by J. P. Bowie
An elderly lady with a broom eyed him with suspicion when he passed her on his way to the steps outside a small but neat white stuccoed house with large potted plants on either side of the doorway.
“She’s not home,” the old lady informed him. “Never is, these days. If it weren’t for me those plants would be dead. Never here to water them anymore.” She lowered her head and peered at him. “What do you want anyway? We have neighborhood watch, you know.”
Sam smiled at her and produced his badge. “Detective Sam Walker, ma’am. I just had a few questions for Ms. Downs.”
“Oh yes? About the woman she worked for, I suppose. Saw it on the television last night. Well, I don’t think Paula will be drowning her sorrows over it.” She let out a sharp cackle. “No love lost there, I can tell you.”
It never ceased to amaze Sam just how much information neighbors were only too happy to impart to the police. He and Martin had been helped on many cases by nosy folks on either side of a suspect’s house. Not that Paula Downs was a suspect per se, but here was a handy snippet of gossip.
“What d’you mean, no love lost?” he asked. “Did Ms. Downs and Mrs. Esteban not get along?”
“Hah. An understatement. She never stopped bitching about her. Not to me, but I could hear her on the phone. She always kept the windows open and I could hear every word. She was loud.”
Sam was careful not to let the smile he felt show on his face, imagining the old biddy standing close to her window so she could hear without being seen.
“I think she told her man everything. Looking for sympathy, I guess.”
“Isn’t she divorced?”
“Her fancy man.” She shook her head in disgust. “Well, I can’t stand here gossiping all day to you, detective or no. I have work to do!” With that, she waved her broom about at imaginary dust on the sidewalk.
“Well, thank you for your time, ma’am. Most appreciated.”
Interesting, he thought, as he headed back to his car, that the old lady was only too keen to let me know Paula Downs and Mrs. Esteban aren’t good friends. A different story from the one Justin had told him that at work the two women got along okay apart from the occasional work-related disagreement. Not only that, she wouldn’t exactly shed a tear over Esteban’s death. It would definitely be worthwhile talking to Paula Downs. Sam glanced at his watch. There wasn’t much more he could do about it until he could arrange a meeting with her without Detective Al Jones knowing about it.
Be as well heading over to Justin’s and take him out for something to eat…or whatever he’d like to do.
Walking the two blocks back to his car, he thought again about how lucky he’d been to meet Justin and even luckier that Justin had called him. The fact that Sam had no recollection of their first meeting could have ended their relationship before it got started. Amazing how fate can take a hand in things sometimes, he mused. Maybe he’d have had an inkling that something wonderful had taken place that night. Perhaps as the day after had dragged on and his foggy brain had cleared, he would have had a vision of auburn curls and twinkling green eyes.
The selfie would have been a surprise. He chuckled as he imagined himself staring at the photograph and wondering who the heck was the hottie in the picture. Maybe then it might have begun to dawn on him, but would he have had the nerve to call him? Given his record of not wanting to start something he figured he couldn’t finish, probably not.
And wouldn’t that have been the ultimate tragedy of his life?
He pulled out his cell and texted Justin.
On my way over, beautiful. You ready for me?
He smiled when Justin replied immediately.
Anytime anywhere. Love you.
Love you too.
* * * *
Justin jumped when his doorbell rang. Only about ten minutes had passed since Sam had texted him. That can’t be him already, unless he’s the Flash!
He opened the door and gaped at the couple standing in front of him. “Paula? What the hell do you want?”
“That’s not very nice, Justin dear.” She shoved past him into his apartment. The man followed, closing the door behind him.
“What’s going on?” Justin snapped. “And who’s this guy?”
“This is Enrique Esteban,” Paula answered with a wicked smile.
Justin gaped at the handsome man. “Maria’s husband? Then you two…” His stomach dropped as realization dawned on him. “You and him. That’s why you were so quick to try and throw me under the bus, to divert attention from the two of you.” He glared at the tall, dark-haired man. “You were the one I saw leaving her office. You killed her, right?”
“That’s right, Justin.” Esteban grinned at him, showing perfect white teeth. “And now that you know the truth, I have to kill you, too.”
Justin made a dive for the door, but Esteban was quick and caught him, an arm around his throat.
“Careful, Enrique,” Paula said. “Don’t be too rough. It has to look like suicide.”
Justin’s blood ran cold at the implication of her words and he struggled like a madman to free himself, but Esteban was not only tall, but strong. Paula produced a small handgun from her purse.
“Sit at your desk,” she rasped. “You are going to write a suicide note admitting guilt, saying you are so sorry, you didn’t mean to kill Maria, but she was struggling so hard you lost control and you can’t live with the guilt of what you’ve done. Right? Get on with it.”
“I’m not writing any fucking note!” Justin stared at her with contempt. “My boyfriend, Sam, is a cop and he’s on this case and he already suspects you because of what you told the police about me. You think you’re so smart but he’s gonna bust the two of you.”
“He’s lying,” Paula said, but she had paled. “Get this over with. We’ll leave a note on his computer.”
