Dead Reckoning (Cold Case Psychic Book 2)

by Pandora Pine

  “Mom wanted me to tell you Austin thought the killer smelled like mall cologne.” Carson’s head popped back up from his notebook.

  “I don’t understand what that means.” Ronan shot Ten a questioning glance.

  “After you both left, Cole asked Austin the five senses question. You know, was there anything else he remembered about the killer that he saw, smelled, tasted, touched, or heard. Austin mentioned mall cologne. I assumed that meant some kind of cheap-ass cologne that you can put on a sample of at the mall.”

  “That was a good question to ask, Cole. I should have asked myself, but, it’s so hard conducting an interview when I can’t use my own five senses and I’m relying on a replay from all of you to hear the answers.”

  “Would you want to have our gift?” Tennyson asked, sounding like he was ready to sleep for a week.

  Ronan didn’t even have to think twice. “No. I have my own gifts that I’ve honed over time to be a better detective. Plus, I’ve seen the highs and lows of what having this gift has done to the three of you. Hell, I’m still learning how to best support those of you who can speak to the dead. That’s hard enough.”

  “Mom says that was well said, Ronan. Let’s get you both home and fed.” Truman slapped Ronan’s shoulder. I’m missing my babies something awful and I’m sure they’re missing their favorite uncles.”

  “Bullshit!” Tennyson snorted. “You just need extra hands for diaper patrol.”

  “Stop reading my husband’s mind, Ten!” Carson burst out laughing.

  21

  Tennyson

  Tennyson had barely made it through the incredible meal Luisa Salazar and her sister made for them before he had started to fall asleep. Truman and Carson’s infants kept the party going by shouting loudly when their needs weren’t being met making Ten’s head bob up and down.

  Ronan had driven them back to Ten’s apartment after dessert where he’d gone right to bed. He’d dropped his clothes where he stood and crawled under the covers without kissing Ronan goodnight. He never heard the detective get into bed with him, but knew that he did because his lover was there when he’d woken up around 4am.

  “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Ronan snickered when Tennyson walked into his living room a little after 9am.

  “Holy shit,” Ten said on a yawn. “Why’d you let me sleep so late?”

  “Uh, gee, because you fell asleep in your flan last night.” Ronan snickered.

  “I did not.” Tennyson rolled his eyes. He’d been worn out, but he hadn’t fallen asleep in the custard. Had he?

  “I’ve got pictures. Do you want to see them?” Ronan was fighting back the giggles but a few escaped.

  Ten started laughing along with him. “How much is it going to cost me to keep those pictures hidden?”

  “All of our friends saw you go face-first into dessert. Who else is there to show?” Ronan pulled Tennyson into his arms. “How did my grumpy cat sleep?” He nuzzled Ten’s sleep-warmed neck.

  “I hate to say it, but like the dead.” His left arm and the left side of his face bore the wrinkle marks from his sheets because he’d barely moved in hours.

  Ronan snorted. “I know. I poked you a few times, if you know what I mean, and you didn’t even budge.” He pressed a kiss to Ten’s cheek. “So, I came out here to work. I didn’t want to be tempted to wake you up.”

  Tennyson couldn’t help feeling a bit torn. Part of him was thrilled at the idea of getting to sleep in for a bit, while the other part of him would have liked to have been woken up by a wound-up Ronan. “Did you make any progress?”

  “A little. I found an article in the Boston Herald from last summer detailing an attack on a young man that sounded similar to what Austin described.”

  “He survived?” Tennyson couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Why didn’t you wake me up to tell me this? Let me hop in the shower and then we can go talk to him.” He didn’t wait for Ronan’s answer. Ten turned on his heels and headed for the bedroom.

  “Hold on there, Doctor Watson. It’s not that simple,” Ronan called after him.

  “How did I know you were going to say that?” His shoulders slumping, Ten turned around and came back into the kitchen.

  “Uh, because you’re a psychic?” Ronan grinned at him. “Remember that writer from the Globe that Keegan mentioned?”

  Tennyson chewed his bottom lip for a second. “Rod Jacobson or something, right?”

