Dead Reckoning (Cold Case Psychic Book 2)

by Pandora Pine

  “No, not yet. Ronan said he’s blond and green-eyed, small for his age.”

  “Do you think that’s from malnutrition?” Tennyson shivered in the warm May sunshine.

  “Maybe,” The look on the captain’s face was grim. “Look, I think that’s him.” Fitzgibbon was pointing to a smallish teenager with an acne ravaged face and clothes that hung on his too-thin frame. “The guy practically chewing his bottom lip off at eleven o’clock.”

  Ten tried to be inconspicuous as he looked around Fitzgibbon at the kid.

  “You’re not a spy, Tennyson.” Fitzgibbon laughed. “Do you think that’s him or not?”

  “He’s looking ready to bolt. Stay here.” Ten stepped out of the captain’s shadow and pasted on his sunniest smile. He hoped he looked friendly and not creepy. “Hi there. I’m Tennyson. Are you Greeley?”

  The kid nodded, but kept his eyes on Fitzgibbon.

  Tennyson raised a hand to wave Kevin over, which caused the teenager to flinch. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was waving to my friend Kevin.”

  “You mean the cop.” Greeley’s hands were shaking, but his voice was strong.

  “Yes, he’s my partner’s captain.” Tennyson couldn’t decide if the teenager was terrified or suffering from withdrawal symptoms.

  “Hello, Greeley. I’m Kevin Fitzgibbon.” The veteran cop had both hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. His sharp eyes were assessing every inch of the boy.

  Greeley kept his wary eyes on the cop the entire time, but nodded in acknowledgement.

  “Why don’t we grab a bite? I’m starving.” He angled his chin at Sully’s and started walking toward the restaurant stand.

  Greely shrugged, but his green eyes betrayed his seeming disinterest. They glowed with desire like a kid with a new bike on Christmas.

  “I’ve never eaten here before. What’s good?” Tennyson asked to distract Kevin from seeing the hungry look in the boy’s eyes.

  Fitzgibbon shot him a stunned look. “Ronan’s never taken you here before? I’m docking his pay.” The captain laughed. “Everything is amazing, but the bacon double is the best.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Ten chanced a look at the boy. His head was swinging back and forth, his eyes darting around, not missing anything. Tennyson’s heart broke for Greeley. He imagined the kid was keeping an eye out for the man who’d attacked him.

  “What are you in the mood for, Greeley?” Kevin asked when they got close enough to read the giant menu board.

  “I’m not really that hungry.” The boy’s eyes said otherwise.

  “Ten, why don’t you and Greeley grab a table and I’ll join you both shortly.” Kevin smiled at Ten over the boy’s head.

  “Sure thing.” Tennyson knew exactly what the captain’s game plan was. He was going to order a mountain of food and insist the kid eat his fill. Knowing Fitzgibbon, he was going to insist the boy take the rest with him at the end of the interview.

  Ten led the boy to a clean picnic table as far away from the other diners as possible. He figured that Greeley would be more likely to open up with fewer people around to hear his story. “Why don’t we sit here?”

  The boy sat facing the crowd, rather than looking out at the ocean, which would have been Tennyson’s first choice. “You’re safe with me and Kevin.”

  Greeley snorted and kept watching the crowd.

  Tennyson didn’t blame the teenager for being skeptical. After what Greeley had been through he wouldn’t have believed himself either. Thankfully, he could see Fitzgibbon heading back to the table carrying two huge bags full of food. It looked like there was enough food to feed all of South Boston.

  “Here we go. Since Tennyson’s never been here before. I got some of everything. Chili cheese dogs,” Fitzgibbon paused while he pulled the hot dogs out of the bag. “Double bacon cheese burgers and chicken nuggets.” He set those on the table and reached into the second bag. “Lastly bowls of seafood chowder, lobster rolls and large fries for everyone.”

  Feeling his eyes bug out of his head, Tennyson stared up at Kevin. “Where do I start?”

  “I’d start with the lobster rolls,” Greeley said, practically drooling over the mountain of food.

  “Good plan.” Fitzgibbon set the largest roll in front of him, followed by an order of fries and a can of coke before repeating the process for Ten and then himself.

