“He says, ‘Work it, honey.’” Tennyson burst out laughing again.
Ronan looked like he didn’t know what to do with that statement. “You’re gonna get me in trouble, kid.”
Ten laughed. “I think that’s what he’s counting on.”
14
Ronan
Before Ronan got out of the car, he took off his tie and undid two extra buttons on his blue button-down. He ran a hand through his styled dirty-blond hair to mess it up a bit. Tennyson had laughed at him, but he had swagger, he just wasn’t used to breaking it out very often.
“So, this is the Boston Common?” Tennyson glanced around at the oldest public park in the United States. The trees were just coming into bud and birds were flitting around with nesting materials in their beaks.
“Yeah, guess I’m not much of a tour guide. Over there is the Frog Pond.” Ronan pointed to a cute little body of water. “There’s ice skating on it around Christmastime. Part of the Freedom Trail cuts through here too.”
“There’s so much of Boston I haven’t seen.” Tennyson sounded wistful.
“Maybe after this case is over we can find some time to remedy that?” Ronan directed Tennyson down one of the paths. He could see the statue through the tall trees. “There it is.”
There was a group of four young men milling around the soaring monolith. They looked about Justin’s age. Ronan hoped it really was going to be this easy to find Keegan and the rest of Justin’s friends.
“Their names are Mark, Jefferson, Brody, and Keegan is the redhead,” Tennyson supplied.
“How the hell did Justin manage to tell you all of that?” Ronan was stunned.
“He showed me pictures of Luke Skywalker, who is played by Mark Hamill, Thomas Jefferson, and the cop from Jaws. That only left Keegan, so I figured he was the redhead.”
“Okay, what’s our play here?” Ronan felt uncertain. He wasn’t used to dealing with teenagers on the whole and certainly not ones with the potential of being material witnesses in the hunt for a killer.
“Seriously?” Tennyson walked away, leaving Ronan staring after him. “Aren’t you delish,” Tennyson said to the redhead.
Ronan bit his lip and followed after the psychic. The other boys had started to gather around Ten. They were checking him out and smacking their lips.
“It’s extra if your Daddy wants to watch.” The taller, blond boy added, point to Ronan.
“I wouldn’t mind taking Daddy out for a spin.” The brunette ran a hand through Ronan’s hair. “I bet the old man still has some spunk left in him.”
“Me first, Brody. You know Daddies are my thing.” The smallest boy grinned.
“Yeah, that’s ‘cause you’re hoping one of them will take you away like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.”
“It’s more likely you’ll end up like Justin,” the redhead said.
Ronan exchanged a glance with Tennyson. “You boys know Justin?”
“What are you guys? Fucking cops?” The redhead went to make a break for it, but Ronan was faster, grabbing his wrist and holding on.
“No! Wait! We’re not looking to bust you. We’re investigating Justin’s murder,” Ronan said in a pleading tone. If the boys ran off now, they wouldn’t get another chance to question them.
“Murder? You mean he’s dead?” The blond boy moved closer.
“Are you Keegan?” Tennyson asked the redhead, who was still struggling to break away from Ronan.
The teenager nodded, yanking his arm away from Ronan’s grip. “Justin was my best friend.”
“That’s why we’re looking for you. You’re the one who reported him missing, right?” Ronan asked.
“Yeah, but no one was interested in looking for him. The cop I spoke to barely took the missing person’s report. What makes the two of you different?” Keegan looked both of them up and down.
“First off, I’m not a cop,” Tennyson admitted. “I’m a psychic.”
“A psychic?” Brody asked, his lips curling into a sneer. “What? You mean like you read a crystal ball?”
Tennyson laughed. “No, but I have a friend who does that. I talk to dead people.”
“Like that kid in that movie, Sixth Sense?” Jefferson looked dubious at best.
“I know it’s hard to believe. Justin’s been visiting me. He told me that he was murdered and asked me to find the man that killed him. He’s the one who led us to you all here today.”
“If you can speak to Justin, why can’t he just tell you who killed him?” Keegan folded his arms across his chest.
“It isn’t always that easy.” Tennyson took a deep breath. “Justin might not have known his killer’s real name and when there’s trauma, it affects memory.”
The boys looked at each other in alarm.
“Look guys we’re not trying to scare you here. We want to find the asshole who killed your friend and keep you all safe at the same time.” Ronan tried to keep his tone light, but at the same he was trying to get as much information from these kids as possible.
Keegan looked at each of his friends, as if he were silently communicating with each of them. Each boy nodded. “There’s something you need to know. Justin isn’t the only one of us who’s gone missing.”
“There are more.” Brody added.
“How many more?” Ronan asked in alarm. He was trying not to let panic get the best of him.
“At least ten that we know of,” Jefferson said, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Jesus Christ… At the bare minimum ten teenaged boys had gone missing. Why was no one raising a human cry about this? That was bad enough, but a more chilling thought occurred to Ronan.
Was a serial killer at work here in Boston targeting young male prostitutes?
15
Tennyson
It was a subdued lunch at a local Mexican chain restaurant. The boys ate like bottomless pits while Ronan pushed food around on his plate. Tennyson gave his foot a nudge under the table. “Eat a little, huh. You’re gonna need your strength.”
“Ooohh!” Brody grinned from Tennyson’s right. “Are you two, like, a couple or something?”
“We’re better than that.” Ronan grinned. “We’re partners.”
“Isn’t it, uh, like sexual harassment, or something, to be fucking a guy you work with?” Jefferson asked.
“The heart wants what the heart wants,” Mark sighed dreamily.
“Guys, cut the shit!” Keegan angry-whispered. “Justin is dead. Others are missing and are probably dead too. Show some God-damned respect.” He shoveled another bite of burrito into his mouth.
“Keegan, do you know who the friends are of these other guys who’ve gone missing?” Ronan asked carefully.
The teenager shook his head no. “They won’t talk to you. Been busted by the cops too many times to trust you.”
“Even when it comes to finding out who hurt their friends?” Ronan asked, with obvious disbelief.
“What about me? Would those boys talk to me?” Ten asked gently.
“Maybe if you did your psychic thing.” Keegan shrugged. “But you’d have to find them first. The only way I know of is through their Back Page profiles or ads on RentBoy.com.”
Ronan shook his head. “No! You’re not answering Back Page ads.”
The boys exchanged wordless looks with each other and started grinning.
“It’s not up to you to worry about how we find the others.” It was up to Tennyson to worry. He wasn’t about to let Ronan stop him for looking for these kids on the internet either.
“I can see the wheels turning, Ten. What’s on your mind?” Ronan asked.
“There’s someone who might be able to help us speak to other victims...” Ten said carefully.
“Speak to other victims?” Ronan opened his mouth like he was going to ask another question, but then shut it with an audible click.
“What, like you have your own Psychic Friends Network?” Keegan asked.
“Something like that.” Tennyson grinned. “Aren’t you a little young to know about that?”
“Please.” Keegan threw a hand up in the air. “Before Whitney and Mariah, Dionne Warwick was the Queen of Pop.”
Ten bit his tongue to keep from laughing out loud. Keegan’s friends all groaned as if they’d all heard Keegan’s argument before.
“You’re talking about Bertha Craig, right?” Ronan asked quietly.
Tennyson nodded.
“You really think she can help with this situation? I mean she knew Michael Frye’s name but with this...” Ronan shook his head like Tennyson would be asking the impossible.
Five-year-old Michael Frye had been reticent to talk about what happened to him at his killer’s hands. Carson’s deceased mother had been able to find and comfort the small boy on the other side. Thanks to her compassion, Michael had felt comfortable enough to open up to Tennyson and tell the story of what happened to him on his last, awful night on earth. Asking Bertha to round up a bunch of teenagers killed at the hands of a possible serial killer would be a tall order. Not knowing their names would make the task that much harder.
“Maybe.” Ten turned back to the boys. “Do you think the others would have reported their friends missing like you did with Justin?”
The boys exchanged glances, but stayed silent.
“Come on, guys. Keeping secrets now does no one any good here.” Ronan sounded frustrated.
“Look, man, those guys are our competition. It’s not like they’re our friends. We hear enough through the grapevine to know that some of them have gone missing,” Jefferson said.
“And not because of the Julia Roberts effect.” Keegan rolled his eyes.
Tennyson looked the boys over. None of them were much older than seventeen at the most. “Before you ended up on the streets, did you have dreams or goals for your lives? No bullshitting.” Ten looked each of the boys in the eyes.
“No bullshit?” Mark asked. “Fine, I wanted to be a writer like that Rod Jacobson guy.”
Tennyson didn’t recognize that name. From the look on Ronan’s face, neither did he. “Who’s that?”
“He writes human interest pieces for the Boston Globe. Did a piece last year all about street kids. He volunteers at soup kitchens. Even spent nights on the streets to see what life was like for us. He used the article as a platform for coming out and talked about how he could have been one of us but for the love of his parents.” Mark sunk his chin into the cup of his hands and sighed.
“Okay, pretty woman, we get it.” Keegan rolled his eyes.
“Well, what about you?” Ronan asked, turning to Keegan.
“I wanted to be a cop, but you can’t be no cop when you been busted for sucking dick behind the Walgreens for twenty bucks.”
Tennyson’s heart broke for the boy. If not for his gift of being able to speak to the dead, he could have ended up on the street just like these boys, selling his mouth for a cheeseburger.
Ronan nudged the boy’s shoulder with his own. “You might not be able to be a police officer, but you could be something better. You could be an outreach counsellor who helps young men like yourself get off the street and into a GED program or job training.”
“That’s a real job?” Keegan looked doubtful.
Ronan nodded. “It is. Our vice unit works with several outreach clinics all over the city.”
Keegan seemed to be thinking that over.
“What about you, Jefferson?” Ten asked.
The boy shrugged. “I never finished high school.”
“We can help with that,” Tennyson said with a grin.
“We can?” Ronan looked stunned.
“We know a couple of do-gooding empty-nesters...” Ten’s smile was a million watts and a mile wide.
