by Rick R. Reed
“Yeah, I thought there would be some problems with confidentiality, shit like that, but I guess their names were a matter of public record. It just took me talking to the right person to get the info.” Jared raised his eyebrows. “As you know, I can be very persuasive.”
Entirely unbidden came the memory of Jared getting out of bed that morning, his erection tenting out the front of his boxers. It gave Thad a not entirely unpleasant jolt. “I know,” he said, voice a little hoarse.
Jared stood and crossed the room. He fished in his jeans pocket and pulled out a folded yellow Post-it note. He held it up. “Three names. One in Wallingford and the other two on the Hill. I say we go talk to them today.”
“But do you have their information? Surely the paper didn’t give you their addresses and phone numbers?”
“No, but the Internet did. You in?”
“Sure. I just have to take a shower and we can go.”
As Thad headed off to the bathroom, he wasn’t sure at all they were doing the right thing. He didn’t quite understand his feelings, since the plan made sense. It might not only give Jared some peace, but it might also lead to apprehending the killer, if the witnesses could pull their impressions together coherently enough.
But who was the killer? And did Thad really want him exposed?
Some things we are better off not knowing.
Thad locked the bathroom door and stripped, turned on the hot water in the shower as hard as he could stand it, and stepped inside, luxuriating in the spray. He didn’t want to think anymore.
Chapter 13
THAD AND Jared had no luck on Capitol Hill.
They’d been able to call upon both witnesses living there, one an overweight, pale young man who looked terrified of them, and the other a painfully thin guy with a buzz cut, nose piercing, bad teeth, and reddish sores on his face and arms. Thad thought the latter looked like—and probably was—a crystal meth addict. Both men were receptive enough to Thad and Jared, although the suspected meth addict would not let them inside his apartment, preferring to talk to them from a partially opened front door.
Both had the same story. They’d told everything they knew to both the police and the press. What they knew was this—they’d only seen a blur of motion through the dark, which could have been anything, a person or a beast. The overweight guy said that it could even have been something paranormal, a black ghost. “It moved so fast, it was scary,” he whispered, his eyes growing large.
Thad wondered if he remembered more than he was letting on, but when he pressed for more details, the guy came up empty. “I honestly don’t know what I saw.” Thad didn’t hold out much hope for the last person they had on their list, a James Whittier in Wallingford. Thad held fast to Jared’s back as they traced a route north on his Vespa on Eastlake Avenue, heading for the Seattle neighborhood on the shores of Lake Union.
The guy who answered the door explained that it was his roommate who had come upon the crime scene and that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “You guys reporters?” The man, older with a bald pate and oval wire-frame glasses, eyed them suspiciously. He didn’t seem happy to see them.
“Nah. We’re just concerned citizens.” Jared gave the man his most dazzling smile, a ploy Thad had seen work its magic on any number of gay men, but it was having no effect here. Maybe the man wasn’t gay but was simply a roommate, or a relative or friend, of James Whittier.
“Well, I don’t think Jimmy would have much to say.” The man started to close the door. “It was like the papers said. You can get that story online. You don’t need to bother us at home.” He looked pointedly at both Thad and Jared. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have stuff to do.” He closed the door in their faces.
As they were coming down the walk of the Craftsman bungalow, they saw a man, much younger, emerge from a brand-new Honda Civic hybrid. He was broad-shouldered, tan, and had long black hair. Thad imagined some Native American blood coursed through his veins.
“Woof,” Jared whispered.
Thad could do little but silently agree as the man locked the car with his remote and started heading their way.
Jared was quick. “Excuse me.” He smiled and planted himself in front of the raven-haired man. “Are you James Whittier?”
The man smiled, looking Jared up and down and then taking in Thad. His gray eyes seemed to sparkle. “I could be. Who wants to know?”
“I’m Jared, and this is my friend, Thad.”
“Have we met before?” The man seemed amused, and Thad wondered why he would have to ask such a question.
