by C. S. Poe
“It doesn’t mean that anymore,” I insisted. “And you’re retired from the military.”
“I’m a cop.”
“Boy, have I heard that excuse before.”
Calvin’s hands tightened instinctively on my face before loosening immediately. “I’m not asking anything of you.”
“I want you to, though,” I managed to say as my throat tightened. “I want you to want me like I do you.”
“I can’t date you. I’m not going to ask you to deny who you are for my sake,” Calvin replied.
“That’s sweet. But don’t you think you shouldn’t deny yourself either? Times are changing, you know.”
“Not quickly enough.”
“What?”
“My first case when I was promoted to homicide was a gay man who had been stomped to death by a group of men. Literally stomped to death, Sebastian.”
“If you stay afraid, they win and nothing gets better,” I whispered.
“I don’t want that to happen to someone—” He didn’t finish. He leaned close again and kissed me gently. It was so soft and simple and so fucking sweet, it turned my heart over.
I hated him for doing this to me.
“I need to ask you to do something for me,” he said, dropping his hands.
“I thought you just said…?”
He raised a hand to stop me from finishing. “I don’t want you staying here tonight.”
“What?”
“It’s not safe.”
“Calvin, you’re overreacting.”
“I’m not,” he said sternly.
I sighed and looked around at the books thrown everywhere. Honestly, now that I was standing among the mess again, sleeping here alone, knowing someone easily got in and out, made me a little nervous.
“I guess I can stay with my dad. I really don’t want him to be freaking out about this case, but if it can’t be avoided….”
“Stay with me.”
I snorted. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’m not asking you to come over so we can screw,” Calvin said quietly. “I want you somewhere safe.” He added as an afterthought, “I need to run something by you, about this case.”
That piqued my interest. Plus, I could tell Calvin what I’d learned from my morning excursions. “All right,” I agreed after another moment of thought. “Let me pack a few things.”
I went and gathered a change of clothes and a few items from the bathroom. It definitely wasn’t a sleepover for sex if I was bringing my lens solution and toothbrush, right? I couldn’t sleep with Calvin again. I couldn’t. I wanted to be with him so badly that if I teased myself again, knowing now that he would simply never ask me to date him—no. It hurt too much. No sex with Calvin. I’d sleep on his couch, he’d be satisfied I was safe, and my heart would beat on for another day.
I came back into the front room. “Reporting for duty, Captain.”
Calvin offered a lopsided smile. “Major,” he corrected.
“My apologies, sir,” I said with a grin.
“Dork. Come on.” Calvin opened the door and held his hand out.
Was I supposed to take it?
At my hesitation Calvin made the decision for me. He took my hand into his and led me out. He kept holding it as I locked the door, his fingers woven into my own. This man would be the death of me.
I can’t date you.
I’m not asking you to go through that again.
He basically told me he wasn’t worth the inevitable heartache.
And yet Calvin acted against his own words, as if he couldn’t bear to face his self-imposed loneliness yet. In the stairwell he held my hand with such obvious affection that it tore me apart, knowing once we stepped into the world outside, Snow and Winter would never be. And sure enough, too soon, the cold night greeted us and his hand slid free from mine.
CALVIN’S APARTMENT was nice.
In that never been lived in sort of way.
So really, it felt quite lonely.
It was very clean and very minimal, a stark contrast to my little abode crammed full with books, too much furniture for its size, and antique odds and ends I couldn’t get myself to sell at the Emporium. It was actually smaller than mine, a true New York studio the size of a large closet. There was a decent-sized bed near the windows toward the back, pushed up against a bare brick wall. A string of lights had been nailed into the bricks, their subdued, warm glow just what my tired eyes needed.
I took off my sunglasses as Calvin shut the door behind us, putting my regular glasses on. There was a television across from the bed with a PlayStation hooked up, which made me realize how much more I had to learn about Calvin, as I hadn’t thought him to be the video game sort. There was a small nightstand by the bed with a lamp, and then an open space before the kitchen started across from the door. It was smaller than my own, with a tiny vintage fridge and a stovetop with only two burners and no oven. There were two cupboards overhead and a standing shelf off to the side that had dried goods neatly organized on it.
Other than that, it was a bachelor pad to the extreme. There were no photos or pieces of art hanging, no knickknacks around that might have spoken as to the personality of the owner. I also noted he didn’t have a couch I could crash on.
Calvin took off his coat and hung it on the back of the door before motioning for my own.
I handed it over. “Nice place,” I said quietly.
He shrugged. “Bathroom is right there if you need it,” he said, pointing to the closed door just past the kitchen.
I couldn’t imagine how tiny that must have been.
“Hungry?” Calvin asked.
“Actually, yeah,” I said in mild surprise. “I haven’t eaten since I saw my dad late this morning.”
Calvin raised an eyebrow as he pulled his cell from his pocket. “After you went to the precinct?”
I nodded.
He looked back down at his phone, swiping sideways a few times before opening an app. After a moment of scrolling, he asked, “Pizza?”
“Good pizza?”
“The best,” he agreed. “What do you like?”
“Just cheese.”
