In His Sights E-Book

K.C. Wells

• Herausgeber: DSP Publications
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 414

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Random letters belong on Scrabble tiles, not dead bodies. But when a demented serial killer targets Boston's gay population, leaving cryptic messages carved into his victims, lead detective Gary Mitchell has no choice but to play along. As the body count rises, Gary gets desperate enough to push aside his skepticism and accept the help of a psychic. Dan Porter says he can offer new clues, and Gary needs all the insight into the killer's mind he can get. Dan has lived with his gift–sometimes his curse–his entire life. He feels compelled to help, but only if he can keep his involvement secret. Experience has taught him to be cautious of the police and the press, but his growing connection to Gary distracts him from the real danger. As they edge closer to solving the puzzle, Dan finds himself in the killer's sights….

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Blurb

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

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About the Author

By K.C. Wells

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Copyright

In His Sights

By K.C. Wells

Random letters belong on Scrabble tiles, not dead bodies. But when a demented serial killer targets Boston’s gay population, leaving cryptic messages carved into his victims, lead detective Gary Mitchell has no choice but to play along.

As the body count rises, Gary gets desperate enough to push aside his skepticism and accept the help of a psychic. Dan Porter says he can offer new clues, and Gary needs all the insight into the killer’s mind he can get.

Dan has lived with his gift—sometimes his curse—his entire life. He feels compelled to help, but only if he can keep his involvement secret. Experience has taught him to be cautious of the police and the press, but his growing connection to Gary distracts him from the real danger. As they edge closer to solving the puzzle, Dan finds himself in the killer’s sights….

Acknowledgments

My thanks to my beta team, as always.

Special thanks to Jack Parton for his knowledge of Boston.

EXTRA special thanks to Geoff Symon for his invaluable assistance and for putting up with countless messages. That went above and beyond. Thank you, Geoff.

Chapter 1

Boston, MA. Tuesday May 15, 2018

DETECTIVE GARY Mitchell took one look at the naked dead man lying facedown on the bed and his day officially went to shit.

Aw Christ, not another one.

The bedroom was an eerie carbon copy of the previous crime scenes. A small bottle sat on the nightstand, and Gary didn’t need to see the label to know it contained GHB. On the bed beside the body were a tangle of red rope and a pair of handcuffs. He glanced at the rug, and sure enough, there was the soiled condom. Gary returned his attention to the deceased, noting the marks on the wrists and ankles, just like the previous victims.

This one struggled too. At least until the drugs kicked in. It was all supposition until the autopsy, but Gary saw no reason why the killer would change his MO. It hadn’t gotten him caught so far, right? Why change a winning formula? The thought made Gary’s blood run cold.

But what made his heart sink was the bloodstain on the corner of the white sheet that covered the guy’s lower back.

“We’ve already taken photos of the scene.” Detective Riley Watson picked up the condom with his nitrile-covered hand and dropped it into an evidence bag, then sealed it. He scowled. “God, I wanna catch this bastard.” He scribbled on the label, noting the time.

Gary didn’t respond. There was no need. They all wanted that.

Detective Lewis Stevens stood next to Del Maddox, the medical examiner. Lewis stared at the sheet, then raised his gaze to meet Gary’s. “Wonder what it’s gonna be this time?”

“Maybe he’s obliged us by signing his handiwork,” Del muttered. He pulled back the sheet with care and sighed. “Here we go again.”

A letter X was carved into the victim’s lower back.

“Done before death occurred, like the others?” Gary inquired. The amount of blood pointed to that conclusion.

Del nodded. “Looks like he used the same implement too.”

Lewis grimaced. “Jesus. I hoped we’d seen the last of this guy.”

“You and me both.” Riley peered at him. “I bet it’s days like this that make you sorry you ever left Vice. Chelmsford PD get a lot of these kinda cases?”

Lewis shook his head. “Never saw anything like this.”

“Give it time,” Del observed. “You’ve only been in Homicide for what, four years? Wait till you’ve been at it for as long as I have.” He gazed at the deceased, and Gary noted the compassionate glance. “He could be my age.”

“Can we save the chat for later and concentrate on doing our jobs?” Gary’s stomach roiled, and a rock had taken up residence in his chest.

Lewis was silent, but his scowl said plenty. Riley gave a respectful nod and withdrew to talk to the uniform boys.

Del glanced at the nightstand. “Thoughtful of the killer to leave the drug. Now I know what to look for in the tox screen. Except if he’s anything like the previous victims, there’ll be a whole cocktail of drugs inside him.” He addressed Gary. “How many of these guys do we have so far?”

“He’s number five.” Another one to add to the board. Any more and we’ll need another board. Gary couldn’t suppress his shiver.

Del pursed his lips. “So, five letters now. Anyone succeeded in making a word from the previous four?”

“None that make any sense.”

“The killer’s probably a Scrabble player with a list of obscure words.” Both Gary and Lewis gaped at him. Del pushed out another sigh. “Sorry, guys. I’m as gutted as you are, but humor is my default when I don’t want to think about a maniac being out there.” He gestured to the body. “Help me roll him so I can take a look at the front.”

