The Hitchhiker Murders

Chapter 1 “Guys, there’s a woman here to see you.” “Guys?” Brent shot her a dry look. “Sorry.” Milly, their receptionist-secretary rolled her eyes. “Mr. and Mr. Collins, there’s a woman here to see you.” “Did she give you her name, Milly?” Quinn asked. He waited for her to come up with a smartass response when he realized how he’d phrased his words. Milly grinned before obviously deciding to pass—this time—replying with “Mrs. Constance Taylor. She says it’s about her missing son.” Very quietly, even though the office door was closed, she whispered, “She looks like money.” “Thank for warning us,” Brent said with a trace of amusement. “Bring her in, please.” She did. After introducing Mrs. Taylor to Brent and Quinn, Milly left, closing the door behind her. “If you’d have a seat, Mrs. Taylor,” Brent said, gesturing to one of the armchairs along the wall across from his desk. When she complied, he and Quinn joined her, taking the two remaining chairs. “How may we help you?” She looked at them, frowning. “You don’t look at all like brothers.” That was true, since Brent was a lean, lanky, six-foot-two man with dark brown hair and a thin face, whereas Quinn was five-eleven, muscular and had a blond crew-cut, a square jaw, and a broad forehead. “Because we’re not,” Quinn replied. “But your last names…” “We’re married.” “Oh.” She smiled weakly, saying “oh” again. “I’ve never met…” Brent chuckled. “We’re a rare breed around here. Or have been until fairly recently.” “I should know that,” she admitted. “My son’s gay.” She chewed her lip. “I think…I’m afraid, that might be why he’s missing.” She was a handsome woman—Brent put her at around forty-five—with stylishly cut blonde hair. Her dress was definitely something from Garbarini or Hermès, not Ross or Target. At the moment, however, the stress lines on her face made her look closer to fifty. “How long has he been missing?” Quinn asked. “And why do you think it has to do with his being gay?” “Let me preface this by saying Andrew is what one might call a free spirit. When I put my foot down about his falling grades—he is, he was a freshman at DU—and told him I would not continue to pay his tuition if they didn’t improve, he moved out and dropped out of school. He got a low-paying job as a waiter in some sleazy restaurant and is sharing an apartment with two other young men.” “How old is he?” “Nineteen last month.” Brent nodded. “So he’s legally of age.” “Yes,” she replied tightly. “He’s been missing since Friday night when he told his roommates he was going up to Idaho Springs to meet some of his buddies.” “Since today is Wednesday, it’s been five days. I take it neither you nor his roommates have heard from him since then?” Brent said. “No.” “Have you contacted the police?” asked Brent. “I talked with a detective yesterday. He gave me the impression there wasn’t much they could do since he’s, as you put it, of age.” “Probably true, unless you have proof he didn’t disappear of his own volition,” Quinn said. “What was he driving?” “He doesn’t own a car.” Brent lifted an eyebrow at that. “What young man his age doesn’t have a car?” “He had one, but about a month before he moved out he was in an accident. His car was totaled, although he escaped with only a few, minor injuries. I refused to buy him a new one, since the accident wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been high.” “Drunk?” “No.” Her mouth tightened. “He smokes m*******a. Only recreationally, according to him. He’d been at a party, left, and managed to run his car off the road into a tree.” “With no car,” Quinn said, “how did he plan on getting up to Idaho Springs?” “Hitchhiking, I’m sure. He’s been doing that since he left home. When I cautioned him it wasn’t safe, he laughed at me. Told me I was old-fashioned.” “I take it you and he are still on speaking terms.” “Yes.” Quinn nodded. “What about him and his father?” Mrs. Taylor scowled. “When Andrew was seven, his father and I divorced so he could marry his bimbo of a secretary. The only contact Andrew has had with him since then is the occasional gift or card on his birthday or Christmas.” “You’re quite certain of that?” Brent asked. “Yes. Andrew hates his father for leaving us. Thankfully, I have money of my own so we weren’t hurt financially.” “All right.” Brent checked the notes he was making. “From what you’ve said, as far as you know he left sometime Friday, planning to hitchhike up to Idaho Springs. Do you know who the friends were he was meeting there?” “No, but his roommates might.” “You’ve spoken with them?” “Three times. I