by E. R. FALLON
I wanted to help her with Trent’s tuition but I wasn’t financially stable enough to offer her my assistance, and neither was Sammie. Em rested her hand on the table and I placed mine over hers, feeling the warmth and love she had for her son. “I wish I could help you—”
“Thanks, but that wouldn’t be right. I could never ask you or anyone for something that big.”
I tried to think of something to tell her, some kind of solution to her dilemma. “Do you have family who might be willing to help?” I asked.
“I wish.” Em’s tone was bitter. “They don’t have much for themselves, and what they do have, they’re keeping. They haven’t made it a secret that they didn’t approve when I got pregnant, married Trent’s father, and then they didn’t approve when we got divorced. I don’t have anything to do with them, and that’s the way they and I both like it.” She shivered, as though reflecting on her family made her cold. I could relate. Not only did Em and I both prefer our coffee black, we had pasts we’d erase if given the opportunity.
“What about other scholarships, ones outside the school?” I asked.
Em shook her head. “I already looked into a couple of those but either we don’t qualify or it’s too late for us to apply.”
“Trent’s father’s family—are they in any way involved in Trent’s care?”
“I couldn’t ask them.”
Her answer had been so fast that I got the feeling she wouldn’t even consider the idea and that I shouldn’t ask why. Clearly, Em wanted to avoid discussing them, and probably for good reasons. I was at a loss for words.
“It’s okay. I’ll think of something,” she said.
Defeated, I said, “Let me pay for this meal. That’s the least you could let me do for you since it turns out my advice isn’t so great after all.”
“You’re sure, chief?”
“It’s, what, a few eggs? How much could that cost?”
Em laughed. “All right, I think I can let you pay.”
“And if you or Trent ever need anything else, I—and I know Sammie does too—hope you know that we’re here for you.”
“Thanks, chief.”
We ordered the food, and when Em’s eggs and toast and my donut arrived, and the server had refilled our coffee cups and left, I said, “You know, before, when you said I looked stressed?”
Em finished spreading butter on her brown toast and the bread glistened with grease. She looked up and seemed eager to offer me her assistance. I didn’t elaborate, and Em said, “I know it’s harder for you to open up to someone because you’re a guy, but I really do want to help.”
Even with her encouragement and her sincere, open smile, I hesitated. But I knew I needed to talk to someone. Because of what had happened to Sammie’s sister, I didn’t like discussing anything associated with my mother’s crimes with her, but Em was my colleague.
The words came out of me like a dry, hard nut was stuck at the back of my throat. “You were right. Something is bothering me.”
Em set her knife on her plate. “Tell me. You were there for me a few minutes ago, and I want to be here for you now. I want to hear what’s on your mind.”
“I was hardly there for you.”
“You tried,” she said.
I cleared my throat. “It’s about the boy murders that have been happening around here.”
“Do you have an idea about them?” she asked.
“Not quite.” A look of trepidation clouded over Em’s warm eyes, as though I might be about to confess to those murders. Laughing it off seemed callous given the circumstances of the crimes, so I said, “Oh, it’s not that, it isn’t what you’re thinking. It’s that I’ve been considering something Chief Gilani told me about the bodies.” I lowered my voice. “He said that someone put a message on them. It’s been on my mind a lot lately, and . . .”
Em spoke quietly. “Why? Wait, the killer wrote something on the bodies, like on the skin?”
I’d nearly forgot that the revelation would be news to her. “Yes, but not with a marker, if you catch my drift.”
She shuddered. “That’s awful.”
Despite what we sometimes encountered and saw on a daily basis, that such an act would be shocking to her wasn’t surprising to me. We didn’t deal with the bodies themselves after a crime. We dealt with what came out from inside them. Our job often eluded the public’s thoughts. While the work the police did solving murders and catching bad guys had the public enthralled, we handled a component people overlooked, the tidying up of the aftermath of a crime. We scrubbed away blood, removed guts, bones, and flesh from a scene, but we didn’t see the actual horrors a murderer inflicted on their victim’s susceptible body, a horror like mutilation. We saw the remnants. A victim’s hair and brains. Gunshot wounds to the head were the worst for those.
