by Rhys Ford
He was the man Kane wanted to be. Especially now, with Miki sleeping in the spare room, Kane longed to be able to slow dance with his lover in the middle of a kitchen before they tumbled off into bed, where Miki’s melodic voice would cry Kane’s name until they both drifted off to sleep.
“Yer man still out for the count?” The question would have sounded odd coming from any other Irish-born cop large enough to bench press a manatee, but Kane was used to his father’s unshakeable sensibilities. “From what I hear, he’s had a bit of a rough time of it.”
“Yeah, it’s been a shitty couple of weeks,” Kane mumbled, sweetening his coffee, then taking a sip.
It tasted like every sour, bitter, cop house coffee he ever had, another legacy his father passed on to his children. For all of his good points, the man couldn’t make a good pot of coffee to save his life, but Kane drank it anyway, used to the bad brew. The muffins smelled good, but his stomach wasn’t ready for breakfast. Glancing up at his dad, he grinned when Donal grabbed the butter dish from the fridge, then reluctantly put it back, pulling out the heart-friendly spread his wife bought for him.
“Yer mum wants me to stay healthy.” Donal grimaced and waved the tub of cholesterol-free spread at his son. “Sometimes, I think she’s the one who wants me dead. Have ye tasted any of this shite? It’s like sucking on motor oil. But, eh, she loves me. It’s how she shows it. Ye take care of yer boy in there that way?”
“Dad, I love you,” Kane said over his coffee cup’s rim, “But I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about Miki. Not yet. Maybe in a bit. Right now, it’s too… new between us, you know?”
“Fair ’nough,” Donal grunted. “Yer case, then? Ye and that caterwauling partner of yers get any further on those killings?”
“You know about that runner we lost yesterday?” Kane leaned against the stone counter and watched his father dissect his muffin into quarters. His father grunted a yes and sucked a bit of spread off of his thumb. “I’m hoping we get a hit on the prints from the knife he dropped at the second scene. Right now, it’s all I’ve got. Bastard was fast, like he was running for his life.”
“Ye figure out his connection to yer Miki?”
“No, but that’s something else the print might help with.” Kane frowned. “We’ve tried running down all of the kids Vega and his wife fostered, but so far we’ve come up empty there too. The ones that survived Vega’s shit have gone to ground, but I’m thinking this guy’s one of them. He has to be.”
“Suppose he’s someone yer boy pissed off?” Donal asked as he chewed a bit of his muffin. “Maybe a fan or even one of his band’s family? Is there a money trail ye can follow?”
“Kel and I chased that down first. The only ones with a grudge against Miki are the Mitchells, but they’ve been in Montana for the past week. I’ve been in touch with Edie, the band’s manager, and she’s got nothing on her radar. No one’s sent threatening letters to the record company. The other two families don’t have a problem with Miki. Damien’s parents… the Mitchells… are pissed off about song rights, but they’ve been mostly attacking him in court.”
“Could they have hired someone?” Donal waved off his question as soon as he asked it. “Sorry. Ye’d have checked that first.”
“Yeah, they had money before Damien hit it big with Sinner’s Gin,” Kane replied. “I know there’s no such thing as too much money, but there hasn’t been a huge payout to anyone that hasn’t been there for the past couple of years. They’re taking care of some aunt in a nursing home, that’s the Montana place they go to visit every few weeks, and they pay the kind of bills rich people have. Hell, Dad, they pay more for their dog groomers in one month than I pay rent. They came out clean.”
“And there’s no note or anything to lead ye to a fan,” his father mused. “It’s hard to catch someone ye can’t get ahold of.”
“Nothing other than that one note,” Kane growled, frustrated. “Guy’s good at covering his tracks. And he doesn’t give a shit who he hurts. Beanie boy didn’t hesitate to stab that guy. He did it to slow us down.”
“Smart then, at least enough to know the basics.” The muffin was becoming crumbles in Donal’s hands as he thought.
