“Please, sir? I don’t want anything to change. I mean, no announcements, no speeches. All I want to do is catch whoever’s decided to terrorize our town, as soon as possible.” He stood, and Kraft circled around from behind the desk to stand before him.
“I know you will. I have faith in you and Rob. And you’ll have the full support of everyone in the department.” Kraft stuck out his hand, and Paul grasped it. “Go get ’em, Bulldog.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He exited the office and headed for the men’s room, where he braced his hands on the sink and rested his head against the mirror. The wild thump of his heart settled back into a regular rhythm. He’d done it, and came out of there, if possible, stronger.
“Paulie? You okay?” Rob stood in the doorway, concern puckering his brow.
“Yeah.” Paul allowed himself the first smile since he walked through the door. “I think I finally am.” He straightened. “Let’s get to work.”
Together they walked to their desks, stopping only to get a cup of coffee from the office machine. Seated, Paul booted up his computer.
“You met with Kraft? He getting on your case about something?”
“No.” Paul swiveled his chair to face Rob and lowered his voice. “I told him. That I live with Cliff.”
Rob’s eyes widened. “Yeah? And he was decent about it? He didn’t give you any shit?”
“No.” Paul shook his head. “Gotta say I’m still a little surprised about that, in a good way. If he’s okay with it, everyone else will be as well.”
Rob gave him an answering smile.
“So,” Paul said, retrieving his files from the desktop. “What are we working with now? Any new reports come in this morning?”
“Bulldog, give people a chance to eat their bagels.” Rob snorted, then continued in a more serious vein. “The arson team is investigating the cause of the fire. That’ll take some time.”
“Yeah, but I’d like a chance to go to the site today and see if we can find anything from doing a walk-through. The building is still standing, and it might be a mess, but maybe we can pick up some clues.”
“Yeah. How’s Shelby? Any word?” Rob sipped his coffee while reading the notes he’d pulled up on his computer.
“None this morning. At least he made it through surgery, which is a good sign.” Paul reclined in his chair. “We should continue to interview the other break-in victims along Main Street. We haven’t gone to Today’s Man yet, or the electronics store. I’ll call them up and see if we can swing by there now.” He picked up the phone.
“Good idea.”
Both storeowners were willing to see them immediately.
“These are all connected somehow. As are the notes you’ve been getting, right?” Rob slipped his cell phone into his suit jacket pocket.
“Maybe. Too soon to tell.”
“Let’s get a move on, then.” Rob’s face tightened in a grim expression. “Stores are open already, and I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day.”
Paul grabbed his memo book and drained the rest of his coffee. “I’m ready.”
* * *
“First stop,” Paul said, examining his notes while Rob drove the short distance to downtown, “Today’s Man. I want to hit up all the stores on the block to see if they’ve received anything suspicious or threatening.”
“Agreed.” Rob drove into the available parking space outside Today’s Man and flipped over the police permit in the windshield before exiting the car.
With his hand on the door to the men’s store, Paul glanced down the block, and his stomach turned at the blackened front of the nightclub he and Cliff had frequented. Paul didn’t dance, but the food was good, the drinks were strong, and Cliff’s friends liked the place.
He pushed the door, and the overhead bells tinkled, signaling their entrance. Donald, the well-dressed salesman who was also the owner, acknowledged them with a dip of his head and raised brows, but continued to ring up the sale for a customer without missing a beat.
Paul and Rob wandered through the store. Paul knew Cliff bought his clothes there and as he fingered the wool of a jacket, he thought maybe his four-year-old suits could use an overhaul.
“Detectives, how can I help you? Mr. Gormley are you here for another suit?”
Paul had met Donald when he accompanied Cliff on his shopping expeditions, and they’d become friendly acquaintances. He faced Rob with surprise. “You know Don?”
“Yeah. Annabel and I have been coming here since we met. She decided if she was going to be seen in public with me, I needed to clean up my act.”