“I don’t think so,” Jared said. “But if you’re James Whittier, I think you and I may have something in common.”
“You mean other than the fact that we’re both hot?” He glanced over at Thad and hastened to add, “And your friend too?”
Thad realized all at once that maybe James thought this was some sort of come-on and that such circumstances more than likely presented themselves to him frequently. If the whole situation weren’t so weird, he might have been amused. Or aroused.
“Um, yeah… other than that.” Jared moved a little closer and said in a soft voice, “I think we both might have been witnesses to whoever—or whatever—is killing gay men in Seattle.”
The flirtatious front immediately disappeared, and the guy’s tan complexion paled. The man eyed the Craftsman house from which Thad and Jared had just come. “What do you know about that?”
“I saw it too, man.” Jared’s voice was soft.
“You did?” The guy seemed to debate with himself for a minute or two. “Yeah, I’m James. You can call me Jimmy. Most everyone does.” He eyed the house again. “Did you go to my house?”
“Yeah, why?” Thad asked.
“Did you talk to my boyfriend?”
And now it all clicked into place for Thad. The guy at the door was this man’s partner and obviously a very insecure one at that. Thad glanced back at the fine house. It was small but beautifully landscaped, and Thad was certain the upstairs windows afforded stunning views of Lake Union and, across it, downtown Seattle. The price for a house like this would be well over a million dollars, especially in today’s competitive market.
Thad took in Jimmy Whittier’s studly appearance, and it all fit together: sugar daddy and pretty boy. Maybe that wasn’t fair, and maybe he was jumping to conclusions, but it made sense. And what also made sense was the trouble that might have come from Jimmy being not only at the scene of a crime, but also from him wandering around in a place notorious for gay cruising.
“We talked to him,” Thad said. “He didn’t exactly seem receptive.”
“Yeah,” Jared added. “He kind of spoke for you, said you really didn’t remember anything.” Jared paused. “But I wonder if that’s true. When I mentioned we had something in common and that it was being witnesses to a killing, I saw something in your face.”
Jimmy shook his head and swallowed. “Martin doesn’t really want me talking about this. Can we take a little walk? Gas Works Park is just a couple blocks over.”
The men remained silent as they headed down to the park, where cold wind blew off the lake. They sat on some steps leading down to the water.
“Sorry to drag you down here.” Jimmy leaned forward, angling his body so he faced both Thad and Jared. “Martin wouldn’t approve if he saw me talking to you guys. I hope he didn’t.” He stopped for a minute and then went on. “Martin didn’t like it that I was mixed up in that whole thing. Not so much that I had witnessed a murder and the trauma of that, God knows. That would have been understandable. But Martin’s the jealous type, you know? He was more concerned about what I was doing in the woods at the Arboretum.” Jimmy looked out at the water, his gaze pensive. “He had a pretty good idea what I was doing there. But can you blame me? He’s twenty-five years older than I am.” Jimmy sighed. “I just don’t get what I need at home.”
Thad thought this was all very interesting but not really what they had come f
or. “So I have to ask you. Did you see something that night?”
Jared added, “We already spoke to two of the other guys there, and they said they remembered nothing other than seeing a black shape, like a shadow, move through the trees and brush. That’s pretty much what the papers said.”
“Yeah, I guess the papers were right.” He leaned closer to Jared and laid a hand on his thigh. Jimmy’s color was high and his eyes shone. “But you saw it too, didn’t you?”
Jared said nothing but nodded.
“I was too scared people would think I was crazy if I told anyone the truth. And then when Martin got so pissed off about me being out there, I figured it was best just to go along with the official version, you know? Let sleeping dogs lie. Just play along and get this thing out of our lives. I may be a bad boy, but I do love Martin.”
Yeah, yeah, Thad thought. “So what did you see, Jimmy?”
Jimmy looked over at Jared. “He knows what I saw. Don’t you?”
Jared squirmed under Jimmy’s gaze. Finally he said, “I think I do. But I’d be a lot more comfortable if you said it first.”
