Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
As soon as they got back to their office, Gary was on his keyboard, tapping away.
“I’ll make coffee,” Dan suggested, amused by Gary’s noncommittal murmured reply.
On the way to the precinct, the conversation with Pete Raskin played over and over in Dan’s head.
He hadn’t given them much more to go on, and Dan was certain detectives would have interviewed Cheryl’s friends once the identity of the body had been revealed.
But that part about anonymous letters and death threats… .
There has to be something we can find out about those. Connor Brightmore’s family was an obvious start.
By the time he returned to the office with a pot full of water, Gary was leaning back in his chair and smiling.
Progress.
“What have you discovered?” Dan set up the machine and spooned coffee into the filter.
“I’ve been running checks on Aiden Reynolds, the guy who assaulted Cheryl while on a date.” He peered at the notes he’d made. “Okay. He’s got a background in civil engineering. Worked mostly in construction: roads, bridges, tunnels. What’s interesting is who employed him at the time of his arrest.”
Dan’s skin prickled. “The DFF group, right? What did I tell you?” He grinned. “What was that you were saying about not getting carried away looking for more coincidences?”
“When you’ve finished patting yourself on the back…
. Just because Reynolds worked for the same company who constructed the tunnel, that doesn’t mean he was working on it when she disappeared.
” He held up his hand. “But I’ll check his tax records too.
You never know, right?” Gary resumed reading his notes.
“He’s got a history of arrests for violence.
He also spent time in prison. Repeat offender. ”
“So how do we find him? Where’s he working? If he does work.”
“He’s only fifty-seven, so let’s assume he’s got a job. Something else we can find out from his tax records. Leave it with me. And in the meantime, there’s something I’d like you to do.”
“Pour you a coffee? Give you a head rub, shoulder massage….” Dan bit his lip. “Unless you’ve got something else you’d like massaged.”
Maybe it was the fact that Dan hadn’t been intimate with anyone for a long time, but something in Gary brought out the wicked streak in him.
Dan was starting to like it.
“Down, boy. What I want you to do is search social media—Facebook, Instagram, Twitter—and see if Reynolds is out there, and if so, what he’s saying.”
Dan sat at the other desk, the coffee forgotten. It didn’t take him long to come up with a couple of people who could possibly be their man, and when he narrowed it down to one, he shivered.
“I don’t like this guy,” he muttered.
“Is that your intuition talking, or what you see on the screen?”
“A bit of both, I suspect. Oh yes, we need to speak with Mr. Reynolds.”
“I’ve found his current place of work.” Gary glanced at the monitor. “He’s the building supervisor in an apartment block overlooking the harbor. Remember that fancy place we went to on Liberty Drive? It’s the apartment block next to it.”
Dan frowned. “That was a pretty swanky neighborhood. How did someone with a criminal record end up with a job there?”
“Maybe friends in high places—or low ones—with a lot of influence.”
Dan stilled. “What have you found?”
“According to his tax records, between 1991 and 1993, he was employed by a construction company.” His gaze met Dan’s. “The same company that was building a certain tunnel in August 1992.”
That prickling sensation was back. “When you factor in what I’ve just found, it all adds up to one conclusion.”
“Which is?”
“We’re paying Mr. Reynolds a visit tomorrow.”
Gary smiled. “On a Saturday? You’re keen.”
He expelled a breath. “Yes, I am. I’m keen to find something to tell Pete Raskin. Because he’s counting on us.”
Saturday July 14, 2018
Gary parked the car in a guest parking space and switched off the engine. He peered at the apartment building. “He might not want to talk to us.”
“If he proves reluctant, then….” Dan shrugged.
“Then you do your thing?”
“Just don’t let him know I’m doing my thing. Unless he recognizes me, of course.” Dan pushed out a low grumble. “Thanks, Lewis.”
Gary gazed at him in surprise. It was the first time Dan had mentioned Gary’s former coworker in weeks.
Gary could understand that. Dan had been instrumental in Lewis’s departure from the police department.
Lewis had also been the one to give the media details about Dan’s involvement with Boston PD, putting him directly into the path of a serial killer.
For a couple of weeks, Dan had been page one news.
All he wanted to do was help the police and stay out of the spotlight.
“How about I do most of the talking?” Gary suggested.
Dan nodded. He glanced toward the building. “Then let’s go talk to him.”
They got out of the car and walked to the glass doors at the front. Inside, Gary spied the sign that said Supervisor’s Office. “We’ll start there.”