Paul smirked at his partner before addressing Don. “We’re here to talk to you about the break-in. I know we already talked to you, but we wanted to ask you a few additional questions.”
“Of course. You know I’m always willing to talk to you. Come, let’s sit. I’ll just flip the sign to CLOSED. Give me a second.”
They waited for him to change the sign and lock the door, then followed him to the back of the store to a small office. He and Rob lowered themselves into the chairs while Donald sat behind his desk and straightened the edges of his tailored shirt. Paul caught the gleam of cuff links at the wrist.
“Now, what do you want to ask me?”
In his midsixties, distinguished and always beautifully dressed, Donald recently sported a thin gold band on his left hand. Cliff had told Paul that Don had married his long-term partner, Andrew, an art teacher at Thornwood Park High School. The past June was the first time Paul had seen a Pride flag flying outside the store.
“You’ve already given us your statement that you lost several thousand dollars’ worth of merchandise in the break-in. Now we have another question for you.” Paul flipped open his book. “Have you experienced any type of hate speech, either personally at your home or here at the store?”
Donald met his eyes. “May I ask why?”
“We’ve come up with a few theories as to what’s behind this sudden outbreak of crime, and the one we’re leaning toward is that this is a coordinated effort by a group—a hate group, to be exact—to drive out the diverse, multicultural population Thornwood Park has been drawing lately.”
A flicker of something came and went in Donald’s eyes. “I don’t advertise my personal life, Detectives. The fact that I sell someone a suit or sportswear doesn’t mean I need to share who I spend my time with, nor do I delve into the private life of my customers. If I do so, it’s because they or I choose to.”
Paul recalled Donald had been an English teacher after living in England during his teenage years, which might account for his slightly more formal, reserved speech. But Paul understood and respected the man.
“Understood, and I agree. But several of your neighbors and members of the community have either had conflicts with individuals or received threatening notes. And of course, you’re aware of the fire last night at the Wild Orchid.”
Another flicker of emotion, but this time Paul could put a name to it. Pain. Anger.
“I’ve lived in Thornwood Park most of my adult life. It’s transformed from a sleepy little town into a suburb, and that attracts more people. Some are good and some not. I’m a gay man, Detectives, but even more so, I’m a human being who deserves to walk and live and work among everyone else without fear. Until now, I have.” He paused, and Paul’s heart ramped up. He held his breath. “When I came in today, this was taped to the front door.”
Donald reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a single folded page, holding on to the tape hanging from it. Paul glanced at Rob, who sat resigned and grim-faced. They already knew what it was, but he pulled out a pair of blue nitrile gloves from his suit pocket, slipped them on, and took the paper from Donald.
“Did anyone besides you touch this?”
“No. And I only touched the tape, not the paper,” Donald said proudly.
Paul didn’t have the heart to tell him that the tape would be the best place to pick up a fingerprint, beca
use he knew Donald had meant well, but at least the paper was as close to untouched as possible. He unfolded it, grimaced, and showed it to Rob.
The Iron Cross with the grinning skull.
Paul slid the note inside an evidence bag.
“Why didn’t you report this?”
“It’s barely a threat.”
Paul drew in a deep breath. “But do you see now, with what’s been happening, that it might all be tied in?”
“I guess? I’ll leave that to you experts.” Donald’s uncertain gaze flickered between the note Paul held in his hand and Paul’s face. “It didn’t seem important.”
“It is. Or could be.”
“How about any customers?” Rob inquired. “Have you dealt with anyone who’s stepped out of line recently, acted aggressive or threatening?”
Donald’s brow furrowed in thought. “Let me see. I do remember a man who didn’t quite seem to fit my usual customer demographic, if you know what I mean.”
“Explain, please.” Paul sat with pen poised over his pad.
“My customers tend to be either businesspeople, or I get the occasional man looking to upgrade a suit.”
“Like me,” Rob interjected.
“Yes. The average age tends to start around mid-to-late thirties and goes up into the seventies. It’s rare that I see younger men, unless they’re buying a suit for graduation or their first job.”