Calvin smiled as he picked from the menu and placed the order.
“What?”
“Nothing. We just like the same pizza.”
“Want to get married?”
“Shithead,” he murmured.
I laughed, moved farther into the room, and set my bag down near the bed.
“Want a beer?” Calvin asked, opening the fridge.
“Sure. Thanks.”
He pulled out two bottles and popped off the tops. He walked over and handed me one before dragging a stool from beside the dry-foods shelf. “Here, sit down.” Calvin pulled up a matching stool from a tiny door near the bed that I figured was probably a closet, sitting down near me.
“What did you want to discuss with me, about the case?” I asked.
He took a drink, paused, then took another. “You won’t like it.”
“Oh great.”
Calvin sighed, rubbing his hand absently on his thigh, and I noted with interest it was the same one he’d been shot in. I wondered if it hurt him still. Like when it rained…. “The evidence is beginning to stack up.”
“Against me? Jesus—”
“No, not you.”
Well, I was surprised. “Who, then?”
“Neil.”
I almost dropped my beer. “W-Wait. You mean—holy hell, you weren’t kidding, were you?”
Calvin shook his head.
“Why? How can he even be a suspect? I make a better suspect!”
“Because we’ve ruled you out based on your alibis. And you sure as hell didn’t give yourself a concussion. Look. Neil has keys to the Emporium and knows the security access code, doesn’t he?”
“Y-Yes,” I stammered, trying to get in a word, but Calvin continued.
“And he has keys to your apartment. Still. And your place was broken into the day
after you apparently broke up? How did he take it?” Calvin was all cop now, his tone different. Sterner. A bit harsh. He must have played the bad cop more often than not.
“Well, of course he wasn’t thrilled about it,” I protested. “I admitted to sleeping with you and then told him I wanted to end a four-year relationship.”
“And the next morning you received flowers, which were left in the shop prior to your arrival,” Calvin continued.
“Yeah, but—”
“You’d already been having difficulties in your relationship when this all began,” Calvin said. “And these events are now fixating on you, more than any other victim.”
My throat was so dry, I needed another drink of beer just to swallow. “Neil isn’t—God no. He’s not a killer! He’s a cop.”
“That doesn’t always mean they’re a good person,” Calvin said quietly.
“You realize that you’re suggesting I’ve been dating and sleeping with a deranged killer, don’t you? Fuck me! I know my choice in guys isn’t always stellar, but I’m not that bad!”
“I’m only presenting the facts the way I see them,” Calvin said, a bit more gentle now.
My mind was racing.
This wasn’t possible. Not even close.
Pop had said Tamerlane would be worth a pretty penny. Neil was dating an antique dealer. It would have been possible for him to realize that. He knew all about the estate sale and the banker, Merriam Byers. He had been disinterested in the pig-heart fiasco and insistent to not go to Mike’s shop the day I found him dead. What if his anger toward me when I told Calvin he was gay wasn’t because of his sexuality, but because I unknowingly had the cops shine their flashlights on him? And the threats? As easy as dropping it into a mailbox. Neil was a forensic cop—he knew how to cover tracks, what would be looked for.
I swear to God my heart stopped beating for a minute.
I must have gone white, because Calvin was on his feet and offering me a glass of water, his warm, heavy hand on my shoulder like an anchor.
“Drink,” he insisted, exchanging the glass for my beer.
I drank the entire cup. “Evidence can be twisted to look like a lot of things,” I said after a moment.
Calvin’s hand moved down my back, rubbing gentle circles. He had to have thought of everything I did, otherwise he wouldn’t logically suspect my ex-boyfriend of homicide. “Has Neil ever been violent toward you?”
“No!” I winced when I remembered being shoved into the doorframe during our fight.
“Strange behavior?”
I gripped the glass so hard in my hands, I was afraid it’d shatter. “No. I mean, his hours are weird sometimes, but you know what that’s like. You’re both cops. Cal, please, he didn’t fucking do this.”
“I’m sorry, baby.”
I stood, looking up at Calvin. “It’s my turn to tell you what I think.”
He looked surprised and was about to speak when his cell rang. Calvin answered it, saying, “Be right down,” before hanging up. “Pizza guy. I’ll be right back.” His hand lingered a fraction too long before he was out the door.
I immediately walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I felt lightheaded and a little sick. I sat on the lid of the toilet, holding my head and taking long, deep breaths. I could see why Calvin was humoring me as to where the evidence was leading him—after all, it was his job to collect it and arrest the person most suspected. It wasn’t up to him whether they were guilty or innocent; that was for lawyers and courts.
Regardless, that did not make me feel better. Despite telling myself, knowing Neil was incapable of such gruesome acts, I could not explain how the person got into my shop and my home.
“Sebastian?” Calvin called as he stepped back into the apartment.
I stood and exited the bathroom.
He set the box on the counter and walked close. He had a worried expression on his face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I said, offering a smile that I’m sure was hardly convincing.
Calvin put a hand around my neck, squeezed the back lightly, and massaged the muscles. “Do you still want to eat?”
“Murder can’t keep me from pizza.”
