A Casual Weekend Thing (Least Likely Partnership Book 1)

by A. J. Thomas

  “Yes. I have to do the morning shift briefing, but I’ll swing by the church after that. That Liedes guy gave me the creeps when I met him at the coroner’s office. He hinted that he knew a lot more about what Peter was doing than anybody else did, so I want to talk to him again.”

  “Do you want me to hold off on talking to him? I can wait until you’re done and go after.”

  “I don’t know. I want to check in and see what’s happened the past few days. Come on, we can save time if we shower together.”

  Christopher cocked his head to the side and smiled at him. “The only way that will be faster is if you can keep your hands to yourself. Think you can manage it this time?”

  “It’s important this time.” Doug shrugged. “So, probably….”

  The sheriff’s office was packed, for a Sunday. Doug was worried about bringing Christopher in with him, but there were so many FBI windbreakers and suits in the charge room that no one seemed to notice Christopher was even there, much less care. The crowds seemed to be throwing things off, anyway. The shift briefing, which was normally Doug’s job on Sundays, was already set up. Sheriff Brubaker, in his full uniform with polished brass, stood near the duty desk with his arms folded across his chest.

  As soon as he saw Doug and Christopher, he left his spot and yanked them both into his office. With the din from the charge room muffled by the office door, Doug could hear Brubaker’s jaw popping. Even though the sheriff looked furious, he didn’t explode the way Doug expected him to.

  “I tell you, boys, I am tempted to tell all of these big bad federal agents that they can go work out of the Super 8. When I told them to make themselves at home, I didn’t expect them to take me literally.” Brubaker sat down behind his desk and stared at them both, narrowing his eyes. “Alright, Dougie, let’s hear it. When I saw you Wednesday night, you looked like you were about to send those FBI twits through a wall headfirst. What the hell happened?”

  “I accompanied Detective Hayes and the FBI guys up to Lone Pine to follow up on a potential lead in Peter Hayes’s suicide note. After reading it, Detective Hayes said he had reason to believe that his brother might have been operating as a sexual predator, and that he might have had a local accomplice. Agent Belkamp and Detective Hayes found a trail of Southern California gang signs, and I helped them recover a cache of computer CDs that had been hidden in a crack in the cliff.”

  “What was on the CDs?” Brubaker asked.

  “Kiddie porn. Agent Shaffer stopped the playback as soon as he realized what was on them. He took them straight down to the federal crime lab in Helena,” said Doug. “Have they come back with anything?”

  Brubaker shook his head slowly. “They’ve come back with more people. Too damn many people—they’re tripping over themselves. At least, the little one is. I haven’t seen that big guy yet.” He leaned back until his chair creaked. “What was it about your brother’s suicide note that made you suspect there was anything up there?” he asked Christopher.

  “The words ‘Man of God’,” said Christopher. “That’s how Peter referred to the minister who molested him as a kid. Sheriff, I’ve worked with K9 forensics units. Arson investigations don’t need them because the burn patterns can tell an investigator enough to figure out how a fire started. I suspect they found traces of human remains in what’s left of Peter’s house. They haven’t confirmed it, but I’d bet money on it. I think Peter got involved with someone who did things he was uncomfortable with, someone who killed their victims instead of grooming them to be complacent. Given his background, and probably his participation, he felt like going to the police wasn’t an option. He orchestrated his suicide to get me up here, and he left those discs hidden at the end of a trail that only someone familiar with San Diego gangs could follow.”

  “So what do you think is on those discs that he wanted you to see?”

  “Evidence,” said Christopher simply. “I’d guess child pornography, possibly videos of violence against children here in Elkin.”

  “You’re remarkably calm, Detective Hayes, for someone who’s talking about his own brother raping little boys.”

  Christopher didn’t even flinch. Doug was impressed. Christopher took a deep breath and smiled. “I have never denied that my brother was a pedophile, Sheriff Brubaker. As far as I knew, he was still in prison in California. He was my brother by blood, but I would never let that fact stop me from doing my job.”

