by Pandora Pine
“Bullshit, Tennyson Grimm-O’Mara. I’m throwing the bullshit flag on that one.” Ronan laughed. “Yes, your parents sucked. Obviously, you’re not going to model the parenting style you grew up with. You’re going to be the most loving father this world has ever seen. Our house is going to be the cool house. All of the kids are going to hang out with you. I can see it so clear in my mind. Laurel, Carson’s three kids, Fitzgibbon’s future kid, our kids, and all of the other neighborhood hellions, they’ll all be at our house because of you, Ten.”
Ten rolled his eyes. “I’m hardly Mary Poppins.”
“You’re better. You won’t fly away because the winds changed or whatever the hell the reason was she left. You’ll be the parent the other parents in the neighborhood come to for advice and cookie recipes and stuff like that. You watch. That’s my one and only psychic prediction.”
Ten leaned forward in his seat and shimmied around until he was able to pull his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled out his grocery store card and then his CVS card until he found what it was he was looking for. He held up the grey business card for Ronan to see. “Carson gave me this when their surrogate was six months pregnant with the triplets. That was the October before I met you.”
Ronan absently rubbed at his left shoulder where he’d been shot by Manuel Garcia. His eyes narrowed with the memory of that day. “When in October?”
“You won’t believe it, but it was the day you were shot. The reason I remember it so clearly was because I was driving home from the Magick shop when the breaking news of a BPD officer being shot in South Boston came over the radio. I prayed for you, Ronan, and I didn’t even know your name.”
“Does it surprise you that fate working like that doesn’t surprise me anymore?” Ronan laughed.
Ten shook his head. “No. We were moving toward our future and we didn’t even know it.”
“We’ve got about twenty minutes until we get to where we’re going. If we agree about the future starting now, why don’t you call the number on that card? If they’ve got a redheaded surrogate who’s looking to carry a baby for a gay couple, then we’ll know our time is now, right?” The tone in Ronan’s voice was hopeful.
Butterflies rioted in Tennyson’s stomach. He knew without a doubt this was the right move to make. Having Ronan’s absolute vote of confidence in him as a father was the icing on the cake. He unlocked his phone and started to dial the clinic’s phone number. “Hi, my name is Tennyson Grimm-O’Mara. My husband and I would like to make an appointment to talk about having a baby.”
13
Ronan
Just knowing that they had an appointment at the fertility clinic on December 4th made Ronan feel lighter. Not even the sight of the razor wire coming into view could darken his mood today.
“Is that it?” Ten asked. His voice sounded anxious.
“Yeah, that’s Cedar Junction.” Ronan pointed to the building as it came into view.
Ten shivered. “Pull over. Now!”
Hearing the alarm in his husband’s voice, Ronan didn’t hesitate to obey.
Ten was out of the car before Ronan had put it in park. He ran into the grass next to the road and started throwing up.
Ronan could hear him retching from the car. Undoing his seatbelt, he ran to join his husband. “Shit, Ten, are you okay?”
Bracing his hands on his knees, Ten shook his head no. Physically, he was fine. Psychically was another matter. “It’s the energy from the prison.”
“What do you mean the energy? From the convicts inside or from the spirits of the dead ones haunting the place?” Ronan had no idea energy could do this to Tennyson. What had he done by bringing his husband here?
Ten retched again. His entire body shook with the force of it. “Both,” he managed to mutter before wiping the back of his hand over his mouth.
“I’ll be right back. Stay here.” Not bothering to waiting for an answer, Ronan ran back to the Mustang. Popping the trunk, he grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler he’d packed and grabbed the roll of paper towels he kept back there for emergency clean ups. Sometimes it paid to be anal about car maintenance.
“Here you go.” Ronan opened the bottle and poured some on a folded paper towel which he slapped on the back of Ten’s neck. He handed the rest of the bottle to Tennyson.
Ten nodded and washed his mouth out before taking a tentative sip. “Thanks.”