Jimmy stared out at the water again for a long time. His left arm twitched once, twice, and his face contorted with what Thad could only assume was a very painful—or very horrifying—memory.
“Okay. I saw a beast, a creature. I don’t know what the fuck you’d call it.”
“What did it look like, Jimmy?” Thad softly prompted.
“It looked like a big strong man and a wolf got together and had a baby… a love child from hell.”
“You saw a werewolf?” Jared dug his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. The word, spoken aloud, sounded ridiculous to Thad, as though there should be cameras, boom microphones, and a guy in a director’s chair nearby.
“You didn’t? What did you see, then?”
Jared didn’t speak for several seconds, then, “No, that’s what I saw too.”
Thad felt a chill course through him that had nothing to do with the autumn wind or the damp of the nearby lake. “Anything else?” he said softly, not moving his gaze away from the water’s gray-blue rippled surface.
“Just the smell,” Jimmy said.
“What?” Jared leaned closer to Jimmy.
“The smell. Under the blood and guts, I could smell—ah, this sounds really weird—but I could smell garlic.” He said the last words in a rush. He laughed, and color rose to his cheeks.
Jared laughed too, but there was no mirth in it. “You know, I don’t think I recalled that until you said it just now, but there was the strong scent of garlic in the alley that night.”
A wave of nausea washed over Thad.
The three men grew quiet. Thad supposed the other two were thinking about the horror they had both witnessed. But he was thinking about the Blue Moon Café and the wonderful smells that issued forth from its kitchen. And the chief aroma wafting out of that kitchen… was garlic.
THAD HAD Jared drop him off at his apartment. The two said little as Thad dismounted from Jared’s scooter. Rain began to fall steadily as the afternoon wound down into dusk. Thad didn’t offer to let Jared stay another night, and he had a sense Jared was eager to get back to his own place as well. It was a good sign… wasn’t it?
After taking care of Edith, Thad sat in the chair facing the TV. He didn’t turn it on, nor did he turn on any lights. He watched as the shadows swallowed up the light in the room. He thought of a clichéd phrase James Whittier had used: let sleeping dogs lie. How fitting that he should attribute something canine to this whole situation, this mess, this beyond-belief horror extravaganza in which he suddenly found himself immersed. He didn’t really want to think about any of it, but trying to train his mind on other things, or on just being still and blank for more than a few seconds, was an exercise in futility. Not thinking about the prospect of Sam and his family somehow being involved just made all the fears, suspicions, doubts, and recriminations rise up that much stronger.
He couldn’t do anything more, he decided, leaning over to the switch on the floor lamp next to the chair. He reached out to the coffee table where his landline cordless lay and snatched it up.
Sam answered right away. “Blue Moon Café. This is Sam. How can I help you?”
By telling me you’re not a werewolf.
By telling me your family has nothing to do with a wave of murders of gay men in Seattle that seems to coincide with your arrival here from New York.
By telling me that you love me and you already know what I’m thinking and how silly all that is. “I need to talk to you.”
“I was hoping you’d call.” Sam’s voice was soft. “You can come over whenever you want. It’s a rare slow night. I shouldn’t be too busy.”
“Can I come now?”
“The sooner, the better, like they say.”
Thad broke the connection and went into the bathroom to finger comb his hair, splash some water on his face, and brush his teeth. He traded his beat-up flannel shirt for a black cashmere sweater, decided his jeans were clean enough, and set off.
By the time Thad reached the restaurant, the rain poured down in sheets, coating and fogging the windows of the café and making it seem warm, a sanctuary. He hurried inside to get out of the damp. When he stepped in, Graziela gave him the once-over and almost seemed amused by his drowned-rat appearance. A laugh, not quite allowed to form completely, fluttered around the edges of her red, red lips.
“I get you a towel. Sam’s in the back.”
