Chapter Twenty Three
Rory
Leaning back in his chair, feet propped up on the desk, Rory tossed a tennis ball at the wall, catching it easily when it came back to him. The King County DA had called earlier in the day to let them know he was going to indict Bruce Pearson on nineteen counts of assault on a minor, two counts of murder—since they could put the attorney at or near where the bodies were discovered—and several other charges Rory didn’t pay any attention to. The murders were circumstantial at best; Pearson had been right about that, and the DA couldn’t charge the fucker with sexual assault of a minor since there was no evidence of him actually sleeping with any of the victims unless Shannon testified. Gonzales had described in great detail exactly what she planned to do to his and Rand’s nuts if either of them even considered that option.
“I’m fucking insulted, Consuela, that you’d think for one second I’d do that to Shan.” Rory used her full name knowing how much she hated it. With a statement like that, she was asking for it.
Rand snorted. “Con…” Gonzales growled at the detective, baring her teeth like a barracuda. It was quite fun to watch the normally brazen Rand Davis, eyes wide, hands in the air as he slowly backed away from the woman snarling at him. “Whoa, sorry, I’ll shut up now.”
In his periphery, Rory saw Rand run his hand over his buzzed hair and smile. Fucking hell, the man was entirely too tempting. They’d come dangerously close to crossing a line, to making a mistake that neither of them could have been forgiven for. And the horrid truth of the matter was, Rory didn’t feel like they’d done anything wrong, not really. It was just a kiss, right? He kept trying to tell himself that. It crossed his mind the night before when he was holding Shannon in his arms to tell him about the near mishap with Rand while they were in Washington. But he’d told himself the same thing then that he was now—that it was just a kiss. What kind of a person did that make him?
The phone on Blair’s desk rang, and Rory prayed it was the desk sergeant announcing the arrival of their mysterious visitor. “Yes, bring him back.”
“Thank fuck.” Rand took a seat on the corner of his desk. “I was beginning to think we’d be here all night.”
Feet already on the desk, Rory swung his right leg to the side, shoving Rand off. “Manners, Detective.” Rand turned and glared at him, his eyes lowering when Rory licked his lips. They were in close enough proximity that Rory heard the sharp intake of breath. He looked to Blair, then Connie, grateful that neither of them seemed to hear. Before he could figure out how to respond, there was a knock on the doorframe.
Rand turned just as Rory stood, both of them cursing. “Holy shit.” Standing in the doorway to their office was Howard Manning Tullor Junior. Older now than the images in the folder on Rory’s desk, he and Shannon had both aged well and no longer looked as identical as they had when they were teenagers, but there were still similarities evident in Junior’s features. His blond hair was unkempt, brushing his shoulders. He had blazing blue eyes and he was tall, more so than his Shannon. When Rand walked over and introduced himself, he was at eye level with Junior, which meant the kid was six four. He wasn’t a kid though; Rory reminded himself that the man standing before him was not the adolescent he’d seen in photographs.
“Please, come in, sit.” Blair walked around his desk, grabbing a chair from the corner and pulling it over between his and Rory’s desks. “Can I get you anything before we start? Water, coffee?”
“Water would be nice.” Junior thanked Blair with a forced smile. His voice was…odd. Rory couldn’t put his finger on it, but his tone sounded almost, damaged in a way. Like the demon-possessed girl in The Exorcist—damaged. Connie tossed a bottle of water to Blair, leaning back against her desk with the small voice recorder she kept in her purse in her hand. Smart woman. Rory hadn’t even thought to take notes.
“So, when you called me this morning, you said you heard we were looking for you and that you had information on Bruce Pearson. Why don’t you start by telling us how you heard we were looking for you when we all thought you were dead?” Blair wasn’t normally the talkative one.
Junior nodded, clearing his throat. “I have a friend that still lives in Seattle, and he got word to me about a year ago that there were a couple of FBI agents in town digging up old cases, asking questions about missing teenagers, and my name was on the list.” Twisting the cap off the bottle, Junior took a healthy swig before clearing his throat again. “I completely disappeared when I left Washington, because it was necessary, and I’ve stayed hidden because I knew if he ever found out that he didn’t actually kill me the night I tried to leave, he’d find me and finish what he started.”
“Jesus,” Rand groaned. “Let’s take a step back, Howard. Tell us how you wound up in the spider’s lair to begin with.”
“I go by Mannie now. I couldn’t very well use my real name, and why would I want to? I’m pretty fucking sure you all know who my grandfather is.” Junior crossed his arms over his chest, clearing his throat again. It was really starting to drive Rory crazy and damned if he could say why.
“Mannie, can you please tell us how and when you met Bruce Pearson?” Rand was using his exasperated tone.
Wiping his hands on the threadbare jeans he was wearing, Junior told a story much like Shannon’s. “I was fourteen and angry at the world. I already knew I was gay, but there was no way in hell I could tell anyone. Not when my grandfather and father were both spewing fire and venom, weekly conversations over dinner about the gay agenda and how homosexuality was turning the world to shit. I rebelled, acting out in other ways—vandalism and petty crimes. Of course my grandpa being who he was, he couldn’t let it be known that his grandson was a hooligan. He hired the best lawyer his money could buy to represent me in juvenile court, not realizing that he had basically handed me over to the devil himself.” Junior snorted, eyes distant, obviously remembering something.
The silence stretched toward uncomfortable. “Go on.” Blair waved a hand in the air.
