Chapter 8 #2
That one word in the past tense nearly broke him.
“He was. Cory knew me inside and out. He was there for me when I needed someone.” He took a mouthful of bourbon, wincing when it hit the back of his throat.
“You know what I told him the last time I saw him? Which was Sunday, by the way.” Six days ago.
Christ…. Gary inhaled deeply. “I asked if he had any idea how rare we were. I had a ton of friends in high school. Dated a few of them. And once I graduated, I never saw them again. Cory? That’s a different story.
We stayed friends. We were roommates in college when I attended Northeastern. ”
“And you stayed friends all this time?”
Gary shook his head. “We lost touch when we graduated. Not sure what happened there.” That wasn’t true.
He’d thought Cory had gotten into a relationship with a guy who turned out to be very possessive.
“We got out of the habit of meeting up. Then when I left the police academy, I looked him up.” Mr. Possessive had dumped him, the bastard, and they’d regrouped.
“What did Cory do for a living?”
“He was a personal trainer. He worked in a gym in Brookline. He even got me to take out a membership, and we’d work out together.” Despite his aching heart, Gary smiled. “That didn’t last long.”
Travers sighed. “Been there, done that, lost money. I could never keep up the effort either.”
Gary took another mouthful. “You were right.”
“About what?”
He sagged into the chair. “Talking helps.” Except he knew when he got home, the glue presently holding him together would dissolve and he’d be a mess.
“Why did you meet him on Sunday?”
Travers was an okay guy, but that didn’t mean Gary was going to share stuff about his folks. “It had been a while, that’s all.”
“You sure that was it?” Travers gave him an inquiring glance. “You don’t think maybe you were checking up on him?”
“There might have been an element of that, sure. He asked if I wanted to warn him.” Gary’s throat tightened again. “I think I wanted to be certain he was being safe.”
Travers’s eyes were warm.
Gary had had enough of feeling like crap. He had to do something.
He drained half his glass and coughed. “That psychic…. The one the chief told you about. What’s his name? Dan Porter?”
Travers frowned. “Yeah, that’s him.”
Gary looked him in the eye. “Call him.”
“This can wait a while. You’ve just had a—”
“Call him.”
Travers held up his hands. “Fine. I’ll call him. But… I’m taking you off the case.”
Cold trickled down his back, dizziness in its wake. “No. You can’t do that. I’m part of the lead squad on this case, for God’s sake.”
“Not anymore.” Travers’s voice was kind but firm. “I’m making Stevens the lead.”
“You’re letting Lewis run this? No. You’ve gotta be kidding.”
Travers’s gaze narrowed. “Are you saying Stevens isn’t up to the task? Is there something I need to know?”
“No, nothing like that,” Gary remonstrated.
“But please… don’t do this. Don’t take me off the case.
” He straightened in his chair. “You’ve told me God knows how many times the last six years that I’m one of your best detectives.
So please, use me. I’ll liaise with this psychic, I’ll work on the previous victims, but don’t shut me out. ”
If begging was what it would take, he’d beg. On his knees if he had to.
Travers studied him in silence. “Fine. But I have some conditions.”
Relief swamped him. “Thank you—”
Travers held up one hand. “Wait. Hear me out. I’m letting you stay only because I need you on this.
And if anyone finds out about this, it’ll be my ass in the can.
So here’s the deal. You don’t interview anyone connected with this death, okay?
You can look at the evidence, but that’s all.
Work with what you have on the previous victims.”
“Then you will contact this Porter guy?”
Travers nodded. “And now you’re going home. I don’t want to see you till Monday.”
“But—”
“No buts. Go home. Don’t call Stevens, Watson, Del Maddox…. In fact, don’t call anyone. Do whatever you need to so that when you walk in here Monday morning for roll call, you’re ready to work. Because I need you at the top of your game. You got that?”
Gary expelled a breath. “Thank you. And yes, I’ve got it.” Whatever it takes. For Cory. He finished his bourbon.
“How did you get here this morning?”
“Riley gave me a ride.”
“I’ll have someone run you home.”
Gary thanked him again, and Travers walked him to the door. Before he opened it, Travers squeezed Gary’s shoulder. “My condolences on your loss.”
“Thank you.” And then he was out of there, walking on autopilot, not sure where he was heading, lost in a sea of voices and activity.
His stomach muscles still ached, and his throat was tight. All he could think about was Cory’s face.
I became a cop with the idea that one day I’d find Brad’s killer.
He’d always known that was a long shot—Brad had been gone twenty-three years now—but it had fueled Gary’s resolve through college, the academy, his detective training…. After eight years of being a detective, he knew the chances of finding Brad’s killer were pretty fucking slim.
But I’ll find the guy who killed Cory if it’s the last thing I do.
That could wait until Monday. What he’d like to do was go home, destroy a bottle of bourbon, and mourn a friend’s untimely death.
Yeah, right. There was a ton of stuff he’d do before he reached for the bottle.
He had people to call, and Cory’s parents were at the top of the list, followed by his and Cory’s mutual friends.
Travers could tell him to stay away till he ran out of breath.
That wouldn’t stop Gary from trying to get into Cory’s apps.
Cory wouldn’t mind. Why else would he have given me the passwords?
More importantly, he was going to replay every second of that last conversation with Cory because it had to contain clues.
His tears could wait. They’d come when the killer was behind bars.