Dead Reckoning (Cold Case Psychic Book 2) by Pandora Pine (3)

“Yeah, it was called the Beach Inn.”

“Does that name mean something to you, Ten?” Fitzgibbon asked.

Ten nodded. “Let’s hear the rest of Greeley’s story then I’ll tell you what I know.” Ten jotted down notes on what Greeley had just said.

“When I got there I barely made it inside the room when the guy swung on me. I don’t know how I managed to get out of the way, but I did. He grabbed me and hit me a few times, but I wouldn’t go down. There was like this voice inside my head that told me I was going to die unless I made it out of that room. He managed to pin me against the door and I could feel his dick digging into my ass, so I begged him to fuck me. Told him that getting it rough and hard from behind was a big turn on for me. So that’s what he did. When he pulled out, I swung back with my elbow and cracked him in the jaw. I managed to pull up my pants and made a break for it.”

Tennyson sat there stunned. He knew the boy was glossing over the story, that there were a lot of details he was leaving out of the story. He chanced a glance over at Fitzgibbon and wasn’t surprised to see the man wore a mask of fury.

Fitzgibbon cleared his throat. “Were you checked for HIV or other sexually transmitted infections after that?”

Greeley shook his head no. He was back to looking down at his hands, which he was twisting together in front of him.

Without hesitating, Fitzgibbon reached out to the boy, setting his large hand on top of Greeley’s. “I’m proud of you for fighting like you did. You were so brave thinking on your feet like that.”

“I let him rape me. I’m not a hero,” Greeley scoffed, but made no move to push Fitzgibbon’s hand off his own.

“You are to me. And you sure as hell will be to those other boys you help save when I lock this bastard up thanks to the evidence you gave us.” There was pride in Fitzgibbon’s voice.

“Did you get a look at him, Greeley? Did he smell like anything in particular?” Tennyson asked.

“It was all such a blur. I think he had dark hair, but the room was dimly lit. He wore cheap cologne. Common shit that every guy wears. I wouldn’t be caught dead in it.” The boy wrinkled his nose as if he could smell the cologne now.

“Did he say anything to you?” Fitzgibbon asked.

“When I hit him and started to run, he shouted that he’d find me and make me pay.” When Greeley looked up, there were tears shining in his green eyes.

“Over my dead body,” Fitzgibbon snarled.

Tennyson shivered in the warm May sunshine. God help anyone who stood in Captain Kevin Fitzgibbon’s way.

 

 

24
Ronan

Rod Jacobson stopped outside the Tremont Street Mission. The Mission was a former church turned shelter and soup kitchen for Boston’s homeless. “A lot of the street kids eat here and try to get a bed for the night since it’s close to the Common.”

Ronan was dead on his feet. It was nearly 8pm and they’d had no luck in finding any of the teenagers to speak to all day. None of the kids had been hanging out on Boston Common or in any of the other local hang outs Rod was familiar with. It was almost as if they’d known Ronan was coming.

It was more likely they’d seen Ronan coming. Even dressed in street clothes, he still looked like a cop. Going into the shelter was Ronan’s last, best chance of the day to talk to any of the boys who might be able to help.

They were here now because it was past the dinner rush. Rod had said the kids came in to eat and grab a shower before hitting the streets for the next few hours. Between the hours of 9pm and 2am was when they made their money for the night.

When they walked in, Ronan smelled tomato sauce. Long bench tables were set up in rows all over half of the room. The other half was lined with rows of cots. Ronan’s heart pinched in his chest for all of the people who would be spending the night here.

“Let’s go talk to Jace Lincoln, the guy serving the pasta. He’s the founder of this place. His father is Matthew Lincoln. He’s a major player in Boston real estate. He’s the guy who recently bought that big tower over by the waterfront and is renovating it into multi-million-dollar condo units.”

“Interesting. Daddy’s filthy rich and sonny-boy opens a homeless shelter.” Ronan was impressed. Sometimes kids of rich parents had a hard time coping with not living up to their parents’ lofty expectations. It seemed like Jace Lincoln might be the exception to that rule.

“Hey, Jace!” Rob called out, when they reached the front of the line.

“Rob, hey man,” Jace greeted, looking a bit wary of the newspaper man.

“You got a minute to chat? There’s someone I want to introduce you to.” Rob hooked a thumb in Ronan’s direction.

Jace nodded and shouted for someone while Ronan and Rob found an empty table.

“This is Detective Ronan O’Mara. He’s with the cold case unit of BPD,” Rod introduced.

“Nice to meet you. How can I help, detective? One of my people in trouble or are they one of your victims?”

“The latter, I’m afraid.” Ronan instantly liked Jace’s no-nonsense demeanor. “I’ve got a body in my morgue that belongs to a street kid. He was raped, tortured, and murdered. The guy who did it left very few clues. From the way the crime was committed, he seems like he’s been at this a while.” Ronan was purposely offering a bare bones account of Justin Wilson’s murder. He didn’t want to give Lincoln information he didn’t need to know.

Jace pulled back and looked around the room. He seemed to focus in on a table where three teenaged boys were talking. “You think he might have hurt some of the boys who come here?”

“It’s possible. The young man who was murdered was hooking.” Ronan knew dropping that piece of information would be unsettling.

“No!” Jace was half-way out of his seat. “I’m not letting you come in here and harass then arrest my boys. They know they’re safe here. I won’t have you ruin that for them.”

“Hold on, Jace. Sit back down,” Rod looked annoyed.

“I’m not here to bust anyone. I don’t even want to know their names.” This was going to be harder than Ronan anticipated with Jace acting like a mama grizzly bear.

“What do you want then?” Jace sat back down, but he didn’t look happy about it.

“Just some information.” Ronan crossed his heart, feeling like he was back in high school.

“You gonna pay them like those confidential informants? Like on Hawaii Five-0?” Jace narrowed his eyes while he waited for Ronan’s answer.

Christ, did everyone watch cop dramas on television? “I work cold case. It’s not like we have a budget for that like they do in vice or narcotics, but I can make some calls. Would my cash keep them off the streets for the night?”

“Doubtful.” Jace shook his head. “There’s never enough money, you know? These kids need food, clothes, shelter. And those are just their basic needs. Most of these kids haven’t finished high school, which only qualifies them to flip burgers or pump gas. Some of these kids are in the country illegally and can’t get a green card, so even flipping burgers is out for them.”

Ronan didn’t need a lesson in how hard life was on the streets. “I hear you. I get how hard life is for these kids. I’m doing my best to make their lives a little safer by getting this killer off the streets. He’s hunting kids, Jace. All I want to do is talk to these boys. I promise.”

Sighing, Jace got up and walked over to the table. He carded a hand through one boy’s blond hair and set a hand on the shoulder of another. Each of the three boys looked over at Ronan and then back up at Jace.

Ronan could see the boys shaking their heads no and one of them stood up and started heading for the door. Jace caught his arm and started speaking to him. Shit, this didn’t look good. Not to mention that Ronan didn’t like the way Jace kept touching each of the kids, but maybe that was just his own sensitive radar being on alert with this case.

Finally, after a few tense minutes, Jace brought all three boys over to the table. “Like you said, no names.” He indicated the boys to all sit down. Jace hovered behind them.

“I’m Detective Ronan O’Mara. I work cold cases, so you don’t have to worry about getting busted for working.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He flipped through it until he came to a picture of Justin Wilson. “Do you know him?” He turned the phone around to show them.

Each of the boys shook their heads no.

“He was murdered a few months back. He answered an out-call response to a hotel in Revere. The john hit him and knocked him out then spent hours torturing him before murdering him. How about this guy. Do you know him?” Ronan showed them a picture of Austin Roberts.

Ronan got blank stares from the first two boys, but got a shocked reaction from the third. “Fuck, he’s dead?”

“You know him?” Jace asked. He bent low over the boys to look at Ronan’s phone. “I’ve never seen him before.”

The dark-haired boy nodded. “We ran together for a few months. His name was Austin. He was a good kid. His uncle was a dick though. Hated kids like us…” The boy trailed off.

“Gay kids?” Ronan asked gently.

The boy nodded.

“Any of you guys have a run-in with someone like I described? He might be offering a lot of money.” Ronan met each of the boy’s eyes in turn.

All of the boys shook their heads no.

Ronan had a feeling this would happen. “Do you know of any other boys who’ve gone missing? Jace, that goes for you too.”

“Kids come and go from this place. It’s almost summertime and that’s when the kids are on their own the most. It’s warm enough for them to sleep under the stars most nights. I usually only see them when it rains or when they really need to eat.”

“Okay, well,” Ronan pulled out his wallet and handed each of the kids his card. “If you hear anything about this killer on the streets or if any of your friends go missing, call me, day or night. All I want to do is catch this asshole, okay?”

“What are you going to do when you catch him?” the brunette asked.

“Make sure he never hurts another kid.” Ronan said a silent prayer that he could keep his promise.

 

 

25
Tennyson

Tennyson fell asleep on the couch waiting to hear back from Ronan and Captain Fitzgibbon. When he woke up at 6am, he was stiff from sleeping on the sofa and the screen on his phone was still blank. He briefly thought about reaching out to both men, but figured it had been a long night for both of them and didn’t want to wake either of them up.

Being awake and alone gave Ten some time to think about Captain Fitzgibbon and Greeley. He had no idea Ronan’s boss had given any thought to fatherhood or that he was the kind of man who would just offer to take in a kid off the street.

Grabbing a mug out of the cabinet, Ten was about to make a cup of coffee when his cell phone rang. It was Ronan’s picture on the caller ID when he went to pick it up. “Hey there, sexy.”

“Hey, babe!” Ronan’s chipper voice answered.

“Christ, it’s too early in the morning for that cute shit.” Fitzgibbon growled.

“Picked up a hitchhiker?” Tennyson grinned.

“Can you meet us at West Side Sweets? I promised the captain some of Cassie’s kick ass passionfruit muffins and coffee.”

“These muffins had better be out of this fucking world. I got like ten minutes sleep last night.”

“How’s Greeley?” It didn’t bode well if the captain hadn’t slept.

“I’ll tell you all about it when I see you.” Fitzgibbon sounded a tad more chipper.

Ten opened his mouth to ask another question but the line beeped three times and went dead. He guessed Fitzgibbon was not a morning person.

Tennyson dashed into the bakery five minutes later. Thankfully he’d taken a shower the night before and still smelled clean. He found Ronan and Kevin ordering at the counter. “Morning guys. Hi, Cassie.”

“Hey, babe!” Ronan pressed a kiss to Ten’s lips.

“Oh, Christ,” Fitzgibbon muttered.

“Wow, it really must have been a long night, Kevin. I’ve never seen you in this bad of a mood, even when Ronan’s on your last nerve.”

The captain’s frown cracked into a smile. “You might have a small point. I don’t mean to be such a piss-ant, but last night sucked in spades.”

“Why don’t you boys have a seat in the reading room. Cole will be down in a minute and Carson’s gonna be here any second now.” Cassie’s smile was so bright, it was almost blinding.

“I get to meet the whole crew, huh?” He dug his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. “How much do I owe you?”

“On the house for Tennyson’s boys.” Cassie started folding a muffin box.

“In that case, throw in half a dozen of those giant mint chocolate chip cookies. I’ve got a friend who could use a little pick-me-up today.”

