by Pandora Pine
Tennyson had more than a small point, but he’d be crazy to bring that up now and risk trampling on Ronan’s ego and this bond they were building here in the morgue. “I knew how hurt you were and I just felt like I couldn’t help you anymore. Like I wasn’t enough to heal you.”
Ronan bowed his head, letting it drop between his knees. “You’re always enough, Ten. It’s just…”
Tennyson knew this was a bad idea. Talking about their feelings in a public place, even though they were the only two here. He knew Ronan would get emotional. “We can finish talking about this later, when we’re alone. I should have kept my mouth shut.”
Ronan shook his head. “Is my light still white?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
A few months back, after meeting Ronan’s toxic ex, Tennyson had remarked that Ronan had such a pure, white soul. It had amazed him that after spending so many years with his ex-husband that Ronan had come out whole and unblemished on the other side.
Ronan was worried now that Josh’s confession that he’d been a rapist and a murderer would somehow affect his own soul. Tennyson stood up. “Come here.”
When Ronan stood, Tennyson pulled him in for a tight hug. He noticed the lab techs giving them funny looks through the glass, but Ten just shot them a look of triumph, as if to say, “Look what a lucky bastard I am!”
“Of course your soul is still pure. Nothing that man did or said could ever tarnish you.”
Ronan took a deep breath as if he were about to object.
“Even if he says what he did, he did for you.” Tennyson pulled back to look Ronan in the eyes. “You know that’s just bullshit, right? Josh did what he did for himself. He was just trying to drag you down with him.”
“It’s not going to work.” Ronan’s voice sounded stronger.
“Damn right, it’s not,” Tennyson agreed, with heat in his voice. “Now, go pretty up in the men’s room. The lab techs are staring at us.”
Ronan grinned, his eyes darkening. “Should we give them something to really stare at?”
Tennyson wanted that more than anything, but he wanted Ronan to kiss him because Ronan wanted to kiss him, not so they could show off in front of lab techs at the morgue.
While Tennyson was debating with himself, Ronan settled the matter by kissing him.
Sparks of attraction raced down Tennyson’s spine, straight to his cock. He moaned against Ronan’s lips. It had only been two weeks since the last time they’d done this, but it felt like it had been years.
“Christ, this show is gonna turn X-rated if we don’t stop now,” Ronan said, breathlessly.
Tennyson laughed, blushing down to the roots of his hair.
“I’ll go clean up.” Ronan kissed him hard and headed off, giving the lab techs two thumbs way up.
10
Ronan
Six hours later, they got the results they’d been waiting to hear. The John Doe in cold storage was indeed Justin Wilson.
Tennyson insisted on sitting with the physical remains of the young man until a van from the Suffolk County Coroner’s Office could come to transport the body back to Boston. Tennyson said he needed to stay with Justin because the teenager had been alone long enough.
Ronan understood where he was coming from and even if he hadn’t, he wasn’t about to destroy the peace between them.
While Tennyson sat shiva, Ronan spoke to the Newburyport Homicide Detectives who’d worked Justin’s case. They had been only too happy to hand the file off to him, claiming all the leads they had were dead.
“What happens now?” Tennyson asked quietly. His faced was bathed in the flashing blue lights from the coroner’s van parked in front of Ronan’s Mustang.
Ronan knew how hard this was on Tennyson. The psychic was used to dealing with spirits of the departed. Seeing their physical remains after they’d been murdered was a new thing for him. Murder was never pretty, even after the remains had been cleaned up and put back together. Couple that with the fact that Justin had been in cold storage for months and the results were horrifying to look at.
Guilt stabbed at Ronan’s heart. He was the one who’d brought this kind of sorrow into Ten’s life. “While our ME examines Justin’s remains and does his own autopsy, I’ll be going over the copy of the case file the Newburyport detectives gave to me.”
“I want Vann Hoffman, Ronan. He treated Michael Frye’s remains with respect and care. I want him to be the doctor who works with Justin.” Tennyson sounded adamant.