“Was it something this person—the killer—wanted the police to know?” Em asked.
“It’s hard to tell, but I don’t think the message was intended for them exactly,” I said.
Em picked up her cup and brought it to her mouth, clinking it against her teeth, her fingers trembling around the china. I braced myself for her to drop it and reached out to catch it. She set the cup clumsily on the saucer, and I sat back in the booth. “What—what did it say?” Em spoke as though she wasn’t sure whether she could stomach the answer.
“Miss me, Evelyn?”
Em’s brow wrinkled and her gaze narrowed at me. “Huh?”
“That’s what the message said.”
“I don’t understand—what does that have to do with what’s bothering you?” I remained quiet and drank my coffee, and she said, “Do you know this Evelyn person?”
“That used to be my name. Before I started to transition.”
“Do you mean . . .”
“Yes.”
Em nodded, and at last, she spoke, “All right, I think I understand. It’s none of my business, but you should know I don’t have a problem with any of that. This person, the killer, is trying to get to you through the messages, they’re trying to hurt you, is that it?” Her eyes brightened. “That’s why you wanted me to leave you alone at the Cove. You were looking for something—did you find anything? Could the messages be, maybe, a coincidence?”
Em’s sincerity amazed me if only a bit. Even in these modern times, I was accustomed to people’s ignorance about my sexuality. The way I felt about it was that I didn’t question them about their choices, so what right did they have to question mine?
“No, I didn’t find anything,” I said. “And possibly they’re trying to get to me through the messages or it’s a coincidence. I’m not sure yet.” What I didn’t say to Em was that I suspected someone wanted me to know they were killing because of me.
“Do you have any enemies?” She appeared genuinely concerned.
“Are you asking me if there’s someone out there who’d want to destroy my life and reputation? Take your pick.” I smiled. When Em didn’t laugh, I said, “I was just kidding.”
“Oh,” she said, and laughed in a quick, nervous way.
My mother didn’t hate me, I knew that much. She hadn’t been caught by the police, she’d gone to them willingly and turned herself in without telling me first. Other than perhaps the families of my mother’s victims who might have wanted to hurt her through me, I had no bad blood with anyone, not anyone that I knew of, at least. The families hadn’t wanted anything from me for all those years, not even money, for which they’d unsuccessfully sued my mother’s family.
“Does Chief Gilani know about your name?” Em asked.
I shook my head. “He wasn’t really supposed to tell me about the messages but I found out from him. We’ve worked together for a number of years, and I trust you, but I can’t stress enough that you can’t tell anyone what I said about the writing on the victims. I’d like to keep my old name private as well.”
“No problem. You can trust me not to tell anyone.”
“It’s very important that you d
on’t say anything to anyone, not even to your friends or family. Telling someone—what was on the bodies—could get Gilani, me, and even you, canned. I also want to keep what I told you about me—”
“Keep it private, I got it.”
Sammie knew the detail the police were concealing from the media, a detail that possibly only the killer knew; the killer’s penchant for inscribing their twisted words on their victims was gossip among law enforcement, and Sammie was law enforcement, even if she was retired.
I wondered if Em would become like a sister to me, someone I could trust. I’d known Em for a number of years and never had an issue or a problem with her at work, had never had a reason to not trust her, but could I trust her with not only a detail that might make all the difference to the police’s investigation but, also, inadvertently, with my past?
I hadn’t divulged much of my life outside work to my co-workers, but I had trusted Em and Josh with a few small secrets over the years. But these were two very big secrets. Perhaps doubt had come too late on my part. I’d already spilled two secrets and would have to live with what followed.
“It’s not like I have any family to tell, chief.” Em’s tone was wry.