Cassie smiled and grabbed cups for their coffee orders.

“Who’s the friend, cap?” Ronan asked curiously.

“I’ll tell you when everyone’s here.” Fitzgibbon sounded exhausted.

Tennyson led everyone to the reading room at West Side Magick. His eyes were on Fitzgibbon the whole time, watching his reaction to the shop and the items in it.

“We’re here,” Cole said breathlessly, running into the room a moment later. Carson was right behind him. “Laurel said Daddy! I had to record her on my phone.”

“Congrats, Cole.” Tennyson hugged his friend. “Guys, this is Kevin Fitzgibbon, Ronan’s captain. Kevin, this is Cole and Carson Craig, my partners here at West Side Magick.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you both. I’ve heard a lot about you from Tennyson. Ronan insisted we come up here this morning so we could debrief everyone at once.”

“I had a feeling you were going to need someone to lean on, cap.” Ronan set a hand on Fitzgibbon’s shoulder, easing his boss into a chair when there was a knock at the door.

“Thanks, beautiful!” Cole called to his wife from the table when Cassie walked in with breakfast.

Ronan took the food from Cassie.

“The cookies are for Kevin, so don’t you cavemen eat them!” There was no heat in Cassie’s voice.

“Wow, you’ve got my wife wrapped around your little finger already, Captain Fitzgibbon,” Cole raised an eyebrow. “That’s Jedi master impressive.”

“Please call me Kevin.” The captain seemed to relax a bit when Ronan plopped a muffin in front of him along with the coffee cup that had his name written on it.

“Tennyson, why don’t you start?” Ronan kissed his head and handed him his coffee.

“Yesterday, Ronan and I split up. I went with Kevin to interview a young man we think might be the one of the killer’s first victims, while Ronan went to see Rod Jacobson, a writer for the Boston Globe who won a Pulitzer for writing a piece on the street kids of Boston.”

“What was it like for Batman and Robin to be apart for the day?” Carson giggled before taking a sip of coffee.

“God, you’re an infant.” Ronan grinned. “It sucked, but you knew that. Don’t pretend you didn’t read me when you walked in the door.”

“He missed you like crazy last night, Ten. Even snuggled up with your pillow so he could fall asleep.” Carson waggled his eyebrows.

“Hey, I thought you were working on those blocking exercises?” Tennyson shot his best friend the hairy eyeball. Not that he didn’t enjoy hearing about how Ronan fell asleep without him, but it wasn’t any of Carson’s business.

“Some days they work and some days they don’t.” Carson winked at Ronan. “How was this kid?” he asked the captain.

“Scared out of his mind and withdrawing from crystal meth,” Kevin said quietly. “The man who attacked him promised to find him and finish the job. That sent him down the rabbit hole, so to speak and he turned to drugs to block out the attack and the threat, but of course meth just makes you more paranoid.”

“Do you think the man who attacked him is the man who killed Justin and Austin?” Cole asked.

Kevin nodded. “I do. Greeley said the guy offered him a thousand dollars for the night and when he got to the motel room, the guy tried to knock him out before the door was closed and locked behind him.”

“It was the same motel in Revere that Austin Roberts was lured to by his killer,” Tennyson chimed in.

“Well that can’t be a coincidence,” Cole said.

“It seemed sloppy to me. If you’re a regular somewhere then people remember you.” Fitzgibbon shook his head.

“What if he has several motels he frequents and it just so happens that Greeley and Austin were taken to this one?” Ronan asked.

“Do we know where Justin was taken?” Carson asked as he pulled his own muffin apart.

“No. We never got that far. I’ll try to channel him again later and ask him. At least now it will be easier. He can shake his head yes or no.” Tennyson turned to the captain. “What happened yesterday when you left with Greeley?”

Ronan looked like he was going to say something snarky, so Tennyson kicked him under the table.

“While Ten and I were talking to the kid, I noticed he was twitchy, underweight, and had severe acne. All three things are hallmarks of meth addiction. I told Greeley that I’d be willing to get him into treatment and give him a place to live if he got through ninety days of treatment.” Fitzgibbon’s eyes were on Ronan as he finished speaking.

“Damn, cap. That’s just what you said you were going to do after you found out Justin Wilson’s friends were going to be staying with Tony Abruzzi and his wife. I’m proud of you.” Ronan’s words were genuine.

“Yeah, well, the drugs might not be the worst of his problems. He let the bastard rape him without a condom. He wouldn’t tell me if he let any of his paying customers do the same thing.” Fitzgibbon shook his head. “I’m worried about what the doctor is going to tell me this morning. If he can tell me anything at all.”

“Is that what kept you up all night? You look like you haven’t slept at all.” To be honest, the captain looked like something the cat dragged in. He was dressed in the same clothes he’d worn yesterday which were badly wrinkled. Ten would bet the captain had slept in them.

“No, that’s not what kept me up. After Greeley and I left you at Castle Island, we went to the precinct so I could find a treatment facility for him. You’d think being in the middle of Boston that would be no problem, right? Well, there were no beds available anywhere in the city. Meanwhile, Greeley was really starting to detox. I’d frisked him once we got into my office and he didn’t have anything on him. He’s in the bathroom throwing up so hard, I’m waiting for his liver to land in the bowl and there I am patting his back and trying to dial treatment facilities outside the city. Fuck, it got so bad I wanted to break into the evidence locker to steal him drugs just to get him through the night.”

“I wish you’d called me,” Tennyson said, reaching a hand out to Kevin.

“Me too,” Ronan added. “I would have been there for you both in a heartbeat. We do for family.”

Fitzgibbon nodded, not making eye contact.

“Did you finally find a place for Greeley?” Ten asked.

“Yeah, it’s just down the road from here in Swampscott. A place called Hope by the Sea. That’s why I was so close when Ronan texted this morning. They’d just gotten him admitted around 5am. He was a mess, crying and begging for one more hit. Jesus, then when they took him away he was begging me not to leave him. I haven’t even known this kid for twenty-four hours and my heart already feels shredded. How is that possible?”

Carson and Cole looked at each other and started to laugh. “That happened to me the second I found out Cassie was pregnant with Laurel. I stared at that stupid pregnancy test with the two blue lines and cried like a baby,” Cole said. “One minute I was Cole Craig, psychic and husband. The next minute I was a father. Sounds like the same thing happened to you.”

Kevin grinned stupidly and nodded. “They’re supposed to give him a full physical, but they can’t give me the results. I don’t even know when they’ll let me see him again since I’m not his legal guardian.”

Ronan slipped his phone out of his jeans. “I’ll text Tony and get the name of the lawyer they used for their boys. But, here’s my two cents, for what they’re worth, you know so many judges, cap. Call one, get them to sign an emergency order naming you as Greeley’s guardian. I know you’re not the type to abuse your power in any way, but there has to be a friendly judge out there who owes you a favor.”

The captain smiled. “There are several. I’ll make some calls after you tell us about your day with Rod Jacobson.”

“Most of it was a waste of time. I didn’t get to talk to any street kids until the very end of the day. We finally ended up at the Tremont Street Mission. Met the guy who runs it, Jace Lincoln.”

Fitzgibbon whistled. “Money, money, money.”

“Daddy’s got the money. Jace seems content running the shelter. He had a touchy-feely vibe with the kids, but they trust him. He was the one who got the teenagers eating there last night to come over to talk to me. One of the boys recognized Austin. None of them have had a run in with our killer or knew of anyone else who had. That’s all I’ve got.” Ronan unlocked his phone and started to text.

“Damn, waste of time was right,” Tennyson grinned.

“Not all police work is glamourous like you see on television, babe. I thought you knew that.” Ronan pressed a kiss against the side of Tennyson’s head.

“Christ are these two always like this?” Fitzgibbon rolled his eyes. “I’ve had way too little sleep and coffee to watch you two lovebirds coo over each other.” The captain reached for another muffin. “These things are off the hook though. I’m gonna grab some more of these on my way out the door for the staff at Hope by the Sea. Cole, make sure your wife takes my money this time, would you?”

Cole held his hands out in a helpless gesture. “Good luck with that, especially if you tell her they’re for nurses. She’ll end up giving you double what you ordered.”

Fitzgibbon shook his head. He stepped out of the room when his phone started to ring.

“What’s our plan for today?” Ten asked.

“I’m not sure. Maybe we should go back to the list of John Does and start visiting morgues to see if any of them have numbers written on their chests.

“You’re going to the morgue all right, but not to check on bodies they’ve already got,” Fitzgibbon said as he walked back into the room. “We’ve got an active crime scene out on Rumney Marsh in Saugus. The male body has the number fourteen written on his chest.”

 

 

26
Ronan

Saugus was outside Boston’s jurisdiction, but Fitzgibbon had made sure all other cities bordering Boston were aware of the possible serial killer situation. Hell, as far as Ronan was concerned it wasn’t a possible serial killer. There were now fourteen teenage boys this man had killed. That made him a serial killer.

Before they’d left West Side Magick, Fitzgibbon had gotten his emergency guardianship order for Greeley. He was on his way to Hope by the Sea to meet with the teenager’s doctors. Ronan was still stunned by the captain’s seeming instant decision to become a parent.

“Do you think Fitzgibbon just decided to adopt a kid overnight?” Ronan asked, breaking the silence in the Mustang.

“I don’t think Fitzgibbon decides to do anything in the spur of the moment. He strikes me as methodical. Why do you ask?” Tennyson sounded curious.

“Adopting a kid is big. I mean, it’s life changing. Your life is no longer your own when you are a parent. Every decision you make is magnified because now it affects two people.” There were days Ronan had a hard time taking care of just himself. He couldn’t imagine being responsible for a whole other person.

“Kevin told Greeley he’d been married to his job since he graduated from the academy.”

“I believe it. He’s always in the office before I get in and he’s still there when I leave at night. If I text him to run something by him, he always responds, even if I’m writing in the middle of the night.”

Tennyson shifted in his seat to face Ronan. “What’s really on your mind, Ronan?”

Of course Tennyson could see right through him. He’d been wondering if he had what it took to make a decision like Fitzgibbon. “You ever thought about having kids of your own?”

“Yeah. You know I’m crazy about Carson’s babies.”

“I was too…” Ronan trailed off.

“You were? What changed your mind?” Tennyson sounded alarmed.

“Don’t get me wrong, babies are amazing. I can see little bits of Carson and Truman in those little ones even at their age, but we’ve met so many homeless kids over the last few weeks. Worse, we’re dealing with fourteen dead teenage boys whose parents forced them out of their homes because they were born gay.”

Tennyson set his hand on Ronan’s thigh. “You want to adopt too.” It wasn’t a question.

“I want to help, Ten. I can’t stand by and let another teenager die. I’ve seen too much. These kids have seen and done too much in order to survive. I just…” Ronan could feel his emotions bubbling up to the surface. He’d heard Tennyson say on several occasions that he could have ended up like one of their victims if not for his gift. Ronan could have been in the same boat if not for his mother’s love and understanding. He’d been lucky, no doubt about it.

“Okay, well, let’s find and lock up this monster and if you’re serious about helping these kids I’ll help you look into it.”

