Chasing Justice (Gay Detective Romance Novella) Page 2

  The man’s drooping mustache hid his expression, but Luke felt the unmistakable heat of his stare when he sat down. Luke met the other man’s piercing blue eyes for a moment, and then he turned his attention back to Walton.

  “Don’t tell me we’re working with bounty hunters now.”

  The blond man scoffed and Luke scowled, failing to hide his irritation at the sound.

  “Detective Luke Everett, meet Deputy Edward Brock of the U.S. Marshals Service.”

  “Eddie,” he said, holding out his hand. “Sounds cooler. Bounty-hunterish.”

  “Sorry about that,” Luke apologized, not really meaning it. “I didn’t know you were a Marshal.”

  Whatever got the Marshals Service here meant the agency was invading their little piece of Manhattan. Maybe it was the New York/New Jersey Regional Fugitive Task Force, which instantly put Luke in a foul mood. He didn’t have time to lead around some Fed asshole with a badge.

  He turned to Walton. “Listen, Captain, whatever this is—the RFTF, whatever—I really don’t have time to play paper chase with the Feds. I got enough to keep me busy.”

  “Does it look like I’m here on a social call, big guy?” Eddie asked, nonchalantly lacing his fingers behind his head. “I’m hunting a murderer.”

  “No shit. As a Marshal why else would you be here?” Luke asked, annoyed. “The three-day-old coffee?”

  “Wow, this is going to work out fine,” Eddie said sarcastically. “You’re not nearly as surly as your captain made you sound.”

  “Luke,” the captain sighed, sitting down behind his desk, “Deputy Brock is tracking a fugitive from Los Angeles. The New York/New Jersey Regional Fugitive Task Force is involved in this one. The Southern District office called me to help facilitate this.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “You were the investigating detective back when my fugitive lived here in New York City. He got collared in L.A. for some small-time shit, but by the time the brain trust of the LAPD figured out who he was and what he had actually done, he skipped.”

  Luke frowned. “Who is it?”

  “Neils Rupert Thayer.”

  The summer of 2013 suddenly jumped into sharp focus in Luke’s mind. A male prostitute, beaten to death, killed with a blunt weapon. He was found near Chelsea Piers, bound and gagged. The medical examiner could never pinpoint exactly what the object was the perp had used to kill the victim, but the marks were distinctive enough that they left wound impressions.

  By tracing the last known whereabouts of the victim and who was last seen with him, Luke was able to focus his investigation on Neils Thayer. He was a rich, entitled, son of a bitch who was spending his inheritance on porno, prostitutes, and gay clubs. His late father was an investment banker who made his millions on real estate speculation, and that wealth allowed Neils to attend the best private schools and meet the most influential people in Manhattan high society.

  Surrounded by opulence, he wore label designers and in high school drove two different Mercedes-Benz sedans and a Cadillac Escalade with custom rims when he wasn’t being ushered around the city by a fleet of drivers. He’d been raised by nannies while his mother celebrated her widowhood with endless European trips. Thayer had grown into an angry, sullen, and bitter twenty-one-year-old by the time Luke had met him.

  He was a party kid in the underground club and circuit scene, and he’d met several boyfriends that way, to the disgust of his WASPy Connecticut-born mother. Experimentation with MDMA, poppers, and other club drugs followed, and soon Thayer had become a regular customer of the dealers at the gay clubs he frequented. Luke knew Thayer had moved onto stronger stuff like meth based on what the dealers had told him.

  He then narrowed down his victim’s movements to a single gay club in Chelsea after tracking Thayer’s party trail. The victim was last seen alive with Thayer, but all the evidence Luke could ever find was circumstantial. The dealers had verified Thayer was the one buying drugs, and multiple witnesses identified Thayer from printed lineups. Luke knew this was his guy. But without more, or someone coming forward having seen the murder, the case went cold soon after that.

  “He’s killed again?”

  “You remember him, then,” Eddie stated, catching the look on Luke’s face.

  Luke nodded, locking eyes with Walton. It was one of those cases that had haunted him, because in his gut he knew Thayer was guilty. As many times as he went at him in the interrogation room, the smug bastard knew just what to say. Without any solid evidence tying him to the death, Thayer’s high-priced lawyer had him back on the street in no time.

  Eventually Luke had to admit to himself that obsessing over this guy was only causing sleepless nights and headaches. The unsolved case finally went into a file to languish among others that remained open, and Luke moved on. Hearing Thayer’s name again brought up a lot of the self-doubt he experienced during the investigation.

  “You read my reports in the file, right?” Luke said to Eddie. “Of course I remember him. The fucking thing’s unsolved.”

  “The casework is how your name came up.”

  “Here to shove my nose in it?”

  Eddie smirked. “That chip on your shoulder is big enough, Detective. I ain’t going add to it.”

  “You want a thank you for that?” Luke said.

  “Luke.” Walton barked his name in warning. “Brock came here for your help.”

  “Oh, how nice of him,” Luke said snidely.

  “I’m not here to pass judgment on why this bastard isn’t behind bars, Detective. I’m not blaming you, for Christ’s sake. We actually got lucky out in L.A. This guy fucked up—otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

  Luke looked up at him. “He messed up. How?”

  “They found the first victim bludgeoned to death outside of a gay club in Silver Lake.”

  “Jesus. Now he’s killed two.”

  “They were working that one when he tried again. Except this guy survived and gave a description,” Eddie said, brushing his hair back. “All the detectives had to work with was a composite drawn by an LAPD sketch artist. Then fucknuts got scooped up on a public intoxication and possession charge.”

  “Let me guess,” said Luke. “Meth.”

  “Yeah, only tweaked-out motherfucker that he was at the time, he actually gave his real name. Spent only a few hours in lockup before his fancy lawyer bailed his ass out. Then one of the detectives working the murder case was downtown and happened to see the mug shot, and she thought that Thayer’s photo and the victim’s descriptive composite looked really similar.”

  “How did a murder police wind up down near central booking?” Walton asked.

  “Said murder police might be dating the intake sergeant,” Eddie answered with a slight smile.

  “Thank God for small favors.”

  “They showed his mugshot to the victim, and he identified Thayer as the guy who tried to kill him. After that, the shit hit the fan. His picture went out everywhere; BOLOs across the state. Based on the witness’s testimony they got search warrants to storm Thayer’s house, his beach condo, even his yacht docked in Marina Del Rey. No sign of him. But they did find enough evidence for an arrest warrant.”

  That caught Luke’s attention. “Like what?”

  “Inside the yacht’s cabin they found one of those anti-theft locks you put on the steering wheel to keep people from stealing your car. Right there in plain sight. It was covered in blood and brain matter. They put a rush on the DNA and it came back linked to the first body.”

  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.”