“Go on,” Paul urged, writing down everything.
“Last week a man came in, roughly dressed and not too clean, if you understand me. He wandered around the store, touching things. When I approached him and asked if he needed help, he sneered and said, ‘Not from one of you people.’ ”
“Did he buy anything?” Paul asked. “Try anything on?”
“He wanted a flannel shirt, but we don’t sell them. He tried on a few athletic shirts, then left without buying anything.” His lips curled. “I knew he wouldn’t.”
“Tell us what he looked like, if you remember.”
“He was shorter than you both. Stocky build. Bald with a thick neck and dark-brown eyes.”
Paul wrote the description with a smile. “You’d be dynamite in a lineup ID.”
“Anything else?” Rob read over his notes. “Birthmarks, scars, tattoos?”
Donald’s eyes widened, and he sucked in a breath. “Jesus.”
“What?” Paul gripped his pen.
“I just realized. The man’s tattoo. It was an Iron Cross with a skull in the center. Same as on that note.”
A fist tightened in Paul’s chest. “Thank you. You’ll likely be hearing from us again.”
“Anytime, Detectives.” Donald walked them out and unlocked the front door. “Do you really think a hate group has taken root here in Thornwood Park?”
“Hate can happen everywhere and anywhere.” Paul shook Donald’s hand. “Be safe, and keep those eagle eyes open.”
“Most definitely.”
They checked in with Lou Perez, the electronics-store owner, who assured them he hadn’t received any unsettling notes or had any unpleasant encounters with customers. A bit of good news for them, but Perez was unhappy there had been no breakthroughs.
“I lost ten percent of my stock to those bastards,” he complained. “They knew exactly what they wanted. Got all my latest merchandise.” Mournful lips drooped from underneath a bristling black moustache, and a tic jumped in the corner of his left eye. “You need to catch them.”
“We’re trying.”
“I hope so.”
They left his store and walked down Main Street to what was left of the Wild Orchid. The smell of smoke, ash, and wet filled Paul’s nose as they approached the frontage of the ruined club, secured with yellow crime-scene tape. The building remained standing and wasn’t completely ruined only because of the speedy response of the fire department. For a moment, Paul allowed his thoughts to drift to Ryan and hoped Shelby was okay.
Several members of the arson team stood in front of the wrecked storefront, recording notes on their iPads. Martin Rodgers, chief of the team and an old friend of Paul and Rob’s, spoke some final words to a man with an Arson Investigations Unit uniform, then joined them.
“Good to see you two.”
They shook hands, and Paul gestured to the building. “What’re you thinking?”
Rodgers, a twenty-year veteran of the force, grimaced. Dark brows, in direct contrast to his thick head of white-gray hair, drew together. “I’m thinking whoever the bastards were wanted to inflict as much confusion and mayhem as possible. Molotov cocktails thrown in through the windows that would start a fire and cause a smoke condition to make it hard to see and cause panic.”
“Which they did.”
“Yeah. We’ve found several of the incendiary devices and have the remnants ready to go to the lab. They’re pretty crude, as to be expected. I’ll show you.” He swiped at his tablet and turned it around so they could see the half-broken, burned-out bottles with debris clinging to them. “They filled these with something flammable, which is what we’ll test for, stuck a rag inside, set them on fire, and bam. Tossed them at the window and waited for the explosions.”
“I’m glad you found something. Let us know what they used for accelerant, please,” Paul said. “We’re going to poke around inside.”
“Go ahead. The fire didn’t destroy the overall structure, but with all the extensive water damage, it will be a while before they can reopen.”
“We’re just glad everyone got out safely.” Rob shaded his eyes as he tipped his head upward. “This had the potential to be a real disaster.”
They bade their good-byes and carefully stepped inside, avoiding the pools of water left from the fire department’s hoses. The wall of liquor normally featured behind the bar was devoid of bottles, and every table and chair in the restaurant area was knocked over, many broken beyond repair.