“You will? I mean, I’m not sure if I want to adopt or foster teenagers, but there has to be something we can do to get them off the streets and make their lives better.” Shit, maybe they could help set up a home for boys in this situation?

“Truman mentioned wanting to have a fundraiser to pay for Austin Roberts’ funeral. Maybe you could get on board with the charity he wants to start? I like that he wants to call it We Are Family. Maybe it could be more than a way to provide funeral services for these kids.”

“What are you thinking?” Ronan liked the sound of this.

“What if the money was used to go to shows in Boston? Or to see movies or to go on a shopping spree for warm clothes or to pay for GED classes? These kids don’t want to live on the street and hook to survive. Maybe there are other gay men like us who would want to foster these kids but who aren’t aware that there is a need.”

“It’s definitely something to think about, like you said, once this motherfucker is behind bars.” Ronan heard the tone in his voice darken. He had turned down the road leading to Rumney Marsh and could already see the line of emergency vehicles leading to the body of victim number fourteen.

The bright May sunshine was near-blinding when Ronan got out of the Mustang a few minutes later. He held a hand up to shield his eyes against it, but the one thing he could not shield himself against was the yellow tarp and what lay beneath it.

Tennyson came up to stand beside him. “It’s going to be okay.”

“We both know it isn’t.” Ronan turned to look at Tennyson. His lover wore a grim look on his face. “Is the boy’s spirit here?”

Shaking his head, no, Ten turned to focus on the tarp-shrouded body. “It was violent and bloody, like the others. I can also feel residual satisfaction and relief, if that makes sense.”

“It does. Sometimes these killers feel a compulsion and once they’ve killed their latest victim, it’s common for them to feel relieved, at least until the cycle ramps up all over again.” Ronan hated explaining this to Tennyson. It was like he was chipping away at another piece of his innocence.

“We have to find him before that happens.” The look on Ten’s face was one of pure determination.

“We do. Let’s go.” Ronan headed over toward the officers standing guard over the body.

“You O’Mara?” one of them called out. “I’m Officer Simon.”

“Yeah, and this is my partner, Tennyson Grimm. What have we got?”

“Naked teenage male. His throat is slit ear-to-ear and he has the number fourteen written across his chest in biological fluids. There are multiple contusions all over his body. Both eyes are blacked. Someone beat the shit out of this kid. There’s also signs he was raped.”

Ronan nodded. He was expecting to hear everything the cop was telling him. “Pull back the tarp, please.”

The cop signaled two of the others standing nearby, who quickly did as they were asked.

Ronan gasped and felt his heart start to pound in his chest. Thankfully Tennyson was there to grab his elbow for support.

“What is it? Do you know him?” Tennyson’s voice was laced with concern.

Ronan nodded. He felt his breakfast rising in his throat. He tried to suck in a deep breath but only gagged harder.

“Who is he, detective?” Officer Simon asked.

“He’s one of the boys I met last night at the Tremont Street Mission. The one who knew Austin Roberts. Jesus Christ…” Ronan couldn’t believe his eyes. Twelve hours ago this boy was alive and talking to him and now he was lying mutilated in a field.

“Hey, guys, what are we looking at here?” Vann Hoffman came up from behind them.

“We have another victim of the serial killer,” Tennyson half-whispered. “Ronan spoke to this boy last night.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Vann whispered back. “You two need to catch this asshole. Can’t you get a vibe on the murderer, Ten, by touching this poor boy?”

“I’ve never tried,” Tennyson said on a sigh.

“What would it hurt?” Ronan asked. They needed all the help they could get. He didn’t want to force Tennyson into doing anything he didn’t want to do, but the last thing Ronan wanted to do was repeat this scene over body number fifteen.

“Will I mess anything up for your autopsy or evidence gathering if I touch him?” Tennyson asked Vann.

“Not if you wear gloves. Do you think gloves with interfere with your ability to read him?” Vann’s expression was serious.

“I don’t think so. Do you have gloves I can use?”

“In my kit.” Vann knelt down beside the medical kit he’d brought and pulled out a pair of purple surgical gloves.

Tennyson straightened his spine while he worked the gloves on over his hands. When they were secured, he stepped up to the body and knelt beside it. He seemed leery to reach out and touch the murdered teenager, but after a few seconds, Ten touched his right hand. Moments later, he stood up and walked back to Ronan. “His name is Dylan Charles and the last conscious thought he had was that he should have told you the truth last night, before it was too late.”

 

 

 

27
Tennyson

After Ronan had done as much as could be done at the crime scene, they’d gone back to his apartment in Dorchester, after a brief stop at the precinct. Even working remotely from Greeley’s rehab facility up on the North Shore, Fitzgibbon had been working his ass off for Ronan.

Fitzgibbon had pulled the rest of his cold case detectives off the cases they were currently working on and had them assigned to the John Doe bodies matching the age range of this killer. So far, they’d managed to find ten of the fourteen victims attributed to this killer. All of them had numbers written on their chests.

Ronan had run in to the office to grab the two boxes of files his colleagues had left for him. These files were currently stacked around Ronan’s kitchen table. Ronan hadn’t said a word in two hours. The only sound in the apartment was the scratching of his pen against page after page of yellow legal paper.

While Ronan was wading through the police reports and autopsies of the dead teenagers, Tennyson had been trying to reach out to Dylan Charles. So far, he’d had no luck. Granted, the boy had only been dead for half a day, but he’d spoken to other spirits who’d only been dead for a matter of seconds.

Ten was exhausted and more frustrated than he’d been since the Michael Frye case.

“Hey, you okay?” Ronan called out from behind a stack of files.

“Can’t reach Dylan Charles.” In truth it was more than that. Ten knew Ronan felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. That burden only got heavier with every case file sitting on his table. Tennyson was feeling the same pressure. He should be able to contact more of these boys.

“I’ve been thinking,” Ronan said suddenly from behind him.

Tennyson startled a bit, but Ronan was right there, wrapping Ten in his strong arms. “About what?”

“How would you like a nice hot bath? Hmm? Maybe a cup of green tea? Then after your soak you might be in a better frame of mind to channel. I’ve been making notes on all of these cases. That’s why I’ve been so quiet for so long. I wrote down basic info about each teenager so you’d have it all handy.”

“You did that for me?” Ten whispered, knowing that if he spoke out loud his voice was going to crack with emotion.

“Before you met me, Ten, you’d never seen a dead body, now you see them all the time. Hell, you even touched one today. I’m just afraid that I’m stealing your innocence a bit more with every day we spend working together. If I can do one thing for you that somehow helps you recharge, it makes me feel like maybe I can wash away those sins.” Ronan buried his head in the hollow of Ten’s shoulder.

Ten had to admit Ronan made several good points. He’d spoken to spirits from the time he was thirteen years old, but it wasn’t until he’d started working with Ronan that he’d ever seen a dead body. “You know how important my work is to me. I used to think delivering healing messages from spirit was the best thing I could do. You know, help someone get over losing a husband to cancer or get over losing a daughter who died in a drunk driving crash. But Ronan, helping you arrest murderers? Getting a serial killer off the street who’s raping and torturing gay men before he kills them, what could be more important than that? Yeah, the work is ugly and Jesus Christ, all I want to do is cry for these poor boys, but this is the best work I could be doing with my gift right now.”

“I’ll go start the bath. Why don’t you put the kettle on?” Ronan brushed a kiss over Tennyson’s lips.

Ten felt like asking what had gotten into Ronan to want to do something so kind for him, but he kept his mouth shut. Ronan had done stuff like this for him before the end of the Michael Frye case, before his ex-husband made his awful confessions. This Ronan was the Ronan he’d been before the awful day when that case had come to its final, brutal conclusion.

Walking over to the stove, Ten turned on the burner under the kettle and grabbed two mugs out of the cabinet. Ronan had started drinking tea with him, though not the green tea he preferred. Ronan liked peppermint tea. He put a bag in each of the cups and waited for the water to boil.

When it did, he made the tea for each of them and carried the mugs into the bathroom. What greeted him was quite a surprise. The small bathroom was bathed in golden candlelight. The tub was filled with steaming lavender-scented water. Tennyson loved the scent of lavender. It was so calming and always helped him to center himself when he felt a bit off balance. “Ronan, this is amazing.”

“You like it?” Ronan was sitting on the bathroom floor with his back against the wall of the tub. He was dressed only in his black boxer briefs.

“I love it.” He handed the peppermint tea to Ronan and set his own on the counter near the sink. “I still can’t believe you did this for me.”

“I did it for us, actually.” Ronan waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, did you, now?” Tennyson raised a skeptical eyebrow and pulled his shirt over his head.

Ronan grinned. “While we were apart, Truman bought me this book about reconnecting with your lover. It listed different ways to feel close to your partner and running them a bath and then washing them sounded nice. It was also within my skill set.”

“Within your skill set?” Tennyson laughed. He loved that Truman was thoughtful enough to send Ronan a book on how to reconnect with a lover. If anyone knew the ins and outs of getting back together with a man you loved after royally screwing things up, it was Truman Wesley.

“Yeah, one chapter talked about making a favorite meal. Definitely not my thing.” Ronan shook his head and grimaced.

Tennyson laughed and dipped his toes in the water. “Oh, God, this is perfect.” Ten settled himself into the water and instantly felt the tension of the day start to melt away. He shut his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, letting the light scent of the lavender wash over him.

“How do I find my center?” Ronan asked softly a few minutes later. “I can smell the lavender and when I close my eyes to breathe with you, all I see is the yellow crime scene tarp and that boy’s body from this afternoon.”

Tennyson’s dark eyes popped back open. “Climb in the tub and settle yourself behind me.” While Ronan was undressing, Ten scooted forward.

Ronan climbed in and managed to settle himself into the tub. “I can’t believe we fit.”

“It’s an old house. I knew the tub would be big enough for both of us.” Ten rested back against Ronan’s chest. “Breathe with me. Focus on your breath, okay. Don’t think about anything else but the flow of air in and out.” He shut his eyes and felt Ronan rest their heads together. One of Ronan’s hands sat on his left hip, while the other rested over Ten’s heart.

Ten slowed his breathing down to his favorite three and three cadence. Take a breath and hold it for a count of three and then breathe it out over a count of three. He counted it off for Ronan the first two times through it, but after that, they were breathing together.

After a few minutes of breathing, Tennyson could feel the tension start to melt from Ronan’s body. His muscles started to relax and Ten felt him sag back against the tub a bit more. With as high stress as Ronan’s job was, this was the kind of thing the two of them should do together more often.

“I felt so helpless when I saw that kid’s face,” Ronan whispered against his neck. “There was something in his eyes last night. Like he wanted to talk but he couldn’t.”

“Do you think he didn’t want to talk in front of his friends or in front of Jace Lincoln or Rod Jacobson?” This conversation felt like a slippery slope. The point of getting Ronan into the tub was to get him to relax, not to get him all wound up about the case all over again.  He needed a good night’s sleep tonight and if he was too caught up in the case, Tennyson knew he wouldn’t sleep at all.

“I’m not sure.” Ronan wrapped his arms tighter around Tennyson and held on.

Tennyson was sure Ronan was going to have more to say, but when Ronan stayed silent, he relaxed back against him, matching his breathing with Ronan’s.

“You mean everything to me, Ten. I’m not good at saying these things, but you make my life full of joy again. I haven’t brought much of that to you in return, but I’m working on it.”