A twinge of jealously briefly flared in Ronan’s gut. While Vann was the best medical examiner in Suffolk County, he also had a reputation for being a tom cat. Not that Ronan blamed him. The man looked like the actor who played Doctor Sheldon Hawkes on CSI: NY.
When he and Tennyson had met back in January, the ME had made it very obvious he was interested in more than Tennyson’s ability to speak to dead people. “I’ll make a call but this isn’t like an out-call massage, Ten. You can’t order up the medical examiner of your choice.”
Tennyson shot him the hairy eyeball. “You been calling out for massages while we were apart?”
Shit… Open mouth, insert foot. “God, no. All I did was work myself into an early grave while we were apart. I didn’t have time to think about getting off with other men.”
“Damn it, Ronan. I’m sorry.” Tennyson shook his head. “I’m just feeling vulnerable right now.”
“Yeah, well, I hate to break this to you, but we’re not going back to Boston with Justin.” Ronan had known where their next stop had to be the second the DNA results had come in, but he’d held that information back from Ten for a long as possible.
“We’re not?” Ten asked sharply. “Where are we going?”
“To notify the Wilsons...” Ronan trailed off. Meeting Justin’s parents this morning had not gone well. He had no reason to believe this meeting would go any better. Gay or not, they were going to tell Justin’s parents that their now positively identified son was dead.
“Jesus Christ,” Tennyson muttered.
Ronan didn’t know if that was a curse or a prayer.
Half an hour later, they pulled back into the semi-circular driveway at the Wilson home. He’d half expected to be turned away at the front gate, but they’d been buzzed right in.
Instead of the butler, Mr. Wilson opened the door to them. “Detective O’Mara. Mr. Grimm. Please come in.” Gone was the superior attitude of this morning. In its place seemed to be a much humbler Cliff Wilson. Also gone was the expensive suit and the Rolex, as if Mr. Wilson didn’t feel the need to put on airs now.
Ronan and Tennyson followed the man into the sitting room they’d been ushered into this morning. Gloria Wilson was waiting for them. She had changed out of her tennis whites and was now wearing a sedate black pantsuit instead, that made her look much older than her years.
“Mr. and Mrs. Wilson,” Ronan started.
“Please sit,” Mrs. Wilson offered, straightening her spine.
Ronan nodded and indicated to Tennyson to sit. Once they were settled into the buttery leather sofa, Ronan turned back to the Wilsons. “The DNA samples you gave us this morning confirmed that the John Doe at the Essex County Morgue is your son. I am so sorry for your loss.” Ronan was gearing up for a fight if the Wilson’s claimed Justin was no son of theirs, but instead they both began to cry.
“We thought it was a phase,” Mrs. Wilson said between her tears.
“Thought what was a phase?” Tennyson asked, sounding stunned.
“The gay thing,” Gloria Wilson sobbed.
Ten opened his mouth to answer, but Ronan tapped his knee to keep him quiet. He had no doubt that what Tennyson had been about to say would have been scathing and right on the money, but that wasn’t what these people needed to hear right now. “Tennyson stayed with your son until the Medical Examiner from Suffolk County could pick up his remains for transport.”
“I don’t understand,” Mr. Wilson started. “If Justin was murdered in Newburyport,
how is this case in Suffolk County’s jurisdiction?”
Ronan had a feeling this man had spent time on the phone with his attorney after they’d left. His knowing about jurisdictions confirmed it. “Justin was living in Boston at the time of his disappearance. He was also reported missing in Boston.”
“That still doesn’t answer my question, detective.” Wilson’s voice had an edge to it.
“Your son has been visiting me for a few months now,” Tennyson said quietly.
Gloria Wilson gasped.
Tennyson straightened his own spine and turned to face Justin’s mother. “I realize you think I’m a charlatan, but-”
“No, no, I spoke to Jacqueline Frye after you left. She claims you are a true talent and can be trusted.” Gloria Wilson gave her husband a pleading look, as if she expected him to object to her words.
