by Josh Lanyon
The cats’ feeder released their seven o’clock dinner, and both felines trotted to their dishes. Greg smiled, watching them. “They must be good company.”
“They are. You don’t have pets?”
“Nah. I’m hardly ever home. It doesn’t seem fair.”
“Cats don’t mind much, as long as they get fed on time.”
Greg opened his mouth to respond, but his phone chimed with a text. “Crap. Sorry.”
Nooooo. “Do you have to leave?”
“No.” Greg read the text, frowning. “Let me just answer this… There.” He set the phone aside.
“Anything to do with Roy Shaw?”
“My boss spoke with Cabo Barnes about what Shaw had told you. Barnes says he has no idea what might have concerned Shaw and suggests it must be related to Ideodax, not Skyose.”
“I guess that’s possible.”
“Sure. You said Shaw was at the press conference, right? How did he seem?”
“Nervous. His legs were jiggling under the table the entire time.”
“Did he answer any questions?”
“Nope.” Justin told Greg about his call to Gretchen Holt in Las Cruces. “If she uncovers anything, I’ll tell her to call you.”
“Good. Thanks.” Greg smiled. “Let’s forget about Roy Shaw for a while.”
Justin grinned. “Agreed.”
Chapter Fourteen
Greg hadn’t had any preconceptions of how the evening would go, although he’d been guardedly optimistic. He was delighted to find he was enjoying himself far more than he’d anticipated.
It occurred to him—talking to Justin, watching him, looking at his house—that Justin could use a positive influence in his life. Maybe he could fill that role.
Whoa. Slow down. Move too fast, and you might frighten him off.
Although, unless he was mistaken, Justin was enjoying himself as much as Greg was.
They talked for another hour, until they’d eaten all they could and the leftovers were getting cold. Justin got to his feet. “Let me get this in the fridge.”
“I’ll help.”
Justin waved him off. “As you can see, this kitchen only has room for one operator at a time. Do you want a beer?”
“Sure.” Greg made his choice from the selection Justin had—of which he approved—then watched as Justin busied himself with locating and filling storage containers.
Justin said, “You should take the leftovers when you go. I mean, I don’t want you to go. I mean…”
He was getting flustered, so Greg said, “I know what you mean. And it’s fine; you can keep the food. I don’t know how much I’ll be home to eat it this week, anyway.”
“Is your schedule usually irregular?”
“No. Maybe one evening a week, I’ll have to be out on an investigation. Sometimes a weekend. But we don’t have many death investigations. This is an atypical circumstance. How about you? What fills your time when you’re not covering a launch?”
“Oh, I don’t just cover launches. I’m the space reporter. So when there’s news about one of the Mars landers, or one of the space telescopes, or a new astronomy finding—anything—it’s mine to write about. I usually file a story every day.”
“You work from home?”
“Mostly. Sometimes I’ll get bored of looking at my lawn and go to Starbucks.” Justin snapped the lid onto the last container and stowed it in the fridge. “Want to see if there’s a breeze out back?”
They carried their beer bottles to the back patio, where there were two plastic Adirondack chairs with a matching table between them. Greg was pleased to see that the backyard was surrounded by privacy fencing. “Hey, there is a breeze. How far are you from the water?”
Justin pointed. “A cut in from the Banana River is about four houses in that direction.”
“Nice. Do you have a boat?”
“No.” Justin scrunched his face. “We had one, but my mom took it with her when she married Gil.”
“That’s a shame.” Greg considered, then decided to make the leap. “I have a fishing boat. Maybe we could go out sometime.”
Justin beamed. “I’d love that.”
They talked for two more hours, drinking another beer apiece, covering every topic from politics to their college days to favorite TV shows growing up. Justin talked a bit more about Clay, and Greg told him about his own ex, Scott Alexander, whom he’d met in the criminal justice program at Western Carolina University. Scott had become a cop in Hickory, North Carolina, and like Ryan Utley, felt that he couldn’t possibly be out because of where he lived and worked. Their tentative relationship had finally ended four years ago, when Greg had moved to Florida.
