to anyone else? For a split second, I imagine telling my sister or my mom, and my heart stops cold, and a crushing sense of panic sets it.
I can’t risk it. It’s not that they’re homophobic. Beth and Shane live with a gay couple, for God’s sake. Cooper is Shane’s best friend. He’s also more or less adopted my sister. And Sam is not just one of Beth’s best friends, but he’s also her 24/7 personal bodyguard.
So, what am I so damn afraid of? The idea of telling my family, or risking their disappointment, of somehow being less in their eyes—it terrifies me. And my dad? If he were still alive, what would he think? Would he be ashamed of me? God, I couldn’t bear that. And then there’s my career. What would Captain Walker think? My colleagues? I know it would affect how they see me, how they treat me.
I finish my beer and toss the empty bottle into the recycling bin. Then I head into the spare bedroom where I’ve got a treadmill, and I run. I run long and hard and fast, as if I could possibly outrun my pain. By the time I’ve worn myself out, I take a quick shower and fall into bed.
But instead of falling asleep, I review the Townsend murder case methodically, retracing my steps to make sure I’m not missing something. I think Turner’s guilty, but until I have the DNA report, I can’t afford to lose sight of other potential suspects.
The common denominator in all three murders is Diablo’s. All three of the murder victims frequented that club in the weeks leading up to their killings. That has to mean something. It’s the only thing they had in common, besides their sexual orientation.
Tomorrow I’ll visit the club again, and I’ll talk the owner, Roy Valdez. I’ll review the video surveillance footage again to make sure I’m not missing any other connections. Someone’s life might depend on it.
Ian’s life might depend on it.
* * *
The next morning, I have my court order requiring Brad Turner to provide a DNA sample. He’s swabbed right away, and the sample is sent to the lab for testing. Even though I fast-tracked the testing, the results will still take time. The lab is always backed up, sometimes weeks and months at a time, and I’m not the only one trying to get my requests pushed through the overworked and understaffed department.
I’m in my office looking through my interview notes, looking for anything I might have missed the first time around, any new leads I should follow up on, when the captain walks in. He looks haggard, with shadows beneath his dark eyes. I know he works long hours and carries a lot of responsibility on his shoulders. When I see him, I imagine what my father might look now. They were the same age.
“How confident are you that Turner’s the killer?” he says.
“It doesn’t look good for him, I’ll say that.” But I’ve been at this job long enough to know that things aren’t always as they first appear. “But all we have right now is circumstantial. Without a DNA match, something concrete, we’re just making assumptions. So, not confident enough.”
Walker nods. “How about Judge Alexander’s son? How’s he taking all this?”
“In stride.” I don’t dare tell Walker that I hired a bodyguard for Ian. There’s no way I can justify arranging protection for him on my own… not without drawing unwanted attention and a lot of uncomfortable speculation.
“I’ll let you know as soon as we get the DNA test results back,” Walker says, as he turns toward the door. “I’ll make some calls, see if I can speed things along. We can only keep Turner for forty-eight more hours without pressing charges, and I don’t want to press charges until we have something concrete.”
“Understood.” The clock is ticking, and I need proof one way or the other.
Walker pauses in the doorway, glancing back. “We’ve had three high-profile murders in our district in two weeks. I don’t want another one.”
“Neither do I.” Especially when Ian might have a target on his back.
Walker shakes his head. “And Heaven help us all if anything happens to Judge Alexander’s son.”
* * *
Midmorning, I return to Diablo’s with the intention of reviewing the surveillance footage from the past two weeks again. Diablo’s is the common denominator. There’s got to be something here that ties these cases together.
The club’s front door is locked when I arrive, but after I pound