by T. M. Smith
Rand turned just as Rory stood, both of them cursing. “Holy shit.” Standing in the doorway to their office was Howard Manning Tullor Junior. Older now than the images in the folder on Rory’s desk, he and Shannon had both aged well and no longer looked as identical as they had when they were teenagers, but there were still similarities evident in Junior’s features. His blond hair was unkempt, brushing his shoulders. He had blazing blue eyes and he was tall, more so than his Shannon. When Rand walked over and introduced himself, he was at eye level with Junior, which meant the kid was six four. He wasn’t a kid though; Rory reminded himself that the man standing before him was not the adolescent he’d seen in photographs.
“Please, come in, sit.” Blair walked around his desk, grabbing a chair from the corner and pulling it over between his and Rory’s desks. “Can I get you anything before we start? Water, coffee?”
“Water would be nice.” Junior thanked Blair with a forced smile. His voice was…odd. Rory couldn’t put his finger on it, but his tone sounded almost, damaged in a way. Like the demon-possessed girl in The Exorcist—damaged. Connie tossed a bottle of water to Blair, leaning back against her desk with the small voice recorder she kept in her purse in her hand. Smart woman. Rory hadn’t even thought to take notes.
“So, when you called me this morning, you said you heard we were looking for you and that you had information on Bruce Pearson. Why don’t you start by telling us how you heard we were looking for you when we all thought you were dead?” Blair wasn’t normally the talkative one.
Junior nodded, clearing his throat. “I have a friend that still lives in Seattle, and he got word to me about a year ago that there were a couple of FBI agents in town digging up old cases, asking questions about missing teenagers, and my name was on the list.” Twisting the cap off the bottle, Junior took a healthy swig before clearing his throat again. “I completely disappeared when I left Washington, because it was necessary, and I’ve stayed hidden because I knew if he ever found out that he didn’t actually kill me the night I tried to leave, he’d find me and finish what he started.”
“Jesus,” Rand groaned. “Let’s take a step back, Howard. Tell us how you wound up in the spider’s lair to begin with.”
“I go by Mannie now. I couldn’t very well use my real name, and why would I want to? I’m pretty fucking sure you all know who my grandfather is.” Junior crossed his arms over his chest, clearing his throat again. It was really starting to drive Rory crazy and damned if he could say why.
“Mannie, can you please tell us how and when you met Bruce Pearson?” Rand was using his exasperated tone.
Wiping his hands on the threadbare jeans he was wearing, Junior told a story much like Shannon’s. “I was fourteen and angry at the world. I already knew I was gay, but there was no way in hell I could tell anyone. Not when my grandfather and father were both spewing fire and venom, weekly conversations over dinner about the gay agenda and how homosexuality was turning the world to shit. I rebelled, acting out in other ways—vandalism and petty crimes. Of course my grandpa being who he was, he couldn’t let it be known that his grandson was a hooligan. He hired the best lawyer his money could buy to represent me in juvenile court, not realizing that he had basically handed me over to the devil himself.” Junior snorted, eyes distant, obviously remembering something.
The silence stretched toward uncomfortable. “Go on.” Blair waved a hand in the air.
Junior flinched, eyes vacant for a brief second. Blinking, he shook off whatever it was holding him captive, clearing his throat, again. “Sorry, I sometimes have issues staying focused.” Junior apologized, tapping his temple with a finger. “Doc says it’s from my injuries. Where was I? Pearson, right. So Daddy dearest and Gramps handed me over to someone they assumed was a responsible adult. Not so much.” Junior scrunched up his face comically and Rory fought the urge to laugh.
“Bruce told me I was better than the role models in my life, that I was more than where I came from. I was young, stupid, and fearless, and I trusted him. For a very long time, I thought I loved him, and that fucked with my head for years. Eventually I came to the realization that what I loved was the man Bruce pretended to be, the man he presented himself as in the beginning.” The longer he talked, the more restless Junior became. His eyes darted around the room, not staying focused on any one thing for more than a few seconds. A thick, wool scarf was wrapped around his neck and he kept pulling at it, like it was irritating him, but he wouldn’t take it off.