As he spoke, Greg realized that his history with Scott and Ryan wasn’t bothering him nearly as much as it had just yesterday.
Eventually the two of them found themselves swatting at mosquitoes and were forced inside. Greg rinsed their beer bottles and propped them in the drainer, then turned to Justin. “Thank you for this evening. I have thoroughly enjoyed myself.”
Justin stammered a bit. “Thank you for dinner. I’ve had… This has been wonderful.”
Greg reached for him, rested a finger under Justin’s chin, and kissed him lightly, lingering for just a moment. “I have to be at work early. But I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Justin’s beautiful eyes were wide and dark. “Will you?”
“Yes. I will.” Greg smiled. “Count on it.”
Chapter Fifteen
Justin couldn’t possibly sleep. After that kiss, his head wouldn’t stop spinning. He brushed his teeth, made a circuit of the house to check doors and windows, then decided to strip his bed and change the sheets. Once the washer was running, he sat down at his computer and peered into Greg’s previous life. It felt a tad stalkerish, but Justin had never been to North Carolina. He wanted to check it out.
He visited Western Carolina University’s website, then opened Google Earth and zoomed in on Swannanoa. He tried to imagine growing up in the mountains, in a place with seasons and snow, and couldn’t.
Maybe he’d have the chance to visit someday.
On that happy thought, he fell asleep where he was, on the sofa.
He woke to the sound of kibble falling into bowls and the surprisingly loud crunching sounds Elton and Bernie made when they ate. He scrubbed at his face and checked his phone—he hadn’t missed anything overnight—then went outside for the paper. His article about Skyose’s history of failure, accompanied by another of Enrique’s photos, was below the fold, but still front page.
Justin grinned. He hoped that in the next day or two he’d have yet another front-page story, this time about Roy Shaw.
But at the moment, the most productive thing he could do was go for a run.
He’d never been athletic. When Justin lived in Orlando, Clay had insisted that they belong to a gym—another networking opportunity. Justin had been bored by it all, and had jogged on the treadmill, watching TV, while Clay “networked.” As much as he’d despised it, though, it had kept him in shape. Except for walks on the beach, he hadn’t exercised much in two years. The evidence of his sloth had accumulated around his waist.
Those days are over. He feared that Greg wouldn’t tolerate sloth for long. He dug his newest sneakers out of the closet, laced them up, and headed out.
He made it around his block three times. By the fourth circuit, he was gasping, and slowed to a walk. He could feel the tightness in his calves. I’ll be sore tomorrow, but it will be worth it.
He showered and dressed, went to his office, and sat at his computer. A potential twelve-mile-wide lake had just been discovered below the south pole of Mars; that subject would serve as his article of the day. Justin downloaded the paper on the topic that had been published in Science and got to work.
He was finished by noon. He emailed the article to his editor and was about to choose which of the Thai leftovers to heat up for lunch when his phone rang.
He snatched it up and checke
d the screen. When he saw Greg’s name, he whooped, “Yes!” then took a deep breath and answered. “Hi.”
“Hey. Whatcha doing?”
The sound of that voice… “I just finished writing an article about Mars. How’s your day so far?”
“Running into dead ends, mostly. I’ll tell you about it. Are you free for lunch?”
“Sure.”
“How about Taco City?”
“Sounds great.” Taco City was a terrific, inexpensive Mexican restaurant near the tip of Patrick AFB. Equidistant from the two of them. “When?”
“How about at one? The lunch rush will be over.”
“Perfect. I’ll see you there.”
Greg chuckled. “Yes, you will.”
They said goodbye. Justin did a happy dance around the kitchen, startling Elton, who’d been snoozing on top of a barstool. Elton meowed, that chirpy sound made by orange cats that almost sounded like he was asking, What?
Justin scooped him up and squeezed him, which provoked Elton to bop Justin on the head with his paw. Justin didn’t care. “Two dates in two days, Elton! Life is good!”
Elton was unmoved.
