by Gregory Ashe
“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” Hazard said, his chin still tucked into his chest, his huge shoulders riding almost up to his ears as he tapped on the phone. “I just—I think it’d be perfect. For you, I mean.”
“Ok, but, I mean—you want to—I mean, here? Right now? Because I said some stupid crack about diamonds?”
“You don’t have to say anything. Just take a look so I know if I’m on the right track.”
Somers couldn’t have swallowed if he’d wanted to. He wasn’t even sure he could breathe.
Extending the phone to Somers, Hazard turned the screen slowly.
A poorly designed website with an animated gif of a mouse in a top hat flashed the words Uncle Walt’s Comedy Summer Camp Bigger Laughs Guaranteed Split Sides Have Them Rolling In The Aisles June to August Kids 8-12.
Somers looked up at his boyfriend.
Hazard, head cocked, watched him with eyes like frozen winter sunlight.
“You asshole.”
“What?”
“You are a real asshole, Emery Hazard.”
Turning, Somers marched back toward the house where he’d left Dulac.
“Because you think you’re so funny, John.” Hazard kept up with his long, easy stride. “That’s all I meant. I thought you might appreciate a chance to hone your skills.”
“No sex for a month.”
“It says right here on the page: Bigger Laughs Guaranteed.”
“No sex for two months.”
Hazard didn’t laugh. He didn’t growl. He didn’t even smirk or smile or grin. He just kept that easy pace, his whole face frozen into incomprehension, as though he could never understand Somers.
Somers wasn’t sure he understood himself right then. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to kiss his boyfriend or punch him.
Before they’d gone far, Hazard caught his arm. Somers didn’t even try to get away; Hazard was bigger, and Somers didn’t need any more humiliation today. He let his boyfriend swing him around and plant both hands on his hips, holding him a few inches away, just close enough that the heat off Hazard made Somers shiver in a way that had nothing to do with winter.
“You don’t have a sense of humor,” Somers said.
Hazard just watched from behind frozen amber.
“You think you have one,” Somers said. “I know you. I know you think you have this incredibly dry sense of humor and that you’re sophisticated and witty and you can make these little cocktail party japes that make everybody laugh into their martinis. But: You. Are. Not. Funny.”
“Maybe I should go to the camp too.”
Somers swallowed a scream. “Can we go back inside, please? I don’t want to stand in the cold just because you had to angry walk yourself down to the corner.”
“I’m not angry. I already told you that. I think you’re angry. Maybe you’re angry walking. You’re definitely walking a little funny. Unless that has something to do with—”
“Emery Hazard, I swear to God, I don’t know what has gotten into you. But let me repeat myself, just in case I wasn’t clear: you are not funny. Do not try to be funny. Do not make me escalate to three months.”
Hazard didn’t really do anything, which made what happened next so hard to explain: he didn’t move or shift. He just suddenly seemed taller, his hands heavier on Somers’s hips, his presence overbearing in a way that had something to do with his eyes, the hooded gaze that held Somers, the way Hazard looked sometimes when they fucked and he . . . took charge. Somers tried to clear his throat. He tried to remember what he’d been about to say. Something about a dry spell. Something about blue balls.
Bending slowly, Hazard brought his mouth to Somers’s ear. “Gee, golly, John, I have something I really want to show you. I just don’t know if it’s right, but I think it’s perfect for you.”
“Asshole, asshole, asshole,” Somers said, shoving on Hazard to break free. “Three months. Three fucking months, Ree. Because you’re being a dick today.”
“We’ll see,” Hazard said, and now he was smiling, a cool little smirk like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, baby,” and his voice dropped on the word, “your birthday is in five days. And I’ve been ordering some of those things we’ve talked about.” Rolling one shoulder, he added, “Start behaving, and we’ll see if you still get your presents.”
Then he started to walk back to the house where they’d left Dulac.
Somers stared after him, trying to figure out what had just happened.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
DECEMBER 19
WEDNESDAY
2:22 PM
HAZARD WALKED BRISKLY, NOT READY for Somers to catch him, not ready for Somers to turn the tables—which he knew was going to happen, sooner or later. Hazard wasn’t entirely sure what had come over him; something about that stupid crack about diamonds, something about all this talk about marriage—something about all of it had finally tripped a switch deep inside his brain. And it was easier to tease than to fight, which was a new thought for Hazard. Teasing Somers was actually kind of fun: Hazard knew the trigger points, he knew the formulae. Plug everything in and watch Somers go red and breathy and frustrated and furious, like dominos falling. He didn’t do it often because it seemed like an irrational way to deal with someone you loved, but judging by the effects it had on Somers, he was starting to think he needed to do it more.
But an itch made him wonder: that threat about three months. That had to be a joke, right?
When Hazard reached Schoen’s house, Dulac was coming down the stairs, hands stuffed into his coat pockets.
Three months, Hazard thought, fighting the urge to glance over his shoulder.
“How long have you ever gone without sex?” Hazard said.
“What time is it? Two? Ok, so last night—”
“Never mind. You’re useless.”
“Hey! Somers, he said I’m useless.”
