulled a bottle of water from the fridge.

  “That’s how it always starts,” Anderson wrinkled his brow. “What about?”

  “You and me.”

  Anderson pressed his eyes shut. He bit down on his lower lip, roped his emotions and bid himself not to overreact. It was wonderful, albeit bumpy, while it lasted. He opened his eyes. “All right.”

  “Remember I said that I wanted to see where we went?”

  Again Anderson nodded.

  “Well, I just wanted to say that we’re heading in the right direction. I like where we’re heading.”

  “Riddles, Sam. Please just come out and say it.”

  Sam placed the unopened bottle down and leant across the island in the center of the kitchen to take Anderson’s hands. “I have feelings for you,” Sam confessed. “Strong feelings and I want to trust them—”

  He stopp
ed short, for Anderson was grinning like a goof. “What?”

  “Oh nothing,” Anderson smiled and kissed Sam. “Nothing at all.”

  “Then say something about what I just told you. I don’t like feeling as if I’m alone in this. Falling for someone is hard especially when it’s one-sided.”

  “It’s not one-sided, Sam,” Anderson promised. “I swear. I’ve had feelings for you the moment we kissed, it just took you a while longer to see it. I knew I would wear you down.”

  Sam laughed at the look in Anderson’s eyes and the slow curve of his lips.

  “Come here,” Sam’s voice changed. It was husky now, heated. He released Anderson’s hands and watched his lover walk around the counter. When Anderson was in Sam’s arms again, Sam lost his mind. He ate against Anderson’s neck, tasting his heated flesh and moaning with satisfaction. His cock stood at instant attention and throbbed, especially after he slipped his hands into Anderson’s pants to caress him.

  “Sam, what about food?” Anderson’s voice was breathy, straining for control.

  “I got my food right here,” Sam continued his tender assault on Anderson. He stopped when Anderson’s stomach growled rather loudly.

  “That is not sexy,” Anderson laughed.

  “No kidding—pizza?”

  Anderson nodded and Sam released him but not for long. After he got off the phone with the pizza place, Sam had Anderson back against the counter but this time Sam was on his knees with Anderson’s cock down his throat.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It wasn’t until almost eleven o’clock the next day until Sam and Roger heard back from Evans. Sam’s cell phone rang and when he looked down and saw that it was Evans’ phone number incoming, he snapped his fingers to get Roger’s attention and answered.

  “Detective Morgan,” he answered.

  “Morgan, Evans. Okay, he contacted me and we’re set to meet at two this afternoon.”

  “Okay, details! Where?” Sam replied.

  “You’re never gonna believe this shit, but here goes. He wants to meet at a gay bathhouse on west Twentieth Street; a place called the Steam House. Told me to get a locker, put on a towel, and meet him in the back of one of the movie rooms in that place. I’ve never been in a gay bathhouse and I almost told him to stick it, but not knowing what he’s into, I didn’t dare!” Evans relayed with just a bit of hysteria in his voice.