Ronan snorted. “What? You mean Tony and Carlie Abruzzi?”
Tony was Ronan’s old partner when they both worked homicide. After Tony had been accused of murder last year, he’d been reassigned to the vice squad. Their youngest son, Vinnie, had been accepted to UNH for the fall semester and was spending his time since graduation working at a summer camp up in the White Mountains.
“They were talking a few weeks ago about becoming foster parents…” Tennyson trailed off, hoping Ronan would pick up his train of thought.
“Yeah, that was after they met Carson and Truman’s babies. Everyone’s baby crazy after they hold newborns.”
Tennyson raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You weren’t baby crazy after we met the triplets.”
“You don’t know that.” Ronan shook his head. He looked like he was trying hard not to smile. “Anyway, do you know how hard it is to get baby barf out of a suit jacket?
“Probably just as hard as it is to get come out.” Mark said matter-of-factly. “You don’t want to end up being the next Monica Lewinsky.”
The boys started to laugh. Tennyson prayed his little plan would work.
16
Ronan
Three hours later, Ronan still couldn’t believe Tennyson’s crazy idea worked. Tony and Carlie had agreed to take in Keegan, Jefferson, Brody, and Mark. With almost no argument. Their two conditions were that all four boys retire from selling themselves and no drugs. The boys had all agreed.
There was going to be a hearing in the morning at Suffolk County Family Court to have the Abruzzis declared the boys’ legal guardians, but after that, Tony and Carlie would be legally responsible for all four former rent boys.
Before Ronan and Tennyson had dropped them off, they’d gone to the local supermarket and let the boys pick out their favorite snacks. Ronan had stocked up on pasta, meats, and fresh veggies, while Tennyson filled a cart with items he thought of as necessities: notebooks and colorful pens, art supplies, warm throws, and enough chocolate to open up their own store. They’d also both bought Carlie wine.
“Where are we headed now?” Tennyson asked on a yawn, after they’d dropped off their charges.
It had been a long day. Ronan felt his own ass dragging too. “Back to the precinct. I need to find out how many other boys have been reported missing and we need to run a full report of teenaged John Doe bodies found in Massachusetts. We need something to go to Bertha with.”
“You’re thinking serial killer, aren’t you?” Tennyson asked.
Ronan hadn’t wanted to say anything out loud until he had the facts in hand, but knew he could trust Ten with his hypothesis. “Yeah.”
“How does something like this go unnoticed?” Tennyson sounded stunned.
“It happens more often than you think.” Ronan shook his head. “Especially with a throw away population like street kids and if the bodies are found in different towns that are in different counties.”
Tennyson half-growled. “You mean a population of people that no one is going to miss immediately if they go missing?”
“Right,” Ronan agreed. “I don’t mean throw-away people. But if a five-year-old white child goes missing, the alarm instantly goes up.”
“But if a sixteen-year-old runaway living on the streets of Boston vanishes, who’s going to raise a fuss about him?”
“Serial killers are smart, Ten. They know how to target their victims.” Men like John Wayne Gacy and Jeffrey Dahmer spent years learning how to hunt victims like deer hunters and fishermen learn how to find the best places to look for their game.”
“They’re predators, like lions, picking off the weakest wildebeest in the herd.” Ten shook his head in obvious disgust.
“Learn that from the Lion King, did you?” Ronan said with a snicker.
“The circle of life is a cruel motherfucker,” Tennyson said angrily.
Ronan reached out to set a hand on Tennyson’s thigh. “I know how hard this is for you. But for your gift, you could have ended up on the street too.”
Ten sucked in a rough breath. “I was thinking that at lunch when we were listening to the boys talk about their dreams. You heard what bright, engaging young men they are, Ronan. I just don’t understand how their parents could have just thrown them away.”
“I’m with you. They’re going to get a second chance now with Tony and Carlie if they’re smart enough to take it.”
“I think they are smart enough, don’t you?”
“I sure hope so, but living on the street can change you. I’m sure those boys have lived through things you can’t even imagine.”
“They’ve all been raped, beaten, mugged, demoralized, held at gun-point.” Ten clutched at Ronan’s hand. “Should I go on, because there’s more.”
“You read them?” Ronan was shocked. It was one of Tennyson’s hard and fast rules to never read anyone without their permission.
“We were bringing three strangers into your best friends’ home. I wanted them to know what they were getting into. I took notes on each boy and slipped them to Carlie.”
“Jesus Christ, Ten.” Ronan couldn’t believe his ears.
“I want those boys to succeed. If they need counseling or medical intervention...” Ten trailed off.
Ronan nodded. He knew exactly where Tennyson was headed with his line of thought. If he hadn’t been forthcoming with what was still upsetting him so much about Josh, there was no way four street-smart boys were going to confess the ways they’d been brutalized on the streets or possibly been exposed to HIV or Hepatitis. “You’re one in a million. You know that?”
“Thank Christ! Imagine what life would be like if everyone were like me?” Tennyson shot Ronan a wink.
Twenty minutes later, Ronan and Tennyson were walking back into the squad room. It was blessedly empty at this time of night, although Ronan couldn’t help noticing the light was still on in Captain Fitzgibbon’s office.
He knew once he ran his reports and had a bit more data, he was going to have to let his captain in on his little theory.
Tennyson took his usual seat in front of Ronan’s desk while Ronan got to work. It didn’t take long for his worst fears to be confirmed. “Sweet Jesus,” Ronan muttered.
“How bad is it?” Concern lit Tennyson’s dark eyes.
“Bad. Come on, let’s go see the cap.” Ronan went to the printer to get his results and walked slowly to Captain Kevin Fitzgibbon’s office.
Ronan had only been working for his captain for five months now, but knew the man had his back, both professionally and personally.
“O’Mara, burning the candle at both ends, I see.” Captain Fitzgibbon smiled at him.
“Yes, sir. Tennyson and I have something we need to talk to you about.”
The captain nodded. “I had a feeling this wasn’t a personal visit. Shut the door.”
Ronan did what the captain asked and took a seat in front of his desk next to Tennyson. “Why don’t you start us off.”
“I should have known you were at the root of this.” The captain offered Tennyson a welcoming smile.
“I’ve been having visitations from this spirit who’s having a hard time communicating. He was finally able to tell me his name and that he was murdered. He asked me to find his murderer, Captain Fitzgibbon. In all my years of talking to the dead, this is the first time that has ever happened to me.”
“Christ, let’s hope it’s the last time too.” Fitzgibbon turned to Ronan. “So, I’m guessing this is where you come in.”
Ronan grimaced. “This was the case you gave me permission to go off books to investigate. The boy in question was reported missing in Boston and his body was found in Newburyport. We have a positive DNA match on him. Tennyson and I spent the morning interviewing his friends who told us that other young men in their profession have been going missing.”
“You mean these teenage boys are prostitutes?” Fitzgibbon sighed. “How many boys are we talking about here?”
“I’ve got eleven missing persons reports filed in Boston alone that match the age group of the boys and twenty-six John Doe corpses in various morgues all over Massachusetts, Northern Rhode Island and Southern New Hampshire.” Reading the statistics out loud made Ronan shiver.
“Jesus Christ,” Fitzgibbon muttered. “You’re thinking serial killer.”
“I am, sir. Granted, there could be more victims that haven’t been reported missing, or ones that have in other cities. There could also be bodies that we haven’t found yet…” Ronan ran his hands through his hair.
“I’m assuming this is where you come back into the picture?” Fitzgibbon pointed to Tennyson.
“I’m hoping so, sir,” Tennyson said gently,
“You hope so? I don’t understand.” The captain looked back and forth between Ronan and Tennyson.
“When you channel spirits it’s helpful to have some kind of anchor that attracts the person you’re wanting to speak with,” Tennyson started. “It’s like offering sunflower seeds if you looking to attract cardinals to your backyard.”
“Cardinals?” Fitzgibbon sounded dumbfounded.
“What Tennyson is trying to say, sir, is that it’s easy for him to connect with my mother because I’m the lightning rod drawing her spirit to me. Without a similar kind of conductor, it’s harder to attract the spirit you’re hoping to connect with.”
Fitzgibbon nodded. “Ah, so, if I wanted to speak to Jayne Mansfield, you wouldn’t be able to whip up her spirit for me to chat with?”
“Exactly, but it would be a piece of cake to be able to channel her for her daughter,” Ronan added.
“I assume you have a plan for contacting these other possible victims?” Fitzgibbon turned back to Tennyson.
“We do, sir,” Ronan was quick to say.
“What about connecting these missing persons cases to actual victims?” Fitzgibbon sounded impressed so far.
“That’s going to take more good old-fashioned police work. Knocking on doors and talking to families of missing kids. Getting more DNA samples…” Christ, Ronan wasn’t cut out for that shit. Dealing with one set of uninterested parents had nearly been enough to send him over the edge. Not to mention what it had done to Tennyson.
Captain Fitzgibbon held up a hand. “Why don’t the two of you stick to identifying and speaking to the possible victims and we’ll get members of missing persons to speak with the parents.”
Ronan smirked at Tennyson. “Did the, um, Wilsons call you?”
The captain mirrored Ronan’s smirk. “No, Ronan, I got some of Tennyson’s psychic powers through, what did you call it?” He paused for a second. “Ah, transference. Look, I get how sensitive you both are to asshole parents kicking their gay teenaged son out of their house and onto the street, but you were both there to make a death notification, not to stand on your soapbox and preach. Even if you were both right.”
Tennyson shot Ronan a confused look. “You’re not going to reprimand us?”
Fitzgibbon raised an eyebrow at the psychic. “Bad psychic, no more soapboxes. There. You’ve been reprimanded. Now get out of my office and find this bastard before he can hurt anymore teenagers.”
Ronan and Tennyson both stood up to leave. Ronan knew they’d both dodged a bullet by the captain letting them off so easy for the way they’d treated Cliff and Gloria Wilson.
“Oh, and Ronan?” The captain called out.
Shit, they’d almost been home free. “Yes, sir?” He turned around crossing his fingers that the hammer wasn’t about to fall.