“Don’t start with me,” Somers said as he joined them, his gaze fixed on Dulac. “I’m at the end of a very short rope.”
“Uh, right. Did you guys fight? Because listen, fights suck. But you’ve got to do the mature thing: you’ve got to think about all the hot, angry fucking you’re going to do in about—what time is it again? 2? So, like, five hours. Because you guys are in bed before eight, right?”
“Shut up,” Somers said through gritted teeth.
“We need to start coming up with a list of suspects,” Hazard said. “First, we need to identify who fought with Hoffmeister last night. Then we need to see if we can track that person’s movements after the fight. He might have come back here and gotten into the house without anyone noticing; it’s our only real lead.”
“No,” Somers said, his shoulders relaxing as he turned, finally, to look at Hazard.
“No? What the fuck do you mean, no?”
“I mean, that’s not our only lead. Hoffmeister gave you three leads, right? He told you someone was harassing him. He thought his life was in danger.”
“I just told you if he was lying—”
“I know, Ree, but you’re being black and white about something that isn’t black and white. I’m not disagreeing about finding the person who got into a fight with Hoffmeister last night; I’m saying we should start with the people he told you were a threat, and then we see if one of them happens to be the one who got into a fight last night.”
“That’s a dead end, and we’re not going to work the case that way.”
“Since I’m technically your boss, I order you to tell me what Hoffmeister said when he hired you.”
Hazard could almost hear the silence that followed: it was a flash freeze, the crackling of ice glazing the air. Or maybe that was just the sound of him suddenly having a stroke. He wondered if his face looked anything like Dulac’s: the mingled horror and terror.
“What did you ju
st say?”
Somers wasn’t smiling, not with his mouth. But his fucking eyes. Those fucking Caribbean blue eyes. “I’m technically your boss. Right? You are a consultant for the Wahredua PD. You’ve been assigned to a case. I’m the lead detective on the case. Ergo, I am your boss.”
“Don’t say fucking ergo, John. You didn’t even know what ergo fucking meant two weeks ago until I used it in Scrabble and owned your ass.”
“I’m your boss. I told you what to do. Ergo,” this time, Somers did smile, a tight little whip-crack that sent Hazard’s blood pressure into the red, “you need to do what I say. Or I think there will be disciplinary action.”
“Oh my God,” whimpered Dulac. “This is so fucking hot. And so fucking scary.”
Hazard shot him a look, and Dulac actually tripped and fell backward on the steps. When Hazard looked back, Somers was still smiling.
“This is a mistake, John.”
“I know it’s hard to hear, but I’ll tell you what someone just told me: start behaving.”
“This is a very big mistake.”
“You don’t want me to write you up, do you?”
“Oh, John.” Hazard didn’t laugh. He didn’t even give so much as a wicked chuckle. But it was there in those two words: the threat.
“Detective Dulac—” Somers said.
“I’m going to give you one chance to pretend you didn’t just say what you said to me.” Hazard wasn’t sure he was seeing straight. He thought maybe an optic nerve had popped off when his blood pressure had exploded. “Just shake your head, laugh, and it’ll be just another joke.”
“Detective Dulac, why don’t you get out your phone and record—”
“Fine. Have your own fucking way about it, John.”
“Tell us what Hoffmeister said about the people he thought might be threatening his life.”
“This was a mistake. This was a really big fucking mistake.”
“I think the normal procedure is a three-day suspension for insubordination,” Somers said, tapping his chin, “but since you’re a contract employee, I’m not sure. Maybe we’ll have to figure it out. A paddling. Some kind of corporal punishment.”
“Holy fuck,” Dulac groaned.
“Stop it,” Hazard said, “before this pervert shoots his load on a witness’s front steps.” He took a breath. He still wasn’t seeing clearly, but he managed to fix on Somers. “Fine. He identified three possible people who might be behind the harassment. In his opinion, they were a threat to his life.” He managed to spit out the next words: “Since he was a fucking liar, I do not agree.”
“The antifa girl from the tree-lighting ceremony,” Somers said.
“Antifa?” Dulac said.
“She didn’t say she was antifa,” Hazard said.
“What’s antifa?” Dulac said.
“Anti-fascist,” Somers said. “It’s one of the terms the more militant groups on the leftist side of politics use to describe themselves. But Cravens used the word, right? Why?”
“I don’t know,” Hazard said. “Savanna Twilight fits the profile; maybe she really is antifa.”
“And Hoffmeister is a powerful symbol of that conflict,” Somers said. “Police use of excessive force has been all over the news lately.”
“It’s bullshit, man,” Dulac said from the steps. “It’s fucking bullshit. I can’t even touch a guy without thinking he’s going to have my ass in court. I can’t even do my job.”
“That’s funny,” Hazard said. “Hoffmeister said something similar. He believed all the hatred directed at him was unjust; he believed he’d just been doing his job.”
“But he wasn’t,” Somers said, stomping his feet against the cold and tucking his hands into his pockets. “He was an asshole, first of all. And he did use excessive force. It might not be the popular thing to say, but he was going to lose this case. First the criminal one, then the civil one.”