  “Right! Well, it turns out, this attack survivor was the inspiration for his article on street kids. His name is Greeley Hanks.”

  “Jacobson got the inspiration for his expose published in the Globe from an article in the Herald?” Tennyson started to laugh. The two Boston newspapers were fierce rivals. He was sure the Herald bosses wouldn’t be happy to know that an article that won another Pulitzer Prize for its biggest competition had its genesis in their paper.

  “Crazy, huh?” Ronan grabbed a mug from the cabinet and punched the buttons on Ten’s one-cup coffee maker. When the machine finished brewing the drink, he fixed it just the way Tennyson liked it.

  “Uh, oh.” Tennyson shot Ronan a wary look. “I don’t need to be psychic to know there’s something wrong if you’re making my coffee.”

  Ronan set the mug in front of Ten. “I called him while you were still sleeping and he agreed to meet with me.”

  “I sense a ‘but’ coming.” Tennyson frowned and took the cup from Ronan.

  “But, he only wants to meet with me.” Ronan wore a look of defeat. “Said that being seen with a known psychic could compromise his journalistic integrity.”

  “Jesus Christ! Seriously?” Tennyson had heard some crazy shit in his time in regard to what he did for a living, but this took the cake.

  “I tried, Ten. I told him we were working this case together; that you were my partner. Hell, I even told him you’d wear a disguise.” Ronan shrugged.

  “A disguise?” Tennyson shot him a look like he’d lost his mind. “What, like one of those blonde Taylor Swift wigs?”

  “Mmm,” Ronan licked his lips. “Now you’re talking, babe. Throw in a pair of black stilettos and we don’t even need to leave the house today.”

  “Okay, now I know you’ve cracked.” Ronan had never mentioned anything before about wanting to role play. Could be interesting once this case was in their rear-view.

  “I meant like a trench coat and dark glasses. Maybe a fedora or something.” Ronan still looked intrigued over the blonde wig idea.

  “So, I’ve gone from cross-dresser to being in an episode of I Love Lucy?” Ten shook his head. This had gone from the bizarre to the ridiculous.

  Ronan shook his head. “Anyway, Jacobson said it’s no-go even if you dressed up like Marie Antionette, but all is not lost.”

  “Please don’t tell me you bought the costume.” Tennyson couldn’t picture himself in one of those bowed out dresses.

  “No, of course not.” Ronan grinned. “I got Jacobson to give me Greeley’s contact information. You and Captain Fitzgibbon are going to track him down today while I’m out working the streets with Jacobson.”

  “You want me to interview the attack survivor?” Tennyson was stunned. He wasn’t a trained cop. He had only seen Ronan conduct a few interviews and those were pretty hard-core.

  “He’s a teenage boy who was nearly killed at the hands of a monster. Maybe our monster, maybe not. Interviewing him won’t be the same as interviewing a possible suspect. I know you’ll be gentle with him, Ten. He’ll trust you and want to open up to you.” Ronan picked up Ten’s hands and kissed the backs of them. “Being a cop is more than being tough. It’s about being able to empathize and show people that you care. That you’ve walked in their shoes.”

  Ten nodded. He’d sure as hell walked in these lost boys’ shoes, that was for sure. Thank Christ he’d never had to face selling his mouth or ass for his next meal and he’d never been attacked like these kids. “Okay, I’ll do it. What is your game plan with Jacobson?”


  “To be honest, I think he smells another Pulitzer. These street kids are afraid of cops to begin with, so they’re not going to come to us if they’ve been assaulted or raped. They don’t understand that we’re not going to bust them for reporting crimes against them.”

  “You think there are a lot more boys who’ve been attacked or who have gone missing than the ones who have been reported missing.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I do, and what’s more, so does Jacobson. I’m sorry that I can’t take you with me.” Ronan’s words rang true.

  Ten could see the sincerity in Ronan’s eyes. As much as he hated the idea of not being in on this interview with the newspaperman, he could grudgingly see where Jacobson was coming from. Helping these boys was his first and only priority. His fragile ego would need to sit this one out.

