by N. R. Walker
August studied them for a while. “Would you say they’re friends?”
“Hirsch and Kenny?” Jake almost snorted. “I don’t think either of them has friends.”
Dr Schneider stood as much as the tree allowed and stretched her back. “We’re losing too much light.” Just when Jake thought she was going to say they were done for the day, she added, “I’m gonna need the lights and generator out of my van.”
“I’ll get them,” August said. “Is it unlocked?”
Schneider threw him some keys, which August plucked out of the air, and he disappeared down the track toward the clearing. Jake wasn’t sure if August just wanted to stretch his legs or if he knew Jake didn’t want to leave the crime scene, but August didn’t ask for help.
At any rate, August brought back some field lights and he was now wearing a jacket. He must have grabbed it from his carry-on bag, and Jake hadn’t realised the man must’ve been cold. He felt guilty about that. Even though August was a grown adult, Jake still should have asked. Jake had on police-issue dark blue cargo pants, army-style boots, and his police jacket, whereas August had a suit and a business shirt. Typical detective attire, but hardly warm.
Jake didn’t have time to dwell on wardrobe choice because Hirsch came up the path carrying the generator. He called all the other cops who were still searching the nearby terrain in for a debriefing. “We’re losing too much light, and Commander Kenny’s asked that we call it a day. We’ll know more in the morning when forensics are done.”
There were mumbled goodbyes and Hirsch said he was going back to town to relieve Constable Deans and close the station for the day. Then he gave Jake a tired glance. “I don’t suppose you have any intention of leaving?”
“No, sir. Not until we can close the crime scene.”
Hirsch grumbled something under his breath and nodded toward August. “For Christ’s sake, give the man your keys so he can go eat or sleep or sit down at least. We’re not all the freaking Energizer Bunny Boy Scout like you, Porter.”
“Shit, sorry,” Jake said, quickly rummaging through his pockets for his keys.
August put his hand up and smiled. “Nah, I’m good. I can wait.”
Hirsch rolled his eyes as he walked off, mumbling about how all he needed was two freaking Energizer Bunnies, and when he was gone, August looked at Jake and chuckled. “Energizer Bunny Boy Scout?”
Jake couldn’t even be embarrassed. “I’m always doing something. Can’t sit still. It drives him crazy.”
August smiled at that. “I get the feeling, under all your boss’s gruff and prickles and how much he bitches about you, that he actually likes you. It’d just probably kill him to admit it.”
Jake barked out a laugh at that. “Not likely. He doesn’t like anyone.”
Thirty minutes later, when more soil was removed and more bones were laid out on a tarp, a new set of headlights pulled into the clearing. This time it was Constable Deans. Still in her uniform, she had excitement written all over her, looking around with bright, wide eyes, and she held a takeout bag and a picnic blanket.
“Planning a romantic picnic with the human remains, Deans?” Jake said with a smile.
She rolled her eyes and held out the takeout bag. “That’s for you. And this—” She passed the blanket to August. “—is for you.”
“Hirsch?” August asked.
Deans nodded. “Yep.”
“See?” August said. “Told you he liked you.”
“Dunno about that,” Deans said. “He bitched about everything.” She counted off her fingers. “Forensics, other cops in his jurisdiction, another dead body, closing the reserve, wondering when the media would catch on, and of course, Jake here, doing everything by the book. He was still banging on about that when I left.”
There were toasted ham, cheese, and tomato sandwiches and bottled water for everyone, and although August had said he was fine, he sure ate his sandwich pretty quick and had the blanket around his shoulders before too long. The guys on the ground with their elbows in human remains didn’t eat anything, though they did take breaks for water and to stretch their backs and legs. They had the tree roots mostly exposed and the tree itself was held up with ropes. Schneider guessed from the pelvic bone the corpse was male, and Bartlett studied the jawbone and skull, and he concurred with the gender and put the age of the victim in his early twenties.
So... The victim was male, early twenties. Just like the victim found just metres away. Jake was certain the cases were related.
