Closer by Morning

by Thom Collins

  “Did he ever tell you about other guys he was seeing? Or do you think you were the only one?”

  “No, of course I wasn’t. He saw other guys. Why shouldn’t he? He had no ties. He could do what he wanted. It was none of my business. I didn’t ask and he didn’t tell.”

  “Tell us about your sex life,” Shona said.

  Paul blanched. “Why?”

  “It’s relevant,” she insisted. “Did you ever do anything kinky?”

  Paul glared at her with undisguised hostility. “What do you consider kinky, Detective? Isn’t two men fucking enough for you?”

  Jamie stared incredulously at his partner. She was behaving like a bull in a china shop. Like a bully from a 1970s cop show. How was this helping anyone?

  “I don’t like your tone,” she continued. “So wind your neck in and answer the question. Did you ever tie him up?”

  “No. Nothing like that.”

  “What about choking? Did you ever tie anything around his neck? A belt? A rope?”

  The interview continued in the same, disastrous vein for another ten minutes. Shona pursued an aggressive line of questioning, which to Jamie’s way of thinking bordered on harassment. Paul, quite naturally, went on the defensive and answered in monosyllables. It was obvious he had nothing to do with Olly Raymond’s death. Unfortunately, on the night of Olly’s murder, he had been at home with his wife.

  “I’ll check out the alibi,” he said to Shona when they were in the car, heading to back to the station.

  She looked sideways at him with an unpleasant grin on her face. “Afraid I’ll upset the little lady? Maybe it will do the poor cow some good to know what her pathetic little man is up to.”

  “That’s not our call,” he said firmly. “We can ascertain his alibi without compromising his domestic situation.”

  She laughed. “What cabbage bush did they find you under? Listen, soft lad, you need to toughen up and grow a pair if you want to get anywhere in this job. The gentle approach won’t cut it. I’m surprised you ever got out of uniform with that limp-wristed attitude.”

  Jamie bit his tongue. He was equally surprised that Shona’s brash approach hadn’t taken her right back to the uniformed beat. Today had made him realize something—he would not stoop to her level to get ahead. He would bide his time, then, quietly and carefully, he would stomp all over her.

  ****

  When Dale arrived at Matt’s place, laden with takeaway pizza boxes, food was the last thing on either of their minds. They could barely contain themselves, kissing and tearing at their clothes until they reached the bedroom. They fell on top of each other in a passionate heap, limbs entangled, mouths locked, hard cocks dueling.

  “I do love you,” Dale groaned between fervent kisses. Saying it to Matt’s voice mail meant nothing compared to speaking the words directly to him.

  Lying beneath him, Matt gripped him tight. “I love you too.”

  They sealed the deal with their most passionate lovemaking ever. All over the bed, they rolled and clung to each other. Taking turns to fuck, switching it up, both coming twice until they collapsed in a delightfully breathless and sweaty heap.

  Dale felt drunk and he hadn’t touched a drop. It had been an exhausting day. Sometimes exhilarating, sometimes terrifying. The film set was a pressure cooker already, without the uncertainty of knowing how Matt would react to his declaration on the phone. Not just that, but the ridiculous photo of his kiss with Roxanne and the press stories that accompanied them. But all of his fears were unfounded. When he was in Matt’s arms the words came freely. He could say I love you without the fear of rejection, knowing he meant it and Matt felt the same.

  “Your smooch with Roxanne is all over the net,” Matt teased.

  Later, they lounged on the living room sofa in just their underpants, bare feet on the coffee table, eating cold pizza and drinking beer.

  Matt was checking out the news on his phone.

  “It’s the top story on Digital Spy,” he continued with a grin. “And you’re all over my Twitter front page.”

  “Knock it off,” Dale said. “I hate all that Internet gossip.”

  “Surely this must be better than what they were writing last week. They were out to crucify your show. Now they want to hear all about the backstage drama.”

  “That’s what Roxanne said too. But you can’t fool the press or the public for long. As soon as they suspect the romance is a sham, the knives will come out again. I don’t like any kind of personal publicity. PR for the show is one thing but I don’t want it to be about me. When you draw that kind of attention to yourself, people start looking for more.”

  Matt put down his phone. “Must be hard. Trying to keep that balance.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Matt looked at him earnestly. “I have a favor to ask you. I won’t be upset if you say no. But my friend Conrad bugs me every day about it. I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t ask.”

  Dale patted his bare thigh. “You can ask me anything you like.”

  “Conrad volunteers for a charity. He’s doing work for this theater that supports kids with disabilities. They’re in real financial trouble and need to raise some serious cash.”

  “Great cause. I’d love to make a donation.”

  “It’s a little more than that,” Matt said. “They are having a fundraiser next Saturday. Conrad was hoping you would attend. The publicity would be invaluable to the group.”

  Dale’s immediate reaction to public functions was no. He always felt like a shit for saying so, but public appearances were not his strength. Despite the good intentions, you were putting yourself out there, drawing attention and inviting the world to come snooping.

  “How big a function is this?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s at the theater but I don’t know what he has in mind.”