“I love you too, Ronan.” Tennyson knew exactly what Ronan was trying to say. With everything that had happened in Ronan’s marriage and then with Josh’s confession back in February, Ten knew Ronan wouldn’t be as eager to confess his feelings out loud again.

Ronan tightened his hold on Ten. 

“You don’t have to say it back. I just need to say the words. We’ve seen so much hate in the last few weeks and I need you to know how much you’re loved.” Ten had been in love with Ronan for months now and it felt freeing to finally say the words out loud.

“I don’t deserve it, Ten.” Ronan’s voice was thick with emotion.

Tennyson had a feeling Ronan would say that. “Yes, you do. You’re the best man I know. Don’t let memories of him steal this moment from you.” There was no way Ten would say that man’s name out loud and ruin this moment.

“I haven’t thought much about him lately for some reason and when I do, my heart doesn’t feel as tight.” Ronan sounded perplexed by that admission.

Ten chuckled. “Want to know why?”

“You gonna tell me it’s because this meditation crap actually works.” Ronan pressed a kiss against the back of Tennyson’s neck.

“It does, but that’s not the reason.” Tennyson was trying to hold back a giggle. He remembered the moment perfectly.

“Tell me,” Ronan whispered in his ear.

“The other day in the reading room, when Bertha brought Austin Roberts to speak to us. She set her hands on your shoulders and whispered for you to let it go.” Tennyson had been so touched by that moment. He hadn’t been sure what a few whispered words from Carson’s mother could do to help Ronan, but he’d been a lot calmer and happier in their private moments in the days since then.

“Hmm. I thought I felt something. Did she kiss the back of my head too?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“Wow, I felt that. Figured it was my imagination playing tricks on me. I felt so much calmer after that, like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.”

“It had been.” It still amazed Tennyson that Ronan had made so much progress with understanding and believing in things he couldn’t see or touch. He’d been such a skeptic when they’d first met.

Ronan pressed a kiss against his neck. “I’ll have to thank her the next time she’s in the room with us.”

“Doesn’t have to be the next time you see her. She’s around all the time, watching over you.” Tennyson loved the way Bertha Craig watched out for all of her boys, as she called Carson and all of his friends.

“But not right now though, is she?” Ronan’s body tensed up.

Ten laughed. “No, we’re totally alone.”

“Thank God.”

“Thank God, what?” Tennyson knew what Ronan was thinking. His erection was pressing hot and hard against his lower back.

“My fingers are starting to wrinkle from the bath water. What do you say we get out of here and I’ll show you what I’m thinking?” Ronan sucked Tennyson’s left earlobe into his mouth.

“Jesus, Ronan, keep doing that and I won’t be able to stand up.” Tennyson’s cock was already at full mast. He couldn’t wait for Ronan to get his hands on it. They’d been apart like this for way too long.

“We can’t have that, now, can we?” Ronan’s right hand skated down Tennyson’s chest, past his abs to wrap around his leaking cock. “How’s this?” He gave it a few slow tugs.

“Fucking amazing, but doing that isn’t going to get me out of the tub either.” Tennyson could not have cared less. This was perfect.

“Changed my mind,” Ronan grinned against the side of his neck. “Your skin is absolutely gorgeous in the candlelight. You glow like a bronzed god.”

Tennyson shivered. No one had ever praised him like that before. “Come on, Ronan. I’m hardly that.”

“You are to me, Ten. You’re always there for me. You’re my best friend, even when I’m not best friend material. You’re sweet and giving.” Ronan sped his hand up on Tennyson’s cock. 

“Jesus, Ronan. You’re gonna make me come.” He really had it bad if Ronan’s voice and his hand were enough to get him off this quickly.

“That’s the plan. I’m gonna stroke you and just sit back and watch it happen. I want to hold you while you let go.”

“Ronan,” Tennyson gasped. Ten knew this was Ronan’s way of showing him that he loved him too. He was hoping his stubborn lover would let him repay the favor later on. 

“Look how big your cock looks in my fist.” With his free hand, Ronan swiped a finger through the free-flowing pre-come drooling out of his slit and brought it up to his lips. “Fucking delicious!” He smacked his lips. 

“Ronan, please.” The friction against his dick was enough to keep him on the edge but not enough to make him come.

“Please, what, baby?” Ronan’s lips curled into a smile against the back of Tennyson’s neck.

“Make me come,” Tennyson pleaded.

“You want me to go faster?” Ronan teased, speeding his hand up and then slowing down again.

“Fuck, yeah!” Ten couldn’t take his eyes off Ronan’s hand as it slid over his erection.

Ronan chuckled and obeyed. He wrapped his free arm tighter around Tennyson’s chest and sped up the motions of his right hand.

Tennyson had never felt more safe and more loved in his entire life. Ronan was holding on for dear life while Tennyson let go a little more with each passing second. “Love you,” Tennyson whispered as his cock jerked in Ronan’s fist.

Ten watched blast after blast of creamy come rip from his slit to land on his chest and Ronan’s hand, knowing full well that Ronan’s eyes were glued to the same thing. 

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” Tennyson whispered, as he started to come back to earth from his volcanic orgasm.

He wasn’t one hundred percent sure, it could have been the hormones talking, but he’d swear on his life that Ronan whispered those words back to him. 

 

 

 

28
Ronan

The red LED readout on Tennyson’s alarm clock read 3:45am. Ronan hadn’t slept a wink all night. 

Every time he shut his eyes all he could see was the sightless blue eyes of Dylan Charles staring back up at him from that field in Rumney Marsh. 

There was no way to have predicted the boy he’d spoken with at the Tremont Street Mission would end up dead twelve hours after Ronan had met him, but he was still wracked with guilt nonetheless. The boy was sixteen years old and deserved more years of life than he’d gotten.

After Tennyson had returned the favor in the bathroom with his very willing lips, they’d called out for Chinese food and spent the rest of the night in front of the television watching The Crown on Netflix. Carson and Truman were in love with the show and Tennyson had wanted to try it out. After Ten’s confession in the tub, Ronan couldn’t have denied him anything.

Ronan couldn’t help wondering if Ten had heard his own whispered words of love while Tennyson had been coming his brains out. Granted it hadn’t been his most courageous moment, but a confession of love was a confession of love regardless of the volume. He was sure there would be a moment down the road when he would be braver and the words would be louder. He knew Tennyson could feel the words in his heart through what they’d done anyway. 

Tennyson had started nodding off only two episodes into season one and Ronan had suggested they go to bed. He’d been staring up at the ceiling ever since. 

He knew this is what love was. Tennyson had been sleeping peacefully on his chest for the last six hours and Ronan didn’t have the heart to wake him up. Hell, he knew that if he’d gotten out of bed all he would have done was go back to work in the kitchen and stare at yesterday’s crime scene photos some more. He had to face facts, they were no closer to catching this son-of-a-bitch now than they were before Dylan Charles had been murdered. 

“Hey there,” Tennyson said softly, before sitting up and pointing to the end of the bed.

“We have a visitor?” Ronan whispered.

“Yeah, sitting on the edge of your side of the bed.”

“Hi.” Ronan held up a hand to wave. 

“What’s your name?” Tennyson asked, pulling the covers up tight around his bare chest. After a moment he nodded. “Says his name is Chris Jessup.”

“Is he related to this case?” Ronan found himself hoping so. It said a lot that he hoped the spirit visiting his bedroom in the middle of the night was a murder victim and not just some random spirit with a message to pass on to his grieving mother.

“He’s got the number two written on his chest.” Tennyson shivered.

“You can see that?” How was that even possible?

“Spirits can show me anything they want me to see. He’s saying that Bertha sent him here to see us.”

“Thanks, Bertha.” Ronan whispered. “What can he tell us about the man who killed him?”

“He says his killer was around all the time,” Tennyson said. 

“Around where?” Ronan hated the disconnect he felt when he couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation. So much about being a detective had to do with reading body language and picking up on clues in the way the witness spoke. Ronan was getting none of that.

“At the Tremont Street Mission, but Chris doesn’t know his name.” Tennyson took a deep breath. “What color were his hair and eyes?” Ten paused before saying, “dark.”

“Shit, both Jace Lincoln and Rod Jacobson both have dark hair. Do either of those names ring a bell, Chris.”

“He’s shaking his head no,” Tennyson said on a sigh.

“How did you end up with him? Did you pick him up somewhere? Did he answer an ad on the internet?”

“No, he’s saying his killer asked him to come help unload something from his car into the shelter. When he went to reach into the trunk, the man hit me. When he woke up again, they were in a shitty hotel room and he was tied to the bed and the killer was raping him.” Tennyson shuddered in the dark.

“Jesus Christ,” Ronan muttered. “What happened when he finished?”

“Chris was begging the man to let him go and the killer laughed and started hitting him. Punching him so hard that he blacked out. The next thing he knew, he was standing outside his body watching while the man mutilated him.” Tennyson reached forward.  “I’m so sorry this happened to you, Chris.”

While Ronan was listening to the teenager’s awful, but familiar tale, he couldn’t help thinking the name wasn’t ringing a bell. “Ten, his name isn’t familiar to me. I don’t think we’ve recovered his remains yet.”

“He’s nodding his head, Ronan. Do you know where your remains are, Chris?” Ten asked gently. 

Ronan said a silent prayer. If the morgues in Massachusetts didn’t have his body then it was possible they were still out there somewhere.             

“He thinks it’s possible he might have been driven into southern New Hampshire.”

“Why does he think that?” Christ, the last thing they needed was to involve another state in this situation.

“He thinks he saw the Barnard School in South Hampton. Says he used to drive past it on Route 107 on his way to a barbecue joint his mother used to take him to when he was a kid.”

“Fitzgibbon didn’t check morgues for John Does in New Hampshire. We can do that in the morning.” Fitzgibbon wasn’t going to like this bit of news one bit. Not only was he going to have to reach out across state lines, but they were getting perilously close to the point in time when the media was going to need to be alerted as well.

“Thank you, Chris,” Tennyson said. “Does speaking with him help us at all?” Ten asked a few seconds later. 

Ronan tilted his head to the side. On the one hand they didn’t really have any new evidence to go on, but on the other, he was going to be able to start interviewing suspects. “Well, we’ve got two suspects now. Problem is, they’re both pillars of the community.”

How the hell was Ronan going to tell Fitzgibbon that the possible suspects a ghost was fingering were a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist and the man who ran the Tremont Street Mission homeless shelter?

 

 

 

29
Tennyson

Neither one of them managed to fall back to sleep after their visitation from Chris Jessup. Tennyson had curled up on Ronan’s chest until his heart stopped pounding, but his eyes had stayed open.

Instead of trying to sleep, they’d showered and picked up donuts for the office. They’d been working for an hour before Fitzgibbon walked in.

“Shit, this can’t be good.” A tired grin was plastered on his face. 

“We brought donuts. Does that mitigate the damage?” Ronan smiled back. 

“Christ on the cross. What the hell have you done this time, Ronan?” Fitzgibbon didn’t look like he was in the mood to deal with any of Ronan’s bullshit this early in the morning.

“Nothing yet, cap. That’s why we’re here.” Ronan grabbed the donuts and followed Fitzgibbon into his office.

