Chapter 3
Picked up a piece of silver from the ground,
Used it to end a bit of my strife.
If I’d known I’d need it to get into Heaven,
I’d have carried it with me all of my life.
—Going Over The River
“THAT boy’s a mess.”
Lt. Mark Casey’s booming voice rattled Kane’s eardrums, and he grunted a greeting at the man, meeting his lieutenant’s eyes in the reflection of the glass. The barrel-chested black man strolled closer to the glass and unwrapped a piece of gum. The senior Inspector folded it into his mouth and chewed at the strip until it was tucked into the corner of his cheek. Within seconds of discarding the foil wrapper, another slice joined the mass in his mouth, its sweet, fruity odor nearly strong enough to cover the stink of Kane’s bitter coffee.
Kane couldn’t do anything but nod. His lieutenant was right. Miki St. John was a hot mess. Unfortunately, he was all they had at the moment.
“He knew Shing.” Kane flipped through the file folder he’d gotten from Sanchez before his partner went into the interview room. “St. John’s got to be connected to this somehow. No one just randomly dumps a body into the front seat of a car, even if it’s owned by a rock star. There are better ways to say I love you.”
“I personally would have gone for chocolates or roses, but then again….” Casey shrugged his massive shoulders. “That’s something I’ve learned from my wife.”
“I spoke with the oldest son.” Kane refused the gum Casey offered him with a shake of his head. “He was wholly unhelpful. ‘Everyone loved Shing. No one had anything bad to say about him.’ Someone universally beloved doesn’t end up looking like he’s been run through a garlic press. Those kind of people die peacefully in their bed.”
“You and Sanchez are on this.” The smell of fruity gum got stronger when Casey leaned in toward him. “I watched a bit of you with the son. That’s a cold son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, Bradley Shing.” Kane made a face at his coffee. “He was too calm. He didn’t ask to see his dad. If it were me, I’d be tearing the place apart until I had proof. You saw him. It was like I was ordering up a bowl of soup. He didn’t give me anything to go on but a bad feeling.”
“Not everyone’s got Donal Morgan for a father,” The lieutenant reminded him. “You believe what the son was selling you? That no one hated his old man?”
“I haven’t spoken to anyone else yet, but Miki St. John seems to hate him,” Kane said, jerking his chin toward the interview room where his partner sat with the singer. “But he’s not talking about it. He could have had someone kill Shing for him, but my gut says the guy was really shocked when he saw Shing’s body in his car. We’ll have to check on his financials to be sure.”
“Find out what Shing and St. John had going on between them.” Casey popped his gum between his teeth. Kane’s partner was still trying to coax more than one-word responses out of the other man in the interview room, and the lieutenant grunted at Miki’s obstinacy. “That kid’s not giving anything up to Sanchez. He’s definitely hiding something.”
“I asked the family if we could take a look at Shing’s office to see if we could find something to point us to who killed him, but the son shut me down fast.” He crossed his arms and quirked a smile.
It was funny to see his smooth-talking partner being outfoxed by a pretty-faced, street-smart asshole for a change. Kel danced as hard as he could with St. John, alternating between sympathetic and nearly aggressive to wedge a crack into the young man’s steely façade. So far, Kel was failing miserably, and the corners of his mouth were tight, a barely noticeable sign of his growing impatience with the singer.
“Kel said something about St. John living over the restaurant.” Kane grabbed at the stray thought before it got away from him. “I want in that room and the office. Think we can get a warrant for a search?”
“It’ll be kind of rough,” Casey drawled. “The family just suffered a loss. Judges tend to frown on making the victim’s family go through shit like that.”
“There’s something there,” Kane said. “Wish I’d known about it before I let the son go. I’d have asked him just to see how he responded. If he hit on it, I’d have pushed harder.”
“St. John had to go through the lab stuff first,” the lieutenant reminded him. “So far, they don’t like him for anything. No blood on his clothes, and the team we left behind said nothing’s in the house but the dog. No blood or anything. Well, except for the spots Lau got on the kitchen floor when the dog bit him.”
“No one shot the dog, did they?” Kane turned and gave his boss a suspicious look.
“No, they tossed it in the bathroom with a water dish. The place came up clean.” Casey popped his gum again, and from the looks of things, Sanchez’s mouth was getting thinner by the minute. “Let me go see about securing a warrant for Shing’s place. We’ll let the rock star go. Have a uniform run him home with our apologies, but put a car on the place for a bit. If he did pay someone to off the guy, that someone’s going to come by.”
“Probably,” Kane agreed. “The car’s registered to him, but he doesn’t have a license. It was up on risers, so it wasn’t going anywhere. The lab said it’ll be a couple of weeks until they release it.”
“You better go save Sanchez before he blows,” Casey commented as a flush turned Kel’s face bright red. “That kid’s going to give him a heart attack if he stays in there much longer.”