“Are you feeling better?” Ronan asked. In his opinion Ten sure as hell didn’t look better. He wanted to put his husband back in the car and drive home. This interview with Tom Hutchins and his team wasn’t worth Ten’s health.
“A little.” Ten managed a weak smile.
“Did you forget to shut your gift down?” It wasn’t like Ten to be that careless.
“This happened with it shut down.” Ten shook his head. “The prison opened in 1955. That’s sixty-three years of the worst of humanity being housed here. Leaving their imprint on this place, their energy, their evil.” Ten shook his head. He stuck his hand in left pocket and started rummaging around.
Ronan could hear the sound of rocks sliding against each other. “What did you bring with you?”
“Black tourmaline. It wards off negative energy and psychic attacks. I don’t think I brought enough of it with me.”
“Yeah, you’re still looking a little green.” That was an understatement. Ten could pass for the Wicked Witch of the West’s brother.
“That’s why I only had a piece of toast this morning.” He stood up straight and took a deep breath. “I’m ready to go. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get the hell out of here.”
Ronan wrapped an arm around Ten and led him back to the car. He hadn’t even considered how hard this might be on him. He knew hospitals and morgues were difficult places for Tennyson to be because people had died there. It never occurred to him that a prison could be worse.
***
Twenty minutes later, they were being escorted down the hallway of the prison toward the visitor rooms. Today more than his first visit, Ronan hated being without his gun. It was safely locked in the main office. He had the key to the locker holding all of his and Tennyson’s personal possessions in his pocket.
Ronan could feel the nervous energy pouring off Tennyson. It was as if he were expecting cons with homemade shivs to be jumping out at him from around every corner.
“This is it, gentlemen.” Officer Thorne stopped in front of a wooden door with a rectangular window built in. “Check in at the main office when you leave.”
Ten nodded, looking too sick to speak.
“Are you going to be okay to do this? If you’re not, we can leave right now.” Ronan had half a mind to do it anyway even if Tennyson said he was good to go.
“For the tenth time, Ronan, I’m fine. I said we’d do this and we will. Just don’t expect it to be a long interview. In and out, okay?” Ten smiled.
“Just so long as you never say that sentence in the bedroom. I’m okay with that.” Ronan winked and opened the door.
All of the usual suspects were in the room. Tank Hutchins was dressed in his usual gaudy shade of orange. Bradford Hicks was wearing another expensive suit and Jude Byrne was looking surlier than the first time they’d met. Ronan had no idea it was possible to look that pissed off and that drop-dead gorgeous at the same time.
“This is my partner, Tennyson Grimm. Ten, this is Bradford Hicks, Tank Hutchins and Jude Byrne.” He pointed to each man as he said their names. Ronan hated not introducing Ten as his husband, but for the sake of this investigation, he figured less was more. He took a step back while Ten shook everyone’s hands.
“Don’t you mean this is your husband, Ronan?” Jude asked. His typical sneer was back.
Tennyson took the seat directly in front of Tank. “You must have graduated top of your class in private dick school, Mr. Byrne.” Ten barely looked at the man, instead focusing on Tank Hutchins instead. “Tell me why you wanted to meet with me
and Detective O’Mara, Tank.”
Ronan was impressed with Tennyson. He knew how hard being in the prison was for his husband, not only physically, but also knowing that Josh Gatlin was here too, along with the other men Ronan had a hand in locking up over his career. He was handling it like a champ.
Tank made eye contact with the psychic. “I’ve seen and heard about your work with the BPD on the news and I’ve read about you in the Boston papers. So has my lawyer. I believe in your gift and I know that once you read me, you’ll see that I’m innocent.”
Ten was silent. He seemed to be studying the man. He turned to Bradford Hicks. “I didn’t realize you were a fan of my work, Mr. Hicks.”
“I’m a fan of justice, Mr. Grimm. I don’t have any of your talents, but just sitting and speaking with Tom, I can see and hear that he was not responsible for the murder of Lorraine McAlpin.”
Ten turned to Ronan, making eye contact with him briefly. “I’ve read all of the evidence reports, as well as the trial transcripts. If Tom didn’t commit this murder then there is a good chance that his twin brother did. Are you prepared for those ramifications?”