The three men gently rolled the body with a care that was almost reverential. The man’s wide staring eyes threatened to unravel Gary’s self-control, and he had to force himself to shut off his emotions and look at the body objectively. The victim was maybe in his mid to late forties, with a salt-and-pepper beard and dark brown hair tinged with silver at the temples. A handsome man who’d clearly kept himself in good shape.

I hope you didn’t suffer. Except Gary knew it was a false hope. The knowledge that he’d been cut before death and the bruising on the guy’s wrists and ankles were grim indicators to the contrary.

Del gestured to his assistants who were standing to one side, maintaining a respectful silence. “Okay, boys.” They lifted the corpse and placed it in an open body bag. Gary watched as they zipped it closed, obliterating his view of that staring face. They hoisted the bag onto a stretcher before carrying it out of the apartment. Riley bagged up the cuffs, rope, and bottle and handed them to one of the assistants, along with the bag containing the condom, to accompany the body to the morgue.

Del stripped off his gloves. “I’ll get onto this one first thing tomorrow morning.” He peered at Gary. “I’ll see you there?”

Gary nodded. He knew Lewis wouldn’t attend. He’d barfed at his first autopsy, and that was the last time he’d visited the morgue.

Del followed his assistants to the front door. The police officer let them through before reattaching the yellow tape that barred entrance to those neighbors who tried to get a glimpse. The officer was polite but firm, and the rubberneckers soon gave up.

Gary’s hackles rose. Yeah, someone is dead. You can read all about it in the media tomorrow. Christ, number four had made the headlines before the ink was dry on Gary’s report. He breathed deeply. His energies were best directed to the case.

Riley came over. “The victim’s name was Marius Eisler, age forty-five.” Gary’s stomach clenched, but he pushed down hard on the momentary flash of nausea that always accompanied a surge of grief.

Keep focused.

Riley continued. “The body was discovered at twenty-three-hundred hours by the guy from the apartment next door, one Billy Raymond. He had a key. He said Marius had a habit of working late and not eating properly, so Billy regularly dropped by with food. He didn’t see anyone. Uniforms have questioned everyone on this floor, but no one saw our man.”

“Too much to hope there are cameras?” Gary asked.

Riley snorted. “Sure, they have cameras in the hallway downstairs, but they don’t work. The neighbors said there were always guys coming and going.”

Lewis rolled his eyes. “Another queer? Now there’s a surprise.” Riley fired him a disgusted glance.

Gary didn’t bother reining in his glare. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that. Now why don’t you go speak with Sergeant Michaels? See what else you can learn about the victim, the building….”

Lewis’s brow furrowed, but he went without a word.

Gary breathed a little easier. He didn’t need Lewis’s shit right then. He scanned the bedroom. “No sign of a cell phone?”

Riley shook his head. “Just like the others. We’ve searched the whole apartment.” He gazed at the rumpled sheets on the bed. “I’ll bag these too.” Riley glanced toward the door with a distant stare. “This was one talented guy. Did you see his paintings?”

Gary hadn’t seen a thing. He’d been in too much of a rush to prove that nagging feeling in his gut wrong.

One look at the blood on the sheet had confirmed his fears.

“Our killer’s not in any hurry, is he? Five bodies in two years.” Riley’s shoulders slumped. “I really thought he was done. Nothing since December.”

Gary had hoped the same thing. “What worries me is those letters. How many bodies are there going to be before whatever it is he’s spelling out begins to make sense and we get a lead?” Because so far they’d had precious few of those.

He walked into the living room, leaving Riley to remove the sheets from the bed, and paused to get a feel for the place. The heavily varnished wooden floor and oak furniture gave the apartment an elegant appearance. It wasn’t cluttered, and judging by the size of the windows, Gary imagined it would be a light, airy room in the daylight. Every inch of available wall space was taken up with paintings of men. Some of the models were clothed, but most were nude or seminude, and all of them were good-looking. An easel stood by the window, a table next to it on which sat an open box filled with squeezed tubes of oil paint. A glass jar filled with dirty liquid held three long thin paintbrushes, and there was a palette covered with blobs of paint, a layer of clear wrap laid over it. A couple of rags smeared with colors sat beside the palette, and the odor of turpentine lingered in the air.

Gary went closer to look at the canvas sitting on the easel. It was a detailed study of a middle-aged man, clothed, sitting in a wide armchair, the same chair that stood beside the comfy-looking couch. The artist had yet to work on the clothing; the model’s shirt was blocked in solid colors, shades of dark and light.

And now he’ll never get to finish it.

Riley joined him. “According to the neighbor, this is how the victim earned his living. I googled him. Pretty well-known artist. I’ll see what else I can find out tomorrow.” He inclined his head toward the door. “The CSIs are here to dust and document the scene.”

Beside him, Sergeant Rob Michaels cleared his throat. “I’ll secure the scene once all the evidence has been removed.”

“Thanks, Rob.”

Lewis came over to them. “I don’t think there’s anything else we can do here.”

Gary had to agree. The day had almost ended, and he was in dire need of sleep. “I’ll see you both in the morning. You can write your reports then.” He bade a good-night to Rob, and once the officer at the door had let him out, he hurried along the hallway to the stairs, stripping off his gloves and stuffing them into the pocket of his jacket. Some doors were open, and residents peered out as he passed.