Deans had long gone home, and Jake had started to pace. He was both restless and trying to stay awake. The rainforest came alive at night and the lights attracted all kinds of bugs, even in winter. August was still, though he was now sitting on the ground. And just after 1:00 am, when they’d managed to disentangle roots and deteriorated clothing and bones, Schneider called out. “August? August?”
“What is it?” he replied, getting to his feet. Jake was at his side, watching, waiting . . .
Celia photographed something, then Schneider turned around and showed them what she’d found. It was caked with all kinds of gunk and something brown, but it was unmistakable.
It was a necklace with a silver cross and what looked like a deteriorated note.
“It appears to be faded ink on paper,” Schneider said. She looked to August, her gaze deep and sorry. “I think you’ve got another one.”
Chapter Seven
August was exhausted. Not just weary from the long day, but the added weight of another murder settled in his bones. A serial killer. A legit serial killer who preyed upon gay men. Men who were deemed, by some psychopathic piece of shit, as unworthy, less than. Deserving to die . . .
Men like him.
It was after 2:00 am by the time Celia, Nina, and Bartlett were packed up. August slid into the passenger seat of the Patrol, and when Jake turned the engine over and cranked up the heater, August realised he hadn’t booked any accommodation.
“Fuck.”
“What’s up?” Porter asked.
August sighed. “I didn’t book a room anywhere. With everything going on today, I just forgot. Even when Nina mentioned it . . . I was going to when I went back to grab the lights and generator. Guess I clean forgot. Is there a couch at the station I could crash on?” The truth was, August was so cold and tired he could probably just sleep right where he was. If he closed his eyes right this second . . .
“Nah, I’ve got a spare room at my place. It’s yours if you want it.”
“I don’t want to impose . . .”
Jacob grinned and knocked the Patrol into first and began to drive. “Imposing would be going back to the station, waking up the Sarge to unlock said station, and telling him you need a place to crash.” He chuckled. “I dunno about you, but that doesn’t sound like fun to me.”
August smiled despite himself. “True. And thanks.” The drive back into Tallowwood was dark; the passing trees disappeared into the inky blackness, as though the forest was swallowing the world around them. “Christ, it’s dark out there. Get many lost or missing campers?”
“Not too often. Mostly, the people who come up here know the area. In summer, the dam gets busy, but they’re recreational campers who don’t venture too far from their eskies and campfires. Or the odd fisherman at the dam.” He sighed. “Then we get the kids on trail bikes who do nothing but dig up the dirt tracks and make a nuisance of themselves.”
“And find human remains,” August countered.
“True. They did.” Jake conceded with a nod. “But the bushwalkers and birdwatchers and mountain hikers don’t use our reserve. They usually go to Cedarwood.”
Cedarwood was the national park at the bottom of this larger one that sprawled over the mountains behind Tallowwood. August recalled seeing a sign to it on his way up here this morning. God, was that just this morning? “Closer to the highway?”
“Yeah, and they have plumbed toilets and running water. We don’t have such luxuries,” Porter s
aid with a grin. “They also have a bigger dam and the crowds.”
August smiled wearily. “So, what you’re saying is, the only people who come up here are those trying to get away from everyone else.”
Jacob turned onto a quiet, darkened street. “I guess.”
He pulled the Patrol into the drive of a quaint-looking cottage and parked in the carport at the side of the house. Kind of hard to see by only the headlights, but the house was white weatherboard with a small veranda at the front. There were filigree woodwork decorations where the veranda posts met the roof, shrubs, and flowers, and August totally got The Sullivans vibe again but thought better of saying that out loud. Instead, he went with, “Cute.”
Porter opened the car door. “The Sullivans kind of cute or The Waltons? Maybe Little House on the Prairie?”
August smiled and got out and grabbed his carry-on bag. “Aren’t those shows before your time?”
Porter rolled his eyes and climbed the front porch steps, his feet heavy. Tired. He put his key in the lock and opened the door. “I’m gonna be in so much trouble.”
