The City PI and the Country Cop

Chapter 3-3

Detective Newman considered Donovan’s reply. He seems confident that he can handle himself. Doesn’t mean he can, however. Most private investigators deal with petty crimes and window-peeping on straying spouses. What makes him think he can take on a man who’s murdered at least three kids and perhaps four in cold blood? He paused, aware of what he’d just thought and its implications. Maybe I am ready to at least consider linking Grimes death with the others.

“How much did Slater tell you about the details of the killings?” Newman asked.

Donovan chuckled. “How much trouble will I get him into if I reply to that?”

With a shake of his head, Newman replied, “As far as I’m concerned, since they’re cold cases it’s his business what he does with the information, as long as he only tells people he knows won’t try to make something off of it.”

“I told him I have no intention of broadcasting anything. There’s been enough pointless speculation about the killer online. I’m not going to give anyone fuel to add to it.”

Newman nodded. “Tell me, please.”

“All right.” Donovan lifted a finger. “They were sodomized with foreign objects. I know from the news reports that Grimes was as well. Secondly—” he lifted another finger, “—they were hogtied. The news didn’t say that held true for Grimes, but Slater as much as confirmed it. Third—” yet another finger went up, “—they were slowly strangled to death by repeatedly being hung and then released before they actually succumbed.”

“That fact doesn’t match for Grimes. He died from the first hanging attempt.”

Donovan nodded. “That could have been accidental if the killer is an apprentice who didn’t stop soon enough. Or the killer could be a copycat since that detail wasn’t released to the press. There’s also the matter of the other tortures inflicted on the Grande County victims, namely the cigarette burns.”

“Grimes wasn’t burned. However, two of his fingers were broken and a third was fractured. Of course the coroner couldn’t tell whether this was intentional or the result of something that happened when he was captured by his killer.”

“If it was intentional, it could be a replacement for using cigarettes to burn him.”

“I suppose. He was gagged, like the others, only with a rag not his underwear.”

“Still,” Donovan pointed out, “he was gagged. Undoubtedly to keep anyone from hearing his cries while he was being tortured.”

Newman realized, as they talked, that he was giving Donovan information that had been withheld from the public. Meaning I’m beginning to trust he’s not looking for the main chance to do something with the info, like sell it to a news site? If he’s not lying, and apparently Slater doesn’t think he is, he has some sort of vested interest in this because his friend was a victim. But…

“Why all this interest on your part after almost thirty years? I get from what you said that you knew one of the victims but there must be more to it than that.”

“Since, as you pointed out, none of the other friends or family members who knew the victims have made the connection to Grimes’s killing and shown up here?”

“Exactly. Now if you were a family member of this Chris Frye, I could understand it. But an, I’m presuming, high school friend…? That doesn’t wash.” Newman watched the play of emotions over Donovan’s face—reluctance to answer, then acceptance.

“Chris was gay, obviously. If he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have become a victim. When he and I were in high school we had…a brief thing going on between us that might have developed into more if his aunt hadn’t caught us messing around. The outcome was that she kicked him out of her house. My family let him stay with us until the end of the school year, with the promise we wouldn’t continue our…fling. He decided to get out of town and I couldn’t convince him otherwise, even though I promised to get us an apartment as soon as I graduated.” Donovan sighed. “I think…I feel I owe it to him to find out who murdered him because if it hadn’t been for me he might not have left when he did and as a result have had a run-in with the killer.”

While he was surprised to find out that Donovan was gay, Newman didn’t let it show. Instead he said, “I’m not sure that’s logical, but I can understand you feeling a certain amount of guilt, given the circumstances.”

“Logical or not, I want to catch that bastard before he strikes again,” Donovan replied tightly.

“Just how do you plan on doing that, Donovan?” Newman asked.

“Call me Teague, please. It’s…friendlier?” Donovan said before admitting, “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

“I gathered as much. So why don’t you think about it and if you come up with a plan that doesn’t involve breaking the law, let me in on it. I want him stopped, too. I don’t like killers in my town.” Newman grimaced. “Okay, that didn’t come out quite right. I don’t like them, period. Of course when it comes right down to it, he—be it the original man, his apprentice if he has one, or a copycat—could be halfway across the country by now.”

“True, but he could also be at a local motel, or even be a new resident in town living in an apartment or renting a house. I saw a few signs for homes to rent.”

“Yeah, it happens this time of year. Older locals, retirees, who don’t look forward to the snow and the influx of skiers, head to warmer climes and make money by renting their homes to the people who come here to work at the nearby ski resorts.”

“Isn’t it a bit early for that?”

Newman chuckled. “Never been in the mountains this time of year, have you?”

“Nope.”

“It may only be early September, but around here it can start snowing by the middle of the month if we get lucky. ‘We’ meaning the ones who earn a living from catering to or working for the skiing community.”

“That could chase our man away,” Teague muttered.

“Possibly, but if he has rented an apartment or a house, he can hunker down and look for kids hitching from one place to another, especially to the resorts to find jobs or to ski.”

Teague shook his head. “You know the ones he goes after are transients, Detective. Homeless and looking for the main chance to make a few bucks by hustling.”

“How about you put me on a first name basis, too, Teague. It’s Hoyt.”

Teague smiled and nodded. “Hoyt it is. As I was saying though; they hitch a ride, going from somewhere to nowhere, get dropped off because the trucker or whoever isn’t going any further, and then figure they can survive wherever they end up, if they get lucky. Maybe they think they can find someone to take them in if they give them what they want.”

“Free sex.”

“Yeah. And I’d be willing to bet that’s possible here.” Teague smiled dryly. “I did a little checking. There’s a bar in town that’s sort of gay friendly, and there’s the park along the river—”

“Smith Park. Grimes’s body was found right outside of it actually.” Hoyt’s phone rang just then. It was one of the deputies telling him there was a problem with a drunk driver.

“At ten on a Sunday morning?”

“It’s old man Johnson.”

“Aw hell. Okay. Where?” The deputy told him and Hoyt promised he’d be there in a few minutes. “Sorry to break this up,” he said to Teague after hanging up. “But duty calls.” He paused, taking his gun from the desk drawer and strapping it on. “If you’re up for it, why don’t we meet this evening after my shift is over?”

“Sure. Name the place.”

Hoyt thought for a second then said, “There’s a restaurant called Hal and Mary’s on Main Street. Decent food, a nice patio if you like eating outside, reasonable prices.”

“Sounds good to me. When?”

“Say seven. It’ll give me time go home and change into something comfortable.” As Hoyt ushered Teague out of the squad room he added, “It’s a jeans and casual shirts kind of place.”

Teague chuckled. “That makes it even better.”