“It’s a little ironic that today I gave up fighting what’s between us,” he said quietly.
I met his eyes, my face a careful mask, while his seemed twisted in melancholy. “That I chose today to start, you mean?” The smallest of nods was my answer, and then he turned to leave.
“That’s not irony. That’s fate.” When he exited the stall, I pressed the back of my head against the wall, following his movement with my eyes. “Did you do it, Peter?”
He stopped, hand on the door, didn’t turn around when he answered, “Who’s asking? My date? Or the cop?”
To me they were the same. Though, not lately, I had to admit. Lately, my title of ‘cop’ left a lot to be desired. “One and the same, Peter. The truth shouldn’t change based on the questioner.”
“I suppose if I trusted you’d believe me, I’d tell you that, no, I didn’t, Austin.” He turned slightly and met my eyes. “But, if you ask me again? I’ll say I want a lawyer.”
“Why are you so cryptic?”
“Why are you so difficult, pushy and conflicted? One minute you trust me, the next you have nothing but accusation in your eyes. I’m a whore, then I’m practically your boyfriend. You want to get to know me, but you follow me into the bathroom in order to hookup.”
“My whole life has been upside down since I met you! A little confliction is—.”
“Not my fault. Your confliction is not my fault or my problem.”
The laugh that pushed out of me had more air than humor. “You’re right. I’m not your problem. Not your type. Not your anything. I’ve ignored all your hostile rejections, the insults and the lies. You wanted me to leave you alone. I’m finally listening, Peter.” Moving past him to the exit, this time I halted at the door, eye-to-eye with him. “Next time I come after you, it’ll be to bring you in.”
He didn’t follow me out.
Temper, Temper
Detective Frank Marco looked and sounded like a pig: a squashed nose rammed between red, pockmarked cheeks, draping jowls, and a constant wheeze whenever he exhaled. He was also a remarkably soft-spoken guy with a gentle demeanor. Go figure.
By contrast, his partner, Max Delmonico, was a pig, though he could steal the spotlight from the prettiest of starlets. Delmonico had a hard voice and an even harder set of green eyes. Next to them, Luis was the poster boy for average.
By the time I arrived at the station, Alvarado’s body was on its way to the medical examiner’s office, and Frank Marco and Max Delmonico were gathered near our desks and locked in deep conversation with Luis, who was handing them files.
As I approached them, all three sets of eyes turned from their semi-circle of discussion to me. Was I imagining an apology in Luis’s frown? I wondered how much Luis had told them. Probably everything. And considering who the detectives were, I would know in less than five seconds just how intimate and detailed Luis had been.
“Glass,” Marco nodded.
“Well, if it isn’t Richie Rich,” Delmonico sneered. I exhaled with relief. Obviously Luis had said nothing about my relationship with Peter, or Delmonico’s jibe would have included some form of ‘fag’, ‘queer’ or ‘fudgepacker’.
“That’s it? That’s your big insult? A reference to a defunct comic book character? You need new material, Del.” It wouldn’t help. The only way to improve Del’s wit would be to exchange his brain with that of a coma patient.
“What’s up with your suspect?” Marco said to me. It took me a second to realize he meant Peter.
Luis had told them about him, apparently. Hopefully it was just that Peter and Prisc were lovers and had a recent disagreement Luis and I witnessed. “Said we should direct questions to his lawyer,” I answered.
“What was your take?” Luis asked. The glance that passed between us was almost telepathic. ‘Sorry,’ mine said. ‘You fucked up. Now you know. Get on with it,’ Luis’s shrug conveyed. He knew I wasn’t going to make the same mistake, not with Peter, or ever. Unfortunately, I was about to make a bigger one in the next few minutes.
“He’s hiding something, but I couldn’t read if he’s our perp.” A partial lie. My read was Peter didn’t do it, but I no longer trusted myself where he was concerned. “Any witness statements yet?”
Delmonico spoke up. “Regular train of boys running through that house. Prick certainly had a taste for the teenagers from what the nosy biddy across the street says. Some uniforms talked to her.” Del flipped a few pages in his black notepad and started reading, “Here it is. ‘Mrs. Millicent Waters was at a late mass yesterday. She saw three figures between the time she got home at ten and went to bed at 11:40-11:45. Which covers the time when Mr. Eduardo Ynez,” he flipped a page up and over, “next door, says he heard the gunshot.”