by N. R. Walker
Your plan. Not our plan, not even the plan. Yours, as in not mine. “Head back to the office. I need to see how nuclear Hirsch is. Give Deans a break. See if I’ve had any evidence reports come in.” Jake sat on the sofa and began doing up the first boot. “What about you? You can come with me and use my office if you want?”
“Uh, I might just stay here,” he said, unsure. “I mean, if that’s okay? It’s your house, so I’ll totally understand if you’d rather I didn’t. But I can pull out my laptop here and make some calls. I have some things I need to do. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, of course,” Jake answered. He started on the second boot. “Coffee’s in the pantry. Laundry’s out the back door if you want to wash. Help yourself to whatever you want in the fridge or the pantry, freezer, whatever. I’ll be back around half five. I’ve got footy training at six. That’s if Hirsch isn’t in a foul mood; if he is, I’ll probably be filing paperwork until midnight.”
August smiled. “Call me if that’s the case. I’ll bring you something to eat.”
Jake got to his feet and put his coat on, which August watched him do. Then he tried to act like he wasn’t watching. He shook his head and his brow creased, and his cheeks flamed.
Well, whaddya know?
“Okay then,” Jake said slowly, patting down his pockets to make sure he had everything. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
August cleared his throat and gave a nod, still a little flustered. “Okay then.”
So yeah, August Shaw was a difficult man to read. But Jake read that exchange just fine.
Chapter Eleven
August could have kicked himself. He didn’t know what was going on or why he was thinking about Jacob that way. He busied himself making coffee and convinced himself that this was his payment for interacting with people.
If he’d stayed in his reclusive little bubble, this would have never happened. There was a reason why he had isolated himself from the world, so good-looking guys like Jacob Porter, wearing too-tight police uniforms and with freckles on their nose, didn’t complicate his life.
Guilt had such a residual aftertaste. It was bitter and cloying, and it was painful to swallow. He’d lived with it for so long he barely recognised it anymore, but standing there in Jacob’s kitchen, in Jacob’s clothes, it was all August could taste.
He considered adding a teaspoon of sugar to his coffee, knowing it was ridiculous, but still wondering if it would help.
Fucking guilt.
He had nothing yet everything to feel guilty for.
Thunder rumbled its sympathies outside, and August lifted his coffee mug, offering up a silent cheers to the sound.
He hung his suit to dry and washed his dirty clothes, and after he’d made his second cup of coffee, he planted himself on Jacob’s couch and opened his laptop. He checked and replied to emails, then took out his phone and called his department boss.
“Reinhart.” His boss’s gruff voice was instantly recognisable.
“Yes, it’s Detective Shaw,” he said.
Reinhart grunted. “How’s the case?”
“Well, they’re connected.”
“You have evidence to support that?”
“Yes.”
“Forensic evidence, Shaw. Evidence that will stand up in a court of law?”
“Well, I—”
“For Christ’s sake, Shaw.”
August knew his boss thought he was clutching at straws. Everyone in his department thought that.
“I should be back tomorrow, but I’d like to get a start on some more information . . .”
“What, exactly, Shaw? Just spit it out.”
“I need to put in a request for all missing persons reports for any LGBTQ persons in the last twenty years.”
Silence.
“I know that’s a lot. They’d be digitalised now though, right? Is there a search function—”
“It’s not quite that easy. It’s going to take some time. That’s a lot of man hours I don’t think we have right now.”
“I know. But I think it’s possible there’s more.”
“More . . . ?”
“More bodies. More murders.”
“Shaw—”
“I’ll be back in the office tomorrow. And I’ve asked Senior Constable Porter to come with me. Not sure if his boss’ll approve that yet.”
“And did you think about asking your boss?”
“Well, boss, I figured with the help, I’d get it done quicker.”
More silence.
“Shaw?”
“Yeah?”
“You actually want to work with someone?”
“Not really,” August said, cringing. “But these last two bodies were found on his turf. Actually, he’s done some great detective work—”
“You said his name was Porter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And his boss’s name?”
“Senior Sergeant Don Hirsch. The Local Area Commander at the Coffs Harbour station is a guy by the name of Allan Kenny.”
Again, more silence.
“Do you know them, boss?”
“I know the names.”
“So it’s okay if I bring Porter with me? I mean, if he can get time. If not, I’d be happy to let him look over some of my files if that’s okay with you?”
“Hmm.” He didn’t sound unhappy. Mostly distracted. He was a busy man . . . “Yeah. I guess.”
“Okay thanks, boss. I’ll let you go. I should be on an early flight,” August said, not that his boss cared.
The call ended with that, and August put his phone aside. He’d worry about Porter going back to Sydney with him when, and if, he was allowed to. For now, all he could do was concentrate on his cases.
He opened the folded map, finding the fire trail Porter had mentioned that snaked through the rainforest. The trail itself ran from the Tallowwood Reserve and intersected with the main road before the turnoff to Tallowwood itself and came out through farmland and private properties. August made notes of addresses and would ask Jacob if he knew who owned those properties. It probably wouldn’t lead anywhere, but another i would be dotted, another t crossed.
After that, he opened his files and went back to his earliest case notes and read from the very beginning.