Gary paid them no mind. He was too busy thinking about their victim.

Please, God, let us catch him. Don’t let there be a number six.

Gary let himself into his apartment and bolted the door behind him. The silence that greeted him held none of its usual comfort.

He knew why. All the way home, his head had been filled with thoughts of Brad. No, even before that. Memories of his late brother had suffocated him all day, to the point where he’d struggled to maintain his focus.

He’d have been forty-five today. The same age as Marius Eisler. It had taken every ounce of effort not to react when Riley had revealed the victim’s age.

Gary trudged into the kitchen and peered into the fridge, not that he wanted anything. The neatly stacked microwave meals, bottles of iced tea and water, and foil-wrapped lump of cheese made the fridge’s interior appear as minimalist as his apartment.

Despite his fatigue he wasn’t ready for bed yet. Gary filled the kettle, then opened a cabinet to remove the box of chamomile tea. Its fragrance always soothed him, and right then he was in need of soothing.

When are we going to get a break? He loathed the hollowed-out feeling that pervaded each time he confronted their lack of success. The killer was either blessed with unholy luck or phenomenal planning skills. How can he slip by unnoticed? Surely someone must have seen him.

If they had, they had yet to come forward.

Sure, the police had the guy’s DNA, thanks to the condoms, but he wasn’t in the files. He left no prints, a fiber here and there, and appeared to have chosen victims who had a steady stream of male visitors. Lieutenant Travers had already intimated that the chief was making noises about bringing in more men. The shit had hit the fan after the discovery of victim number three, Geoff Berg, when some bright journalist had worked out all the victims were gay men.

Worked out, my ass. Someone leaked it.

The headlines had screamed Killer Targets Gay Men! for a couple of weeks, but as the months passed and no more bodies turned up, things quieted down. Thank God the letters had remained confidential. They had one tool left for weeding out the crank confessors. But that didn’t relieve the resulting pressure Gary and his team found themselves under once news had gotten out.

The kettle whistled and he turned off the gas. As he poured water onto the tea bag, his phone pinged, and he glanced at the screen.

Still coming Sunday?

What the hell was his mom doing awake at this hour? Except he knew that was a stupid question. She’d been a poor sleeper for the past twenty-three years. As usual, cold fingers traced a path around his heart at the prospect of the monthly ritual of Sunday lunch. He hated himself for even thinking like that. Seeing his parents shouldn’t be a burden, shouldn’t fill him with apprehension.

But it did. And he knew he’d go, because not to would be unthinkable.

Unforgivable.

He typed with his thumbs. Sure. There was no reply, but that was typical of his mom. Her texts were always succinct and infrequent.

Gary took his tea and went into his bedroom. He placed the cup on the nightstand. The closet door stood ajar, and Gary moved toward it without thinking. He stepped into the closet and headed for the built-in drawers. He paused, his hand on the knob, his heart racing.

Will it help?

He ignored the quiet inner voice. He opened the drawer and removed the folded sweater, inhaling as he held it close. Whatever scent it had possessed had long since disappeared.

Gary returned to his bed and sat in the center, pillows stuffed behind him. He buried his face in the soft yarn.

I’ll find him, Brad. I promise. I haven’t forgotten about you.

The reminder was etched onto Gary’s skin.

Chapter 2

I PICKED UP the red pen and walked over to the wall. “Goodbye, Marius,” I intoned as I crossed out his face. Where the two thick strokes met, they obliterated his mouth. “Pity I couldn’t have done that when you were alive.” Anything not to have to listen to him drone on about his painting.

The four photos to Marius’s left bore the same red cross. I gazed at the image on the right, enjoying the tingle that started in my chest, then spread outward. My stomach fluttered. Waiting was murder.

I grinned at my own joke. I had time to enjoy the intoxication a while longer, to bask in the radiant, fierce joy that had accompanied each death.

Marius’s departure had been particularly delicious.

Once he’d gotten over his initial surprise—like the rest of them—he clearly relished the prospect of getting me in his bed. He wasn’t on his guard. Why would he be? He knew me, after all. So easy to slip the Rohypnol into his glass and watch as he drifted into unconsciousness. And when he awoke, bewildered to discover he was naked, bound, and gagged, he’d pulled against his bonds. The sharp scratch as I administered the ketamine only added to his befuddled state.

I saw him resign himself to the act that was to follow. It was almost a pity to disillusion him.

Almost.

I waited until I’d filled him to the hilt before leaning forward to whisper in his ear.

Enjoy it. This is your last fuck. Because when I come?

You die.

And there it was, the ultimate thrill. Not penetrating that tight hole, not driving myself deep into him—that was an act to be suffered, not enjoyed. Even carving into his flesh brought merely a trickle of expectation. No, the anticipation of taking his life, of knowing he was unable to struggle against his bonds… that aroused me to the point of ejaculation.

I shivered. There would be time enough to dwell on Marius. The elation was still overwhelming. Another one gone.

I was in no hurry. My days had taken on a familiar pattern.

Erase one of those sluts from the planet.

Watch the news.

Add more names to the list.

