The Same End

by Gregory Ashe

  “He’s at the end of his shift,” Jem said. “A call comes in: somebody saw something weird out in Richardson Amphitheater. He’s already changed out of his uniform, but he drives out there anyway and finds—what? Blake dead, and Tanner standing over him?”

  “Something like that. Tanner might have been trying to retrieve the body from the ravine.”

  “So Tanner kills Weckesser, but now he’s in even deeper shit because he’s killed somebody local. He’s killed a deputy, and people around here will notice that. Fast.”

  “Only they didn’t.”

  “No, they didn’t, but only because Larry was planning to go on vacation. That was Tanner’s first lucky break in a while.”

  “We still don’t know who was helping Tanner. It couldn’t have been Larry; he couldn’t help start the stampede, turn the herd, and at the same time already be dead and conveniently get trampled beyond recognition. Somebody else was out there, somebody who knew how to do what Tanner wanted to do.”

  “And how much do you want to bet that Jager destroyed the original callout logs? We’ve got the only proof that Weckesser ever went out to Richardson Amphitheater. I’d say that’s a good clue as to who’s helping Tanner cover up the murder.”

  As they turned onto Main Street, the squawk of a siren made Jem whip his head to the left. The black-and-white Highway Patrol car hung a U-turn, cutting across traffic to come back toward them. Its lights spun silently.

  “Make a break for it,” Jem said. “We’ll lose them in the desert or die trying.”

  With a sigh, Tean pulled into the parking lot of the Big Horn Lodge.

  26

  Jem watched in the rearview mirror as the patrol car’s door opened. Haggerty, the trooper who had been in the canyon the night they’d found the body, got out. He had his hands on his belt as he approached Tean’s window. On his belt. Not on his gun, although that was a difference of about half an inch.

  When Haggerty got to the window, Tean rolled it down. “Hello, Officer. Can I help you?”

  “Were we speeding?” Jem leaned over Tean. “Six miles an hour in a five?”

  Tean pushed him back into his seat.

  Haggerty was young, handsome, his face sharp-edged and angular, and with a tight haircut. His eyes rested on Tean only for a moment before drifting to Jem, and Jem knew what that look meant. It had nothing to do with what Haggerty said next. “I understand you gentlemen have been asked to leave town.”

  “That’s what we’re doing,” Jem said. “We’ve just got to pick up our dog, and we’re leaving.”

  “Really? Because I just saw you come off a residential street.”

  “What’s a Highway Patrol trooper doing in Moab on a Sunday? Shouldn’t you be at home, dreaming up new speed traps and jerking off over your ticket book?” Jem faked a moan. “Failure to signal.” Another moan. “Running a stop sign.” An explosive moan, his hand coming open on the last stroke. “Violating railroad rules.” He panted. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

  “Will you cut it out?” Tean asked in a low voice.

  “What were you gentlemen doing?”

  “We’re private citizens. Are we under arrest? We’d like to go.”

  “It’s a simple question, Dr. Leon.”

  “Are we under arrest?”

  “An honest man wouldn’t have any trouble telling me what he was doing up that street.”

  Tean set his jaw; it was the same look he—and, for that matter, Scipio—wore when they played tug-of-war. “If we’re not under arrest, we’d like to leave.”

  “I’ll figure it out myself,” Haggerty said. “It’ll take me five seconds to drive up that street and figure out what you were doing. You can make things better for yourself and earn a little goodwill by saving me the trouble.”

  “We want to go.”

  “The way I hear it, you’re going to need all the goodwill you can come up with.”

  “I think I should call my lawyer.”

  “You have a lawyer?” Jem asked.

  Tean shot him a furious look, but all he said was, “I’ve only needed one since meeting you.”

  “There’s no call for that,” Haggerty said. “I’d like to talk to Mr. Berger for a minute. Please step out of the car.” When Tean pulled on the latch, Haggerty braced the door with one hand and said, “Just Mr. Berger.”

  “No,” Tean said.

  “Stay in the car, Dr. Leon.”

