by Pandora Pine
“Fine then, when Tennyson reads Tim Hutchins and we find out that he’s Lorraine’s killer then that thread is going to snap. Not only is that revelation going to send his marriage crashing to the ground but it’s going to devastate Jennifer Hutchins. Unless she already knows the truth, Byrne. Tell me she doesn’t already know Tim is the real killer.”
“Without Tennyson’s gift, I have no way of knowing what she knows. What I do know is that she did the best she could as a single mother with twin sons and only a high school education. She worked two, sometimes three jobs to keep food on the table and the lights turned on to cook it. Most of the time it was store-brand macaroni and cheese and hot dogs. I guess what I’m saying is that there are some people who will do anything to keep their family together.
Ronan was no stranger to the struggles of a single mother. His own father had skipped out on him and Erin before he could walk. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he’d committed a crime, Erin would have hauled his ass into the police station herself to turn him in herself. “I get that.”
“But as a cop, you can’t condone it,” Jude jumped in.
“What do you want me to say, Jude?” Ronan shot him an angry look in the rearview mirror. “That it’s fine to harbor a fugitive? That you should cover for your son who’s a family man and send the divorcee to prison for possibly the rest of his life?”
“Uh, Ronan? This is the street.” Ten pointed to the next right.
Taking the turn, Ronan looked for the row house marked 243. Spotting it, he parked the car and turned around to look at Jude, who he realized was essentially trapped in the backseat of the car. “Look, I get that this is a no-win situation for a lot of reasons. Tank Hutchins asked for our help and he’s getting it. It’s not my job to judge what kind of mother Jennifer Hutchins was to her twin sons. It’s also not my job to judge what kind of brother Tim is to Tank. I just want the truth to come out today. It might not even make a difference.” Yanking the keys out of the ignition, Ronan climbed out of the car, pulling the seat forward so Jude could get out too.
“What the hell do you mean it might not even make a difference?” Jude grabbed Ronan’s arm and spun the detective around.
“Take your hand off me, Byrne. I’m not in the fucking mood.”
Jude didn’t take his hand of Ronan. He grabbed him with the other hand too, standing toe to toe with him. He was a few inches taller than the cop.
It wasn’t very often someone towered over Ronan, but Jude Byrne did by a couple of inches. He could feel the other man’s fingers digging into both arms.
“What do you mean it might not make a difference,” Jude repeated, this time hissing his question.
“The murder weapon and the destroyed cell phone are still sitting at the bottom of a fucking drain pipe or have possibly been flushed into the Boston sewer system where there are rats the size of VWs. We may never get permission to go in and try to discover that evidence because your client has already been convicted of this crime. Massachusetts Appeals Court judges don’t overturn solid convictions based on psychic readings. Now, take your fucking hands off me!” Ronan shoved hard against Jude’s broad chest, sending the P.I. stumbling back a few steps before he was able to stop his backward momentum.
“Jesus Christ you two, we’re on a public street. Stop the fight club bullshit. If you need to have a dick measuring contest, do it in private. The last thing either of you needs is to end up in the gossip column of The Herald.” Tennyson headed for the steps leading up to the Hutchins’ front door.
“I’d win,” Jude proclaimed.
“The fuck you would.” Ronan gave the private dick another shove for good measure and followed behind his husband.
38
Tennyson
Tennyson heard the last exchange between his husband and Jude Byrne. Never one to count Ronan out of anything, he’d grudgingly admit Jude would probably give his husband a run for his money. The man had the biggest hands he’d ever seen, shy of the guys who played in the NBA.
Climbing the stairs to the Hutchins’ row house, Ten shook his head. The last thing he needed to be thinking about at a time like this was who would win a hypothetical dick measuring contest. He was about to ring the bell when he heard a commotion going on inside the house.
“When are you ever going to trust me again, Michelle?” a man shouted.
“When you can prove to me you didn’t murder that woman, Tim!” Came Michelle’s response.
“Is there a problem, Tennyson?” Jude asked from behind him.