Calvin didn’t smile. He gently pushed me back to the stool before grabbing plates from a cupboard and putting a huge New York slice on each. “So what is it that you think?” he asked, and I could hear reluctance in his tone. He gave me a plate, sat, and devoured his slice in I swear less than three bites.
“Still waiting,” he said, standing to fetch another slice.
“Greg Thompson,” I finally spoke up before taking a bite of pizza.
Calvin turned around, already working on his second piece as he sat. Had he not eaten all day? “What about him?” he asked with a full mouth.
Manners. Good grief.
“He’s shady,” I answered. “He makes me uncomfortable.”
“I thought you hadn’t seen him since the beginning of the year.”
“He was around this afternoon, when I returned to the Emporium.” I explained that Max had closed up and been hiding out with Beth once his nerves got the best of him. I told Calvin how Greg, surprisingly, was also at Good Books when I stopped by.
Calvin didn’t speak, just silently ate his second and third slice of pizza.
“He mentioned that he knew you’d been the first to arrive when I got knocked out.”
That made Calvin’s eyebrows rise. “How’d he know that?”
I shrugged. “He didn’t say. Greg gives me bad vibes, Cal.”
“I can’t arrest someone because they’re a dickhead.”
“You sure?” I tried, offering a smile.
Calvin smiled back. “I’m sure.”
“Oh well. Anyway, he wasn’t a dickhead. Well, sort of, but mostly he made me nervous. When we left Good Books, he told me to be careful. The way he said it wasn’t—” I failed to find the word I wanted and waved a hand idly.
“With sincerity?” Calvin offered.
“Right. He seemed to be hinting that I knew more than I was letting on or that I knew more because of you.”
That made Calvin frown, and I knew he was suspecting someone thought there was a relationship between us. “I see,” he muttered.
“Look, I’m not saying that Greg is the guy, but something isn’t right.”
Calvin nodded and stood, bringing his plate to the sink to wash.
“Want to hear something else?”
“I’m not so sure.”
I brought my plate over, standing beside him. “African greys can learn to mimic words or sounds within a day if it’s easy or something they like. That lady’s bird, he can very well be repeating some of the last words heard in her apartment.”
“This guy screaming for the book.”
“Tamerlane.”
“Right,” Calvin said, putting the plates away. “But if Greg was the guy, why would he show his hand and mention Tamerlane to me?”
I wasn’t sure. “Desperation?”
Calvin shook his head. “I agree that something is off about his story—”
“Whoever came into my apartment this morning came for my books,” I interrupted. “If you noticed.”
Calvin turned back to me, crossing his arms. “I did. Are you certain it wasn’t in your possession?”
“No. But now how am I supposed to know? If it was, it’s not there now. I checked. Someone thought I did have it, though.”
“Look, baby, I hate to bring it up again, but of all people, Neil knew you had some of the estate sale at your home. And he had a key.”
“But the things Greg said…. I don’t think this is over. Call it gut instinct, but I’m pretty convinced the book wasn’t in my possession. This guy is still looking for it.”
“Does Greg know where you live?”
I made a face. “You know as well as I do that information like that is hardly a secret these days.”
Calvin nodded and left the counter, tugging his tie
loose and tossing it into a small hamper near the television. He started to unbutton the cuffs of his shirt next.
“What about the phone call that Greg claims he got?” I asked.
“I’m still working on it. These things don’t move as fast as—”
“On television,” I finished. “I know.”
Calvin turned around as he pulled his shirt off, his pale and freckled chest there for me to see but not touch. He tossed it into the hamper. “You don’t mind if we go to bed, do you? I’m… kind of tired.”
I remembered finding him asleep on the stairs, waiting for me. I got the impression that Calvin didn’t easily admit to any sort of weakness, even being kind of tired.
“Sure.” I grabbed my bag. “I’ll go use the bathroom.” I left him half-naked, most regretfully, and shut the door behind me. I changed into some dark-colored checkered pajama pants and a presumably black T-shirt. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and took out my red-tinted contacts before leaving.
Calvin stood in the middle of the room, scrolling on his phone. He still didn’t have a shirt on, but had what looked like Christmas-themed pajama pants on. Maybe my vision was really failing me there.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Hmm. Yeah, just checking a few e-mails.” He turned it off and set it down on the nightstand before going into the bathroom. He came back out a moment later with his toothbrush hanging from his mouth. Calvin moved by me as he returned to his phone.
He smelled good.
He looked good.
He was definitely wearing pajama pants with little Santa men and reindeer on them.
“You look quite jolly,” I teased.
He glanced up, brushing absently. “What?” he asked around the toothbrush before looking down at himself. “Oh.”
“Waiting on something important?”
“I’ve been requesting research on the Tamerlane book,” he mumbled. “Haven’t gotten it yet.”
“I’m going to the library tomorrow. I have an appointment to inspect the copy of Tamerlane that they have.”
Calvin turned to me in surprise.
“I thought it’d be useful.”
“Did you plan on telling me?” he asked after taking the toothbrush from his mouth.
I shrugged. “Probably.”
He frowned and walked back to the bathroom. “You’re not a cop.”