Ground Zero, page 9
part #1 of Zero Hour Series
“Five days a week?” Locke asked, writing down notes.
Seaver set the glass of lemonade in front of Locke then poured himself a glass too. “Three.”
“How did you go from teaching Melody yoga techniques to accepting money from her to let Putz blow you so a PI could catch it on camera?” Locke wasn’t pulling any punches.
“One day, Putz returned home for his briefcase while I was working out with Melody. I got the impression he thought he’d catch us fucking or something, but instead of proving she was unfaithful, Putz outed himself.”
Locke stopped writing and looked up at Seaver. “Outed himself how?”
A lightbulb went off in Sawyer’s head. “He recognized you as Randy Dagger.”
Seaver nodded then smiled wolfishly. “He did, and so did you.” Sawyer shrugged like it was no big deal, but he felt heat creeping up his neck. “At first, I thought his stunned expression was because of my size, but he slipped and called me Randy even after Melody introduced me as Jacque.”
“Oh fuck,” Locke said. “Since Melody knew about your earlier porn days, she knew there was only one way Putz would recognize you.”
“Then it all started making sense to her,” Sawyer said. “The years of supposed impotence because of her physical appearance had nothing to do with her looks and everything to do with her gender.”
“Can you believe the son of a bitch? Emotionally abusing a sweet, young woman because he hated himself for being gay. To make matters worse, he got off on gay porn then turned around and talked about homosexuals being the downfall of society. Melody didn’t ask me to set that fucker up; I volunteered.”
“How?” Locke asked.
“How’d I what? Get it up for him? There were plenty of times I wasn’t in the mood during my porn career, and I still managed to film scenes. I took a Viagra, closed my eyes, and pretended I was with someone else.”
“What about the money?” Sawyer asked. “Melody told us she paid you a few thousand dollars.”
“Look around, Detectives,” Seaver said, gesturing to a luxurious kitchen as grand as any you’d see in a Better Homes and Gardens magazine spread. “Does it look like I needed the money?”
“Then why’d you take it?” Locke asked.
“Melody insisted on compensating me. She didn’t believe me when I said helping her get away from him meant more to me than any sum she could pay me. She paid me two thousand dollars each time, and I turned around and donated the money to a local LGBTQ shelter. I can show the money going in my account then going right back out.”
“How did you feel when she changed her mind about exposing Putz’s sexuality?” Sawyer asked.
“Her exposing him would only make her a target. His zealot fans wouldn’t believe Putz liked to suck cock even if they watched it live on Pay Per View.”
“True,” Locke admitted.
“Let’s talk alibis,” Sawyer said.
“I was in Vegas this weekend for a bachelor party. I took a red-eye flight home Sunday night, with a three-hour layover in Charlottesville from six to nine this morning. I’ll happily provide any documentation you need. I hated the fucker, but I’m not your killer, Detectives.”
“Thank you for your time,” Locke said, sliding a business card to him. “Scan and email your airline tickets and credit card statements showing your hotel reservations to me. Call me if you think of anything else.”
Seaver turned an expectant gaze to Sawyer. “Aren’t you going to give me a card too?”
“Sure,” Sawyer said, retrieving one and handing it to him. “Thanks for the lemonade.”
“My pleasure.” Sawyer didn’t mistake the little purr in Seaver’s voice.
“We’ll show ourselves out,” Locke said. “Looks like we interrupted you mid-workout.”
“Just finished. A few minutes later, and I would’ve been in the shower.”
Don’t think about water sluicing over his hard body.
“How did you know we were here?” Locke asked. It was a fair question since they hadn’t told the guard who they were there to visit.
“I have trail cameras set up along the driveway, and I also have a motion-sensor alarm that gets tripped when a car reaches a certain point.”
“Nice setup,” Locke admitted. “Too bad Putz didn’t believe in home security.”