Chapter Sixteen
The previous evening, on the drive home from Justin’s, past Patrick on his right and the blackness of the ocean on his left, Greg had replayed their date, searching for any indication that he shouldn’t flat-out pursue a relationship with Justin Harris. He couldn’t find one. Justin shared his enthusiasm for fishing, reading, travel, and classic rock. Greg didn’t know much about another of Justin’s passions—sci-fi literature and TV shows—but he could certainly learn.
Once home, he’d hit the remote and eased the truck into the left bay of the two-car garage, then lowered the door and entered his house. It was cool, dark, and quiet, the humming of air-conditioning and fridge the only sounds.
It would be wonderful to have someone waiting when he came home.
With that thought, he collided with the same issue Ryan had presented. It was problematic to be comfortably out in this community, much less out and openly partnered. Orlando was a different matter; it was a fairly progressive city, and most there wouldn’t care. But Brevard County was far more conservative.
But they’d figure something out.
When his alarm sounded the next morning, he bounced out of bed, feeling invigorated. He went for a long run, then showered, gobbled a bowl of cereal, and drove to work. Short-term goal: solve the Roy Shaw case.
He got to the office at 7:45. His phone’s message light was on; he punched the Playback button as he booted his computer, and listened.
“Agent Marcotte, this is Officer Derrick Rose, Florida Fish and Wildlife. We received a report from one of our licensed trappers about the shooting of an alligator in the Banana River Lagoon on Saturday. He named you as the perpetrator. Please call me to discuss this matter.”
Greg said, “For fuck’s sake. Perpetrator?” just as Ward Vernon entered his office.
Vernon raised an eyebrow. “Problem?”
“Yes, sir.” Greg replayed the message.
Vernon huffed an exasperated breath, reached for Greg’s phone, and placed the call. “Officer Rose, this is Col. Ward Vernon, 45th Space Wing, Patrick Air Force Base. I’m Special Agent Greg Marcotte’s commanding officer, and he shot the alligator in question on my authority. No, the animal was on US Air Force property, not in the water, and its death was necessary to recovering human remains.” He listened for a moment. “No, Officer Rose, here’s what’s going to happen. My commanding officer, Brigadier General Loren Watson, will call your commanding officer, whoever that may be, and they will determine the outcome of this incident. No, I will not allow you to speak to Special Agent Marcotte. I’d recommend you inform your superior. Goodbye.”
Greg grinned. “Thank you, sir.”
“Absurd. How many damn alligators are there in this state, anyway?” Vernon rapped the top of Greg’s desk with his knuckles. “I’m going to speak to General Watson right now.” He strode from the room, nearly bowling over Mindy as she came in. “Excuse me, Agent Leonard.”
“Yes, sir.” Mindy watched Vernon march down the hall. “What’s on his mind?”
“A Fish and Wildlife officer called me this morning. Vernon returned the call.”
“Damn, wish I’d been here for that.” Mindy turned on her computer. “Any news?”
“Nope. No one’s called me back yet. Shouldn’t we have autopsy results today?”
“Yes, but what’s that gonna tell us?”
“You never know with autopsies. Sometimes there’s a surprise.” Greg opened his email. “Hey, here’s the ballistics report.”
“Anything?”
“The murder weapon isn’t in NIBIN.” The national ballistics database managed by the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms.
“Huh. Guess that’s not surprising. Our shooter probably never committed a gun-related crime before.”
Zach arrived, stuck his head in the door to say hello, then went to his desk.
Greg scanned his email; it contained nothing useful. “You know what our problem is, Mindy?”
“We don’t have enough evidence?”
“Yup. We’re gonna need a break to solve this. Someone needs to panic and do something stupid.”
Mindy laughed. “Shouldn’t be a long wait. What’s your instinct telling you?”
Greg counted on his fingers. “One: the killer had to be someone with access to the base for the launch. Chances are it’s someone from either Skyose or Ideodax.”
“Unless Shaw had a NASA or Air Force connection we don’t know about.”
