Murderous Twins

by Edward Kendrick

  “Exactly. So, anyway, as I was saying, I saw this woman…”

  * * * *

  “Killer F hit again, I think,” Steve said, handing Gary the front section of the newspaper as they ate breakfast Saturday morning. When they discussed them, they’d taken to calling the murderers F and M for the type of victims they targeted.

  “Hopefully this time he didn’t kill someone either of us knew,” Gary replied before reading the story. It was brief, merely saying that the body of a woman had been found next to her car in a parking garage in LoDo. The police were treating it as a murder but beyond that had released no details other than the fact she was in her mid to late forties and owned a well-respected, downtown travel agency. “We didn’t, or at least I didn’t know her, thank God.”

  “Me, neither.” Steve smiled briefly, saying, “Getting paranoid you might know more of them?”

  “Not at all. It’s just…” Gary shrugged. “You figure she’s one of his victims because of the parking garage connection?”

  “Yep. I’ll confirm it with Owen later today, after he’s had time to get some sleep.”

  “You think he caught this one?”

  “I’m sure he did, from what he said about working with the FBI.”

  “That must be fun—not,” Gary said. “At least according to books I’ve read.”

  Steve laughed. “This is real life and he doesn’t seem to mind.”

  Gary finished the last of his coffee then pushed away from the table and got up. “I’d better get ready. I have a meeting with a new client in an hour to go over what they want in the way of redecorating.”

  “Leaving all the chores for me.”

  Gary bent to kiss him. “I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

  “You’d better,” Steve replied after kissing him back. “I expect flowers, candy…”

  “How about good sex and lots of it, instead.”

  Steve grinned. “That works.”

  * * * *

  Gary finished his meeting at eleven-thirty. The clients were very picky about what they wanted, but he had the feeling they were the sort of people who, once everything had been approved, wouldn’t change their minds.

  He arrived home close to noon, parking in the driveway since he and Steve had plans for the afternoon. As he got out of the car, he spotted a man he’d never seen before walking down the street carrying two overloaded plastic grocery bags. He was probably in his late twenties, Gary estimated, tall, slender, and good-looking, with dark brown, sun-streaked hair. He wondered if he was the man who had bought the old Forsberg place.

  His question was answered when the man juggled the bags so he could open the front gate and then disappeared into the yard, closing it behind him.

  “Well, maybe I should say, I presume it was him,” he said to Steve a few minutes later, after telling him about the man. “Given how reclusive the owner seems to be, somehow I doubt the guy was a salesman, or even a friend, especially since it was obvious he’d been grocery shopping.”

  “Interesting. I’ve seen someone who sounds like him drive out of the alley behind the Forsberg house a couple of times on my way to work.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?” Gary replied, feigning dismay.

  “No, oh inquisitive one, because I didn’t have any reason to believe it was the man who bought the house. I only caught glimpses of him. Mostly the fact he was wearing a suit and tie.”

  “If he’s got a car, why walk to the grocery store?”

  Steve shrugged. “You’re asking me? Maybe he wanted the exercise.”

  “Possible, although I can think of better ways to get it than lugging around groceries.”

  “Different strokes,” Steve replied. “So, how did it go with your newest clients?”

  Gary told him, while they fixed lunch. When they finished eating, they got ready to go to a movie that had opened at the multiplex the previous evening. As they didn’t own a TV, deeming watching it a waste of time better spent on other things, their main form of entertainment was going to movies, when one caught their interest.

  * * * *

  “I think I found my next target,” Lloyd said as he and Blaine put away the groceries. “There’s only one problem.”

  “Which is?”

  “He lives across the street. Before you say anything, he looks so much like Dad it’s uncanny. Well not his face, though it’s pretty close, but the rest of him, the hair, the build. He was even wearing a sports jacket and slacks like in the one picture of Dad. I want to do him, Blaine. I have to.” Lloyd was practically dancing with anticipation.

