by Hank Edwards
The buzz of an alert on his phone pulled him to the desk, and he found notifications for two missed calls and one voice mail. What the hell? He'd been right there in the room. Why hadn't the calls come through? Mark swiped to unlock his phone and found both calls had come from Pearce. As he listened to the voice mail, a cold, dark hole seemed to open up inside him.
"Hey, it's me. I hope you're getting some sleep. Just wanted to let you know there have been no new developments. Don't give up hope yet, though. We'll find Calvin. I'm going to work a bit longer, but I'll probably come back to the room in the next few hours. Please stay in the room, okay? Seriously. If I'm worried about where you are, I won't be able to put all my energy into finding Calvin. So text me when you get this message and let me know you're okay. I love you, and we will find him. Stay safe."
Mark stared at the wall with the phone held to his ear long after Pearce's message had ended. No new leads. No new clues. They were no closer to finding Calvin.
He lowered his arm but continued to sit on the bed, simply staring at the wall. What could he do? Even if he ignored Pearce's instructions and left the room, where could he go to try to help?
A soft knock at the door startled him. He stared, heart pounding as it felt like something cold and sharp lay lodged just behind the hollow of his throat. He pushed to his feet, grabbed the gun from his coat pocket, and approached the door to peer through the peephole. A tingling sensation spread across the top of his skull, and his mouth went dry.
Jake Perrin stood in the hall, all alone.
34
Mark looked at the gun in his hand, then around the room. Pearce was suspicious of Jake, and his showing up at the hotel alone had triggered warning sirens in Mark's head. He wanted to keep the gun close but out of sight, and he decided his jacket pocket had been best place with the easiest access. He crossed to the desk, dropped the gun into the right side pocket, and then returned to the door to pull it open.
"Jake, hi." Mark tried to keep the nervous tremor out of his voice. "What are you doing here? Is everything okay? Is Aaron okay?"
Jake looked surprised. "You mean you haven't seen him? I thought he'd be here. I wanted to let him know about a new lead."
"No, he's not here," Mark replied. "There's a new lead? What is it? Do you know where Calvin is?" A cautious hope warmed him.
"Oh, well…" Jake looked up and down the hall. "Can I come inside? I don't want to discuss it out here in the hall."
Mark nodded. "Sorry. Of course."
Jake stepped past him, looking around the room as he entered, and Mark was glad he'd stashed the gun out of sight. Now he just needed to position himself close to it. He closed the door and slipped past Jake to lean his butt against the edge of the desk, his hip touching the chair on which his jacket hung.
"So what's this new lead?" he asked.
"Well, I really should tell Pearce about it." Jake made a face as he said it. "Sorry."
"Did you try his phone?"
"It goes right to voice mail." Jake apparently saw the concern Mark felt in his expression, because he said quickly, "I'm sure it's just because his battery ran out. He said it was running low a little while ago."
"Oh, okay." Silence descended, and they both looked off toward the window. Mark fidgeted a bit, then asked, "Is anyone following up about Kent Grady and this older man he's involved with?"
Jake made another face. "Well, that's tricky, you know? Kent's twenty now, so he's considered an adult. But if the local police discover there's evidence that they had a sexual relationship before he turned eighteen, an agent from the appropriate team will most likely get involved. And if Hunter was telling the truth about the man growing pot in his basement, the DEA will be brought in."
"I thought for sure we'd get a break with Kent," Mark said. "I could have sworn that Erik Hamill was some kind of key to the investigation."
"Yeah, it would have been nice," Jake said. "Sometimes it's the simplest clues that break a case."
"Pearce is good at picking out the differences in a criminal's pattern," Mark said. "I know he saw Erik's physical variation pretty much right away." Even though he wasn't sure he could trust Jake, talking about the case might help him clarify his own thoughts.
"You don't think Morgan could have just decided to change things up?" Jake asked.
"No, because he's not acting like a true serial killer. His impulse isn't to kill, it's to get back at Pearce and, by extension, me. Calvin's abduction makes sense because that's getting back at me, which also gets back at Pearce. But Erik Hamill is physically different from the other victims, which makes him a mismatch for Pearce's stepbrother, Jeremy. Yet he was murdered in the same manner, his body was left in the same position as the others, mirroring how Jeremy was found, and a note was left in his hand. The notes were never made public so that means that Morgan had to have been involved in his murder, even though Erik had no ties to either Pearce or myself. So the question that can help point us to solving the case becomes: why was Erik selected when he was clearly outside of the pattern?"
Jake nodded, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked out the window again. "You noticed this before Pearce said anything to you about it?"
Mark tried to think quickly, to see if there was some ulterior motive to Jake's question, but lack of sleep had his brain running at less than full capacity. So he stuck with the truth and hoped it wouldn't come back to bite him.
"Yeah." Mark turned and picked up his phone. "You have no idea where he is? I got a message from him, but I missed his call. Apparently my reception's been a little funky up here."
"These concrete buildings can be rough on a cell signal," Jake said. "Did he say anything in his message about going off on his own to check anything out?"
Mark shook his head. "Nope. Just told me there was nothing new to report and said he'd see me soon. Now I'm starting to get a little worried."
