by P. A. Brown
Geography of Murder
by P. A. Brown
But then, hadn't he gently carried me to bed? I remember his strong arms around me and whispered words as I fell into a chasm of darkness and pain. I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you.
So will the real Alexander Spider please stand up? Savage monster or caring lover? Without getting dressed I searched the house, but it was empty. Alex had gone into work and left me. I searched frantically for a note of anything that might explain when he was coming back. Nothing.
Reality kicked in. Left without a car, or any means to get out of here.
I had to go do some work for Phil. Now more than ever I needed the money.
Well, they say where there's a will there's a way. I took a hasty shower, the welts on my back and ass stinging from the hot water. I recalled all too clearly the whipping he had delivered inside and out. And I thought he had punished me before. I dressed and headed into the kitchen one more time.
In the fridge I found the leftover Stroganoff that Alex had obviously put away. The crock pot it had cooked in sat on the counter, encrusted with dried on stew. If he thought I was going to clean it out he was going to be sadly disappointed.
The man could fuck himself. I also pulled out the milk and filled a large bowl with cereal, which I wolfed down standing over the sink. I dumped the milky remnants in the sink without rinsing them. Then I went back in the fridge and pulled out a beer. I sat at the kitchen table and guzzled it down. Beer doesn't taste all that good after milk and cereal but I was game. So game I took another one when I finished 247
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the first. Then I had a nice buzz on and my muscle began to ache less and the pain in my ass hurt even less. So I had a third. Followed by a fourth. Now I was actually feeling pretty good. I didn't need Alex. I could get back to Santa Barbara myself. Wouldn't he be surprised when he came home tonight to find his compliant and thoroughly licked boy toy waiting his every kinky whim had gone ghost? I took a moment to imagine the look on his face when he realized I wasn't there.
Would he be sorry? Angry? Indifferent? Did I care?
Dammit, yes, I did. I wanted him to care so desperately I read meaning into the smallest action on his part. He smiled at me and I translated it into an expression of love. He hurt me and brought me pleasure beyond imagining and I thought it was a sign he felt like I did, instead of being plain old-fashioned sado-masochistic lust.
Back into the fridge which now contained no beer, I found some peaches and several kiwis which I shoved in a bag with a handle. I added a couple of cans of Red Bull to my bag and left the kitchen. I took my hiking boots since I had no idea how far I would have to walk. The freeway was a long way south of here. Well, I was strong. I could do it. One more trip to the bedroom where I dug out a flannel shirt which I put on under my jacket. If I was out late it got cold at night. Though I don't know what I'd do if I wasn't home by dark.
I took my binoculars because I wasn't leaving them behind. Since I didn't want to be accused of keeping his key and maybe breaking in at a later date I locked up and slid the key under a large planter out front beside the step. Probably 248
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an obvious place for a burglar to look, but that was Alex's problem, not mine.
There were no sidewalks the first part of my walk. But since the road wasn't busy I had no trouble walking in the roadway. Later, when it got busier there were sidewalks. It took me about forty minutes to reach the freeway, another ten to find an on-ramp where I stood watching the flow of traffic heading east toward Santa Barbara. A few vehicles passed me before I got up the courage to stick my thumb out. I was pleasantly surprised to get a ride within the first twenty minutes from a guy on his way to work. He gave me a sideways look and I realized he probably smelled the beer on me. It was a bit early for alcohol I guess. He then spent the next ten minutes telling me all the reasons I shouldn't hitch. I agreed with him then let the rest of his words roll in one ear and out the other. Unfortunately, or fortunately, he could only take me as far as Las Positas Way near the Earl Warren show grounds. I thanked him, climbed out of his Malibu, and took up my position again
I never heard the car until it pulled up behind me. Gravel crunched and a single whoop startled me. I spun around and found myself facing a white CHP car, flashing red and blue lights chasing each other across the rear view window. A lanky, khaki-suited man climbed out of the vehicle and approached me, one hand casually on his thick belt, just above his weapon.
Oh shit, what now?
"Officer?" I made an effort to sound calm and polite.
"Want to tell me what you're doing out here, young man?"
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"Nothing."
"This is not a safe place to be, sir. Highway's not meant for pedestrians."
I shrugged. "I have to get to Santa Barbara for work. I ...
got stranded here." Great, try to explain that. Tell him one of his own kept me tied up most of the night and fucked me so hard I'm still having trouble walking.
He was staring at me and I realized aside from what was obviously a brand new head shave job, Alex had left me with red welts on my neck and throat. He frowned.
"Are you injured, sir?"
"No, I'm fine, really. I just need to get to Santa—"
"I'm going to have to ask you to come with me, sir." He stepped closer, growing more menacing. From there he must have smelled the beer. "Have you been drinking, sir?"
I knew better than to lie. I fudged instead. "I had one."
He didn't believe me. "Public intoxication and endangering others. Not a good place to be, son."
"And if you'll just let me go, I'll be out of your hair."
