Crossroads Revisited (8 page)

“Did you just put the gun under your
pillow?”

“Yeah, one of the reasons I need the
truth.”

“Jesus! All right, ask, and then will
you tell me what’s going on?”

“Fair enough. To the best of your
knowledge, did any of the men who died use heroin?”

“No! I mean, not that I ever heard.
Pre-med students know better than to mess with that drug. First off, they’d be
kicked out school if anyone knew, and―”

“The first four were not pre-med
students.”

“No, but Thomas was, and I know without
a doubt he wouldn’t use heroin. No way.”

“Have you?”

“No!”

“So, five were gay, but attended
different schools.” It wasn’t a question. Frank said it as if talking to
himself.

“Your turn. Tell me what that FBI agent
told you. How did they die?”

“Cardiac arrest.”

“Cardiac arrest at their age…all five?”

“After injecting heroin.”

“Tom didn’t inject heroin, so stop
saying that. I don’t care what the man told you. He’s wrong.”

“He didn’t say
they
injected it.
He said heroin showed up in their systems.”

Rand clutched the sheets, pulled them up
to his chin and turned his back on Frank. “I don’t want to talk about it
anymore, and for the record, I love sleeping in a bed with a loaded Glock aimed
at the back of my head.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You ever go bonkers
when you have those transcendental dreams?”

“No, but if you’re worried, I seem to
remember a bed in the other room.”

Rand smiled. “Oh, no, not on your life.
I’m scared shitless now, and I need the big, tough Frank McGuire to protect me
from the boogie man.”

“You’re a smart ass, pretty boy, you
know that?”

“Yeah, like someone else I know.
Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Frank said, fluffing the
pillow under his head, and Rand knew he wanted to make sure the gun remained
right where he put it.

Chapter Seven

The atmosphere inside City Hall reminded
Rand of his father’s funeral. He’d rather be anywhere but here at the moment.
He hugged his mom, and next Martha, Tom’s mother. Bloodshot eyes filled with
tears gazed into his, and the woman looked paler than a milk carton. Rand
scanned the crowded room, filled to capacity with grieving and worried parents.
The local clergy sat on one side—a priest, their long-time pastor, and some
type of offshoot denomination minister in a brown hooded robe and Grecian
sandals. Reps from the colleges were present, staff members, deans and several
professors.

In the front row, the parents of the
victims sat in chairs and wrung their hands, their faces masked by sorrow and
hopelessness. Rand’s heart went out to them as they watched Jeffords and the
FBI agent walk to the podium and arrange their papers.

Jeffords spoke first. “This is Agent
Reuben Hayworth from the Washington FBI Bureau. He’s here to help us get to the
bottom of these tragedies.”

“Murders, you mean,” a man piped up from
the first row.

Jeffords put his hand up. “Let’s just
take one thing at a time, and maybe tonight we can arrive at a plan.”

Hayworth grabbed the podium, offered his
condolences to the victim’s parents, and opened the floor to questions.

“When are you going to release the
autopsy reports?” a woman asked from the middle of the room. “The parents have
a right to know how their children died, and what about us—we’re on pins and
needles wondering whose child is next?”

“I understand, ma’am, and the reports
will be released as soon as possible. We’re still waiting on a few to come in.
The Medical Examiner wants to make sure she has all her bases covered before
she puts down a cause of death.”

Martha rose, her face marked by red
blotches, heavy bags clearly visible beneath her red-rimmed eyes. “Agent
Hayworth, you’ve had time to look over all the reports.” Her chest rose and
fell with laborious breaths. “Are you in concurrence with Baltimore’s Police
Department? Did my son have too much to drink and walk into the river?”

“At this point, Mrs. Kincaid, that’s all
we have. Five dead college students, found in the river after leaving a bar.”

Anger rose in her voice. “How do you
explain the severed phone line outside my house?”

“I can’t,” Hayworth said on a sigh.
“Pranksters, coincidence, could be any number of reasons.”

Boos and hisses echoed in the room. Rand
knew they weren’t buying the dribble from the agent or the Department. Why
should they? Too many loose ends. His mom raised her hand. Oh, Christ, she’d
ask Frank to take the podium. Beside him, Frank’s body tensed.

“Yes, ma’am. Please introduce yourself
and ask away.”

She stood. “Emily Brennan. My late husband,
Quinn, served on the force for years.” She looked around the room, her gaze
settling on Frank. “We want to hear from Frank McGuire. He went over your
reports, and we want to hear what he has to say.”

Hayworth motioned him forward. Frank got
up and walked to the front of the room with the grace of a jungle cat. The room
fell silent when he took center stage. He cleared his throat, and scanned the
crowd as if gathering his thoughts.

“What about it?” a man asked, a father
of one of the boys Rand surmised by his position in the front row. “You’re not
buying this malarkey, are you, McGuire? You expect us to believe five young
college students walked into the Patuxent after a night of binge drinking?”

“It happens all the time,” Frank said.
“In the last two years, eighteen college students have disappeared in the
Midwest—Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois—most found in or near a body of water.
Same as you, the parents are convinced there’s a serial killer on the loose,
but the FBI has found no concrete evidence of that.

“I’ve read all the reports in those
cases, and like this one, the holes are too big to ignore. In one instance, one
of the men called his girlfriend on his cell. Scared shitless and hiding in the
bushes, he said someone had followed him from the bar. They found him a day
later floating in the Mississippi.”

Another chorus of noisy chatter and
disgruntled voices resonated in the room.

Frank put his hand up. “Here’s what I
think we should do for now, and please believe me when I say I know how very
difficult it is to sit and wait when you think a killer might be stalking your
children.”