The earliest his cases went back was eighteen years. Eighteen years ago, David Milsec was found in Bondi parkland near the cliffs overlooking the Pacific. He was sitting up at the base of a tree, leaning against the trunk, fully clothed with his left wrist cut lengthwise down his forearm, his lifeless eyes staring out across the ocean.
David had been spotted by early morning bushwalkers. Once on-site, the police cordoned off the area and, finding a razor in the man’s right hand, along with the ‘suicide’ note and cross, they quickly wrote the case off as a suicide.
He was gay, the reporting officer had said. That happens a lot.
August had read these reports countless times. They still made him angry every fucking time, but it wasn’t a raging fire anymore. It was more like burning embers, glowing white hot and seething.
Every single time he read those words, those dismissive, apathetic words, oxygen breathed over the embers and they glowed that little bit hotter.
The furnace that powered him, fuelled him; August ran on the energy they supplied.
The next case, chronologically, was sixteen years ago. Filipe Bissett was found in his car, sitting behind the wheel, with a razor through his wrist. Sliced lengthways down his left wrist, the same suicide note and silver cross.
Evident self-inflicted injury: suicide.
They hadn’t even run the car for prints.
Next was Mustafa Holzieg. Also sixteen years ago. Found in his apartment, in a bathtub full of water. He’d moved to Sydney with his sister just two years before because their parents rejected their sexuality. He was gay, she was a lesbian, and it was more than their parents could take. They’d left their family behind for a better life, and there was no way—no way
, his sister had sworn—that he’d take his own life. The cross was confusing because they weren’t Christians. None of it made sense, she’d said . . .
Except it did to August.
Mustafa hadn’t committed suicide. He’d been murdered.
Of course, the police wrote it off as a suicide. He was found in his own locked apartment with a razor through his wrist, a note left behind . . .
But August knew better.
He knew that Simon Potter or Miles Bell or John Sayer or Mark Krauth hadn’t committed suicide either.
Fifteen years ago, thirteen years ago, eleven and nine years ago.
Then Christopher . . .
Eight years ago.
Then Perry Ahern, also eight years ago. Perry disappeared in the summer, early in the year, and Christopher had been in June, so that put Perry just a few months before Christopher. But Perry was from Coffs Harbour, not Sydney.
Was that significant? Well yes, August allowed. It was all significant, he just had to figure out how and what and why.
But his thoughts of Christopher, of finding him that night, of the silence in the apartment and searching for him, calling out his name, room by room. Until he found him in the bathtub . . .
Scarlett jumped up on his lap and began to purr. She nudged his chest and demanded a pat, like she somehow knew that he needed affection. He needed the universe to reach out and remind him that he was still breathing, and Scarlett meowed quietly, nudging him again, and August couldn’t help but smile.
“Can you read minds?” he asked the cat. “Or can you feel sadness?”
She purred a little louder and manoeuvred herself onto his lap and promptly rolled herself into a neat little circle and closed her eyes.
He didn’t dare jostle or wake her, he simply read his notes around her, and that was how they were still positioned when Jacob came home. August heard the Patrol pull up, saw the headlights, and only realised then that it was almost fully dark outside.
“Oh, I see how it is,” Jacob said, surprised but smiling as he came inside. “You two just wanted me gone so you could get cosy on the couch.”
“She just decided to sit on me. I couldn’t boot her off.”
Jacob chuckled. “God forbid.”
“I didn’t actually realise the time,” August began. “I got busy rereading my case notes, working out chronological order and location in relation to this new case. I’m not sure what any of it means yet. Don’t suppose you heard any news on the second lot of remains?”
“Nope. Not yet. I did call for them though. Bartlett said it should be in tomorrow.”
August sneered at the mention of his name, which Jacob didn’t miss. He smiled. “Oh, and speaking of tomorrow, I asked Hirsch about taking a few days to go to Sydney to check out these related cases.”
“What did he say?”
“He said yes.” Jacob grinned. “Actually, he said he thinks it’d be a good idea.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it was weird. He got back from his meeting with Kenny, which obviously didn’t go well because he was pissed. Actually, not even pissed. He was exhausted, as though Kenny had yelled at him for three hours straight. He almost sagged into his desk chair and I wasn’t going to ask because I thought it’d piss him off, but I said you offered and that you thought it might help. And he looked at me for a second, and I expected him to tell me off, but he just nodded and said yeah, he thought it was a good idea.”
Well, shit. August didn’t realise until that very moment that he actually thought Jacob wouldn’t get the approval. Now he had it, August was happy. And a little nervous. “Good. I asked my boss if it was okay, and he said yes.”
Jacob took his coat off and August had to make himself look back at his laptop. He didn’t need to see Jacob’s chest and arms in his police uniform . . .
“I didn’t look at flights or anything,” Jacob said. “Wanted to check with you first.”
“I can do that,” August said quickly, glad for the distraction.
Jacob sat on the couch next to him and began to undo his boots. “I gotta get changed for footy training,” he said, pulling the first boot off.