Ten held up a hand, hoping Jude would get the message to be quiet. He heard Ronan moving up the stairs quickly from behind.
“I didn’t kill her! They convicted Tank! When is that ever going to be enough for you!” Tim screamed.
“I think now’s a good time to ring the bell.” Ronan moved past Tennyson to do just that.
“Who the hell are you expecting, Tim?” Michelle yelled.
Tim yanked the door open. Frustration was apparent on his face. “What?” He blinked and took in the strangers on his doorsteps. “Hey, I know you.” He pointed at Tennyson. “Why do I know you?”
Before Tennyson could answer, Michelle was at the door pushing her husband aside. “You’re Tennyson Grimm, the psychic, and you’re his partner, the cop, Ronan. You, I don’t know from Adam.”
Ronan flashed Michelle an annoyed look and his badge. “I’m detective Ronan O’Mara from the Boston Police Department. This is Jude Byrne. Do you mind if we come in? This is the kind of conversation that would be better to have inside, rather than out here where your neighbors could overhear us.”
Too late for that, Tennyson couldn’t help but thinking. There were already several curious people out on their stoops already.
“Come in, please.” Michelle held the door wide open for them. “Pardon the look of the house.” She didn’t bother to explain why it looked like a tornado had blown through their living room. Toys were strewn everywhere in the living room. Dirty dishes were piled up in the sink and on the stove. The trash was overflowing with old pizza boxes and take-out bags.
Tennyson didn’t need a reason for the state of the house and it wasn’t because he was psychic. When you fought with your spouse 24/7, who the hell had time to cook or clean?
Michelle and Tim both hurried over to the dining room table they grabbed the piles of bills, magazines and newspapers and moved them into the kitchen. “Please sit,” Tim directed. “Can we get you coffee, tea, or water?”
“No thanks, we grabbed something from Dunkin Donuts on the way.” Tennyson took a seat in the middle of the rectangular table. When he set his hands on the wood they landed in something sticky. No doubt this was where one of the Hutchins’ three kids sat.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but who is Jude Byrne and why are the three of you showing up on my doorstep unannounced like this?” Michelle Hutchins sat down heavily in the chair at the head of the table.
Tennyson waited until everyone was seated at the table until he started to speak,” Do you want to start us off, Jude?” Ten figured the P.I. should be the one to explain who he was and what brought them all together.
Jude took a deep breath and turned to Tim Hutchins. “I’m a private investigator who was hired by Bradford Hicks on behalf of your brother.”
“I knew it. I fucking knew Tank had to be in the middle of this shit storm somewhere.” Michelle went to get up from the table.
“Why don’t we hear them out before we fly off the handle and get all dramatic, Michelle?” Tim turned back to Jude. “Please continue Mr. Byrne.”
“Tank has strenuously proclaimed his innocence since the day he was arrested. He wasn’t happy with the attorney who represented him in the original trial, which is why he hired Bradford Hicks for the appeal.”
“How much is that gonna fucking cost us?” Michelle sneered.
“Actually, Mr. Hicks has agreed to take the case on pro bono.” Jude smiled at Michelle.
“
What does Cher’s dead husband gotta do with how much this new lawyer is gonna cost?” Michelle asked, sounding bewildered.
Tennyson bit his lip to keep from laughing. He kept from looking at Ronan because he knew he’d lose it if he saw the look on his husband’s face. “Bradford Hicks is taking the case for free.”
“Oh, well, why didn’t you just say that in the first place?” Annoyance rang through her voice.
“Anyway, Tank had read a lot in the papers about Tennyson and the work he’d done with the Boston Police Department’s Cold Case Unit. He figured if a psychic could help solve those kinds of cases, why couldn’t a psychic be used to figure out who really killed Lorraine McAlpin?”
“Oh! I see what’s going on here! You’re here to somehow get my husband tangled up in this mess. The cops said he had nothing to do with it. Trump’s right, this is a witch hunt!” Michelle shrieked.
