by xxxxxxxxxxxx
Back at the motel, he got ready for bed, and called the front desk, asking for a wake-up call for eight the next morning. Then he settled down to reread the file Slater had given him, studiously avoiding looking at the pictures again. He didn’t need the images of the dead boys invading his dreams if he was going to be alert and calm for his talk with Detective Newman come morning. And that’s presuming he’s willing to see me. He knew that even with Slater’s giving the detective a heads-up that Teague wanted to talk to him, Newman could decide that wasn’t going to happen.
* * * *
Well, that went better than I expected. At least he’s willing to meet with me. Not, Teague knew, that talking with Detective Newman would necessarily lead to the man’s sharing any information with him. He probably wants a face-to-face so he can warn me about sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong.
Still, they were going to meet, at the Faircrest police department. Teague dressed accordingly in dark slacks and a blue dress-shirt. He considered adding a tie, but decided that probably wouldn’t impress a small town cop.
Teague entered the building, stopping at the front desk to tell the female officer manning it that he was there to see Detective Newman. She made a call then told him to have a seat. “He’ll be down to get you soon,” she said with a bit of a smirk.
Wondering what that was all about, Teague crossed to the bench along one wall to wait. Twenty minutes later he knew why the woman at the desk had reacted the way she had. He was about to call it a day, figuring the detective was blowing him off, when the door at the far end of the room opened. A tall, dark-haired man entered. He glanced at the desk clerk, she nodded toward Teague, and the man crossed the room to where Teague sat.
“Mr. Donovan? I’m Detective Newman. If you’ll follow me.” The man didn’t smile. In fact his lips were drawn together in a tight line as he turned and swiftly headed back to the door he’d come through.
“Oh boy,” Teague muttered under his breath as he went after the detective. They walked down a long hallway to a flight of stairs and from there they went up to the second floor hallway. Newman opened a door halfway down, leading the way into the almost empty squad room—a fact that didn’t surprise Teague since it was Sunday morning. When they reached a desk along one wall Newman indicated with a gesture that Teague should sit in the chair beside it.
“I should preface this by telling you,” Newman said as he sat, “that I don’t appreciate Detective Slater foisting you on me.”
“Understandable,” Teague replied. “I’d probably feel the same way if I was in your shoes. Did he tell you why I’m interested in the case you’re handling?”
“The one involving the kid, Lee Grimes, who was tortured and subsequently murdered? No, he didn’t.”
“All right. I’ll start at the beginning.”
“This should be interesting,” Newman said, his attention more on a pile of notes on his desk than on Teague. He picked one up, scanning it quickly before setting it aside.
Repressing a sigh of indignation, Teague told him, “I knew one of the victims of the serial killer who struck in Collingswood and the Grande County area.”
“I’m sure there were people who knew each one of them. They didn’t come all the way out here on some wild goose chase, thinking my case might be related to Slater’s cold cases. Hell, I already told him it wasn’t.”
“Because of the fact those three boys were murdered almost thirty years ago?”
“Yeah. And there are some major differences between the killing of Grimes and their murders.”
“There are also equally major similarities.”
“Copycat killing,” Newman replied tightly.
“Possibly. Or the killer is back. Him or his apprentice, or both.”
Newman cocked an eyebrow at that, finally focusing his full attention on Teague. “Apprentice?”
“It’s been known to happen before. A serial killer gets too old or too sick to do the killings himself, but he needs the rush, so he finds someone younger with the same bent and trains him how to kill and get away with it.”
“If—and I’m nowhere near convinced—the murder of Lee Grimes is connected to the past ones in the Grande County area—” Newman nodded slowly, “—that might explain the differences.” He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the desk. “The apprentice, if he exists, might not get off on full-blown torture.”
“Yet,” Teague emphasized. “If this was his first attempt…”
“You’re jumping to conclusions and you know it. I’m still betting we have a copycat here. Someone who decided to try his hand at murder, and maybe read online stories about the Collingswood serial killer.” Leaning back, Newman studied Teague. “You want to catch the guy who killed your friend so you’re grabbing at straws. Why the interest now and not when it happened?”
Teague smiled dryly. “First off, when it happened I was eighteen. Secondly, Chris’s body wasn’t identified until two years ago when Slater reopened the cold case file on the serial killings.”
“Okay. But if you knew then, why wait until now to put your nose into this?”
“Because Slater wouldn’t tell me anything about his cases when I first asked him about them, right after I found out that Chris was a victim. It took Grimes death to get him to open up some and even then he was dubious at best that he should do so.”
“How did you convince him?” Newman asked sardonically. “Tell him you could do what the cops can’t because you’re a civilian?”
“A well-trained civilian, since I’m a private detective with my own agency and have been in the business for the last twenty years.”
“Yeah, he said you were a PI. Not that it gives you the right to play fast and loose with the law.”
Looking at Newman calculatingly, Teague replied, “A right? No. But if I’m careful…” He let that hang, gauging Newman’s reaction to his words.