  “I’m not sucking you off for this.” Greeley challenged. His green eyes were hard and glittering like emeralds.

  “Good. You’re not my type. Eat up.” Fitzgibbon took a big bite of his lobster roll.

  Tennyson bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He couldn’t help but wonder just who was the tall police captain’s type. He didn’t wear a ring and Ronan never mentioned anything about him being married or single, or gay or straight.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Greeley absolutely demolishing his own lobster roll. The boy was wolfing it down so fast, Tennyson doubted the boy was even tasting it. Instead of telling him to slow down, he kept his eyes on his own lunch. He noticed Fitzgibbon was doing the same thing but would sneak occasional glances at the boy.

  Only having had coffee and a piece of toast for breakfast, Tennyson had been starving. Even still, he’d only managed to eat the lobster roll, some of the chowder and half of the bacon cheeseburger. Fitzgibbon and Greeley ate nearly the rest by themselves.

  “Now that you’ve eaten,” Fitzgibbon started.

  “I told you, I’m not sucking your dick, old man,” Greeley snarled, his hands were twitching more than before.

  “And I told you that you’re not my type,” the captain said with a steady voice, betraying no hint of emotion. “Tennyson and I set up this meeting to speak to you about what happened last summer. All we want is to hear what happened to you.”

  “Why? You get off on hearing that kind of shit?” Greeley swiped at his mouth with a stack of brown paper napkins.

  The captain’s face softened. He leaned forward, his eyes locking with Greeley’s. “We think there’s a serial killer targeting gay teenagers. You may have been his first victim. I’m hoping there will be some piece of information in your story that will help my detectives find and arrest this asshole before he can hurt another young man.”

  “Young man? Whore, you mean.” Greeley rolled his eyes. “What’s in it for me?”

  Fitzgibbon sat back and seemed to be considering what he wanted to say next. “Probably things you’re not interested in.” He shrugged and looked out over Boston Harbor.

  Tennyson knew what the captain was doing. He was trying to entice the boy into wanting to hear his plan. He was a smart man. As much as Ronan had hated landing in the cold case squad at first, he’d gotten lucky to work for a man like Kevin Fitzgibbon.

  “Like what?” Greeley asked, sounding interested for the first time all day.

  “A second chance.” The captain turned back to the boy. “I’d be willing to offer rehab…”

  “Jesus Christ, Joan of Arc, I fucking knew it. All you people are the same, thinking I need to be saved.”

  “Are you going to let me finish?” Fitzgibbon’s voice was cool. He was still in control.

  “Fine, finish. Rehab, then I’m off to a halfway house. More counselling, AA meetings, blah, blah, blah…” Greeley rolled his eyes.

  Fitzgibbon burst out laughing. “That’s the first time all day you’ve sounded like the teenager you are.”

  Tennyson had been thinking the same thing, but he couldn’t help wondering if Fitzgibbon had something more in store for the young man beside what he’d already guessed.

  “Greeley, I think you turned to drugs because of the hand you were dealt and what happened to you after the attack. I don’t think you’re a bad kid. If you can get through ninety days of residential rehab, I want you to come live with me.”

  Of all the tricks Ten thought Fitzgibbon had up his sleeve, that was the last thing he’d been expecting.

&n
bsp; Greeley looked as shocked as Tennyson. He had no comeback. His mouth dropped open.

  “You’d have to finish high school and follow simple rules. No more hooking, no drugs. Have a part-time job. What do you think?”

  “You’re serious. You’d give a waste of space like me a real second chance? My parents didn’t want me, why would you?” Greeley’s eyes got misty.

  “I’m nearly fifty years old. I’ve been married to my career since I graduated from the academy. I missed out on getting the chance to have a family. It’s not your fault you were born to parents who didn’t understand you. What I’d like to do is arrest your parents for turning you out onto the streets. They are the ones at fault here, not you.” Kevin offered the boy a smile.

  Tennyson wanted to hug the man. Ronan had sent him on this interview because he thought Ten would be able to empathize with Greeley. What Ronan hadn’t known was that Fitzgibbon would be the one knocking the interview out of the park.