Jake's phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pants pocket to frown at the display.
"Is it him?" Mark asked. He wished Pearce would just walk through the door and allow him to stop trying to second-guess Jake's intentions.
"No, but it is another agent. It looks like the lead is panning out better than I thought." Jake slipped the phone back into his pocket and headed for the door, saying over his shoulder, "If Pearce shows up, tell him to call me."
Mark took a few seconds to consider his options, then said to Jake's back, "I'm coming, too." He grabbed his jacket off the chair, reassured by the weight of the gun in the pocket as he pulled it on.
Jake turned at the door. "Mark, this is an official investigation. I can't have you just go along for the ride. It's too dangerous. And if anything happened to you, Pearce would kill me."
"I was at the questioning at the community center on Saturday and also at the scene when they found Calvin's car. I was with Pearce when he questioned Manny Belkin who gave us the lead to Kent Grady. I was also at Hunter's follow-up questioning earlier." Mark raised his eyebrows and looked expectantly at Jake. "I know the latest details, and Calvin is my closest friend. I can be of help here. You heard that just now when I explained why Erik Hamill being different from the other victims is important."
"Yeah, but you don't know the reason Erik was chosen," Jake countered. "I mean, points to you for noticing, but you have no motive to take you to the next step."
"Not yet." Mark fixed him with a steady look and crossed his arms. "I'm just going to follow you or get lost trying. And how will Pearce feel about you allowing me to go out on my own with Morgan and some unknown partner in murder still free and holding my good friend?"
Jake sighed. "Fine. But you stay in the car."
Mark nodded and unplugged his phone from the charger. He checked to make sure he had his wallet and room key card, then followed Jake out the door.
They were both quiet in the elevator on the ride down. Mark attributed Jake's silence to his nerves at being alone with him plus lack of sleep. He hoped it wasn't because he was
planning anything.
Maybe he should send Pearce a text and tell him he was leaving the hotel with Jake. He flinched at the response he expected to receive back and decided he could send it when he found out the exact location.
The elevator doors opened, and he followed Jake through the lobby. The car was parked at the curb just outside with an FBI placard on the dash to prevent it from being towed. Mark got into the passenger seat and fastened his safety belt, the feel of the gun in his jacket pocket providing a bit of comfort. This was risky, just like back in Barbados. But it was a different situation, and he was different now. He had power in this situation, and he was in control of his safety now.
"Where are we headed?" he asked once Jake had merged into traffic.
"Some bar on the east side of town," Jake replied.
"East side?" Mark frowned. "The Bone Yard?"
Jake shook his head. "No, that's not it. It's one that's been around for a while. Dammit, what is it?" He lifted his butt off the seat to dig in his pocket for his phone. When he did, Jake accidentally stomped on the gas, and the car shot forward.
Mark let out a shout and gripped the armrest as Jake barely missed a parked car. "It's okay, it's okay. Tell me later."
"Sorry about that," Jake said with a flush of embarrassment. "I shouldn't have stuck my phone in my pocket. I must be tired. I usually put it in my shirt pocket."
"Don't worry about it," Mark said as he let out his breath. He pulled his phone out of his own pants pocket and checked for any messages from Pearce. Nothing.
"Shouldn't take us long to get there," Jake said. "It's down on Evergreen near Westman."
"Rough part of town." Mark furrowed his brow as he thought about the bars he and Calvin used to go to. "There were a couple in that area at one time, but I thought they had closed."
"Closed?" Jake glanced at him. "How long ago?"
"Years," Mark replied, then widened his eyes. "Do you think that's where Morgan's holed up? In one of those old abandoned bars?" A sudden realization made him gasp and say, "Oh my God!"
He unlocked his phone and opened the photos app. Tapping on the photo of Calvin, Mark winced when it filled the screen. He pushed down the emotion as best he could and looked at the details of the photo: the black cinderblock wall, the cheap gold frame of the chair, the very edge of what Mark now thought might be a bar. Was this a bar he'd once gone to with Calvin? Was this someplace he knew? What bars used to be in that area?
"Huh." The word came out without any thought, and Mark immediately regretted it. What if this was some kind of trap Jake was setting up for him? He didn't want to let on that he might know where they were headed.
"Huh what?" Jake asked, glancing over at him.
"Oh, nothing. Just a vocalization of my thoughts from lack of sleep." Mark shrugged and looked straight ahead as he tried to come up with the names of the bars. Kiss Ups had been in that area, hadn't it? What about Shades? It had been a tiny little dump of a bar, and the interior had been painted black in deference to its name. And those chairs had been awful. He remembered that now, too. Cheap and flimsy with the gold-painted aluminum frames and pleather seats with hardly any padding. Set a good distance back from the road, the abandoned Shades would be the perfect place to hold someone against his will.
And Jake was driving Mark right to it. Did that mean Jake was working with Morgan? Or was this an honest to God lead he was pursuing? Where had the lead come from?
A chill went through Mark, and he put his hand on the outside of his jacket pocket, feeling the gun inside. His adrenaline was up now, banishing his weariness and sharpening his senses. He needed to get a message to Pearce, but he had to do it without giving himself away, just in case Jake was involved.
