by Pandora Pine
Ten had been so focused on Ronan, he hadn’t heard Kevin come back into the small observation room. “Yes, he is. He’s just toying with Ronan. Like a cat with a mouse.”
“You getting anything on him?”
“Just that he’s turned on.” Ten shivered in disgust. He was going to need a long hot shower after this.
Ronan pushed the other vanilla latte toward Jacobson before opening the lid on his own and taking a sip. “He was too vanilla for me.” Ronan tipped his cup to the newspaper man. “No pun intended.”
“Why am I really here, Ronan? You have my private cell number. If you wanted to tell me about breaking up with Tennyson, you could have done it that way instead of inviting me in for an interview at BPD headquarters.”
“You’re right. I could have done that. Hell, I should have, but I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.” Nodding, Ronan stood up and walked to the two-way mirror. He knocked on the glass. “My boss is standing back there watching this interview. He’s the one who finds it…” Ronan paused and paced around the room, “curious, that twelve hours after I met with you and those boys at the shelter that one of them turned up dead in a marsh in Saugus.”
Jacobson’s demeanor changed then. “One of those boys is dead?”
“Yeah, Dylan Charles. The one who spoke to me and said he knew Austin Roberts.”
“That’s a shame. He seemed like a nice kid.” Jacobson shook his head.
Tennyson shook his head. “I don’t like this prick, but…”
“But what?” Fitzgibbon asked.
“I don’t feel anything disingenuous either. He’s cocky, but we can’t arrest him for that.” As much as Tennyson wished they could. Jacobson was sizing Ronan up like he was on the menu, which he knew was part of Ronan’s plan, but it still rankled.
“Is there something underneath? You said psychopaths read differently.”
Ten shut his eyes and reached out again with his sixth sense. All he was getting from Jacobson was how much the prick wanted to bend Ronan over the interview table and fuck him into next week. There were also some background thoughts on how this serial killer story would get him his next Pulitzer Prize and hopefully a multi-million-dollar book deal. The last thing he picked up was how stupid he thought Ronan and the BPD were for not thinking the killer was obviously Jace Lincoln. “I’m not getting anything from him that leads me to believe he’s the killer. He wants Ronan something awful and thinks we’re all dumb as a bag of rocks for not arresting Jace for the killings.”
“Nothing about the prostitution ring out at the Beach Inn either, huh?” Kevin asked.
“No, and that’s odd. He should be trying to mask that.” Tennyson was more confused now than ever. He was going to need to talk to Carson about this.
“Where were you after we left the shelter that night, Rod?” Ronan asked, sitting back down at the table.
Rod reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. “I stopped at the liquor store on Winter Street. I’ve got the receipt here on my phone.” He turned the phone around to show Ronan. “Says I checked out at 10:15pm and then I hopped on the T at the Park Street stop and went home alone to drown my sorrows in Grey Goose.”
Ronan shrugged. “Sorry I wasn’t there to make martinis with you.” He took a messy sip of his latte, leaving foam on his top lip.
“Here, let me.” Rob leaned over the table to swipe the foam away with his index finger which he popped into his mouth. “Mmm.”
“Fucking gag me,” Tennyson half-growled.
“It’s all part of the dance.” Fitzgibbon gave Ten’s shoulder a squeeze.
“Who do you think is behind this? I mean you’ve been out on the streets talking to these kids. What are they leading you to believe?” Ronan propped his chin in the cup of his hand and seemed to stop just shy of sighing in adoration like a teenage fanboy.
“You’re dealing with a brilliant killer, obviously. You said that he’s been killing for some time now and has managed to elude your notice.”
“Well, until a ghost visited Tennyson.” Ronan shrugged like he wasn’t sure if that was true.
“Do you really believe in that shit, Ronan? I mean, come on, a spirit sitting on the edge of the Fruit Loop’s bed, asking him to find out who murdered him. Have you ever heard of anything more insane in your entire life?” Jacobson laughed.
“Yeah,” Ten scoffed. “You thinking you’ve got a chance with Ronan.” What an asshole. Tennyson was going to nail this arrogant prick to the wall if it was the last thing he did.
Ronan shrugged. “It all became a bit more believable when we found this ghost’s body in the morgue, Rod, and the M.E. said he had been murdered.”