Justin knew he had to stall for time. They didn’t know Sam was on his way over. He tried to work out how long Sam would be, but he didn’t know where he was coming from. And what if he stopped somewhere on the way? Fuck, he couldn’t think straight. Maybe he could get that gun from Paula, but maybe that jerk Esteban had one too.
God dammit! He had to take a chance. They were going to kill him one way or the other. Better he went down kicking and screaming. That’s it, scream! He wrenched himself free, ran to the open window and yelled, “Help, call 9-1-1! Help! Murder!”
Esteban grabbed him again, but Justin kicked him on the shins and aimed a punch at his chin. It was a terrible punch, but it startled Esteban.
“Fucker,” he muttered, trying to twist Justin’s arm behind his back.
“Hurry up, for God’s sake,” Paula hissed.
Justin tried again. “Help!” he yelled. “Hel—” Esteban clamped a hand over Justin’s mouth and twisted his arm. Pain shot through Justin’s arm and he bit down on the hand covering his mouth…hard. Esteban howled and released Justin, who wasted no time in making for the door again.
“Enrique!” Paula screamed and fired a shot. Justin felt the heat of the bullet as it whizzed by his face, splintering the wood on the door. Justin wrenched it open and ran straight into Sam.
“Sam, oh thank God! Look out, she’s got a gun!”
Sam pushed Justin behind him and pointed his Glock at Paula. It was a far more intimidating weapon than her small handgun. “Police! Drop it, bitch,” he snarled.
Paula appeared shocked at this turn of events and she hesitated and looked at Esteban for help. He grabbed the gun from her and leveled it at Sam.
Sam shot him. Esteban’s expression when the bullet hit him was one of almost comical surprise. Justin started to giggle until he saw the tall man slip, almost in slow motion, to the floor and lie still. Paula screamed and sank to her knees beside him, weeping hysterically.
A cop car, sirens blaring, pulled up outside Justin’s apartment. Sam smiled. “I guess I wasn’t the only one who heard all that hollering. Good to have nosy neighbors at times.”
Justin
clutched at Sam’s shoulder and sagged against him, the trauma he’d just gone through hitting him hard. “Oh shit, I think I’m gonna puke.”
Sam got him out of the way as the cops galloped up the steps. He showed them his badge and explained what had taken place. “Better call an ambulance,” he told them. He sat with Justin while his apartment was invaded by more police, including Jones and Harrison, and paramedics who announced Esteban was alive but in shock.
After taking statements from both Sam and Justin, Harrison and a grim-faced Jones left them alone. Justin, his nausea having passed, stared bleakly at the bloodstain on his carpet.
“The landlord just replaced it two months ago. You think it’ll clean up?”
“Mmm…such a light color.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” He laid his head on Sam’s shoulder. “Can we go to your place tonight?”
“I was going to suggest that. It’s not pretty like yours, but—”
“As long as you’re there to hold me, I don’t care what it looks like.”
“Oh, okay then. Pack some stuff and let’s go.”
In the car the events that had just taken place began to whirl in Justin’s mind. Paula with a gun pointed at his head, demanding he write a suicide note. Enrique Esteban’s arm around his throat, his hand clamped over Justin’s mouth, the bitter taste of his blood on Justin’s tongue when he’d bitten him. How bizarre—or was it banal—that he had focused on wondering whether shampoo would get Esteban’s blood out of his carpet? They’d been planning to kill him and make it look like a suicide. If Sam hadn’t arrived when he did, they would have succeeded and it would have been his blood on the fucking carpet. He started to laugh at the craziness of it all. His laughter took on a hysterical edge and before he knew it, he was sobbing.
“Justin!” Sam pulled over to the curb, killed the engine and pulled Justin into his arms. “It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m sorry I didn’t give you more time to recover…Sh sh, my fault, it’s okay, I’ve got you…”
“Sam, oh, Sam, I thought I was going to die, I was going to lose what I’d just found. You, Sam…you.”
“But I’m here, you’re here, we’re together.” Sam held him and crooned in his ear words that didn’t make a whole heap of sense, but they were words he wanted to hear, needed to hear and please God, would never tire of hearing. He buried his wet face against Sam’s neck and accepted the love he could feel in the warmth of Sam’s embrace.
* * * *
When Sam got back to the precinct and before he wrote up his report on the incident at Justin’s apartment, he talked with Hoskins about what had taken place.
“What really pissed me off,” Sam seethed, “is not only were they ready to implicate Justin Robertson in Maria’s murder, they wanted to take it one step further by killing him after he’d written a suicide note confessing to the murder of Maria Esteban.”
Hoskins nodded. “So we charged Esteban with his wife’s murder and the attempted murder of Justin Robertson…and this woman, Downs, with accessory to both.” Hoskins leveled a long look at Sam. “You’ve had quite the week. I’m going to insist on you taking a couple of days off after you write up your report. You need to see a counselor? That’s the second shooting in as many weeks.”
“I’ll be fine unless you insist. I’d like to sit in on Paula Downs’ interrogation.”
“Jones and Harrison have her downstairs along with the deputy D.A.,” Hoskins told him. “We can watch and listen.”
“That’d be good. My being in the room might put Jones off his game.”
