Dead Reckoning (Cold Case Psychic Book 2)

by Pandora Pine

  “There’s blame here for me too, Ronan. I didn’t handle things the right way either. I just thought if I shocked you a bit, you’d get some help. I don’t know why I thought that, you’re so god damned stubborn you could give lessons to a pig-headed mule.”

  Ronan did the last thing even he thought he’d do at Tennyson’s words. He laughed. Hard. So hard, he had to pull off to the side of the road. Tennyson joined in with him. It felt like the old times with the two of them laughing like loons together. “God, that felt good.” Ronan’s soul actually felt lighter.

  “It did.” Ten set his left hand on Ronan’s thigh, the place it usually rested when they drove around together. “How are we going to tell Justin’s asshole parents that we think their son is dead, when we know he is? How are you going to explain that you’re a Boston Police detective working with a psychic? How are you going to resist punching both of them in their asshole faces?”

  Ronan barked out another quick laugh, as he pulled the Mustang back onto the street. “You mean how am I going to keep you from punching them in their asshole faces?”

  Tennyson nodded. “Yeah, that too.”

  “Why don’t you let me do the talking when we get there, huh?” Ronan had been mulling around similar questions as they drove through the quiet streets of Hamilton, Massachusetts. The closer they got to Justin’s former home, the bigger the houses got.

  “I’ll never understand how parents can just kick their kids out of their families for something beyond their control.” Tennyson shook his head.

  “Some people don’t think it’s beyond our control. You should know that from all those years you spent in the pews at Union Chapel Baptist Church, right?” There was nothing Ronan hated more than those ignorant fucks who thought that the gay could be prayed, brainwashed or beaten away.

  “Yeah, but shouldn’t biology trump some book? Or the words of some fire and brimstone preacher?”

  “It should, but we live in the real world. We know it doesn’t.” Ronan was thinking back to an incident a few months back where some drunk assholes had given him and Tennyson a hard time when they’d kissed each other on the way out of a restaurant in South Boston. As liberal as Massachusetts was, there were still closed-minded assholes willing to open their mouths and let their hate spew out. “What’s that line about the way to heaven being paved with good intentions?”

  Tennyson half-growled. “Do you think that was my parents’ and Justin’s parents’ intentions? To scare us back into the fold by forcing us out into the big scary world with only our wits to get by on?”

  Ronan parked the Mustang in front of an impressive looking set of gates leading up to an even more impressive looking mansion. “Let’s ask these pretentious pricks.” Ronan waggled his eyebrows at Tennyson. “After we collect their DNA.”

  7

  Tennyson

  It never failed to impress Tennyson how quickly doors were opened to them when Ronan flashed his badge. Five minutes after Ronan had shown his shield to the video monitor at the Wilson’s gate, they were being ushered into an enormous sitting room overlooking the patio’s inground swimming pool.

  “Mrs. Wilson will be with you momentarily,” the stuck-up sounding butler announced.

  “Christ, this room is bigger than my entire apartment,” Ronan half-whispered.

  “Mine too, and who the hell has a butler nowadays?” Tennyson rolled his eyes.

  “Detective O’Mara, is it?” a grey-haired man dressed in an expensive suit asked as he stepped into the room from a side door. He was escorting a much younger woman at his side who looked like she’d just returned from a tennis match.

  “Yes, and this is my partner, Tennyson Grimm.”

  “You are not with the Boston Police Department.” The platinum blonde turned down her pixie nose at Tennyson. “I seem to remember hearing that you are charlatan of some sort, Mr. Grimm.”

  No wonder Justin hated his parents. Tennyson felt his hands balling into fists at his sides. He tried to remember what Ronan said about letting him handle talking to the parents. He released his hands and tried to take a deep breath.

  “Mr. Grimm is a consultant working with the BPD, Mrs. Wilson,” Ronan said. “He’s played a critical role in helping our department in the past.”

  Tennyson could sense the anger rolling off of Ronan. He couldn’t help feeling a bit giddy that part of the anger was on his behalf. Back home, no one had ever stood up for him before, but then again, there was no one like Ronan O’Mara back in Union Chapel, Kansas.