  “I will not—”

  “It’s fine,” Jem said, squeezing Tean’s arm. He opened the door and got out. The sun and the heat were crushing; the smell of the Ford’s exhaust and the hot asphalt spun up on invisible currents. The two-story Big Horn Lodge glowed, the stucco the color of an old lightbulb. Sweat sprang out across Jem’s forehead, across his back. It was the middle of the day. It was Moab’s busiest street. Everybody could see them. But the world shrank until it seemed to consist of nothing but hot air ruffling Jem’s hair, the sun scorching the back of his neck, the rumble of the Ford idling and the whistle of cars shooting past.

  “Mr. Berger?”

  Jem moved to the back of the Ford, where Haggerty was waiting. The cop’s eyes were hidden by the reflective aviators. He said nothing.

  “I’m pretty good at mind reading,” Jem said, “but it’s a two-man job. All I get are images. My best friend has to interpret them. Right now, all I’m getting is an image of a massive, throbbing hard-on. Maybe you can help me. Does that mean you’re a dick? Or am I missing something more obvious?”

  “You think you’re pretty funny, Mr. Berger.”

  “One time I made Tean shoot chocolate milk out of his nose. Well, it wasn’t really chocolate milk. He just chopped up some almonds and put them in water and claimed it was almond milk, and then because it was so foul he put in cocoa powder. But, God, the man does try.”

  “Is he your boyfriend?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  Haggerty let out a strained breath. Then he took a card out of his pocket and offered it to Jem.

  “Is this for your dry cleaner? I love a personal recommendation.”

  “I’m up in Salt Lake a few times every month.”

  “To get your dry cleaning done.”

  “I have an aunt who lives in Sugar House.”

  Jem blinked. “Is she the one who does the dry cleaning?”

  “Aw, hell,” Haggerty snapped. Then, obviously trying to control himself: “Could you make this a little easier?”

  Jem took the card and flicked it. Haggerty’s first name, he saw, was Patrick. “Pretty bold, running us out of town, threatening us, and then asking if I’ll meet up for a sneak-fuck.”

  “That’s not what I’m—” Haggerty took off the aviators. His eyes were brown, so light they were almost yellow. “I’m asking if you’d like to have dinner with me.”

  “No, thanks. I don’t like bullies.”

  “I wasn’t threatening you. I’m telling you, it’s in your own best interest to get out of town before you get charged with obstruction.”

  Jem thought about Prowler, about Tean’s string of first dates, about the fact that everything came to an end. Eventually, Tean would meet the right guy. Eventually, he’d hit it off with someone who knew about elephant toenails or how to pluck a black swan or how to give a donkey an enema. And that’d be it, punto, the end.

  He flicked the card again and turned back to the truck.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Haggerty called after him.

  Jem glanced back, smiled, and kept walking.

  When he got into the truck, Tean let out a shaky breath. “Are you ok?”

  “Yes, let’s get out of here.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “Did he give you his business card?”

  “Is that always your second guess? It seems oddly specific.”

  “Jem, why did he give you his card?”

  As
Jem tucked the card into his pocket, he said, “Because he wants to bone me. Or he wants me to bone him. We didn’t work out the specifics. Come on, I want to drive past the Tafone again. Maybe they pulled the security detail and we can poke around.”

  Tean shifted into drive, and they left the Big Horn Lodge behind them. As they drove south and Main Street became US-191, the desert rolled out ahead of them: bluffs of red and gray and brown stone, pale stretches of soil, scrub and brush, a juniper tree twisted all around, branches pointing in every direction like it was Moe getting mixed up in a Three Stooges bit.

  “Did he ask you on a date?” Tean said when they’d driven another mile.

  “Oh boy. Here we go.”

  “He threatened us, Jem. He’s running us out of town.”

  “Ok, well, Ammon threatens us all the time. Ammon’s always trying to run us out of town.”

  “I’m not dating Ammon.”

  Jem snorted.

  “What does that mean?”