  “No. Absolutely not,” Blaine said adamantly. “We don’t kill in our own backyard.”

  “Damn, I wouldn’t do it anywhere near here. You know that.”

  “I don’t care. Cops would be swarming around, checking out his house, talking to his wife, if he’s got one. It would be asking for trouble.”

  Lloyd heaved a sigh. “I know you’re right, but damn.”

  Blaine gripped his arm. “Forget it. I mean it. You can find plenty of other men who fit what you need.”

  “And he was so perfect,” Lloyd replied wistfully. “Okay, I’ll keep looking.”

  Lloyd meant what he’d said, and did keep looking. But over the next week, in the back of his mind, all he could picture was the man who lived across from them.

  * * * *

  “You know the guy across the street,” Gary said, the following Friday night after he’d first become aware of him.

  “Mr. Reclusive? Yeah. What about him?”

  “Maybe I’m crazy, but I could swear I saw him when I went out to the Tech Center to consult with a client about redoing his office—for the tenth time in two years.”

  Steve chuckled. “At least he’s keeping you busy, and us in steaks.”

  “I guess, but that’s not the point. I saw our neighbor while I was there, if it was him. Sure looked like it, down to the suit and tie you said you’ve seen him wearing.”

  “He probably works for some company out there. God knows there are enough of them.”

  “I know. It just gave me the creeps for some reason.”

  Steve waggled his fingers at his husband, saying in an eerie voice, “He’s Killer M and he’s stalking you. Hey, I was kidding,” he added when Gary shivered.

  “I would hope so. Sorry. I shouldn’t be so spooked. It’s probably because Jim’s memorial service is tomorrow. I’ve been thinking about him and what happened and the serial killers.”

  “It’s hard not to.” Steve hugged him. “Hopefully Owen and the FBI agents will figure out who the killer is and stop him before he strikes again.”

  “Your words and all that,” Gary replied, leaning into Steve’s embrace. “I’m glad I’m not him. Owen, I mean. I don’t think I could deal with handling two serial killer cases, on top of whatever else he’s got going.”

  “It’s times like this I’m happy I decided to become a private investigator instead of joining the police force.”

  “If you had joined, we might never have met,” Gary replied, relaxing enough to smile at him.

  That had happened when Gary was starting his interior decoration business and wanted someone to do background checks on three people he was thinking of hiring. He’d gone through the Yellow Pages, figuring from the number of listings that it was anyone’s guess who the best choice was. As he’d told Steve soon after they began dating, “I closed my eyes and pointed, and ended up with you.”

  Steve had laughed, replying, “One name lower and you’d have gone to see Ace Cooper.”

  “Ace? Seriously?”

  “Yep. He’s been around forever. Specializes in catching straying spouses.”

  “You don’t do that, do you?” Gary had asked, hoping he’d say no. To him that was the ultimate in sleaze.

  “Nope. I won’t touch cases like that. I know it has to be done, but not by me.”

  That had made Gary feel that much better about the man he had fast begun to ca
re about. The man he had ultimately married.

  Now, Steve said, “Why don’t you go up and change into something comfortable.”

  “You don’t want me eating dinner looking so formal?” Gary replied with a grin. Since Steve was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, having changed after he’d come home from work, and Gary had on a suit, with the tie loosened at this point, his comment was valid, he figured. He paused then waggled his eyebrows. “How comfortable?”

  “That, my love, is a leading question. Right now, I’d suggest at least jeans. Later…” Steve pulled his husband into a tight embrace, kissing him thoroughly. “We’ll talk.”

  “Talking is not what I’ve got in mind,” Gray responded with a leer.

  Steve swatted his ass. “Go. Change.”

  “Going already. Kids, I swear.”

  “I’m a year younger than you and far from being a kid,” Steve grumbled.

  “Thank God,” Gary replied as he headed upstairs.

