“You’re right.” John Brown knew he was correct and this wasn’t the time, but he wanted to prove he was sincere about their relationship. He decided to add a few words for effect. “But, I think the time I’ll really mean them will be coming very soon…at least for me.”
John Brown smiled in satisfaction when Toby responded, “Me too, Bill.”
When he hung up the phone he regretted he hadn’t said the words after all. Part of the problem was he wasn’t used to the way they felt coming out of his mouth. He wanted them to be perfect. Soon enough, Toby would expect him to make a declaration of some sort, and he wanted to be ready when the moment came. So, he practiced as he sat on the deck, by saying the words to the stars and the trees. “Toby, I think….I think I… might…love you.” He tried again, putting more tender emotion into his voice, until the tiny drop of moisture in his eyes convinced him he had the words and the expected, accompanying emotion just right. “What do you think?” he asked his audience. The trees and the stars didn’t answer, but, when the early autumn breeze moved across his face, he knew they approved. “Good job, John Brown!” he congratulated himself. “I think he’ll believe me if I say the words just like that.”
The next morning, Reightman walked to her desk and put her purse in the usual place, and went for a mug of tea. The breakroom was strangely deserted, and she wondered what could be going on to keep the usual addicts away from the coffee pot. Once she was back at her desk, she picked up the phone and called Nancy.
“A whole lot of people are out with the flu, and a few more are attending the week long seminar on sensitivity training,” Nancy told her when she asked why the building seemed so empty.
“Oh! That’s right. I forgot all about that.”
“Well, all I can say is some of those guys could use all of the training in how to be sensitive that they can get!”
Reightman laughingly agreed, and hung up the phone. She spent some time listing everything she knew about the case, just to remind herself. She knew who had killed Geri Guzman. The same two people, Sutton and Christina Dameron, had tried to kill Toby and had either been captured or killed before they were successful. She knew who had given the orders to kill Lieberman, and that person was Reverend Sawyer. He’d also ordered the hit on Toby, which had failed, but had resulted instead in Sam Jackson’s death. What she didn’t know was to whom Sawyer had given the orders. She didn’t know who the person was who’d fired the bullets that killed Sam, Christina Dameron, and Helliman. She had a hunch the same person staged Lieberman’s suicide. Nothing else made sense. She was worried she’d missed some important clue which would tie everything together. She let her mind spin through a dozen possibilities, until she recognized she was sending herself down a useless path which would never bear fruit. She stood and stretched, easing her tense shoulders and neck. Then she single mindedly started putting all of the case files into chronological order, trying not to let herself think of it sitting forgotten in her desk drawer as she and the rest of the department moved on to other things.
She picked up the small notebook Toby had retrieved the night Sam was killed and flipped through the pages. When she came to the last page, she squinted to try and make out Sam’s handwriting. “Man with tattoo. Who is he? How is he involved in this?” She wished she knew the answers to those questions.
Around noon, she walked to the coffee shop and grabbed a sandwich. Back at her desk, she settled down to finish the job she’d started that morning. She’d just put the last of the materials in their proper order when the phone across the desk from her began to ring. She let it go to voice mail. An hour later, she was tired and cranky, but was close to finishing the thankless job. The phone rang again. With a groan of frustration, she reached across the desk and picked up the handset. “Hello, this is Detective Reightman speaking.”
“Hello. May I speak to Billy, please?” asked a woman on the other end of the phone.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. There isn’t anyone here by that name.”
The woman laughed in embarrassment at her mistake. “My apologies, I keep forgetting he doesn’t use that name any more. He never did like to be called Billy – he much preferred Bill. But, I’m rambling. I’m trying to reach my son, Detective Jones.”
“Oh! Sorry for the confusion, but I think he’s out today, attending a conference. Have you tried his cell phone?”
The woman gave a frustrated sigh. “Yes, I have, and he’s not answering. If you’d give him a message for me, I’d appreciate it. If you should hear from him, just tell him his mother called.”
“He probably just has the phone turned off if he’s in a training session.”
“Oh! You know, I think he told me he was going out of town. I must have mixed up the dates. If he’s in some kind of training, he won’t be up at that place in the woods he calls his weekend cabin. The reception is spotty out there, and I can never get through.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s at the conference, but I’ll give him the message if I hear from him. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No, that’s all. Thanks for your help.”
Reightman hung up the phone, and glanced at the nameplate on her partner’s desk. She went back to finalizing the files, but something about the call bothered her. She picked up the phone again and called Nancy. “Hey, Nancy, I’m sorry to bother you again, but I have a question for you. Do you know what Jones’s full name is?
“No, Melba, I don’t think I do. But if you call human resources, they’ll know for sure.”
“Good idea, I’ll try that.”