“I heard through the grapevine that you and Ten managed to find a home for the Wilson boy’s friends.”
“Yes, sir, they’ll be staying with the Abruzzis.”
Fitzgibbon nodded and looked to be thinking something over. “You think any more of those boys might need a good home?”
It was Ronan’s first instinct to burst out laughing. Kevin Fitzgibbon was married to his job. He was in the office before Ronan and stayed long after midnight. Maybe that was because the man had nothing, or more specifically, no one to go home to. “I bet they all do, cap.”
The captain made a humming noise and turned his attention back to his work.
17
Tennyson
After a quick stop to grab salads, Ronan brought Tennyson home with him. Ten couldn’t believe he was back here with Ronan agreeing to spend the night.
He could have gotten into his car and made the forty-minute ride back to Salem, putting him home sometime past midnight, but staying here was the safer option. In terms of not falling asleep at the wheel. It definitely was not the safer option when it came to his unsteady heart.
Ronan was still Ronan. Just because they were working together again like a well-oiled machine didn’t mean the things that had broken them up a few weeks ago had magically disappeared. Now that they were home and Ronan’s brain had switched off from the case, Ten could see his old worries creeping back in again. To coin a phrase, Ronan looked haunted.
So that he didn’t have time to study that look, Ten started unpacking the food bag. He set Ronan’s grilled chicken Caesar at his spot at the table and grabbed his Greek with extra feta. He passed out the homemade pita bread and managed to figure out which dressing went with which salad. Finally, he grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge.
“You look right at home.” Ronan took a seat and pried the plastic lid off his salad.
“It’s only been two weeks. I figured you still kept the water in the refrigerator,” Ten deadpanned.
“Yeah, right.” Ronan dumped his dressing over his salad and mixed it in looking thoughtful. “Do you really think Bertha Craig can help us?”
Before they’d left the precinct, Ten had Ronan email their list of missing teenagers to Carson so that he’d be able to let his mother know who to look out for on the other side. Carson had done something similar a few months ago with Michael Frye, but that was a simpler task, looking for one spirit, as opposed to looking for dozens.
“If anyone can help us, it’s Bertha,” Tennyson confirmed before digging into his dinner.
“Are you sleeping with me or out here alone on the couch?” Ronan asked out of the blue a few minutes later.
Tennyson choked on his salad. The tangy vinegar in the Greek dressing went down wrong and he started to cough.
Ronan got up from his seat and started whacking Tennyson’s back. “You okay?”
Tennyson had seen the sexy smirk on Ronan’s face while his former lover stalked over to him like he was the injured wildebeest and Ronan was the hungry lion. “Peachy keen,” Tennyson managed when he could finally suck in a lungful of air. “We were talking about dead kids then all of sudden you flipped the script.”
“I thought you liked it when I was unpredictable.” Ronan raised a skeptical eyebrow, as if he were wondering if Tennyson had been straight with him when he’d confessed how much Ronan’s unpredictability turned him on.
Ten loved it when Ronan was unpredictable, especially in the bedroom. One minute they could be going at missionary and then before Tennyson could say, “Sweet Georgia Brown,” Ronan was flipping him over and doing him doggie.
“Ten?” Ronan’s voice was tinged with amusement.
“Hmm?” Shit, Ronan had caught him lost in his own memories. What the hell were they talking about? Oh yeah, unpredictability. “Yes, I like it when you’re unpredictable. Do you think we should sleep together? I mean…”
“Afraid I’ll ravage you in your sleep, princess?” Ronan’s devilish grin was back.
Actually, Ten was afraid he’d be the one not able to keep his hands to himself. “Of course not.” Tennyson rolled his eyes. “You know I didn’t want to end our relationship. I was just worried about you. About how Josh’s confession was affecting you and our day-to-day lives as a couple.”
Ronan nodded. “I don’t want that piece of shit to ruin…us. To ruin what we were building together.”
“Neither do I.”
Ronan stood up from his seat again, wiping his mouth on a paper napkin. “But here’s the deal, Ten, we are hip deep in the Justin Wilson case. It’s becoming more apparent that he isn’t the only victim of the man who killed him. As much as I want to fix whatever it is that Josh broke inside of me, I can’t take the time away from Justin and those other boys to do that right now. Please tell me that you understand that for what it is and not just as another excuse.” Ronan pulled Ten out of his seat and cupped the sides of his face in his big hands.
God help him, Ten did see that. He agreed that helping these homeless boys was so much more important than whatever was going on between him and Ronan, but having said that, was it worth putting his heart on the line again now to be with the same old Ronan?
Oh, fuck yeah! Without wasting another second, Tennyson reached up on tiptoe to kiss Ronan. He felt those large hands tighten on his face and heard the cop moan against his lips.
“Jesus, Ten. I missed this. Missed you.” Ronan scooped him up in his arms and carried him toward the bedroom.
Ten kissed and licked the salty skin of Ronan’s neck. He’d missed this too. Not just the sex, but the physical closeness.
Bouncing when Ronan plopped him down on the bed, Tennyson watched spellbound while Ronan stripped out of his clothes. First to go was his blue button-down. It seemed like days ago when he’d taken off his tie in the car and undone a few buttons so his outfit wouldn’t scream “detective” when they went to approach Justin’s friends.
Next to go was Ronan’s wife beater, putting miles of golden skin on display. Tennyson licked his lips.
“Like what you see?” Ronan waggled his eyebrows.
All Tennyson could do was nod. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth he’d end up drooling all over himself.
Ronan went for the button on his pants and then the zipper. Moments later, he was kicking out of his underwear and fisting his cock.
Tennyson groaned. His own cock was just as hard as Ronan’s and digging into the rough material of his jeans.
“It’s gonna be hard to fuck you if you’re still dressed, Nostradamus.” Ronan’s voice was low and full of gravel.
The tone of his lover’s voice almost made him come in his pants. Shit, did he even know how to take his own clothes off? Shaking his head, Ten willed his hands to work. He managed to get his plaid shirt up toward his head, but couldn’t get it off.
Ronan snickered. “Here, let me help. You forgot to undo the top button.”
Moments later, Ten was free. The cool air of the bedroom felt nice against his skin which felt like it was on fire.
Ronan ran his right hand down Tennyson’s chest and stomach. He grabbed the waistband of Tennyson’s jeans and worked the button and zipper before roughly jerking the denim down his legs and off.
“Think you can handle the rest?” Ronan was smirking.
Could he? Tennyson pushed at his boxer briefs, but couldn’t seem to get them past his dick. Fuck, he was useless. All he could think about was getting Ronan’s beautiful cock into one of his holes, mouth, ass, it didn’t matter so long as it was fucking him, now.
“Poor thing,” Ronan tisked his tongue and moved to untangle Ten’s boxers from his dick.
“Thank Christ. Fuck me. Now!” Ten panted. He wrapped his hand around his cock, giving it a few quick pumps. The friction of his hand took away some of his immediate need to come, but knew the relief wasn’t going to last long.
“Impatient, huh?” Ronan dug through his nightstand draw for the lube.
“Two weeks without you feels like forever.”
Ronan climbed up on the bed, kneeling between Tennyson’s legs. “You have no idea how much I missed you, babe.”
Tennyson had a feeling he knew all too well. There were periods of all-out longing punctuated by guilt and grief over having been the one who pushed Ronan away. None of that mattered now. Tennyson was back in Ronan’s bed where he belonged and if Ronan would stop talking and start lubing is cock, they could get on with it. “Less talk. More lube.”
“I’ve never seen you this needy before.” Ronan grinned, but thankfully obeyed. He slicked his cock up and smeared the rest against Tennyson’s most sensitive skin. Instead of taking the time to prepare Ten for his invasion, he rubbed the blunt head of his dick against Tennyson’s twitching hole. “Is this what you want?”
“God, Ronan. Fuck, yes!” Tennyson moaned and tried to scoot forward to impale himself on Ronan’s shaft.
Ronan’s eyes darkened. He set his hands on Tennyson’s hips to hold his squirming lover in place. “You been using your toys while we’ve been apart?”
Tennyson bit his bottom lip and nodded. Tennyson had a toy or two when he and Ronan had first met. During their time together, Ronan had added to Ten’s collection of playthings.
Ronan pushed ahead slowly, his eyes seemed to be studying Tennyson’s for any signs of distress.
Ten cried out when Ronan pushed through the tight ring of muscle. He’d practiced this on himself half a dozen times since he and Ronan had been apart, but it had never felt like this before. So real, so right. “Ronan…” Ten whispered. “Fucking God, Ronan.”
“I know, babe. I feel it too.” Ronan kept pushing forward with steady force until he’d bottomed out. He rested his forehead against Tennyson’s and took a few deep breaths. “I need a minute or I’m gonna come on the spot. You’re so damn tight.”
Tennyson snorted. He used this time to touch every inch of Ronan’s skin that he could reach. He pressed kisses to the puckered skin marking the gunshot on Ronan’s shoulder, courtesy of Manuel Garcia last summer. His hands moved over the hard planes of Ronan’s back, his finger sliding past the twin puckered exit wound, and down past the smoother skin until he reached Ronan’s rock-hard ass.
Ronan pulled back and kissed Ten. “You ready?”
“Always.”
Ronan shifted his hips to the side and slid backward before rocking his hips forward again. Both men moaned in concert. “Fuck, Ten. I missed this.”
Tennyson knew Ronan meant the sex, but his whimsical mind chose to think he meant the way their souls were joined as one just as their bodies were. “Harder,” Ten pleaded.
“Bossy bastard, but you read my mind.” Ronan kissed Ten hard and tightened his hold on his lover’s hips. He set a pounding pace, readjusting his hips until Tennyson cried out in pleasure.
“Fuck, Ronan, I’m close.” Tennyson gripped Ronan’s ass tighter.
“Me too, babe. Let go and come for me. I’m with you.” He moved his right hand from Ten’s hip to wrap around his cock, jacking him off as his hips continued to move at the same pace.