  Greeley nodded. “Some guy answered my Craig’s List ad. Asked if I’d be willing to meet for the entire night instead of just paying for a service.”

  Tennyson grabbed his notebook out of his back pocket and started taking notes. He didn’t want to break the rhythm between Greeley and the captain.

  “What was your going rate per service?” Fitzgibbon seemed unfazed asking.

  Greeley blushed. “Fifty for oral. A hundred for anal.”

  Ten’s stomach roiled. He wanted to reach out to comfort the boy, but knew it was better to keep still.

  “How much was he offering?” Fitzgibbon kept his voice level.

  “A grand. Cash like that could get me off the street for a few weeks. Buy food. I wasn’t on smack then… I was just looking to survive. I thought maybe he’d want to see me again. Be my sugar daddy or something.” Greeley bowed his head.

  “All you were doing was trying to make a better life for yourself. Hell, minimum wage in Massachusetts is eleven dollars an hour. Working full-time, that’s like $1,700 a month before taxes. What apartment can you rent for that? I get that working the job you have is a better idea than flipping burgers at McDonalds.” Fitzgibbon paused. “So where did this guy want to meet?”

  Greeley twitched. “Some fleabag motel out by the beach in Revere.”

  Tennyson exchanged a careful look with the captain. He knew there were a lot of motels near the beach. It didn’t necessarily mean it was the same motel that Austin Roberts met his killer at. “Any chance you remember the name of it?”

  “Yeah, it was called the Beach Inn.”

  “Does that name mean something to you, Ten?” Fitzgibbon asked.

  Ten nodded. “Let’s hear the rest of Greeley’s story then I’ll tell you what I know.” Ten jotted down notes on what Greeley had just said.

  “When I got there I barely made it inside the room when the guy swung on me. I don’t know how I managed to get out of the way, but I did. He grabbed me and hit me a few times, but I wouldn’t go down. There was like this voice inside my head that told me I was going to die unless I made it out of that room. He managed to pin me against the door and I could feel his dick digging into my ass, so I begged him to fuck me. Told him that getting it rough and hard from behind was a big turn on for me. So that’s what he did. When he pulled out, I swung back with my elbow and cracked him in the jaw. I managed to pull up my pants and made a break for it.”

  Tennyson sat there stunned. He knew the boy was glossing over the story, that there were a lot of details he was leaving out of the story. He chanced a glance over at Fitzgibbon and wasn’t surprised to see the man wore a mask of fury.

  Fitzgibbon cleared his throat. “Were you checked for HIV or other sexually transmitted infections after that?”

  Greeley shook his head no. He was back to looking down at his hands, which he was twisting together in front of him.

  Without hesitating, Fitzgibbon reached out to the boy, setting his large hand on top of Greeley’s. “I’m proud of you for fighting like you did. You were so brave thinking on your feet like that.”

  “I let him rape me. I’m not a hero,” Greeley scoffed, but made no move to push Fitzgibbon’s hand off his own.

  “You are to me. And you sure as hell will be to those other boys you help save when I lock this bastard up thanks to the evidence you gave us.” There was pride in Fitzgibbon’s voice.

  “Did you get a look at him, Greeley? Did he smell like anything in particular?” Tennyson asked.

  “It was all such a blur. I think he had dark hair, but the room was dimly lit. He wore cheap cologne. Common shit that every guy wears. I wouldn’t be caught dead in it.” The boy wrinkled his nose as if he could smell the cologne now.

  “Did he say anything to you?” Fitzgibbon asked.

  “When I hit him and started to run, he shouted that he’d find me and make me pay.” When Greeley looked up, there were tears shining in his green eyes.

  “Over my dead body,” Fitzgibbon snarled.

  Tennyson shivered in the warm May sunshine. God help anyone who stood in Captain Kevin Fitzgibbon’s way.

  24

  Ronan

  Rod Jacobson stopped outside the Tremont Street Mission. The Mission was a former church turned shelter and soup kitchen for Boston’s homeless. “A lot of the street kids eat here and try to get a bed for the night since it’s close to the Common.”