Junior flinched, eyes vacant for a brief second. Blinking, he shook off whatever it was holding him captive, clearing his throat, again. “Sorry, I sometimes have issues staying focused.” Junior apologized, tapping his temple with a finger. “Doc says it’s from my injuries. Where was I? Pearson, right. So Daddy dearest and Gramps handed me over to someone they assumed was a responsible adult. Not so much.” Junior scrunched up his face comically and Rory fought the urge to laugh.
“Bruce told me I was better than the role models in my life, that I was more than where I came from. I was young, stupid, and fearless, and I trusted him. For a very long time, I thought I loved him, and that fucked with my head for years. Eventually I came to the realization that what I loved was the man Bruce pretended to be, the man he presented himself as in the beginning.” The longer he talked, the more restless Junior became. His eyes darted around the room, not staying focused on any one thing for more than a few seconds. A thick, wool scarf was wrapped around his neck and he kept pulling at it, like it was irritating him, but he wouldn’t take it off.
Rand scooted his chair a little closer to Junior. “How long were you with Pearson before the relationship became a sexual one?” He kept his voice even and low, the rough baritone hard to dismiss.
“Six months, I think. He was so gentle and attentive the first few times—his requests prior to us having sex becoming stranger each time. The longer I was there, stuck in that prison disguised as a gilded cage, the worse he made me feel. He kept this cigar box with pictures of the guys before me in it. I looked inside once and…” Junior trailed off, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sure you’ve seen inside that box too.” The four of them nodded in unison.
“Can I ask you a question, Agent Cummings?” Junior turned to Blair, who nodded in response. “Am I the only one that made it out alive?”
Rand cursed softly, Junior’s eyes now trained on him. “How many more?”
“Just one,” Rory answered.
“That we know of.” Blair tried to bring Junior’s focus back to him by touching him on the shoulder. Holy hell, he fucking freaked out. Jerking away, he jumped to his feet, walking backward until the wall stopped him, eyes darting around the room like a feral cat. Rory didn’t move, not wanting to give Junior a reason to bolt. “Sorry, Mannie, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Can you come sit back down and tell us the rest of your story, please?”
Hands shaking, Junior pushed his hair behind one ear, eyes slowly starting to focus on his surroundings. Rand reached for a pen, scribbling PTSD? on a notepad on Rory’s desk. Dipping his head would have to be a sufficient response; he didn’t want to make a sound—their scared bird might fly away. Rand had a point, though. Sweat dotting his brow, pupils dilated, body trembling, the smell of fear permeated the room. One could easily assume Junior was having a flashback.
It took a little more coaxing, and Blair had to push the chair Junior had been sitting in over next to where he stood before the scared rabbit sat back down. Several long, awkward minutes passed as Junior visibly relaxed before he continued. “I was fourteen when he sunk his claws into me, almost fifteen the first time he beat the living shit out of me, and I’d just turned seventeen when I thought I could get away.” He reached for the scarf around his neck, long fingers pulling it loose. “This is what happens when you cross Bruce Pearson.” Turning his head to the side and brushing back his long hair uncovered an angry red scar that ran across Junior’s throat from just below his right ear to his Adam’s apple. “I’d show you the six-inch incision on the back of my head and the metal plate that’s holding my brains in, but I wouldn’t want to scare the pretty lady.” For the first time since he walked into the office, Junior truly smiled when he looked at Connie.
“Can you tell us what happened, Mannie? How you sustained these injuries?” Rory asked. Certain things that the serial killer—that they’d named the Columbia River Killer—had done to his victims had never been released to the press. The only body they’d found and connected to the case that wasn’t strangling or didn’t have his throat slashed and his head bashed in was the victim that was still classified as a drowning. They’d always questioned whether or not the guy that had drowned at Sauvie Island was one of their victims. But when Rand included the article with a picture in the byline in his photo lineup with Pearson back in Washington, Pearson didn’t deny the connection.
“Looking back, I think Bruce knew what I was planning and pretended to leave for work. I shoved everything I wanted to keep into a bag and left the apartment. They were waiting for me when I exited the building, Bruce and Tuan. I swear I almost had a heart attack when I saw the car idling at the curb. Bruce swung the door open and Tuan came around the car, grabbing me by the arm and shoving me into the back seat. He was so pissed, madder than I’d ever seen him before, and that’s saying a lot after spending three years in hell with those two. When he wrapped his fingers around my neck and squeezed, I actually prayed for death.” Junior raised his head, eyes full of shame. Rory tried to think of something to say, anything, but nothing that came to mind seemed appropriate, so he sat quietly, as did everyone else in the room. Allowing Junior the moments he needed to finish his story.
“The next thing I knew, I was on my back on the ground in the woods and my head was throbbing. I remember reaching up and touching the back of my neck, my fingers soaked in blood when I held my arm out in front of me. But it was the dark, looming shadow that truly terrified me. When he slit my throat and shoved the blade into my neck for good measure, he nicked my vocal cords. That’s why I talk like an old man that’s been smoking a pack a day for fifty years, why I’m constantly having to clear my throat.” Sighing, Junior slumped in the chair, letting the weight of the world fall off his shoulders.
“Would you be willing to testify in front of the grand jury in King County when the DA presents his request to indict Bruce Pearson?” Rand asked.
Junior looked at him, confused. “What good would that do?”
“It would tie him to you when you were still underage for starters. He then tried to kill you and left you for dead. I think that one’s a no-brainer, Mannie.” Rand sounded exasperated again.
“No, you’ve got it wrong, Detective. Bruce didn’t try to kill me. Tuan did.”