The Definitive Albert J. Sterne (28 page)

Fletcher attended the funeral, a simple graveside service. He stood just out of hearing distance, with Ross beside him identifying as many as he could of the people attending. One of the local police also took photos as unobtrusively as possible.

It was a cold and colorless day, and everyone appeared grateful to return to the family home for lunch and a beer. Fletcher and Ross sat at the kitchen table and made a detailed list of who’d sent letters and cards and wreaths, while Jane Shields, Tony’s older sister, helped them and kept Fletch supplied with coffee.

“With love and sympathy from the Colby family,” Fletch read from a card that had accompanied flowers.

“Paul Colby was Tony’s friend all through high school. He got on well with Paul’s parents, too, though they’re very strict. Anyway, they’re all here, I  think, except Paul had to go back to work.”

“I met Paul at the medical examiner’s, when he told us who Tony was.”

“That’s right,” the young woman said. “I  know it sounds awful but somehow it makes it even worse that Tony was lying there in a refrigerator, and we didn’t claim him for days. Thank heavens for Paul.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Fletch offered. He checked that Ross had noted the relevant details, then picked up the next card. “
In memoriam
, John Garrett.”

“Don’t know, actually. Robert  -” Jane called to a brother nearby. When she had his attention, she beckoned him closer and handed him the card. “Do you know who this is?”

Robert thought for a moment. “Oh right, yeah, I’m guessing that’s his boss from the construction site. I  never met him or anything, but Tone mentioned him a couple of times, reckoned he was good to work for, like he was one of the boys.”

“I thought Tony was unemployed when he went missing,” Fletch said.

“Well, yeah, but only for a week or so. They’d just finished the new building in town, and Tone was taking a break before he looked for more work. I think he got a good reference from this guy.”

“Can I see it?”

“Sure, if I can find it. Why?”

“We’re just making sure there are no loose ends,” Fletch said calmly, not wanting anyone’s imagination running wild. “Once we tidy everything up and get a feel for who Tony was and who his friends and acquaintances were, then we’ll know where else to look.”

The young man seemed satisfied with that. He shrugged and meandered off.

Fletcher read from the next card. “In sympathy, Liz Barnes.”

Jane Shields looked very sad. “She’s the girl in the armchair over there, the one with the red hair. Liz was Tony’s girlfriend.”

Having only just quit work, Fletcher lay back on the bed in Albert’s room, arms pillowing his head. Albert had the radio on quietly, tuned to a station playing classical music, which was nice enough. Relaxing, even. The forensics man was working on yet another report - Fletch often wondered how many forests were lost in any one murder investigation, what with all the reports and copies and bulletins, and then all the newspapers, too.

“What a ghastly day,” Fletch murmured, mind wandering.

“Don’t get too comfortable. I expect you to leave by midnight. You have ten minutes.”

“Or what? I’ll turn into a pumpkin?” Fletch chuckled, then subsided again, too tired for laughter. “Everyone’s in the same condition but for you, apparently. Absolute exhaustion, running on nerves alone. You should have been there this afternoon. Everything tense and sort of glum because of Sam’s funeral and we haven’t made an arrest yet, and Owen tells this joke, this real simple thing  - Two peanuts walking in a park. One was a salted. You see? Assaulted.” Fletch giggled for a moment. “I  mean, it isn’t that funny  -” But, helpless, he giggled again. “Or maybe it is, I’m not fit to judge right now. Anyway, this room full of grown men and women just crack up like you wouldn’t believe. Complete hysteria. That’s the state we’re all in. What about you?”

“I’m tired,” Albert allowed.

“Yeah. You should have been there, love, I  mean it, a laugh would have done you good. Laughing at us, if not the stupid joke.”

A pause. “You have two minutes.”

“A hard, hard, hard man.” Fletch glanced over at Albert, and was abruptly struck by an alarming thought. “In all the time we’ve known each other,” he said slowly, thinking back over eight years, “in all that time,” he continued, sitting up on the side of the bed, “I  can’t recall you ever laughing. Not once.”

“That’s entirely possible,” Albert conceded.

“That’s entirely terrible!”

“Why?”

“Why?” Fletch repeated, horrified. “Well, I  don’t know - it’s not like you don’t have a sense of humor. But I guess I can’t imagine someone never laughing - it sounds so  …” He’d been going to say
unhappy
, but thought better of it in time. What if that were the truth?

“It’s midnight, go get some sleep. I’m sure tomorrow will prove as demanding as today.”

“No, I - I’d really like to hear you laugh. What does it sound like, Albert?”

“This whole issue is of no interest to me.”

“But I feel like I’ve failed you.”

“Maybe you have.”

Fletch stared for a moment - but Albert was just trying to scare him off. He grinned, humorless. “You’re as good at emotional blackmail as I am, aren’t you?”

“Go away, Ash.”

“No.” He walked over to the man where he sat beside the table, knelt before him, ran his arms around Albert’s waist. “I  love you.”

“You have told me so on a number of occasions.” Albert impatiently put the paperwork down.

“I want to do you good.”

“I don’t imagine we’d be friends otherwise.” As if it was self-evident and easily dismissed. But Albert seemed sad underneath the annoyance, which was alarming if only because the man was usually too good at concealing his emotions.

Fletcher stretched up, kissed Albert as thoroughly as he knew how. When he broke away, he said, “At least I do this for you.”

“Yes.”

For a moment, Fletch thought he’d be dismissed again but Albert gathered him up closely and made careful love to him, right there. Because Fletch needed to be needed, right then.