Nancy gave her the number and Reightman picked up the phone again. When she hung up with the HR representative, she had the information she’d asked for, but wasn’t sure why it seemed important. She sat back in her chair and looked at the name plate. She went back over the recent call in her mind, trying to figure out why her senses were on full alert. “Is Bill there?….doesn’t go by that name….at that place in the woods….Jones….Doesn’t like to be called Billy….Is Bill there?...Jones….Bill…Jones. Bill Jones! Oh…my…God. Oh my God! Toby…”
She pulled her cellphone out of her purse and dialed Toby, but after ringing a few times, she was shunted to his voice mail. She didn’t leave a message, trying to convince herself it was all just some weird coincidence. She put the phone away and tried to focus on the next thing on her list, but she kept going back to the call and the terrible suspicion grew. Unable to let go of the idea, she quickly opened the file she’d just finished, and began pulling papers out and spreading them on the desks. She scanned the case notes, then rifled through the photos, looking for something which would prove her wrong. When she came to the final grouping of photographs, she could only stare down at the image in front of her, stunned. Against all odds, it unfortunately proved her hunch was right. She picked the image up and held it in her shaking hands, examining the photograph of a man’s body, with no visible face, and a tattoo on the back of his shoulder.
“Calm down, Melba!” she ordered herself. “Think! What do you know about the man Toby’s been seeing?” She went through their recent conversations, trying to recall the details. “Good looking, sexy in a geeky sort of way – because of the glasses. And the tattoo…. of a name or….something... Goes by the name, Bill Jones. A homebody with a secluded cabin in the woods.” She looked at the nameplate again. “Jones’ initials are VWJ, but if he goes by Bill instead of William, then the initials would be VBJ…and if he sometimes just goes by Bill, the would be … BJ…bj.”
Reightman felt her stomach churn as she dug through the scattered papers until she located the suicide note, which she’d never believed had been written by Lieberman. She scanned the note until she found what she was looking for, just two small letters down at the bottom of the note – “bj”. Two letters at the bottom of a suicide note which had always bothered her, along with the pair of dust free glasses found at the scene, under the couch…glasses picked up and handled
by Mitchell, until they were taken away from him by….Jones. Glasses with only two sets of fingerprint – fingerprints belonging to Mitchell and…Jones.
The pieces flew together in her mind and she picked up the phone and called Tom Anderson. “Tom, I have a question. Did any of the fingerprints on Helliman’s truck belong to Detective Jones? Never mind that, could you check? It’s urgent!” She waited and listened to the hold muzak, wanting to scream at the delay. When Tom came back on the line and gave her the answer she’d been dreading to hear, she started to panic. She hung up the call and yanked her purse from her desk.
“Detective Reightman, what’s going on? You look like you’re about to fly to pieces.”
She jumped at the unexpected voice behind her. “Mitchell! I….…”
“What’s going on? And what are you doing with all of this stuff spread out everywhere?” When she didn’t answer him, he looked over the materials scattered across the two desks and at the crumpled image she still held in one hand. “This has something to do with Toby, doesn’t it? Tell me what’s going on.”
She hesitated, but one look into his hard, demanding eyes decided for her. She nodded her head and then, while trying to control her breathing, she told him.
When she had finished, he took the crumpled paper from her hand and stared down at image. His jaw tightened, and she knew the minute he made his decision.
“Let’s go,” he said simply.
“No, Mitchell! You can’t go with me.”
“Like hell I can’t! You have a choice, Detective. I either go with you now, or I’ll follow behind. The first choice will be easier on us both, but understand me – I am going to help Toby.”
She thought about arguing, but knew it wouldn’t do her a bit of good. They’d both made their choices concerning Toby, almost from the very beginning, and she couldn’t think of a better person to have by her side.
They rushed to gather a few things they might need, and made one stop at the evidence room. Then they were on the road, headed for a cabin in the woods to try and save Toby from the man he knew as Bill Jones. The man with whom he was falling in love.
Melba tried Toby’s phone, and again went to voicemail. This time she left a message, telling him to call her as soon as possible.
“Don’t you think you should tell him what’s going on?”
“No. I don’t know how he’d react, and if Jones was around when he picked up the message, I…”
“You’re probably right,” Mitchell grimly agreed from the passenger seat. “Things could get really bad, really fast.” After a few minutes of silence, Mitchell spoke up again. “What’s the plan?”
Reightman glanced his way, feeling inadequate and unprepared for what was ahead. “I don’t have one.” It was very hard for her to admit, and she only had one excuse. “I wasn’t thinking of anything other than the need to try to get to Toby as quickly as possible. That may have been a big mistake.” She changed lanes, trying to get around a slow RV and then made a decision. “I need to call Chief Kelly, and tell him what’s going on. At the very least, we’re going to need back-up, and he’s our best hope. He might be able to arrange something.” She changed lanes again and then slowed as she pulled onto the shoulder. “You drive, Mitchell, while I call Kelly.”
They quickly switched places, and Melba dug out her phone and dialed the Chief.
“You know better than to go tearing off to the middle of the woods, Reightman! I thought you at least had better sense than that!” he barked as soon as she updated him on the situation. “The best thing would be for you to get your butt back here so we can plan this out properly.”
“I can’t do that, sir! I wish I could, but we don’t have the luxury of time. Toby might be safe until we get there, but I just can’t take that chance. Jones is too dangerous.”