Rod walked his right hand forward, his fingers slid over Ronan’s. “You want to know who I think is murdering these poor gay kids?”
Ronan nodded wordlessly, his eyes glued to Rod’s fingers.
“I think it’s the psychic. He uses his powers as a way of having knowledge of the crime. A ghost came to me and told me he was murdered and left in a field in Newburyport. It’s fucking brilliant if you ask me, especially since he’s got the ear of a cold case detective…” Rod trailed off, but left his fingers entwined with Ronan’s.
“That dirty motherfucker!” Tennyson angry-whispered.
“Easy, Ten. It is brilliant. Watch!” Fitzgibbon pointed to the glass.
Ronan sat stone-still for a moment before he started to nod. “Jesus fucking Christ. That dirty son-of-a-bitch!” Ronan’s head popped up and he started to laugh. “Rod! That’s brilliant! Fucking brilliant.” Ronan pulled his hand back, staring at his fingers for a second before he started pacing around the room. “Grimm used me. Got close to me and then told me about his fucking visions as a way throw me off the trail of the murders he’s committing!”
“You told me yourself Tennyson was closeted for years, right? Sounds like these are revenge killings for all those years he was forced to stay in the closet.”
Ronan strode back to the two-way mirror and knocked on it. “Captain, send a crime scene unit to my apartment. Grimm left his toothbrush there. It’s pink. Have them bag and tag it for DNA. Let’s nail this fucker.”
“A pink toothbrush, Ten?” Fitzgibbon laughed before knocking on the glass in return to tell Ronan he’d gotten the message.
“You may have just cracked this case. This means another Pulitzer for sure. Hell, the mayor will probably give you the key to the city!” Ronan crowed. “I could fucking kiss you, Jacobson!”
“No one’s stopping you.” Jacobson’s eyes darkened.
Ronan strode to the newspaper man and grabbed his face in both hands before planting a kiss on his lips. Before pulling away, Ronan tugged on his bottom lip with his teeth and swiped his tongue across the swollen skin.
Tennyson groaned, closing his eyes. “Jesus Christ, give the man an Oscar and get me a barf bag.”
36
Ronan
After a member of the crime lab spent fifteen excruciating minutes and used four different swabs going over both of Ronan’s lips, his tongue and teeth for Rod Jacobson’s DNA, he was finally able to brush his teeth and use mouthwash. It hadn’t helped. He could still taste the revolting man. What was worse, Tennyson wouldn’t kiss him either.
“I want to, I just can’t. Not yet.” Tennyson reached out for Ronan’s hand and linked their fingers together.
They were sitting in Captain Fitzgibbon’s office waiting for him to come back from the men’s room.
“Ah, there are my favorite lovebirds. All made up? Good!” Fitzgibbon sat behind his desk and steepled his fingers. “What are your impressions of Jacobson now, Ronan?”
“I’m more convinced than ever he’s our guy. He was quick to turn the tables on Tennyson when he found out we’d broken up.” Ronan made air quotes over “broken up.”
Fitzgibbon tilted his head to the side. “You have to admit he makes a good argument.”
“What?” Tennyson practically screeched.
“Hol
d on, Ten, let me explain.” Fitzgibbon shot him a weary glance. “To an outsider who doesn’t know you and doesn’t know that your talent is real, you are a viable suspect here. You have a cold case detective wrapped around your little finger and you’ve made a friend in a Boston Police captain.” Fitzgibbon pointed to himself. “Hell, in his press conference back in February, the Boston Police Commissioner said the city owed you a debt of gratitude that could never be repaid for the work you did on the Michael Frye case.”
“Okay, you have a small point,” Tennyson conceded.
“So, let’s say you are killing these boys. It would be damn clever for you to come to Ronan and say ‘I had a vision of Justin Wilson. He was killed with a slash to the throat and his naked body was left in Newburyport.’ We’d all believe you spoke to his spirit because of your work on the Frye case. You’d be the last person Ronan and I would suspect of being our murderer.”
“Yeah, but we’ve got the killer’s DNA. A simple swab of my cheek would settle the matter once and for all. By accusing me, Jacobson only bought himself, what, forty-eight hours at most?”
“It’s the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend, Ten,” Ronan pointed out. “He just bought himself four days. He knows damn well no one is going to be working after noon today and the lab will be off until Tuesday. That gives him ninety-six hours before we turn our sights back to him, in his eyes anyway.”