  * * * *

  A few hours later, Gary and Steve had just entered their bedroom, about to get ready for bed. Gary had gone to close the curtains on the front window before they turned on the light when he said, “Steve, come take a look.”

  “What?” Steve asked, joining him.

  “There.” Gary pointed to the old Forsberg house. From where they were standing, they could see what Steve presumed was the living room window. There were lights on behind the drawn curtains.

  “What am I looking at?” Steve asked.

  “Wait.”

  At that moment the silhouette of a man appeared on the curtain. Seconds later there was a second one, also male. From the way one of them was gesturing, it appeared as if they were having an argument.

  “So there are two men living there. And?” Steve put one arm around his husband’s waist. “There are two men living here. What’s the big deal?”

  “Nothing, I guess. It surprised me though. We’ve been thinking it was only one guy.”

  “Maybe one of them, the one you saw, owns the house and the other one’s a friend, or someone he’s shacking up with.”

  Gary nodded. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “But your nosy gene’s kicked in again.”

  Gary laughed ruefully. “Yeah, it has. Like I said, if it was him I saw at the Tech Center…well, it gave me the creeps and I can’t figure out why.”

  “Remind me when we get back from Jim’s memorial service and I’ll do a title search to find out who he is.” It was something Steve could do, as his home computer was set up to access to some of the same sites he used at work for background checks.

  “You’ll probably find out he’s your average, everyday guy with a huge family spread out around the country, and enough friends to make us look like loners.”

  “Yep, but at least it’ll sate your curiosity. Right now, though, let’s get to bed.”

  “Now that, my love, is an idea I can really get behind. But not to sleep. Not quite yet.” Gary wrapped his arms around his husband, his hands straying down to cup his ass.

  “Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Drake-Cooke?”

  “Why yes. Yes, I am, Mr. Cooke. Do you have a problem with that?”

  Steve’s reply was a kiss that left no doubt in Gary’s mind what his answer would be—if he could talk—which he couldn’t because his lips were involved in something much more interesting than conversation.

  Chapter 6

  Gary hugged May, whispering, “I’d say again that I’m sorry for your loss, but I think you’ve heard that more often than you’d like, today.”

  She managed a wan smile, replying, “I have, but my friends mean well, so…”

  “I understand. If you need anything, you know you can call me.” He kissed her cheek before asking Steve. “Ready to leave?”

  Steve nodded after he thanked May for inviting them. “She’s a nice woman,” he said softly to Gary as they left the chapel where Jim’s memorial service has been held.

  “She is. I hope to hell they catch his killer so another wife doesn’t have to go through what she is.”

  “They will.” Steve hoped he was right. From what he knew, stopping a serial killer wasn’t as easy as they made it sound in books and movies. But then, what is?

  When they got home, and had changed into more comfortable clothes, Steve set to work doing as he’d promised Gary—running a title search on the old Forsberg house. It took him no time at all to discover the new owner’s name—one Blaine Jackson Ayers. Of course, when he told his husband, Gary wanted him to see what he could find out about the man.

  “Okay, here’s what I’ve discovered so far,” Steve said a while later. “Mr. Ayers is an actuary for an insurance company at the Tech Center. He’s twenty-seven, no living relatives on record. His mother died in childbirth. His father died of a massive heart attack, soon after Ayers graduated college. All this is from a reliable people search site I use for work. I’m still trying to find out where he was born, as that wasn’t listed for some reason. The first record of the Ayers—father and son—with a specific location for them, is in New York City. Blaine was two months old when his father enrolled him in a daycare center there. When he was three, they moved to Richmond.”

  “Did the father remarry?”

  “No.” Steve replied after checking his notes. “Blaine Ayers is single. Moved out here three years ago. Owned a condo until he sold it and bought the house. The car I saw is registered in his name. He got his Colorado driver’s license soon after he arrived here from Chicago, where he also worked for an insurance company. No wants or warrants out on him—and his driving record is clear. That’s about it.”

  “Pretty skimpy,” Gary commented.