“Oh, I had every intention of cooking something for dinner,” August said. “Given I’ve been here all afternoon. I’m sure I can rustle up something. Pasta or an omelette . . . If you don’t mind me cooking in your kitchen.”
“Are you kidding? If you’re gonna cook me food, you can use whatever you want,” he said with a grin. “Or,” he hedged, “we could go back to the pub for dinner. I’ll have training, but we always go to the pub afterwards. You can take your laptop and wait for me, if you want.” He got busy with his other boot, but August could have sworn he saw those freckles light up on heated skin. “I just don’t want you to think I’m leaving you here while I go do my thing. But if you want to stay in and cook for me, I’m down with that.”
He looked at August then, with kindness and a little nervousness, and August couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Pub sounds good actually. I’m sure your dad’s cooking is way better than mine.”
Jacob grinned and stood up. He gave Scarlett a quick scratch behind the ear. “I’ll have to be ready to leave in ten. Is that okay?”
“Oh, sure,” August said, sitting up a little. Scarlett gave him a none-too-pleased glare, and Jacob scooped her up.
“Listen here, princess,” he said, taking her with him into the hall. “You don’t own everyone.”
August smiled as they disappeared, and it took him a minute or two to realise something else he hadn’t given a thought to. Shit. He stood up and talked to the hallway, hoping Jacob would hear. “Hey, um, should I uh . . . I mean, is there a motel in Tallowwood? I didn’t even think about looking for somewhere to stay.”
Jacob came out, pulling a hoodie on. He wore full-length black compression tights underneath his footy shorts, a tight grey T-shirt, and now, sadly, a hoodie over the top of that. He was holding a pair of socks, and he grinned at August as he sat down. “Well, you could. There are rooms at the pub. I’m sure Mum’ll fix you up, no problem. But you’ve already slept in the spare bed once, so another night won’t hurt. Unless you don’t want to.”
He pulled the sock on and August couldn’t help but notice his long, bony feet and his muscly legs in those tights. “If it’s not a problem . . .”
“Makes sense,” Jacob said, pulling on the second sock. “We’re gonna leave for the airport together in the morning, right?”
August nodded. “Uh, yeah. I guess. I’ll take my laptop to the pub and book us some tickets. It’s not gonna be too loud or busy, is it?” August hated the thought of crowds and noise . . .
Jacob laughed as he stood. “This is Tallowwood. It’ll be quiet until all the boys get back from training. They’re mostly just loud though. No one really drinks too much because we’ve all gotta work in the morning.”
“Fair enough,” August said. “And thanks. For letting me stay. And for defending me against Bartlett and Nina this morning. I meant to thank you earlier for that. You agreed with me, said Perry Ahern didn’t kill himself.”
“Christ,” Jacob said. “Was that just this morning?”
August chuckled and nodded. “Feels like a week ago.”
Jacob went into the kitchen and put Scarlett’s bowl on the counter. Then he took the biscuits and gave the container a bit of a shake, pretended to add some but with the lid closed, didn’t actually pour any in. He flattened out the biscuits already in her bowl and put it back on the floor, then he nodded to where she supervised from the doorway. “She only has to think I’m giving her more.”
August laughed. “Aaaaand I’m pretty sure we all know why she likes me more.”
Jacob’s mouth fell open. “She does not.”
“You pretend to give her food.”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t know.”
August looked at Scarlett who was giving Jacob a filthy look. “She knows.”
Jacob laughed and the so
und made August smile. Those damn freckles show up when he laughs too . . . “We’ll see how much she likes me more when I leave for a few days and Dad comes by once a day to feed her. Well, she won’t like that much but she’ll be very happy to have me back.”
“After she’s done yelling at you.”
“Oh yeah, after the initial abuse. Then she loves me.” He grinned as he pulled on his sneakers and threw a water bottle into a backpack that August assumed had football gear in it. August packed up his laptop, and soon enough they were in the Patrol driving the short distance to the pub. Jacob was still smiling when he got out and headed into the hotel with August. “Hey, Mum,” he said. The public bar had all of five people in it, but it was warm inside, and everyone smiled and said hello to Jacob.
They just gave August a second look, absent smiles, but Mrs Porter was welcoming. “Hello again!” she said.
“We’re gonna have dinner here tonight, if that’s okay?” Jacob said. “August’ll stay here while I go to training.”
“Okay, love,” she said, then gave August a kind smile.
“Make sure the locals leave him alone,” Jacob said quietly.
She chuckled. “Don’t you worry. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Jacob slapped August on the shoulder. “Be back in an hour or so,” he said, leaving an awkward silence behind. August watched as Jacob said something to one of the guys at the bar to make them laugh before he disappeared into the darkness outside.
He smiled at Mrs Porter. “Everyone likes him.”
“They do.” She was still smiling. “Though I might be biased.”
But she wasn’t biased, because everyone did like him. August included. But the awkwardness and attention of all the folks at the bar got the better of him. He wasn’t used to people or being out of his comfort zone. “I’ll just grab a table out of the way,” he said, looking toward where he’d sat with Jacob at lunch time.
“I’ll bring you out a drink,” Mrs Porter said. “What would you like?”
“A soda water, with lemon, would be great, thanks.” He stopped to pull out his wallet.