“Ronan,” Tennyson gasped. He kept his eyes open when his cock jerked in Ronan’s fist. He could feel the instant when Ronan’s dick pulsed deep inside of him.
“Oh, God, Ten,” Ronan moaned. Resting his face in the crook of his lover’s neck.
Ten thought he could feel wetness hitting his neck, and had a feeling it wasn’t Ronan’s sweat. He wrapped his arms around Ronan and held him tight. This was an emotional night for him too, being back here in Ronan’s bed, in his lover’s arms. If his big, burly cop got a bit emotional about their reunion, so much the better. It was Ronan’s anger that had driven them apart in the first place. Maybe this really was a new beginning for them.
18
Ronan
The Tennyson and Ronan reunion tour hadn’t ended until the wee hours of the morning. Ronan had to admit that even though he was tired, he felt absolutely exhilarated, almost like he was twenty years old again.
His barking knees and sore dick attested to the fact that he was indeed thirty years old, but he felt twenty and that’s all that mattered.
Today was going to be a rough day. They were scheduled to meet with Vann Hoffman, the medical examiner who’d done the second autopsy on Justin Wilson and Tennyson always had a hard time seeing dead bodies. Ronan was going to need all the pep in step he could get.
“Thank goodness I left some clothes here, huh?” Tennyson walked out of the bathroom freshly shaved and showered.
They’d slept blissfully naked last night, but if Tennyson hadn’t left clothes at Ronan’s apartment, he would have been stuck wearing yesterday’s clothes. The only alternative would have been to wear one of Ronan’s too-big shirts. Everyone would have known where Ten had spent the night then. Not that Ronan would have minded one bit.
Every time Vann saw Tennyson, he made it very clear he’d like to throw Ten over his shoulder and carry him off like some damn caveman. Tennyson, for his part, giggled like some teenage girl getting hit on by Harry Styles.
Ronan looked up from the list of names he was studying at the kitchen table. “You look great, Ten.”
A faint blush streaked across Tennyson’s cheeks. “You’re just saying that because you fucked me silly last night.”
“And most of this morning too.” Ronan got up from the table to kiss Ten good morning. “It’s true, babe. You’re gorgeous and you know it. Vann Hoffman knows it too.” Ronan wrapped Ten in a big hug.
“Oh! So that’s what this is about. You’re trying to rub your scent on me, so Vann knows I’m yours.” Ten wiggled weakly in Ronan’s arms.
“That’s it, struggle a bit, so more of my aftershave gets on your clothes.” Ronan laughed.
“As if I’d go out with him. I’m having a hard enough time with just you. What the hell would I do with two men?” Ten rolled his eyes.
Ronan raised an eyebrow. “You disappoint me, Ten. Uh, how about the doggie style-blow job? Or the daisy chain?”
Ten choked. “What? You mean a three-way?”
Ronan bent double laughing.
“Only if I could be the meat in that man sandwich.” Ten laughed along with Ronan.
Over my dead body… But so long as Ten’s mind was off the idea that they were going to hear the autopsy report of a dead seventeen-year-old boy, he’d take the laughter.
An hour later, they were walking down the corridor to the morgue. Ronan always felt naked without his gun. He had to turn it in to the Suffolk County Deputy manning the metal detector upstairs.
Tennyson was quiet and fidgety beside him, which Ronan hated more than being without his gun. He felt less able to protect Tennyson in case of trouble, which he wasn’t expecting at the morgue, but still, he hated not being able to comfort Ten.
“God, I hate this.” Ten shivered, wrapping his arms around himself.
Ronan raise an eyebrow. “Think about how the people feel who end up on Vann’s table.”
“Good point. I’ll shut up now.” Ten straightened his spine and took a deep breath.
Ronan opened the door and said a silent prayer hoping that Vann had some evidence that would help them find the depraved bastard who did this to Justin.
“Have either one of you ever heard of Broughan Beals?” Doctor Vann Hoffman asked as Ronan and Tennyson walked toward the white shrouded autopsy table where the ME stood.
“What’s that? A new shampoo?” Ronan shot Ten a confused look.
“God, you’re a caveman. How can you stand to share a bed with him, Tennyson?” Vann looked completely offended.
“Who said that I was?” Tennyson asked. He shoved his shaking hands into his back pockets.
“You did! Christ, you’re blushing more than a virgin bride on her wedding night.” Vann rolled his eyes dramatically. “Broughan Beals. Surely you know who he is, Tennyson. You weren’t raised by wolves.”
Ronan growled low in his throat and took a half-step toward the doctor.
“Whoa, boy,” Ten whispered. “The name rings a bell, but I don’t know why.”
“Oh, please.” Ronan snorted. “You don’t know who he is any more than I do. You probably thought Broughan Beals was some kind of high-end granola.”
“He’s an energy healer,” Vann said on an exhausted sounding sigh.
“Oh, yeah! He was here in Boston. Over at the Wang Theater or something. They kept showing commercials for his appearance on television, with that freaky music. He’s local right?” Ten asked., sounding happy to talk about anything other than what was under the white shroud on the last autopsy table.
Vann threw a hand in the air as if he had no clue. “From down the Cape or something. New Bedford, I think.”
It was Ronan’s turn to smirk. He might not have recognized the energy healer’s name off the top of his head, but he sure as hell noticed what had the medical examiner’s panties in twist. “So, you want to jump his bones, huh?”
“What? Please! You’re even more of a caveman than I thought. This lunatic thinks he can lay hands on people like some modern-day Jesus Christ and poof! You’re cured. It doesn’t work like that.”
“Says who?” Ten asked.
“Every doctor from Hippocrates to me, that’s who.” Vann was getting more wound up by the second.
Ronan laughed. He loved seeing the usually unflappable Vann Hoffman, M.D. with a bee in his bonnet like this. “You went to see his show, I take it?”
“Yes,” Vann said on a sigh.
“Why, if you think he’s a fraud?” Tennyson grinned.
“That’s why. I needed to see his chicanery for myself. From the front row...” Vann bit his bottom lip.
“Oh. My. God!” Ronan laughed. “You went to see him up close and personal, hoping you could get up close and personal. You’re not fooling me for a second.”
“Me either,” Ten chimed in. “Did he lay hands on you and POOF?”
Ronan burst out laughing.
“Funny guys, really funny.” Vann crossed his arms over his broad chest.
“There was no poof. He wouldn’t be in such a shitty mood if he got some,” Ten observed.
“Says a man speaking from experience?” Vann grumped.
“Guilty as charged!” Ronan crowed.
“You too, I suppose?” Vann pointed to Tennyson.
“Unlike Ronan, I don’t kiss and tell.” Tennyson shot Ronan the hairy eyeball.
“That means yes. Christ.” Vann sighed, scrubbing a hand over his short afro.
“Did you at least get his number or arrange for a private session? Maybe he could lay hands on you and pull that stick out of your ass.” Ronan asked when he stopped laughing. “Or at the very least push it in deeper.”
“No, I didn’t get his number. Fuck off.” Vann looked like he thought himself an idiot for not thinking of that.
“He’s got a website, Vann,” Tennyson suggested. “Maybe he’d have coffee with you if you didn’t lead with your thoughts on him being a fraud.”
“Maybe.” Vann sounded like a disappointed kindergartener who was told it was nap time. “Okay, on to business.”
Ronan watched Tennyson’s buoyant mood deflate before his eyes. “Did you find anything the first autopsy missed?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Vann was all business now. “The Essex County Morgue hadn’t sent away any of the samples for DNA testing. I did that this morning. I put a rush on the results, but who knows how long that will take.”
“What possible DNA samples do you have?” Tennyson asked.
Ronan couldn’t help feeling proud of him. The last time they did this, Ten was practically afraid of his own shadow in this room.
“We had fingernail clippings, oral, penile and anal swabs.”
Ten nodded. “Any signs he was, ah...”
“Raped?” Vann asked gently. “Yes, he was orally and anally sodomized, repeatedly. It’s my supposition he was repeatedly choked with the murderer’s penis causing your victim to pass out and regain consciousness over a period of several hours before he was finally killed with a sharp force trauma injury to his neck. Cause of death was exsanguination.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ronan muttered. “The killer is a sexual sadist.”
“Yes, Ronan. Your killer did something that I’ve never seen before and I hope I never see again.”
“What’s that?” Ronan reached out for Tennyson’s hand hoping that whatever piece of evidence the ME was about to reveal wasn’t too gruesome for Ten to handle.
“He wrote the word ‘ELEVEN’ in his own ejaculate across the victim’s chest. I only saw it when I used a black light to examine the body. It wasn’t in the original autopsy, so I’m guessing the Essex County ME didn’t use this tech to examine him.”
Ronan shivered. If Justin Wilson was eleven, that meant there were ten other young men out there waiting to be discovered and identified.
19
Tennyson
“That’s pretty brazen, don’t you think?” Tennyson asked, breaking the silence in the Mustang.
“What is?” Ronan’s voice sounded thick, as if he’d been a million miles away.
“Leaving biological evidence on Justin’s body.” They were on their way back to Salem to meet with Carson and Cole. Ronan had just pulled onto Conant Street which meant they were seconds away from the store. In the course of the hour drive back from Boston, this was the one thing Tennyson hadn’t been able to get out of his head.
“Yes and no. If his DNA isn’t in the system he can’t be identified. He hasn’t been caught so far, right?” Ronan didn’t sound pleased about that.
“Yeah,” Ten agreed. He hopped out of the car when Ronan parked it and looked up at the sun, needing to feel it’s warmth on his face. After spending such a long time in the morgue, he felt like he’d never be warm again.
“Are you okay?” Ronan asked, joining their hands.
“No.” Tennyson shook his head. “There are ten more boys out there that this man killed. I guess the good thing is that there are only ten and not twenty.”
“I was thinking the same thing, but we still have to find them. At this point, they’re needles in a pretty enormous haystack.”
“Do you think he marked them all the same way?”