“And he likes knives,” Kane said. “You should see the shit he’s done. Last night, when we found Vega? It was like he needed to see every bit of him laid out on that floor. We’re cross-checking the restaurant’s employee list once we find the owner. He could have worked there. He’s got the knife skills to have been in a kitchen.”
“Yer mother was right, then, in dragging that boy here,” Donal said. “He’ll be safer here. If your killer is one of Vega’s fosters, he might want to take out his frustrations on someone else who survived, now that those two are dead.”
It was prophetic, really, especially when Kane’s phone chirruped its salsa at him. He gave his father the same long-suffering look he used when one of his siblings called him, and answered the phone.
“What’s up, Kel?” Kane checked his watch. “We’re not on for another hour.”
“Yeah, fuck you, Morgan,” his partner spat. “I hope that rock star you’ve got in bed’s a good piece of ass, because you owe me a fucking new car.”
Sirens broke into Sanchez’s rant, and Kane could hear random shouting in the background, with someone screaming to “get the hoses on the houses close to the front.” Amid the chaotic crackle of noise, what Kel said to him finally sank into Kane’s brain.
“I’m going to forgive your shit because I love you like a brother, Sanchez,” Kane snarled back. “But you ever fucking talk about Miki like that again, you’re going to be chewing your food in your throat, ’cause that’s where your teeth’s going to be. Now, what the hell is going on?”
“That bastard… he hit my mom’s house, man.” Kel’s voice was lost in another onslaught of sirens. “I know it was that bastard. Looks like he dumped more of Vega’s body parts on the front porch. That is one sick son of a bitch.”
“Fucking hell. Is everyone okay?” Kane felt Donal step closer, and his hand settled on Kane’s shoulder, an anchoring weight to hold him down as Kane’s fears took flight. “Is your mom okay? The neighbors?”
“Yeah, we think so. Firemen got her dogs out, so that’s a blessing. We’re trying to keep the other houses from going up,” Kel shouted above the fracas. “I parked the Porsche in her garage. She had a doctor’s appointment this morning. She hates sitting that low in a car, so we drove hers.”
“I’ll be right there,” Kane promised and began to rinse his cup out.
“Go. I’ll do that,” Donal ordered him. “You go on. I’ll make sure someone feeds your Miki when he wakes up. Call me when you get to Marina’s house. When yer mum comes back from the store, we’ll start getting some things together so she’s got clothes and a place to stay.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Kane gave his father a brief hug, slapping him on the back. “Don’t worry so much about Miki. His dog’ll eat you out of house and home.”
“I can handle the dog, Kane.” His father smirked. “I raised you, didn’t I?”
Chapter 18
I am only home in the dark.
The shadows are my only friend.
When a spark of light comes on,
I know my peace is about to end.
—Cursing the Candle
THE only thing left of Sanchez’s pride and joy was a twisted pile of blackened, oily scrap metal. Even the Jack in the Box antenna ball that hung from the rear view mirror was melted slag with only a smear of gray left where the Raiders helmet once sat on its round head.
The front of the garage was gone, a blown-out mess after the Boxster’s gas tank heated up when the fire spread through the structure. The engine suffered the least amount of damage, although it sat partially engulfed in fire-retardant foam and what appeared to be the scorched remains of the Sanchez’s Christmas decorations.
It was not a pretty sight, and Kel stood in the middle of the blocked-off street, pacing as
he spoke on the phone to his insurance company. He gave Kane a tight smile. His voice was a low, threatening grumble, and Kane guessed the call wasn’t going well.
“Rest of the house looks to be okay. They might be able to go in once they get a cleaning crew inside. Car’s toast, though,” one of the firemen said to Kane. He tried to remember if he’d met the young man before. They all seemed so young, barely out of high school and gangly despite the weight of their gear and their bulk. “They’ve got to stay out of the garage area, though. The arson guy’ll be here in a couple of hours. Looks like it was started close to the garage door, but I don’t want to promise anything.”
