Full Release (21 page)

Slipping down the pew, I headed for the aisle that ran along the outside wall of the church. Before I turned to leave, I noticed Father O’Hannahan standing in front of a door to the side of the altar. I headed up the outer aisle toward him. My movement caught his attention, and he ducked into the door behind him.

I dove through the door after him. I heard a gasp behind me as I did. It was probably a priests-only area. I found myself in a hallway. I ran down it until I got to another hallway, this one lined with doors leading to offices, I supposed. I caught O’Hannahan halfway down this hallway.

“Father, I need to talk to you.”

He spun around. “I told you to leave.”

“Was it you? Did you kill Eddie?”

“No, of course not. I never even met him.”

“You didn’t? He wasn’t a member of your church?”

He shook his head.

“Then how did you end up doing his funeral?”

“Sylvia Navarez asked me.”

Something very obvious suddenly occurred to me. “You know who killed them, don’t you. You know who killed Eddie.”

Even what he was going to say before he said it, “Yes, yes I know. But I can’t tell you.”

“You have to. He’s killed two people, and he’s not going to stop.”

“I can’t. That’s why you have to leave. Do you understand? You’re not safe.”

I grabbed him by the arm. “You have to tell me. Who killed them? Who was it?”

He pushed me off him. Then, without a word, ran down the hall. There didn’t seem to be a point in chasing him.

As I walked back to my car, I wondered if the priest could at least tell the police it wasn’t me who killed Eddie. If he did that much, he wouldn’t be violating the confessional or whatever they call it. I was about a half mile from home when my phone rang. It was illegal to talk on the phone while driving without one of those Bluetooth ear pieces, but when I saw that it as Jeremy, I answered anyway.

“How’s Palm Springs?” I said instead of hello.

“The hotel is nice,” he said, after a sheepish pause. “We tried to register under fake names, but it’s harder to do than you’d think. Everyone wants to see photo IDs.”

“Why, Jeremy? Why did you give that statement?”

“Oh, God. Matt, it was terrible. Suddenly there was all this pounding on the door and yelling. There were, like, six cops, with their guns drawn. This detective waved a search warrant at me and then they’re in our home looking at everything.”

“Was it Hanson? The woman you talked to before?”

“I guess. Anyway, they sat Skye and me down in the living room and a few minutes later she’s showing us this bag of crystal and Skye’s looking at me like it’s mine. But it wasn’t mine. I have no idea where it came from. I think the detective brought it with her.”

“Then what?”

“She’s telling us we’ll have to go to prison unless we can make some kind of deal. She kept looking at me when she was talking. She said you were dangerous, that you were looking for victims, that you were likely to kill again.”

“And you believed that?”

“Not really.”

“Not really? Thanks.”

“Matt, she told me what to write and said we’d go to prison if I didn’t sign it.”

“And she did this in front of five other cops?”

He was silent. “Maybe it was just two. They were outside while she dictated the statement.”

“Did she take pictures of where she found the meth?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did she leave the search warrant?”

“No.”

I thought about it for a moment. “She didn’t have a warrant. When they searched the house they made a big deal out of giving it to me. And they left it with me.”

Jeremy tumbled. “She tricked me?”

“Yes. I need you to recant your statement.”

He surprised me by agreeing right away.

“She’ll probably try to say you and I made some kind of deal,” I explained. “But I still need you to do it.”

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

“When can you come back?”

“We used cash in case the police tried to find us again. We’re paid through tomorrow.”

“Jeremy,” I said, in the disapproving tone I’d often used when we were together.

“I’ll talk to Skye.”

Before I hung up, he stopped me. “Matt, I am really sorry. I felt awful signing that thing.”

As I pulled into my driveway, I wondered if things were as bad as I thought. Tripp was on my side, I was sure of that. And that had to mean that things would start to look up. I didn’t kill two people, so it would be difficult for Hanson to pin the murders on me. Especially if Tripp was there to stop it.

Still, I felt like I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit around waiting for Tripp to fix everything. But what should I do? The killer had to be someone connected to Detective Hanson or there’d be no reason for her to want to frame me. So, all I had to do was connect Eddie to Hanson. There was one degree of separation between them, and I had to find that person.