That was a curveball Ronan had not seen coming. Jackie Frye was the mother of the missing boy whose case he and Tennyson had investigated together back in January. Thanks to Tennyson, Jackie had been able to speak with her murdered son.
“I don’t have the same kind of blind faith as my wife, but I’m willing to listen to what you have to say, Mr. Grimm.”
Ronan grinned at Tennyson. He wanted to whisper “Showtime!” but knew he’d be overheard.
“Most spirits learn how to communicate with spoken words after they cross over. I can have conversations with those spirits just like we’re speaking now. Justin, however, is having some difficulties mastering dead speak.”
“Dead speak?” Cliff asked, sounding angry again.
“That’s what I call the method of communication.” Tennyson turned his attention back to Justin’s mother. “The first few times Justin came to me, he sent me a jumble of images which I wasn’t able to interpret, but last time we interacted, he was able to send me one image at a time and that’s how I learned his name and that he’d been murdered.”
The Wilsons stared at each other.
“This is the reason I asked my captain for jurisdiction over this case,” Ronan jumped in. “Tennyson is going to be able to keep communicating with your son. We’re hoping that once we have the autopsy results back that we’ll have more clues, but in the event that we don’t, we have a witness that a traditional detective team wouldn’t have.”
“My boy,” Wilson stated.
Tennyson nodded.
Ronan could feel his anger rising at that statement. Justin hadn’t been “his boy” when he’d kicked the sixteen-year-old out of the house for what they’d hoped was a phase.
“Can I speak to him?” Gloria asked. “Jaqueline said she was able to speak with her boy through you. Can I speak to my son?”
Tennyson studied her for a second. He seemed to be measuring his words. “You turned your vulnerable sixteen-year-old son out of your home because of what you thought was a phase. Because of that, he was homeless and living on the street. Justin ended up turning tricks to keep body and soul together and one of those johns killed him. What the hell makes you think he wants to speak to you?” Tennyson shot each of the Wilsons a withering look and walked out of the house without looking back.
Ronan wanted to high-five Ten, but that would have to wait until later. He took a deep breath and watched the stunned look on the Wilson’s faces turn to horror.
“I promise you that we’re going to work our hardest to find out who murdered your son and make sure he pays for his crimes.” Ronan dug into his wallet and pulled out his business card which he set on the coffee table in front of Justin’s parents.
He started walking toward the door intent on following Tennyson out to the car, but turned around at the last minute. “Oh, just so you know. It wasn’t a phase. Being gay is who Justin was always going to be. All you had to do was hug him and tell him it was going to get better. All you had to do was be his armor in this cruel world, but instead, you were the sword that struck him down.” Ronan turned around and walked out the door, feeling better than he’d felt in months.
11
Tennyson
“You said what?” Truman’s mouth gaped open. He was sitting on one end of the sofa feeding Stephanie her bottle, while his tiny Yorkie, Sadie, sat curled up on his feet.
Carson laughed and tried his best to mop up the barf baby Bertha had spewed all over his jeans while feeding the infant with the other.
Tennyson, who was rocking a sleeping Brian, still couldn’t believe the audacity of his parting line to the Wilson’s. “They deserved it and more besides.”
“Maybe so,” Truman agreed, “but Jesus, you’d just told them that their son was dead. I would think the moment called for a bit more tact.”
“Swear jar, husband.” Carson grinned.
Truman rolled his eyes.
“Tact? This is the son they forced out of their house and into a life of prostitution.” Tennyson couldn’t believe Truman was taking the Wilsons’ side, but then again, his parents had welcomed his coming out story with open arms. Truman never had to deal with hate in his own home.
“Swear jar, Uncle Tennyson,” Carson crowed.
“Prostitution is not a swear.” Christ, at the rate he was going, these kids were going to have their tuitions paid for before they were out of diapers.
“It’s not a word my precious babies should hear either,” Carson said, smiling at his daughter who’d been named after his late mother.