August stopped. Did he have a boyfriend? Husband? Christ. August never even thought to ask. “Trouble? If me being here is a problem . . .”
Porter looked over his shoulder as he went inside. “Oh, there’ll be a problem, believe me.”
He hit the light switch, and there, sitting in the middle of the small living room, was a cat. It was a mottled, tabby-tortoiseshell-looking thing, and it stared, like it was a parent waiting for their teenager to get home after sneaking out. August had never thought a cat could actually looked pissed, but he was wrong.
“Hey, pretty girl,” Porter said, his voice up an octave.
But the cat wasn’t having any of that. It barked. Well, it was supposed to be a meow, but it wasn’t. It was loud, clipped, and cranky. Could cats bark? It was definitely a bark. Then it did it again, its glare fixed on Porter. It did that meow-bark thing again, but longer and drawn-out before it stood, still glaring, turned, and walked into another room. Then it proceeded to yell at him from in there.
“Told ya I’d be in trouble,” Porter said.
August closed the door behind him and took in the small living room. The outside might have been straight out of the 1940s, but the inside was new. Wooden floors, modern light fittings, stylish furniture. It was impeccably tidy and there was nothing old about it. There were two framed Aboriginal paintings, each one a thousand dots to form the image of kookaburras. August had never seen anything like it.
Porter added, “Come through.” He disappeared into the same dark room the cranky cat had gone, and another light went on, so August followed.
And in the new and modern kitchen was the cat, sitting before its empty bowl. It yelled at Porter again. And again, and again.
“I’m getting it!” Porter replied as he opened a cupboard, but now the cat was glaring at August.
He put his hands up. “I’m guilty by association, apparently. But I had no hand in your obvious neglect.”
Porter laughed as he poured some biscuits into the bowl and the cat glared at him for doing that, but at least she didn’t yell at him. He put the container of biscuits on the kitchen counter and sighed. “This is Scarlett, by the way. She doesn’t tolerate insubordinate humans who get home later than normal.”
Scarlett was eating and seemed much more forgiving now. There were three remote controls in a perfect line on the granite bench top, and Porter picked one of them up and pressed a button. “I don’t normally leave the heater on overnight, but considering we have to get up in—” He glanced at the microwave and slow blinked. “Um, fuck. It’s almost three. Want something to eat? Or wanna go straight to bed?”
There was something about that offer that spiked August’s adrenaline. And it was completely innocuous and innocent. There was nothing sexual implied, at all. But it had been so long since another man suggested they go straight to bed, even hearing the words brought August up short. It had been far too long, and he was far too tired to stop his swirling mind.
“Bed.”
Porter smiled. “Thank God. This way.” He led them back out through the living room to a hallway. “My room, spare room,” he said. The door was already open, but he switched the light on, then pointed to the end of the hall. “Bathroom. Only one, too. So, guests first. I’ll lock up and check on Scarlett.”
He wasn’t giving August any time to argue. He turned to leave but only got as far as a few steps. “Oh, and I’d leave the bedroom door open. I mean, it’s completely up to you, but just so you know, Scarlett has a no-closed-door policy. So if you do shut it, she will scratch and meow at the door until you open it. And if she wants it open and you don’t open it, she’ll shit in your shoe. Well . . .” He considered. “That could have been a coincidence, but given it’s happened twice and she did that twice, I’m thinking not.”
August smiled. “Door open. Got it.” He went into the spare room, which had a double bed in it with charcoal covers and red cushions and pillows, and a tall bookcase overpacked with books. August was even too tired to read what kind of books. He dumped his carry-on, used the bathroom and got changed, turned the light off, set his alarm, and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
He could have sworn he’d only blinked before his alarm beeped at him. Christ Almighty, today was going to be rough. He’d had plenty of days with less than three hours’ sleep before. This shouldn’t have been so bad . . . but he was very comfortable in that bed. He could have stayed under those covers all damn day.
Until he realised he was not alone.