“And he had a history of other people he’d hurt, tormented, humiliated. That’s why I think it’s ridiculous to focus on the three people he named.”
Somers didn’t seem to hear Hazard; he was frowning. “I can see Savanna Twilight—” He made a face at the name. “—seeing herself as part of an ideological war. And I can see her coming here, trying to find a cause that will launch her onto the front page. But to murder someone in cold blood? I don’t think an ideological war is enough motive.”
“I agree,” Hazard said, nodding slowly. “If she were in the heat of the moment, maybe he confronted her, or maybe they clashed in a riot, something like that, I could imagine her doing something extreme. In that sense, it’s possible she was the one who came to the house and started the fight. But you’re right: motive isn’t strong enough. To come here and murder him for publicity, that seems unnecessary. If she wanted to kill a cop, she could have done it wherever she was before.”
“So who were the other two?” Dulac asked. Still sitting on the steps, he blew into his hands. “Can we go somewhere warm? What? You said he told you about three, right?”
“Children are meant to be seen,” Hazard said. “Not heard.” Then, to Somers, “The second was the pastor, Wesley. I don’t have anything substantive, but I believe Wesley is hiding something. Something specific about what happened at the tree-lighting ceremony, I think, although I might be wrong. Both times I’ve tried to talk to him, he’s gone into a rage and thrown me out.”
“And that has nothing to do with your unstoppable charm,” Somers muttered.
“What was that?”
“How do you know he’s hiding something? Did you use your instinct? Your intuition?”
Hazard waited a beat. Just waited.
After a moment, Somers gave a guilty grin.
“You are just trying to make things bad for yourself, aren’t you?” Hazard asked.
On the steps, Dulac crossed his fingers and whispered, “Corporal punishment.”
Ignoring him, Hazard said, “I believe he’s hiding something because he refused to tell me his location from two nights ago and because he acted skittishly when I talked to him about the tree-lighting ceremony. That’s not intuition; it’s deduction.” He cocked his head, reconsidering. “And fucking common sense.”
“So, possible motive,” Somers said. “If the pastor really is hiding something, maybe it’s big enough to kill over.”
“Maybe,” Hazard said.
“Rope,” Dulac said, shooting to his feet.
“Yes,” Hazard said, “it was a hanging. Of course there was rope.”
“No, dude. I mean, Mr. Hazard. I mean, Emery. No, like, the rope!”
“You couldn’t drop him off at daycare before you came?” Hazard asked.
Somers shook his head with something like disappointment.
“That’s why the killer hanged Hoffmeister with a wire rope: they weren’t strong enough to force him onto the chair, and they weren’t strong enough to pull him into the air, not even using the joist as a pulley. They needed the electric winch to do the work, and that meant a wire rope to be sure it would be strong enough.”
Hazard turned this over in his head. Finally, he grunted.
“All right,” Somers said, “tell him.”
“What?” Hazard said.
“Tell him he did a good job. You didn’t think of that, and it’s a fair point.”
“I hadn’t thought of it yet. I would have thought of it if I’d spent any amount of time considering the relative mass of the victim and the potential killers, and it wouldn’t have been hard to do the math on the rope because the equation, even with a pulley, is very straightforward. You simply calculate the effort force in pounds and—” The words dried up in his mouth.
Somers was shaking his head again.
“Fine,” Hazard said, rounding on Dulac so sharply that Dulac fell back onto the stairs again. “You did adequately.”
“It was a good point,” Somers said.
“It was
passable.”
“Solid police work.”
“Serviceable. At best.”
“On something you didn’t think of.”
Hazard could feel the heat in his face and decided he’d complimented Dulac enough for the moment. “If we’re going to work through the leads Hoffmeister gave me, then we’d probably better focus on the pastor. I think we should start by working the next street and asking if anybody saw the pastor park on that block; whoever got into the fight with Hoffmeister parked somewhere else and walked, and so that might explain why no one heard or saw anything last night.”
“The third lead,” Somers said. “That was Andy-Jack, right?”
Hazard shook his head. “Dead end.”
Frowning, Somers seemed to be considering it.
“It’s impossible, John. Look at the house: stairs to the front porch; stairs to the back door. He couldn’t have gotten up there in a wheelchair. He certainly couldn’t have brawled in the yard like whoever we saw last night. And we’ve already run down the friends angle; Andy-Jack is cut off from the Volunteers. He doesn’t have anybody willing to do this for him.”
“But he was your main focus the first couple of days you were working this,” Somers said.
“Because he’s the only one with solid motive: he’s disabled because Hoffmeister beat the shit out of him. That’s a guy who might want revenge. But then I met him, and I realized there was no way he could be getting into Hoffmeister’s house to mess with stuff. And then I learned he’d been ostracized from the Volunteers. And, to be honest, Andy-Jack himself made a good point: Hoffmeister is worth a lot more to him alive than dead: Andy-Jack wants to raid his pension with the civil suit. My guess is that he’ll win and walk away with a small fortune.”
“But Hoffmeister still pointed you toward him,” Somers said.