“Thank you for keeping him from doing anything stupid, Tennyson.” The captain set his briefcase down on his desk.

“Who says he didn’t?” Tennyson couldn’t help giving Fitzgibbon a bit of shit. For once they were doing things by the book. Fitzgibbon wasn’t going to have anything to complain about.  This time.

Fitzgibbon raised a silent eyebrow and sat down at his desk to turn the computer on. 

“Actually, what’s going on is so big that I was smart enough to know I needed to talk to you in person.” Ronan looked pretty damn proud of himself.

“Well then I guess it’s a good thing I had coffee on my way back from Swampscott.” Fitzgibbon folded his hands on the blotter in front of him.

“They let you spend the night with Greeley?” Tennyson was stunned. There was usually a strict rule about no family contact at drug rehabs for a period of thirty days.

“I didn’t give them a choice. He’s having a bitch of a time with detox. They keep having to sedate him. I promised Greeley I wouldn’t leave his side at night when it’s at its worst and I’ll be god damned if I break my word to him. He’s had enough of that in his young life.”

“Damn, cap. I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of you.” Ronan shook his head. “But Greeley’s one lucky kid to have you on his side. How are you getting through the night?”

“I’m reading to him.” Fitzgibbon looked proud of himself.

“What book?” Tennyson asked

“Right now, I’m reading The Odyssey. I loved that book back in high school and thought he might too.”

That had been one of Tennyson’s favorites as well. “Maybe after that try Treasure Island or Moby Dick.”

Fitzgibbon pulled a yellow sticky note off the pad in front of him and scribbled the titles down. “Thanks, Tennyson. I really appreciate that. He’s struggling something fierce, but he’s stronger than the poison, you know? Listening to the sound of my voice seems to help.”

“Of course it does. It lets him know that you’re there for him.”

“No one has ever been there for him and now he’s got you, cap. It’s got to be blowing his mind.” Ronan was all smiles.

“Speaking of blowing my mind, why don’t the two of you let me in on what’s going on. You’re both here at the crack of dawn and Ronan looks like he hasn’t slept in two days.”

Ronan exchanged a wordless look with Tennyson that handed him the floor. “We had a visitor early this morning.”

“Ah. Was it Dylan Charles?” Fitzgibbon steepled his fingers.

Tennyson shook his head. “No, it was a teenage boy named Chris Jessup.”

“Okay, that’s a new name. Who is he?” Fitzgibbon sat back in his chair.

“He’s victim number two,” Ronan chimed in.

“We haven’t found his remains yet.” Fitzgibbon sounded grim.

“Right, but the good news is that Chris told us that he thinks his body was left in South Hampton, New Hampshire. He recognized the Elementary School.”

“Jesus Christ. I remember hearing about a dead teenager being found on the campus of the Barnyard School.”

Ronan snorted. “Uh, that’s the Barnard School, cap.”

“I’ll call the Rockingham County Medical Examiner and the detectives who handled the case and see about getting the file and the autopsy report. I can’t imagine knowing where to find his body is what got you love birds out of bed so early this morning. What else did he give you?”

This was the moment of truth. Tennyson looked at Ronan before looking back at the captain. “Two possible suspects.”

Fitzgibbon looked confused. “That’s great guys, but what the hell are you doing sitting here in my office telling me about it at zero-dark-thirty? Why aren’t you making plans to bring them both in and interview them?”

“Uh, this is where the story gets a little hairy,” Ronan started.

“Ronan, we’re long past it being a problem that a spirit from the beyond is giving you information on who to interview.”

“It’s not just that, cap, but rather who these possible suspects are that has me and Ten sitting here in your office.”

Fitzgibbon rolled his eyes. “Okay drama queen, who the hell are these suspects? The president and first lady?”

Ronan shook his head. “No, but what would you say if I told you they were Rod Jacobson and Jace Lincoln?”

“Shit, piss and corruption!” Fitzgibbon slapped a hand down on his desk. “You’re telling me you want to interview a Pulitzer Prize winning author and a man who runs a homeless shelter. Christ, who’s next, me?” He leaned forward in his chair and looked back and forth between Ten and Ronan.

“All of the witnesses we’ve spoken with, Greeley included, said the suspect had dark hair. Chris Jessup said the same thing, but he went a step further. He told us that the man who killed him hung around the shelter all the time. The night he was murdered the man asked him to help bring something in from his car and when they went outside to get it from the trunk, the killer hit him.”

“I get why you’re thinking of Jace Lincoln as a suspect, but why Rod Jacobson?”

“Chris was victim number two. His murder happened during the time when Jacobson was researching the piece on the street kids. He was at the shelter a lot. Hell, cap, he made a lot of friends in that community and does a lot of volunteer work. He still spends a lot of time at local Boston shelters. Not just the Tremont Street Mission.”

Fitzgibbon was silent for a few seconds. “Bring them both in. Lincoln first, then Jacobson. Go easy on them, Ronan. Tennyson, use your gift.” He reached for a donut, his hand hovering over the box at the last second. “You know, Ten, I thought it was just weird at first that Jacobson didn’t want you to go along with Ronan when they met. Writers are an odd lot after all, but looking at this from the angle that he could possibly be a suspect, him not wanting you to come along takes on a more sinister tone.”

“I was thinking the same thing, cap,” Ronan agreed.

“What? You’re psychic now too? God help me.” Fitzgibbon rolled his eyes. “Go, both of you.”

Tennyson’s stomach pitched and rolled over the idea that he was going to have to be front and center in both of these interviews. His ace in the hole was that he’d never met either of these men and could just let his sixth sense do the talking. He could only pray that one of these two men was the killer, otherwise they’d be back at square one.

 

 

 

30
Ronan

Jace Lincoln was scheduled to come in to meet with them at 2pm. Ronan had spent the entire day working on a list of interview questions which he’d gone over with Tennyson who’d been able to add some questions of his own.

The last time they’d had to interview a suspect, Ronan hadn’t included Tennyson in the preparation process. Granted, Ronan knew damn well their suspect in the Michael Frye case wasn’t guilty of murdering the five-year-old boy, but Ronan had to interview him anyway. Not including Tennyson had been unprofessional and bush league.

This time he and Tennyson would go into the interview as a team. As partners in every sense of the word.

“My palms are sweating.” Tennyson wiped them against the butt of his jeans as Ronan held the door to the interrogation room open for him. “I can’t imagine what this is going to be like for Jace Lincoln coming in here thinking he’s helping us out, only to have the tables turned on him.”

“Just remember this isn’t going to start out as an interrogation,” Ronan cautioned. “We need to treat him with kid gloves until he gives us something to pounce on.”

“If he gives us something to pounce on.” Tennyson shook his head. “I just can’t imagine a philanthropist as a serial killer. All he does with his time and his money is try to make people’s lives better.”

“What better way to hunt your victims?” This was another situation where Ronan felt like he was chipping off another piece of Ten’s innocence.

“What do you mean?” Tennyson looked horrified.

“Well, using your lion and wildebeest analogy, Lincoln has full access to these kids at the shelter. He’s able to study them and get to know them better under the guise of wanting to help them. Then he can figure out which one is in the most need of money. Who would be willing to take the most risk for the most reward.”

Ten nodded, his shoulders sagging a bit. “He’d even be able to figure out who was on drugs and who might be easier to take down in a fight.”

“Exactly. The shelter is the perfect hunting ground for a predator. The kids know and trust him. And I’m sure Chris Jessup didn’t hesitate to help when Lincoln asked him to.”

“If he was the one who asked him to…” Tennyson trailed off. “It could have been Jacobson. Or a third suspect we haven’t met yet.”

“Fine, if he asked him to.” Ronan knew Tennyson would play the role of good cop in this interrogation. Ronan loved that Tennyson still had that innocence about him. He didn’t want to see this line of work stamp that out of him, but on the other hand, if he believed the best of everyone, he was in for disappointment.

Just as Ronan was about to give Ten a few more pointers, there was a knock on the interrogation room door. “Come in,” Ronan called out.

“Hey, guys.” Detective Mick O’Dwyer stuck his head in the door. “I’ve got Jace Lincoln for you.”

“Thanks, Mick.” Ronan waved to the detective as he showed Lincoln into the room. Mick had been a real friend to him after the Michael Frye case ended. His wife had made sure Ronan was fed while Mick made sure he had a shoulder to lean on.

“How can I help out Boston’s finest today?” Jace Lincoln asked with a genuine smile as he sat down at the table.

Ronan took the seat across from him and next to Tennyson. “This is my partner, Tennyson Grimm.”

“Ah, yes, the psychic. I read a lot about you after the Michael Frye case. Seems you’ve made quite a name for yourself. I know a great financial guy if you’re interested.”

“Thank you,” Tennyson said. He sounded as if he didn’t know how to respond to Lincoln’s offer.

Ronan didn’t have to look at Ten to know he was blushing. Ten always ate up compliments about his gift. “We asked you in here today, Jace, to talk about the case that we’re investigating.”

“Oh, you mean about the street kids going missing?” He leaned forward in his seat, an eager look on his face.

Ronan nodded. “You seem to have a really close bond with the boys I met the other night.”

“Those kids don’t have anyone to look out for them, so I kind of act like a surrogate father to them when they are in the shelter.”

Ronan exchanged a nearly unreadable look with Ten. He wanted Jace to think the look meant more than it did. “Have you noticed any of your boys going missing?”

Jace shook his head. “Those kids, boys and girls, come and go. I used to know all of their names and faces, but it got too hard. I was constantly heartsick when they wouldn’t come back, or worse, when cops would come looking for them because they’d been accused of committing a crime.”

Oh, so Jace wanted to turn this around and blame the BPD, did he? Ronan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Actually, I wasn’t a hundred percent truthful with you the other night. This case is about more than missing kids.”

“I don’t understand. If this isn’t about missing kids, what is it about?” Jace’s curious look morphed into one of confusion.

Ronan exchanged a wordless glance with Tennyson. 

“We’re dealing with a serial killer.” Tennyson’s voice was level, betraying no hint of emotion. 

Jace Lincoln didn’t move a muscle. His eyes darted back and forth between Tennyson and Ronan. Without warning, understanding dawned in his eyes and he exploded backward out of his seat, sending the chair crashing against the back wall. “Jesus fucking Christ! I’m not here for a friendly interview about the kids at my shelter. You think it’s me! You think I’m the killer!” Jace’s eyes were wild, his arms gesturing all over the place.

“Is it you?” Ronan asked easily. To be honest, he wasn’t expecting this sort of reaction at all. Do-gooders like Lincoln usually responded with a desire to help the cops catch the killer. He usually only saw these kinds of histrionics from guilty men.

“Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?” Lincoln practically screeched. “I’ve dedicated my life to these kids. I love my kids.”

“Why aren’t you married, Jace?” Tennyson asked, seemingly out of the blue.

Ronan turned to look at him. He’d gone way off-script and Ronan had a feeling Ten was reading something in their very emotional suspect. He was perfectly content to hand the steering wheel to Tennyson and let him drive the interview.

“That’s none of your fucking business, freak. Get out of my fucking mind.” Jace grabbed his head with both of his shaking hands as if the gesture could somehow keep Tennyson out.

