by LS Sygnet
Doubt shrouded his face. “But I should’ve thought of it, Helen. I think ordinarily I would’ve. Do you know how long I was undercover, always on the alert to maintain the integrity of the case we were working?”
“Johnny, you’re being too hard on yourself. Don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Second guess every word that comes out of your mouth. Let it go. Walk out there and ask that these guys make themselves available at Downey tomorrow and refocus on the case. Believe me. Of all the people in this city, Tony Briscoe is the last one who would ever say something with the intent of making you feel incompetent. Sometimes I wonder if he loves you more than I do.”
“I’m not sure what to do with that, Doc.”
“You know what I’m talking about. He’d defend you with his last breath.”
“Thanks for bailing me out.”
“Right back at you,” I said. “I was ready to jump down his throat a minute before his uncharacteristic flash of brilliance.”
“We seem to fill in the gaps for each other pretty well.”
I nodded.
“So… Wendell.”
“Johnny, this probably isn’t the best time to have that conversation.”
“Will you answer one question?”
“If I can.”
“Why do I know what he looks like?” Johnny asked. “Or is it only what I imagine he looks like?”
“You met him,” I said, “but believe me when I tell you that conversation is way too heavy to get into right now. We need to stay focused on this case, these murdered boys. It won’t happen if I delve into why you met my father.”
“He loves you, that much I know.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t have any reason at this point. Johnny, please. Let it go for now.”
“What sort of script should we devise for the troops at Downey to use?”
“The very basics, I’d imagine. How well did they know Tippet. Did they see anybody giving him an unusual amount of attention, anything that made them feel uncomfortable, did they see anyone out of place, that sort of thing.”
Loud voices in the hallway put an end to our conversation.
“Uh-oh,” Johnny said. “I wonder what that’s all about.”
I opened the door and slipped out with Johnny close behind.
“Sir, if you’d wait in your office –”
“Get the hell out of my way! Where are Hellfire’s agitators, and why the hell isn’t there a show on stage right now? So help me God, if you people arrested Bobbi again –”
“Mr. Waters, I’m Detective Conall. We spoke earlier on the phone,” Crevan injected himself between Waters and Briscoe.
Sparks flew. Not the angry kind, and they all came from Waters. Crevan recoiled involuntarily.
“Je-sus tits,” Briscoe huffed his disgust.
“Oh boy,” Johnny murmured. “I think this calls for a united front, Doc.”
Johnny and I intervened before Briscoe had time to recognize Crevan’s deer-in-the-headlights expression and realize what was going on.
“Alex Waters?”
He glanced at me, zeroed in on Johnny.
“I’m Detective Helen Eriksson, Darkwater Bay PD, and this is Commander –”
“Johnny Orion,” he grinned lasciviously. “I’d recognize you anywhere.”
“Sir, we need to speak with you privately.” I felt a tiny measure of what Johnny experienced with attention thrown my way by men and found that I didn’t like it.
“Uh, just lay it out for me. What did Bobbi do this time, and how much is it gonna cost me to get him back up on stage where he should’ve been more than an hour ago?”
“I have to insist,” I said. “If you have an office where we could speak in private, that would be best.”
Behind us, I caught my first glimpse of Forsythe and Maya as they entered the club. We had to get Waters sequestered fast before he realized that no amount of money would put Tippet back on stage. I gripped his arm and steered him away from the encroaching investigation.
“Pushy little thing, aren’t you. All right, Detective Eriksson. We’ll play this your way. My office is at the end of the hall.”
“Johnny?”
He nodded and followed.
Waters moved to a minibar and poured a glass of clear liquid from a crystal decanter. “May I offer you a drink? Oh wait. You’re not supposed to do that while you’re on duty.”
“Sir, if you could please sit.”
Johnny’s stern direction knocked a little bit of cocky posturing out of Waters. “All right. You’re making this sound very serious, commander. Tell me what Bobbi did this time.”