Hicks nodded. “It’s something we’ve wrestled with, but we can’t worry about that now. All we can do is find the evidence that will clear Tom and get him the hell out of this place.”
Ten’s dark eyes moved to Jude Byrne who was slouching in his chair, a cocky look in his golden-hazel eyes. Ten frowned, giving a slight shake of his head. “I assume that’s where you come in, Mr. Byrne. What have you uncovered so far?”
“How is that any of your concern, ghost whisperer?” Jude shot back.
“Okay, so you’ve got nothing.” Ten turned back to Tank who wore a shocked look on his face. “Why do you look so surprised. I thought you said you believed in my gift.”
“I do, it’s just no one’s ever spoken to Jude like that before.” Tank grimaced, seeming shocked by his own candor.
“What? Like he’s full of shit and it’s overflowing?” Ten shrugged. “Okay, let’s get down to it.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Ronan wanted to laugh out loud, but he kept his mouth shut. He could see Ten was trying to find his Zen and in a place like this, knew that was going to be next to impossible. He set his right hand on Ten’s thigh and started breathing with him in hopes it would help.
“The night Lorraine was killed you stopped off at a liquor store on Bunker Hill Street in Charlestown and got some beer and chips. You paid with your debit card. After that, you went home and called out for a sandwich. You paid cash, which is unfortunate. There’s no electronic record of the transaction. You spent the rest of the night watching the Sox on live television, which is unfortunate too. If you’d used the DVR or accessed the menu, the cable company would have a record of that.” Tennyson sighed and opened his eyes. “You didn’t kill Lorraine McAlpin, Tank.”
Tank nodded. His shoulders slumped while his right hand came up to shield his eyes.
“Hold on a second,” Ronan said. “Tank, you were watching the baseball game. I know when I get up to go to the bathroom or if someone,” Ronan inclined his head toward Tennyson, “starts talking to me, I hit the button on the remote to pause live TV. Do you remember doing that at all? Did you access the TV guide or the DVR?”
“I don’t know.” Tank’s hand fell away from his misty eyes. “That night was so long ago and so much has happened since then.”
Ronan pointed at Jude. “Start with that. Go to the cable company and get his records. There might not be any evidence there, but it’s a good place to start.”
A muscle started ticking in Jude’s cheek. “I don’t work for you, O’Mara,” he said from behind clenched teeth.
“No, you work for me, do it. What’s with the dick measuring contest anyway?” Tank had an incredulous tone in his voice. “I can’t remember if I used the remote for anything more than turning the television on, but if I did and the cable company has a record of that, it’s worth a shot to dig up the records.”
The muscle was still ticking, but Jude’s look softened. He nodded and started tapping the screen of his phone.
“What else did you do that night, Tank?” Ronan asked. “I know you lived close enough to Lorraine that your calls and text messages would have pinged off the cell tower closest to her house, so that’s moot. Did you play a video game online with friends? Did you surf the web on your computer? Look at porn? Buy anything on Amazon or eBay? Were you on Tinder? Or social media? Did you do anything on your work computer?”
Tank shut his eyes. The room went quiet. Ronan didn’t think this line of questioning was going to pan out when all of a sudden, Tank slammed a hand down on the table. Ten jumped and squeaked in reaction.
“I had a client who was looking into investing in Japanese textiles and electronics. Martin Penkis was his name. He was from Brookline. Big player in the U.S. Stock Market and wanted a footprint in Asia. I told him Japan was a good place to get his feet wet. Anyway, the Japanese Market opens at 8pm Eastern Time. I logged on to my work computer for about ten minutes to check the opening numbers for a few stocks I thought would interest him. Low risk, high yield options that would get his foot in the door overseas. I jotted down the prices and logged out of my computer.” Tank wore a hopeful look in his eyes. “I remember thinking I should have just written an email to send Martin those numbers, but the Sox had the bases loaded with no outs. I made a mental note to send the email in morning.”