“I’d bet my pension on it. Serial killers are meticulous like that. Some are ritualistic. It’s what usually leads to them being caught in the end.” Ronan pressed a kiss to Ten’s forehead. “Let’s get inside. You know the others are watching us through the windows.”
“If we didn’t just come from the morgue, I’d suggest giving them a show.” Tennyson wanted to crawl into bed and shut his eyes against what he’d seen. Justin had shown him what his murder had looked like, but seeing his cold, dead body was somehow much worse.
The bell jingled over the shop door when Ronan opened it and ushered Ten inside.
“We were wondering if the two of you were going to make out on the sidewalk.” Truman grinned.
“Taking bets, more like,” Ronan suggested.
“Yeah, well, since I lost I’m out a blow... I should shut up now,” Carson said.
“Oh, no,” Truman smirked. “I’m sure Ten and Ronan want to hear all about the sexual favors you owe me.”
Ronan held both hands up in the air like he was being robbed. “I’ll pass!”
“It’s good to see you.” Truman hugged his friend.
“Same, man, but why aren’t you home with your babies?” Ronan looked stunned.
“Being here with you and Ten is more important. Mrs. Salazar and her sister are with the babies. They call every day begging to come over and sit for the kids. I swear getting to help out is keeping them young.” Truman pulled up pictures on his phone and passed it over to Ronan.
Tennyson peeked over at the images. All of the pictures were of the sisters holding the triplets. Their smiles were brighter than the sun. “What about your parents, Truman?”
“They stop over on weekends, but I think the babies overwhelm them.” Truman shrugged, looking a little sad.
“You have to be all in with our kids.” Carson laughed. “It’s not a job for wimps, that’s for sure. Not that my in-laws are wimps. They’re more the pat the grandkids on the head and here’s a twenty-dollar savings bond type.”
“We’ll be over to see them again as soon as we get a breather on this case.” Tennyson smiled. “You know how calming babies are for me.”
“Well then, my friend, today is your lucky day!” Carson looked like Tennyson had just won the lottery.
“It is?” Tennyson didn’t feel so lucky. They’d just come back from seeing Justin Wilson’s remains and now they were about to channel possible victims of a serial killer.
“You’re both coming home with us tonight for dinner. Luisa is making that Dominican chicken and rice dish the two of you love.” Carson was all smiles.
“With those banana things?” Ronan’s eyes glowed.
Tennyson rolled his eyes. “You really are a caveman like Doctor Hoffman said. They’re called plantains.”
“Yes, she’s making those too. She knows you both love them.” Truman’s face grew serious. “Speaking of the morgue, how did it go?”
“There was DNA left on the victim. He, ah, used it to write on Justin’s chest.” Ronan shook his head as if he were trying to shake the visual out of his head.
“He used his own fluids to write on poor Justin?” Truman asked, wrapping his arms around himself. Carson wrapped an arm around his husband.
“What did he write?” Carson asked.
“The word eleven,” Tennyson supplied.
“So, you’re thinking that means there are at least ten more victims out there that he’s killed?” Truman sounded ill at the thought.
“What do you mean at least ten more?” Tennyson’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Ronan exchanged a silent glance with Truman. “He means there could be a twelve or higher that we haven’t found yet.”
“Sweet mother of God.” Tennyson felt his knees go weak. Thankfully Ronan was there to grab his left elbow.
“Why don’t we all go into the reading room and get set up?” Carson asked. “I’ll text Cole so he can come downstairs and meet us. Laurel should be up from her nap by now.”
Tennyson numbly followed Ronan into the back room where he and the Craig brothers held their private readings. It had never crossed his mind that “eleven” might not be the last number in the killer’s string of murders.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, babe.” Ronan pulled his chair next to Tennyson’s. “Only police officers are trained to think like that.”
“Why did Truman think of it then?” Tennyson felt his bottom lip tremble.
“I worked in Human Resources for twelve years. I had to enforce the laws of the company I worked for, so it was just like being a cop, only I didn’t get to frisk anyone or rough people up with my nightstick.”
“No, he just does that to me in the privacy of our own home!” Carson said happily.
“Oh, Christ!” Ronan scrubbed at his eyes with his fists. “I’ll never be able to un-see that.”
“I’m here,” Cole shut the door behind him. “What did I miss?”
“You don’t want to know,” Ronan muttered.
Cole shot his brother a questioning glance.
“Truman was talking about frisking me,” Carson supplied.
Cole grimaced. “I should learn to trust Ronan more. He’s never wrong.”
“Are we ready to start? Do we need to link hands or…” Ronan looked around at the three psychics in the room who were laughing. “What? Is Bertha standing behind me?”
All three men nodded. Tennyson waved.
Ronan turned in his seat. “Hi, Bertha. It’s good to see you.”
“Good to see me, my foot. The only time Handsome wants to see me is when he needs me to round someone up. I’m not a cowboy, you know.” Bertha crossed her arms over her chest and winked at Tennyson.
“It’s nice to see you so feisty.” Ten bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “You’ve got a good point, Bertha, but we wouldn’t have asked if this wasn’t so important.”
“Good point about what?” Ronan looked worried.
“Mom thinks the only time you want to see her is when you need her help.” Cole smirked.
“Now come on, Bertha. You know I can’t see or hear you like the others can.” Ronan whined. “These boys that are possible victims are all gay like us, but for a lucky break here or there, or an amazing mother like you, what happened to Justin could have happened to any one of us. I don’t want this bastard to hurt one more teenager.”
“Now he’s just kissing my rosy red ass.” Bertha laughed.
“You have to admit he’s got a point, Mom.” Carson grinned before he turned to Ronan. “She thinks you’re kissing her ass.”
“I’m not. This is too important. Tennyson’s parents turned him out on the street after graduation. If he didn’t have this gift, what would have happened to him? Where would he have lived? Who would have kept him warm and safe?” Ronan shivered.
Tennyson went to reach out to Ronan, but saw Bertha set her hands on his shoulders instead.
“He’s lucky to have you, Handsome. You need to let the guilt go over your ex. Just like the song says.” She set a hand on Ronan’s head. “Let it go, Ro.” Bertha shut her eyes and pressed a kiss to the back of Ronan’s head.
Tennyson watched spellbound while Ronan’s eyes slipped shut. It only lasted for three or four seconds. Ronan probably didn’t even realize what was going on. When Bertha stepped back, Ronan’s electric blue eyes popped back open.
Ronan yawned. “Damn, this has been a long day. Are we ready to start?”
“Well, Mom? Are we ready to rumble?” Cole asked, laughing.
“Finding teenagers isn’t as easy as it was with Michael Frye, but don’t despair. I’ve got number five for you.”
Tennyson’s eyes felt like they were going to pop out of his head. “Number five?”
“Meet Austin Roberts,” Bertha introduced.
A skinny spirit stepped forward, wearing skin tight jeans and a purposely shredded tank top. It reminded Tennyson of concert tanks in Def Leppard video from the late eighties. He was wearing heavy eyeliner and metal studded cuff bracelets on each wrist.
“Hi, I’m Austin,” the boy greeted.
“Oh, thank Christ! You can talk.” Tennyson breathed a sigh of relief. He turned to Ronan. “His name is Austin Roberts. Bertha introduced him as number five.”
“Jesus,” Ronan muttered.
“I’ll take notes,” Carson opened his reading notebook and clicked open his pen.
“Every detail counts,” Ronan added.
“Austin, we’re investigating a possible serial killer and we think you might be one of his victims,” Ten said gently. The boy looked perfect and whole now, but delicate. He’d bet this boy had been very feminine when he’d been alive. “Can you tell us about yourself and how you ended up…”
“How I ended up dead and loving it?” he asked in a high-pitched tone, his hands waving in the air.
“Yeah, that!” Carson laughed.
“My mother was one of Bertha’s clients. She was my biggest supporter and my best friend. She worked the night shift at the New Balance Factory over in Boston. One night some drunk asshole thought it was a good idea to drink tequila shots and then drive home the wrong way on the highway. Hit my mom head-on. She died instantly. I had to go live with her brother in New Hampshire. Guy was a total tool. Into guns and living off the land. Hated the fact that I was a ‘fucking flamer.’” Austin made air quotes. “Those were his asshole words. Not mine. I lasted six months living there. I stole as much money as I could and ended up in Boston working as a waiter. One night a customer offered me a hundred bucks for a blowjob… It was all downhill from there.”
“Christ, that’s one hell of a story,” Carson sighed and pushed his notebook over for Ronan to read.
Ronan turned to Cole. “Is Austin okay with answering some questions from me?”
Cole nodded. “Mom explained to him that’s why he’s here.”
“Austin, my name is Ronan O’Mara. I’m a detective with the Boston Police Department. Can you tell us what happened the night you were murdered?”
Carson’s pen was poised to write.
“I got an out-call to meet a client at a hotel in Revere. It was the Beach Inn on Ocean Drive.”
“He met his killer at the Beach Inn on 1A in Revere,” Carson repeated as he scribbled. “Did you know him?” Carson asked, winking at Ronan as if he’d read the detective’s mind.
“He looked familiar, but it could just be he had one of those faces. Dark hair and eyes. Medium build. No tattoos or scars that I can remember. He was all-over average.”
Tennyson recited the details while shaking his head. This would be so much easier if Austin could have given them a name.
“What happened when he had you in the hotel room?” Ronan asked.
“He’d barely shut the door behind me and before I knew what was going on, he cold-cocked me. When I came to, I was tied to the bed and he was choking me with his dick. Felt like he did that for hours. He’d do it until I passed out from lack of oxygen.”
“Bastard did the same choking game with Austin that he did to Justin.” Tennyson knew to expect this, but it still rattled him all the same. To think about the way this young boy suffered made him sick to his stomach.
“Did he kill you in the hotel room?” Ronan asked.
“No.” Austin shook his head. Tears pooled in his eyes. “He hit me again and when I woke up, I was lying naked in a field. Said it was time to die and he showed me a knife.”
Carson translated again.
“Do you remember him masturbating over you at all or the feeling of dried ejaculate on your skin?” Ronan asked.
Carson shot the detective a horrified look.