* * * *
Detective Newman considered Donovan’s reply. He seems confident that he can handle himself. Doesn’t mean he can, however. Most private investigators deal with petty crimes and window-peeping on straying spouses. What makes him think he can take on a man who’s murdered at least three kids and perhaps four in cold blood? He paused, aware of what he’d just thought and its implications. Maybe I am ready to at least consider linking Grimes death with the others.
“How much did Slater tell you about the details of the killings?” Newman asked.
Donovan chuckled. “How much trouble will I get him into if I reply to that?”
With a shake of his head, Newman replied, “As far as I’m concerned, since they’re cold cases it’s his business what he does with the information, as long as he only tells people he knows won’t try to make something off of it.”
“I told him I have no intention of broadcasting anything. There’s been enough pointless speculation about the killer online. I’m not going to give anyone fuel to add to it.”
Newman nodded. “Tell me, please.”
“All right.” Donovan lifted a finger. “They were sodomized with foreign objects. I know from the news reports that Grimes was as well. Secondly—” he lifted another finger, “—they were hogtied. The news didn’t say that held true for Grimes, but Slater as much as confirmed it. Third—” yet another finger went up, “—they were slowly strangled to death by repeatedly being hung and then released before they actually succumbed.”
“That fact doesn’t match for Grimes. He died from the first hanging attempt.”
Donovan nodded. “That could have been accidental if the killer is an apprentice who didn’t stop soon enough. Or the killer could be a copycat since that detail wasn’t released to the press. There’s also the matter of the other tortures inflicted on the Grande County victims, namely the cigarette burns.”
“Grimes wasn’t burned. However, two of his fingers were broken and a third was fractured. Of course the coroner couldn’t tell whether this was intentional or the result of something that ha
ppened when he was captured by his killer.”
“If it was intentional, it could be a replacement for using cigarettes to burn him.”
“I suppose. He was gagged, like the others, only with a rag not his underwear.”
“Still,” Donovan pointed out, “he was gagged. Undoubtedly to keep anyone from hearing his cries while he was being tortured.”
Newman realized, as they talked, that he was giving Donovan information that had been withheld from the public. Meaning I’m beginning to trust he’s not looking for the main chance to do something with the info, like sell it to a news site? If he’s not lying, and apparently Slater doesn’t think he is, he has some sort of vested interest in this because his friend was a victim. But…
“Why all this interest on your part after almost thirty years? I get from what you said that you knew one of the victims but there must be more to it than that.”
“Since, as you pointed out, none of the other friends or family members who knew the victims have made the connection to Grimes’s killing and shown up here?”
“Exactly. Now if you were a family member of this Chris Frye, I could understand it. But an, I’m presuming, high school friend…? That doesn’t wash.” Newman watched the play of emotions over Donovan’s face—reluctance to answer, then acceptance.
“Chris was gay, obviously. If he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have become a victim. When he and I were in high school we had…a brief thing going on between us that might have developed into more if his aunt hadn’t caught us messing around. The outcome was that she kicked him out of her house. My family let him stay with us until the end of the school year, with the promise we wouldn’t continue our…fling. He decided to get out of town and I couldn’t convince him otherwise, even though I promised to get us an apartment as soon as I graduated.” Donovan sighed. “I think…I feel I owe it to him to find out who murdered him because if it hadn’t been for me he might not have left when he did and as a result have had a run-in with the killer.”
While he was surprised to find out that Donovan was gay, Newman didn’t let it show. Instead he said, “I’m not sure that’s logical, but I can understand you feeling a certain amount of guilt, given the circumstances.”
“Logical or not, I want to catch that bastard before he strikes again,” Donovan replied tightly.
“Just how do you plan on doing that, Donovan?” Newman asked.
“Call me Teague, please. It’s…friendlier?” Donovan said before admitting, “I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“I gathered as much. So why don’t you think about it and if you come up with a plan that doesn’t involve breaking the law, let me in on it. I want him stopped, too. I don’t like killers in my town.” Newman grimaced. “Okay, that didn’t come out quite right. I don’t like them, period. Of course when it comes right down to it, he—be it the original man, his apprentice if he has one, or a copycat—could be halfway across the country by now.”
“True, but he could also be at a local motel, or even be a new resident in town living in an apartment or renting a house. I saw a few signs for homes to rent.”
“Yeah, it happens this time of year. Older locals, retirees, who don’t look forward to the snow and the influx of skiers, head to warmer climes and make money by renting their homes to the people who come here to work at the nearby ski resorts.”
“Isn’t it a bit early for that?”
Newman chuckled. “Never been in the mountains this time of year, have you?”
“Nope.”
“It may only be early September, but around here it can start snowing by the middle of the month if we get lucky. ‘We’ meaning the ones who earn a living from catering to or working for the skiing community.”
“That could chase our man away,” Teague muttered.
“Possibly, but if he has rented an apartment or a house, he can hunker down and look for kids hitching from one place to another, especially to the resorts to find jobs or to ski.”
Teague shook his head. “You know the ones he goes after are transients, Detective. Homeless and looking for the main chance to make a few bucks by hustling.”