“Maybe,” Seaver said, shrugging his massive shoulders. “I might not have killed the guy, but I won’t pretend to mourn him. The world is a better place without his brand of hate.”
While Sawyer didn’t disagree, he would never condone vigilante justice. “Have a good afternoon,” he said politely then headed toward the front of the house.
As soon as they cleared the front door, Locke said, “There’s no way a gay porn star made enough money during his college years to afford this house twelve years later. No fucking way.”
Sawyer laughed. “Maybe he invested the money well. You never asked what his major was.”
“You think he invested his money in the stock market and is now a millionaire?”
“I think he invested his money by starting his own porn production company, used his fame to grow memberships, then sold it for a huge profit once it became the most popular site.”
Locke quietly contemplated what Sawyer said while driving around the circle and heading down the long driveway. “Is that what he really did?”
“Yep. Randy Dagger’s name is still attached to the porn business, so he’s probably making a profit there too.”
More silence from Locke. “Randy Dagger?”
“Yep.”
“So, his porn name meant horny, short knife.”
“Not short,” Sawyer said, managing to keep a straight face. “Maybe he thought Randy Claymore didn’t have the same ring to it. Sounds like an accountant or something.”
“Claymore? That’s like the longest sword.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I have so many questions, but none of them would be appropriate,” Locke said.
“Then don’t ask,” Sawyer said firmly. “Google them like the rest of us do. Kelsey can teach you how to erase your search history.”
“Fuck you, smart-ass. You know he wants to ask you out,” Locke said suddenly. “I don’t need to remind you how inappropriate it would be for you to accept.”
“Yes, Dad,” Sawyer replied, rolling his eyes. “Besides, he’s not my type.”
“You’re not into big, muscular dudes?”
“I prefer wiry blonds,” Sawyer said, turning the table on him from that morning. Stew on that, partner.
Locke didn’t say another word during the drive back to the station, and Sawyer did a mental victory lap.
“I can’t believe none of Putz’s neighbors witnessed his assailant lurking around his house,” Sawyer said after reading the reports from the officers who canvased the neighborhood. “Not even a strange vehicle.”
“It was dark and rainy,” Locke replied. “They were probably watching trashy reality television or catching the last innings of the Braves game. They’re up in Philly right now, and you can count on great games when those two rivals meet.”
“I don’t buy it. There’s always a nosy neighbor in every community. They seem to know everything happening in their neighborhood regardless of the time of day.”
Locke tossed a file onto the conference table and ran his hands through his hair. “Maybe they saw our perp and are too scared to talk to the police, or maybe they invited them in to dry off and drink a cup of coffee to celebrate a job well done.”
Sawyer shook his head. “I’m serious.”
Locke sat up straight and stretched his arms over his head, working kinks out in his shoulders and upper back. “I am too. It’s hard to get witnesses to come forward when someone they like is a victim of a homicide. They’re often scared of payback if the killer finds out, and sometimes people are afraid of pointing the finger at a person who could be innocent.” He gestured to the stacks of boxes in the corner of the conference room. “Putz was a well-hated man.”
“You make a good point,” Sawyer agreed.
“I normally do, which is why you should listen when you hear the magnanimous gesture I’m about to make.”
“Magnanimous gesture?”
“Hey, you’re not the only one who knows big words, Golden Boy. I just wait to use mine when it really matters.”
“And it matters right this moment?” Sawyer asked.
“Yes, so are you ready to hear what I have to say?”
Sawyer dramatically gripped the conference table like he was bracing himself. “Ready.”
“He’s got jokes, folks,” Locke yelled through the open conference room door.
“Give him hell, Key,” Detective Blue from arson said as he passed by. He was built like a tank and spoke in a deep voice, reminding Sawyer of the late actor Michael Clarke Duncan.
Locke gave Blue the middle finger then looked at Sawyer once more. “Go home.”
“Or I’ll regret it?” Sawyer asked, uncertain where the hell Locke was going.