Cross off the names of those who’d eliminated themselves.

Lay the groundwork for the next one.

Wash, rinse, repeat….

Only seventeen more to go. Seventeen men, out of a field rich with possibilities. The world would be all the better for the loss of those twenty-two souls. I’d have preferred a total of twenty-six, but it wouldn’t fit.

Then again….

I might change my mind when I reach twenty-two. There are plenty of men to choose from, after all. And why stop if I’m getting away with it?

I gazed at the photo that took center stage, framed with bare wall, the images of my victims—actual and potential—kept at a distance so as not to taint it with their presence. Men like them had tainted him enough.

They’re going to pay for what they did. And I’ve got nothing but time.

My gaze alighted on the image I’d already picked out. A definite possibility. My only difficulty?

I’d waited five months between victims, and it had been torture. It didn’t matter that it had been the shortest time span thus far. I didn’t think I could wait that long again. Not while the heightened emotions of the kill lingered still. Not with all those faces staring at me from the wall.

Not with his face gazing at me. His voice in my head.

“I’m doing this for you,” I whispered. “To avenge you.”

I had another motive too, one that suffocated me, haunted me, but I knew of one way to assuage that emotion.

I smiled at the image I’d selected. A handsome face with bright eyes and a firm jaw.

“You’re next.”

Chapter 3

Wednesday, May 16

DEL ARCHED his eyebrows as Gary walked into the morgue. “I thought I’d have seen you earlier than this. You’re three hours late.” He gestured to the sewn-up Y-incision. “Or did you stop by to complement me on my needlework?”

“I’m here for the edited highlights.”

Marius Eisler lay on his back, the Y-incision the only visible evidence of the autopsy. Gary had watched Del at work on a couple of occasions and knew the reinforced thick twine that closed Del’s cuts concealed the heavy-duty, leak-proof plastic bag containing the organs, hidden from sight in the empty chest cavity.

“Body fluids have already gone to Toxicology, but we know what I’m looking for.”

“Your initial findings?” Gary knew better than to ask for more than that: It would be a while before the full autopsy report was finalized.

“As you correctly surmised, the letter was carved into the skin prior to death.” Del’s gaze bored into him. “And we know this how?”

“By the wound. Prior to death, the heart is working and blood is sent there. It has a different color, and the wound is significantly bloodier. After death, it’s paler, more… withered, and there’s less blood.”

Del smiled. “Full marks, Detective. Good to know you’ve been listening. Although I’d expect nothing less from one of Boston’s finest homicide detectives.”

“I know there was a condom, but—”

“But you assume nothing, which is how it should be,” Del interjected. “And yes, penetrative sex took place prior to death.”

“Can you tell if it was nonconsensual?” The bruising on Marius’s wrists and ankles appeared darker against the pale skin.

“Hard to tell.” Del frowned. “Who’s to say rough sex isn’t consensual? There’s some abrasion, some internal bruising, but nonrough sex can create some injury. What you want to know is if there was an overabundance of injury. There wasn’t. As for the body fluids, I’ll test for GHB, Rohypnol, ketamine, and barbiturates, although we found no GHB in the previous victims.” His gaze flickered to the body on his table. “This one likes his routines.” He frowned again. “So why does he leave the GHB at the scene? He doesn’t leave any trace of the other drugs he uses. Is it some kind of message?”

Gary glanced at the table before meeting Del’s gaze. “I’ll be sure to ask him—once I catch the bastard.”

“WHERE HAVE you been?” Lewis demanded as soon as Gary walked into their office space.

Gary came to a halt. “One of us had to go talk to Del. Did you want to do it?” As if he didn’t know the answer to that one.

“Okay, so I had a weak stomach that one time,” Lewis countered. His mouth went down at the corners. “Travers wants to see us all, ASAP. Riley’s already in there.”

Aw crap.

Gary had a feeling a ton of shit was about to roll downhill, aimed right at him.

Without a word, he followed Lewis to the lieutenant’s corner office. Riley sat facing Travers’s desk, its surface invisible to the eye, hidden beneath an explosion of paper, folders, and coffee cups. Gary gave it a cursory glance before meeting Travers’s stern gaze.

“It may look like the aftermath of a robbery, but trust me, it’s organized chaos. I know where everything is, and I can lay my hand on anything in seconds.”

Gary held up his hands. “Hey, I didn’t say a word.” He knew better.

“Your expression said enough.” Travers pointed to the empty chairs next to Riley. “Sit.” No sooner had Gary’s ass touched the worn leather seat than Travers launched into his controlled rant. “So now we’ve got five bodies, and we’re no closer to discovering who’s trying to wipe out Boston’s entire gay population.” As usual, Travers didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. His clipped tone was sharper than a razor, honed by years of practice.

“Hey, we don’t know—”

Travers cut Riley off. “He’s killed five. Who knows when he’ll stop?” He picked up the folded newspaper from the top of a pile of others and tossed it at Gary. “We made ink again. Only now it’s worse. The press has gotten hold of the stuff about the bondage gear. Great. That’s just great.” He squeezed the words through his teeth.

