by Pandora Pine
“You’re talking about Bertha Craig, right?” Ronan asked quietly.
Tennyson nodded.
“You really think she can help with this situation? I mean she knew Michael Frye’s name but with this...” Ronan shook his head like Tennyson would be asking the impossible.
Five-year-old Michael Frye had been reticent to talk about what happened to him at his killer’s hands. Carson’s deceased mother had been able to find and comfort the small boy on the other side. Thanks to her compassion, Michael had felt comfortable enough to open up to Tennyson and tell the story of what happened to him on his last, awful night on earth. Asking Bertha to round up a bunch of teenagers killed at the hands of a possible serial killer would be a tall order. Not knowing their names would make the task that much harder.
“Maybe.” Ten turned back to the boys. “Do you think the others would have reported their friends missing like you did with Justin?”
The boys exchanged glances, but stayed silent.
“Come on, guys. Keeping secrets now does no one any good here.” Ronan sounded frustrated.
“Look, man, those guys are our competition. It’s not like they’re our friends. We hear enough through the grapevine to know that some of them have gone missing,” Jefferson said.
“And not because of the Julia Roberts effect.” Keegan rolled his eyes.
Tennyson looked the boys over. None of them were much older than seventeen at the most. “Before you ended up on the streets, did you have dreams or goals for your lives? No bullshitting.” Ten looked each of the boys in the eyes.
“No bullshit?” Mark asked. “Fine, I wanted to be a writer like that Rod Jacobson guy.”
Tennyson didn’t recognize that name. From the look on Ronan’s face, neither did he. “Who’s that?”
“He writes human interest pieces for the Boston Globe. Did a piece last year all about street kids. He volunteers at soup kitchens. Even spent nights on the streets to see what life was like for us. He used the article as a platform for coming out and talked about how he could have been one of us but for the love of his parents.” Mark sunk his chin into the cup of his hands and sighed.
“Okay, pretty woman, we get it.” Keegan rolled his eyes.
“Well, what about you?” Ronan asked, turning to Keegan.
“I wanted to be a cop, but you can’t be no cop when you been busted for sucking dick behind the Walgreens for twenty bucks.”
Tennyson’s heart broke for the boy. If not for his gift of being able to speak to the dead, he could have ended up on the street just like these boys, selling his mouth for a cheeseburger.
Ronan nudged the boy’s shoulder with his own. “You might not be able to be a police officer, but you could be something better. You could be an outreach counsellor who helps young men like yourself get off the street and into a GED program or job training.”
“That’s a real job?” Keegan looked doubtful.
Ronan nodded. “It is. Our vice unit works with several outreach clinics all over the city.”
Keegan seemed to be thinking that over.
“What about you, Jefferson?” Ten asked.
The boy shrugged. “I never finished high school.”
“We can help with that,” Tennyson said with a grin.
“We can?” Ronan looked stunned.
“We know a couple of do-gooding empty-nesters...” Ten’s smile was a million watts and a mile wide.
Ronan snorted. “What? You mean Tony and Carlie Abruzzi?”
Tony was Ronan’s old partner when they both worked homicide. After Tony had been accused of murder last year, he’d been reassigned to the vice squad. Their youngest son, Vinnie, had been accepted to UNH for the fall semester and was spending his time since graduation working at a summer camp up in the White Mountains.
“They were talking a few weeks ago about becoming foster parents…” Tennyson trailed off, hoping Ronan would pick up his train of thought.
“Yeah, that was after they met Carson and Truman’s babies. Everyone’s baby crazy after they hold newborns.”
Tennyson raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You weren’t baby crazy after we met the triplets.”
“You don’t know that.” Ronan shook his head. He looked like he was trying hard not to smile. “Anyway, do you know how hard it is to get baby barf out of a suit jacket?
“Probably just as hard as it is to get come out.” Mark said matter-of-factly. “You don’t want to end up being the next Monica Lewinsky.”
The boys started to laugh. Tennyson prayed his little plan would work.