Rand scooted his chair a little closer to Junior. “How long were you with Pearson before the relationship became a sexual one?” He kept his voice even and low, the rough baritone hard to dismiss.
“Six months, I think. He was so gentle and attentive the first few times—his requests prior to us having sex becoming stranger each time. The longer I was there, stuck in that prison disguised as a gilded cage, the worse he made me feel. He kept this cigar box with pictures of the guys before me in it. I looked inside once and…” Junior trailed off, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sure you’ve seen inside that box too.” The four of them nodded in unison.
“Can I ask you a question, Agent Cummings?” Junior turned to Blair, who nodded in response. “Am I the only one that made it out alive?”
Rand cursed softly, Junior’s eyes now trained on him. “How many more?”
“Just one,” Rory answered.
“That we know of.” Blair tried to bring Junior’s focus back to him by touching him on the shoulder. Holy hell, he fucking freaked out. Jerking away, he jumped to his feet, walking backward until the wall stopped him, eyes darting around the room like a feral cat. Rory didn’t move, not wanting to give Junior a reason to bolt. “Sorry, Mannie, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Can you come sit back down and tell us the rest of your story, please?”
Hands shaking, Junior pushed his hair behind one ear, eyes slowly starting to focus on his surroundings. Rand reached for a pen, scribbling PTSD? on a notepad on Rory’s desk. Dipping his head would have to be a sufficient response; he didn’t want to make a sound—their scared bird might fly away. Rand had a point, though. Sweat dotting his brow, pupils dilated, body trembling, the smell of fear permeated the room. One could easily assume Junior was having a flashback.
It took a little more coaxing, and Blair had to push the chair Junior had been sitting in over next to where he stood before the scared rabbit sat back down. Several long, awkward minutes passed as Junior visibly relaxed before he continued. “I was fourteen when he sunk his claws into me, almost fifteen the first time he beat the living shit out of me, and I’d just turned seventeen when I thought I could get away.” He reached for the scarf around his neck, long fingers pulling it loose. “This is what happens when you cross Bruce Pearson.” Turning his head to the side and brushing back his long hair uncovered an angry red scar that ran across Junior’s throat from just below his right ear to his Adam’s apple. “I’d show you the six-inch incision on the back of my head and the metal plate that’s holding my brains in, but I wouldn’t want to scare the pretty lady.” For the first time since he walked into the office, Junior truly smiled when he looked at Connie.
“Can you tell us what happened, Mannie? How you sustained these injuries?” Rory asked. Certain things that the serial killer—that they’d named the Columbia River Killer—had done to his victims had never been released to the press. The only body they’d found and connected to the case that wasn’t strangling or didn’t have his throat slashed and his head bashed in was the victim that was still classified as a drowning. They’d always questioned whether or not the guy that had drowned at Sauvie Island was one of their victims. But when Rand included the article with a picture in the byline in his photo lineup with Pearson back in Washington, Pearson didn’t deny the connection.
“Looking back, I think Bruce knew what I was planning and pretended to leave for work. I shoved everything I wanted to keep into a bag and left the apartment. They were waiting fo
r me when I exited the building, Bruce and Tuan. I swear I almost had a heart attack when I saw the car idling at the curb. Bruce swung the door open and Tuan came around the car, grabbing me by the arm and shoving me into the back seat. He was so pissed, madder than I’d ever seen him before, and that’s saying a lot after spending three years in hell with those two. When he wrapped his fingers around my neck and squeezed, I actually prayed for death.” Junior raised his head, eyes full of shame. Rory tried to think of something to say, anything, but nothing that came to mind seemed appropriate, so he sat quietly, as did everyone else in the room. Allowing Junior the moments he needed to finish his story.
“The next thing I knew, I was on my back on the ground in the woods and my head was throbbing. I remember reaching up and touching the back of my neck, my fingers soaked in blood when I held my arm out in front of me. But it was the dark, looming shadow that truly terrified me. When he slit my throat and shoved the blade into my neck for good measure, he nicked my vocal cords. That’s why I talk like an old man that’s been smoking a pack a day for fifty years, why I’m constantly having to clear my throat.” Sighing, Junior slumped in the chair, letting the weight of the world fall off his shoulders.