  “Well, I suppose if your lieutenant doesn’t mind being conned…” Mrs. Wilson narrowed her icy blue eyes on Tennyson.

  “My captain, is quite pleased with Tennyson’s work.” Ronan arched an eyebrow. “We’re here to speak with you about your son, Justin.”

  “We no longer have a son,” Mr. Wilson said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Tennyson felt his hands balling into fists again. This was going to be a long interview if he felt like punching Mr. Wilson every time the man opened his asshole mouth.

  “Which state agency did you surrender your underaged son to, Mr. Wilson?” Ronan asked quietly.

  The Wilsons exchanged confused looks with each other. “We didn’t surrender the boy to anyone.”

  “So, you’re both confessing to child endangerment?” Ronan reached for his handcuffs.

  “Wait a God damned minute! You come into our home and accuse us of committing a crime?” Mr. Wilson’s face was turning beat-red.

  “No, sir! You wait a minute!” Ronan exploded. “You kicked your sixteen-year-old son out of your home for being gay. Left him on the streets to fend for himself without a dime to his name, which is a felony offense in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.” Ronan shook his head. “Jesus Christ, you have a police officer standing in your living room and haven’t even asked me what I’m doing here.”

  Wilson waved a hand in the air. “I assume the boy’s been arrested for a crime of some sort and you’re here to make us pay for the damages. How much do we owe you? Darling, get the checkbook, would you?” Wilson sounded as if the talk of money was beneath him.

  These rich assholes were all the same, thinking their shit didn’t stink and that everything was about money. Tennyson was appalled by what he was hearing. He had no doubt that this is exactly what would have happened had a cop come knocking on his parents’ door back in Kansas. It was time to end this insanity. “Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, your son is dead.”

  Both Wilsons looked at him with their mouths hanging open but didn’t say a word.

  “I’m sure neither one of you believe in what I do for a living, but your son’s spirit came to me several months ago and attempted to communicate. I believe he’s having difficulty crossing over to the other side because of how brutally he was murdered. Not that either one of you seem to care about that.” Tennyson shrugged.

  He had a feeling Ronan was going to lay into him for his impassioned speech later, but right now, he had zero fucks left to give. “Justin asked me to find his murderer and that’s exactly what I intend to do. I’ve got the full trust and backing of the Boston Police Department’s Cold Case Unit. One of the images that your son was able to communicate to me was of a naked, dead body dumped in a frozen field. Justin was able to tell me where that field was. We need samples of your DNA to prove the body the Essex County Medical Examiner has in their cold storage morgue matching Justin’s description, does in fact belong to your son.”

  “You’re saying my son is dead?” Mrs. Wilson asked sarcastically. “I don’t understand. Why were we never notified? When did this happen?”

  “You were never notified because you never reported your son missing!” Tennyson shouted. He shut his eyes for a moment and did the one thing he swore he’d never do. He read Justin’s mother without her permission. His dark eyes popped open and he took two steps toward Mrs. Wilson. “It happened the night you were hosting the annual Daughters of the American Revolution banquet. You remember that five thou
sand dollar a plate dinner where the money raised went into a fund for next year’s gala?” Tennyson sucked in a rough breath. “The son who you’d carelessly tossed out onto the street like yesterday’s paper was being beaten, raped, and murdered and you were eating caviar on toast points with your rich bitch friends.”

  Mrs. Wilson gasped and turned to her husband.

  “Ten.” Ronan set a hand on his shoulder before turning to the Wilsons. “We need your DNA so we can positively identify your son’s remains.”

  “I-Is what this man said true?” Justin’s father asked Ronan. There was a crack in the man’s previously unshakable demeanor.

  Ronan took the DNA swab out of the package. “Open,” he demanded, and when Mr. Wilson complied, swabbed the inside of his left cheek. “Oh, so now you care?” Ronan looked the man in the eye. “Yes, it’s true. Tennyson is never wrong about what spirits tell him. Of course, we will be able to confirm all of these things once we’re able to claim Justin’s remains and perform a forensic autopsy.”