“I’m not in your head,” Ten said simply. “I’m just wondering why a young, handsome, loaded man with a penchant for philanthropy is still single.”

“If you’re not in my head, how do you know I’m single?” Jace raged defensively.

“I read it in Boston Magazine.” Tennyson shrugged. “You were one of their Hot Thirty Under Thirty.”

“Oh.” Jace took a deep breath and seemed to settle a bit. Some of the wildness drained out of his eyes and his breathing wasn’t as ragged.

Tennyson got up from the table and grabbed the chair Jace had sent flying. He set it to rights and motioned for the upset man to have a seat. “That article played you up as one of Boston’s most eligible bachelors.” 

Jace sighed. He sat back down and took a moment to compose himself. Running a hand through his dark hair, he seemed to study Ronan and Tennyson. “I’m so deep in the fucking closet I can practically see Narnia.”

Ronan sat up straighter. The kind of rage their killer was exhibiting could certainly be indicative of a closeted gay man angry at not being able to live an authentic life. Ronan jotted that down on his legal pad.

Tennyson made a sympathetic cooing sound. “I’ve been there too. What’s keeping you in the closet, your work?”

Jace’s barked out a bitter laugh. “My father. He doesn’t want my aberrant behavior to taint the Lincoln legacy.”

Ronan started to salivate. Being closeted plus having Daddy issues? Mama fucking Mia! This man was a psychiatrist’s wet dream in the flesh. If he’d brought the facts of this case to an FBI profiler he was certain they’d send back a picture of Jace Lincoln. Ronan wanted nothing more than to tear into this guy, but he’d hold back. Tennyson was getting more information with his conversational tact than he would with his adversarial one. 

Jace threw his hands in the air. “I mean, Jesus Christ, it’s the twenty-first century. Who the hell gives a fuck anymore?”

You mean aside from all of the red states in the country? Ronan wisely kept that thought to himself. Tennyson was building rapport with Jace and he wasn’t about to spoil that with his big stupid mouth.

Tennyson leaned forward, a conspiratorial look in his eyes. “So, how do you get off? I mean you can’t always party with Mary Palm and her five sisters, right? Even if you switch it up and bat left-handed from time to time.”

Jace’s face broke into a grin he appeared to be trying hard to hold back. “Back Page and Craig’s List. I answer ads for anonymous hook-ups.”

Tennyson looked confused. “How does that work? Your face is all over the news and on magazine covers. How is it possible to hook-up without the guy not recognizing you?” He turned to Ronan and shrugged. 

Jesus H. Christ, Ten could win a friggen Oscar with this performance.  Ronan was going to owe him big time for this later. And he wasn’t going to mind paying the piper.

“Dark alleys, the back seat of my car. Shit like that.” Jace was blushing.

“What about hotel rooms?” Ten asked. “I mean rushed blow jobs in the back seat were hot when we were teenagers but now that we’re adults, don’t you want to spread out and get a bit more adventurous?”

“Fuck no!” Jace looks appalled. “If any of these pricks knew who I really was, they’d blackmail me to within an inch of my life.”

“You have money?” Ronan blurted out. Shit, that wasn’t the classiest way he could have asked that question.

Jace raised an elegant brow at him. “Yes, detective. I have money. I made a deal with the devil long ago.”

“What kind of deal, Jace?” Tennyson asked. 

Ronan snapped his mouth shut so hard that his teeth clacked together. He was grateful to Ten for turning the conversation back to him.

“My father agreed to fund my dream of turning the old church on Tremont into a homeless shelter. He’d even give me a trust fund to live off, if I stayed in the closet. I knew it would be my only opportunity to make this dream come true, so I took it. Waiting for him to die to inherit his billions was out of the question. We all know that only the good die young.” Jace shook his head. 

“So, let me get this straight,” Ronan started. “You gave up the opportunity to fall in love and someday have a family of your own to open a homeless shelter? Why?”

Jace shot Ronan a look that asked if Ronan was stupid or just plain crazy. “Five million dollars a year, detective, goes to feeding, clothing, housing, healing, and educating the most vulnerable neighbors among us. All I had to give up in return was my heart. I’d say it was a fair trade.”

Ronan was stunned, but then again, that’s what a brilliant psychopath does. He throws you off his trail with charming bullshit like this.  “That’s a great story, Jace, but answer me one question.”

“Anything, detective.” Jace Lincoln was back in control of himself now. His smug attitude firmly back in place.

“How is it that when I left the Tremont Street Mission the other night Dylan Charles was alive and twelve hours later, we found his mutilated corpse out on Rumney Marsh in Saugus?”

All of the blood drained out of Jace’s face. “What did you say?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know, Jace.” Ronan opened a folder with the crime scene photos in it. He pulled out one with the yellow tarp hiding the body and held it up for Lincoln to see.

“W-What is that?” His eyes instantly went to Tennyson who sat with a blank look on his face, offering no help.

“That’s Dylan Charles,” Ronan said simply. “Maybe you don’t recognize him because that isn’t how you left him. How about this?” Ronan held up a picture that the detectives took of the body before the tarp had been placed over it.

Jace gasped. He reached out to the picture with shaking hands. His fingers traced the dead boy’s face. “My sweet, sweet Dylan.” Jace looked up at Ronan before pushing back from the table and vomiting everywhere.

 

 

 

31
Tennyson

 

An hour later, Tennyson’s stomach was still doing flips of its own. It had been like a scene out of The Exorcist. Once Jace Lincoln had started spewing, there had been no stopping him. In the end, the interrogation room had looked like a crime scene. 

It was so bad Tennyson had to run from the room or risk sympathetic barfing himself. He’d always been the type to start gagging when someone else was tossing his cookies. He had no idea how Ronan had managed to stay in the room the entire time or how Fitzgibbon had watched the entire spectacle from behind the two-way glass. 

“I got you some ginger ale.” Fitzgibbon set the can down next to Tennyson who’d been hanging out in the captain’s office where, so far, the smell of vomited cheeseburgers and fries had not yet permeated.

“Thanks, Kevin.” Tennyson smiled at the cop. “You’re turning into a regular Mr. Mom, huh?”

Fitzgibbon laughed. “My sister told me being a parent was instinctual. I guess she was right.”

“She sure was,” Ten agreed, managing to take a small sip from the green can. “Where’s Ronan?” Tennyson figured he would be hovering over him like a mother grizzly bear but he’d been absent so far.

“He’s typing up interview notes and trying to get a hold of Rod Jacobson.” The captain took a seat behind his desk and seemed to be studying Tennyson.

“Shit, he still hasn’t called back?” That wasn’t good. Why the hell wasn’t the newspaper reporter returning Ronan’s phone call?

“Ronan’s called him twice already.”

“Did he leave Ronan type messages or regular person messages?” Tennyson snorted.

“Christ, maybe you should have been leaving the messages.” Fitzgibbon sighed.

“I heard that, cap.” Ronan snorted from the door to Fitzgibbon’s office. “Still no word from Jacobson. How’s my delicate hot house flower feeling?”

Tennyson shot him the bird. It wasn’t graceful, but got the job done.

“Shit, Ten, I’ve never seen a man run so fast in my entire life!” Ronan laughed. “No, wait. I take that back. There was that one time when I was a beat cop in Jamaica Plain when those bank robbers threw a die-pack bag of money out the window of their getaway car and people on the street were running after the cash.” Ronan sobered. “Maybe I should try Jacobson on his line at the paper?”

Fitzgibbon shook his head. “No. He could be on deadline with an article. We don’t want to freak him out and alert him that this interview is anything more than just that, an interview. Talk to me about your impressions of what went on with Lincoln, Ronan. Then I want to hear from you, Ten.”

“I think he looks good for this, cap. That shelter is a fertile hunting ground.” Ronan smacked his lips as if he were about to sit down to a steak dinner.

“I heard what you said about the lion and the wildebeest, there Mufasa.” Fitzgibbon rolled his eyes. “It’s a good point, but for the fact that someone was bound to notice kids going missing from the shelter.”

“Not necessarily,” Ronan disagreed. “Shelters are transient places by natures. Jace even said it himself the other night that kids aren’t there as much during the summer because they can sleep outside. All kinds of people come and go from Boston. Some move on to different towns, some have a change of fate, some get arrested. The homeless population is the most difficult segment of the population to keep track of.”

“No offense, Kevin, but aside from Keegan Mills, no one noticed the fact that any of these kids went missing. If Justin Wilson’s spirit hadn’t been so persistent in wanting to speak to me, we wouldn’t be working his case at all, let alone have been able to connect thirteen other dead teenagers to Justin’s murder.”

“You’ve both got me there,” Fitzgibbon said, before raking a hand through his hair. “So what about the hotel he’s using in Revere? Someone had to have seen his comings and goings. A desk clerk, another regular. We need to find out if this is the kind of place that rents rooms by the hour.”

“Are you willing to overlook that little fact if they are that kind of establishment, cap?” Ronan knew it would be a lot easier to get the hotel manager to talk if he wasn’t worried about getting busted himself.

“To catch a serial killer? Hell yes!” Fitzgibbon slapped a hand on his desk.

“If Tennyson is feeling up to it, we’ll head out to the Beach Inn and talk to the desk clerk. Show pictures of Jacobson and Lincoln and go from there.” Ronan took a deep breath. “Captain, I think...”

“I know what you’re going to say, Ronan.” Fitzgibbon sounded world-weary.

“Oh, so you’re the psychic now?” Ronan’s voice was full of snark.

“We have to alert the media.” Kevin Fitzgibbon looked like he could sleep for a week.

“I think we’ve reached that point, don’t you? I mean I’d like to interview Jacobson first. I promised him an exclusive on this story, but that was before he became a suspect. If we can’t find him to interview him, it makes him look guilty.” Ronan rolled his shoulders and waited for Fitzgibbon to give him the go ahead.

“Now hold on a second, Ronan. The day you were out with him, you were gone for ten hours and never once checked in with me or Tennyson. Didn’t you have your phone shut off for the whole day?” Fitzgibbon pinched the bridge of his nose; his exhaustion was evident in his bloodshot eyes.

“Yeah. He wanted my phone off so that it wouldn’t spook the kids.” Ronan wore a strange look on his face as if he were just realizing how odd that request sounded.

“There you go. Let’s give the Pulitzer Prize winning author the benefit of the doubt for a few more hours, okay?”

“You got it, cap.” From the sound of Ronan’s voice, he didn’t like the captain’s order.

 “Okay, Ten. What impressions did you get of Lincoln with your sixth sense?”

Tennyson nodded and took a deep breath. Fitzgibbon wasn’t going to like what he was about to say. “His angry outburst was impressive. It reminded me of a giant temper tantrum a two-year-old would throw at naptime. He was genuinely shocked that we would think him capable of this crime. I didn’t get any kind of vibe from him that he was capable of killing teenage boys, but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t do it.”

“You realize that makes no sense, right?” Ronan shot Fitzgibbon a confused look.

“Our killer is a psychopath and their brains work differently than ours do. We saw that with the Michael Frye case, remember?” Tennyson hated bringing this back up to Ronan after all the progress they’d made recently, but it was the only way to make him and Fitzgibbon understand what he was up against.

“I remember all right. It almost cost both of us our lives.” He shook his head as if he were trying to knock those memories free.