“Go home because it’s your birthday, and there has to be a thousand things you’d rather do than sit here and sift through Putz’s hate mail.”
Going home to his quiet house was the last thing Sawyer wanted to do. “Nah, my family celebrated my birthday over the weekend. I’m good to look through letters and emails.”
Locke studied him, instinctively recognizing there was more than dedication to his job keeping Sawyer at the precinct. “Well, you get the first crack at the delivery method then. Would you prefer to read the snail mail or email?”
Sawyer grinned. “I’ll kick it old school and go with snail mail.” He slid on a pair of latex gloves then carried the box with the most recent dates on top. “What kind of system are we going with?”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ll need to sort the correspondence into categories,” Sawyer replied.
Locke thought about it. “‘Keep’ or ‘discard’ categories?”
“I was thinking more like ‘harmless rants,’ ‘hits close to home,’ and ‘read again’ categories.”
Locke pondered the suggestion for a minute. “Harmless rants because there’s no violence included, hits close to home could be a match, but what do you mean with the read again category? Save to take a second look after our initial pass?”
Sawyer smirked at Locke. “Save for bad days when you need a good laugh.”
“Got it, but I doubt Rigby or IA would appreciate that one.”
“Too true,” Sawyer said. “We’ll call it maybe instead.”
Locke typed away on his laptop. “The digital files are set and ready to go.”
Sawyer ripped out three sheets of paper from the legal pad and wrote the categories on them. He spaced them evenly in the center of the table. “I’m ready too.”
Locke clicked the mouse to view an email, and Sawyer pulled an envelope out of the box. He scanned the content but didn’t find anything worth noting, so he put it in the harmless pile then reached for the next envelope.
“This woman put a curse on his dick,” Locke said. “What do you think?”
“Ouch,” Sawyer said, grimacing. “I don’t see how it relates to the case unless the ME tells us the real cause of death was due to his shrunken penis and not the blunt force trauma she first suspected.”
Locke shrugged. “I’ll consider it a maybe because it’s pretty damn entertaining.”
They continued going through the correspondence for hours, only stopping to read the interesting ones out loud, go to the bathroom, or get something to drink. By seven o’clock, they’d looked through the last six months of hateful emails and letters, and the only two categories collecting letters were harmless and save. Not a single person threatened to cause physical harm to Putz.
“I don’t think I actually expected to find a smoking gun here,” Locke said, “but I had hoped for a clue. Most of these people are trying to reason with the man or possibly enlighten him. That wasn’t at all what I expected to find.”
“Me either,” Sawyer said, pushing back from the chair and standing up to stretch again. “Are you hungry?” he asked Locke without thinking.
Locke looked at him as if he were giving it thought then shook his head. “I was invited to a friend’s house for dinner. It’s not too late to grab a burger there, so I think I’m going to head over.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Locke shifted his attention powering down his laptop. “See you tomorrow.”
Sawyer left the conference room and retrieved his personal cell phone from his locked desk. He had voicemail messages from his brother, sister, father, and several friends who wanted to wish him a happy birthday, but the one person he needed to talk to the most hadn’t called him. Maybe it was for the best because hearing Imelda Ruiz’s voice was bittersweet. He loved the woman as much as his own mother, but they were tied together by grief and sorrow. Maybe clinging to Vic’s mom had made it harder for him to heal.
The thunderstorms Locke had predicted hadn’t shown up until his drive home. “Just fucking great,” Sawyer groused. The torrential downpour made visibility nearly impossible, but he made it home without incident, and he had never been more grateful to have an attached garage. “Where’s my boy?” Sawyer asked, entering the kitchen through the garage door.
His humongous, gray cat lazily strolled into the room, stopped to stretch his long body, then continued toward Sawyer. Bones stood up on his hind legs and placed his paws on Sawyer’s thighs, giving his human permission to pick him up.