  “If we exclude all the men who want to kill us or threaten us or cause us bodily harm from the dating pool, we’re not going to have many options left. I’m going to end up with Ernest, who braids his cats’ hair and makes them sit perfectly still for tea parties, and you’re going to end up with—”

  “If you say Ammon, I’m going to shave your head while you’re asleep.”

  “—George, who makes milk-carton dioramas of famous wedding disasters and has one of those fungal infections that no medicine can get rid of.”

  Tean was silent for another mile. “Why do you get Ernest?”

  Jem had to cover his mouth.

  “Did you—” Tean stopped and started again. “What did you say?”

  “Well, I said, ‘Ernest, I don’t love plaits, but if you’re—‘”

  “Jeremiah Berger.”

  “I didn’t say anything. A big, macho guy like a trooper? You’ve got to chip away at all that power. I might text him in a few days, just to mess with his head.”

  “Do you like him?”

  “I met him when we found a dead body, and then he just threatened my best friend.”

  “Normal friend. But do you like him?”

  “He’s hot.” Jem shrugged. “But he’s a cop. Can you imagine all the rules and ironing and spankings?”

  “I think he’s—wait.” Tean’s whole face turned red. With an effort, he cleared his throat and said, “I don’t trust him.”

  “Like Nick.”

  “I don’t trust him either.”

  “Yeah, great, message received. No normal guy would be interested in me. These guys are just pretending so they can seduce me and then murder us and cut us up into pieces and feed us to iguanas or turtles or whatever the fuck lives out here.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Glasses.”

  Shoving them back into place, Tean said, “I think any guy would be lucky to have you. You know that, right?”

  “Right.”

  “You’re very sweet. And you’re handsome. And you think you’re funny, which isn’t quite the same thing as actually being funny, but it’s still nice. And back when we used to, you know—”

  Jem made an O with his fingers, working the index finger of his other hand through the circle while he grunted.

  “Ok, yes.”

  Jem kept going.

  “Oh my gosh, you are so immature.”

  “Bump uglies.”

  Tean sighed.

  “Make the beast with two backs.”

  “Are you done?”

  “Lay pipe.”

  “That sounds oddly practical. Like a skilled laborer.”

  “Smash pissers.”

  “Ok, I’m pulling over.”

  “I’m done, I’m done,” Jem said, laughing.

  “Back then,” Tean said, seemingly unaware that the glasses were dangling from his nose again, “you were a very considerate and gentle lover.”

  “Oh my God.” Jem put his face in his hands. “Oh my fucking God.”

  “That’s a wonderful thing. I felt very safe with you, and you were very attentive—”

  “Stop. Please stop. You are actually, literally killing me right now.”

  “You’re using those words wrong. And I don’t know why being a sensitive partner—”

  “Just stop,” Jem moaned.

  When he finally peeked through his fingers, he caught a glimpse of the smile on Tean’s face. “You’re an asshole.”

  Tean shrugged. “I learned from the best. For the record, though, I do think that it’s suspicious that two men suddenly want to have sex with you, and they both happen to be involved in this case.”

  “Fine. Noted. Now let’s never have anything remotely like this conversation again.”

  “And I do think Nick has a bad case of hemorrhoids that might need medical attention.”

  Jem sighed and clunked his head against the glass.

  “And he needs to cut his hair.”

  “Look who’s talking.”

  “And Haggerty isn’t the right kind of personality for you at all.”

  “Yes, ok, please tell me how I can stop this conversation.”

  “You need someone you can take care of, but who’s also aware of how much you need taking care of too. Because you won’t tell people, and I think most people wouldn’t realize, you know, that sometimes you need things, and you’re not very good at asking for help yet.”

  Jem studied him: the crazy eyebrows, the pushed-back thundercloud of hair, the slight curve to his thin shoulders. He reached over and settled the glasses in place; the frames were tacky where the electrical tape held the broken pieces together.

  “I need taking care of, huh?”

  “I think so. Sometimes.”

  “Well, maybe you’re not as dumb as you look.”