“I couldn’t read Michael’s killer and I might not be able to read this killer either.” The one time when Tennyson’s gift would have been the most useful and it had been almost no help at all. He’d been able to tell the killer had been a rotten human being, but lots of people were rotten, that didn’t make them killers.

“Explain that to me if you would, Tennyson.” Fitzgibbon looked completely lost.

“Begging your pardon, captain, but at this moment, you’re worried about Greeley and about this killer striking again before we can arrest him. I can read you like a book because you’re not a psychopath.”

Fitzgibbon barked out a surprised laugh. “Uh, thanks, I think?”

“Your thoughts are very organized. Psychopaths don’t read like that. Their thoughts are jumbled. More crisscrossed, I guess you could say. Imagine all the sentences in The Odyssey shuffled together with the sentences in Huck Finn. There’s no way they’d make up a discernable story, right? That’s the way a serial killer’s brain would read to me.”

“That makes more sense. So, what did you get when we were in the room with Lincoln?” Ronan asked.

“I got a jumble of thoughts all at once, but that could just be because he was nervous and scared out of his mind when he thought we were accusing him of being the killer.”

“Okay, hold on a minute there, Nostradamus.” Ronan sighed. “His mind was a jumble of thoughts and you’re telling me that you can’t tell if that’s because he’s psycho or because he’s scared shitless?”

“He’s not Norman Bates, Ronan! He doesn’t walk into a room to the accompaniment of creepy violin music. Jesus! I’m doing the best I can here. This isn’t an exact science, you know. All I can tell you is that there were no thoughts in his brain about any of these murders.”

“But he could be hiding them just like Michael Frye’s killer did, right?” Ronan was shouting now.

“Yes! Okay? Yes, he could be hiding his thoughts under layers of good fucking will. There, happy now?” Tennyson was breathing heavy. He could feel the pounding of his heart in his toes. He hadn’t been this angry in years. Probably not since his parents had kicked him out of the house.

“Now that the two of you have had a chance to shout it out,” Fitzgibbon paused, giving each of them withering looks. “I want you to get your asses out to Revere and speak to the people at the Beach Inn. Make up in the car. I swear to fucking God that if I hear one complaint about either one of you, I’m busting Ronan down to patrol and Tennyson, I’ll…”

Ronan and Tennyson each turned to the captain. Tennyson was curious to see what his punishment would be since he technically didn’t work for the Boston Police Department. He was only a consultant.

“I’ll make you clean out Greeley’s barf bucket. Tonight is sloppy joe night at rehab!” Fitzgibbon grinned like he’d just found a cure for cancer.

Tennyson felt his stomach heave. He gagged and ran out of the room. He thought he heard Fitzgibbon laughing as he sprinted toward the men’s room.

 

32
Ronan

It was a quiet ride from Boston to Revere. Usually, Ronan loved this trip since it was up Route 1A and he could see the beach. He knew for a fact that Tennyson loved the beach too, but at the moment, Tennyson wasn’t speaking to him.

There had been moments like what happened back in the captain’s office between him and Tony Abruzzi back when they worked homicide together. They’d shout the walls down when they’d have a difference of opinion. The difference of course was that Ronan and Tony weren’t sleeping together when they’d been partners. Fighting professionally meant he and Ten were fighting personally too.

Ronan had made great strides in trying to understand Tennyson’s gift in the five months they’d known each other. From his side of things, he’d made leaps and bounds in coming from thinking what Tennyson did was absolute bullshit to believing in his gift absolutely. He guessed what he was struggling with now were the nuances of how the gift worked and how it was possible for certain people or mental illnesses to block that gift. Ronan opened his mouth to ask about it when Ten beat him to the punch.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Ten didn’t bother to turn away from the window.

“I get that I’m an asshole, but-”

“Ronan, I said I don’t want to talk about it.” Tennyson’s tone brooked no argument.

It was Ronan’s turn to sigh. “Fine, we won’t talk about it, but we have to find a way to get through this interview looking and sounding professional so that I don’t end up back in my blues directing fucking traffic.” It wasn’t like Tennyson to blow him off like this.

“You know, I’d like to fucking see that. Set up a chair at your intersection and get myself a god damned ice cream cone. Maybe shoot some pictures. Take a selfie or two.”

If that wasn’t so mean-spirited and directed at him, Ronan would have laughed out loud.  If this was how it was going to be, Ronan was going to have to roll with it. “Guess I’ll have to polish up my dance moves then.” He did the worm with his arm before making the stop sign with his right hand, shoving it up against the side of Tennyson’s face, which was still turned out the window.

Tennyson didn’t make a sound and didn’t move to push Ronan’s hand away.

Dropping his arm, Ronan flipped his blinker on to make the turn into the Beach Inn parking lot. Thank God they were only driving five miles to Revere and not back up to Newburyport or Salem. He didn’t know how much more of Tennyson’s frosty silent treatment he could take.

The hotel was a two-story L shaped building that looked like it was last renovated in the 1950s. Coral-colored plastic chairs sat outside each door, adding much needed color to the drab brown structure. The badly outdated neon sign advertised that the hotel had vacancies. Ronan guessed that after the upcoming Memorial Day weekend, the vacancy sign would be turned off permanently until after Columbus Day. The beach was big business here in New England during the summer months.

“I think we should go over how to handle this interview.” Ronan said after he parked the car.

“I know how to talk to people.” Tennyson’s tone was defensive.

“Hey!” Ronan angry-whispered. “This is my career we’re talking about here. I get that you’re angry at me and we can fight about that all you want later, but you can’t just walk in there, guns blazing. If the desk clerk is going to help us at all, we need to make sure he knows he won’t face any charges in this thing.”

“I’m not stupid, Ronan.” Tennyson turned his angry eyes to Ronan.

“I never said you were, Ten.” Ronan hated the look in Tennyson’s eyes. What he hated more than that was the fact that he was the one who put that look in his lover’s eyes. He had a lot of making up to do later, but first, they had work to do. “I trust you with my life as my partner in there. It’s just that we’ve never done this before.”

The look in Tennyson’s eyes softened a bit. “I know how much is riding on this.”

That answer was good enough for Ronan. He got out of the car and headed toward the dingy motel office. Ronan was not greeted by the twenty-something behind the front desk who was buried in his cell phone. The young man’s thumbs were flying over the keypad as he texted. Ronan dinged the bell and pulled out his badge.

“Just a sec.” The clerk never took his eyes off his phone.

Ronan rolled his eyes and kept dinging the bell until the clerk finally looked up at him.

“What?” The clerk’s pissed off eyes met Ronan’s.

“I’m Detective Ronan O’Mara and this is my partner, Tennyson Grimm.” Ronan could feel his frustration maxing out and they’d only been here for sixty seconds.

“Jesus Christ!” The young man looked panicked.

“Look man, I don’t care about the joint in your pocket.” Ronan raised an eyebrow at the freaked-out desk clerk.

“You don’t?” The clerk looked confused.

“No genius, I don’t.” Ronan shot Tennyson an incredulous look. “We need to know if you’ve ever seen this guy before?” Ronan held up a picture of Jace Lincoln on his phone.

“Yeah, I’ve seen that guy. He’s some playboy on the covers of magazines or some shit.”

“I mean have you ever seen him here at the motel?” Christ, get off the pot, kid, it rots your brain… Ronan could never say those words out loud, but what kind of world was it going to be if all of these God damned millennials cared about were video games and getting high? This was the kind of kid who was going to palm his meds, steal his valuables, and smack him around in some cut-rate nursing home when he was too unsteady to stand by himself and wipe his own ass.

The clerk shook his head. “Nah, he’s never been here.”

Ronan flipped through his phone for the picture of Rod Jacobson. “How about this guy? Have you ever seen him here at the motel?” Ronan figured he’d skip right to the chase and save time.

The clerk’s eyes grew wide in obvious recognition. “I ain’t never seen him before.”

“Now come on, Joey. You know that isn’t true,” Tennyson said, finally breaking his silence.

Ronan couldn’t help grinning. The kid wasn’t wearing a name tag. There was no way Ten could have known his name unless he was reading him.

“How’d you know my name?” Joey stumbled backward out of his seat.

“We know a lot of things. Like the fact that you only have one joint in your pocket, but you’ve got a whole bunch of dime bags behind the counter.” Tennyson’s knowing smile lit up his entire face.

Joey put his hands up in the air. “Oh fuck! It’s not mine, man. I swear to fucking God.” Tears formed in his eyes and snot started running out of his nose. “Please don’t shoot me.”

Was this kid for real? Ronan rolled his eyes. “Put your hands down and take a breath, kid. No one’s getting shot.”

Joey was hesitant to obey. He looked to Tennyson for confirmation.

Tennyson merely nodded.

“What do you want from me?” Joey wiped the back of his sleeve against his runny nose.

“How do you know this man?” Ronan held up Rod Jacobson’s picture again.

“He’s a regular at the hotel.” Joey’s eyes darted back and forth between Ronan and Tennyson.

“Do you think we’re stupid, Joey?” Tennyson asked, his voice taking on a menacing tone. “You and I both know he’s more than just a regular, don’t we? Now stop fucking with me and tell me what the fuck is really going on here between the two of you!”

Shit… Ronan tried to school his features. This version of Tennyson would make one hell of a detective. Granted, Ten was using his sixth sense to gather information and then use it against Joey to prove he was lying, but even still, he made a formidable detective. Plus, with that tone of voice and his deadeye, he was scary as fuck right now.

“Okay, okay!” Joey held up his hands again. “But I want some kind of deal or something to be your informant like on TV. It’ll kill my mom if I end up in jail.”

Ronan rolled his eyes. Christ, everyone really did watch Law and Order. “You only get immunity if the information you offer is real and we can prove what you’re saying is true and not some bullshit story you’re making up because you’re stoned. Got it?”

Joey shook his head, sending his dark wavy hair flying around his face. “That guy is a pimp.”

“A pimp?” Ronan was trying hard not to burst out laughing. What the man was, was a Pulitzer prize-winning journalist. It was bad enough Ronan suspected him of being a possible serial killer, but now this punk kid was accusing him of being a pimp?

“How does that work?” Tennyson asked. His voice was still tight. All business.

“He brings boys here and men meet them. The guy hangs out in here with me until he gets a text and then he goes back over to the room. When he comes back, he throws some money my way and then he waits with the boy until the next customer arrives. Rinse, repeat. You get where I’m heading…”

“How much money does he throw your way?” Jesus Christ, could they be looking at an honest to goodness prostitution ring here?

“Anywhere from fifty to a hundred bucks. Depends on the age of the boy. The younger the kid looks, the more money I make.” Joey shrugged. He didn’t look as nervous now.

“Jesus Christ,” Tennyson muttered under his breath.

“How often do you see this guy for your little business arrangement?” He’d need to check with vice to see if they were aware of this little set up. He didn’t need them moving in to make a bust and scaring Jacobson off, not when they were getting closer to being able to link him with this series of murders.

“About once a week.” Joey started picking at a hangnail on his left thumb.

“How do you know when he’s coming?” Tennyson asked.

“I get a text.” Joey’s hand inched closer to his phone.

“When was the last time you got a text?” Fitzgibbon wasn’t going to like the sound of this: Pulitzer Prize-winner turned pimp. Film at eleven.