Sending that email could have kept him from being convicted, but that was the last thing Ronan was going to say out loud. Water under the bridge now. “What did you write the figures down on?” Ronan asked. His mind was spinning, trying to remember the inventory contents of what had been seized from Hutchins condo.
“It was a yellow legal pad I kept on the coffee table. I never ripped pages off of it, just flipped over to the next page.”
Ronan frowned. He couldn’t remember if there was an item like that in the inventory. He turned to Tennyson. “Do you remember if we have that pad in our inventory?”
Ten shook his head. “I don’t remember reading about it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not on the list.”
“Some psychic you are.” Jude snorted. The look on his face was pure annoyance.
Ten raised an eyebrow at the private investigator. “Being psychic doesn’t mean I have an eidetic memory.”
“Guys, enough.” Ronan wanted to punch the P.I in the throat, but they had bigger fish to fry at the moment. “We’ve got some good leads to go on here at the moment. Jude can get the information about Tank’s cable account while Tennyson and I look for the legal pad in our evidence log. Bradford, what happened to the rest of the things in Tank’s condo?”
“Tim boxed up everything and has it all in a storage locker somewhere. Somerville, I think.” Hicks started flipping through notes in his file.
Tank nodded. “He would have kept everything too, except for what was obvious trash.”
“Tank, do you think your brother would let me read him too?” Ten asked cautiously.
“Why would you need to do that? You already said that Tom didn’t kill Lorraine, that’s all we need to get him a new trial.” The sour look was back on Jude’s face.
Tennyson shot him an are-you-for-real look. “So, all you care about here is getting Tank off? It doesn’t matter to you that Lorraine’s real killer is still out there somewhere? It could be Tim, or it might be someone else entirely. They could be stalking their next victim right now. It’s been three years since Lorraine was killed. It’s possible this killer has already struck again.”
“What are you saying, Ten?” Ronan wanted to know if Ten was speculating here or if had some sixth sense knowledge.
“The one thing I didn’t really like about this trial is how little information was put out there about Lorraine and her lifestyle. I’m never one to blame the victim, but the prosecution was never able to explain how this woman would have come into contact with her killer.
They seized on the fact that there was DNA and I’m convinced that was what convicted Tom. Well, that and the fact that Tom lived closer to Lorraine than Tim did.”
Tennyson had a good point. DNA was an awesome tool in the pursuit of criminal justice, but sometimes Ronan wondered if it was used as a tool to make arrests and convictions to the exclusion of all other evidence or lack thereof. Jurors heard the phrase “DNA match,” and that seemed to seal the deal for them in this case, even when there were two men with the exact DNA profile.
“I agree with Ten, we need to interview Tim as well. If the legal pad isn’t in our evidence, we’re going to need to meet with him anyway.” Ronan found himself looking forward to getting the opportunity to meet Tim Hutchins. It didn’t matter that the sleazy P.I. only wanted to clear Tank. Ronan wanted justice for Lorraine McAlpin and he was going to see that she got it.
14
Tennyson
It wasn’t until they were out of Walpole and driving through Norwood on I-95 North that Tennyson finally started to feel almost human again. The nausea was gone and so was the pounding headache at the base of his skull. He was starting to get his appetite back too. “Enchiladas!”
“What?” Ronan looked at him like he’d lost his mind completely.
“I just got out of prison. I want enchiladas.” Ten started to laugh. It wasn’t pretty to think about spending time in that place and he’d only seen a tiny fraction of it. Just walking outside and seeing all the chain link and razor wire, not to mention all of the guards armed with high-powered rifles was enough to make him never want to jaywalk ever again.
“I take it that means you’re feeling better?” Ronan reached out for Ten’s hand.
“Once we hit the Walpole town line, I was good as new. How crazy is that? Not that we’re ever going to move but living in a city with a maximum-security prison is definitely out of the question.” Ten shivered. It was something that had never crossed his mind. In all of the years he’d lived in Massachusetts, he’d never visited the town of Walpole. So far as he knew, he’d never even driven through it.