“Right, of course.”
The diner served the donuts warm, and I’d nearly forgot about mine, and bit into the dough that had gone cold from having sat ignored on my plate. Em speared her eggs and the yolk flowed in a thin yellow squiggle onto her toast. She picked up the soggy bread, which disappeared into her mouth in two bites. I swallowed down the donut with a large amount of coffee.
A silent agreement that our meal was done and we should get going passed between Em and I. Our server stepped over to ask if we needed anything else. We both declined refills of our coffee cups, and I asked him for the check.
I paid the bill and the tip, and grabbed my jacket off the back of the booth and put it on. “Next time—and we should do this again—feel free to bring Trent with you,” I said to Em.
“Thanks, but I kind of like having some time to not be mommy, if you know what I mean. Thanks again for paying.”
Sammie and I weren’t parents but I could imagine Em’s need for a little freedom from family life every so often. She put on her coat, picked up her bag, and we walked out of the diner together.
I held open the door for her. “Where to next for you?” I asked out on the sidewalk.
“I’m running a few errands before I have to pick Trent up from school. He has a half-day today, and I told the sitter I’d just pick him up if we didn’t get called to a site. Fingers crossed we don’t. Honestly, I’m always asking her to come at the last minute, and I think she was relieved I wasn’t calling her for that.”
I grimaced. “That must be hard. I’m sorry I put you through it and that I can’t promise it won’t happen again.”
“Nah, I’m glad to have a job.”
“And I’m glad to have you as part of my team.”
Em blushed. She waited a moment or two, and then said, “About what you told me inside—both things—I won’t say anything to anyone. I swear you can trust me.”
“Should I ask you to place your hand over your heart?”
Em laughed. “I will if you want me to.”
“Hey, I appreciate it but you don’t have to do that,” I smiled. “I will walk with you for a bit if that’s all right. The weather’s not bad. As you know, I don’t live too far from here. Which direction are you heading?”
She pointed to the left. “I’m parked somewhere else but I need to go to the shops over there.” Em skipped a beat. “It must be so hard for you.” She gave me a sideways glance. “People can be so—I want you to know I’m not like that.”
I felt the need to clarify why I wanted our conversation to remain private. “I didn’t intend for you to get the impression that I’m ashamed of who I am, because that isn’t the case.” Heat pricked at my face.
“I know, I know, I completely get it. I think it’s great. I know of some people who are . . . and I absolutely support them.” She paused, and I could have counted to ten during the time. “What I mean to say is, it’s no one’s business but yours.” The revelation seemed to have made her a bit anxious but she didn’t seem uncomfortable with what I’d told her.
“Thanks, Em, for your support.” A group of people brushed past us on the sidewalk and I lowered my voice. “But, see, the big thing here really is what Gilani told me about the inscription on the bodies—that can never be told. And I would appreciate you not telling anyone what we discussed about me. For instance, if the time came, I’d want to tell Josh before you did.”
We picked up the pace and rounded the corner and Em stopped.
“You’re going to tell him?” she asked.
“Josh? When the time’s right, possibly.”
“I understand completely.”
“You know, I actually should check on the dog.” I pointed to the right, where Sammie and I lived.
Em’s smile faded. “Why, is Paige okay?” I’d discussed Paige with Em and Josh more than anything else in my life.
“Sammie’s been worried about her. Lately, she hasn’t been eating very much. But it’s probably nothing. You know how Sammie worries.”
Em shook her head.
“Well, maybe I never told you, but she does,” I said. “Anyway, I’m sure it’s nothing.”
The way Em arched her eyebrow reminded me of Sammie’s reaction whenever I downplayed something she deemed a crisis but which I felt wasn’t a huge deal.
“I hope it does turn out to be nothing,” Em said, and rubbed my shoulder. “Goodbye for now. I’m heading to the market, which is in that direction.” She indicated the side street at our left.
“I hope I won’t be calling you soon,” I said.