“I know you’re pissed,” Gary said, “but—”

“Pissed?” Travers glared at Gary. “I’m not pissed. Trust me, when I reach pissed, you’ll know about it. The only thing saving your asses right now is that it hasn’t gotten out yet about his little calling card. We’ve already had three guys stroll in here to confess to the killings, and Lord knows, that’s only the start.”

He sounded as weary as Gary felt, and Gary was bone tired. He’d slept little the previous night. Every time he closed his eyes, two men’s faces swam there: Marius, staring at him before they’d zipped him into the body bag, and Brad.

Except Brad was never far from Gary’s mind. There were occasions when he’d realize with a hot flood of remorse that he hadn’t thought about Brad for a couple of days.

That was when the sweater would come out of the closet.

“We’re exploring every avenue,” Gary ventured. “We’ve pulled all the records—”

“I know what you’re doing. I’ve read the reports.” Travers scraped his fingers through his graying hair. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper than usual. “You’re in here because the chief feels we can be doing more.”

“Hey, if the chief has any suggestions, let’s hear ’em.” Gary folded his arms, his jaw stiff, a dull pain pulsing through his temple.

Travers mimicked his stance. “Actually? He has one. There’s a psychic who’s worked with NYPD and Chicago PD.”

What the fuck?

Gary gaped at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope, not even close. Chief says this guy’s gotten results. So he thinks we should bring him on board. Guy by the name of Dan Porter.”

Lewis snorted. “Hey, we could give my grandmother a call. She reads stuff in tea leaves. Or there’s this woman who claims she can tell the future from dropping asparagus onto the floor and looking at the patterns it makes when it falls. Maybe she can find our killer. Want me to go to the store for a shit-ton of asparagus?”

Travers glared at him. “I’ll try to remember not to repeat your suggestions the next time I get called into the chief’s office.” He sat in his chair, elbows on the desk, his fingers steepled, his gaze locked on Gary. “I know how it sounds.” His low, earnest voice was clearly an attempt at mollification. “I was as incredulous as you, but I’ve done some checking. Dan Porter appears to be a genuine psychic.”

“Is there such a thing?” Lewis retorted.

Travers ignored him. “His results aren’t flukes, that’s for damn sure. I don’t claim to know how he does it, but he’s helped cops solve crimes. And that came from the chief. He’s been in contact with NYPD and Chicago to make sure the reports were accurate.” Travers sagged in his chair. “All I’m saying is, maybe we should talk to the guy. It can’t hurt, right?”

Gary struggled to breathe evenly, his stomach clenched. “No. We are not resorting to mumbo jumbo, voodoo, or any other new age happy crap.”

Beside him, Lewis nodded. “The chief may go in for all that hogwash, but come on. We’re the professionals here. We know how to catch this guy, and it’s by good old-fashioned detecting.”

Gary had to fight hard not to stare at Lewis. Well fuck, we agree on something.

Travers’s face hardened. “Then get out there and detect. I don’t want you coming in here and telling me victim number six has just shown up.” He stood, reached for a coffee cup, and went over to the pot that sat in the corner.

Apparently they were done.

They trooped back to Homicide, and Riley perched on the edge of Gary’s desk. “Okay, that was the last thing I expected.”

“I know, right?” Lewis rolled his eyes. “You think the chief is smoking something that smells kinda funny? Because to come out with that horseshit….”

Gary huffed. “I’m not even going to give it headspace. Let’s go look at the evidence from the apartment.”

They headed for the tiny room they’d taken over after the discovery of body number three, Geoff Berg. It was nothing more than a closet with delusions of grandeur. One wall was obscured by the whiteboard covered in photos from the crime scenes.

“I’m getting some coffee. Want some?”

Gary gave Lewis an absent nod, his attention drawn to the photo of Marius Eisler. Talk to me. Tell me what I need to know. Help me find this guy.

“I’ll have some too, thanks for asking,” Riley hollered after him. “Asshole,” he muttered once Lewis was out of sight.

Gary ignored him. Travers’s suggestion had sent his mind in a direction he did not want to travel. He could still hear his parents’ voices.

This one looks genuine. Why not give them a try?

What if they can tell us what really happened?

Don’t you want to know?

Of course Gary had wanted to know. He’d ached to yell at his parents, to tell them they might as well pour their money down the drain for all the good it would accomplish. Those people were all fakers, charlatans, the whole damn lot of them.

“Where’d you go, boss?”

Gary blinked. Riley’s eyes held amusement. Gary forced a smile. “For the millionth time…. Okay, I’m older than you, and I’ve been a detective longer than you, but that does not mean you have to call me boss. Hell, you’ve worked Homicide almost as long as I have.”

Riley smirked. “Well, I’m not likely to call Lewis boss, now am I?” He clammed up as Lewis came back into the room, three cups held awkwardly.

Gary took one. “First step should be to get onto Grindr, Scruff, all the usuals. See if Marius was a subscriber.” Except he knew getting access to records took time.

Riley made a note. “I’ll do a search for his phone records too. I did check online when we were at the apartment. Marius didn’t show up on either Grindr or Scruff.”

“Which only means wherever his phone is—if it’s still in one piece—the killer has removed the battery.”