called to talk to him Saturday morning. That’s when they told me about his going up to the mountains. I called again Monday morning. They said he hadn’t returned, yet. I tried again that evening and got the same answer. By then I was worried.” “I presume you tried calling him directly?” Brent said. “Naturally. I was sent to voicemail at first, and then, Monday, I got a message saying, ‘The subscriber you are seeking is no longer on the network’.” “Okay,” Quinn said. “Chances are something happened to his phone. Either he didn’t charge it, or it was destroyed.” “Why,” Brent asked, “do you think his disappearing has something to do with his being gay? I mean, why that specifically—presuming something has happened to him and he’s not just hanging with those friends of his. I hate to say it, but he doesn’t sound too responsible.” “He used to be,” Mrs. Taylor said forlornly. “Until he started college. But that doesn’t answer your question. Andrew is the stereotype of what people think a gay young man looks like. He’s five-nine, very slender, overly fashion conscious. He wears makeup, mostly eyeliner.” She smiled—barely. “The only thing he isn’t is limp-wristed. Other than that, I’m afraid he’s fairly effeminate.” “A typical twink,” Quinn commented, getting a nod of agreement from his husband. “Am I right in presuming you’ve accepted he’s gay, Mrs. Taylor?” “Of course. He’s my son and I love him. It was never an issue between us, even when he began…I guess you could say flaunting it, when he got to college. In high school he was more circumspect, which still didn’t stop the bullies, but he learned to deal with them.” “Do you have a picture of him?” Brent asked. She did—several in fact—and handed them to him. Andrew was just as she described him, thin, dressed in the height of fashion in the two that were full body shots, with well-applied eye makeup that showed clearly in the close-up photos. He was, in Brent’s opinion, a very good-looking, if effeminate, young man. “What else can you tell us about him?” Brent stopped, holding up one hand. “No, before we go any further, we should probably take care of the business end of things.” “Then you’ll take my case, or whatever you call it,” Mrs. Taylor said, relief evident in her expression. Brent glanced at Quinn, getting a brief nod in reply. “Yes,” he told Mrs. Taylor, going to a file cabinet to take out the forms he needed. “The top one,” he handed them to her, “is our contract. The second one lists our fees. Third is for personal information about you and Andrew.” The two men waited quietly while she read the contract and looked at what it would cost her to hire them. When she finished, she nodded. “If you have a pen…” Quinn handed her one, she signed the contract and then wrote them a check for the retainer. “According to the contract, you’ll update me every week, and more often when necessary.” “Exactly,” Brent replied. “Do you think…” She hesitated. “Can you find him?” “To be honest, we’ll do all that’s possible, but there are no guarantees. If he’s voluntarily disappeared, it shouldn’t be too hard to track him down. However, if something happened to him between leaving here and arriving in Idaho Springs—or after he got there—then things become more difficult.” She paled, even though Brent was certain that thought had occurred to her. “The detective I spoke with said there were no reports of unidentified bodies along the stretches of roads he might have used.” “That’s a start.” Brent took the check and contract, putting them into a file folder on his desk. “Please fill out the final form. The more information you can give us about Andrew, things like credit card numbers if he has them, the better. Friends’ names and their phone numbers.” “Oh dear. I’ll have to do this at home, since that’s where most of that information is.” “You have a computer?” Quinn asked. “Yes.” “Then I’ll have our secretary email you a copy of the paperwork. You can fill out his information and email it back to us. I’d appreciate it if you’d give us your details, now.” She did, handing him the form when she finished. “Is there anything else you need to know at the moment?” Quinn checked and shook his head. “We have his name, and most recent address. We’ll start from there.” “Thank you,” she replied with heartfelt sincerity. “Please, please find him.” “We’ll do our best,” Brent replied, handing her their business card. She smiled as she walked to the door. “From what I’ve heard, your best is very good. That’s why I came to you in the first place.” “Thank you,” Brent said with a brief bow of his head.