Dan rang the bell, and a moment later the door opened. Aiden Reynolds had to be almost six feet tall, a heavyset man with a shock of graying hair and gray eyes with no spark of warmth. He wore jeans, heavy boots, and a plaid shirt.
He frowned. “Can I help you?”
Gary flashed his badge, and Dan held up the credentials provided for him. “I’m Detective Gary Mitchell, and this is Dan Porter. We’d like to ask you some questions about Cheryl Somers. You went on a date with her once.”
Reynolds’s frown deepened. “Cheryl….” His eyes widened. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. You wanna talk about a date I went on—” He paused. “—almost thirty years ago, for Christ’s sake.”
“Can we talk about this in your office?” Dan asked in a polite tone. “Or do you really want to discuss this in the lobby?”
Reynolds stood aside, glaring at them. “I suppose you’d better come in.”
They walked past him into a sparsely decorated square room with a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet.
Through an open doorway, Gary got a glimpse of a living room, the TV blaring a football game.
Reynolds closed the door, then faced them, his arms folded.
“I still can’t believe you guys wanna talk about that freak after all this time. ”
Gary got out his notepad and pen. “We know from our records you were arrested on a charge of assault in June 1989. Can you tell us what led up to that arrest?”
“Why do you want to know? This is ancient history.” Reynolds’s scowl knitted his eyebrows together.
“We’ll get to that part in a moment. Just tell us what you remember.”
Reynolds flopped into the chair behind his desk. “Fucking freak. Should’ve told me.”
Saturday, June 17, 1989
Aiden Reynolds couldn’t stop staring at his date.
He couldn’t put his finger on what was so different about her, but there was definitely something.
Cheryl Somers had glossy shoulder-length brown hair, a sort of chestnut brown that matched her eyes.
Not too much makeup, but then again she didn’t need it.
Fine cheekbones, clear skin… a natural beauty.
Okay, so she was no catwalk model, but she had something.
Unlike most of the girls he dated, she hadn’t gone for a plunging neckline, which was a pity, because he badly wanted to see what was under that blouse.
She talked about her work, something to do with art, and he pretended to listen, but all the while he kept thinking about what would come after dinner.
Not that they’d made plans—she’d said dinner, and that was all—but Aiden’s dick was like a rock in his pants.
If he’d unzipped, it would’ve been smacking itself on the underside of the table.
He still couldn’t believe she’d said yes.
It had been one of those “eyes across a crowded coffee shop” moments, and he knew the minute she’d noticed him.
Aiden wasn’t one for false modesty. His job kept him fit and toned, and he spotted her giving him the once-over.
So he’d struck up a conversation while they waited for the server to get their names wrong, and by the time they’d finished their coffee, he’d impulsively asked her to have dinner with him.
But now dinner was over, and Aiden’s mind turned to other appetites.
They split the check, he tipped the server, and then they were out into the evening air.
She told him she’d left her car near the public alley, and he offered to walk her to it.
Still nothing to indicate if there’d be a second date.
But once they entered the alley, Aiden’s libido got the better of him.
He pushed her against the wall. “How about a good night kiss?”
Her breathing hitched. “Sorry, but I don’t kiss on a first date. Not unless we’ve talked first. Now, would you please let me go?” She tried to sidestep out of the way, but he blocked her.
“We’ve talked all night,” he ground out. “Besides, what is there to talk about?”
“Look, I need to tell you some—”
That was as far as he let her go before he smashed his mouth against hers, grinding against her, placing his hands on her breasts to—
What the fuck?
Saturday, July 14, 2018
“She didn’t get the chance to tell you she was trans,” Dan observed. “According to your statement when you were arrested, you claimed she initiated sex, but that wasn’t true. You did.” The more words tumbled from Reynolds’s lips, the less Dan liked him.
“I was horny, all right? I didn’t wanna wait, so I went for the tits. Except that was when I discovered he didn’t have any. Knew that the second I squeezed ’em.”
“So you assaulted her. Beat her up, in fact. I saw the police photos.” Gary’s expression was grim.
“Consumer rights,” Reynolds fired back at him. “If the product and label don’t match, I got a right to complain.”
Gary glared at him. “Not when you do it with your fists. And you’ve done that a lot.”
“Was that the last time you saw her?” Dan inquired
Reynolds gaped at him. “You’re really gonna keep calling him ‘her’?”
“Yes,” Gary told him. “Because that was how she saw herself.”