Lewis added, “And when we actually get the Grindr stuff—because it’s an even bet this guy had it on his phone—I’ll start the process of working through it, looking for any contacts with our list of crossover guys. God knows there’s enough of them.” He grimaced. “Can these guys not keep it in their pants? Seems like they’re forever banging each other.”

Whatever good opinion Lewis had engendered with his forthright remarks to Travers dissipated in a heartbeat.

Gary speared him with a hard stare. “Keep your opinions to yourself and keep looking. Anyone stand out so far? Someone we need to look at more closely?” He tapped the whiteboard. “Any luck on identifying our mystery guy?”

“Nothing so far. Still a dead end. But there are a couple of new guys who caught my attention.”

“Great. We’ll look at them.” He sipped his coffee, his head still reeling from the chief’s absurd suggestion. “A psychic. Now I’ve heard everything.”

He stood in front of the whiteboard. Marius Eisler stared back at him, and Gary could almost hear his voice.

Find the monster who did this to me.

Chapter 4

Saturday, May 19

DAN PORTER awoke with a jolt, hurling words into the darkness that surrounded him. “Don’t go! Not yet!”

Useless words. The dream was over.

Except Dan knew deep down it was no dream, felt it all the way to his soul.

He flung back the damp sheet and sat up, tremors still rippling through him. This is not fair. The vision—because that was all it could be—was unchanged from its previous incarnations. Some higher cosmic force clearly thought it acceptable to send him the same fucking vision for thirteen fucking years.

At least he didn’t get it every night. Sometimes Dan would go for months without it. What followed those stretched-out periods was nothing but stark fear.

What if I never get it again?

What if I never get to know why I keep having it?

What if I never learn who he is?

Those fears outweighed any feelings that some… thing was treating him unfairly. He’d rather have the vision than nothing, because he lived in hope that one day….

It always began the same way. Dan was on all fours on a bed, a rumpled sheet beneath him, and some unseen figure was behind him, sliding into him. The friction was exquisite, as was the scent that permeated the air around them, a hint of patchouli and a woody aroma he couldn’t place. Now and again his mystery partner would move, covering Dan with his warm body, and it was then that Dan would see the man’s forearm with its tattoo. No images, just two words: Never Forget.

Dan’s heart pounded as it did during every such cryptic encounter. He longed to see the guy who alternated between fucking him with passion and making slow, lingering love to him, but there were no mirrors in the vision. Everything was distilled down to touch, smell, and sound. The man’s breath tickled his skin. His fingertips brushed against Dan’s nipples, tweaked them, tearing groans from his lips. His lips grazed Dan’s neck, his shoulders, his back. His grunts mingled with Dan’s, and they were noises of pleasure, desire, lust….

And with each sensual encounter, Dan knew, from balls to bones, that he was safe. On awakening he yearned to sink back into the vision, but it never replayed more than once a night.

I want to meet him. I need to know if he’s real.

Dan rubbed his chest, his fingers sliding through sweat. He traced the line of his scar.

Is he as real as this?

Chapter 5

Sunday, May 20

GARY SWITCHED off the car engine and sat, hands on the steering wheel, gazing at the house. Its cream exterior, sloping roof, red-brick chimney, and warm red roof tiles made it appear inviting, a home.

Which only goes to prove how deceptive appearances can be.

The external temperature had to be in the mid-to-high seventies, a beautiful day in Springfield, Mass., but Gary knew once he crossed that threshold, none of the day’s warmth would make it inside. The sunlight would do battle with his mom’s blinds and curtains, and the blinds and curtains would emerge victorious.

He gave himself a swift mental kick. I’m not being fair. Then the front door opened, and Gary’s procrastination was at an end. His dad stood in the doorway, arms by his side, no hint of a welcome in either his expression or his body language.

Get in there and do your duty. Because that was all this was, pure and simple. A duty visit. Every time Sunday lunch rolled around, he’d drive an hour and a half—if he was lucky—hoping that in the intervening days since his previous visit, something had changed. He’d sit there in his car, staring at his childhood home, the same thought as always in the forefront of his mind: This time it will be different.

He’d learned to live with disappointment.

Gary got out of the car, locked it, and walked along the path that led to the gable-ended front porch with its gleaming red front door, its curved stone steps, and its two stumpy pillars, on top of which sat terracotta pots containing manicured shrubs. The house was asymmetrical, but the front yard was not. Trimmed bushes squatted in front, small and rounded on either side of the steps, larger and more oval toward the corners of the house. Gardening had become his dad’s only pursuit since retirement, but it wasn’t a passion with him. Gary knew better. It was merely a means of keeping his mind occupied.

I’m just the same, though. Work kept the pain at bay. And when work ended….

He raised his hand in greeting, and his dad’s nod lightened his heart a little.

“Hey.” Gary smiled. Then he remembered, and turned on his heel to return to the passenger seat for the flowers he’d chosen.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Dad’s flat tone drifted across the front lawn as the bouquet came into view.

“I wanted to. As soon as I saw the lilacs, I knew Mom would love them.” Their delicate color stood out against the cream roses and pink carnations.

Dad’s smile was a welcome sight. “Yeah, she will.” He stood aside to let Gary enter, then closed the door behind them, barring both sunlight and warmth from entering. “Your mom’s in the kitchen.”