  “What happens after that?” Mrs. Wilson asked after Ronan swabbed her cheek.

  “I guess that is up to you, ma’am. Either you’ll do what’s right for you son and you’ll find a peaceful final resting place for his remains, or he’ll end up in an unmarked grave in a potter’s field.” Ronan packed away the DNA swabs and signaled Ten that it was time to leave.

  Like hell Justin will end up in an unmarked grave in unconsecrated ground… Tennyson thought to himself. If he had to pay for the funeral himself, Justin would have a proper funeral and a beautiful headstone.

  8

  Ronan

  “That was one hell of a performance you put on back there,” Ronan said, once they were back in the car and heading north to Newburyport, where the Essex County Morgue was located. They were going to hand-deliver the DNA samples to the lab at the medical examiner’s office.

  “You’re not angry at me for stepping over the line?” Ten sounded nervous to hear Ronan’s answer.

  “Are you kidding me?” Ronan snorted. “What you said was tame compared to what you could have said, and no one got punched in the mouth.” Ronan felt practically giddy. He had a feeling what Tennyson did say had been percolating for years after the way his own parents had kicked him out of his house back in Kansas.

  Tennyson grinned. “Yeah, but those people have money. I’m sure they’re on the phone with some high-priced dream team of Boston attorneys right now hatching a plan on how to own your pension and my third share in West Side Magick.”

  “I don’t think so, Ten. If that dream team knows Massachusetts law the way that I do, then they know what the child endangerment statute says and how it fucks their clients three ways from Sunday.”

  “You realize being gay is their fault,” Ten said quietly, turning to stare out the window.

  Ronan’s heart pinched in his chest. He knew full well that being gay wasn’t a choice he’d made, but rather the way he’d been made. His mother had known that too, but not all kids had been as fortunate as he’d been. He reached out a hand, setting it on the crook of Tennyson’s elbow. “I know.”

  There had been theories about the so-called “gay gene” tossed around scientific circles for decades, but no one had been able to prove or disprove its existence, so far. “Biology is a funny thing, Ten. Blond hair, blue eyes, giant ears, hawk nose. You never see parents having guilt trips over handing down those traits.”

  Ten was quiet for a minute. “You think that’s why Justin’s parents kicked him out, because they were ashamed they’d created a gay kid together?”

  “Come on, Ten, don’t be naive. Wilson had at least twenty years on his wife and I’d bet you a year’s salary that she’s not his first wife. I’m betting he traded the first one in for this newer model when she started to sag and show her age.”

  Tennyson’s mouth gaped open, but he didn’t say a word.

  “He was wearing a five-thousand-dollar suit with a twenty-thousand-dollar Rolex. That haircut cost a hundred bucks and his cologne is a thousand bucks a bottle. Everything to do with that man is all about appearances. A gay son would ruin the perfect family portrait.”

  “It didn’t have to,” Tennyson grumped.

  “You’re right, it didn’t,” Ronan agreed. “Some people can’t stand anything less than perfection.”

  “Justin didn’t deserve the way his parents treated him.” Ten’s voice was small and full of emotion.

  “Neither did you.” Ronan squeezed his shoulder.

  “This isn’t about me. It’s about Justin. Someone murdered him and left his broken body alone in a field. We have to find him, Ronan. We have to find who did this to him and then we have to lay him to rest.”

  “I had a feeling you were going to say that.” From the little bit of time Ronan had spent with Tennyson and his friends in Salem, he knew what an amazing LGBTQ community they had there. Carson and Truman wouldn’t hesitate to throw a fundraiser for Justin. “Hell, you even have a connection with that gay reporter from Channel 5. I’m betting if you gave him a call he’d come out and cover whatever fundraiser we put together.”

  “We?” Tennyson asked, turning back from the window.

  “I can’t be the only one thinking that the two of us being apart is only temporary, right?” Ronan crossed his fingers and held his breath.

  Tennyson snorted. “Seriously, that’s your play?”