She hurried away and returned with a couple of kitchen towels with which Thad began to dab at his face and hair. She left him to take up her post at the hostess desk, even though no one new had come into the restaurant.
Sam came out of the kitchen after a few minutes, drying his hands on one of the same white linen towels. His face was sweaty and his eyes were plaintive as he drank in Thad. He smiled, but it held a hint of caution Thad had never seen before. Thad wasn’t sure he liked it. It was almost as though Sam were afraid of him.
Shouldn’t that be the other way ’round, hon? If the guy’s a werewolf, shouldn’t I be afraid of him?
Thad shook his head, not amused with this line of thinking. “Hey.”
“Hello, Thad. Do you want to sit down?” Sam led him to a table near the back of the restaurant, where it was quiet. Thad sat, and before Sam joined him, he asked, “Can I get you something to eat? I just made a big pot of pasta fagioli, perfect for a night like this.”
“It’s okay, Sam. I’m not hungry.”
“Okay.” Sam sat. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
Part of Thad simply wanted to tell Sam to forget it, there was really nothing he wanted to talk to him about. Part of him wanted only to say that he hoped they could find a way to just go on as they had once, with lust, blossoming love, and the promise of a shared future before them. But that prospect was impossible without first at least trying to clear up his concerns and fears.
Could he say what he needed to? Could he risk losing Sam? After all, if Thad uttered what was in his head, Sam might think he was flat-out crazy and might just humor him and then, after Thad left, tell Graziela to bar Thad admittance to the restaurant, and if Thad called, to tell him Sam was always “busy.”
But it seemed there was no other way out. No other alternative than facing the truth head-on.
“You probably know, from the news anyway, that since you moved here there have been three murders in town. All gay men.”
Sam cocked his head, and his dark eyes seemed to cloud, growing even darker. He nodded. Thad wanted him to say more—that he didn’t know about it or to show some concern—but his silence chilled him.
Thad swallowed and wished he had more saliva in his mouth. “You know about the, er, killings, right?”
“I know. They’ve been on the front pages since last summer.” Sam leaned close to Thad across the table, ensnaring him with his gaze. “Why you asking me about this?”
Now’s the time.
“I don’t know. Just some weird stuff has happened. Little things… dreams, what my friend Jared saw, what another guy, James Whittier, saw at the Arboretum right after the second killing…. They were both witnesses to the horrible murders. They smelled garlic at two crime scenes. You were all gone over the weekend of the full moon….” Thad’s voice trailed off. Spoken aloud, it all sounded so silly, so inane, like he was in the running for the title of Scream Queen. Step aside, Miss Jamie Lee Curtis.
“And?”
How can I say this? “I don’t know what to think, but I just want your assurance that you had nothing to do with any of this.”
Sam’s eyebrows came together with a look of concern, perhaps even alarm. And then he threw back his head and laughed so loudly and heartily that the few other diners in the restaurant stopped their conversations to stare. “So, what? Now you think I am some kind of killer? A monster? Because, why? A few nightmares? And the fact that I am not around when there is a full moon? I told you. We all went to see Nana in New York last weekend.”
“I know. I know.” Thad could feel heat rise to his cheeks. Out in the open like this, it all really did sound absurd.
“That looks pretty.”
“What?”
“The blush in your cheeks. Makes me want to kiss you.”
But one other thing rankled Thad. Before he let Sam distract him from his purpose with flattery and flirting, he had to ask. “But one other thing bothers me: Domenic.”
The smile on Sam’s face vanished. “What? You think Domenic is involved? I told you… we have problems. We do not always get along. We do not see eye to eye. And we are Italian. We fight. We raise our voices.”
Thad nodded.
Sam snatched up Thad’s hands and held them tight on the table. Sam’s hands, hot, engulfed his own. “Remember when I told you, at the start, that things in my life were complicated? That maybe we shouldn’t see each other? I didn’t tell you then, but I should tell you now…. Domenic was the reason. Not so much the restaurant and all that stuff I told you about being too busy for a relationship.”