Gary sniffed. “Is that roast chicken?”

Dad’s wry chuckle evaporated yet more of the tension that had been building inside Gary since he’d left his apartment. “Is it Sunday?”

It was an old joke. The menu hadn’t changed since he was a kid, when he and Brad would—

He swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat.

Mom stepped into the hallway, her eyes brightening momentarily at the sight of the flowers. “How pretty. Thank you.” She accepted his kiss on her cheek and took them from him. “I’ll put them in water.” As she retreated into the kitchen, she called out, “Shoes.”

Gary fought the urge to roll his eyes. Telling her he was thirty-eight and capable of remembering such ingrained routines would have cut no ice.

“I was out back, cleaning up.” Dad inclined his head toward the rear. “Come see what I’ve been doing.”

He followed his dad through the dining room to the french doors, their path flanked by the sideboard and the piano, both surfaces covered with framed photos. Gary didn’t glance at them, not even once, because he knew each by heart, the same as he knew once a week, his mom would take out a soft cloth, pick up each and every one of those frames, and wipe them with care and love.

They are pleased to see me. He knew that too, but he was also aware theirs was a perfunctory reception. He wanted to yell at them, to break through the seemingly impenetrable wall of sorrow they’d erected around themselves. He wanted to shake them, to look them in the eye and shout that they still had him.

In the end, he’d do none of those things. He’d share his news, they’d talk about current affairs, what was happening in the neighborhood, his dad’s numerous and constantly evolving plans for the garden, but they were going through the motions.

Nothing got through.

They died when he did.

GARY PUSHED his plate away, conscious of his mom’s gaze on his half-eaten meal. He’d been hungry enough when they sat at the table, but the sight of that empty chair killed his appetite. Mom hadn’t set places for four, but she might as well have done; an unseen figure had joined them, one who didn’t eat, didn’t speak, but whose chill presence could not be ignored.

One day. I’ll break through one day. Because I’ll find that bastard, and then you’ll see me. Then you’ll know me again. And Brad will be at peace.

It was Gary’s mantra, one he believed with every fiber of his being. He loved his parents, and dammit, he wanted them back, the laughing, smiling couple who’d lit up his childhood.

The couple seated with him had died twenty-three years ago but somehow were still functioning, still shuffling through life, not living but existing.

My parents, the zombies. Except the thought contained no trace of humor.

“So are you any nearer to catching this guy?” Dad asked when Mom went into the kitchen to fetch the coffee.

Gary blinked. They never asked about his job. “We’re working on it.”

“That doesn’t sound positive. He’s killed five now, hasn’t he? There was another one a few days ago.”

“Yes.”

Dad frowned. “Well, judging by what I’ve read in the papers, he’s running rings around you all.”

Then it must be true, if it’s in the news. Gary knew better than to say such words out loud.

Dad wasn’t done. “The Boston Strangler managed to kill thirteen women before they caught him. You’re not going to let this maniac get that far, are you?”

“Dad… I can’t talk about this, okay?”

Dad ignored him. “So who’s in charge? Who’s leading the investigation?”

Gary counted to three before answering. “That would be my squad.”

It was Dad’s turn to blink. “Oh.”

Gary’s ribs felt too tight, his stomach too heavy. That hollowed-out feeling was back with a vengeance. The first time he wants to talk about my job, and why? To tell me I’m not doing enough. I’m not good enough.

And just like that, he knew that when he left them, he wouldn’t go home. He had to do something to end the day on a better note.

I need Cory.

He’d stick it out for a couple of hours; then he’d make his excuses and leave.

Gary didn’t imagine for one minute they’d be begging him to stay longer.

HE SCANNED Cathedral Station’s patrons, those at the bar or seated at tables, but there was no sign of Cory. Music pulsed through the floor, and voices rose to be heard above it. The happy scene felt incongruous after the frostbitten hours he’d spent with his parents.

That’s why I’m here. He wanted to smile, laugh, chat….

He wanted to feel normal again.

Gary pulled his phone from his pocket and composed a quick text. I give up. Where are you?

Seconds later a reply pinged back. The patio. I’ve got you a drink.

Bless him. Gary pushed his way politely through the crowd and stepped out into the early evening air. Cory waved from a table next to the trellis festooned with a huge Pride flag, ivy curling its way upward and outward through the wooden structure. Black parasols covered the tables, and a railing separated them from the street. When Gary reached the table, Cory got to his feet and gave him an exuberant hug.

“What was that for? Not that I’m complaining,” Gary added as Cory released him. Gary feigned pain. “On second thought, I think you cracked one of my ribs.” He sank onto one of the metal patio chairs, and before he could stretch out a hand for the frosty glass of beer waiting for him, Cory placed it in his grasp.

“You look like you need that. The hug too.” Cory cocked his head. “I don’t have to ask how the parental visit went, do I?”

“No, you do not.” Cory knew the score. Gary took a long drink. He glanced at their surroundings. “Don’t look now, but I think you brought us to a gay bar.”

Cory snorted. “You bet your fur it’s a gay bar. And don’t give me that. You knew exactly what kind of bar it was. You’re a cop in this city—you know every bar. Besides, I didn’t get a text from you saying no, no, no when I suggested it.”