  “Really?” Brubaker looked flabbergasted. “You saying you’d shoot your own brother?”

  “To stop him during the commission of a felony, or in self-defense, yes.”

  Doug smirked. He knew he shouldn’t be enjoying watching Christopher rise to the challenge in Brubaker’s words, but he was. That damn smile really was the perfect professional mask. Fake or not, it gave Christopher the composure to face down anything. His answer was the textbook law-enforcement response.

  “So, let me get this straight.” Brubaker laced his fingers together and glared at both of them. “You suspect that we have a sexual predator, possibly a murderer, at large in Baker County. You found evidence that might have told you the identity of this man, but you handed that evidence over to the FBI without even looking at it, and then you went home?”

  “Yes, sir, I did,” said Doug. “My suspicions are just that—suspicions. Even if those discs are filled with child pornography, the only person I am confident has been in possession of them is deceased. The FBI analysts can find out if Peter Hayes downloaded them, which is likely, or produced them himself with an accomplice. I wouldn’t even know where to begin finding that out, and doing so would inevitably require more people to be involved. Word that we might have a sexual predator operating in Elkin would get out and cause a panic. Plus, if Peter Hayes and his boss were targeting our kids, then letting him know he’s under investigation could very well put more children in danger. If this guy has already killed one or more of his victims, and was willing to commit arson to hide it, what would stop him from hurting any victims who are still alive? Like the boy who was running away from Reverend Liedes on Wednesday? I’m sorry if I should have reported to you faster, but I still don’t know what’s on those discs or where the files might have come from. Without that information….” Doug shrugged.

  Brubaker stared at Doug. Then the sheriff leaned his chair back even further and put his feet up on his desk. He glared at them both, but there was a smile behind his eyes now. “Why the hell haven’t I promoted you yet?”

  “Because there are four other detectives who all have seniority over me, and they would take it personally.”

  “That’s what’s I’m talking about,” Brubaker said, winking at him. “What I wouldn’t give to have an entire department with common sense instead of just you and Daniels! And you’re right. It’s easy to get caught up, when you hear something like that…. But you’re right.” Brubaker dropped his feet off the desk again and slapped the desktop hard. “So you’re on it. You are now our liaison to those damn feds, and I’m expecting you to do something to show them up. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to find the kid, this Micah who’s been driving around in Peter Hayes’s truck. Then I’m going to find Liedes and have another chat, because those two are the only ones in the entire town who seem to have known Hayes at all.”

  “Donovan,” said Brubaker quietly. “Pete’s lover is named Micah Donovan.”

  “Micah Donovan?” Doug repeated. “You knew they were lovers?”

  “Yes. Micah spent more time in the jail here as a kid than he spent at home with his granny.”

  “Thank you. That’ll make it easier to find him. I need to try to get in touch with Agent Belkamp, too, and see if he’s heard back about the discs yet. I know it’s Sunday, but everyone else is here, so he’s probably around somewhere.”

  “Wouldn’t count on it,” Christopher muttered.

  Brubaker smiled brightly and stood up. “All right then. This is your rodeo. What can I do to help?
”

  “Talk to Liedes for me,” Doug said immediately. “I already told you he gives me the creeps…. When I talked to him last, he all but came right out and said Peter Hayes was involved in inappropriate conduct with the young men in his church. Now I think he only brought it up to try to direct attention toward Peter and away from himself, but… I have absolutely no reason to think that other than he gives me the creeps.”

  “And the Man of God link, in the suicide note,” said Brubaker. “I’ll try and catch him after his service is over this morning, then we should compare notes. If we can catch him in a lie between the two of us, he’ll likely fall apart.”

  “I’ll work on finding Micah Donovan, then,” Doug said, nodding. “Do you want to do the patrol briefing this morning?”

  “Am I going to make you do the patrol briefing this morning, you mean? No, I’ll take care of it. Sit in on it, though, so we can give everybody the heads-up to keep their eyes peeled for Pete’s truck.”