“Mrs. Hutchins, sit down and shut up!” Ronan commanded. “This is going to go a lot smoother and faster if you would listen more and talk less. This isn’t a witch hunt. Your brother-in-law wrote me a letter asking for my help. He claimed he’d been wrongly convicted and said that Tennyson’s gifts could prove it. We took a trip to Walpole and Ten read him. Tank did not kill Lorraine.”
“I fucking knew-”
Ronan held up his hand for silence and flashed the woman his sternest look. Oddly enough, it shut her up. “After we spoke with Tank, we spoke with Lorraine McAlpin’s spirit. She claims the man in this picture killed her.” Ronan pressed buttons on his phone and flipped it around to show Tim.
“That’s a pic of me and Tank from Ryan’s Baptism a few years ago,” Tim said. “Which one of us did Lorraine’s spirit pick out?”
“That’s just the thing, Tim. She didn’t know which one of you killed her,” Tennyson said gently. “What she was able to tell us was that she’d been dating her killer.”
Michelle opened her mouth, but Ronan reaching back for his handcuffs and letting them clank onto the surface of the table was enough to get her to swallow her words.
“I swear to you, Tennyson, I didn’t know that woman. I’d never seen her a day in my life until the moment her picture flashed across the morning news to announce that she’d been found murdered a few miles from here.”
Ten nodded at the obviously upset man. “Tank’s people are working on an appeal. Ronan is looking for the truth. All I want to do is read you to see if you killed Lorraine, Tim.”
Tim looked down at his folded hands. “You have no idea how hard these last three years have been on me, my wife, and our whole family. I’ve lost my job, my brother, my marriage is hanging by a thread and my mother has no idea which one of us killed that woman. Do it, Tennyson. I want to prove to everyone,” Tim looked his wife in the eye, “that I was not the one who ended this woman’s life.”
“What if he did it, Tennyson?” Michelle asked, staring daggers at Ronan.
“A psychic reading is not admissible as evidence in a Massachusetts courtroom, but I will tell you this, Michelle. If Tim killed that girl, I will not rest until he and Tank have switched places. Am I understood?” Ronan’s blue eyes never left Michelle’s.
She gave Ronan a sharp nod and quickly looked away.
Tennyson shut his eyes and tried to center himself. There was so much chaos and bad feeling in this house. He could sense years of mistrust and bitterness coating the walls like an extra-thick layer of paint.
Scanning through Tim, he couldn’t find any evidence of the murder or of Lorraine McAlpin. The woman said she’d dated “Jack” for a few months and Ten wasn’t picking up any of those memories or of the fake FBI cover story. Knowing so much was riding on this, he read Tim again.
“Well?” Michelle’s shrill voice rang through the quiet room.
Ten startled, his dark eyes opened. He turned to his husband. “You’re not going to believe this, but Tim didn’t kill Lorraine.”
Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean Tim didn’t kill Lorraine? Are you sure?”
“I read him twice. That’s why it took so long.” Ten got up from the table and pulled Ronan aside. “I also didn’t get any memories of him dating Lorraine or of him making up the FBI cover story.”
“I’ve gotta call Fitzgibbon. I promised to keep him in the loop every step of the way.” Ronan grabbed his phone off the table and headed toward the front door.
“Mom?” Tim Hutchins crowed into his phone. “You know that Salem psychic you love? Yeah, that one! He’s standing in my dining room. He did a reading and said I didn’t kill that girl. What? Yeah, he said it. I know…”
“You okay?” Jude asked, pulling Tennyson’s attention away from a jubilant Tim.
Ten nodded. “Ronan went to call Fitzgibbon. I’m not sure what we do now. I think I need to read Tank again.”
Jude’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you need to read Tank again?” The P.I. took a menacing step closer. “You said he didn’t kill Lorraine.”
Tennyson felt a shiver of fear snake up his spine. “We didn’t have the information about Lorraine dating her killer and him posing as an FBI agent. When I interviewed Tank at the prison, there was a lot of background residue there that was interfering with my gift and making me feel sick.”