The young man shook his head. “He did that after I died. I stood there outside my own body and watched him do it.” Austin shivered.
“It was after he died,” Ten relayed to Ronan. Tennyson turned to the young spirit. “I’m so sorry he did that to you, Austin. Do you have any idea where that field was? Or if your body was claimed by your uncle?”
“That hateful ass wouldn’t want me back. As for where I was left, I know the place like I know my own name. It was the Salem Commons near the Witch Museum.”
“Oh my God. You were left here in Salem? Half a mile away from here?” Tennyson sucked in a ragged breath. “Do you mind if we take a break?” Without waiting for an answer, Tennyson bolted from the room.
20
Ronan
Ronan followed Tennyson out into the main store. He was having a hard time figuring out what had upset Tennyson more, speaking with another gay teenager who’d been put out on the street or knowing that he was murdered only a few blocks away from where they were all sitting.
“Hey, are you okay?” Ronan stood behind Ten, not sure if his lover wanted to be touched right now.
Ten had tears in his eyes when he turned around. “Sometimes it just gets to be too much, you know? We live our lives, Ronan. We eat, go shopping, exercise, go to work. I don’t always remember I’m gay. Like, it’s not foremost in my mind. I’ve got to buy milk, or meet a client, or get new tires. But then there are times like this when it’s all-encompassing, when people are dying because of it.” Ten shook his head.
“Come here.” Ronan hugged him tight. He knew what Tennyson was saying. Not that Ronan was a student of serial killers, but there weren’t too many who preyed on gay men. He would need to do some research on that, maybe even talk to an FBI profiler, but all of that could wait. “We’re going to get through this together with our friends. We’re going to stop this bastard before he can hurt another one of us. Okay?”
“Another one of us?” Tennyson pulled back to look Ronan in the eye.
“We’re all one big gay family. Hurt one of us, you hurt us all. Dry your tears. We’ve got a witness to finish interviewing.” Ronan patted the side of Ten’s face and walked back into the reading room. He wasn’t about to let one more young man die on his watch.
“Is Ten okay?” Cole asked.
“Yeah, he just needed some air. We’ve been working long hours.” Ronan needed to rein in his own emotions. The idea that these teenagers were dying because they were not only in the wrong place at the wrong time, but were also gay, was gutting.
“More like fucking long hours,” Carson muttered.
“Jealous?” Ronan sniped.
“God, yeah. I’m so damn tired at the end of the night. I love those babies, but damn, they’re little vampires, sucking every ounce of energy out of us. We get into bed and we don’t even have the strength to wink at each other, let alone fuck.” Carson sighed.
“Jesus Christ, Carson! Yeah, Ma, I know! He always had a big mouth when we were growing up! TMI, you two!” Cole covered his eyes.
“What’s going on?” Tennyson asked. He looked exhausted.
“Carson was proving how loose lips sink ships.” Ronan rolled his eyes.
“Where is Austin?” Tennyson looked around the room.
“He was feeling worn out,” Cole answered.
Ronan could understand that. Living witnesses always felt exhausted after retelling the story of the night they’d been attacked. He had no doubt it was any different for the dead. “What’s our next step here?”
Carson reached a hand out to Tennyson. “Aren’t you going to get in touch with the Salem Police and the local morgue to find Austin’s remains.”
Ronan found his first smile in what felt like days. “Well, Captain Fitzgibbon didn’t exactly like our level of empathy with Justin’s parents, so he doesn’t want us making any other notifications.”
“What are you talking about? Truman looked confused. “Ten is the most empathetic person I’ve ever met in my entire life.”
Ronan snorted. “Not when it comes to parents who turn their sixteen-year-old son out onto the street because he likes to kiss boys instead of girls.”
A small muscle started ticking in Tennyson’s jawline.
“Relax, babe. It’s going to be okay.” Ronan squeezed Tennyson’s right shoulder in what he hoped Tennyson would find reassuring.
“I wish you’d stop saying that, Ronan. It’s not going to be okay until that son-of-a-bitch is dead or behind bars.”
“You’re right. I’m just worn out already and we’ve only identified two victims. We still have to determine where Austin’s body is. Hearing that his uncle won’t want his remains is breaking my heart.”
“We talked about that while you two were out of the room,” Truman said. “It’s a modern-day witch hunt. I think it’s something the LGBTQ citizens of Salem will rally behind.”
“What are you talking about?” Tennyson looked to Ronan.
“I want to hold a fundraiser of some kind at the bakery in conjunction with the shop to raise money for Austin’s funeral and burial costs. From what you’re saying there are going to be more victims who might not have a family willing to claim them and lay them to rest. We want to be their family.” Truman’s eyes were uncharacteristically glassy.
“That’s what we’d call the charity, We Are Family. Just like the song.” Cole’s eyes were looking a little misty too.
“Thanks, Mom. We’re proud of you too for finding Austin and bringing him here to talk to us.” Carson looked down at his notes and then up at Ronan.
“Mom wanted me to tell you Austin thought the killer smelled like mall cologne.” Carson’s head popped back up from his notebook.
“I don’t understand what that means.” Ronan shot Ten a questioning glance.
“After you both left, Cole asked Austin the five senses question. You know, was there anything else he remembered about the killer that he saw, smelled, tasted, touched, or heard. Austin mentioned mall cologne. I assumed that meant some kind of cheap-ass cologne that you can put on a sample of at the mall.”
“That was a good question to ask, Cole. I should have asked myself, but, it’s so hard conducting an interview when I can’t use my own five senses and I’m relying on a replay from all of you to hear the answers.”
“Would you want to have our gift?” Tennyson asked, sounding like he was ready to sleep for a week.
Ronan didn’t even have to think twice. “No. I have my own gifts that I’ve honed over time to be a better detective. Plus, I’ve seen the highs and lows of what having this gift has done to the three of you. Hell, I’m still learning how to best support those of you who can speak to the dead. That’s hard enough.”
“Mom says that was well said, Ronan. Let’s get you both home and fed.” Truman slapped Ronan’s shoulder. I’m missing my babies something awful and I’m sure they’re missing their favorite uncles.”
“Bullshit!” Tennyson snorted. “You just need extra hands for diaper patrol.”
“Stop reading my husband’s mind, Ten!” Carson burst out laughing.
21
Tennyson
Tennyson had barely made it through the incredible meal Luisa Salazar and her sister made for them before he had started to fall asleep. Truman and Carson’s infants kept the party going by shouting loudly when their needs weren’t being met making Ten’s head bob up and down.
Ronan had driven them back to Ten’s apartment after dessert where he’d gone right to bed. He’d dropped his clothes where he stood and crawled under the covers without kissing Ronan goodnight. He never heard the detective get into bed with him, but knew that he did because his lover was there when he’d woken up around 4am.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Ronan snickered when Tennyson walked into his living room a little after 9am.
“Holy shit,” Ten said on a yawn. “Why’d you let me sleep so late?”
“Uh, gee, because you fell asleep in your flan last night.” Ronan snickered.
“I did not.” Tennyson rolled his eyes. He’d been worn out, but he hadn’t fallen asleep in the custard. Had he?
“I’ve got pictures. Do you want to see them?” Ronan was fighting back the giggles but a few escaped.
Ten started laughing along with him. “How much is it going to cost me to keep those pictures hidden?”
“All of our friends saw you go face-first into dessert. Who else is there to show?” Ronan pulled Tennyson into his arms. “How did my grumpy cat sleep?” He nuzzled Ten’s sleep-warmed neck.
“I hate to say it, but like the dead.” His left arm and the left side of his face bore the wrinkle marks from his sheets because he’d barely moved in hours.
Ronan snorted. “I know. I poked you a few times, if you know what I mean, and you didn’t even budge.” He pressed a kiss to Ten’s cheek. “So, I came out here to work. I didn’t want to be tempted to wake you up.”
Tennyson couldn’t help feeling a bit torn. Part of him was thrilled at the idea of getting to sleep in for a bit, while the other part of him would have liked to have been woken up by a wound-up Ronan. “Did you make any progress?”
“A little. I found an article in the Boston Herald from last summer detailing an attack on a young man that sounded similar to what Austin described.”
“He survived?” Tennyson couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Why didn’t you wake me up to tell me this? Let me hop in the shower and then we can go talk to him.” He didn’t wait for Ronan’s answer. Ten turned on his heels and headed for the bedroom.
“Hold on there, Doctor Watson. It’s not that simple,” Ronan called after him.
“How did I know you were going to say that?” His shoulders slumping, Ten turned around and came back into the kitchen.
“Uh, because you’re a psychic?” Ronan grinned at him. “Remember that writer from the Globe that Keegan mentioned?”
Tennyson chewed his bottom lip for a second. “Rod Jacobson or something, right?”
“Right! Well, it turns out, this attack survivor was the inspiration for his article on street kids. His name is Greeley Hanks.”
“Jacobson got the inspiration for his expose published in the Globe from an article in the Herald?” Tennyson started to laugh. The two Boston newspapers were fierce rivals. He was sure the Herald bosses wouldn’t be happy to know that an article that won another Pulitzer Prize for its biggest competition had its genesis in their paper.
“Crazy, huh?” Ronan grabbed a mug from the cabinet and punched the buttons on Ten’s one-cup coffee maker. When the machine finished brewing the drink, he fixed it just the way Tennyson liked it.
“Uh, oh.” Tennyson shot Ronan a wary look. “I don’t need to be psychic to know there’s something wrong if you’re making my coffee.”
Ronan set the mug in front of Ten. “I called him while you were still sleeping and he agreed to meet with me.”
“I sense a ‘but’ coming.” Tennyson frowned and took the cup from Ronan.
“But, he only wants to meet with me.” Ronan wore a look of defeat. “Said that being seen with a known psychic could compromise his journalistic integrity.”
“Jesus Christ! Seriously?” Tennyson had heard some crazy shit in his time in regard to what he did for a living, but this took the cake.
“I tried, Ten. I told him we were working this case together; that you were my partner. Hell, I even told him you’d wear a disguise.” Ronan shrugged.
