Chasing Justice (Gay Detective Romance Novella) (3 page)

Luke winced, finally realizing what made the odd indentations in his victim’s skull and face.

“This guy was too quick and had too much easy money,” Eddie said. “He was probably in the wind right after his lawyer bailed him on the initial drug charge.”

“How did the New York connection come up?” Luke asked.

“Trading information has never been all that easy between different cop shops, y’know, especially when we’re on different coasts. By the time the LAPD Robbery-Homicide Division connected Thayer’s MO in L.A.—prostitutes, gay clubs, and death by blunt instrument—with the similar open case out here through the NCIC, he was already gone. He’s high-risk and high-profile. We want this guy. The suspected connection to the murder here only strengthens our resolve.”

Luke shook his head and slammed his hand on the desk. “Son of a bitch. I
knew
he did the one here. I went at him hard in the interrogation room but he had all the right answers. Smug as shit. He knew how the system worked. I only wish we had
more
to connect him,” Luke said, looking over at the captain. “But I had no witnesses to the killing itself, no murder weapon, not even adequate forensic evidence—no semen, fibers, nothing. The bodies were clean.”

“He’s obviously gotten sloppier as time has gone on,” Eddie said.

“It’s more likely his drug addiction has taken its toll, and it allowed him to make mistakes.”

“You did the best with what you had, Luke,” the captain said. “Sometimes there isn’t enough to make shit stick.”

“This time they have DNA, and the D.A. says the indictment looks iron-clad with the evidence they’ve collected. I know it’s no consolation, Detective Everett, but he’s going away no matter what.”

Luke nodded. “Now all you have to do is catch him. But he could be anywhere. Just because he was in New York once doesn’t mean he came back here.”

“Well,” Eddie continued, “I went to talk to Thayer’s rich, divorced, Botoxed momma out in Redondo Beach. She wasn’t what you’d call forthcoming. But thanks to reading your files, I might have mentioned that he wasn’t just suspected of murdering prostitutes, but
gay
prostitutes. That got her attention.”

“She gave it up that he was back in New York.”

“Yep.” Eddie leaned forward in his chair. “But she didn’t know where he was. Which is why I’ve come to see you, Detective, in the interest of interdepartmental cooperation. I was hoping you’d be able to help me.”

Luke looked sideways at Walton. “Sounds like you were doing fine on your own.”

“I generally like to work that way. After reading the file and the way you were able to get into this bastard’s head, though—let’s just say I’d rather team up than go wandering around this city for a few days.”

Luke caught a change in the other man’s demeanor when he said that, and he immediately knew he was lying. “So who
actually
forced you to partner with me?”

Eddie laughed, hoarse and throaty. “Hell, he’s better than I thought,” he said to Walton. “You weren’t shittin’ me.”

“Luke’s one of the best.”

Luke made a face at Captain Walton.

“What do you say, Luke? Up for a little down-and-dirty perp tracking? You know him better than anyone. I want this asshole. And even though we can’t put your body on him, I know you want him too.”

Luke had to admit that despite the years that had passed, he never really completely forgot the case, much like all the others that had run against a brick wall and ended. Guys like this were the reason Luke still had nightmares. Any chance to put this guy away—even if it wasn’t for the original murder—was one Luke was going to take.

“I’m in.”

“Cool. Let me call Gale.”

“Who’s she?”

“He’d get a kick out of you asking that,” Eddie snorted, and stepped into the hallway to slide his fingers across his cell phone.

When they were alone, Walton put his hand on Luke’s arm. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of your role in all this, Detective. This is purely a professional courtesy. Thayer was never convicted for anything in New York. We never had enough evidence.”

“I know, Captain…”

“Don’t overstep your bounds. This is strictly by the book.”

“You don’t have to babysit me.”

“Then make sure you don’t come back here trailing paperwork.”

Eddie stepped back into the room. “I gave my supervisory deputy, Galen, the heads-up that we’d be working together, Everett. I told him you didn’t seem like a dickhead, though that remains to be seen.”

“And I’m sure you’re even more annoying than I already think you are.”

“It’d probably be better for all of us in the long run if you two could avoid killing each other,” Walton muttered.

“This should be interesting, Detective Everett,” Eddie said.

Luke stood up and offered his hand again. “Call me Luke.”

“All right, Luke. Give me an idea of where we need to be. What’s our first step?”

“We’ll canvass his favorite clubs and check if anyone has seen him. But it’s been two years, so the
first
thing we need to do is find out which of those clubs are still operating. That’ll narrow things down.”

“You pull his file, and then show me to a computer. We’ll Google the
shit
out of those places,” Eddie declared.

“Once we do that we’ll pound some pavement.”

Eddie nodded. “Bring it on, big guy.”

Chapter 3

Luke had taken meticulous notes on just about every aspect of Thayer’s life, from where he liked to shop to his favorite clubs to the drug dealers he visited the most often. He’d been obsessed with the guy for the months he was under investigation. He’d even taken to driving home from work past Thayer’s brownstone in Chelsea.

Thayer didn’t care about much in his life other than drugs, getting laid, and where the next party was. It made him difficult to track because he tended to go where his whims took him, since he had no job and money was easy to come by.

Luke and Eddie narrowed down the hunt to six of Thayer’s favorite clubs, spread all over Manhattan. Since the bodies were found in Chelsea they decided to first visit the clubs that were farther uptown, and then the West Village. This eliminated four of the six, since none of the bouncers or bartenders they interviewed recognized Thayer.