  Ronan was dead on his feet. It was nearly 8pm and they’d had no luck in finding any of the teenagers to speak to all day. None of the kids had been hanging out on Boston Common or in any of the other local hang outs Rod was familiar with. It was almost as if they’d known Ronan was coming.

  It was more likely they’d seen Ronan coming. Even dressed in street clothes, he still looked like a cop. Going into the shelter was Ronan’s last, best chance of the day to talk to any of the boys who might be able to help.

  They were here now because it was past the dinner rush. Rod had said the kids came in to eat and grab a shower before hitting the streets for the next few hours. Between the hours of 9pm and 2am was when they made their money for the night.

  When they walked in, Ronan smelled tomato sauce. Long bench tables were set up in rows all over half of the room. The other half was lined with rows of cots. Ronan’s heart pinched in his chest for all of the people who would be spending the night here.

  “Let’s go talk to Jace Lincoln, the guy serving the pasta. He’s the founder of this place. His father is Matthew Lincoln. He’s a major player in Boston real estate. He’s the guy who recently bought that big tower over by the waterfront and is renovating it into multi-million-dollar condo units.”

  “Interesting. Daddy’s filthy rich and sonny-boy opens a homeless shelter.” Ronan was impressed. Sometimes kids of rich parents had a hard time coping with not living up to their parents’ lofty expectations. It seemed like Jace Lincoln might be the exception to that rule.

  “Hey, Jace!” Rob called out, when they reached the front of the line.

  “Rob, hey man,” Jace greeted, looking a bit wary of the newspaper man.

  “You got a minute to chat? There’s someone I want to introduce you to.” Rob hooked a thumb in Ronan’s direction.

  Jace nodded and shouted for someone while Ronan and Rob found an empty table.

  “This is Detective Ronan O’Mara. He’s with the cold case unit of BPD,” Rod introduced.

  “Nice to meet you. How can I help, detective? One of my people in trouble or are they one of your victims?”

  “The latter, I’m afraid.” Ronan instantly liked Jace’s no-nonsense demeanor. “I’ve got a body in my morgue that belongs to a street kid. He was raped, tortured, and murdered. The guy who did it left very few clues. From the way the crime was committed, he seems like he’s been at this a while.” Ronan was purposely offering a bare bones account of Justin Wilson’s murder. He didn’t want to give Lincoln information he didn’t need to know.

  Jace pulled back and looked around the room. He seemed to focus in
on a table where three teenaged boys were talking. “You think he might have hurt some of the boys who come here?”

  “It’s possible. The young man who was murdered was hooking.” Ronan knew dropping that piece of information would be unsettling.

  “No!” Jace was half-way out of his seat. “I’m not letting you come in here and harass then arrest my boys. They know they’re safe here. I won’t have you ruin that for them.”

  “Hold on, Jace. Sit back down,” Rod looked annoyed.

  “I’m not here to bust anyone. I don’t even want to know their names.” This was going to be harder than Ronan anticipated with Jace acting like a mama grizzly bear.

  “What do you want then?” Jace sat back down, but he didn’t look happy about it.

  “Just some information.” Ronan crossed his heart, feeling like he was back in high school.

  “You gonna pay them like those confidential informants? Like on Hawaii Five-0?” Jace narrowed his eyes while he waited for Ronan’s answer.

  Christ, did everyone watch cop dramas on television? “I work cold case. It’s not like we have a budget for that like they do in vice or narcotics, but I can make some calls. Would my cash keep them off the streets for the night?”

  “Doubtful.” Jace shook his head. “There’s never enough money, you know? These kids need food, clothes, shelter. And those are just their basic needs. Most of these kids haven’t finished high school, which only qualifies them to flip burgers or pump gas. Some of these kids are in the country illegally and can’t get a green card, so even flipping burgers is out for them.”

  Ronan didn’t need a lesson in how hard life was on the streets. “I hear you. I get how hard life is for these kids. I’m doing my best to make their lives a little safer by getting this killer off the streets. He’s hunting kids, Jace. All I want to do is talk to these boys. I promise.”

  Sighing, Jace got up and walked over to the table. He carded a hand through one boy’s blond hair and set a hand on the shoulder of another. Each of the three boys looked over at Ronan and then back up at Jace.