“Would you be willing to testify in front of the grand jury in King County when the DA presents his request to indict Bruce Pearson?” Rand asked.
Junior looked at him, confused. “What good would that do?”
“It would tie him to you when you were still underage for starters. He then tried to kill you and left you for dead. I think that one’s a no-brainer, Mannie.” Rand sounded exasperated again.
“No, you’ve got it wrong, Detective. Bruce didn’t try to kill me. Tuan did.”
Chapter Twenty Four
Rand
Contacting Seattle PD, he verified what he already knew, that Tuan Nguyen had not returned. A couple of uniforms went to Nguyen’s last known address as well as Pearson’s office and condo, and there was no sign of him anywhere. Connie fired up her computer and started trying to track the man online, going as far as hacking into a few databases to find information they’d previously obtained on the attorney, now needing it on Tuan Nguyen. The statement from Junior that Tuan was the muscle, the killer, and that Bruce Pearson was not, had caught them all off guard. Now they had to scramble to find the true murderer, and there was no time to go through proper channels as they’d done when trying to link everything to Pearson.
One side of the office was a flurry of movement, Landers and Gonzales frantically typing and murmuring to one another, jerking all the sheets with info on Pearson from the whiteboard, only able to add the notes Rory had jotted down on a sheet of paper to Junior’s picture. The other side of the office was calm and subdued, Cummings sitting with Junior, the two of them speaking softly. Rand decided to focus on Junior and hear the rest of his story, confident in the other two agents’ abilities to find the needle, Tuan, in the haystack otherwise known as the Internet.
“Hey, it’s okay, Mannie. You’re safe here.…I promise you.” Blair cajoled the skittish witness. Junior looked up when Rand walked over and offered him another bottle of water. The smile was forced, his eyes still cloudy and uncertain, posture stiff.
“Thanks, Davis. Why don’t you pull up a chair?” Blair met his eyes, the younger man’s stare imploring. As soon as he dragged a chair over and sat, Rand saw some of the fight-or-flight fear that had been ingrained in Junior melt away.
“Okay, Mannie. Tell us how you survived—how you wound up in Arizona.” It struck Rand then. He’d never heard the soft, soothing tone Cummings was using on Junior, the youngest of their group of ragtag cops and agents normally far more passive-aggressive. It was almost as if he felt he needed to assert his place, prove that he was capable of standing his own ground with the three more seasoned members.
“Yeah, uh, okay.” Junior covered Blair’s hand on his knee with his own. Seeming to pull strength from their connection, the terrified young man sat up a little straighter, clearing his throat. “After Tuan knifed me, I lost consciousness for a while. I can vividly remember thinking I was dying, praying to God to forgive me and let me into heaven.” He snorted. “Everything else is choppy…blurry when I strain to recall the events of that night. Like I told you before, Bruce choked me until I lost consciousness, and when I came to, Tuan was there. And…” He trailed off, eyes glassy. Junior slammed his fist down on his other leg, eyes closed tight, face a mask of pain and confusion.
Uncertain what Junior’s reaction would be if he tried to comfort him, Rand stayed still. He’d already shared with them that he’d lost time and memories as a result of what Nguyen had done to him, most likely from a severe brain injury, given the facts. Rand wondered if the traumatized young man could remember anything solid, anything they could use.
“Easy, Mannie. It’s okay.” Blair promised. “I’d like to try a memory technique with you—if that’s okay.”
“At this point, I’d try anything short of a lobotomy.” Junior snorted again, and Rand considered which one was more irritating, the snort or the throat-clearing thing.
Rand shook his head. At least the guy still had a sense of humor, even if it did border on morbid. “Sit back and close your eyes, take deep, even breaths, and clear your mind. Now, I want you to go to that night, rewind to the moment you were pushed into the car with Bruce.”