“So, what? This is what you do when things don’t go your way? You make excuses, Grimm?” Jude sounded like he was about to go nuclear on the psychic.
“You’re going to want to take a step back from my husband, Byrne,” Ronan snarled. “Move now, or I’ll move you and you won’t like the way I’ll do it.”
Jude took a step back. He spun on his heels to face Ronan.
Tennyson sagged backward. He never felt like he was in danger from Jude Byrne, but he sure as hell wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of that man. The way he and Ronan were staring each other down reminded him of Rocky and the Russian right before their big fight at the end of Rocky IV. Tennyson’s money was on the hometown boy, but if it came to blows, the fight was going to be bloody.
39
Ronan
The incident with Jude Byrne in the Hutchins’ dining room was as close as he’d come to swinging on a friend in a long time. How dare that ignorant prick accuse Tennyson of making excuses for the way his reading with Tank had gone a few weeks back.
When Fitzgibbon showed up a short time later, Ronan was able to calm down a bit more. The feeling didn’t last long though. Jennifer Hutchins, Tank and Tim’s mother, had arrived moments after that.
“Why don’t we all have a seat at the table?” Fitzgibbon tried to herd everyone in that direction. “Tennyson, catch Mrs. Hutchins up on everything that’s happened so far.”
“Tom sent Ronan and I a letter asking us to help prove his innocence. When I went to the prison to read him, my gift told me he was innocent. When I read Tim an hour ago, I got the same result.”
Jennifer Hutchins’ face morphed from a look of pure joy to one of confusion. “How is that possible Tennyson? The prosecutor said the blood found on that poor girl’s body belonged to Tom. He said DNA doesn’t lie.”
“The trial was rigged, Jennifer, just like President Trump says. It was rigged against my brother-in-law. Those bastards probably planted blood at the crime scene and now they are going to use that evidence to say my husband killed that girl.”
Ronan felt his stomach pitch. The words “President” and “Trump” just didn’t belong next to each other in a sentence. “To the best of your knowledge, Tim, had either you or your brother gone for blood work in the days leading up to the crime?”
Tim cocked his head to the side and seemed to be thinking about the question. “Not that I can remember, but I’m sure a quick check of our medical records would confirm that we hadn’t.”
“The fly in the ointment, Jennifer,” Tennyson said, “is that when I showed Lorraine’s spirit a picture of your sons, she said one of them was the man who killed her.”
“Tennyson, is it possible your gift is on the blink again?” Fi
tzgibbon asked.
“What?” Ten’s mouth hung open as if he couldn’t believe Fitzgibbon’s question.
“What did you just say, Cap?” Ronan was halfway out of his seat, his hands clenched into fists, before he realized what he was doing and sat back down.
“You both heard me. When you came back from the prison, Tennyson said there was a lot of background interference from the fifty years’ worth of hinky murderer and rapist energy that had built up in that place. Isn’t it possible that shit kept you from getting a concise reading?”
“No, captain, that isn’t possible.” Tennyson turned to Ronan.
Ronan could see the bewildered look in his husband’s eyes. Anger was churning in his gut. He was angry enough to rip Fitzgibbon’s traitorous spine out and beat the man with it. How fucking dare he even suggest something was wrong with Ten’s gift.
“I might be able to explain why the asshole psychic can’t figure out who killed the McAlpin bitch!” a menacing voice said from the front door.
Jennifer gasped, nearly falling out of her chair.
Ronan turned toward the door and couldn’t believe his eyes. At first it was the Tim Hutchins’ doppelgänger that caught his immediate attention, but what he quickly focused on next was the handgun he had pointed at Jennifer Hutchins. “Who the fuck are you?” Ronan slid slowly out of his seat.
The stranger laughed. It was a sound filled with gravel and years of hard living. “You wanna field that question, Mommy?” He kicked the front door closed with a slam and managed to lock it without taking the gun off Jennifer.
Ronan used that time to position himself in front of Tennyson. “Triplets?” Ronan gasped in disbelief. He blinked a few times just to be sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him.