“Deal,” he said. “Maybe I’ll take St. John home myself. God knows, I can’t do worse than Sanchez there.”
“Just don’t hit on him until after we clear him as a suspect.” Casey poked Kane in the chest, glaring at him warningly. “Can you promise me that? Or am I just pissing in the wind?”
“Something about him, Lieutenant,” he admitted. There was something about Miki St. John. The man had peppered his thoughts ever since he saw him shivering half-naked in the doorway of the warehouse, defending a dog he refused to admit owning. “He grabs at my gut.”
“That’s not your gut he’s grabbing, Kane. Those are your balls.” The man chuckled. “I saw the way you were looking at the boy. He’s trouble… trouble you don’t need, kid.”
Kane finished the rest of his coffee with a gulp and balled up the paper cup in his fist. Lobbing it toward the trash can, he made an open-mouthed hissing noise to mimic a crowd. He grinned at the man who taught him how to play basketball and said, “I’m a Morgan, sir. We always need trouble. It’s how we survive.”
HIS cop was waiting for Miki when he came out of the interrogation room. Miki wasn’t sure when the man became his cop, but that’s how he felt when he spotted the lanky, loose-hipped Irish man leaning against the wall. The detective had shed the leather jacket at some point, and the stretch of T-shirt across his wide chest made Miki wish his dick would respond with more than a tingling lift at the sight. An ancient pair of jeans, complete with frayed rips and bare spots on the man’s thighs, hugged the inspector’s long legs, but nothing the cop wore unmanned Miki as much as the man’s cocky, uneven smile.
“Hey.” The cop’s deep voice warmed Miki’s cold belly. He held up a blue SFPD T-shirt and a pair of black sweats. “Want to change out of that crap they gave you to wear?”
“You going to watch me get naked like that other cop did?” Miki growled, but he limped closer to take the clothes. Stiff from being in the cold cinder block room, his right knee began its familiar salsa of pain and throbbing.
“You offering?” Kane asked with a wider smile. It faded when Miki stared back with an uncomprehending look on his face. “You have no idea what you just said, do you?”
“Look, I just want to go home and get warm,” Miki replied. “I’ve got to feed the Dude.”
“Home’s off limits for now. Forensics isn’t done with the place yet. Might be another hour before the Lieutenant says you can head back, then. Your dog’s fine. They put him in the bathroom with some food and water.” He shrugged helplessly at Miki’s disgusted hiss. “I was thinking you probably needed some food in you. God knows I do. How about if we get something to eat?”
“I don’t have my wallet. You guys grabbed me before I could get it. I don’t have anything on me.”
“I’m buying,” the cop offered, falling in behind Miki.
Miki pressed his hand against the wall, using it for support as he limped toward the bathroom. “Fuck this shit. God, I hate cops.”
“Hey, I’m one of those cops.”
“You can cut the I’m-a-nice-guy shit out. I don’t know anything. I keep telling all of you that, but you’re not listening,” Miki said, wincing as the feeling started to come back into his leg.
“Mieko, stop.” Kane came up behind him. The whisper of breath on his neck brought Miki up short. He inhaled deeply, pulling in the rich scent of masculine skin with a hint of coffee and mint. “I’m just trying to help. Let me help you.”
The cold in Miki’s bones evaporated when Kane touched his arm. The thin cotton of his borrowed scrubs separated their skin, but the heat of Kane’s fingers burned through him. He wanted to lean back against Kane, to rest his head against the other man’s chest until the chill inside of him whispered away and he fell asleep, safe from the darkness that stalked him.
“Like that’s ever going to happen,” Miki muttered to himself. He pulled away, working the kinks out of his thigh with a shake of his leg. “Let me get changed, then I’ll figure out how to get home.”
“Easier if I take you,” the cop said. “There are reporters outside waiting for you to come out. Cops find dead body inside of rock star’s car. You’re a big story, you know. They’re outside the station like fleas. I’m parked in the inside garage. My car’s windows are tinted, and no one will know you’re inside. Go get changed, Mieko. I’ll wait for you out here, and we’ll grab something to eat before I take you home.”
Miki turned and stared up into Kane’s unwavering blue gaze. Discomforted, Miki looked away, blinking away the sting of tears in his eyes. Nodding, he started to move forward and sniffed as he reached the bathroom door. “Fine. Just stop calling me Mieko. That’s a girl’s name.”
FRAGILE wasn’t a word Kane would have associated with the young man who served him back his attitude a few days ago, but when Mieko St. John came out of the bathroom, he looked like he was made out of glass. Ghostly pale and dressed in Kane’s too-large T-shirt and the pair of sweats Kane swiped from his younger brother’s locker, the young man struggled to pull on the black hoodie he’d been given.