“Nothing’s turned up in his background so far. Two: it had to be someone Shaw would agree to meet with, which makes me believe that the killer is either Shaw’s near-equal or superior in one of those companies.”
“That narrows it down. We’re looking at either our Ideodax guys, or Cabo Barnes, or the other executive staff at Skyose.”
“Of which there are…” Greg checked Tom’s org chart. “Five. Chief financial officer, chief information officer, chief R&D officer, chief compliance officer, chief engineering officer. Were they all here for the launch?”
“I’m sure they were. I’ll find out.” Mindy picked up her phone and dialed. “Hi, Sharon, this is Agent Mindy Leonard with AFOSI. I’m great, how are you? Nice! That’s cool. Listen, do you have a list of all the Skyose and Ideodax personnel that were in town for the launch? Awesome. Sure, that makes sense. Could you scan and email me a copy of that? Super. Thanks, Sharon. You bet.” She hung up.
Greg said, “Who’s Sharon?”
“The receptionist at the Skyose building. She had to make hotel reservations for all the executives, other than Cabo Barnes, who owns a condo on the beach. So she has the list.” Mindy grinned. “Always endear yourself to the underlings, Greg. They’re the ones who know shit.”
Ward Vernon strode into the office with as much determination as he’d stridden out. “Alligator problem will be dealt with, Agent Marcotte.”
“Thanks, sir.”
“You’re welcome. Skype conference with the medical examiner in fifteen.”
Greg and Mindy said in unison, “Yes, sir.”
***
The medical examiner appeared on the screen in the conference room, larger than life. “We confirmed that the victim is Roy Shaw. Nothing unexpected on the autopsy. Two of the shots to the chest would have been instantly fatal. One transected the aorta and the other took out the left ventricle. Did you receive the ballistics report?”
Vernon said, “Yes. It’s an unknown weapon.”
The ME grunted in sympathy. “Sorry I can’t help be of more help. Mr. Shaw’s murder occurred exactly as it appeared to have.”
“Thanks, Doctor.”
“No problem.” The ME signed off.
Mindy’s phone dinged with an email notification. “Here’s the list of Skyose and Ideodax personnel who were in town for the launch.”
�
�Outstanding. Bring them in for questioning. If they’ve left already, track them down.”
“Yes, sir.”
Greg heard his office phone ringing and ran across the hall to grab it. “Special Agent Marcotte.”
“Special Agent Marcotte, this is Sam Boone with Ideodax. I understand you’ve been trying to reach me.”
“Yes, Mr. Boone. We have questions about your relationship with Roy Shaw of Skyose. Are you still in Florida?”
“No, I’m back in California. I don’t know what I can tell you about Roy. I did hear that he was missing.”
Did you now. Greg said, “We’d like to interview you on Skype, if possible.”
“Of course. Is it possible to do so now? I have meetings for the rest of the day.”
“Yes, it is. What’s your username?”
“Sam Boone Ideodax.”
“All right. We’ll be in contact shortly.” Greg said goodbye and hurried back to the conference room. “We have Sam Boone. He’s in California, but I have his Skype information.”
Vernon said, “Perfect. Get him on the screen.”
Greg made the connection. Boone was a pleasantly nerdy-looking guy with glasses and dark hair. “Hello, Agent Marcotte.”
“Mr. Boone.” Greg introduced the other agents. “When did you arrive in Florida?”
“Last Wednesday evening.”
“Who did you travel with?”
“My coworker, Glenn Pietras.”
“Who else from Ideodax attended the launch?”
“We were the only ones.”
That was odd. Mindy asked the question. “Why didn’t the CEO or any of the other executives come?”
“The only other executives besides Glenn and myself are Alan Moroney and Preston Brickman, the company founders. Alan had an emergency appendectomy on Thursday night and wasn’t cleared to travel, and Preston had a family emergency that required him to be in Seattle.”
Easy enough to check, Greg thought, and yet the answers sounded rehearsed to him. He said, “Tell us about your relationship with Roy Shaw.”
“Roy is our liaison with Skyose. All our communications with that company pass through him.”