“I hope the owner has insurance. This is a complete loss.”
Paul scanned the interior, recalling the last time he’d eaten there with Cliff. “It’s a crime if these businesses are being targeted for the reasons we suspect.”
“Agreed.”
They advanced farther into the interior, where the dance floor was. The smell of smoke was stronger here, and Paul could only imagine the panic of people trying to escape, especially Ryan, knowing Shelby was so ill.
“I don’t think we’re going to find anything worthwhile in here. The water damage is too great.” Paul surveyed the space one last time.
“I think you’re right. But we should find out if they have a surveillance camera.”
Paul shook his head. “I already know the answer to that. No. The owner didn’t believe it was right to film people inside, especially since many were closeted. He feared it could one day be used against them.” Their feet crunched on the broken glass as they made their way to the front.
Outside again, Rob squinted in the bright sunlight and slid his sunglasses down. “Okay, I get that. So let’s get the footage from the cameras on the corner. Hopefully they were functional and can give us something.”
“Yep. My next thought.” Paul checked his watch. “We can pick up some lunch before heading to the station.” He grinned. “How about that salad place?”
Rob gave him a pained smile. “You used to be nice, Paulie.”
He laughed and slung an arm around Rob’s neck. “Being healthy isn’t going to kill you.”
“You never know,” Rob said darkly. “Sure is killing all my fun.”
“I’m sure you know how to have fun that doesn’t include food.”
“I have three kids, don’t I?” Rob waggled his brows.
“Okay, lover boy, let’s go. I want to call Cliff when we get back to the station and see if he’s heard anything about Shelby.”
“Call him now while we get lunch.”
“Okay. Get me the Number Three.”
Rob rolled his eyes. “Figures you’d have a favorite.” He squeezed Paul’s shoulder and wa
lked inside.
Paul took out his phone and hit the preset button for Cliff. His smile faded when after several rings, the call went to voice mail. He tried again with the same result, then shoved the phone away, ignoring the anxiety gnawing inside him. If anything had happened, Cliff would call him.
Chapter Ten
Cliff didn’t remember much of the drive to the hospital and was sure he skated through some yellow-turning-to-red lights. Breathing heavily as he burst through the elevator doors, he ran to the waiting room, where Ryan had texted him he was waiting. He stood at the entrance to see Ryan with his head in his hands.
“Ry?”
At his voice, Ryan raised his head, the intensity of despair in his blue eyes unsettling.
“Cliff,” he choked out. “Shelby’s gone.”
Shocked, Cliff felt the air sucked out of his lungs. “What?” He ran to Ryan’s side.
“He had another heart attack.” Fresh tears spilled down Ryan’s cheeks. “The reason he had to leave the Silver Valley police department was he couldn’t pass their physical; his underlying heart problem was too grave. With all the stress of the fire and then surgery…” Ryan bowed his head again. “It was too much.”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry. That’s horrible.” He held Ryan close.
“He was resting when I came in this morning, and even though they wouldn’t let me see him, I know one of the nurses and she told me he was still critical but stable. So I left to run some errands and do whatever I had to before my shift started. I figured I’d stop by before I went in, and when I came back I saw his mother crying and talking to the doctor. When I approached her, she lashed out at me, screaming that I killed Shelby, that it was my fault he died.”
Cliff’s mouth fell open in shock and disgust. “My God. What the hell is wrong with her?” He was horrified.
It took a moment for Ryan to compose himself and wipe the tears off his face. The ever-present light in his eyes had faded to darkness. “I never thought I’d see that much hatred. I think if she could’ve killed me, she would have.”
Thinking of his own family, Cliff understood how lucky he was to get a second chance with his parents, even if it did take his mother almost dying to achieve it. Nothing more could be done but give his best friend the support he needed. He put his arm around Ryan.
Death Comes to Main Street (The Paul Monroe Mysteries Book 3) Page 8