“How about you put me on a first name basis, too, Teague. It’s Hoyt.”
Teague smiled and nodded. “Hoyt it is. As I was saying though; they hitch a ride, going from somewhere to nowhere, get dropped off because the trucker or whoever isn’t going any further, and then figure they can survive wherever they end up, if they get lucky. Maybe they think they can find someone to take them in if they give them what they want.”
“Free sex.”
“Yeah. And I’d be willing to bet that’s possible here.” Teague smiled dryly. “I did a little checking. There’s a bar in town that’s sort of gay friendly, and there’s the park along the river—”
“Smith Park. Grimes’s body was found right outside of it actually.” Hoyt’s phone rang just then. It was one of the deputies telling him there was a problem with a drunk driver.
“At ten on a Sunday morning?”
“It’s old man Johnson.”
“Aw hell. Okay. Where?” The deputy told him and Hoyt promised he’d be there in a few minutes. “Sorry to break this up,” he said to Teague after hanging up. “But duty calls.” He paused, taking his gun from the desk drawer and strapping it on. “If you’re up for it, why don’t we meet this evening after my shift is over?”
“Sure. Name the place.”
Hoyt thought for a second then said, “There’s a restaurant called Hal and Mary’s on Main Street. Decent food, a nice patio if you like eating outside, reasonable prices.”
“Sounds good to me. When?”
“Say seven. It’ll give me time go home and change into something comfortable.” As Hoyt ushered Teague out of the squad room he added, “It’s a jeans and casual shirts kind of place.”
Teague chuckled. “That makes it even better.”
* * * *
When he got back to the motel, Teague called Slater, catching him just before he was going to take off with his family to go to a movie, and filled him in on the new information he’d gotten from Hoyt.
“Not much,” Teague admitted. “Just that there were no burns, but two of the kid’s fingers were broken and a third fractured. Yeah, it could have come from fighting his abductor but…Damn it.”
Slater chuckled. “You didn’t ask if any skin was found under his nails.”
“Nope. I’ll ask tonight. We’re meeting for dinner since we were interrupted this morning.”
“Dinner? You actually broke through his attitude enough to have that happen?”
“It took some fast talking. He wasn’t exactly happy to meet with me at first. If you hadn’t let him know I was coming he’d probably have shoved me out the door before I got two words in. Still, eventually, he sort of opened up.”
“It’s your charm and charisma,” Slater told him.
“More like I convinced him I had a vested interest in catching the killer.”
“That worked on me,” Slater replied, chuckling. “Okay, I’m being looked at like I’m the worst dad in the world because we’re not already in the car and on the way to the movies. Thanks for the update.”
“You bet.”
After hanging up, Teague went in search of lunch, ending up at a local diner not too far from Smith Park. Therefore, when he finished eating, he decided to walk over and check it out more thoroughly than he had on his drive-by the previous night.
As parks went, it wasn’t bad. There was more to it than he had thought, most of it hidden from the road by tall trees. Since it was Sunday and the weather was nice, couples were out strolling, kids were playing at the small fenced-in playground, and people were walking their dogs. The farther he got from the parking lot and picnic tables, the denser the trees became, with a path winding through them that sometimes veered to the river’s edge before meandering back into the small forest again.
The perfect killing ground at night. Lure the victim away fro
m the picnic area and bam. Then the killer goes back to wherever he’s staying with no one the wiser.
While Teague walked back to where he’d left his car at the restaurant, he went over the facts for all the killings. As he did, he realized there was something else he needed to ask Hoyt. Had anyone seen Grimes out hustling? Because Slater said two of the boys in the Grande County cases had been doing that before their murders. And undoubtedly Chris did, too.
None of the kids in Slater’s cold cases had put up a fight when they were taken, according to the files. In Teague’s estimation that sort of belied the idea that the breaking of Grimes’ fingers happened while he was defending himself.
Questions, questions. Now to remember them so I can ask Hoyt this evening. Being a practical man, and an investigator, he took out his phone and entered the questions in its notepad app. By then he was back at his car, so he returned to the motel. He still had some time to kill before meeting Hoyt and reached for the serial killer file again. Then he shook his head. I need to get my mind off this for a while before it becomes an obsession. Not, he admitted to himself, that it isn’t already. But maybe…He turned on the TV, scrolled through the channels, and settled for watching the opening game of the football season for his home team. “This should do it,” he grumbled when he saw they were down by fourteen points already and it was only the beginning of the second quarter.
* * * *
Chapter 4
When he parked and got out of his car, Teague saw Hoyt standing by the front door to the restaurant. For a moment he studied the detective. He had an air of command about him, with his height—he was close to Teague’s six-one or a bit better—his short, dark hair, and the serious expression that said he wasn’t about to take anything from anyone. Then Hoyt smiled when he saw Teague and Teague realized he was also handsome in a rough hewn way, with high cheekbones and a square jaw that accented his full lips, now that they weren’t in their usual tight, almost angry line.