Em frowned and her bag slid off her shoulder.
“What I meant to say was, I hope I won’t have a good reason to call you soon, such as another murder.”
Em fixed her bag, stepped forward and encircled me with her arms, drawing me close to her strong warmth for a platonic embrace.
“I’m not hitting on you, so Sammie doesn’t have to worry,” she said, and laughed in a subdued way close to my ear. The heat of her breath smelled like the coffee we’d had inside the diner. “You look like you could use a hug.” She paused. “When you changed your name, how did you know?” she asked, her tone soft and thoughtful, standing close and holding me so tightly I was still.
I looked into her attentive gaze and smiled slightly. “You see, Em, I always knew—that’s how it works. It’s who I am, who I always was.” I didn’t intend to become sentimental but a few tears stung my eyes, and I tried to discreetly wipe them away.
“You know, it’s okay to cry once in a while. No one’s ever going to think you’re any less tough,” Em patted my back and gave me a sympathetic look. She dug into her bag and handed me a tissue.
I laughed and thanked her.
“Catch you later, chief,” Em stepped into the street.
“I sure as hell hope not,” I grinned, and wiped my eyes. “I don’t think I’ll be calling you into work for a long time.”
Em bantered with me as she waited to cross the busy street. “You think?” she spoke over her shoulder.
“I can’t guarantee it but I’m pretty damn sure. I have a good feeling.”
“I don’t mind,” she said. “I could use the money.”
Chapter 5
Around the same time I guaranteed to Em that things should be quiet on our end for a while, Gilani called to inform me that the police had discovered a young male who’d died in the same modus operandi as the others—death by strangulation and the same inscription on the victim’s torso.
I had Em and Josh meet me at the municipal garage, and we drove to a budget motel on the outskirts of Seven Sisters. Gilani warned me ahead of time that my crew should bring our full gear because the scene was literally a bloody mess. The motel room had been the location of the actual murder and not a dump
ing ground, and the victim’s body had been partly dismembered in the bathtub. No word on what the killer had done with those pieces of the body, but I’d willed for them not to have been discovered eaten.
We hadn’t had such a bloody mess in a few months, and on the drive to the motel I braced Em and Josh for what we should expect to find on our arrival. No matter how much blood and body fluids and innards one encountered on a regular basis, you could never truly get used to something like that, or know how you would react in each instance. Some aspects of the job, like the cleaning and the smells, became routine, but not the visual carnage.
The motel rooms were accessed from the outside, and I pulled into the dimly lit parking lot, which seemed vacant except for a detective’s car, what were probably some of the staffs’ cars, and the vehicles of one or two guests. Over time in my line of work I’d learned the types of cars different people drove, and I also learned about various kinds of people; people who were mostly cruel, and a very few who were decent.
The room we were to clean was cordoned off by yellow tape around the small front patio and the door. I parked the van behind the detective’s car. The place wasn’t as dilapidated as Gilani had made it sound over the phone. From the outside the motel seemed plain and sparse but well-kept. This wasn’t a place where someone paid for an hour to have a quick fuck in one of the rooms; rather, it appeared an ideal setting for the weary night traveler to pull into from the road and rest.
To our van’s right was what looked like an office, well-lit, with a clerk inside talking to a tall middle-age man in a suit, who was a detective. In my line of work not only had I perceived the kinds of cars people drove but the people who drove them. The clerk, in a white collared shirt that was maybe a size too big for him, leaned against the desk but not in a relaxed way. He seemed quite distraught.
Although Gilani had informed the motel office when we’d be arriving, I left the van and stepped into the quiet office, without wearing my gear, to let the clerk know we’d be starting. Em and Josh stayed behind and unpacked the van. I also wanted to check with the detective that it was okay to remove the tape. Usually the police had finished long before we arrived on scene. I felt it would be smart to confirm that forensics had completed their tasks, collecting the evidence they needed, before we cleaned it all away in a mere few hours.