“We don’t think, we know it!” shouted
someone from the back of the room.

Frank’s head turned toward the voice and
the color drained from his face. Rand shifted in the chair and jerked his head
back to see who’d spoken. The man had risen to his feet, but it wasn’t the
speaker who caught Rand’s eye—or Frank’s apparently. A dark shadow ducked out
the entrance of the building, too fast and wily for Rand to make out features,
much less a build. He turned to look at Frank again, and knew in an instant
he’d recognized whoever had fled faster than a puff of smoke.

“What did you see in those reports?” A
woman asked.

“They drowned. Why they drowned, we
don’t know yet, but Agent Hayworth has promised me that in four days the
reports will be released to the public.”

“And what if another is killed in the
meantime?”

Jeffords interceded. “We’ve doubled our
patrol and called for reinforcements from neighboring counties.”

People milled about after the dismal
meeting, comforting one another, sharing hugs and small-talk. Frank seemed edgy
when he returned to Rand. “We best say goodbye to your mom.”

“Who ran through the front door while
you were up there?”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

Rand didn’t fancy the tone in his voice
or the look in his eyes—a mixture of worry and something he didn’t want to
think about. The look assimilated the same one Frank used when he thought Rand
wasn’t looking at him—the I-care-more-about-you-than-I-let-on look. Someone or
something had gotten to Frank. Rand sensed it, tasted it with every beat of his
tremulous heart.

Rand and Frank approached his mother as
she said goodbye to Martha. She turned to Rand and hugged him the moment her
best friend left the building.  “Geez, Mom, you’re hugging me as if you’ll
never see me again.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I bet Martha
wishes she could hug Thomas right now.”

Uncomfortable, Rand changed the subject.
“I’m happy you didn’t drag Marlow along. She doesn’t need to be exposed to all
this shit.”

“She’s home studying for a final…or so
she said.”

“Rand,” Frank said. “Give me a minute
alone with your mother.”

“Why?”

Frank shot him another look, more like a
glare, and easier to identify. Rand kissed his mom on the cheek and headed out
the front door. A few people still milled about, but the crowd had thinned. The
wind picked up and Rand watched a pile of leaves swirl around in the street. A
chill ran down his spine, and not from the wind. He had the distinct feeling
somebody watched him with the sight of an eagle. He zipped up his jacket and,
trying to act casual, looked around. All clear to the front. He glanced over
his shoulder. Nothing. He’d have to do something about his paranoia. All this
talk of dead college students fucked with his mind. Out of corner of his eye,
he caught the blurred motion of a familiar dark form duck behind an oak. Could
it be the same person who only minutes ago left City Hall in a cloud of dust?

Panic surged up his throat. He willed
his heart to calm and realized whoever hid behind the tree wouldn’t dare to do
anything with so many people around. What in the hell did Frank have to talk to
his mother about that he couldn’t hear? And when would he come out?

About to walk inside again, Frank
appeared. “Let’s go,” he said.

The air sizzled with undercurrents.
“What the hell is going on?”

“I’ll tell you in the car.”

Rand jumped into the passenger seat and
buckled in. Frank did the same after slipping behind the wheel and then turned
to him. “You have to go stay with your mother for a while.”

Rand jerked his body back and felt the
pull of the belt on his chest. “What! Why?”

“Because I said so.”

He punched the dashboard. “No.”

“No?”

“You can’t move me around like a piece
of fucking furniture, Frank. Tell me why.”

“It’s safer there.”

“Safer from what, goddamn it?”

“Rand, you have to trust me on this. I
told your mother we’ll be there after we pack your suitcase.”

He drew the words out emphatically. “I’m
not going home.”

“Do not fucking argue with me. It’s my
townhome and I say who stays and who goes.”

He didn’t answer right away, but
collected his scattered thoughts. “If you send me packing, I’m never coming
back.”

Frank slammed on the brakes and whipped
the Denali to the side of the road. “What did you say?”

Unable to control his anger or the
thought of leaving the asshole McGuire, he said through clenched teeth, “You
heard me and I mean it. I’m not your plaything. You can’t drop me yo-yo style
and reel me back in when you want to fuck me.”

“We’re not going down this road right
now.”

“I am!” he shrieked. “I can’t do this
anymore. One minute you’re all over me sucking harder than a tick on a dog and
the next you’re threatening to send me home. So make up your fucking mind. You
send me home, I’m not coming back.”

Frank reached over with one hand and
grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him so hard, the seatbelt froze. “You
do what I say when I say it, got that, pretty boy?”

Rand stared straight ahead.

“When things blow over and I come for
you, you’ll be so ready to climb back into my bed, I won’t have to ask twice.”

A lengthy paused ensued while Rand
pondered his options, and Frank didn’t release his hold. Now or never his mind
screamed. If he had to get over Frank ―and Christ, it seemed he’d have to
die first― better to do it now than go through it again and again at
Frank’s whim. “Don’t count on it,” he whispered.

“God, you’re a stubborn, spoiled idiot,”
Frank said, and pulled the car away from the curb. “It’s for your own good.”

“I’m not a child anymore, Frank, and
I’ve had it up to here with you treating me like one. I’m an adult, a man, and
if you don’t want to acknowledge it, that’s your fucking problem. You saw
someone at the meeting, someone who scared you shitless.”

“If I am scared shitless, it’s not for
me.”

Rand looked over and studied him for a
long time as he sped down the interstate. “Jesus, you think
I’m
in
danger.”

Frank kept his eyes peeled on the road
but a muscle in his jaw twitched.