Even though Fletcher was on his knees on the floor, even though he was only being jerked off and kissed, even though he was exhausted, Albert made the sex feel so damned sweet. Why was something this simple so good? Fletch wasn’t one to wish he were a teenager again, so it wasn’t the return to the basics that did it - and Albert was too precise and knowledgeable for Fletch to pretend this was a fumbling first time, even if he’d wanted to. They were both in their FBI suits and ties, Fletch’s trousers unzipped but still hugging his hips, which added a jolt of the forbidden, but that was only part of the answer.

Albert loved him, Albert made him feel perfect, that was all. Even with only a mouth on his own, and a hand at his genitals.

Fletch groaned, so close to orgasm so quickly. Albert would often hold back at this stage, and let Fletch calm down before bringing him to the brink again and again, but Fletch was in no condition for that tonight. “Please,” he whispered. The hand withdrew, and he began a protest, but then he was being forcibly lifted to his feet, Albert’s hands on his hips. The man bent forward to take Fletch’s penis into his mouth, sucked hard. Fletch came almost immediately, crying out before he could stop himself, leaning over to prop himself on the chair’s arms. Then he fell to his knees again, and they held each other.

“What about you?” Fletch whispered when he could.

“You’re going to your room and I’m going to get some sleep.”

“All right, love.”

“I’d prefer you kept the endearments to a minimum.”

Fletch grinned. “That is the minimum.”

“Really. If good taste doesn’t restrain you, what about the thought we might be bugged?”

“I can’t take that seriously, Albert. Anyway, it’s too late now, isn’t it? You’ve just been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.”

Albert appeared to despair. “What an interesting image,” he said. Then he admitted, “I  think it probable they’d simply tap our home telephones. It’s less likely they’d have the field office conducting surveillance on us here in Oregon, especially as we’re spending the majority of our time working and therefore presumably behaving appropriately. Or, if they have gone that far, then we’re already in a great deal of trouble.”

“Your job means even more to you than mine does to me, doesn’t it?” Fletch said, considering this man.

“I imagine we’re equally committed.”

“But then, we’re committed to each other as well, aren’t we? So what do you want us to do?”

“To use your own metaphor, for now we juggle.”

Fletcher smiled a little, falling for the man yet again. “You’re wonderful.”

“And tired.”

“All right, all right, I’ll go.” He kissed the man. “Sleep well, love.”

Fletcher felt downright cheerful the next day. When his breakfast was delivered, he took the tray next door to join Albert. “Morning!” Fletch said brightly when Albert opened the door. He walked over to the table and began making room for his loaded tray of coffee and juice, bacon and eggs, toast and jam. As usual, Albert’s breakfast was fruit and bottled water and the
Washington Post
.

Albert sighed and moved quickly to shift his precious reports and newspaper out of harm’s way. “Good morning,” he replied.

“I’ve got a joke for you.”

“That’s really not necessary.”

“You’re going to like this one. All right - these three bits of string walk into a bar.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Fletch groaned. “It’s a joke, Albert, give me a break. Okay. These three bits of string  -”

“You’re talking to me about animate pieces of string?” Albert asked. His tone implied that Fletcher must have lost his mind.

“Yes. Stay with me here, I promise you’re going to like this. They sit in a corner booth, and one of them goes to the bartender and says, ‘Three beers, please, for me and my friends’. The bartender takes one look at him and says, ‘We don’t serve your kind here.’” Albert was looking highly dubious, but Fletch took a breath and plunged ahead regardless. “So the bit of string goes back to his friends and explains why he doesn’t have the beers, and the second piece of string says, ‘We’ll see about that,’ and heads for the bar. He says, very assertively, ‘Three beers, please, for me and my friends.’ But the bartender says, ‘I  told your pal, we don’t serve bits of string here.’”

“Is there a point to this?” Albert asked.

“The third piece of string is pretty angry about this. But he has a think about it and comes up with a solution. He ties a knot in himself, about a foot of the way down, and unravels the top bit, so it looks like hair, arranges it nicely, then heads for the bar. ‘Three beers, please, for me and my friends.’ The bartender is very suspicious. He looks him up and down and says, ‘Aren’t you a piece of string?’ And the bit of string replies, ‘No, I’m afraid not.’”

Dead silence for a few beats. An uninterested Albert prompted, “Yes, and then what happened?”

“That’s it,” Fletch said, exasperated enough to throw his hands in the air. “Don’t you get it? ‘No, I’m a frayed knot.’”

“Your taste obviously encompasses jokes that rely on puns.”

“Even Shakespeare wrote puns.”

“That’s hardly a recommendation for your juvenile sense of humor.”

Fletcher stared at the man, and shook his head. “Okay, be impossible.” Frowning, he added, “For lovers, we sure as hell bicker a lot. But I can live with it.”

“What a pity,” Albert commented. The only topic they touched on during the rest of their breakfast was the current murder case.

Fletcher and Ross were allocated the task of looking into everyone who showed an interest in Sam Doherty’s funeral. They still had to chase up the last of the names identified following Tony Shields’ funeral; one of whom was Tony’s old boss, who had apparently moved interstate. Fletch began with the secretary of the head of the company that owned the new building, an efficient, gum-chewing girl named Trish.

“Maybe I have it wrong,” she said, clearly believing she couldn’t have, “but I thought Mr Garrett said he was moving to Wyoming. On the other hand, Mr Connolly swears he said it was Maine.”

“That’s quite a discrepancy.”

“Uh huh. Other side of the country entirely.” She sighed and snapped her gum. “I  have some mail for him but I can’t forward it, can  I? Why do you want to know, anyway?”