Zachary doubted that their relationship had been quite as ideal as Santiago made out, but he let it go.
“Do you know if any of Jose’s other partners ever hurt him?”
“Hurt him?” Santiago shook his head. “No.”
“You never saw him with bruises, like someone hit him or choked him?”
Santiago showed no reaction to this. “No.”
“Others have said that they saw bruises on his throat. Like someone had choked him.”
Santiago shrugged. “Different strokes. That’s the whole point of having multiple partners. Different people go for different things.”
“I have a list of names that I’d like you to look at.”
Santiago shrugged and picked up another canapé. Zachary handed the list across the table and Santiago looked at it while he continued to pick at the food. “Yes, I know some of these names…” His eyebrows went up. “Oh, I had forgotten…” He shook his head. “It’s funny just how quickly one can forget. These men were part of our lives, part of our community, and then… they were gone. Without a word. We moved on, but there they all are… there are so many when you see all of their names together.”
“How many did you know?”
“Mmm…” Santiago’s eyes went over the list. “I would say maybe half. That doesn’t mean that I had anything with them, just that we knew each other. Could sit and talk at a bar or a show.”
“How many did you have relationships with?”
Santiago looked up at Zachary for a moment, his eyes calculating, then back down at the list again. “Maybe… half a dozen.” He flicked the paper back over to Zachary. “And don’t bother asking me when I knew them and when the last time I saw them was. I told you I have difficulty with timelines. You know, I’ve never really felt like I move linearly through time…”
Zachary wasn’t about to tackle that one. He picked up the paper and put it back into his folder. Santiago was definitely on the suspect list. He was the first one to admit to knowing so many of the missing men. Though why Santiago would want to hurt Jose or any of the others was beyond Zachary.
“Who else would have known a lot of the men on that list?” Zachary asked. “So far, everyone I talk to says they don’t recognize them. But you knew half of them. Who else ran in the same circles and might have known more of them?”
Santiago had a swallow of his drink. “You don’t want to go back to The Night Scene,” he indicated the bruises on Zachary’s face, “but I imagine if you were to try there or The Blue Goose, you would find that they were familiar to those crowds. Didn’t anyone at The Night Scene say they knew them?”
“I didn’t have the list when I was there. Just Jose’s name. Didn’t get the others until after.”
“Ah, well there you go. You have to go the right places if you’re going to find people who knew them.”
“Yeah. So they all tended to circulate at The Night Scene or The Blue Goose?”
Santiago drained his glass and again pressed the button on the table. “Those that I knew,” he said pedantically. “I don’t remember everyone on the list.”
“But those that you remember, you would have seen them there?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“And is there anywhere you don’t go where they might have circulated? Maybe The Night Scene one day, and The Blue Goose another day, and then… where…?”
The waiter appeared and Santiago handed him the glass, motioning to the sideboard. “Fill me up.”
The waiter took the glass from him and nodded, going to the sideboard to prepare another drink. Santiago leaned on the table, helping himself to some cheese and some of the fruit. He wrinkled his nose at the grapes, like maybe one of them was sour. He waited until he had his drink to wash the taste away and the waiter was out of the room before answering.
“There are a few other places they might have hung out. I prefer to hit places with a little more class,” he gestured to indicate their surroundings, “but some people’s tastes run to… grittier establishments.”
“Grittier?”
“My boy, The Night Scene is one thing. Despite your experience upon leaving there, it is a pretty safe environment. Mainstream. There are other places where people who are interested in other sorts of encounters might hang out.”
“Meaning what?”
“You’ll find that the people who come to places like La Rouge are more interested in the arts, in good food, in long-term relationships where you know each other and respect each other’s boundaries. At a bar like The Night Scene, you’re still going to see a lot of dating couples. People who are getting together and getting to know each other and see how they get along together. More casual. You could go there with someone, or to meet someone new, have a few drinks together, and see how you got on. But there are other places where you wouldn’t be looking for a regular date. You might never even know the other person’s name.”
“Just a one-night hookup?”
Santiago nodded. “Yes… or something anonymous. Someone you saw occasionally, but didn’t have a relationship with. There are all sorts. In the straight community as well as the gay.”
“Sure, of course,” Zachary agreed. As a private detective, he was often hired to follow cheating spouses, and some of the venues that he had walked into made him not only want to wash the residue of the place off of his skin, but to strip off the first layer of skin altogether. He gave an involuntary shudder. He’d seen places that catered to all sorts of unusual and taboo tastes. Zachary could envision a predator trolling places like that, looking for his next victim. “Did Jose go places like that?”
“I wouldn’t know. We never discussed them. But Jose was exploring, seeking out new experiences. I wouldn’t be surprised if he explored some of the seamier elements. He wanted to have a… full range of experiences.”
“Where are these places? Are they public? Do they have names?”