“Thanks. Appreciate your help,” Kane replied, shaking the guy’s hand as he passed by. “I’ll let them know.”
The air on the quiet street was thick with inky black smoke, and the tarry taste of it fouled the coffee Kane had grabbed on the way over. Marina Sanchez and Kel’s younger sisters were already victims of Hurricane Brigid, having been swept off to Kel’s aunt’s house before the firemen stamped out the last ember. People were gathering around the house, keeping a safe distance as the firemen went through the garage’s remains, pulling out what they could salvage from the fire. Boxes of family keepsakes were lined up on the sidewalk, beaten soldiers guarding their contents behind filthy, damp cardboard walls.
“Do you fucking believe this shit?” Kel walked up to Kane’s side, gratefully accepting the cup of iced coffee his partner brought for him. “Bastard made my mother cry. I want a piece of his ass nailed to my desk so I can use it as a mouse pad.”
“Inventive,” Kane conceded with a nod. “I want him to have a prison cell next to a carnival. A cell with really thin, high windows he can’t see out of, but he can hear everyone laughing and having a good time as he sits in the darkness.”
“You are one weird son of a bitch, Morgan,” Kel said.
“Oh, and maybe fire ants. That would rock,” Kane added with a smirk. “Ones that really like the taste of his testicles.”
“Like I said, weird.”
“See anyone you don’t recognize in the crowd?” Kane asked, skimming the people huddled against the cold.
“Nah, most of them are neighbors,” Kel replied. “Mama’s popular. A lot of my sisters’ friends come home from school and their houses are empty so they come here. She’s got cookies and listens to them bitch about homework. And before you ask me, no, I didn’t see anyone I didn’t know when we left this morning. Just that Howard kid from down the street heading to school. He waved, and Mama wished him to have a good day.”
“That normal?”
“Dude, I think that kid wishes he could just live with her. He’s younger than the girls, but she doesn’t mind him wandering over. His parents are crap.”
“Crap how?” Kane leaned against his SUV. “Child Protective Services crappy or just shitty parents?”
“They’ve got no time, kid’s a bit weird… that kind of crappy.” He shrugged helplessly. “Some people are just bad parents. Hell, look at my dad. He’s a piece of shit for a father, but he’s a good guy. Just not someone you ask for advice about anything.”
“Or stay married to.”
“Yeah, that too,” Kel admitted. “Mom likes him, but he was as shitty of a husband as he was a dad. When he lived with us, we were the last thing on his mind. Shit, I wasn’t even sure he even knew how many kids he had. I don’t think he really saw us, you know? We just weren’t important to him.”
“There was something Miki said to me,” Kane murmured, trying to catch a stray thought buzzing around his head.
Reaching into his car, he dug through the accordion folder on the passenger seat until he located Vega’s folder, then flipped it open to go through their meager findings. The file was woefully thin. On paper, Vega appeared to live an exemplary life, contributing to charities and fostering unwanted young boys. The photos they found in the dead man’s house told another story.
Staring at Vega’s license photo, it was hard to reconcile the image of the smiling, confident man he saw with the damage he’d done to Miki.
The man looked normal. Forcing aside his knowledge of the man’s activities, Kane wouldn’t have given him a second look. With his broad, craggy face and warm brown eyes, Carl Vega looked like the uncle who sneaked his nephew a peanut-butter sandwich when dinner that night was going to be eggplant surprise. He was the man whom a guy with kids would invite to a baseball game and not think twice about leaving them with Vega while he went to the bathroom in the seventh inning.
He was also the man who stalked Miki’s nightmares, tearing him apart from inside the singer’s soul.
And Kane had to find his murderer.
“Miki said to me… shit, how did he put it? ‘At least he saw me,’” Kane recalled. “That’s what stuck with me. That Carl saw him.”
Kel broke off watching the firemen. “What the hell does that mean?”
“He was talking about Vega,” Kane replied. “And I wouldn’t tell you this if I didn’t think it was important. This is Miki’s privacy I’m violating here. This stays between us.”