“It’s not exactly good news that they haven’t seen him,” Eddie said as they exited a club in the Village. “But it does narrow down the search.”

“He’s a creature of habit with a disposable income. He’s going to turn up.”

“I wonder if he hasn’t gone to ground somewhere. He knows we’re looking for him.”

“His drug use had been increasing when I knew him. If he was high when the LAPD picked him up, he’s going to need to get it from somewhere, and it’s going to be multiple times a day,” Luke said. “If he’s back here, he’s going to find the dealers he knows and trusts who have the best package. He won’t be fiending on a street corner. He’s too smart and too rich for that.”

“You think they’ll have seen him in these last two clubs we need to check?”

“I do, which is why I saved them for last. His whole life is centered around Chelsea. He even had a house here.”

“Had or has?” Eddie asked.

“Had. His mother sold it out from under him. I’m assuming it’s part of the reason he moved to California with her. He had nowhere else to go. I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did before coming back to New York.”

“Is that you insulting my fine state, Detective?” Eddie asked with a smile.

“No, it’s me saying I could never leave New York for somewhere that only has one season.”

“Snow is highly overrated.”

“It’s better than smog,” Luke said.

Luke pulled his unmarked police cruiser into a parking spot about two blocks away from the club they intended to check out. When he got out of the car, Eddie said, “We have better parking, too.”

Luke merely rolled his eyes as they walked over to the front door.

“
Club Tingle
?” Eddie laughed, eyeing the unlit neon sign over their heads as they entered. “You’re kidding me.”

“You should see it when it’s actually open,” Luke said.

“You’ve visited a lot of gay clubs I take it?”

“What? Of course I…I haven’t…no,” Luke scoffed.

Eddie shrugged. “I’m not judging.”

“Do I look like I’m gay?”

Eddie paused and ran his eyes up and down Luke’s body.

“What are you doing?” Luke asked.

“Trying to see if gay guys have a look.”

“They…well, y’know…” Luke waved his hand awkwardly. “You can tell sometimes.”

“You can tell if one guy wants to fuck another just by looking?”

“It’s like…I don’t know,” Luke said, exasperated.

“Do you have a gaydar detector or something?”

“Now you’re being flippant.”

“Yeah, probably,” Eddie smirked.

“I’m not gay, if you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Then why are you asking me all that?”

“I don’t know. But it sure sounds like you could use a night out at a gay club if it’ll loosen you up a little. Quit acting like a typical cop.”

“I was here during the course of the investigation, okay?” Luke explained, annoyed. “It happened to be on a Friday night.”

“What happens on Fridays?”

Once they got inside there was a hallway that led them down a darkened staircase into a small room, where a recess in the wall had been turned into a makeshift coat check. They walked past a small table and chair, presumably where the bouncer sat and checked IDs, until the claustrophobic space widened into a massive open area. It was dim inside, with only the lights above a huge bar illuminating the edge of the room. Hundreds of bottles of top-shelf liquor were lined up in neat rows from one side to the other, creating a backdrop made up entirely of different hues of blues, browns, and the occasional red. The bar was so big it curved and disappeared into the darkness at the far end of the room.

Tables and chairs sat on carpeted areas on either side of a parquet wood dance floor. There was a small stage at the back of the space, over which a huge banner hung reading
Drag Night Divas—Fridays here at Club Tingle!

“Ohh,” Eddie said, looking up. “Fridays.”

“We need to find someone to talk to.”

As Luke said that, a tall, muscular guy came out from behind a door near the side of the bar. He was carrying a case of beer.

“Sorry, guys, we’re not open yet.”

“We’d like to talk to your manager,” Luke said, flashing his badge.

“Is there a problem?”

“Can you just get your manager so we can talk to him?” Luke said, an edge to his voice. “We really don’t have time for your—”

“What my partner means to say,” Eddie broke in, sitting down on one of the stools next to the bar, “is that we know it’s early, but I wouldn’t mind a Jack and Coke.”

Eddie slipped a fifty dollar bill from his wallet and placed it on the bar, along with his Marshals badge.

“I’m not really supposed to serve outside of business hours,” the bartender said.

“And I’m not really supposed to drink while on duty. But we both can make an exception one time, can’t we, handsome?” Eddie asked, placing another fifty on the bar. “I’m really thirsty.”

The bartender grinned at him and got two glasses from underneath the bar and poured the drinks.

“How about you and I chat a little?” Eddie said, taking a small sip.

“You don’t have a New York accent. Where did you come from, with all that blond hair and that biker mustache?” the bartender asked, now leaning an arm against the bar and drinking from his own glass.

“The sunshiny shores of the West Coast.” He clinked his glass against the bartender’s. “I’m Eddie, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Brody.”

“Of course you are,” Eddie said, practically purring at the guy. “How long have you worked here, Brody?”

“About four years now.”

“You pretty much see everything and everyone who comes and goes in this place, am I right?”

“A lot more
coming
if you know what I mean,” Brody joked.

“Oh my God, listen to you,” Eddie said, flashing a smile. “I bet you could tell me all sorts of stories.”

“I could. But I assume the money here is for someone specific, Marshal.”

“Call me Eddie. And you’d be right. I hope you can help me out.”

Luke stood there, amazed—and a little annoyed—at how easily Eddie was able to get the bartender to open up. He was charming, funny, and flirtatious, which definitely came as a surprise. Eddie seemed totally at ease with the situation, laughing at all of Brody’s jokes and subtly touching the bartender’s hand whenever he spoke. Luke was good at forcing a confession out of someone; he’d never worked out the nuances of the interview.