I sat in one of the wingback chairs in front of Waters’ desk. “I need to ask you a few questions about Mr. Tippet,” I said.
“He’s not exactly in witness protection,” he grinned. “Is he refusing to talk to you? I’m certain that handsome detective in the hallway could get him talking in no time at all.”
“Can you tell me a little bit about Robert’s routine before each show?” Johnny asked.
“Same as most of our performers,” he said. “He has to get into character, and prefers to be left alone while he transforms into his alter.”
“Alter?”
“Ego, Johnny,” I said. “Tell me about his alter, Alex. May I call you Alex?”
He shrugged. “Bobbi doesn’t really change a whole lot from backstage to front and center if you know what I mean.”
“He prefers to live as a female?”
“Yes,” Alex said. “No crime in that, Detective Eriksson.”
“No, I agree with you, however it could lead to some potentially dangerous confrontations.”
“In what way?” Waters asked.
“Say someone displays interest in Bobbi while he’s in character,” Johnny said, “not realizing of course that Bobbi is anatomically male.”
Waters grinned and tucked a lock of shoulder length ebony hair behind one ear. The row of gleaming gold and diamonds circling the cartilage nearly blinded me.
“Well, I suppose that might create a stir, commander, but Bobbi isn’t interested in the conversion process.”
“Conversion,” Johnny snarled. “Is that what it sounds like?”
“Sure,” he chuckled. “Some guys get off on snagging boys who aren’t necessarily gay. Bobbi isn’t one of them.”
“And you are?” The accusation shot like a fatal bullet from my lips.
“Not a chance,” he said. “I’m too old for such games, Detective Eriksson.”
“You wouldn’t by any chance be related to Dr. Alexander Waters, would you?” I asked. My mind stripped away the flamboyant and almost pirate-like appearance and substituted a more conservative style. The resemblance was remarkable.
Waters sighed. “Of course you’ve heard of my father. Who hasn’t?”
“Curious is all, it doesn’t really relate to why we’re here,” I said. “So tell me about Bobbi’s performances at The Cockpit.”
His eyes twinkled with something akin to pride. “Bobbi is a brilliant performer, detective. He packs the house every night he’s on that stage, probably the best female impersonator I’ve ever seen. I met Bobbi during the grand opening festivities for The Cockpit. I hosted an amateur night that first weekend, and Bobbi showed up.
“Have either of you ever been to one of these shows?”
“Never,” Johnny said.
“A time or two, back east,” I said. Johnny’s eyes burned a hole in the back of my head. “It was work related. I was a profiler for the FBI in another life,” I explained.
“Then you know that most of the impersonators have varying degrees of performance skills. The vast majority are all about the show. They dress up, get on stage, dance and lip-sync.”
“Not Bobbi?”
He shook his head and chuckled. “He wasn’t even eighteen yet. Got in here with a fake ID, but he was so beautiful, I doubt that security would’ve turned him away even if they
had realized he was underage. So he gets on the queue to perform, and when it’s his turn, Bobbi gives his disk to the DJ. Everybody was expecting more of the same, you know? Not the case. He got out there, the music started, and he opened his mouth. It was phenomenal.”
“Bobbi could sing,” I said softly.
“He’s Broadway talented, detective. I tried to encourage him to go to school and study performing arts, you know? He could do great things with his talent. I don’t think he’s quite ready to stop playing around and get serious about it yet, but I have hope.”
“Why would you want your most talented performer to leave the business?” Johnny asked.
“Because he’s that good, and I can’t stand the idea of this club or any other holding him back. Please tell me that he hasn’t done something so audacious that it’s going to make it difficult for him to have options when he finally grows up a little more.”
“Mr. Waters, the reason we asked you to come here tonight, have so many questions about Bobbi is because there’s been a very serious incident,” I said.
“How serious?” he sobered instantly.
“I’m sorry to inform you that Bobbi Tippet was found dead in his dressing room tonight.”