And looked as fragile and as dangerous as a million shards of broken glass as he did it.
A pair of socks was all the footwear Kane could find to protect Miki’s feet from the cold, and the man wore them like tabi with the flip-flops he’d been given. Miki fought with one sleeve, and Kane stepped in, grabbing the material bunched up around his elbow.
“What?” Miki narrowed his eyes. The menacing effect was lost under the swaddle of the hood as it fell over his forehead and smashed his hair into his face.
“Stop.” Kane grinned and resisted the urge to brush the hair from Miki’s eyes. He straightened the sleeve out and pulled it over the man’s arm. “Just let me help you. It’s not going to kill you.”
“Might one day,” he grumbled but let Kane adjust the hoodie on him.
“Yeah, well for right now, it’s not.”
Kane led Miki down the sterile hallway and into the enormous maze of cubicles and offices that housed the station’s Personal Crimes division. The bullpen vibrated with activity, but curious eyes followed their progress toward the far side of the room. One uniformed officer brought up a cell phone, and Kane narrowed his eyes at the man, warning him off with a shake of his head. A trail of murmurs followed them through the low-walled maze, a whispering tide rising and falling as Kane guided Miki.
When Kane turned his head, he could have sworn he heard Miki singing softly to himself, his hooded green eyes hazy from lack of focus. Touching his shoulder jerked Miki’s attention back to his surroundings, and he blinked, seemingly surprised to find himself in the middle of a police station.
The late afternoon chill had turned into a brisk, cold evening by the time they left the police station in Kane’s SUV. Dark tinted windows protected Miki from prying eyes as they drove past the front of the building, where a gaggle of cameras and equipment had been set up. Suited men and women were isolated into circles of bright lights, tiny theaters where they were the sole stars. Miki snorted as they drove past, pulling Kane’s attention from the road.
“What’s so funny?” Kane glanced at the pack, worried one of the reporters had spotted them, but the SUV eased by without anyone’s notice, lost in the stream of police cars coming in and out of the garage.
“They look like they’ve each got their own stage,” Miki replied. The line of his mouth softened, and his eyes took on a dreamy glaze. The green in his eyes shone through the gold, chopped emerald spun with topaz. “Must be why shit like that’s called a three-ring circus. They’re all little ringmasters looking for a stage and their own lion to tame.”
“Do you miss it?” Kane asked. “The stage? The screams of the crowd?”
“No.” The wistfulness of Miki’s smile evaporated. “And I don’t want to talk about… then.”
“Okay. How about something else, then?” The SUV came to a stop beneath a tree of red lights, and Kane bent forward, watching a family of tourists cross the street. “So, Dude, huh?”
“What?” Miki shifted in the seat, trying to get his leg as comfortable as he could. “Who?”
“Dude. You called the dog Dude.” Kane mulled. “Does he come when you call him that?”
“Yeah.”
“If he comes when you call him that, then that’s his name.” He chuckled. “If he’s got a name, and he comes when you call him, then that’s your dog. Just once, I’d like to hear you admit that is your damned dog.”
“He’s not my dog. He comes and goes when wants. One day, he’ll bail,” Miki murmured. “Then what?”
“Then you go look for him ’cause he’s yours,” Kane said. “And he should have a collar on it with his name and your number so the next idiot he suckers can save himself by calling you to come get him.”
“I call him a lot of things. Dude’s just the one I use the most. Sometimes, I call him Dipshit. He doesn’t seem to care so long as he’s got food in his bowl.” He shrugged off Kane’s laughter. “Names are shitty things, sometimes. Look at mine.”
“Why’d they name you Mieko if that’s a girl’s name? I’ve seen you without a shirt. Not much girl there.”
“Seen a lot of girls, then?” Miki’s mouth quirked when Kane laughed.
“I’ve got sisters. Even gay men sometimes see girl parts.”
“Some lady found me on the street and called the CPS. Had nothing on but diapers and this damned tattoo.” Shifting in his seat, Miki turned to face the window, leaving Kane to stare at the reflection of the man’s face in the glass. Miki’s breath steamed the window. “One of the cops said it meant Mieko. Found out later it doesn’t, but by then it was too late. Don’t know what it means, but it sure as shit isn’t Mieko.”
“What cop?” Kane swore as the car behind him honked, and he looked up, surprised to see the green light. Pulling forward, he let the sedan behind him swerve past. “Where?”
Miki shrugged. “I don’t know. Some guy that was there when Social Services got there.”
“No, I mean what did you mean; some lady found you?”
“She was taking the trash out or something, and I guess I was wandering around on the sidewalk.” He grunted as he shifted his legs. Kane didn’t miss the wince when Miki hit his leg on the SUV’s side panel. “So CPS came and took me.”
“How old were you?”