“How’s my big boy?” Sawyer said, cradling the heavy feline against his chest. Bones purred and rubbed his head against Sawyer’s chin. “That good, huh? There must’ve been a lot of birds and squirrels visiting the feeder outside your favorite window.” The placement of the feeder wasn’t an accident, and Sawyer didn’t feel guilty about it since Bones was inside and couldn’t hurt the birds or squirrels. He figured it was like television for cats. Bones dug his claws in Sawyer’s shirt and purred louder. “You’re just charming me so I’ll shut up and feed you, huh, big boy?” Sawyer set the cat down by his bowl and retrieved the fancy food from the cabinet beside the refrigerator. Bones performed a figure eight between Sawyer’s legs while waiting to hear the pull tab breaking the sealed can. “Looks like it’s lamb and rice tonight.” Meow.
Once Bones was settled, Sawyer headed upstairs to shower off the day. The heat and humidity always made him feel dirty, but the Putzinski case made him want to bathe in bleach. How were such vile people created? Nature or nurture? Both?
As it always did, the hot water cascading over Sawyer’s body released his tension and cleared his mind. He suddenly realized he and his partner might be looking for the wrong motive. They were looking for a suspect who’d retaliated against Putz’s hateful rhetoric, but maybe that wasn’t right. What if Melody Jameson wasn’t the only one who’d found out her husband liked cock? What were the odds Clark was his first male lover? If proof had landed in the wrong hands, someone could’ve felt betrayed that Putz’s message was fake. Maybe his hateful vitriol did come from his heartless soul, but why would they believe him? He fervently blamed homosexuals for everything wrong with the country but eagerly dropped to his knees to blow his favorite gay porn star. It would’ve been the ultimate slap in the face to someone who ardently believed in Putz and his message.
Someone like Shirley Hanover.
No one believed in Putz more than Shirley, and probably no one had more to lose if the truth about him went public. What better way to deflect attention away from herself than to point her finger at Melody while bending over backward to assist the detectives investigating the crime? It was the oldest ploy in the book. How can I be guilty when I’m so helpful? Melody and Clark both had airtight alibis, and it was time to take a closer look at Shirley Hanover. Sawyer’s first instinct was to call Locke and discuss it, but they hadn’t reached that level of comfort yet, and he knew it was possible they never would. If Sawyer had something stronger to go on than a hunch, then he wouldn’t have hesitated to call his partner. Well, he would’ve called dispatch to put him through to Locke’s cell since they hadn’t exchanged numbers.
Sawyer went to work making a mental list of things he wanted to find out about Shirley Hanover first thing the next morning. Satisfied he’d gotten as far as he could for now, he turned off the shower, dried off and dressed. Once back downstairs, he debated his choices for dinner: frozen meals, takeout, or a quick breakfast. No matter how bare his cupboards or refrigerator were, Sawyer always had eggs, milk, breakfast meat, and a block of cheese he could shred to make a fancy egg scramble. Checking the bread cabinet, he discovered he had one English muffin left. Sawyer would have to keep an eye on Bones because his cat was addicted to bread. If he allowed himself to become distracted, Bones would snatch the English muffin off his plate.
“Breakfast for dinner,” Sawyer said out loud. The one thing he hated most about living alone was the silence.
Even after a rough day, he missed the noise he’d come to expect from his married life. Before he’d met Vic, he had preferred a serene home and only turned on the television when he’d wanted to watch a program. He had never played the radio to fill the silence. Sawyer had grown up with two rowdy siblings and had loved that his adult space was the exact opposite of his childhood home. Vic had always needed background noise, even when he’d been reading. His husband’s television choices had usually been low-intensity things like cooking or DIY shows because he’d found them soothing. Sawyer had rarely watched television, but when he had, he’d preferred the world news or a documentary about things that interested him. Vic had teased him mercilessly about his passion for true crime shows.
“You spend all day long wading in people’s depravity then choose to watch it for pleasure too?” Vic had asked.