It wasn't much farther, if he remembered correctly. And Mark wondered what, or who, would be waiting.
They were on a freeway now, and Jake was focused on driving. Mark managed to open his messaging app with a tap and kept his phone braced against the side of his thigh facing away from Jake. He glanced down and saw the long list of recent messages. Since Pearce was the last person Mark could remember texting, his messages should be at the top.
"We're not far," Jake said, then looked over at him, his expression open and relaxed. If he was involved, he was doing a great job of hiding it. "You think of any names of the bars that used to be down here?"
"Um, no," Mark lied. "Which exit do you want, though?"
Jake turned away, giving Mark the opportunity to look down at his phone and tap on Pearce's name to open the list of messages.
"Jesus Christ!" Jake shouted, then swerved to avoid a car that had changed lanes suddenly in front of them.
Mark lost his grip on the phone, and it tumbled to the floor between his seat and the passenger door. "Fuck!"
"What happened?" Jake asked, turning his head to look between traffic and Mark. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay," Mark replied without looking at him. "Just dropped my phone."
"Oh. Sorry I swerved so hard, that guy nearly hit us."
"It's okay."
Jake returned his attention to the road, and Mark tried to reach his phone. It had slipped farther away, most likely under his seat, and he couldn't find it.
"No luck?" Jake asked.
"No," Mark replied, trying to decipher if Jake was glad about it or not.
"We're almost there."
Mark put his hand in his jacket pocket and gripped the gun. He wondered if he could actually pull the trigger and shoot Jake. If it came down to his own life or the life of Calvin or Pearce over Jake, he imagined he could do it. Whether or not that would cause a setback in his mental state would be something he'd have to work on later.
And he knew there would be no hesitation if it was Robert Morgan. Shoot first, take the blame later. If it came to that, he doubted any jury would convict him once they learned the full history.
Jake exited the expressway and drove along surface streets. He wasn't looking at his phone for directions as he drove, and it set off a quiet alarm in the back of Mark's mind.
"You seem to know where you're going," Mark said.
"I was on a case several months ago that had me down in this area," Jake replied without looking at him. "Now that we're here, I'm remembering where those bars were located. And they are abandoned businesses."
"Oh yeah?" Now that they were off the expressway, Mark wanted to try to reach his phone again, but he didn't feel comfortable taking his hand off the gun.
"Yeah." Jake glanced over at him, his expression very still and unreadable.
The sight made Mark even more nervous. He looked away before asking, "Was it a murder investigation that brought you down here?"
"Gang stuff." Jake slowed to look at the names of streets they were passing.
Mark took stock of the rows of abandoned buildings that lined the street. Some had burned. Others just had gaping holes in place of windows and doors. A late model car sat buried inside a storefront, bricks piled around and on top of it. From the looks of it, the accident had happened awhile ago, and Mark wondered if the body of the driver might still be inside. Cars were parked along either side of the street, some half on the sidewalk. A tall, thin woman wearing a shiny green track suit stood with her head held high, and it swiveled on her skinny neck to watch them drive past.
"The neighborhood's gotten even worse," Jake said in a soft voice. "We busted up the gang that was running drugs through this area."
"They might have been paying a lot of the nearby residents to act as mules or dealers," Mark suggested.
"That they were. And now that income's dried up."
"And the drugs along with it."
Jake nodded. "Yep. And the drugs."
Mark adjusted his grip on the gun. He wasn't going to bolt and run once the car had stopped, not in this war zone of a neighborhood, but he had to be ready for whatever Jake had planned.
"Here," Jake said, and pointed ahead of them. "It's just up the block there."
Looking ahead, Mark saw the familiar small, squat structure that had once been Shades bar. It had never been a big draw for the gay community. It was too far away from the larger nightclubs to pull any kind of real business. The deejay had played good music, however, and the drinks had been strong. He and Calvin had been to Shades quite often in the years before the owner had finally given up and closed the place down. The rumor around town back then was he'd gotten tired of Michigan winters and just up and moved to Palm Springs without telling the staff or keeping up with his loan payments. The bank had taken the bar and tried to sell it, but nobody was interested, so now it sat rotting.
Shades was set back from the street a number of yards—another reason for its low business, people often couldn't find it—and the fenced-in parking lot was covered in litter, broken concrete, and car parts. The chain-link fencing had been pulled away from the poles in a couple of places to allow kids or gang members access. Boards covered the windows and front door of the bar, adorned with graffiti and gang symbols, and Mark wondered how Robert Morgan had managed to set up shop here. Then he realized that Jake and his team had cleared out the gang running drugs through the neighborhood, and that could have left the bar open for Morgan to step in. Had Jake seen the abandoned bar during his work on the gang case and told Morgan about it?
Jake pulled up to the curb and looked around. "Looks deserted."
"Looks can be deceiving." Mark watched Jake closely. How should he play this out? Should he accompany Jake inside or wait in the car? If Calvin was inside, he wanted—needed—to see him, to know he was alive. He had to give Calvin, and himself, some hope of rescue, whether or not Jake was involved.