Geography of Murder (12 page)

He climbed to his feet and grinned at me.

"Now we both have to shower again," he said.

We made it a quick one, then retreated to the living room where I let him pick out a movie for us to watch. Not surprisingly he chose Psycho, though he did complain I didn't have anything better, like Saw. I grimaced at the suggestion and said curtly, "Not in this house."

We settled onto the couch together, his head on my shoulder, his knees drawn up as he pressed against me. After a while my arm grew numb but when I tried to pull away I 113

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found he was sleeping. I left him until the movie ended and the final credit rolled, then I pushed him off me.

"Come on," I said. "Let's get you to bed."

I don't think he fully woke up as I led him into my bedroom. It didn't make it easy to undress him, but I managed and rolled him under the covers. I shed my clothes and followed him. The mess in the kitchen would have to wait until morning.

He snorted and rolled over in his sleep, throwing his arms around me and settling against my chest. I looked down at his sleeping form and felt a tug in my gut I hadn't felt in years. No way, I thought savagely. No way I was going to fall for this little mall rat.

My last thought before I fell into darkness was,
he smells
good
.

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114

Geography of Murder

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My blankets were wrenched off me and my shivering
flesh exposed to the cool air. I protested but Spider's
harsh voice told me to get up. I ignored it for two
seconds when a hand landed square on my ass.

Yelping, I rolled out of bed and stood facing a fully clothed, smirking Spider.

"You really do look pretty, boy, all spit and polished clean and shiny as a billiard ball." His voice grew sterner. "You sleep when I tell you to," he said. "You have chores to do.

Duties you neglected last night."

Chores? Where was I? On my Grandpa's farm? I glared at him, rubbing my stinging butt.

"Don't give me lip, boy. Remember last night."

I did, and my body immediately clenched into full arousal.

He glanced down at my fat erection and his sternness increased. "Not yet, boy. Save that until you've done your chores."

"What chores?" I asked in growing exasperation.

"That mess you left last night to start." He took my jeans and T-shirt off the dresser and tossed them to me. "Get dressed. Then you can come and inspect the damage."

Word of advice: don't leave food on plates overnight without rinsing. It took me nearly two hours of hard-ass scrubbing to get the congealed shit off those plates and cooking pans, not to mention the tile and wood surfaces through the kitchen. The barbecue grill was the worse. I stank 115

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of burned charcoal and oily soap by the time I was allowed to crawl into the shower and make myself as clean as the kitchen I had just left. When I came back out he was standing by the cupboard minutely examining the plates I had cleaned.

I went up to him and snatched the plate out of his hands.

"What? You think I didn't do it right?"

He looked at me lazily. "They look okay. Now you can do the rest of the kitchen." He gestured to where he had set a broom, bucket and mop. Water and something that smelled of pine steamed gently in the basin of the bucket.

"I'm going to get some groceries for dinner. See that it's done when I get back."

As he went out the front door I shouted after him, "I didn't join the fucking army and I don't take orders from anyone, Mr. Drill Sergeant."

I half expected him to come back and ream me out, but all I heard was the roar of his truck engine then silence broken only by a distant dog barking.

I cursed the black-hearted asshole but swabbed his deck when I really wanted to give him a piece of my mind. By the time Alex returned I had finished, put the tools and empty bucket away and had wandered out to the backyard. I sat in an Adirondack chair to study the nearby cottonwoods and bushes. I wished I had my binoculars with me. I thought I spotted a hermit thrush and a yellow-billed magpie dancing through the leafless branches looking for something meaty to eat. Around me the air was alive with bird song. This area had an entirely different ecosystem, full of birds not found on the coast. It would be fun to spend a few hours roaming the rural 116

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areas out of town. But somehow I doubted Alex was the least bit interested in woodland hikes.

The door banged open and Alex came out on the patio. He had a beer and wore a battered San Francisco Giants baseball cap.

He took a slug of beer and dropped into the Adirondack beside mine. "Get this straight right now. You are in the army, mister. You're in my army now. And you will do what you're told when you're told to do it."

"You say jump and I say how high on the way up?"

He gave me a lazy smile. "Something like that."

"Can I have a beer?"

"No." He looked around his backyard. It was pretty obvious he didn't use it much. The grass, what there was of it, was brown in patches. Weeds filled in the rest. None of the bushes had been trimmed. "What are you doing out here?"

"Admiring the view," I muttered.

"No, really. What are you doing?"

"If you must know, bird watching."

I waited for the ridicule. Instead he looked thoughtful.

"There lots of them out here? I never noticed."

"Can't you hear them?" I listened to the mournful coo of a several mourning doves and the nearby screech of a scrub jay complaining about something. Maybe a neighborhood cat; I'd seen a few around, slinking through the underbrush hoping for a quick meal. I hate cats.

He paused to listen. "Yeah, I guess I can," he said. "Not much traffic noise out here to drown things out."

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It
was
quiet. "You like this kind of solitude? It must get lonely out here at times."

He played with the label on his beer. "You angling for an invitation to keep me company? I like being alone. People not knowing your business."

I wasn't surprised to hear that coming from a man who clearly had a lot of secrets to keep. Still, it
must
get lonely at times, despite what he said. Maybe that's why the Vault was so important to him. It was the one place he could indulge his kinks and not be labeled a freak or worse. So why did I want to be the one who filled his void? I didn't think he was a freak. He was a man I wanted to know more deeply. What kind of fool did that make me?

Abruptly he stood up. "Come on, you earned yourself a car ride. I'm taking you out for lunch."

I hurried after him. "Do I need to change?"

He looked me up and down. "No, that's just fine. We're not going anyplace fancy."

"Right, this is Goleta."