Hoskins chuckled. “Let’s go.”
The one-way glass provided an almost surreal scene as Sam watched Paula Downs screaming and carrying on about how Maria Esteban had tried to ruin her life and how she’d taken her revenge by having an affair with Maria’s husband.
“That’s all it ever was, I had no other interest in the man. He was too weak, too much of a coward to ask Maria for a divorce.”
“Who’s the guy in the green jacket?” Sam asked Hoskins.
“Her lawyer. He doesn’t look too swift, does he?”
“My thoughts exactly.” Sam also thought that Justin would have a lot to say about the puke-green jacket.
“Too weak, so he kills her?” Jones asked with exaggerated incredulity.
“I tried to dissuade him from going that far—”
“But a divorce would’ve been messy,” Bob Harper, the deputy D.A. interjected. “Right? And wouldn’t guarantee control of the business. With his wife out of the way, everything would go to Mr. Esteban.”
“And the attempted murder of Justin Robertson,” Harrison added. “Was that Mr. Esteban’s idea also?”
“Oh yes,” Paula replied with an obvious attempt at conviction. “He’s responsible for everything. I didn’t want poor Justin killed. It was Enrique’s idea to stage his suicide.”
“But according to Detective Walker, in his statement to Detectives Jones and Harrison, you fired a shot at Mr. Robertson,” Harper said.
“The…the gun went off by accident…”
“Lying bitch,” Sam muttered.
No one was buying Paula’s version of what happened, in fact her lawyer looked positively sick, Sam thought. Or maybe it’s the reflection off his jacket. After a few more questions she was charged with being an accessory to murder and attempted murder. Despite her tears and screams of her innocence she was taken to a holding cell to await time before a judge. ‘Green Jacket’, looking glum, followed her and the attending officer out of the room.
“What about Enrique Esteban?” Sam asked, as he and Hoskins went back upstairs.
“He was charged with murder when he regained consciousness. He’ll be transferred to a prison hospital when he can be moved.”
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.” Sam smiled grimly. He couldn’t wait to get back to his apartment, and Justin. He figured they both needed some TLC…from each other, and he was so ready to give and receive.
* * * *
“Well done, partner mine,” Martin said on Sam’s next visit. “Did Jones give you any credit for arresting the miscreants?”
Sam chuckled. “Are you kidding? Bob did, of course, but Jones kept muttering something about being too good for Los Angeles and he was going to ask for a transfer to Kentucky, his home state.”
“And Kentucky is very welcome to him.”
“Yeah, once you get back, and I wish you’d hurry up, Bob and Mackie might make a good team.”
Martin grinned. “You matchmaker, you. You’ll have to be patient. Another two weeks in here then a month’s recuperation and physical therapy. I think I might just be ga-ga by that time. Where’s your boyfriend, by the way? I thought he’d be with you, seeing he’s out of work.”
“He’s interviewing this morning. One of the pattern makers at Esteban got herself a plum position with some big company and she recommended Justin. So, fingers crossed. By the way, he’s moving in with me.”
“It’s not too soon? You’ve only known each other a few weeks.”
Sam nodded. “It was always on the cards, but we hurried it up after what Justin went through with those two nutjobs. He told me he really couldn’t live there anymore, so he was going to look for someplace else. I said why bother looking when he could come live with me?”
“Well, good luck. He seems like a nice guy. Liz and Sara really like him.”
Sam grinned. “So there’s nothing to worry about, right?”
“Indeed, my man. Once I’m home we’ll have the two of you over for dinner.”
“It’s a date.”
“Behave yourself.”
They laughed together then Sam leaned over and dropped a kiss on Martin’s forehead. “Hurry back, partner.”
Epilogue
Three months later
“So what d’you think?”
Sam swiveled on his bar stool and gazed at Justin, who was standing in the dining area pointing at the table.
; “You look terrific as always,” Sam said, grinning.
“Not me—the table decorations, silly, although I thank you for the compliment.”
Sam slid off the stool and sauntered toward him, pretending to give his whole attention to the table. “It looks amazing. You really have a gift for this kind of thing.” He put his arms around Justin’s waist and pulled him close. “I mean the table, of course, but also what you’ve done with this whole place. I don’t want the landlord coming by. He’ll put the rent up if he sees it. My bare-walled one bedroom and den apartment now looks like a palace. I guess I did the right thing hitching myself to a designer.”
Justin chuckled. “It’s just paint and some fabric.”
“But in the hands of a master!”
Justin laughed. “You don’t have to butter me up to have your way with me, you know.” He pecked Sam’s lips. “Just throw me on the bed and I’m ready.”
“Okay.” He lifted Justin into his arms.
“Wait, wait.” He slapped Sam’s shoulder. “First things first.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said, but we have seven people coming for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow and I need some help here.”
Sam groaned and put him down. “Okay, boss.”
“For instance, we only have four dining chairs. So, we need five folding chairs, one for you and me and three chairs for the kids with those big cushion things so they can reach the table top. What are they called?”
“Darned if I know. Kiddie cushions?”
“Well, sweetheart, you are going out to a rental place to get them.”