  “It’s okay. I think interviewing this Hanks boy is just as important. He’s a living witness that I’ll be able to talk to with the captain instead of having to relay my impressions back and forth, like we’ve done with Justin Wilson and Austin Roberts. Thank you for trusting me with this assignment.”

  Ronan grinned. “You’re gonna do great.”

  “Damn straight I am.”

  22

  Ronan

  Ronan felt uneasy as he walked down Washington Street toward the Boston Common Coffee House. It wasn’t that he felt like he was in danger or that someone was following him, just that he felt incomplete without his partner.

  He got that they were going to see Jacobson’s sources so he needed to play by the writer’s rules, but it wasn’t like Jacobson was doing this favor for Ronan out of the kindness of his heart either. He was getting one hell of a scoop in return for his help.

  No one else knew about Ronan’s serial killer theory, aside from the captain, Ten, and their friends. Ronan knew it was dicey business involving a member of the media in the infancy of this investigation, but knew that secrecy was just as crucial to Jacobson if he didn’t want to get scooped himself by a rival reporter or a rival news agency.

  People with smartphones were everywhere. It used to be concerned citizens would call in to a tip-line for a possible reward, but now people were posting pictures and videos to Instagram and Facebook Live, sometimes breaking news stories before local network affiliates could get on the air. It was for this reason Jacobson didn’t want Tennyson along.

  After assisting the Scituate Police find and safely return a missing child, Tennyson had become something of a local celebrity in Massachusetts. His stardom had gone national after he and Ronan had solved Michael Frye’s kidnapping and murder. With Ten’s shock of dark, curly hair and his resemblance to Game of Thrones star, Kit Harington, he was very recognizable.

  Without Tennyson here with him, Ronan was going to have to make sure his senses were extra-sharp. Ten would often pick up on small details that would later prove important. Ronan had always been more of a big picture guy. The details tended to take care of themselves.

  As he got closer to the busy coffee shop, he could see the newspaper man standing outside. Taking a deep breath, Ronan kept walking. His face had also been plastered all over the news and social media at the conclusion of the Frye case. Rumor had it, there were even internet fan sites dedicated to him. Not that he would ever waste his time looking to see what new pictures of himself had been added. At least not more than twice a day.

  “Hello, Ronan,” Rod Jacobson said softly when Ronan reached him.

  “Nice to meet you.” Ronan shook the reporter’s hand. Rod had short, dark hair and dark eyes with an olive complexion. Ronan would guess he was of Greek or Italian descent. The guy reminded him a bit of the actor who played The Karate Kid in those 1980s movies.

  “Walk with me. There’s a place I want to show you and some people I want you to meet.” Rod moved quickly and silently through the crowded street until they broke free and could walk side-by-side. “You think I can help you talk to some of these kids who might have had an encounter with your un-sub?”

  Ronan rolled his eyes. “This isn’t Criminal Minds. We don’t call suspects ‘un-subs.’ Right now, we have one body in our morgue with the number eleven written in biological fluids on his chest and another body in an Essex County morgue with the number five. From the article I found in the Herald, and then through reading your piece, I realized you may have interviewed a teenager who was an earlier victim.”

  Jacobson’s dark eyes narrowed on Ronan. “What do you mean?”

  “Serial killers are just like everyone else in that it takes time to get good at their craft.”

  “Jesus Christ,” the veteran newsman muttered. “Are you saying practice makes perfect?” He pulled out his notepad and started scribbling notes.

  “In a way, yes. If Greeley was one of his earliest intended victims, I imagine it was a real learning experience for him. Some killers don’t start out as killers, some get off on the act of rape and when that doesn’t bring them that high anymore, they turn to murder.”

  “So, you’re saying they don’t always kill to cover their tracks?” Jacobson didn’t even bother to look up from his notebook, he kept scribbling in some odd shorthand with symbols Ronan didn’t recognize.

  Ronan shrugged. He’d done a lot of reading about serial killers last night while Tennyson had been asleep. “The problem with these kinds of killers is that they’re all different. Some kill for the thrill of it. Others to hide their tracks. Some are compelled to kill by voices in their head, while others just love to feel the life drain away from their victim.”