  Sheriff Brubaker glanced between Doug and Christopher, apparently noticing Christopher for the first time. “Son, you ain’t on my payroll, or my insurance. I appreciate the help you’ve given so far, but I can’t let you tag along on this.”

  “I understand. I’m willing to help any way I can—including by getting out of your hair.”

  “Good man,” said Brubaker. “Shift briefing in ten minutes, Dougie.” He began the casual shuffling of paperwork that meant they were dismissed.

  Christopher followed Doug back to his desk and lingered for as long as he prudently could. “Could you give me a call, if you hear back from the FBI?” he whispered.

  “Can I give you a call anyway?”

  “I said anytime,” said Christopher, rolling his eyes. “I think I’m going to go get breakfast before the church crowd shows up.”

  Doug wanted to point out that he had fed Christopher just an hour before, but he held his tongue. Christopher probably needed the calories, and Doug figured three days of pretending meat and dairy didn’t exist were probably getting on the other man’s nerves.

  “I’ll be sure to let you know if I hear anything from your FBI stalker too,” Doug offered.

  Christopher gave him a gorgeous smile and then wove his way out through the crowd.

  Christopher wandered out of the sheriff’s office, through the stream of FBI agents, and out to his rental car. He cursed the tiny Subaru, thought about walking, and then got in anyway. He headed toward the Mission Mountains Evangelical Church. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, but he also knew the timing was just too good a chance to pass up if he wanted to find Micah quickly. What kind of good Christian boy worked at his church but didn’t attend Sunday services?

  He hadn’t gotten a good enough look at Micah to pick him out of a crowd, but there wasn’t any harm in checking to see if the truck was in the parking lot. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. Christopher parked along the street, where he could watch the entrance to the church in case Micah had gotten a ride with someone else. It was nearly an hour wait before a sea of well-dressed men and women began to pour through the doors, and he lost track of all of the teenage boys among them. Any of them with light-colored hair could have been Micah Donovan. All Christopher had really seen of him had been that black leather biker vest, and that wasn’t the type of thing anyone wore to church. Christopher drove by Peter’s house next, but just to search the neighborhood for the old white Toyota truck.

  Finally, three hours after he had left Doug to go get breakfast, he went to the café downtown. The church crowd he was expecting never showed up, so he had a chance to finish a second breakfast, pie, and coffee. Everyone else in the café was quiet and kept glancing in his direction with nervous eyes. Word had obviously gotten around that something bad was happening in Elkin, so Doug’s goal of not causing a panic was moot at this point.

  His phone rang and he answered it without even looking at the caller ID. “Hayes,” he said, out of habit.

  “Hey, Hayes.” The sound of his partner’s voice froze him stiff. When Christopher didn’t say anything, Delgado fumbled and shouted, “Don’t hang up! Don’t hang up!”

  “Your timing sucks, Delgado, as usual. What do you want?”

  “Just to talk! To apologize! Jenkins won’t tell me anything about where you’ve gone, you don’t answer my calls, and I can’t even fucking sleep because of how bad I messed things up!”

  Christopher saw a few of the nervous eyes in the café turn angry. He turned down the volume on his cell phone. “Delgado, I’m sorry you’re having trouble. I’d love to try and help, but I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment.”

  “Where are you? What’s happened? I know you didn’t take off because of me, so what’s going on?”

  “You want the whole list?” Christopher asked casually. He took a bite of his pie.

  “Yes!”

  “The bullet damaged a major nerve in my arm. I have no feeling in half of my right hand, so I’ll have to look for a new job. My brother hanged himself on May 21, as a gift, apparently. I wouldn’t really care, but there’s no one left to pawn the body off on except me, so I have to plan a funeral, probate a will, and deal with a mess he left behind. The mess exploded in all kinds of interesting directions—Hadley, Kawalski, and us kind of exploded,” said Christopher, using the names of two of their colleagues. Hadley specialized in arson and insurance fraud, and Kawalski was a woman who worked in the sexual and domestic violence task force, specifically with child abuse cases. Arson, child abuse, and homicide—all rolled into one.