  “Can I say maybe for now?” The coward’s way out. “I’m working this weekend and I don’t know how much good publicity I could bring them right now.”

  “No problem at all. I told him I would ask. I didn’t make any promises.”

  “I’d like to but… Well, we’ll see. It’s not a no. If I can’t attend I’ll arrange some great prizes your friend can give away. I might even be able to fix up a visit to the set once things calm down a little.”

  Matt moved closer, pressing against Dale’s bare thigh. “Can you fix a prize for me right now?” he said lasciviously.

  Dale’s body reacted instantly, cock coming up hard. “Now that’s something I can commit to.”

  ****

  Paul’s alibi checked out. Jamie managed to get hold of his wife on the phone, earlier that evening, at the department store where she worked. He took a very soft approach. Telling her a man matching her husband’s appearance had been involved in an incident the week before and they just needed to rule him out of their inquiry. Not a complete lie. It was not his role to expose her husband for the cheat he was. Despite Shona’s insistence to the contrary, extra-marital affairs were not against the law and not a matter of police business.

  Julie Goss made a clear statement. “You must have the wrong man. Paul was at home that night. I had the evening off and we stayed in to watch TV. Masterchef. I’m thinking of applying for the next series and we never miss it.”

  Jamie thanked her for her assistance and wrote up his notes. Paul Gross was no longer under suspicion. Though Shona had enjoyed giving him a hard time, he was never a serious suspect. What he had told them about Olly Raymond checked out too. Paul was not the only man he had slept with. He wasn’t excessively promiscuous by modern standards, averaging one, random hook up per week, usually on his day off.

  Most of the men he met were strangers. Olly saw them once and never again. He was a normal, very regular guy. He didn’t appear to be into anything heavy or kinky and there was no evidence on his
phone or computer to suggest he’d made arrangements to meet anyone on the night he was killed.

  Jamie wanted to be thorough in his investigation but it looked increasingly unlikely that Olly had met his killer through a hook-up app or chat room.

  Still, these things couldn’t be ruled out.

  He signed off his report and checked the time. It was past nine. It had been another long day. He was starving. He would grab something to eat on the way home and get to bed early. With a good night’s sleep he could be back here by seven a.m.

  Jamie was heading for the door when DCI Redgraves came racing from his office. The older man’s face was ashen. He looked around the incident room and saw Jamie was the only member of his staff still on duty.

  “Dench,” he barked, grabbing his jacket from the hook and marching for the door. “Come with me.”

  Jamie followed. Something was up. “Yes, sir. What is it, sir?”

  “The university rowing club have just called it in. Their team have spotted a body on the banks of the Wear. A young man in his twenties. It looks like our bastard has done it again.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Keeley Rank was a great believer in being in the right place at the right time. She owed the greatest successes of her career to just that. She had a knack, maybe it was instinct, or even clairvoyance, for arriving at a location just before a story either broke or developed further. When Johan Turner had called to offer her exclusive behind-the-scenes access to his latest TV series, she felt that uncanny sense, prickling, urging her to take the job. Given free rein on the set of a very troubled production was incentive enough, but instinct told her a bigger story awaited.

  And those instincts had proved right again. How fortunate.

  Keeley was in her hotel room, raking through various old stories about the handsome leading man, Dale Zachary. The gay rumors that surrounded Dale seemed a little more vehement than the usual speculation or wishful thinking which plagued most good-looking actors. Few Hollywood men were immune to them, even the notorious womanizers were accused of screwing those bit part bimbos to disguise their true selves. But the gay question cast a long shadow over the career of Dale Zachary.

  Maybe this was the story her instincts were nagging her to reveal.

  It was more than just speculation. Keeley had it from several sources, who had been close to Dale at one time or another, that he was very definitely into other men. But so what? Outing a B-list actor was no big deal. Who would give a shit? She needed more than that. The story required an angle.

  He was playing a sexually ambivalent sex killer in this hokey TV series. So it wouldn’t be a stretch to make links between the man and the character. Again—so what? No one would care unless the show was a huge ratings hit. And there were plenty of hack gossip column writers who could make that connection with just a few minutes of Internet research.

  That couldn’t be the story. She hadn’t dragged herself to the fucking North just for that. Keeley needed more.

  And, boy—she had got it.

  Just as she was finishing her research into Dale, a call came through on her mobile. A subdued voice said quickly, “We’ve found another body. On the bank of the river, down from the castle. Right now.” The caller hung up without saying more.

  Keeley had only been in Durham a couple of days, but she worked fast. It was more than enough time to make important contacts within the local police force. To grease a few greedy palms.

  She leaped up, grabbed her phone and camera and headed for the door.

  Another murder. This was the story. The reason she was here. In the heart of the action as the killer claimed a third victim.

  She left the hotel and set out on foot. Durham was a small city. It was easier and much faster to get around on foot than by car. She had a good idea of the geography, how the river curved around the peninsula upon which the ancient castle was built. She knew which way to go.

  Across the old cobbled streets, she strode with the fixed purpose of a journalist after a story.