  “Yeah.” Steve chuckled. “A man of mystery. I’m going to dig a little deeper, but not until I get to work on Monday. The programs I’ve got here are fairly superficial compared to what I have at the office.”

  * * * *

  Lloyd had been watching the house across the street on and off from his bedroom window since he’d first become aware, last Friday, of the man he knew he had to kill—Blaine’s wishes to the contrary. This morning he’d seen the man he was interested in leave with another man, both of them dressed in suits and ties. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the second man, so he figured they were sharing the house, either as roommates or something more.

  The problem was, both men had cars and used them to go to work. It made it difficult for Lloyd to follow his target, since he didn’t have access to Blaine’s car during the week.

  He’d had an idea about how to find out the man’s name, which would be a start. All he needed was his license plate number. He waited until the men had driven away in the second man’s car before going downstairs. Blaine was in the living room, dusting. One of his Saturday chores.

  “I’m going to run to the store. I’m out of shampoo,” Lloyd said.

  “Okay. I’ll stick around inside until you’re back. I presume you’re walking.”

  “Yep. Fresh air, sunshine, all that jazz,” Lloyd replied, grinning.

  “If you say so.” Blaine returned to dusting after reminding his twin it was his turn to do the vacuuming.

  Lloyd walked swiftly to the drugstore a block away, got the shampoo that he really didn’t need, then headed to the alley behind his target’s house.

  When he got to the backyard, he checked to be certain no one was watching before crossing to the side door of the garage. To his relief, it wasn’t locked. He made quick work of going inside—after wrapping the plastic bag from the shampoo over his hand—and then jotted down the license plate number of the target’s car. At that point, it occurred to him there might be a faster way to learn the guy’s name, if he could get into the car. The door was locked, but…He felt around in the wheel well with his bag-covered fingers. Success! He opened the door on the driver’s side, checked the glove box and found the car’s registration—with the man’s name. He memorized it, returned the key to the magnetic bo
x, locked the car and left, after making certain no one was around.

  “Mission successful?” Blaine asked when Lloyd walked into the living room twenty minutes after he’d left.

  For a second, Lloyd thought he meant getting the information he wanted. Then he realized he meant the shampoo. “Yep. Let me get rid of it and I’ll vacuum.”

  He didn’t have a chance to do a search for the name—Gary Drake-Cooke—until after he’d vacuumed and they’d eaten lunch. Then he went to his room, opened his laptop, and went online to see what he could learn about the man.

  “At least now I know where to find you, other than at home,” he said under his breath when he discovered Gary owned an interior design business close to downtown. Twenty-to-one the other man is his husband, from Gary’s hyphenated last name. Guess what, dude. You’re going to be a widower soon.

  * * * *

  As he’d promised, when he had the chance Monday morning Steve ran a more detailed search on Blaine Ayers. It took some time, and a lot of digging, but what he found out had him calling his husband at what he knew was normally the time Gary stopped for lunch.

  “Have you eaten yet?” Steve asked.

  “I was about to head out to Monkey Club, since I’m in the mood for Thai. Why?”

  “Want some company?”

  “Since it’s you, you bet,” Gary replied. “I’ll walk, you drive, and we’ll probably get there about the same time.”

  Because Gary’s company was four blocks north of the restaurant, and Steve had a suite in an office building downtown, he figured his husband was overestimating it a bit, so he said, “Order the wontons. It’ll keep you busy until I arrive.” Gary laughed, and they hung up.

  Steve walked into the restaurant less than twenty minutes later to find Gary about to start on the wontons, so they shared them before ordering their lunches—Massamun curry for Steve, Pad Thai for Gary.

  While they waited for the food to arrive, Steve told Gary what he’d found out. “Blaine Ayers wasn’t born in New York. His parents lived in a small town in Nebraska. His father picked up and moved to New York, with Blaine, after his wife died. Now here’s where it gets interesting.” He paused to sip his green tea.