He took me to the local Sizzlers. It wasn't gourmet, but the food was plentiful and filling. He let me have a beer with lunch.

He ordered the steak. I opted for something different, ribs.

I don't know what it is, I have a thing for chomping on bones.

I was on my final rib, sticky fingers and face drawing amused glances from Spider, when his cell rang. Looking peeved, he pulled it out, checked the caller ID and frowned. His voice was cool when he answered, "Spider."

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He listened for several seconds, growing grimmer by the minute. I put my rib back on the plate, appetite gone. I waited for him to get off the phone.

When he did, he glowered at me as though I was to blame.

"There's been another homicide. It looks like it could be my guy."

"You have to go in?" I hastily wiped my fingers on the napkin.

"Yes."

No apology. No regrets. What did I expect?

He signaled for the bill and slapped a Visa down on the table. Upending his ice water he drained it and stood up, grabbing his jacket.

"I have to stop by the house. If you want, you can stay there and wait for me, or I can drop you at your car in town.

Your choice."

He signed off on the charge and took my elbow, and headed for the door. I hurried to catch up. Spider in overdrive was a sight to see.

In the truck he turned and noticed my slowness in obeying him. He frowned and tapped an impatient rhythm out on the steering wheel.

"Which is it, Jason?"

I shook myself. Did I want to sit around a strange place, not know when he'd be back? Didn't sound like much fun. He might even come home tired and cranky and did I want that?

"I think I'll go home. I have things to do..."

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Without another word he swung the truck toward his place, changed into a suit and tie and strapped on his gun. When I went to collect my things he stopped me.

"Leave them here. It'll give you a change of clothes when you come back. Besides." He stared at my parade pants and the mesh shirt I wore to please him, "I don't want you wearing that anywhere except for me."

That cheered me, that he assumed I was coming back. I wasn't sure about the rest. Was he saying I couldn't go out anymore? I didn't hustle, though he seemed to have a hard time believing me, but to be a virtual prisoner in his home?

Just for the privilege of being fucked by him? Wait a minute—

I said nothing. I did want to be with him. If it made him feel better to think I was going to rot away in some kind of tower, then let him have his illusion.

I nodded and he swept me into his embrace. It gratified me to feel his erection pressed against my stomach.

"Keep it warm," he murmured, pressing his lips into my hair. His hands roamed my backside.

I swallowed against the sudden arousal his nearness brought. "Right," I managed to croak.

He left me at Marina Four where my car was parked while I dug out my key. He sped off toward yet another dead body.

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Once I dropped Jason off I put my Bluetooth dongle in my ear and speed dialed Nancy. I did not ask for details in front of Jason, but I wanted them now. I wanted to know why she'd called me out of rotation.

"This better be good," I said when she answered. Traffic sounds from her phone told me she was on the road, too.

"DB at Rancho Verde, retirement home," she said.

"Dispatch got a 911 call at ten-forty-five this morning. Patrol went out to check, found the deceased, a resident."

"What makes it look like ours?"

"Same MO. The guy was beaten to death with a weapon that wasn't recovered. Beating was excessively nasty."

"Just like Blunt."

"Just like. I'm thinking this is personal. Whoever did this really hated these guys."

"Anything else?" I knew there was. That's why she called.

"Got paper on the DB, name of Clarence Dutton.

Suspected of molesting two young boys when he was a camp counselor fifteen years ago. No charges ever laid—"

A link that definitely might imply the deaths were related.

Or maybe not. But it warranted consideration. I guess she was right to call me.

Rancho Verde was a squat, pale pink stucco structure nearly overgrown with clinging vines and a royal palm-lined drive. Numerous carefully tended flowerbeds and fountains cluttered the massive, sloping lawn. There were very few 121

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people outside, though the day was bright, if cool. December in paradise.

A pair of radio cars crowded the curb outside the front doors. Nancy pulled in behind me. People were leaving the building. The specter of violence always attracted a crowd.

Nancy and I entered the building. Red earthen tile covered the broad lobby and a nervous knot of medical personnel clustered around the marble topped front desk, along with a gangly uni I'd seen before. He nodded at me and spoke to a barrel-chested gray-haired man in a navy suit and sedate tie.

I pegged him as management.

Gray-hair held out his hand and I took it. "Mr. Spencer, director."

I introduced Nancy and myself, and he nodded briskly. For a guy who had one of his patients butchered, he was iceberg cool. I caught Nancy's eye behind his back and we shared a look. We'd been partners long enough to be on the same wavelength. We were both wondering why this civilian wasn't more upset.

In my experience there's no right or wrong way for innocent people to act in the face of horrendous loss. Some are calm, and give nothing away. Others become hysterical and almost require medical care themselves. Of course I've seen the guilty mutts run the same gamut. Some killers can make you cry for their loss.

I signaled the first responding officer to join us. Caldicott, that was the uni's name. Geoffrey Caldicott. He'd been around almost as long as me and was a damn fine officer. One without the ambition to be in plain clothes.

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I left Nancy to talk to the director and I met Caldicott at the door. "What have you got?"

He scanned his notes. "I responded to a call-out at ten-forty-five. I arrived on scene at two minutes after eleven. I found a man the resident nurse identified as Clarence Dutton.

He's been a resident at Rancho Verde for the last eighteen months. According to her, he was in full-blown dementia, couldn't remember his own name. They were preparing to send him to a chronic care hospice for his finals days."

"Terminal?"

"Very much so. If the killer hadn't been in such a hurry, all he had to do was wait. According to the nurse, he had maybe two months left."

"No satisfaction in letting him die peacefully in his bed, now is there?" I flashed back to the brutality of Blunt's death.