  “Why do you think this guy is killing gay teenaged prostitutes?” Jacobson’s demeanor grew tense as if there were a lot riding on Ronan’s answer.

  “That’s the big question isn’t it? The answer could be as simple as hate. The killer could hate the fact that he is a gay man and is taking that out on our community. He could have had a lover or husband cheat on him or leave him and that broke something inside of him.” Ronan took a deep breath. “The cases of male serial killers who’ve targeted female prostitutes have chosen those victims because they hate women.”

  “Why did they target hookers and not bankers or nurses or teachers?” Jacobson had the look of a man who found this all too much to take.

  “How many teachers or bankers are out and about at a time of day when it’s easy to take them, rape them, and then kill them without them being missed for a long period of time? Most teachers and bankers need to be back on the job the next morning or if it’s a weekend, by Monday, right?” Ronan surmised.

  Dawning lit in Jacobson’s eyes. “That’s why he’s targeting the street kids. They’re out at night and no one is going to notice if one of them goes missing. Plus, it’s easy to dispose of a body in the dead of night.”

  “Tennyson likens it to the weakest wildebeest in the herd versus the hungry lion. The killer has honed his ability to pick the boy who is the most vulnerable. Maybe that boy needs the cash more than the others, so he’s willing to take a bigger risk to get it.” Saying Ten’s name made him miss his lover more. Being on the job without him wasn’t the same.

  “You said the killer could be gay and taking it out on our community?” Rod put a heavy emphasis on the word “our.” His face broke into a genuine smile.

  “It’s not a secret I’m gay, Rod.” Ronan rolled his eyes. “Also not a secret is the fact that Tennyson and I started seeing each other after the Michael Frye case wrapped up, but that is most definitely off the record.”

  The gleeful look in the newsman’s eyes faded. “Well, that’s no fun.”

  “Which part?” Ronan grinned.

  “Both!” Rod laughed. “Both of Boston’s most eligible bachelors since Tom Brady are off the market and I can’t even report on it.”

  “You’ve got bigger fish to fry than to turn sleazy gossip reporter.” Ronan put a hand on Rod’s elbow. “Listen, I read your Pulitzer winning article. You have a way with these kids. They trust you. If you ask them to trust me, they will. Whoever i
s targeting them isn’t going to stop raping, torturing, and killing them until I stop him. I know how much these kids mean to you. I felt that through your words. It’s the reason I called you this morning.”

  Rod nodded. “You’re right. God, I’m an ass. It’s the newsman in me, always looking for a scoop. Plus, you can’t blame a guy for being disappointed that a handsome detective with beautiful blue eyes is out of play, right?”

  Ronan snorted. Christ was Jacobson flirting with him? Maybe that was the real reason he hadn’t wanted Tennyson here and not that bullshit excuse about not wanting to be seen with a known psychic. “If you’re interested in blue-eyed detectives, I’ve got a whole precinct full of them who would love to meet you.”

  23

  Tennyson

  It had been weird for Ten leaving the apartment with Ronan, but getting into separate cars and going to different places. While Ronan was heading toward the Common, Tennyson was meeting the captain in Southie at Castle Island.

  The fort out on the “island” had been a base of British operations during the Revolutionary War and had helped defend the fledgling United States during the War of 1812. Now, it served as a popular tourist destination with it’s gorgeous view of Boston Harbor. The site was also famous for Sullivan’s, a local walk-up burger joint that had been open since 1951.

  Tennyson’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw Captain Kevin Fitzgibbon dressed in street clothes for the first time. He was usually wearing wrinkled button-down shirts, with the sleeves rolled up and perfectly creased dress pants. Today, the captain had on jeans with a forest green tee with a plaid shirt over it. He looked like he’d just stepped out of an LL Bean catalog. “Wow, captain, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  Fitzgibbon laughed. “Thanks, I think. And call me Kevin while were out of the office. I don’t want to spook this kid. He’s been through enough.”

  Tennyson could certainly agree with that. Kicked out of his house, forced into selling his body to survive and then attacked by a possible serial killer. Yeah, the kid had been through enough. “Do you see him?” Ronan had told him that the newsman had arranged for Greeley to meet them here.