"I can't do that sir. I'm going to have to ask you to get into the car."
I held out my hands and he tensed. Then he saw my wrists and I knew I was in deep shit. My wrists were deep red and clearly showed signs of having been shackled recently. Before I had a chance to protest he had me up against the car door, frisked and handcuffed me.
He stuffed me into the back of his patrol car. The sound of the door shutting sent me tumbling into despair. I sat in the car, hands once more in restraints, hunched over to relieve 250
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the inevitable ache that set in my shoulders and radiated out to all parts of my already abused body. Could they toss me in jail for public drunk and disorderly? How long could they keep me? No way I'd be able to scrape together even a pittance for bail. I was pooched. So much for the job I just got back.
The CHP cop took the next exit off the freeway and turned back west. The highway patrol station was in the shadow of the 101, across the highway from the Amtrak station. The officer took a measure of pity on me as he led me into the low-slung gray and white building into the booking area.
"Is there anyone you can call, son? Someone who might come and get you?"
My first thought was a swift no, then I thought of the one person who probably would come and get me. He'd be furious I was here, even more furious I ran, but he'd come get me out.
Wouldn't he?
I opened my mouth to answer the CHP cop and closed it again. He looked at me with what I thought were kind eyes and I opened my mouth again and blurted out, "Detective Alexander Spider of the Santa Barbara police."
The guy's eyebrows rose nearly an inch. Surprised I knew a cop or surprised I'd ask one for help. He left me in the hands of the booking officer and vanished through an electronically released door. I stared at the cracked linoleum floor under my feet. What now?
The cop behind the counter wrote something down on the paper in front of him. He didn't look at me. I was less significant than a cockroach might have been.
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The door m
y cop had gone through buzzed and opened again. He was back. He didn't say a word, just released the cuffs from my wrists and put them back on his belt.
"Detective Spider will be here shortly."
I can hardly wait.
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Spider
When I woke up this morning my first thought was to shake Jason awake to have it out again. But one look at his bruised and fragile looking body trying to burrow back under the blankets without being fully conscious made me realize I'd already done enough. Maybe even too much. Could we really recover from this? I felt like he had betrayed me, though in fact I don't think he did anything with that guy, and while I hated the drug thing, it wasn't the end of the world. I just knew I couldn't stand it if he allowed another man to touch him like I did. But if this went on would I lose him? I sensed he was close to bolting. Maybe last night had been a wakeup call for both of us, because I knew beyond a doubt that I did not want him to go anywhere. I still don't know what that meant and I kept kicking myself for being thirty kinds of fool for feeling this way about anyone, but the simple, unblemished truth was I needed Jason. Maybe a lot more than he needed me.
All morning I fielded calls. Some legitimate, some crackpot. There had been a full moon last night. Maybe that was why Jason had acted out. There was something intangible about a full moon that every cop knew spelled trouble. Logic might dictate it wasn't scientific fact, but we all knew terminal weirdness came out of the cracks during a full moon.
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I kept looking at the phone, thinking I should call him. But I didn't want to wake him if he was still asleep, and a phone call might dig up unpleasant memories best left in the dark. I had totally gone overboard last night. I had been angry, sure, angry that he had done that behind my back, angry that I had caught him looking at that bartender with such hunger in his eyes. He was only supposed to look at me that way, not some fat-dicked player in a tight pair of jeans.
But had I gone too far this time? I had seen his back when I climbed out of bed. The welts were nasty looking and covered half of his back, extending all the way across his ass.
I'd been too eager to make him feel the lash. To drive it home to him that he could not do those things. Not now, not ever. I wouldn't stand for it.
Well maybe I had succeeded beyond my intentions. Had my rage really gotten that far out of hand? And did that make me dangerous? I never thought of myself as an abusive man.
God knows in my job I see the tragic results of that all the time. Families torn apart by someone's rage. Jealousy could be an ugly thing and I was feeling the bite of it more than I ever had before.
Nancy arrived looking flushed and glowing. At least someone had a good night. She nodded at me curtly and asked for a progress report. I told her about finding the raven at Blunt's.
"So that's confirmed then," she said. "Anything on Lucy's front?"
"Not much yet. Still have a unit watching the house.
Apparently the woman and Lucy's daughter have gone out a 254
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few times. Mostly to the drug store or market. No sign of Chavez meeting them anywhere. All we can do is sit on it."
"I hate waiting more than anything else."
"At least be thankful we're not pulling the surveillance gig."
Hours sitting in a car trying not to fall asleep at a critical time.
I'd done my share of stakeouts. They were never pretty.
She nodded. "I hear you." Then she switched tactics.
"They ever figure out what was used on Dutton?"
"Blunt instrument. You know them, they won't commit. But there was a fire extinguisher missing. So that's looking good.
Be nice if they could recover it."
She made a noncommittal sound. If wishes were horses, beggars would fly. Some teacher in the Academy in a momentary flight of fancy said that once.