“As much as I don’t want to talk about the kiss…” Tennyson shivered in the warm room. “Did he think we weren’t going to swab you for DNA?”
“The last thing he was thinking about when I was kissing him was DNA. Let’s just leave it at that.” Ronan grimaced. Jacobson’s dick had been digging into Ronan’s stomach so hard, he’d been afraid it was going to bruise his skin.
Obviously, the bastard liked to be man-handled. Ronan couldn’t wait to manhandle him again, only next time, he’d be slapping cuffs on him and reading his Miranda warning.
“I’m worried about these next few days, Captain.” Ronan shook his head, trying to get his thoughts off Jacobson’s revolting kiss and back to business. “I think we should go public with this case. Alert the media. Get those kids off the street so they’ll be safe.”
Fitzgibbon sat back in his seat. “These kids are hooking to survive, Ronan. Some need money for food, some for drugs. We can’t keep them all off the streets.”
“What if we do a sweep? Round them all up and keep them in lock-up over the weekend? That way the killer won’t be able to get them.” They’d have a warm, dry place to sleep for the weekend, not to mention three square meals a day.
“Do you have any idea how long it takes to plan something like that? Not to mention the resources that go into it and the fact that it’s a holiday weekend. Not only would we be looking at paying overtime, but double time on top of it. Plus, we’re stretched thin with officers doing security detail work for the Memorial Day activities going on in the city. I understand what you’re trying to do here, Ronan, believe me, but it’s just not possible.”
“Motherfucker,” Ronan muttered under his breath. He got up from his seat and started pacing around the small office. “There has to be something we can do.”
Fitzgibbon shook his head. “We’re in a holding pattern until we get that DNA back, Ronan. You know how this works. We can’t arrest anyone until we have proof that they’ve committed a crime.”
“What about that prostitution business out at the Beach Inn? We have enough probable cause to bring Jacobson in for the shit going on out there.”
Fitzgibbon shook his head and sighed. “I spoke with Captain Sullivan. He’s in charge of vice. They want to run surveillance on the place for a while longer before they make a move on Jacobson. They’re bringing Joey in for questioning today since it’s his day off. Ten says that Jacobson knows his schedule and never calls on his off days, so it’s a safe move.”
“But, cap-” Ronan started.
“No buts, Ronan. It’s a long weekend. I know you and Ten have plans with Carson and his family. Go and enjoy that. You’ve both been working so hard on this case. Take some time off and enjoy your friends and each other.”
“You’re part of the family now too, Kevin,” Tennyson offered. “Since your gonna be right down the road in Swampscott, feel free to stop in for a burger and some pasta salad. I think Truman’s making some of his off the hook chili dogs. Maybe you can make up a plate to take back to Greeley if he’s up to eating? I’ve got some books for you at home too. I grabbed a copy of Huck Finn and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.”
Fitzgibbon nodded. “Thanks, Ten. I’ll keep that in mind. I meant to tell you earlier that I got in touch with Broughan Beals.”
“Why do I know that name?” Ronan turned to Tennyson.
“He’s that energy healer that Vann Hoffman was going on and on about, remember?”
Ronan snorted. “Yeah. God, he had such a hard-on for that guy. I wonder if they ever hooked up?”
“Shush,” Tennyson whispered.
“Oh fuck, is the captain interested in dating him?” Ronan looked up at his boss. “Shit, cap are you going out with him?”
Fitzgibbon rolled his eyes. “No, I am not going out with him. Greeley has been having a hard time with the symptoms of detox and after Ten told me about him, I thought maybe he could help with what Greeley’s going through. Turns out Broughan has time tomorrow to swing by and see him.”
“How’s that possible over a holiday weekend?” Ronan looked shocked.
“Well, I mentioned Tennyson’s name and how he was a big fan,” Fitzgibbon grinned.
“Tennyson Grimm, door-opener!” Ronan elbowed Tennyson.
“He did say that he was a fan of Tennyson, but that he was booked solid until after the Fourth of July.”
“Wait.” Ronan looked confused. “I thought you said Broughan was coming out tomorrow?”
“He is. Turns out Vann Hoffman is the door-opener. I mentioned that I’d heard of Broughan through Vann. Guess he’s just as hot for Doctor Feelgood as the good doc is for him.”