  There was an eerie stillness about the city at night, a trait it shared with many other historic cathedral towns. She would come out another night with her camera and take the pictures that would make a colorful backdrop to the whole series of articles she now envisioned, about the beautiful city and the evil that lurked within it.

  Down the steps and under the bridge, she followed the course of the river downstream. Though the path was dark, it wasn’t far. Ahead there were lights, a scattering of people. Keeley quickened her step.

  Two sober-looking police officers held back the small crowd. Keeley smiled. She really had got here before the action developed. There were just a handful of uniformed officers. No MIT. No SOCO. The plods had barely secured the scene yet. Keeley raised her camera and fired off a succession of shots.

  “What’s going on?” she asked the nearest member of the crowd, a young man in T-shirt and shorts. He looked as if he had to be freezing—a member of some sports club, too afraid of missing the action to go and get dressed.

  “They pulled another body from the water,” the young man said in a soft, southern accent.

  “Who did?”

  “Not me, but a couple of my buddies. I was in the boat that spotted him. Stu and Rossy, they jumped in. The river isn’t deep here in this weather, they could wade right up to him.”

  “Him? Another young man then? Just like the others?”

  He nodded, looking past Keeley to the torchlights of the police officers farther along the bank, securing a wide area around the corpse. “A young guy. Yes, that’s what it looked like. He had no clothes on.”

  This is it. Right place, right time. Another sex murder. Nice one, Keeley.

  “What else did you see?” she asked eagerly.

  “Nothing much. The guys dragged him to the bank but there was nothing they could do except call the police. It was awful. I’ve never seen a dead body before.”

  Keeley scanned the line of watchers. “Where are your friends? Stu and Rossy—the guys who went in the water.”

  “The cops put them in their car to wait for an ambulance. They were both soaked through.”

  “Did you talk to them before they were taken away? Did they tell you anything?”

  The boy suddenly looked at Keeley more closely. His brow furrowed. “Who are you?”

  “Never mind,” she said, stepping away from him. He had nothing more to offer. There were a couple of others guys farther along the bank, dressed in the shorts and T-shirts of the college rowing team. She approached them next. “Did either of you get a look at the body?”

  “Yeah, we both did,” answered the taller of the two, a good-looking blond with strong shoulders. He spoke with a foreign accent, Dutch, maybe Norwegian. Keeley couldn’t quite place it.

  The moments straight after a traumatic event were the best time to ask questions. Witnesses were usually still in shock and willing to tell someone, anyone, what had just happened. Their natural suspicion of a person asking questions—worse, journalists—was forgotten and they were only too happy to unburden themselves.

  “I don’t think he could have been in the water for long,” the blond continued. “He looked too normal, if you know what I’m saying. There was no bloating or swelling to suggest the body had been in the water for long.”

  “Did either of you recognize him?”

  “No.”

  “Know of any guys missing around the college? Anyone not show up in the last day or two who should have?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “Are you a copper?” the second boy asked. He was dark with an upper body that was even more defined than his buddy’s.

  “No. A journalist.”

  “Oh.” Neither of them was fazed.

  “Did you get a good at the body? Notice anything wrong? Stab wounds, for example?”
<
br />   “No. There was no blood. Nothing like that.”

  Both the previous victims had been strangled. This was soundeding increasingly like the Durham killer had struck again.

  More police officers began to arrive. There were sirens and flashing lights on the bridge behind them. The crime scene was about to get a lot busier. Keeley raised her camera and began to fire off more shots. She wouldn’t learn much more out here tonight, but she was already thinking ahead, to the morning. To the breaking news that the killer had claimed another victim. To the effect it would have on the already troubled production of Blood Falls on Stone.

  ****

  Morning was bright and cold, with a frost on the ground, but a cloudless sky bode well for the day ahead. After a long winter, this morning held the promise of spring.

  Somehow, Dale and Matt managed to drag themselves from the warmth of the bed and each other’s bodies to attend the mid-week boot camp. It was easier than it had ever been. Once they were up, buoyed on by the light in the sky and their feelings for each other, they arrived at the park laughing and in high spirits.

  Everything seems easier when you’re in love.

  Even Clint Dexter was smiling. Almost. There was a slight upward turn at the corners of his mouth as he ticked off their names in his notebook. His icy-blue eyes looked coolly from Matt to Dale. “Good morning, gentlemen. Nice to see you both again.”

  Dale stiffened. Was that a dig? What was he trying to suggest in that comment about the two of them? And what was that look all about? Knock it off, he warned himself. Clint wasn’t getting at anything. It was his own paranoia. He’d always been hopeless when he was out in public with another man. Imaging that they were the center of attention. As if everyone were looking at them, and whispering things. Faggy things.

  He had to get over it. That kind of obsession would only hold them back. Matt deserved better from him.

  They took the course together. Matching each other all the way. Being with Matt made him better. They spurred each other on. He was lighter and faster than he’d been before. Being in love could do that. But he should really give credit to Clint. His boot camp did get results. In just over a week there had already been an improvement in his fitness. If he kept it up, he would be a machine after a month.