“Not a problem.” Kel crossed his heart with an index finger. “Dude, if it helps us find the bastard, I’ll be willing to listen to my sisters talk about shoes. Hell, I’d try them on.”
“He told me the worst part about the whole… thing… about Shing and Vega was that he missed Vega. Not because of the shit Vega did to him but because that son of a bitch was the only person who ever really gave a shit about him. The only person who saw him.” Kane put his cup down and rifled through the papers. “Suppose we’re going at this all wrong? Suppose the person we’re looking for isn’t one of Vega’s fosters but some kid in the neighborhood? A kid who might have been pissed off because he was replaced. Maybe even replaced by Miki.”
“Even bad attention is attention?” Kel whistled. “Morgan, that’s some sick shit. Who the hell is going to miss the guy who molested them?”
“Someone who has no one but that guy. Miki said he knew it was wrong to feel anything toward Vega but disgust, but even knowing how much Vega fucked him up, some part of him still remembers being that little boy who would do anything to make Vega happy.” Unable to find what he was looking for in the first file, he moved on to the second. “If the guy I ran down was the doer, then he’s way too scrawny to take down someone as big as Vega. That guy topped out at about two hundred pounds. The guy I saw was maybe one fifty. He would need to immobilize his victims.”
“Maybe he was wiry?” Kel offered. “Maybe he’s Welsh?”
“Really?” Kane gave his partner a disgusted look. “We don’t have tox on Shing or Vega, but there was one done on one of the fosters. The cops down in San Luis called the death undetermined. I just have to find it.”
“Undetermined’s a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?” His partner sounded doubtful.
“Fucking A, here it is. This is Doug Zhang’s suicide report. He was one of Vega’s foster kids. Cop house near Vega caught the case. The apartment building’s a few blocks from Vega’s house.” He pulled out the police report and read back the description of the young man’s autopsy. “Deceased’s tox screen came back with high values of barbiturates and benzodiazepine. Cause of death is undetermined due to blood loss deceased experienced following extensive injuries caused by slashes to both arms and legs. Weapon used found on scene and determined to be eight-inch paring knife. Knife found by deceased’s side is a match to set found in kitchen. The injection site was found on the inside of Zhang’s right arm. Doesn’t say if Zhang was left-handed, but odds are good he wasn’t.”
“That’s a pretty deadly combination. Even if it didn’t kill the guy, it would have knocked him down long enough for Beanie Boy to do his work. That could have been his first kill. Or, hell, even second or third.” Looking over Kane’s arm, Kel skimmed the report. “If our boy still lived in the neighborhood while Vega was grooming his fosters, then he’d have seen them. Hell, he might have even kept i
n touch with them after they split, so he might have known Zhang, knew he was still in the neighborhood.”
“Someone like that would probably have a record. Petty stuff or even animal cruelty. Some place he started off before working up to something like Zhang or Vega. There’s got to be a trail. We’re just not seeing it,” Kane said. “Let’s finish up here and see if we can’t shake him out of the trees.”
“Sounds good,” Kel said, grinning wickedly. “You know, Morgan, the more I think about it, the more I like your fire-ant idea. Let’s go rattle those trees.”
MIKI woke up to pain.
It wasn’t a bad pain. He actually felt pretty decent, if not slightly rumpled, but his hips ached, and there was a tenderness to his insides when he moved across the bed. A hot shower helped, especially after he scrubbed at his hair. His knee made its presence known with a subtle twinge as he walked, but for the most part, other than the complaining stretch of his thigh muscles, he was doing okay.
The same couldn’t be said of his kiss-swollen mouth or the prickle-rash from Kane’s stubble covering the line of love bites his cop left on his throat.
“Jesus fucking Christ, you couldn’t have eaten before you crawled into bed with me?” Miki rubbed at the tiny purple blossoms on his neck. His stomach grumbled at the mention of food, and Miki sighed. “Okay, man up here, dude. You can face them. Just go raid the fridge and then go hide or something.”