“No shit!” Ronan burst out laughing.
“Now get out of here. Both of you. I don’t want to see either of you until Tuesday unless it’s off the clock. Got it?” Fitzgibbon’s tone brooked no argument.
“Yes, sir,” Ronan shook his head. He would obey the captain’s order, but it still didn’t sit right with him.
37
Tennyson
“There has to be something we can do,” Ronan said for the tenth time since they left Captain Fitzgibbon’s office.
“Don’t listen to Uncle Ronan, pretty girl. He’s lost his fool head.” Tennyson pressed a kiss to Bertha’s forehead. The infant swatted at his face with her chubby hand.
They were sitting around the large patio table in Carson and Truman’s backyard. Tennyson was playing kissy-face with Bertha while Ronan held a dozing Brian. Carson was in the house changing Stephanie’s diaper. Truman was manning the grill.
“Ten, I’m serious,” Ronan whined.
“I know you are.” Ten sighed and tried to force the frustration he felt for Ronan aside. “Look, I know how much you care about this case and those kids, but if the captain says we have to sit tight, then we have to sit tight. If you go and do something foolish you don’t only put the case in jeopardy, you put your badge on the line too.”
“Afraid you’ll be stuck with me at the Magick shop if I get suspended or canned?” Ronan laughed.
It would be a fate worse than death if Ronan couldn’t be a cop. “Don’t even say words like that out loud. Let’s not tempt fate.” Tennyson bounced Bertha on his lap. “Let’s just do what the captain said and concentrate on having a great weekend together.” Ten pressed a gentle kiss to Ronan’s lips. “Our talk the other night before you, uh, s-p-a-n-k-e-d me brought us closer together than we’ve ever been. Let’s build on that.”
Ronan snorted. “Why are you spelling? Bertha is only three months old.”
“I don’t want to be
the reason she ends up in therapy.” Tennyson laughed.
“I want that night to be something for us to build on Ten, I really do.” Ronan’s blue eyes were sincere.
“Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming?” A ripple of unease shot through Tennyson’s body.
“Because there is a but coming.”
“Jesus Christ, Ronan, what did you do?” Tennyson felt his heart start to pound in his chest. He didn’t know why he didn’t feel this vibe coming off Ronan before. It must have been Bertha and Brian’s pure auras surrounding him, but now that he focused on it, he could feel Ronan’s anxiety.
“Hey, guys! Look who I found!” Carson stepped out onto the patio carrying Stephanie who was babbling. Behind them was Captain Fitzgibbon who looked ready to go nuclear at any second.
“Hey, Kevin!” Truman waved from the grill. “Rib-eyes are coming off in a few minutes. Got plenty if you have time to join us.”
“There’s going to be extra after I kill my best detective,” Fitzgibbon all but growled.
“Oh good! Front row seats!” Carson cooed to Stephanie. “What did Detective Dumbass do this time?”
“Swear jar, babe!” Truman called out.
“Did I or did I not tell you not to contact the media about our serial killer, Ronan?” Fitzgibbon’s voice was quiet, but filled with rage, nonetheless.
“Jesus, Ronan, you didn’t.” But Tennyson already knew that he had. He could read his lover like a book.
“So, I sent an anonymous email.” Ronan shrugged. “I made sure to stress the danger the street kids were in. I knew the media would eat that line up. I got them to do our work for us, cap. They can fan out over the city and protect those kids.” Ronan stood up with a sleeping Brian still cradled in his arms. “You don’t get it. This psycho is targeting us.” Ronan used his free arm to gesture to Ten, Carson and Truman. You’re not gay, so you don’t get it. This is personal for me. I can’t let one more kid die while we sit on our hands.”
Fitzgibbon’s eyes narrowed on Ronan before sliding down to the sleeping baby in his arms. The captain slid a finger down his face. He took a deep breath. “Just because I’m not sucking face in public and flying my rainbow flag from the tallest pole doesn’t mean I’m not gay, detective.” He pulled out a chair at the patio table and took a seat. “I’m the captain of this unit for a reason. Did you ever stop to think what the killer would do if he were outed? Before you sent your anonymous email, he was in control. He had a plan and he was executing it. Now, thanks to your stunt, he’s going to feel like he’s on the run. These guys are like cornered wild animals when they lose the illusion of control, Ronan.”