“If Jones has pulled this off, you damned well better believe he’s dangerous.” Kelly grunted and Melba could only hope he was thinking over their options. “Let me see what I can do to call in some favors. The country sheriff up there hates my guts, but I’ll try to get you some back-up.” He ended the call before she could respond, and she held the phone in her hand wondering what to do next.
“What did he say, Detective?”
‘He’s going to try and get us some back up, Mitchell.”
“You think he’ll manage it?”
She didn’t answer his question, and after seeing the expression on her face, he just kept driving. They were both silent for the next hour, wrapped up in their own thoughts and fears. “The next exit’s ours, Mitchell. I’m going to try to reach the Sheriff.”
John Brown dropped the gun he’d finished cleaning into the open bag on the floor and impatiently kicked it under the bed. He was jittery and nervous today, and was having trouble focusing on the separate parts of his life. He had a hunch that if he wasn’t careful, all the separate facets would crash together, destroying the fragile, new identity he felt emerging from within. If that happened, he might as well give up now, because he was sure he’d break into a million pieces. It wasn’t like him to wander down those sorts of paths, and he was uncharacteristically apprehensive about the weekend, even though he didn’t know why. After all, he’d been looking forward to seeing Toby for days, and he’d done everything he could think of to get things ready.
Earlier that morning, he swept the deck and cleaned the cabin, and the hot tub was filled and heating for the evening. He arranged the final payment details for his completed job, and was anticipating the bump it would give to his bank account. Soon he’d have enough stashed away to leave it all behind. He locked that part of his life away so he could focus on how to make the next few days special. He filled the old jar with foliage and placed it on the table. That helped some, since that caused him to remember their first weekend together. He made sure there were clean towels in the bathroom, and fresh sheets on the bed, and that help calm his mind some more. But despite his efforts, he worried throughout the day. Looking around the simple one room dwelling, he found himself dissatisfied with the place for the very first time. He found himself feeling inferior and unworthy, and wondered if this place, which some people would view as little better than a shack, would eventually lose its appeal for Toby. That led to other insecurities. He finally admitted there was nothing wrong with the cabin. Toby loved it. No, what he was truly worried about was the possibility of losing his own appeal. If that happened, he didn’t know what he’d do, but he did know he’d never let Toby walk away from him. That would destroy him, and he’d do anything to keep that from happening.
He forced himself to cram those thoughts down deep into the recesses of his mind, where he kept all the other dark and frightening things. He rummaged through the kitchen, checking that he had everything they might need, and discovered he’d left a few things off the list. He picked up his keys and fled the cabin, knowing he had to get out of there to clear his mind. He drove into town to do the shopping for the provisions he’d forgotten the day before. He even picked up a load of firewood, anticipating the cooler evenings which would be perfect for a romantic fire in the cabin. After he returned, he sat on the deck looking at the woods around him, and refused to revisit the troubled thoughts which plagued him earlier in the day. Instead, he replayed the last several weeks he’d spent with Toby, and focused on how those weeks had changed him. He knew he wasn’t just John Brown anymore, but also knew he wasn’t only Bill Jones. The two had started to blend within him, and at times, it was impossible to let either one of them have total control. For a moment, he wished he could share this realization with Toby, and ask for help in reconciling his nature, but knew it was impossible. Toby would never understand the things he’d done and would be horrified by that part of his life. Worse, Toby wouldn’t understand why he hadn’t told him the rest, and why he’d hidden the fact he worked with Reightman. It had seemed so simple when he’d watched Toby on the terrace and then kept an eye on him during the following weeks. T
hat had made him curious, which had led him to make the appointment at the spa. That day, he’d discovered more about himself than he had during his entire life. His world had changed the moment he’d recognized what he wanted and somewhere along the way, his want had changed to need. Maybe the best John Brown, aka Bill Jones, could hope for was a continuation of this half world, where he and Toby lost themselves in each other and the rest of the world didn’t matter. Maybe, when he left this behind him, he could start over again with Toby. And, maybe not.
John Brown thought about the time they’d spent here, at this remote and secluded retreat. Here, there were none of the intrusions of the outside world, only two men curled together in the big bed as the fire provided flickering light. Here, there were Toby and himself –only two men taking their pleasure in each other, before they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
John Brown put those thoughts away when he heard Toby’s car coming up the graveled driveway. Holding only the last image firmly in his mind, he went to greet the man he’d been waiting for – the man he’d claimed as his own – the man he’d kill before he let him go.
Toby pulled his bag from the car and heard Bill’s footsteps behind him. “I was able to leave earlier than I thought,” Toby told him as he leaned in for a kiss. “I was going to call, but about halfway here, I realized I left my phone on the counter at home. I didn’t want to turn around and go back for it and figured you’d just have to be surprised. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I’ll show you just how much I don’t mind when I get you inside!” John Brown took the bag from his hands. “What’s in here, rocks?”
“Nope – no rocks, although to tell you the truth, I don’t know what’s inside. I just threw some things on top of what was already in there from a few days ago. I didn’t even take the time to dump the stuff out to check. I’ll see what it is when I unpack.” Toby checked out Bill’s ass as he started up to the cabin. “I was in a hurry to get here.”
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