“I don’t know. Two? Maybe three?” Miki wrapped the hoodie tighter around his chest. “Not like they could cut me open and count the rings.”
“Shit,” Kane whispered under his breath. “And St. John? Was that the family that adopted you?”
“Street I was found on,” he replied softly. “I went into the system. No one wants someone else’s kids, dude. Especially not some fucked up mongrel kid with shitty undies and a tattoo. Trust me on that.”
“It’s not like that,” Kane objected. “Not everyone’s like that.”
“Yeah, they are,” Miki asserted. “Life might be a magic mushroom ride for some kids, but most of us live in the cow shit it grows in. You just have to do what you can, that’s all.”
“And you became a rock star.”
“No.” Even in the watery reflection of the glass, Kane could see Miki’s eyes tear up. “The other guys were the rock stars. I was just there when it happened to them.”
“I’ve got some of your stuff, you know. It’s good,” Kane said, softening his voice. “Even Kel says you’re a big deal.”
“Kel was that guy in the room with me?”
“Yep, that’s Kel. Kel Sanchez. He’s my partner.”
“Yeah, he’s an asshole,” Miki said, turning around to face Kane. “Where are we going?”
“Small Mexican food place I know. They’ve got some seating outside and heaters,” Kane said. “Give me a few minutes to get there. It’ll be fast.”
One thing Kane learned as he drove was that Miki St. John was never really quiet. The man hummed. Constantly. The snippets of song were barely audible, but they rose and fell without stopping. At times, whispers would slip in, melodic drops of words following some tune Miki had in his head. Sitting in Kane’s SUV and staring out the window at San Francisco, Miki St. John sang to himself, building a soundtrack for a life he seemed to live behind brick and glass with only a mutt to keep him company.
Kane turned the SUV into a parking lot next to a brightly painted faux-adobe building. Despite the late hour, the place was busy, and the smell of carnitas and carne asada permeated the air. Kane got out first and waited as Miki grabbed at the passenger side door to maintain his balance.
The stiffness in the younger man’s knee was obvious, and it clicked loudly when he took his first step. It was difficult not to reach for Miki. Even when he stumbled, Kane was held back by the piercing glare Miki gave him. Beyond the stubbornness and pride in the man’s set mouth and hazel stare, Kane still saw the pain and hurt Miki fought to hide. The brittleness he’d hoped to coax from Miki was back, his spirit as tenuous as a pane of thin glass riddled with spiderweb cracks.
“You warm enough?” Kane asked.
Miki nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“You can talk to someone, you know,” Kane said softly. He gave in to the temptation to touch Miki, and his fingers glided over the man’s shoulder blades, rubbing at the jut of bone he found hidden under the thick fleece. “About Shing, I mean. I can help you find someone to talk with. Someone discreet and private. We… the police… don’t need to know what you spoke about, but it might… help you heal, Miki. I can tell there’s something there you need to heal from.”
“I… can’t. I won’t.” Miki stopped walking, and Kane wondered if the young man would pull away from him, but instead, Miki leaned back, resting his slight weight against the flat of Kane’s hand. “Not about Shing. I’d sooner talk to you about the band, and I think we both know that’s not going to happen any time soon.”
“Okay, no rush.” Kane led Miki to an empty wooden picnic table. “Have a seat. What do you want to eat?”
“Tacos? A burrito?” Miki eased onto the seat and stretched his leg out. “No beans. I don’t like beans.”
Kane strolled up to the counter and placed a hefty order of carne asada burritos and quesadillas. Leaning on the tiled shelf, he watched Miki as he scanned the crowd. The singer kept his head down, with his face nearly buried in the fleece hood.
“Salsa? Spicy carrots?” the young woman behind the counter asked. Kane nodded and grinned at sight of the red peppers poking out amid the carrot and onion chunks.
He carried the overloaded tray back to the table. “The carrots look deadly tonight. Don’t choke on one. I come here a lot. Don’t embarrass me.”
“Are you talking to me or yourself?” Miki lowered the hood, exposing his face.
“You,” Kane replied, setting a burrito and a quesadilla in front of Miki. “Horchata okay? I should have asked. I can grab something else if you want.”
“No, it’s good,” Miki said, taking a sip of the cold spiced rice milk.
“You eat meat, right?” Kane glanced up and caught the smirk on Miki’s face. “Yeah, okay. Right now, I’m going to assume that’s a yes.”
Miki picked at his food at first. Then Kane nudged his foot under the table and nodded at the burrito. A few tentative nibbles, then Miki dug in. Chewing around his mouthful, he said, “It’s good. How’s yours?”
“Not as good as what’s across the table, but it’ll do.” Kane smiled as innocently as he could as Miki choked. “Don’t die on me just yet. I’ve got plans for you later. Especially teaching you a thing or two about dogs.”