A circle of fluff was curled up beside him, like a purring hot water bottle. Scarlett. She looked so peaceful with her paws all tucked in, nothing like the mini-demon cat he’d met last night. August carefully slid out of bed so as not to disturb her and went across the hall to use the bathroom.
He looked like hell; he felt even worse.
He needed to shower and get ready, but he thought he should probably check to see if Porter needed to use the bathroom first. He ventured down the hall. He couldn’t hear anyone in the kitchen, so he snuck a look past the ajar door into Porter’s room. He’d be horrified if he got caught snooping, but if Porter was still sound asleep, August was free to shower . . .
But his bed was empty.
The kitchen was empty. The house was empty.
“What time is it?” he mumbled to himself, heading back into his room to check his phone. Surely he hadn’t shut his phone alarm off and gone back to sleep . . . Surely Porter would have woken him . . .
Then the front door opened and a breathless Jacob Porter strode in, wearing running gear, headphones, and a smile. He was flushed: his warm brown cheeks were rosy, which meant those damn freckles were back. It took August’s brain a second to catch up.
He’d gone running? On three hours’ sleep?
“Oh, I was wondering if you’d be up,” Porter said, and only then did he seem to notice what August was wearing. Boxers and nothing else.
August looked down at himself, then back to Porter. “Sorry. I assumed I’d be in a motel or something.”
Jacob put up a hand. “No complaints here.” Then he walked through to the kitchen and called out, “Want some coffee?”
No complaints here . . . What was that supposed to mean?
“Uh, yes, please,” August answered. “I’ll just grab a quick shower.”
“Okay.” There was a beat of silence, then, “Hey have you seen Scarlett? I couldn’t find her this morning and that’s not like her.”
“Oh, um . . . yeah, she slept with me. Apparently.”
There was silence, then footsteps, and then Porter appeared at the doorway to the hall. He had one eyebrow raised, his expression disbelieving. “She did, huh?”
“I uh . . .” August didn’t know if he should feel bad or not, but for some strange reason he went with humour. “She was cute and we felt a connection. I don’t think you should judge her on who she wants to s
leep with.”
Porter stared, then he burst out laughing. “This is a no-shame household.”
August smiled. “Glad to hear that. Because I’m only wearing underwear. Can I please have a towel?”
Porter’s smile turned into something else, and he went to another door in the short hall—a linen cupboard, as it were—and pulled out a towel. He kept eye contact, not looking at August’s naked chest or his crotch. “Like I said. No complaints.” He walked back up the hall and stopped at the spare room where August and Scarlett had slept. “Except about my cat, who should be tried for treason.”
Still smiling, August showered and dressed and went in search of Porter and, he hoped, coffee. He felt pretty good after a steaming shower, considering the lack of sleep, though he knew he’d hit a wall mid-afternoon. He found Porter in the kitchen eating a piece of toast and pouring a fresh mug of coffee. There was a plate of toast next to a tub of butter. “I don’t know how you like your coffee or if the coffee I got you at the airport was a fluke, so there’s milk in the fridge, sugar in the pot. Vegemite or jam’s in the fridge. You can help yourself. I’m just gonna jump in the shower.”
August was surprised by Porter’s hospitality. “Oh, um, is this for me?”
“Yeah. Don’t get used to it,” he replied with a grin. “Just kidding. My mum’d kill me if she found out I didn’t play proper host.” Then he walked out and added, “Won’t be long,” as he disappeared.
So August helped himself to coffee and toast, sitting on one of the stools at the kitchen bench. He liked Porter. When he first met him, he wasn’t sure what to expect. But he’d been switched-on, even clever. He’d found that second body because of the type of tree, in a forest of trees. It was remarkable detective work, and August was impressed.
Porter was likeable too. He was kind, generous, polite. He’d offered August a place to stay, even made him breakfast. And he was funny too, and why had August been intent on making him laugh when he said the cat had slept in his room? In his underwear, no less. Normally August would have been horrified . . . but no, he’d stood there joking with him.