  “All three?”

  “Yes.”

  “May 21? So, like, as a birthday present?”

  “He carved ‘Happy Birthday’ on his arms,” Christopher whispered, smiling miserably. “So, Delgado, I’m sorry that you feel bad about what happened, but I’ve got things to deal with.”

  “Fuck, Hayes, don’t be like this. Where are you?”

  “The Center Street Café,” said Christopher, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “What town, asshole?”

  Christopher took a deep breath and held it. Any other time, he’d have given anything to have Ray’s company, much less his help. But now, he couldn’t think about anything except what Doug would say. He knew he shouldn’t be worried about Doug. Doug was a great guy, and he was turning into a great friend, but they were just fucking each other, just a casual weekend thing. Even if the weekend seemed to be stretching into weeks. Even if Doug was quiet and sincere and perfect. Doug was everything Ray Delgado wasn’t, but Ray was still his best friend.

  “I’m not going to jump you, Hayes! You just lost your brother, man. In more ways than one, from the sound of it. I’m still your fucking partner! Where are you?”

  “Elkin,” he whispered. “Elkin, Montana.”

  “I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

  “Ray.” Christopher swallowed. “There’s… there’s somebody… up here….”

  “Somebody special?”

  “I… yeah.”

  “I promise I’ll behave myself.”

  After he said good-bye, Christopher finished his pie and coffee, then caught the waitress’s eye for a refill. When she came to refill his cup, she slipped into the booth across the table. “Is it true? Are you working with all those FBI agents?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “I’m a regular police officer.”

  “But you were up there with them.” She leaned close. “Can you tell me what’s going on? My little sister said nearly half of her friends were told they couldn’t leave the house all weekend. Everybody’s saying they found another body up there, and that the FBI is hunting for the killer now!”

  Christopher schooled his features. A flat-out denial wasn’t going to go over well, but Doug was right about trying to keep people calm. Their primary duty was to keep the peace. “It’s nothing to be frightened about. I’m afraid we’re trying to solve some very old crimes that have just come to light. They’re the type of crimes where the victims were prob
ably young children who have grown up. Usually the last thing adult victims of child abuse want to do is to admit that it happened.”

  She giggled. “But things like that can’t happen here.”

  Christopher softened his smile. She was twisting her black apron in her hands. “Things like that can and do happen everywhere. It’s natural not to want to believe it. What’s worse is that a criminal who targets children usually goes after children in their own family, kids who trust them and who have a strong emotional attachment to them. Those children are usually easier to manipulate.”

  The poor waitress grew even paler. “I can’t imagine no one would notice. Not something like that, anyway.”

  “I wish that were true,” said Christopher. “But let’s try an experiment, totally hypothetical. You have a little sister, right? I want to you to close your eyes and imagine that she came to you and accused your father of molesting her.”

  “What?” The woman sat back and glared at him. “I will not! He would never do something like that!”

  Christopher nodded. “But imagine that she said he did. You’d feel hurt, angry, insulted by the very idea that she could say such a thing, because it threatens someone close to your heart. You really believe it couldn’t happen, so your anger would come out at her—you would accuse her of being mistaken, or of being malicious and lying. The really frightening part is that you’re not alone. Most family members tend to accuse the victim of lying about abuse in the family, to try to protect their family as a whole. So when a child is being victimized by someone they love and trust, not only do people turn a blind eye, but they also sabotage a victim’s efforts to get help.”

  Christopher thought about the way that Reverend Liedes had tried to pass off the relationship between Peter and Micah as consensual. Even the sheriff himself had called Micah Peter’s “lover,” which implied that he was an equal partner in a relationship with a man more than twenty years older than he was. “Sometimes, even the victim themselves may defend their abuser. Sometimes abuse is all the victim has ever known, and they don’t think there’s anything strange about it.”