Of course, the easiest way to do it would be to have Eddie’s client list. Which reminded me to call Tiffany about the flash drive.

“Sonja fired me,” I told her when she picked up. Might as well get that out of the way first.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“At least it means you’re safe.”

“This isn’t the way I wanted things to work out, Matt. You’re a good guy, and I’m going to miss having you around here.”

“I guess Charles will be getting my job. I hope he doesn’t screw up your life too much.”

“I’ll survive.”

“I’m actually calling about the flash drive. Did Cameron get it open for me?”

“Oh, yes. He did.”

“That’s great. It’s a document, isn’t it? Can you email it--”

“It’s not a document,” she said. “It’s gay porn.”

I was stunned. There was nothing useful on the flash drive. It took a moment to understand. Gay porn. Video. Then I thought about Cameron opening the file. “Oh my God, and your fifteen-year-old saw it. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about that. Cameron sees whatever he wants to see. When it comes to the Internet, I’ve lost complete control. My focus is keeping him alive for two more years. If I can do that, I’ll feel like I’ve succeeded as a parent.”

I tried to pay attention to what she was saying, but couldn’t. Porn. My life depended on this file, and it was nothing but porn. So, why was it hidden? Well, all right, Eddie was engaged to a woman who thought he was straight, and it would have been hard for her to pretend he was straight if she found him looking at gay porn. So, he had some gay porn and hid it on the flash drive behind a password. It made sense.

“What was the password?” Curiosity made me ask.

“El Gordo,” she said.

It didn’t mean anything to me.

“I’m taking conversational Spanish, remember?” She reminded me because, of course, I didn’t remember. “It means ‘The Big One’.”

“Oh. Well I guess that shouldn’t be a surprise.” Obviously, it was the name of some Latin-themed porno about a big dick. She asked me a few questions about work projects, which I answered as succinctly as possible. Then I hung up. Well, that was it. I’d been counting on that list being there and now I knew it wasn’t.

Okay, I thought. What did I know? I knew Eddie, and Sylvia with him, had been blackmailing at least one of his clients. Maybe more. The car in their driveway made that clear. Whoever they were blackmailing had tried to kill Eddie once before; the bruises on his neck spoke to that. Eddie called me for a date so he could hide at my house; he was afraid their blackmail victim would try to kill him again. That’s why he wouldn’t leave. His life depended on his staying. Sometime that day Eddie made the mistake of telling Sylvia where he was, and she betrayed him, bringing the killer to my home, which is why she was outside in an SUV crying. The killer must have made a deal with Sylvia, offering her even more money for Eddie’s life, but then decided he could save himself some dough and deflect attention by killing her and blaming it on me.

I had a weird thought. I’d been assuming all of Eddie’s clients were men. I’d found him on massageformen.com, so it was logical to think that. But what if Eddie advertised elsewhere? What if he offered his services to women? He was, apparently, bisexual. It wasn’t out of the question. Were Eddie and Sylvia blackmailing Hanson? It would be embarrassing if people knew she’d seen a masseur, certainly, and if he could prove that they had sex and she’d paid for it, then her job could be in jeopardy. But was that enough for her to pay blackmail and commit two murders? And if she paid the blackmail, where did she get the money? Detectives didn’t make all that much. Did they? She didn’t make much money, but she might be able to get her hands on some. Didn’t they have stacks of drug money locked up somewhere?

I checked my email. I had a massage request for later that morning. I emailed my phone number back and indicated that I’d be available at noon. It was cutting things close, but I could make it. A few minutes later, the phone rang and I chatted with a guy named Rick for a couple of minutes. We confirmed our appointment. Fortunately, Rick didn’t live too far away.

Getting ready as quickly as I could, I ran out of the house, freshly showered, wearing just shorts and a T-shirt and carrying my massage kit. The table was still in my trunk. Rick lived in a small, Spanish house in the flats of Hollywood. It was only a ten-minute drive from my house. I parked under a blooming Jacaranda tree. I figured my car would be covered with messy, purple petals when I came out, but I didn’t mind. I liked the trees.