"Lunch?" she asked me, even though it was only eleven-fifteen.
"Sure, an hour?"
But before that my phone rang. It was Tender, back on duty watching Chavez's daughter's place. He wasted no time on preamble. A man after my own heart.
"Something's happening. The little girl keeps peering through the window. She's even opened the front door a couple of times. The woman inside keeps pulling her back. I think I saw the bag the girl brought with her sitting in the foyer."
"She's coming home." I felt the familiar pump of adrenaline that always hit me when something was going down. My body prepping me to be ready. To be safe.
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"Stay there until she shows up. Follow her. If she goes home I want to know right away. I'll come out then to talk to her. Try not to get made. This woman spooks way too easily."
"Gotcha, Detective."
Now it was more sit and wait. Worst case scenario, Chavez wasn't coming back but was sending for Michelle to join her.
An expensive trip, since I doubt the airline would let a child that young fly alone. No, she had to be coming home. Unless she really was fugitive then that opened a whole new can of worms.
"Lunch is on hold," I said to Nancy. "Let's sign out a car and go catch us a little birdie. I want to be ready when she reaches her apartment."
We once again fell to waiting. Cop work always struck me as being nine-tenths waiting for something to happen and one-tenth trying to save your ass when it did. But there was always something to fill the time. Reports to be written, phone calls to answer, and oh, yeah, reports to be written.
Finally Tender called back. "She's pulling in the driveway.
The little girl's in the car and the caretaker has the suitcase.
They're not wasting any time on niceties here. I wish my in-laws would be in and out in that short a time." A moment of silence then he came back. "So far all indications are she's on her way home."
"Let me know if that changes." I looked over at Nancy who was already on her feet. "Let's roll."
We arrived at the Chavez residence shortly after she did.
Tender pulled in behind our unmarked. We all waited in our 256
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cars until she had parked and gone inside, towing the little blond girl and two rolling suitcases.
Once the lobby door swung shut I climbed out onto the sidewalk. Nancy followed and Tender left his car.
"Want me to hang around?" Tender asked.
I shook my head. "I don't think it's necessary. You?" I directed that to Nancy.
She shook her head. Tender left and we approached the front door. Rather than buzz Chavez herself and alert her we were there, we looked up the apartment manager and had him let us in.
On the third floor we paused outside her door and spent a minute listening for sounds of activity on the other side.
Nothing. We knew she was in there, but there was no music, no TV, no sounds at all.
I rapped the door sharply.
Same reaction as the first time, although this time she had to have recognized us. She still insisted we show her ID. This time when we got inside we weren't invited to sit. Michelle ran over to her mother and hid her face in her skirt, refusing to look at either of us. Chavez was brusque.
"What do you want, officers?"
So I was brusque right back.
"I need you to be honest with us, Ms. Chavez. What is going on?"
"I told you. Nothing."
"Please don't, Ms. Chavez. Don't spin me that. We both know something is not right."
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"Nothing is going on," her voice rose in budding hysteria.
"I want you to leave me alone."
"We all know that's not true,
" Nancy spoke gently. So gently she could lull even me into somnolence. But this time there would be no rattlesnake take down when she had the mutt she was interrogating relaxed. If all my instincts were right, this woman was a victim, maybe more so than Blunt and Dutton.
"Do you know a Clarence Dutton?"
"No."
"George Blunt?"
It was subtle but she definitely flinched to Blunt's name.
Nancy saw it, too.
"When did you know him, Ms. Chavez? Was it as a child?"
This time there was mistaking her reaction. She went paper white and clutched at her pullover turtleneck sweater. I thought she was going to faint.
Nancy took her arm and guided her to the sofa, bypassing the recliner. She sat down with her. She didn't touch her again. Lucy Chavez had issues with being touched.
"How old were you?"
"I want you to leave," her voice was low and savage. "Get out."
We couldn't force her to talk. Not unless we came up with something a whole lot more compelling than we had. We might be able to get the ADA to issue a subpoena to force her to testify, but without cooperation it was wasted time.
We had to convince her it was in her best interest to talk to us. Good luck with that. Still, we tried.
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She wasn't listening. "Go, or I'll call your superior. I'll call the mayor if you force me to."
So we left, hoping if she had time to think things over she'd decide to help us.
We ended up having our lunch after all, though I would have preferred to be interviewing Chavez. We were just settling the bill when my cell rang. Caller ID was a number I didn't recognize.
The voice on the other end of the phone was brusque.
"Detective Spider? This is deputy sheriff Bittman from the Goleta CHP station. We have a Mr. Jason Zachary down here and he gave your contact information."
I stared down at my cell like it had grown teeth. The CHP?
What was Jason mixed up in now? I had just left him in bed a few hours ago. How could the guy get into trouble so fast? I knew Bittman was making a courtesy call, one cop to another. Probably once Jason had used my name he'd decided to fly under the radar and call me directly. It might even mean Jason hadn't been charged with anything yet.