16
Ronan
Three hours later, Ronan still couldn’t believe Tennyson’s crazy idea worked. Tony and Carlie had agreed to take in Keegan, Jefferson, Brody, and Mark. With almost no argument. Their two conditions were that all four boys retire from selling themselves and no drugs. The boys had all agreed.
There was going to be a hearing in the morning at Suffolk County Family Court to have the Abruzzis declared the boys’ legal guardians, but after that, Tony and Carlie would be legally responsible for all four former rent boys.
Before Ronan and Tennyson had dropped them off, they’d gone to the local supermarket and let the boys pick out their favorite snacks. Ronan had stocked up on pasta, meats, and fresh veggies, while Tennyson filled a cart with items he thought of as necessities: notebooks and colorful pens, art supplies, warm throws, and enough chocolate to open up their own store. They’d also both bought Carlie wine.
“Where are we headed now?” Tennyson asked on a yawn, after they’d dropped off their charges.
It had been a long day. Ronan felt his own ass dragging too. “Back to the precinct. I need to find out how many other boys have been reported missing and we need to run a full report of teenaged John Doe bodies found in Massachusetts. We need something to go to Bertha with.”
“You’re thinking serial killer, aren’t you?” Tennyson asked.
Ronan hadn’t wanted to say anything out loud until he had the facts in hand, but knew he could trust Ten with his hypothesis. “Yeah.”
“How does something like this go unnoticed?” Tennyson sounded stunned.
“It happens more often than you think.” Ronan shook his head. “Especially with a throw away population like street kids and if the bodies are found in different towns that are in different counties.”
Tennyson half-growled. “You mean a population of people that no one is going to miss immediately if they go missing?”
“Right,” Ronan agreed. “I don’t mean throw-away people. But if a five-year-old white child goes missing, the alarm instantly goes up.”
“But if a sixteen-year-old runaway living on the streets of Boston vanishes, who’s going to raise a fuss about him?”
“Serial killers are smart, Ten. They know how to target their victims.” Men like John Wayne Gacy and Jeffrey Dahmer spent years learning how to hunt victims like deer hunters and fishermen learn how to find the best places to look for their game.”
“They’re predators, like lions, picking off the weakest wildebeest in the herd.” Ten shook his head in obvious disgust.
“Learn that from the Lion King, did you?” Ronan said with a snicker.
“The circle of life is a cruel motherfucker,” Tennyson said angrily.
Ronan reached out to set a hand on Tennyson’s thigh. “I know how hard this is for you. But for your gift, you could have ended up on the street too.”
Ten sucked in a rough breath. “I was thinking that at lunch when we were listening to the boys talk about their dreams. You heard what bright, engaging young men they are, Ronan. I just don’t understand how their parents could have just thrown them away.”
“I’m with you. They’re going to get a second chance now with Tony and Carlie if they’re smart enough to take it.”
“I think they are smart enough, don’t you?”
“I sure hope so, but living on the street can change you. I’m sure those boys have lived
through things you can’t even imagine.”
“They’ve all been raped, beaten, mugged, demoralized, held at gun-point.” Ten clutched at Ronan’s hand. “Should I go on, because there’s more.”
“You read them?” Ronan was shocked. It was one of Tennyson’s hard and fast rules to never read anyone without their permission.
“We were bringing three strangers into your best friends’ home. I wanted them to know what they were getting into. I took notes on each boy and slipped them to Carlie.”
“Jesus Christ, Ten.” Ronan couldn’t believe his ears.
“I want those boys to succeed. If they need counseling or medical intervention...” Ten trailed off.
Ronan nodded. He knew exactly where Tennyson was headed with his line of thought. If he hadn’t been forthcoming with what was still upsetting him so much about Josh, there was no way four street-smart boys were going to confess the ways they’d been brutalized on the streets or possibly been exposed to HIV or Hepatitis. “You’re one in a million. You know that?”
“Thank Christ! Imagine what life would be like if everyone were like me?” Tennyson shot Ronan a wink.