Santiago’s eyes glittered with interest. He obviously hadn’t expected Zachary to be aware of how things operated on the underbelly. “I’m sure your police friends would know some of the places to look. If they’re really interested in finding a serial killer, they should look under a few rocks. It’s always of great interest to see what crawls out of dark places.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Z
achary finally managed to extricate himself from the dinner with Santiago. It had been a very long day, and he had already decided there was no way he was going to one of the seedier bars to ask after the missing men. He’d had enough excitement at the ‘classier’ joints and would leave that job to the police, as Santiago had suggested. People might not be as quick to provide a policeman with the information as they would to a friend of a friend, but the cops would be safer there than Zachary.
He made his way back out to the main entrance, aware that people turned and watched him the whole way, curious about his battered appearance or recognizing him from the news articles. He’d been in the news with previous cases, but usually it wasn’t until the end after everything was sorted out, when publicity wouldn’t have an effect on the investigation.
He handed his valet ticket to the attendant who appeared beside him.
“We’ll have you just wait here, sir, until your vehicle pulls up outside the door. We’re having a little trouble tonight. Not usually like this.”
“Thanks.”
After a short wait, his car pulled under the canopy in front of the door. Zachary nodded to the attendant and went outside. As before, it was only seconds before people recognized him and surged forward, waving their signs or holding out their mikes and shouting at him. Zachary held up his hand to ward them off, indicating that he wasn’t answering any questions.
“Are you assisting the police in their investigation?”
“Are you making any progress in finding the serial killer?”
“The holy scriptures say that God shall strike the sinners dead! It is the wrath of God!”
Zachary turned toward the religious nut. There were a lot of serial killers who had claimed to be doing the will of God by killing gays or prostitutes. He couldn’t afford to ignore a credible threat.
A man in blue jeans and a t-shirt with more religious rantings stenciled on it waved his sign at Zachary, pressing against the guard who held him back. His already wide eyes popped when he saw Zachary was looking at him.
“They shall all be stricken with a plague!” the nut shouted, thrusting his sign forward. “They shall all die!”
“Do you know something about the men who disappeared?” Zachary demanded.
“Just keep moving, sir,” the valet told Zachary, pressing his keys into his hand. “Don’t give these guys any attention.”
“I want the police called. They need to talk to him.”
“Police can’t do anything about protesters. They’ll just tell them to stay behind the line, unless there’s violence going on when they arrive.”
“This guy is a suspect in the serial killer case. They need to talk to him.”
The valet gave him a look. “A suspect? He’s just a nut job.”
“He thinks God should strike all gay men dead. You think he wouldn’t take that into his own hands himself?”
“No. He’s just a screamer. You ignore them, eventually they go away.”
“You didn’t hear about that policeman in Russia? How many was he convicted of killing? Seventy women? Because he decided they were loose women and God wanted them dead.”
“I doubt he announced it in public.” The valet hooked a thumb at the protester, who was released after he’d been pushed back behind the property line.
“He was quite willing to confess everything to the police when he was caught. Who knows whether he told anyone else before that? You really do need to get the police here.”
“Not up to me. I’ll pass it up the line, but don’t hold your breath. You have a nice night, sir.”
He was clearly waiting for Zachary to get into his car so he could go and get the next car in line. Zachary looked back at the protester. He was just one of many. How could they tell the ones who were dangerous from the ones who were just kooks? The valet was right that serial killers, while they might enjoy the spotlight, didn’t generally announce their intentions to the public. They picked out a cop or news reporter and started feeding them little clues, getting a kick out of how much smarter they were.
The valet touched his cap, again saying goodbye to Zachary and trying to get him on his way. Zachary got into his car. The valet shut the door firmly, again wishing Zachary a nice evening. Zachary pulled out and headed back to Mr. Peterson’s house, moving slowly past the protesters and reporters.
Zachary didn’t even turn on the radio on the way home, needing the silent space of the car to unwind. The verbal repartee with Santiago, the shouting protesters and reporters, and the valet who refused to listen all sucked the energy out of him. He knew he was going to have to spend some time visiting with Mr. Peterson and Pat when he got back, letting them know how the investigation was going and that he was making progress. If he was. He did have a couple more places for the police to look, some suspects for them to check up on, and the protesters at La Rouge. He still couldn’t point to one suspect and say that he was the killer, or even prove that the missing men had been murdered. But maybe what he had found out would help to lead the police to the solution.
At least the police were being forced to take Jose’s disappearance seriously.
Zachary pulled into Mr. Peterson’s street. Even before he turned the corner, he could see red and blue lights bouncing off the houses. He hit the brake, almost coming to a complete stop, as he looked at the squad cars stopped in front of Mr. Peterson’s house. His mind flashed back to a similar scene at Bridget’s house when she had been kidnapped. Marked cars and unmarked cars parked in front of the house and pulled up on the lawn, all of them with lights flashing.
He took his foot off the brake and hit the gas, shooting down the street and then hitting the brakes again hard with a screech of tires when he reached the house. He threw the car into park and bailed out, rushing the door.
He should have known that the police wouldn’t let anyone go belting into the house like that without first verifying his identity, but he wasn’t thinking logically. He was just reacting to the police presence and the memory of what had happened to Bridget.