Waters shot out of his chair and lunged toward the door. Johnny grabbed him, restrained him without a whole lot of effort.
“You’re not going in there, Waters,” he said. “It’s a crime scene, and regardless of how close you were to this guy, you really don’t want to see him this way.”
“I have to!”
“Alex,” I laid one hand on his shoulder, “you can’t go in there.”
“You don’t understand,” tears leaked from his eyes, and it suddenly occurred to me that the reaction was a bit overblown for an employer-employee relationship. Was Waters involved with Bobbi Tippet?
Oh that it could’ve been that simple.
“He’s my brother,” Waters rasped.
“Shit,” Johnny let go but continued to block the doorway.
“His name is Tippet,” I said.
He nodded. “Half brother technically. We had the misfortune of sharing the same incubator.”
“Excuse me?”
“No offense, detective,” Waters trembled and brushed the tears from his cheeks. “Joanne isn’t much of a mother, not unless you toe the party line.”
I groaned softly. “She didn’t approve of Bobbi’s lifestyle – or yours.”
“Bingo,” he whispered. “And now the bitch is gonna blame me for this too.”
Chapter 23
Waters started slamming shots of vodka like they were water. I sat next to him in one of the pair of wingback chairs in front of his desk while Johnny helplessly watched. The young man, who minutes ago claimed he was too old for certain behaviors, wept like a small child.
I was pretty sure that the atmosphere had thrown Johnny’s guard up before Alex Waters showed up, but the tearful outburst had pushed him firmly into uncomfortable territory. Me, on the other hand, well, I’m supposedly trained as a professional psychologist. Years of chasing monsters had somehow stripped all of that consoling stuff right out of my brain. What could I say?
Grief was certainly no stranger to me, but my method of coping wasn’t exactly healthy or one that I would ever suggest to anyone else. Tuck the pain in a box. Store it in the attic. Ignore it until it’s gone.
Then again, I couldn’t ignore all of the empathy that Darkwater’s strange environment seemed to infuse into who I am. Who I am becoming at least. I reached out and gripped his hand before another shot could be tossed back.
“Alex, this isn’t the answer. I need your help. You can’t help me if you’re comatose from alcohol.”
“Help you?” He sniffled loudly, but put the glass down. “Why do you need my help?”
“This is going to be difficult for you to hear, but Bobbi’s death was not accidental.”
Tears welled, streamed down his cheeks. “Bobbi loved life too much to ever hurt himself.”
“It wasn’t suicide.”
“Oh my God,” he rasped. “Somebody killed him?”
I nodded. “I can’t get into the specifics of how he died right now, because frankly, the medical examiner will have to make that determination.”
“Oh please don’t cut him open. Anything but that.”
“Alex, we need to know definitively what happened to Bobbi if we’re going to find out who killed him. I’m sorry that the autopsy isn’t optional. But you can help us.”
“How? Everybody loved Bobbi.”
Why do people always say that? Is it me? Am I the only person who freely owns the truth that nobody likes everybody? We all have enemies. Or maybe my list of those who hate me dwarfs those who don’t. It might be that I am the first to admit that I dislike more people than I admire.
“Clearly he had at least one enemy,” Johnny said. Bless that man for understanding me, even if he couldn’t remember everything about us.
“Hellfire,” Alex rasped.
“Who is Hellfire?”
He glanced up at me. “Reverend Hellfire. I figured that there was some kind of altercation between Bobbi and Hellfire’s zealots when that other detective called me down here tonight. He’s got his protestors out here all the time.”
“I assume that’s not his real name,” I said.
“I don’t know who he is really. The guy doesn’t have the balls to come down here and confront me personally. Most of the time, it’s his minions from that church of his.”
“Foundations Baptist?” Johnny asked.
“That’s the one, I think. Why can’t they be like the Catholics around here? They don’t exactly condone us, but they at least get the concept of live and let live.”