Twenty minutes later, Ronan and Tennyson were walking back into the squad room. It was blessedly empty at this time of night, although Ronan couldn’t help noticing the light was still on in Captain Fitzgibbon’s office.
He knew once he ran his reports and had a bit more data, he was going to have to let his captain in on his little theory.
Tennyson took his usual seat in front of Ronan’s desk while Ronan got to work. It didn’t take long for his worst fears to be confirmed. “Sweet Jesus,” Ronan muttered.
“How bad is it?” Concern lit Tennyson’s dark eyes.
“Bad. Come on, let’s go see the cap.” Ronan went to the printer to get his results and walked slowly to Captain Kevin Fitzgibbon’s office.
Ronan had only been working for his captain for five months now, but knew the man had his back, both professionally and personally.
“O’Mara, burning the candle at both ends, I see.” Captain Fitzgibbon smiled at him.
“Yes, sir. Tennyson and I have something we need to talk to you about.”
The captain nodded. “I had a feeling this wasn’t a personal visit. Shut the door.”
Ronan did what the captain asked and took a seat in front of his desk next to Tennyson. “Why don’t you start us off.”
“I should have known you were at the root of this.” The captain offered Tennyson a welcoming smile.
“I’ve been having visitations from this spirit who’s having a hard time communicating. He was finally able to tell me his name and that he was murdered. He asked me to find his murderer, Captain Fitzgibbon. In all my years of talking to the dead, this is the first time that has ever happened to me.”
“Christ, let’s hope it’s the last time too.” Fitzgibbon turned to Ronan. “So, I’m guessing this is where you come in.”
Ronan grimaced. “This was the case you gave me permission to go off books to investigate. The boy in question was reported missing in Boston and his body was found in Newburyport. We have a positive DNA match on him. Tennyson and I spent the morning interviewing his friends who told us that other young men in their profession have been going missing.”
“You mean these teenage boys are prostitutes?” Fitzgibbon sighed. “How many boys are we talking about here?”
“I’ve got eleven missing persons reports filed in Boston alone that match the age group of the boys and twenty-six John Doe corpses in various morgues all over Massachusetts, Northern Rhode Island and Southern New Hampshire.” Reading the statistics out loud made Ronan shiver.
“Jesus Christ,” Fitzgibbon muttered. “You’re thinking serial killer.”
“I am, sir. Granted, there could be more victims that haven’t been reported missing, or ones that have in other cities. There could also be bodies that we haven’t found yet…” Ronan ran his hands through his hair.
“I’m assuming this is where you come back into the picture?” Fitzgibbon pointed to Tennyson.
“I’m hoping so, sir,” Tennyson said gently,
“You hope so? I don’t understand.” The captain looked back and forth between Ronan and Tennyson.
“When you channel spirits it’s helpful to have some kind of anchor that attracts the person you’re wanting to speak with,” Tennyson started. “It’s like offering sunflower seeds if you looking to attract cardinals to your backyard.”
“Cardinals?” Fitzgibbon sounded dumbfounded.
“What Tennyson is trying to say, sir, is that it’s easy for him to connect with my mother because I’m the lightning rod drawing her spirit to me. Without a similar kind of conductor, it’s harder to attract the spirit you’re hoping to connect with.”
Fitzgibbon nodded. “Ah, so, if I wanted to speak to Jayne Mansfield, you wouldn’t be able to whip up her spirit for me to chat with?”
“Exactly, but it would be a piece of cake to be able to channel her for her daughter,” Ronan added.
“I assume you have a plan for contacting these other possible victims?” Fitzgibbon turned back to Tennyson.
“We do, sir,” Ronan was quick to say.
“What about connecting these missing persons cases to actual victims?” Fitzgibbon sounded impressed so far.
“That’s going to take more good old-fashioned police work. Knocking on doors and talking to families of missing kids. Getting more DNA samples…” Christ, Ronan wasn’t cut out for that shit. Dealing with one set of uninterested parents had nearly been enough to send him over the edge. Not to mention what it had done to Tennyson.
