The City PI and the Country Cop

Chapter 3-1

Chapter 3

Teague woke when Slater called early Saturday morning to tell him that there was no phone number available for the ex-detective who had handled the murder in Laport. Teague thanked him for looking, and for all his help, telling Slater he’d keep him appraised about anything he leaned after he got to Faircrest.

“Good luck with Newman,” Slater said with a dry chuckle. “It will be interesting to see if you can convince him his victim fits the pattern, and that it could be the same killer involved in his case as in my cold cases…”

“Or an apprentice or a copycat. Yeah. Well, all I can do is try.”

“If you manage it you’re a better detective than I am, even if you are private.”

“We’ll see what happens,” Teague replied before hanging up, smiling at the ‘private’ comment. He was glad Slater had decided not to hold that against him, although he knew the reason why.

He showered and dressed, then packed up before going down to get breakfast in the motel’s dining room. By nine-thirty he was on the road. After having to take a slightly longer route to avoid a construction zone, he figured he’d still make Faircrest by five, barring bad weather. At least it’s only September. Rain I can handle. Snow I’d just as soon pass on, even if it is highway most of the way.

It wasn’t until the highway began heading south-west two hours later that he really felt he was in the mountains that he’d only seen from a distance previously. Four hours later he was driving on a two-lane highway that ran between high, rocky cliffs on one side and a rushing stream on the other. Towering pine trees dwarfed the few cars on the road and there were times—like when he’d pass a small side road—that he was tempted to turn off and explore the surrounding territory. Only common sense and the need to make Faircrest before dark descended kept him going forward.

He left the mountains, entering an area with low foothills off in the distance, fields between them and the highway. Around four-thirty he drove through a small town that for a moment he thought was his destination until he saw a highway sign telling him he still had another twenty miles to go.

“I was right,” he said as he drove into Fairfield and checked the time. “Five almost on the dot. Not bad for someone who’s never done any mountain driving.”

He drove down Main Street and found a motel about a block away from the river that ran through the town. He checked in, went up to his room to unpack, then decided to explore the business district before finding somewhere to eat supper. It didn’t take him long to figure out there wasn’t much to the Faircrest downtown other than motels, fast food places, and a plethora of small shops that catered to tourists passing through. He did find the police department, housed in a fairly modern building across the street from City Hall.

With that finished, he finally went looking for a restaurant that served more than burgers and fries. Luck was with him, he decided, when he spotted a place tucked off Main Street with a patio to one side. After finding a parking spot in the restaurant’s lot, he went inside, asking the hostess if he could sit on the patio. There was a table available, and a nice waitress who handed him the menu and took his order for coffee. When she returned, he asked for her recommendations and after she suggested the surf-and-turf or the pepper steak, he chose the steak.

While he waited, he watched the people walking by. Some were obviously tourists, families, or couples, checking out every shop they passed. The rest were, as far as he could tell, locals who knew where they were going. Probably home for the day or to the local bar. He’d passed a couple of bars and seen that they were well populated, even though it was early evening. Not much else to do if you live and work here, other than hit up a bar or a club. That made him wonder if there were any gay bars in town. He used his phone to check online and found that there weren’t, although there was The Red Calf, which was listed as a lounge that was ‘gay friendly’, according to the site he was on. There was also a park that was a popular cruising spot after dark, according to another site. That piqued his interest. Not that he’d go there for that reason, but it was certainly somewhere a homeless kid in a small town might try to find someone who’d pay him for a quick blowjob. Somewhere the killer might go to, looking for his next victim. Presuming he’s still in the area.

After finishing his meal, which was as good as the waitress had said it would be, Teague paid his bill, adding a sizable tip, and went back to his car. Since the park was on his way back to the motel, he decided to check it out. It was along the river, with a couple of picnic tables visible from the road and a large parking lot. Darkness had fallen by then, and the park was empty with the exception of a few people down by the river’s edge. Mostly lone men, Teague noted, although there was one male/female couple and a family with two small children that the parents were obviously trying to herd toward one of the cars in the lot. As Teague slowly drove by the park, he saw one of the single males approach another one and begin talking. True, they could be old friends, but their body language says otherwise. He continued on rather than waiting to see if his conjecture was correct.

Back at the motel, he got ready for bed, and called the front desk, asking for a wake-up call for eight the next morning. Then he settled down to reread the file Slater had given him, studiously avoiding looking at the pictures again. He didn’t need the images of the dead boys invading his dreams if he was going to be alert and calm for his talk with Detective Newman come morning. And that’s presuming he’s willing to see me. He knew that even with Slater’s giving the detective a heads-up that Teague wanted to talk to him, Newman could decide that wasn’t going to happen.