He had almost been too late for Bridget.
“Whoa, stop right there!” Hands grabbed him and he was pushed to the side, the impetus of his run for the door redirected to slam him into the side of one of the police cars. They pinned him, feeling for weapons. Zachary struggled to break free of them.
“No, let me go! What’s happened to them? Let me see! Let go!”
“Zachary. Zachary, it’s okay.” Mr. Peterson made an appearance on the front step, speaking urgently over the shouting. “We’re okay, Zach. We’re both fine.”
Zachary stopped fighting and slumped against the car, hitting the bottom of his chin. The policemen finished frisking him, and by the time they were done, Dougan was on the step with Mr. Peterson, telling them to let him go.
Zachary hurried to the door, where Lorne pulled him in for a hug. “It’s okay, Zachary. Everybody’s fine.”
Zachary gripped him tightly, trying to convince himself it was true, and looked past Mr. Peterson into the house.
“Where’s Pat?”
“He’s inside. Let’s go in.” Mr. Peterson released him and they entered the house together, both squeezing through the doorway at the same time. Pat stepped into Zachary’s line of sight.
“You okay, Zach? We tried to call you. We didn’t want you coming home to this unexpectedly.”
Zachary gave him a quick hug as well, relieved that neither one of them had been kidnapped or killed. His heart was still thundering, but he knew they were both okay.
“What happened? Why are all the police here?”
“It’s just the protesters. Things got out of hand. Damage to the property. A rock through the window.” Pat gestured and Zachary saw the windowpane with a piece of cardboard taped over it. “We’ll get it fixed in the morning. Nothing permanent, just a nuisance.”
“Was there… a note with the rock?”
That was the way it was done on TV. A rock through the window with a threatening note attached to it. That was the way it always started, before escalating to gunshots or Molotov cocktails.
At the thought of flaming bottles being thrown into the house, Zachary swayed on his feet. He tried to focus on Pat, on the fact that neither of them had been hurt, instead of the idea of the house going up in flames.
“Come sit,” Pat insisted, pulling him a couple more steps over to the couch. Zachary sat down and tried to control his breathing. Dougan had already been privy to one flashback, Zachary didn’t want to break down when they were face-to-face.
“There was a note,” Mr. Peterson admitted, drawing Zachary’s attention back to the present rather than letting him focus on what could happen or what had happened in the past. “Nasty bit of hate mail.”
“I need to see it.”
“You don’t want to, Zachary. No one wants to be reading that garbage. Leave it to the police.”
“Let me see.”
They exchanged looks with each other, weighing the possible consequences of allowing Zachary to see the note against refusing to. Eventually, Mr. Peterson nodded at Dougan, who said a few words to one of the other cops traveling in and out of the house, and the note was brought to Zachary, pressed flat in a plastic page protector.
Zachary swallowed and looked down at it. The messy writing spidered across the page in wandering lines. It was difficult to read, which made it an excellent distraction. Zachary worked through it a bit at a time, then nodded and pushed it away. It wasn’t a mocking note from the serial killer. It wasn’t a threat that he had to get off the case and keep quiet, or else. It was just a horrific bit of hate mail aimed against homosexual
men.
“There were eggs earlier in the day,” Pat sighed, and it took a moment for Zachary to realize he was talking about vandalism, not what he’d made for dinner. “Cleaned that up… the reporters were gone by dark… the alarm went off a couple of times, but we couldn’t see anyone. Then the rock through the window.”
“I’m sorry… I feel so bad that this investigation leaked out and ended up causing you trouble like this. It’s been such a nice neighborhood, and now…”
“It will go back to normal as the story dies down,” Mr. Peterson assured them. “It’s just a temporary disruption. It isn’t from our friends and neighbors, it’s from strangers. They think they can vent all of their crap and stay anonymous. That’s nothing new.”
Zachary took a deep breath in and let it out. He rubbed his eyes, careful of his bruised, tender face, and looked around.
“You came because of the vandalism?” he asked Dougan. It seemed like it was a little out of his purview. Why would he be assigned to look into such a minor charge?
“The vandalism, making sure that everyone was safe, talking to each of you again about Jose, and whatever else you’ve been stirring up.”
“I haven’t been making any trouble,” Zachary protested. He had been gathering information that might be useful to the police, not interfering with their inquiries. He hadn’t cause them any extra trouble.
“Then why did I get a call from La Rouge about protesters over there?”
Zachary blinked. The valet had done as he said he would and passed the information along the line, and the management had actually decided to do as Zachary said and call the police department.
“I didn’t think they would. There was one guy over there who was spouting all of this stuff about how they deserved to die… I just… wasn’t comfortable with just ignoring it, pretending he couldn’t possibly be serious.”
“Well, I sent someone to pick him up, so if he is guilty of something, we’ll find out. The good thing about these nut jobs is, they’re perfectly happy to tell you everything they have done. They’re not calling for lawyers and asserting their rights, they’re begging to tell you everything they know.”
They Thought He was Safe Page 17