“Well, Ronan was proud of me, and his parting shot was better, although I wasn’t there to hear it.” Tennyson dearly wished he had been there to hear Ronan’s words to Justin’s parents.
Truman and Carson exchanged knowing smiles. “Oh, Ronan was proud of you. Was he?” Truman asked casually.
“Cut the crap, Truman.” Tennyson beamed at his friends, happy that he’d controlled his language and saved himself some swear jar money.
“Bertha and I want to hear all about the kiss!” Carson laughed at the surprised look on Tennyson’s face.
“I thought you were working on those blocking exercises?” Tennyson raised an eyebrow at Carson. His friend hadn’t always had his psychic powers. They’d come on only about a year ago. Carson was still learning how to control them and one of the lessons Ten had been teaching him was how to block the flow of information.
“Yeah, well you weren’t getting to the good stuff fast enough, right sugar plum?” Carson pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead.
“What kiss?” Truman sounded concerned.
Ten loved that Truman had remained Ronan’s loyal friend while they’d been apart. Tennyson knew the worry on his face now had more to do with not wanting to see Ronan get hurt than it did with Truman thinking Tennyson would be the one doing the hurting. “We talked a bit about what an idiot I was to give him an ultimatum and we sort of made up with a kiss.”
If Ten concentrated hard enough, he could still feel the press of Ronan’s lips against his own.
“So, what happens now?” Truman asked, raising the baby to his shoulder to burp her.
“We have to wait for the autopsy report from the medical examiner, but I think we’re going to go over the police report in the morning. It looked pretty thin though. The Newburyport detectives didn’t have a lot of leads.”
“I could give two shits about case files and North Shore detectives,” Truman muttered. “What happens now between you and Ronan?”
Carson opened his mouth, most likely to remind Truman about the swear jar, but Truman held up a hand to his husband before he pointed to Tennyson.
He and Ronan hadn’t discussed what came next. To be honest, he didn’t really want to tell that to his friends now. Ten looked down at Brian who was sleeping peacefully in his arms. He loved holding little ones like this. They didn’t have any spirits glommed onto them and their auras were pure. For Tennyson, it was like he was wearing noise cancelling headphones at a rock concert. It was the only true peace he got.
A teardrop splattered against Brian’s blue fleece sleeper. A second one joined it, and then a th
ird. “I don’t know,” Tennyson managed before the tears started in earnest. He guessed that Ronan not discussing where they stood now was more upsetting that he originally thought.
12
Ronan
Ronan’s lungs were burning. This was the first time since the end of the Michael Frye case, back in February, that he’d been out for a run. He felt like he was breathing fire with each step he took. It was a good feeling though, like he was finally taking back the reins to his own life.
As he pounded past the JFK Library at Columbia Point in Dorchester, he couldn’t help but think back on the events of yesterday. So far, he hadn’t gotten an angry text from Captain Fitzgibbon, which meant the Wilsons hadn’t reported his or Tennyson’s behavior. Yet…
Ronan knew both he and Ten had been way out of line with the way they’d spoken to Justin’s parents. That just wasn’t the way things were done when you were making a death notification. In Ronan’s defense though, he just hadn’t made a notification like that one before.
He wasn’t a naive man by any stretch of the imagination. He’d been a cop now for twelve years and had been to more homicide scenes than he could count. People murdered people for all kinds of reasons, but this was one crime that did not have to happen.
Justin Wilson should have been more concerned with normal high school things like taking a Chemistry final or the chemistry going on between himself and his handsome lab partner, rather than how many tricks he needed to turn just put food in his belly and find a warm place to sleep for the night.
Now, thanks to parents who’d been convinced that tough love would force the gay out of their son, he and Tennyson were going to have to dig into a sub-culture few knew anything about: street kids. Hell, Ronan had no idea where to start looking for Keegan Mills, the teenager who had been the one to report Justin missing.
Maybe Tennyson would have some better ideas on where to start looking, thanks to his gifts. One thing was for sure, this was going to be a tough case for Tennyson since it paralleled his own coming of age story.