  Tean managed to get a really good punch in, and Jem spent the rest of the drive massaging his ribs and checking for a punctured lung.

  When they got to Tafone, the hotel looked abandoned. The sheriff’s department Jeep was gone, and the parking lot was empty. The wind had spun a tumbleweed up onto the porch, and now it was caught there, rolling back and forth and then settling down again when the wind died.

  “Did they close it down?”

  “That seems excessive,” Tean said.

  “Then where is everybody?”

  “I imagine a shooting would clear out any guests.”

  Jem grunted.

  “You don’t agree?”

  “I don’t know. It just seems weird. You’d think somebody would be here.”

  “The crime scene must not have had a lot to process,” Tean said. “Or they’d still be here. That makes me think that whatever happened here, it wasn’t as . . . overblown as the news article made it sound.”

  Nodding slowly, Jem said, “They’d still be taking videos, snapping pictures, picking up casings, doing blood-spatter analysis or putting up those strings to show the path of the bullets.”

  “Bullet-trajectory analysis.” Tean parked the Ford behind the hotel’s main building, where it was out of sight from the main road, and turned off the engine. “I figure we can walk to the villa and hopefully keep anyone from noticing that we’re here.”

  “God, it’s really inspiring to know that people can change.”

  Tean rolled his eyes and got out of the truck.

  “Just one year ago, you were this model citizen,” Jem said as he jogged around the Ford to catch up. “You had a savings account—”

  “I still have a savings account. What I used to have was privacy. In my entire life I’d never had someone who purposefully walked in on me in the shower. Every. Time.”

  “I like the view,” Jem said with a shrug. “And I like how you scream and try to use the bar of soap like a fig leaf. Anyway, my point is, look at you now: this criminal reprobate who hides his vehicle and is already planning an escape route.”


  The only answer was the crunch of broken asphalt as they hiked toward Kalista and Nick’s villa.

  “Oh my God. You really are planning an escape route.”

  “I may have looked at some maps while you were sleeping.”

  “Please tell me you’re thinking about hiding in a laundry cart.”

  “It never hurts to be prepared, Jem.”

  When they got to the villa, police DO NOT ENTER tape marked the door in yellow and black. Jem walked around the building once, taking his time to study it, even though the heat made him want to hurry. By the time they’d made their way back to the front door, he was frowning.

  “Shooting makes it sound like bullets were spraying everywhere, but I don’t see any broken windows, and the doors don’t look like they’ve been forced.”

  With a nod, Tean said, “It could have been as simple as knocking and then showing them the gun. Kalista and Nick probably would have gone into panic mode at that point.” Struggle showed on Tean’s face, and he added, “Nick probably still would have been twirling his feather boa as he fainted.”

  “Yes, we get it: you’re so much butcher than Nick. You don’t need to make the point over and over again; anybody who looks at your clodhoppers can tell that much.”

  “I like these boots. They’re comfortable on long hikes, and—”

  “And don’t shame him for his mannerisms. That’s not cool. You’re living in the 21st century; act like it.”

  “I wasn’t—I wouldn’t—obviously I support anyone who wants to act however—”

  “Jesus Christ,” Jem muttered. “It’s so easy it’s not even fun sometimes.”

  Jem picked the lock on the rear patio door for the second time, and they went into the villa. The table and chairs had been overturned. Fingerprint powder discolored the kitchen countertop, the refrigerator’s handle, the stove, the sink, the door, even the window blinds.

  “They really went to town,” Jem said. “Guess they’re making up for lost time, all those years when they didn’t do anything except inspect rocks and make sure the scorpions were getting along.”

  Tean handed him a pair of disposable gloves and pulled on his own.

  They moved through the villa slowly, repeating the search from their first visit. This time, Kalista’s and Nick’s luggage was gone, emphasizing the sterile, hotel-room décor, the pretense at domesticity. The beds had been flipped. The living room furniture lay on its side. Jem found a bullet hole in one of the walls in the front room; the longhorn cattle skull, which had also been dusted for prints, was staring down at the damaged drywall.