“A disguise?” Tennyson shot him a look like he’d lost his mind. “What, like one of those blonde Taylor Swift wigs?”
“Mmm,” Ronan licked his lips. “Now you’re talking, babe. Throw in a pair of black stilettos and we don’t even need to leave the house today.”
“Okay, now I know you’ve cracked.” Ronan had never mentioned anything before about wanting to role play. Could be interesting once this case was in their rear-view.
“I meant like a trench coat and dark glasses. Maybe a fedora or something.” Ronan still looked intrigued over the blonde wig idea.
“So, I’ve gone from cross-dresser to being in an episode of I Love Lucy?” Ten shook his head. This had gone from the bizarre to the ridiculous.
Ronan shook his head. “Anyway, Jacobson said it’s no-go even if you dressed up like Marie Antionette, but all is not lost.”
“Please don’t tell me you bought the costume.” Tennyson couldn’t picture himself in one of those bowed out dresses.
“No, of course not.” Ronan grinned. “I got Jacobson to give me Greeley’s contact information. You and Captain Fitzgibbon are going to track him down today while I’m out working the streets with Jacobson.”
“You want me to interview the attack survivor?” Tennyson was stunned. He wasn’t a trained cop. He had only seen Ronan conduct a few interviews and those were pretty hard-core.
“He’s a teenage boy who was nearly killed at the hands of a monster. Maybe our monster, maybe not. Interviewing him won’t be the same as interviewing a possible suspect. I know you’ll be gentle with him, Ten. He’ll trust you and want to open up to you.” Ronan picked up Ten’s hands and kissed the backs of them. “Being a cop is more than being tough. It’s about being able to empathize and show people that you care. That you’ve walked in their shoes.”
Ten nodded. He’d sure as hell walked in these lost boys’ shoes, that was for sure. Thank Christ he’d never had to face selling his mouth or ass for his next meal and he’d never been attacked like these kids. “Okay, I’ll do it. What is your game plan with Jacobson?”
“To be honest, I think he smells another Pulitzer. These street kids are afraid of cops to begin with, so they’re not going to come to us if they’ve been assaulted or raped. They don’t understand that we’re not going to bust them for reporting crimes against them.”
“You think there are a lot more boys who’ve been attacked or who have gone missing than the ones who have been reported missing.” It wasn’t a question.
“I do, and what’s more, so does Jacobson. I’m sorry that I can’t take you with me.” Ronan’s words rang true.
Ten could see the sincerity in Ronan’s eyes. As much as he hated the idea of not being in on this interview with the newspaperman, he could grudgingly see where Jacobson was coming from. Helping these boys was his first and only priority. His fragile ego would need to sit this one out.
“It’s okay. I think interviewing this Hanks boy is just as important. He’s a living witness that I’ll be able to talk to with the captain instead of having to relay my impressions back and forth, like we’ve done with Justin Wilson and Austin Roberts. Thank you for trusting me with this assignment.”
Ronan grinned. “You’re gonna do great.”
“Damn straight I am.”
22
Ronan
Ronan felt uneasy as he walked down Washington Street toward the Boston Common Coffee House. It wasn’t that he felt like he was in danger or that someone was following him, just that he felt incomplete without his partner.
He got that they were going to see Jacobson’s sources so he needed to play by the writer’s rules, but it wasn’t like Jacobson was doing this favor for Ronan out of the kindness of his heart either. He was getting one hell of a scoop in return for his help.
No one else knew about Ronan’s serial killer theory, aside from the captain, Ten, and their friends. Ronan knew it was dicey business involving a member of the media in the infancy of this investigation, but knew that secrecy was just as crucial to Jacobson if he didn’t want to get scooped himself by a rival reporter or a rival news agency.
People with smartphones were everywhere. It used to be concerned citizens would call in to a tip-line for a possible reward, but now people were posting pictures and videos to Instagram and Facebook Live, sometimes breaking news stories before local network affiliates could get on the air. It was for this reason Jacobson didn’t want Tennyson along.
After assisting the Scituate Police find and safely return a missing child, Tennyson had become something of a local celebrity in Massachusetts. His stardom had gone national after he and Ronan had solved Michael Frye’s kidnapping and murder. With Ten’s shock of dark, curly hair and his resemblance to Game of Thrones star, Kit Harington, he was very recognizable.
Without Tennyson here with him, Ronan was going to have to make sure his senses were extra-sharp. Ten would often pick up on small details that would later prove important. Ronan had always been more of a big picture guy. The details tended to take care of themselves.
As he got closer to the busy coffee shop, he could see the newspaper man standing outside. Taking a deep breath, Ronan kept walking. His face had also been plastered all over the news and social media at the conclusion of the Frye case. Rumor had it, there were even internet fan sites dedicated to him. Not that he would ever waste his time looking to see what new pictures of himself had been added. At least not more than twice a day.
“Hello, Ronan,” Rod Jacobson said softly when Ronan reached him.
“Nice to meet you.” Ronan shook the reporter’s hand. Rod had short, dark hair and dark eyes with an olive complexion. Ronan would guess he was of Greek or Italian descent. The guy reminded him a bit of the actor who played The Karate Kid in those 1980s movies.
“Walk with me. There’s a place I want to show you and some people I want you to meet.” Rod moved quickly and silently through the crowded street until they broke free and could walk side-by-side. “You think I can help you talk to some of these kids who might have had an encounter with your un-sub?”
Ronan rolled his eyes. “This isn’t Criminal Minds. We don’t call suspects ‘un-subs.’ Right now, we have one body in our morgue with the number eleven written in biological fluids on his chest and another body in an Essex County morgue with the number five. From the article I found in the Herald, and then through reading your piece, I realized you may have interviewed a teenager who was an earlier victim.”
Jacobson’s dark eyes narrowed on Ronan. “What do you mean?”
“Serial killers are just like everyone else in that it takes time to get good at their craft.”
“Jesus Christ,” the veteran newsman muttered. “Are you saying practice makes perfect?” He pulled out his notepad and started scribbling notes.
“In a way, yes. If Greeley was one of his earliest intended victims, I imagine it was a real learning experience for him. Some killers don’t start out as killers, some get off on the act of rape and when that doesn’t bring them that high anymore, they turn to murder.”
“So, you’re saying they don’t always kill to cover their tracks?” Jacobson didn’t even bother to look up from his notebook, he kept scribbling in some odd shorthand with symbols Ronan didn’t recognize.
Ronan shrugged. He’d done a lot of reading about serial killers last night while Tennyson had been asleep. “The problem with these kinds of killers is that they’re all different. Some kill for the thrill of it. Others to hide their tracks. Some are compelled to kill by voices in their head, while others just love to feel the life drain away from their victim.”
“Why do you think this guy is killing gay teenaged prostitutes?” Jacobson’s demeanor grew tense as if there were a lot riding on Ronan’s answer.
“That’s the big question isn’t it? The answer could be as simple as hate. The killer could hate the fact that he is a gay man and is taking that out on our community. He could have had a lover or husband cheat on him or leave him and that broke something inside of him.” Ronan took a deep breath. “The cases of male serial killers who’ve targeted female prostitutes have chosen those victims because they hate women.”
“Why did they target hookers and not bankers or nurses or teachers?” Jacobson had the look of a man who found this all too much to take.
“How many teachers or bankers are out and about at a time of day when it’s easy to take them, rape them, and then kill them without them being missed for a long period of time? Most teachers and bankers need to be back on the job the next morning or if it’s a weekend, by Monday, right?” Ronan surmised.
Dawning lit in Jacobson’s eyes. “That’s why he’s targeting the street kids. They’re out at night and no one is going to notice if one of them goes missing. Plus, it’s easy to dispose of a body in the dead of night.”
“Tennyson likens it to the weakest wildebeest in the herd versus the hungry lion. The killer has honed his ability to pick the boy who is the most vulnerable. Maybe that boy needs the cash more than the others, so he’s willing to take a bigger risk to get it.” Saying Ten’s name made him miss his lover more. Being on the job without him wasn’t the same.
“You said the killer could be gay and taking it out on our community?” Rod put a heavy emphasis on the word “our.” His face broke into a genuine smile.
“It’s not a secret I’m gay, Rod.” Ronan rolled his eyes. “Also not a secret is the fact that Tennyson and I started seeing each other after the Michael Frye case wrapped up, but that is most definitely off the record.”
The gleeful look in the newsman’s eyes faded. “Well, that’s no fun.”
“Which part?” Ronan grinned.
“Both!” Rod laughed. “Both of Boston’s most eligible bachelors since Tom Brady are off the market and I can’t even report on it.”
“You’ve got bigger fish to fry than to turn sleazy gossip reporter.” Ronan put a hand on Rod’s elbow. “Listen, I read your Pulitzer winning article. You have a way with these kids. They trust you. If you ask them to trust me, they will. Whoever is targeting them isn’t going to stop raping, torturing, and killing them until I stop him. I know how much these kids mean to you. I felt that through your words. It’s the reason I called you this morning.”
Rod nodded. “You’re right. God, I’m an ass. It’s the newsman in me, always looking for a scoop. Plus, you can’t blame a guy for being disappointed that a handsome detective with beautiful blue eyes is out of play, right?”
Ronan snorted. Christ was Jacobson flirting with him? Maybe that was the real reason he hadn’t wanted Tennyson here and not that bullshit excuse about not wanting to be seen with a known psychic. “If you’re interested in blue-eyed detectives, I’ve got a whole precinct full of them who would love to meet you.”
23
Tennyson
It had been weird for Ten leaving the apartment with Ronan, but getting into separate cars and going to different places. While Ronan was heading toward the Common, Tennyson was meeting the captain in Southie at Castle Island.
The fort out on the “island” had been a base of British operations during the Revolutionary War and had helped defend the fledgling United States during the War of 1812. Now, it served as a popular tourist destination with it’s gorgeous view of Boston Harbor. The site was also famous for Sullivan’s, a local walk-up burger joint that had been open since 1951.