  “I know I fucked up, Ten. I need help dealing with Josh and what he did and how that affects me today.” This wasn’t how he’d intended to say it, but it was from his heart and that’s what mattered.

  “Wow. Two weeks ago you didn’t think it affected you at all. I’m impressed.”

  “Two weeks is a long time to be without you.” That was the God’s honest truth. It had felt like two years.

  Tennyson rolled his eyes. “You mean two weeks is a long time to be without my mouth on your dick.”

  “No. Two weeks is a long time to be without the way you laugh at my ridiculous jokes. It’s a long time to be without your hugs that last half an hour, and it’s too long to be without my best friend. I could go the rest of my life without your mouth anywhere near my dick so long as I could pick up the phone and hear the sound of your voice.”

  “Damn…” Tennyson trailed off. “Guess I’m the dick now, huh?”

  As a matter of fact, he was, but Ronan sure as shit wasn’t about to say that out loud.

  9

  Tennyson

  Tennyson didn’t need the DNA results to tell him that the John Doe body in cold storage at the Essex County Medical Examiner’s Office belonged to Justin Wilson. He’d know it the minute he walked into the building.

  He half expected Justin to be waiting for him in the lobby of the building, but as he had explained to Ronan before, spirits didn’t tend to hang out in places like this.

  Ronan was chatting amiably with the lab technician while he signed the DNA into evidence, which gave Ten some time to think about what Ronan had said in the car. Were the two of them only apart temporarily?

  When he’d given Ronan the ultimatum, he hadn’t really expected the detective to walk out the door. Ten figured Ronan would agree to go see a shrink for a few sessions, talk about Josh and then they could get back to whatever it was they had been building together. Ten hesitated to say it out loud, but he thought they had what it took to be in it together for the long haul like Carson and Truman.

  His boyfriend had been famously stubborn since the moment they’d met, so it shouldn’t have come as a huge shock when Ronan grabbed his pants and slammed the door behind him.

  What had come as a surprise was Ronan’s heartfelt confession in the car. Ten had missed the hell out of Ronan too. And not just the sex like he’d intimated. He’d missed all the little things like falling asleep on Ronan’s shoulder and lazy Sunday mornings sharing the newspaper and bites from each other’s bagels.

  None of the other men he’d dated had ever understood or accepted his job as
easily as Ronan. Hell, here they were sitting in the medical examiner’s office trying to identify the physical remains of a ghost who’d visited him in the night. How many men would be at his side through something like this?

  The answer was none. Every man that Tennyson had ever dated had grown sick and tired of playing second fiddle to dead people. Tennyson understood where those guys had been coming from. It was never easy when your boyfriend dashed away from the table in a fancy restaurant to deliver a message from Grandma Thelma to startled diners across the way.

  Even still, this was his calling in life. Any man he was with for better or for worse needed to understand this was all part and parcel of loving Tennyson.

  Did Ronan love him?

  Maybe. Maybe Ronan had been on the way to allowing his still battered heart into letting Tennyson inside and he’d gone and ruined it with his ultimatum, which, now that he thought about it, was something straight out of General Hospital.

  “Why do you look like you just swallowed a mouthful of shit?” Ronan asked with a smile, taking the seat next to Tennyson.

  Ten felt himself blush. “This probably isn’t the time or place to talk about it.”

  Ronan looked around. They were the only people sitting in the hard-plastic chairs near the lab. “Who’s going to overhear us?” Ronan looked around again. “Are there spirits here? Gossipy grannies, maybe?” Ronan’s grin was full on.

  Tennyson missed this version of Ronan, joking and laughing like he didn’t have a care in the world. He hadn’t seen much of this Ronan lately. “No, there aren’t any gossipy grannies.” Tennyson sighed. “I was just thinking what an asshat I was.”

  “Oh? Do tell.” Ronan’s blue eyes sparkled under the florescent lighting.

  “The ultimatum was stupid. You’re a proud, stubborn man. Given the choice between leaving and therapy, of course you were going to leave.”

  Ronan snorted. “You were doing good with the part where you said the ultimatum was stupid. The rest… eh!” He laughed. “But, you may have a small point about everything else you said.”