Of course he’d known.

“Why go to a dull and boring bar? The eye candy is way superior here.” Cory gave a nod to someone over Gary’s shoulder, his eyes gleaming.

Gary speared him with a look. “Down boy. We are not here to find you someone to go home with.”

Cory pouted. “Spoilsport. If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have worn this little ensemble.” He gestured to his tight jeans and even tighter tee. “This is my best hookup gear.”

“Do you spray those on?” Gary coughed. “You got your nipples pierced, I see.” The sight unfurled something deep in his belly, a sudden rush of heat he couldn’t explain. Then Cory’s words sank in. “I can’t believe you’re still saying that.”

“Saying what?”

“You bet your fur. You were coming out with that in tenth grade. Stephen King has a lot to answer for.” Cory’s obsession with It had lasted beyond high school.

Cory glared. “Don’t you diss my hero. I treasure that book, especially after the movie came out.”

“Surely that paperback has died by now. The back cover was already hanging off by the time we graduated.”

“God bless stationery tape.” He sipped from the tall glass filled with greenery.

“What is that you’re drinking? A mojito?”

Cory rolled his eyes. “You just sit there and drink your nice but boring heterosexual beer, and I’ll drink my fabulous cocktail.” His eyes twinkled. “Except we both know the beer is a smokescreen, and the only reason we’ve stayed friends for so long is because you’re a closeted gay man who has the hots for me, but who’s never found the nerve to come right out and reveal your true feelings.” He grinned. “Pun most definitely intended.”

Gary laughed. “Yeah, that must be it. You see right through me.” Cory’s laughter mingled with his.

Sarcasm aside, Cory would never know how close he’d skated to the truth.

In the years since high school, Gary had come to accept that his attraction to Cory must have been a fluke—he was straight, after all—although it had felt only too real at the time.

And sometimes, he wasn’t sure that attraction had entirely gone away.

Cory narrowed his gaze. “And for the record? There is nothing wrong with gay bars. Some of my more memorable hookups have been the result of a couple of hours in a gay bar.” Another tilt of his head, those blue eyes locked on Gary’s. “But you didn’t ask me to meet you for a drink so we could discuss my awesome sex life. What’s up?” His gaze grew warm. “Or is it because you saw them today?” When Gary didn’t reply, Cory sighed. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”

“No worse than usual. In fact, for one moment I thought it was better—until my dad basically asked me why I wasn’t doing my job.”

Cory choked, and wiped his lips with his napkin. “What the fuck?”

“You heard me.”

“That really pisses me off.”

“Hey, forget it, okay?”

“Why? You’re not gonna forget it, are you?”

Gary shook his head. “No, but none of these good-looking guys are going to want to take you back to their place if your pretty face is all screwed up.”

Cory gave a smug smile. “I’m pretty, am I?”

“Prettiest personal trainer in Massachusetts.”

He preened. “Damn, you know how to make a girl feel good.” Cory took another long drink. “I’m not stupid, you know,” he murmured as he set his glass down on the table.

“Huh?” Gary frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I know why you really wanted us to meet.”

“Please, do tell. Because I didn’t realize I had an ulterior motive.” Except that was a lie. He’d needed a dose of Cory, and it had been too long since their last meetup.

He grounds me. He always had, even when they were teenagers. Gary had clung to him when his world blew up, and Cory had been there for him ever since.

“I read the papers, Gary. I see the local news. A guy out there is targeting gay men. And then you just happen to ask me to meet you for a drink?” He froze. “Did you want to warn me? Do you know who we should be looking out for?”

Aw shit.

Gary took a deep breath. “No. I can’t tell you that because we don’t know. Yet.” But maybe Cory had nailed it. Maybe deep down, Gary had wanted to know his first crush was safe, that he wasn’t taking risks.

Cory regarded him in silence for a moment, and with each passing second, Gary’s stomach knotted. Don’t see too much. Please.

Finally Cory leaned back in his chair. “I work damn hard, and yes, I play hard too. But… I don’t date strangers. Even if I find a guy on Grindr, I’ll check him out, see if anyone I know has been with him. And if someone I know has passed him my name and number, that’s a safe bet too. We all look out for each other.”

“Then I guess the gay network failed the five dead guys, because someone obviously wasn’t looking out for them.” The knot in his belly loosened a little. He’s being safe. Safe was good. He gave Cory a speculative glance. “Did you know any of them? Had you dated any of them?”

Cory bit his lip. “Dated? How sweet. I hardly think my nocturnal activity could be called dating.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “But since you’re asking… yeah, I hooked up with a couple of them. Trey Hopkins. He was the first victim, wasn’t he, two years ago?” Gary nodded. “And I hooked up with Vic Zerbe too. We actually came here last Christmas. We danced our feet off, then fucked till the wee small hours.” Another swallow. “Three days later he was dead.”

“How come you never told me?”

Cory blinked. “Because it’s your job. Because when the news broke that all the victims had been gay men, I thought you’d only worry. But like I said… I’m a careful kinda guy. I don’t even proposition my clients, and believe me, that takes some strength of will because some of them are fucking gorgeous