Tennyson’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw Captain Kevin Fitzgibbon dressed in street clothes for the first time. He was usually wearing wrinkled button-down shirts, with the sleeves rolled up and perfectly creased dress pants. Today, the captain had on jeans with a forest green tee with a plaid shirt over it. He looked like he’d just stepped out of an LL Bean catalog. “Wow, captain, I almost didn’t recognize you.”
Fitzgibbon laughed. “Thanks, I think. And call me Kevin while were out of the office. I don’t want to spook this kid. He’s been through enough.”
Tennyson could certainly agree with that. Kicked out of his house, forced into selling his body to survive and then attacked by a possible serial killer. Yeah, the kid had been through enough. “Do you see him?” Ronan had told him that the newsman had arranged for Greeley to meet them here.
“No, not yet. Ronan said he’s blond and green-eyed, small for his age.”
“Do you think that’s from malnutrition?” Tennyson shivered in the warm May sunshine.
“Maybe,” The look on the captain’s face was grim. “Look, I think that’s him.” Fitzgibbon was pointing to a smallish teenager with an acne ravaged face and clothes that hung on his too-thin frame. “The guy practically chewing his bottom lip off at eleven o’clock.”
Ten tried to be inconspicuous as he looked around Fitzgibbon at the kid.
“You’re not a spy, Tennyson.” Fitzgibbon laughed. “Do you think that’s him or not?”
“He’s looking ready to bolt. Stay here.” Ten stepped out of the captain’s shadow and pasted on his sunniest smile. He hoped he looked friendly and not creepy. “Hi there. I’m Tennyson. Are you Greeley?”
The kid nodded, but kept his eyes on Fitzgibbon.
Tennyson raised a hand to wave Kevin over, which caused the teenager to flinch. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was waving to my friend Kevin.”
“You mean the cop.” Greeley’s hands were shaking, but his voice was strong.
“Yes, he’s my partner’s captain.” Tennyson couldn’t decide if the teenager was terrified or suffering from withdrawal symptoms.
“Hello, Greeley. I’m Kevin Fitzgibbon.” The veteran cop had both hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. His sharp eyes were assessing every inch of the boy.
Greeley kept his wary eyes on the cop the entire time, but nodded in acknowledgement.
“Why don’t we grab a bite? I’m starving.” He angled his chin at Sully’s and started walking toward the restaurant stand.
Greely shrugged, but his green eyes betrayed his seeming disinterest. They glowed with desire like a kid with a new bike on Christmas.
“I’ve never eaten here before. What’s good?” Tennyson asked to distract Kevin from seeing the hungry look in the boy’s eyes.
Fitzgibbon shot him a stunned look. “Ronan’s never taken you here before? I’m docking his pay.” The captain laughed. “Everything is amazing, but the bacon double is the best.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Ten chanced a look at the boy. His head was swinging back and forth, his eyes darting around, not missing anything. Tennyson’s heart broke for Greeley. He imagined the kid was keeping an eye out for the man who’d attacked him.
“What are you in the mood for, Greeley?” Kevin asked when they got close enough to read the giant menu board.
“I’m not really that hungry.” The boy’s eyes said otherwise.
“Ten, why don’t you and Greeley grab a table and I’ll join you both shortly.” Kevin smiled at Ten over the boy’s head.
“Sure thing.” Tennyson knew exactly what the captain’s game plan was. He was going to order a mountain of food and insist the kid eat his fill. Knowing Fitzgibbon, he was going to insist the boy take the rest with him at the end of the interview.
Ten led the boy to a clean picnic table as far away from the other diners as possible. He figured that Greeley would be more likely to open up with fewer people around to hear his story. “Why don’t we sit here?”
The boy sat facing the crowd, rather than looking out at the ocean, which would have been Tennyson’s first choice. “You’re safe with me and Kevin.”
Greeley snorted and kept watching the crowd.
Tennyson didn’t blame the teenager for being skeptical. After what Greeley had been through he wouldn’t have believed himself either. Thankfully, he could see Fitzgibbon heading back to the table carrying two huge bags full of food. It looked like there was enough food to feed all of South Boston.
“Here we go. Since Tennyson’s never been here before. I got some of everything. Chili cheese dogs,” Fitzgibbon paused while he pulled the hot dogs out of the bag. “Double bacon cheese burgers and chicken nuggets.” He set those on the table and reached into the second bag. “Lastly bowls of seafood chowder, lobster rolls and large fries for everyone.”
Feeling his eyes bug out of his head, Tennyson stared up at Kevin. “Where do I start?”
“I’d start with the lobster rolls,” Greeley said, practically drooling over the mountain of food.
“Good plan.” Fitzgibbon set the largest roll in front of him, followed by an order of fries and a can of coke before repeating the process for Ten and then himself.
“I’m not sucking you off for this.” Greeley challenged. His green eyes were hard and glittering like emeralds.
“Good. You’re not my type. Eat up.” Fitzgibbon took a big bite of his lobster roll.
Tennyson bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He couldn’t help but wonder just who was the tall police captain’s type. He didn’t wear a ring and Ronan never mentioned anything about him being married or single, or gay or straight.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Greeley absolutely demolishing his own lobster roll. The boy was wolfing it down so fast, Tennyson doubted the boy was even tasting it. Instead of telling him to slow down, he kept his eyes on his own lunch. He noticed Fitzgibbon was doing the same thing but would sneak occasional glances at the boy.
Only having had coffee and a piece of toast for breakfast, Tennyson had been starving. Even still, he’d only managed to eat the lobster roll, some of the chowder and half of the bacon cheeseburger. Fitzgibbon and Greeley ate nearly the rest by themselves.
“Now that you’ve eaten,” Fitzgibbon started.
“I told you, I’m not sucking your dick, old man,” Greeley snarled, his hands were twitching more than before.
“And I told you that you’re not my type,” the captain said with a steady voice, betraying no hint of emotion. “Tennyson and I set up this meeting to speak to you about what happened last summer. All we want is to hear what happened to you.”
“Why? You get off on hearing that kind of shit?” Greeley swiped at his mouth with a stack of brown paper napkins.
The captain’s face softened. He leaned forward, his eyes locking with Greeley’s. “We think there’s a serial killer targeting gay teenagers. You may have been his first victim. I’m hoping there will be some piece of information in your story that will help my detectives find and arrest this asshole before he can hurt another young man.”
“Young man? Whore, you mean.” Greeley rolled his eyes. “What’s in it for me?”
Fitzgibbon sat back and seemed to be considering what he wanted to say next. “Probably things you’re not interested in.” He shrugged and looked out over Boston Harbor.
Tennyson knew what the captain was doing. He was trying to entice the boy into wanting to hear his plan. He was a smart man. As much as Ronan had hated landing in the cold case squad at first, he’d gotten lucky to work for a man like Kevin Fitzgibbon.
“Like what?” Greeley asked, sounding interested for the first time all day.
“A second chance.” The captain turned back to the boy. “I’d be willing to offer rehab…”
“Jesus Christ, Joan of Arc, I fucking knew it. All you people are the same, thinking I need to be saved.”
“Are you going to let me finish?” Fitzgibbon’s voice was cool. He was still in control.
“Fine, finish. Rehab, then I’m off to a halfway house. More counselling, AA meetings, blah, blah, blah…” Greeley rolled his eyes.
Fitzgibbon burst out laughing. “That’s the first time all day you’ve sounded like the teenager you are.”
Tennyson had been thinking the same thing, but he couldn’t help wondering if Fitzgibbon had something more in store for the young man beside what he’d already guessed.
“Greeley, I think you turned to drugs because of the hand you were dealt and what happened to you after the attack. I don’t think you’re a bad kid. If you can get through ninety days of residential rehab, I want you to come live with me.”
Of all the tricks Ten thought Fitzgibbon had up his sleeve, that was the last thing he’d been expecting.
Greeley looked as shocked as Tennyson. He had no comeback. His mouth dropped open.
“You’d have to finish high school and follow simple rules. No more hooking, no drugs. Have a part-time job. What do you think?”
“You’re serious. You’d give a waste of space like me a real second chance? My parents didn’t want me, why would you?” Greeley’s eyes got misty.
“I’m nearly fifty years old. I’ve been married to my career since I graduated from the academy. I missed out on getting the chance to have a family. It’s not your fault you were born to parents who didn’t understand you. What I’d like to do is arrest your parents for turning you out onto the streets. They are the ones at fault here, not you.” Kevin offered the boy a smile.
Tennyson wanted to hug the man. Ronan had sent him on this interview because he thought Ten would be able to empathize with Greeley. What Ronan hadn’t known was that Fitzgibbon would be the one knocking the interview out of the park.
Greeley nodded. “Some guy answered my Craig’s List ad. Asked if I’d be willing to meet for the entire night instead of just paying for a service.”
Tennyson grabbed his notebook out of his back pocket and started taking notes. He didn’t want to break the rhythm between Greeley and the captain.
“What was your going rate per service?” Fitzgibbon seemed unfazed asking.
Greeley blushed. “Fifty for oral. A hundred for anal.”
Ten’s stomach roiled. He wanted to reach out to comfort the boy, but knew it was better to keep still.
“How much was he offering?” Fitzgibbon kept his voice level.
“A grand. Cash like that could get me off the street for a few weeks. Buy food. I wasn’t on smack then… I was just looking to survive. I thought maybe he’d want to see me again. Be my sugar daddy or something.” Greeley bowed his head.
“All you were doing was trying to make a better life for yourself. Hell, minimum wage in Massachusetts is eleven dollars an hour. Working full-time, that’s like $1,700 a month before taxes. What apartment can you rent for that? I get that working the job you have is a better idea than flipping burgers at McDonalds.” Fitzgibbon paused. “So where did this guy want to meet?”
Greeley twitched. “Some fleabag motel out by the beach in Revere.”
Tennyson exchanged a careful look with the captain. He knew there were a lot of motels near the beach. It didn’t necessarily mean it was the same motel that Austin Roberts met his killer at. “Any chance you remember the name of it?”