Junior nodded, a jerky, uncoordinated head bob. “He’s so mad. I can see it in his face. His eyes…his eyes are hollow. He’s screaming at me, cursing, calling me a filthy whore and,” Junior winced, hands lifting to his neck, fingers clawing at invisible hands, “he’s choking me. I can’t breathe.”
Blair reached over and gently clasped Junior’s wrists, lowering his hands, continuing to soothe with words of encouragement. “All right, Mannie. Can you remember anything from the time you were put in the car to when you woke up on the ground?”
“No…wait, yes. Bruce is talking to Tuan. He’s telling him to ‘Get rid of him,’ to get rid of me before he gets out of the car and slams the door. The car is moving again, and I can’t focus…can’t stay awake, can’t move.”
“Okay Mannie, I know you’re scared. Just a little longer. Can you tell me…what’s the next thing you can remember?” Rand made a mental note to keep Agent Cummings on speed dial for hostage negotiations. The guy stayed calm and focused, his voice smooth and even throughout, no matter what Junior told them. It was a gift—one that few possessed.
“It’s so cold and dark, and my head is throbbing. My eyes don’t want to open. I have to make a conscious effort and when I can see, all I see is him. His eyes are black, full of hate, and he’s talking, can’t…he’s saying it’s my fault, that he’s going to kill me just like he’s killed all the boys that came before, and he’ll kill all the boys that come after.” Junior blinked, slumping in his chair. “Can we stop, please?” God, he sounded so broken.
“Of course.” Blair soothed the young man, patting him on the knee. “Are you okay to tell us what the hell you did after? How you wound up in Arizona?”
He laughed—well, it was an odd marriage of a laugh, snort, and condemning grunt, but a laugh nonetheless. “The big, dumb oaf never took my cell away. Of course, in his defense, he thought I was dead. When I came to, I was numb all over, but I managed to make my body roll sideways and remove my cell from my back pocket. I called my best friend that I’ve known since grade school, and he pinged my location on my iPhone and came and got me. His uncle is a doctor, so Petey took me to his place, and I was there…fuck, I can’t even tell you how long. I lost so much time—weeks just gone in an instant. Uncle Doctor went to college with the person that owns the apartment I’ve been living in for the past decade. She too is a survivor. Her ex-husband was an abusive alcoholic, so she understands the need for discretion and secrecy.”
Good Lord, what a fucking life to lead. To wake up in the middle of nowhere in winter in Washington with a busted open skull and a slit throat, the goddamn knife stil
l threaded through his flesh. The poor guy had been to hell and lived to talk about it. Worse for wear, that much was certain, but alive. Junior went on to catalog his other ailments in the wake of his failed relationship with Bruce Pearson, and Rand was floored. How in the hell the kid hadn’t died that day was a miracle. The icing on the cake was the souvenir Tuan Nguyen had left, a token of his lack of affection, the knife.
Junior stood, stretching, and Rand took a moment to really look him over. Even with the scars and his constantly rattled appearance, he was quite striking. Long and lean, bordering on too thin, with pale skin and eyes that reminded Rand of the ocean. Dark and cloudy during a storm, calm and captivating when a warm breeze blew in. Rand jumped when Rory shouted. “What? Why the hell would he be in Dallas?”
Rand stood and crossed the room. “Who’s in Dallas?”
Connie pinched her nose, sighing in frustration. “Tuan is listed on the flight manifest for a flight out of Seattle late last night. That flight landed in Dallas this morning.”
“That makes no sense. Why would he come here?” Rand was confused. Chaos ensued. Junior heard the words “Tuan” and “Dallas” and freaked out again. Blair was trying to calm him down, to stop the young man from running, explaining that he was in a building full of men and women with guns. He was also in a room in that building with four people that would protect him at any cost. Connie took out her anger on her keyboard, cursing in Spanish while pounding the keys into submission. And Rory rushed over to his desk to grab his cell, obviously dialing Shannon. “Fuck! He’s not picking up.” Rory dialed again, rearing back to throw the phone across the room when it went to voice mail a second time. Rand rushed over and grabbed the phone from him.