“Last week.”

“Stay there. Don’t move. Give me your phone.” Ronan held out his hand. He waited patiently until Joey begrudgingly handed it over. “Come with me,” he said to Tennyson and headed out the front door of the motel, making sure he kept Joey in his sights.

“What?” Tennyson refused to meet his eyes.

“What are you getting from this kid?” Tennyson’s attitude was really starting to rub Ronan the wrong way. He got that Ten was pissed, but they were working here. There was no time for his shitty attitude.

“He’s telling the truth.” Tennyson still wasn’t meeting Ronan’s eyes.

“Christ, so that means he and Jacobson are running an undercover prostitution ring here at the hotel and they’re trafficking underaged boys. It’s the perfect set up.”

“What are you talking about? It’s a perfect set up that Jacobson is pimping out teenaged boys?” Tennyson finally turned his gaze from the ocean to look at Ronan.

“Think about it. Let’s say our killer is a pimp. He brings teenage boys to this hotel to meet paying customers who like young boys. It’s the perfect operation in so many ways.” Ronan was practically giddy over the brilliance of this idea, if it didn’t involve the sex trafficking of underage boys.

“Explain what you mean.” Ten fisted his hands on his hips.

“In terms of our killer, he has the perfect reason for bringing teenage boys here and no one’s the wiser when he brings a boy here that isn’t for public consumption. When we come around to ask if anyone has seen Jacobson here, all anyone will be able to tell us about is the pimping. And Jesus, Massachusetts is a fucking lightweight when it comes to sentencing for that shit. It’s like a two to five-year sentence, but that’s only if there’s evidence to convict.”

“And street kids are notoriously transient,” Tennyson added.

“Right, plus the fact that Jacobson has the resources to pay these kids to disappear so they can’t testify against him.”

“I hate to tell you how to do your job-” Tennyson started.

“No, you don’t!” Ronan managed a small smile.

“You’re right, I don’t. Did you run a background check on Jacobson? Does he have any arrests at all?”

Ronan shook his head. “No, I didn’t do that, but I can text Fitzgibbon and ask him to do that. It won’t take long. I can’t imagine the Globe hiring him with a record, but stranger things have happened.”

“What are you going to do about Joey in the meantime?” Ten hooked his thumb at the nervous clerk who was pacing back and forth in front of the desk.

“I’ll use his paranoia to our advantage and tell him that I’m sending another officer to sit on this place and his house and that he’ll be arrested if he lets Jacobson know we’re on to him.”

“What if he texts Jacobson to give him a heads up?”

“My guess is that Jacobson isn’t that stupid. He’s using burner cell phones to communicate with Joey. But just in case he isn’t, I’m going to get the numbers out of his phone that Jacobson uses to contact him.”

“We’re really in the shit now, aren’t we?” Ten sighed.

Ronan nodded. He had a feeling Tennyson wasn’t only talking about the shit storm going on at the motel.

 

 

 

33
Tennyson

Tennyson wasn’t surprised when Ronan headed back to his apartment rather than the precinct after they were finished at the Beach Inn. He’d been battling his anger at Ronan all afternoon. Part of him knew he was being unreasonable, but the other part of him was sick of Ronan shitting on his gift when it didn’t give him the answer he was looking for.

When Ronan parked the car, instead of coming around to Tennyson’s side and opening the door, he jogged up the front steps and grabbed his mail out of the box, before continuing into the apartment building.

If Tennyson were being honest with himself, he didn’t blame Ronan for not being his usual chivalrous self. He climbed out of the Mustang, slamming the door harder than necessary, knowing that mistreating Ronan’s baby would really get his lover’s goat.

His door slamming didn’t disappoint. Ronan was waiting for him outside his door. The look on his face was mutinous.

“It’s one thing to be mad at me, but do not take it out on my car.” Ronan’s blue eyes were narrowed and full of barely restrained fury.

“Grow up, Ronan. It’s a hunk of metal.” Tennyson pushed past him and into the apartment, knowing full well that those were fighting words.

“A hunk of metal?” Ronan roared, slamming the door behind him. “That car is a classic piece of American ingenuity.”

“It’s a piece of junk.” Tennyson folded his arms over his chest and smirked at his lover.

Ronan’s face turned beat-red. He looked like the top of his head was about to explode. He turned around and faced the small window over the sink, bracing his hands against the counter.

Tennyson could see he was taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself down. It wasn’t going to take much more to really push Ronan over the edge.

“You want to fight about what I said earlier?” Ronan asked, turning back around from the sink. “Then fine, let’s fight! You nearly died back in January because I’m a shit detective, and you couldn’t read Michael Frye’s killer, Ten. I nearly fucking lost you!” Ronan was yelling again. “You have no clue what that did to me. The whole time I was trying to find you it felt like my heart was in a vise. The closer I got, the tighter it squeezed. Then, when I found you and saw that gun pointed at your head, saw the look of delight in that motherfucker’s eyes when he was about to pull the trigger. It fucking broke me.” Ronan took a ragged breath. 

All Ten could do was stare at his lover in disbelief. He had no idea Ronan felt this way. In the three months that had passed since the end of the Michael Frye case, Ronan had never once told him any of this.

“I’ve never loved a man like I love you, Tennyson, and all I could think in that moment was that you were going to die right in front of me and I couldn’t do anything to save you. When our relationship crashed and burned, you thought it was because of what my ex said to me. It wasn’t his grand confession that fucked me up. It was the fact that my one job is to protect people and I couldn’t protect the person I love the most.”

Still shocked by the words pouring out of Ronan’s mouth, Tennyson took a step forward.

Ronan held up a hand to stop him in his tracks. “Every time I close my eyes at night, I see your terrified, bloodstained face. Whenever I can’t find you or you don’t answer a text right away, part of my mind goes back to that day and I have to stop myself from wondering if some other criminal took you. And now…” Ronan bowed his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Now, we’ve got a serial killer on our hands targeting gay men. Hell, we’ve also got a prostitution ring targeting the same group of teenagers. Our suspect could be one and the same man or they could be two different men. How the hell can I keep you safe from two psychopaths when I couldn’t keep you safe from one?” Ronan’s voice cracked. His arms dropped limp at his sides.

Tennyson rushed to Ronan, unable to take one more broken word from his lover’s mouth. He wrapped his arms around him and held on tight. He finally understood where Ronan was coming from this afternoon in Captain Fitzgibbon’s office. Ronan wasn’t angry that he couldn’t see if Jace Lincoln was their serial killer because he wanted to make the collar and get his name in the paper. He wanted to arrest the man so that Tennyson would be safe.

“I’m sorry, Ronan. I didn’t know,” Tennyson whispered the words to Ronan, who wrapped his arms around Ten’s waist. “I was so angry thinking you were shitting on my gift.”

Ronan shook his head against Ten’s neck. He pulled back and swiped his arm over his eyes. “I respect you too much to do that. I was just so frustrated thinking that this was almost an instant replay of what happened back in January. I don’t want to repeat what happened with you being in danger.”

“Did you ever think that I feel the same way about you?” Tennyson crossed his arms over his chest. When the Michael Frye case was said and done and his own physical wounds had healed, the one question he’d struggled with was if he was strong enough mentally to be with a man who could be killed while at work.

Ronan nodded. “It’s one of the reasons a lot of cop marriages fail. Spouses can’t take the constant worry. I’m a lot safer than most detectives working cold cases, but I understand your worry. On the other hand, I could get hit by a bus crossing the road or a piano could fall on my head. Death is all around us, Ten.”

Tennyson snorted. “A piano? Really?”

Ronan found a smile. “Really. Just like in those cartoons when we were kids.”

Tennyson shook his head. There was no way he could stay mad at Ronan for long, especially not when he’d just opened his heart like that. He’d bet Ronan had never shared that much of himself with anyone ever. “How do we get past this?”

“We live in the moment. Take each moment as it comes and thank God for finding each other.”

“I’m sorry I was such a dick today out at the motel.” Ten reached out to cup Ronan’s face in his hands.

Ronan shrugged. “You were a bit of a pill, but you got some good information out of Joey. Don’t think I’m not going to kick your ass over you slamming my car door though…” Ronan trailed off, his eyes darkening.

“Hmm,” Tennyson grimaced. “I should pay for that. Shouldn’t I?”

“The question is, how?” Ronan tapped the side of his head with his index finger. “Strip! Now!” He commanded, his cop voice in full effect.

“Yes, sir.” Tennyson did as he was told. A frisson of excitement tore through his body. He had no idea what Ronan had planned for him, but couldn’t wait to find out.

Tennyson quickly pulled off his polo shirt and nearly lost his balance when he tried to yank his jeans off. Not a minute too soon, he stood naked before Ronan. His erection bobbed against the light fur of his stomach.

“You were a very bad boy today, weren’t you, Tennyson?” Ronan’s voice was calm, betraying no emotion. His eyes never strayed past Ten’s.

“I was.” Ten nodded his head. He felt his cock get that much harder. He also couldn’t help noticing the rather large bulge in Ronan’s pants and couldn’t wait to wrap his lips around it.

“I was thinking I would punish you by not letting you come tonight…” Ronan trailed off.

Ten gasped. Now that was truly a punishment worse than death.

“But that would just be cruel,” Ronan finished. “I had also considered making you give me a massage, but I’m so exhausted I was afraid I’d fall asleep before we got to the good stuff.” Ronan walked slowly around Tennyson, not touching, just looking at him. “Hands and knees on my bed. Now!”

Tennyson practically ran to the bedroom. He loved it when Ronan fucked him from behind like an animal. He was hoping his punishment would come in the form of quick prep. He wanted it to burn tonight.

He arranged himself in the middle of the bed and waited for Ronan. Ten had a feeling Ronan would make him wait a bit. After all, he had been a bad boy, slamming the car door like a petulant child. When five minutes had ticked off on the alarm clock, his arms were starting to get tired.

“Very nice presentation,” Ronan said from the doorway. “You’re in the perfect position for what I had in mind.” Ronan’s voice was gravelly, almost a growl.

Tennyson could hear the sound of skin rubbing against skin. He didn’t need to turn around to know that Ronan was rubbing his hands together. He spread his knees apart just a bit more hoping to show off his twitching hole.

Ronan chuckled from behind Tennyson.

Ten heard Ronan take his belt off. Heard the metal buckle hit the floor, followed by the sound of his jeans landing on top of it. Next to go was Ronan’s shirt.  Footsteps leading up to the foot of the bed followed. Tennyson couldn’t help moaning out loud when Ronan blew a warm breath over his hole. He shivered in anticipation.

“Like that, did you?” The gravel was still there in Ronan’s voice. “Then you’re going to love this.”

Tennyson had no idea what Ronan was up to, but he knew one thing, this was not punishment. This slow build up was heaven on earth. There was a sharp crack of skin on skin followed by his left ass cheek feeling like it was on fire. Tennyson shouted out in pain.

“One,” Ronan counted in the same low, smoky voice.

Shit, if that was one, that must mean… Another crack followed. This time on his right cheek. His ass was on fire, but what was more confusing than Ronan punishing him like this, was the fact that his cock was so fucking hard, he was sure he could cut through glass with it. What the actual fuck?

“Two,” Ronan said before rubbing his hands together again.