“During the altercation last October, did anyone from Foundations Baptist make specific threats against Bobbi or his friend Kyle?”
“Kyle?” Waters echoed. “What’s he got to do with any of this?”
I peered up at Johnny. His call. How much did he want Waters to know about what happened to Kyle Goddard?
He cursed softly. “Mr. Waters, this isn’t common knowledge yet, but Kyle Goddard was the young man murdered on New Year’s Eve at the Pan Demon concert.”
“Shit. Shit!”
“Tell me, Alex,” I urged gently.
“Bobbi was with Kyle at that show.”
“Are you sure?” Johnny stopped fidgeting and crouched beside my chair. “He was with Goddard at the concert?”
“They knew some of the crew, I guess.”
I glanced at Johnny. “Do you know the names of these crew members that Kyle and Bobbi knew, Alex?”
“I don’t know. The guy that founded the band, he’s related to Kyle somehow. So whenever they come into town, Kyle manages to get access, you know?”
“Mr. Madden mentioned that Kyle was his nephew,” Johnny said. “He didn’t tell us that he gives Kyle special access. Are you sure that Bobbi and Kyle went to the concert together?”
“They were supposed to. I was busy here at the club. I know Bobbi showed up before we closed. He said something about getting stood up. I figured he meant with the people they planned to party with at the show.”
“Alex, this is very important,” I said. “Would Bobbi and Kyle have shown up at the concert as their alters?”
He nodded. “It’s like I said. Bobbi pretty much was living that way. Kyle has been doing the same for longer than Bobbi.”
“Do you know anything about who they planned to meet?” Johnny asked.
“No, but Bobbi was more or less going to be the wingman. He’s been involved in a relationship for a few months now.”
“Serious relationship?”
“Enough,” he nodded. “He and Sasha moved in together a few months ago.”
“And before that, was Bobbi living at home with his parents?”
“Shit,” Waters started crying again. “This is all my fault.”
“No,” I said. “You cannot blame yourself for
what happened to Bobbi tonight, Alex.”
“It was,” he whispered. “I couldn’t stand to see what Joanne was doing to him. Remember when I told you how I met him?”
I frowned. “You didn’t know you had a half brother before he came here to perform?”
“No,” Alex said. “In fact, I would’ve never known if she hadn’t showed up that night.”
“Oh boy,” Johnny murmured.
Alex glanced at Johnny. “Oh it was probably worse than you could ever imagine, Commander Orion. As clubs like mine go, we’re pretty tame. I’ve had rules from the beginning about how people act when they’re here. No sex in the club. No lewd behavior. We aren’t animals.” Another tear streaked down his cheek.
“Of course not,” I said. “Tell me what happened the night you met Bobbi, Alex.”
“He was almost done with his act when this woman came barging into the club. I figured it might be a wife who got wise to her husband’s extracurricular interests, you know?” He shrugged. “I’ve never understood living a lie like that, but whatever I guess.”
Immediately my head leapt to Crevan and Belle. “It’s not as simple as we’d like it to be, is it, Alex?”
“No,” he gazed at me with true understanding. He wasn’t talking to the judgmental enemy. “So she heads for the stage screaming at Bobbi. And then she spots me, right? She stopped dead in her tracks. I thought she was having a seizure or something.”
“Wait. You didn’t recognize your own mother?” Johnny asked.
“No. Why would I? Dad led me to believe that she died a long time before… shit, I don’t even think I was in kindergarten yet when she just disappeared. I had no idea who she was at first. Let’s just say the years were not kind to my mother.”
“What happened when she recognized you?” I asked.
“Like I said. She started shaking and turned red, like a heart attack or stroke or seizure or something. She was just pissed off, it turned out. She pointed at me and sort of hissed you! What would you do, detective?”
“I’d probably clarify that she meant me.”
“Exactly. So I stepped up, you know. I’m not exactly the shy, retiring type.”