The house was well tended with a nice little yard surrounding it. I assumed it had been a fixer just a few years back, and from the looks of things, Rick had done a lot of the work himself. It wasn’t badly done. In fact, it was well done. But it didn’t have that anonymous quality of professional work. This house had been rehabbed with a lot of personal attention.

As I usually did, I began to guess what he’d look like. I was guessing mid-fifties, a little over-weight, balding probably. I knocked on the door, and a few moments later he answered. I was shocked.

He was in his late twenties and obviously spent a lot of time at the gym. He wore a pair of 501s and nothing else. His chest was well-defined. Not body-builder defined, but nice. Very nice. He had blond hair, a wide smile and pretty blue eyes. The thing that really shocked me was that Rick was the kind of guy I would never dare walk up to in a bar. I wouldn’t stand a chance. And here he was about to pay me for sex. Well, a massage and then a little sex. It occurred that the universe might be paying me back for all my recent trouble.

Rick led me to his bedroom, which was large and had an open space between the queen-sized bed and the dresser for me to set up the table. I set up my music and got some jazz started. Then I told Rick to take his clothes off and get on the table. I turned my back and took off my own clothes.

I turned around and took in the amazing view of Rick with his thick, round ass sticking up in the air, and beyond that his strong back. My heart beat a little faster and my dick began to swell, but at the same time I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I got some lotion on my hands and rubbed them together to warm it. I began to spread the lotion over Rick’s wide back. I rubbed him for about a minute and a half and then said, “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

He rolled his head so he could look up at me. “You’re not doing too bad, really.”

“It’s just, I know what you’re expecting at the end, and I can’t, do that…”

“Your ad seemed pretty clear. I mean, it said full release. You do know what a full release is?”

“Yeah, I mean, I have, I just…I’m sort of falling for someone.”

“I’m not looking for something emotional. Mechanical is a-okay with me.”

“I know, it’s just, wow…I can’t. I know it’s stupid.”

He sat up and rested his hand over his dick. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Oh, um, that’s probably not a good idea. I should just go.”

“How about this…” he said. “You finish the massage part, and that’ll be it. I’m really sore from working out.”

It occurred to me that the reason he called me might actually have been for the massage, since it was pretty obvious this guy could get laid any time he wanted. I thought about his offer a moment. “Okay, I can do that.”

“You won’t be offended if I don’t tip you.”

“No, I won’t be.”

He laid back down, and I gave him a pretty lousy massage. When all was said and done, I was better at the sex part of the massage than the actual massage. As I rubbed this beautiful guy, I felt kind of stupid. I wasn’t involved with Tripp. A shared hand job did not imply a commitment. There was no reason in the world for me to feel wrong about doing anything I felt like with Rick. Except, I did.

This wasn’t good. I needed the money I’d been making giving massages. Yes, I could change my listing and claim that I only gave therapeutic massages, but I had absolutely no training. And if all you’re giving is the massage, training starts to matter a lot more than your naked pictures.

But after Tripp, I just couldn’t continue doing a rub and a tug. No matter how much I needed the money. Illogical, I know. Part of me hoped I’d get over it and take a few clients. The sooner the better. Until then, I should take my ad off massageformen.com

When I was finished the massage, Rick was true to his word. He didn’t tip. I walked out of his house and down the street to my car. As I was climbing in, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, though I should have. When I answered, it was Alan Moskowitz from the
Daily Herald
. I didn’t expect a pleasant conversation.

“We’ve been told they’re arresting a suspect today and it’s not you,” the reporter said. I was shocked. I couldn’t speak. He continued, “I’m going to pitch my editor on a sidebar about you. You know, wrongly accused and everything. It may not get in, but I thought I’d give it a try.”

“Do you know who they’re planning to arrest?” I asked. I was curious; I’d like to know who left me out to dry.

“They’re not saying just yet. It’ll be on the five o’clock news. They’re maximizing the publicity value. So, what do you think? About the sidebar, I mean.”