Captain Fitzgibbon held up a hand. “Why don’t the two of you stick to identifying and speaking to the possible victims and we’ll get members of missing persons to speak with the parents.”
Ronan smirked at Tennyson. “Did the, um, Wilsons call you?”
The captain mirrored Ronan’s smirk. “No, Ronan, I got some of Tennyson’s psychic powers through, what did you call it?” He paused for a second. “Ah, transference. Look, I get how sensitive you both are to asshole parents kicking their gay teenaged son out of their house and onto the street, but you were both there to make a death notification, not to stand on your soapbox and preach. Even if you were both right.”
Tennyson shot Ronan a confused look. “You’re not going to reprimand us?”
Fitzgibbon raised an eyebrow at the psychic. “Bad psychic, no more soapboxes. There. You’ve been reprimanded. Now get out of my office and find this bastard before he can hurt anymore teenagers.”
Ronan and Tennyson both stood up to leave. Ronan knew they’d both dodged a bullet by the captain letting them off so easy for the way they’d treated Cliff and Gloria Wilson.
“Oh, and Ronan?” The captain called out.
Shit, they’d almost been home free. “Yes, sir?” He turned around crossing his fingers that the hammer wasn’t about to fall.
“I heard through the grapevine that you and Ten managed to find a home for the Wilson boy’s friends.”
“Yes, sir, they’ll be staying with the Abruzzis.”
Fitzgibbon nodded and looked to be thinking something over. “You think any more of those boys might need a good home?”
It was Ronan’s first instinct to burst out laughing. Kevin Fitzgibbon was married to his job. He was in the office before Ronan and stayed long after midnight. Maybe that was because the man had nothing, or more specifically, no one to go home to. “I bet they all do, cap.”
The captain made a humming noise and turned his attention back to his work.
17
Tennyson
After a quick stop to grab salads, Ronan brought Tennyson home with him. Ten couldn’t believe he was back here with Ronan agreeing to spend the night.
He could have gotten into his car and made the forty-minute ride back to Salem, putting him home sometime past midnight, but staying here was the safer option. In terms of not falling asle
ep at the wheel. It definitely was not the safer option when it came to his unsteady heart.
Ronan was still Ronan. Just because they were working together again like a well-oiled machine didn’t mean the things that had broken them up a few weeks ago had magically disappeared. Now that they were home and Ronan’s brain had switched off from the case, Ten could see his old worries creeping back in again. To coin a phrase, Ronan looked haunted.
So that he didn’t have time to study that look, Ten started unpacking the food bag. He set Ronan’s grilled chicken Caesar at his spot at the table and grabbed his Greek with extra feta. He passed out the homemade pita bread and managed to figure out which dressing went with which salad. Finally, he grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge.
“You look right at home.” Ronan took a seat and pried the plastic lid off his salad.
“It’s only been two weeks. I figured you still kept the water in the refrigerator,” Ten deadpanned.
“Yeah, right.” Ronan dumped his dressing over his salad and mixed it in looking thoughtful. “Do you really think Bertha Craig can help us?”
Before they’d left the precinct, Ten had Ronan email their list of missing teenagers to Carson so that he’d be able to let his mother know who to look out for on the other side. Carson had done something similar a few months ago with Michael Frye, but that was a simpler task, looking for one spirit, as opposed to looking for dozens.
“If anyone can help us, it’s Bertha,” Tennyson confirmed before digging into his dinner.
“Are you sleeping with me or out here alone on the couch?” Ronan asked out of the blue a few minutes later.
Tennyson choked on his salad. The tangy vinegar in the Greek dressing went down wrong and he started to cough.
Ronan got up from his seat and started whacking Tennyson’s back. “You okay?”
Tennyson had seen the sexy smirk on Ronan’s face while his former lover stalked over to him like he was the injured wildebeest and Ronan was the hungry lion. “Peachy keen,” Tennyson managed when he could finally suck in a lungful of air. “We were talking about dead kids then all of sudden you flipped the script.”
