Somebody to Love (Tyler Jamison #1) - April Wilson Page 0,14
is drawn to the sun.
Shit! It’s not supposed to be like this.
I haul my ass out of bed and head for the shower, stepping under a brutal spray of cold water to punish my body. The icy water does the trick. After my shower, I dress and fill a thermos with fresh coffee.
When I arrive at the office, there’s a preliminary report from the coroner waiting on my desk. Eric Townsend had an alcohol blood level of 0.25, which is staggering. The killer must have been plying him with alcohol to keep him off-balance. And I know the forensics team found cocaine residue at the scene. Chances are Eric was high as a kite at the time of the murder—maybe the killer was too.
The forensics team collected hair, blood, and skin samples, and I’m waiting on an expedited DNA profile. The blood and skin samples were taken from the victim’s fingernails, which means he did try to fight back.
For the next two days, I follow up with additional interviews at the clubs. I talk to everyone I can find who knew Eric, to everyone who was in the clubs he frequented the night he was killed. No one saw him with anyone in particular. Apparently, Eric was a butterfly, flitting from man to man. But no one person stood out.
This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with a hate crime in the LGBTQ community. They get more than their share of violence directed at them. But murders like these? It’s extreme.
The surveillance team watching Ian sends me periodic reports on his whereabouts. He’s not staying put, as I’d asked him to, but I guess I can’t say I’m surprised. He is, however, refraining from sneaking out of the house alone. At least he’s cooperating with his police protection detail.
This morning, Ian left his townhouse with an official police escort to visit his parents. He was at their house for two hours. Then he took his camera to Millennial Park, also with a police escort, and walked around the neighboring vicinity taking photographs of run-down, derelict buildings and crumbling back alleys.
He spent the afternoon and early evening alone on his yacht, down in the galley, out of sight of the police who stood guard on the dock. Then, as darkness fell, he headed back to his townhouse and holed up inside for the night.
By Thursday, I’m running out of leads. The few I had amounted to nothing, and I’m back to square one. This could go on indefinitely, and I know Captain Walker won’t be able to justify the expense of a police protection detail on Ian for much longer, regardless of what Judge Alexander demands. Not without proof that Ian’s in danger.
On Friday of that week, the police watch ends, and Ian is released from house arrest. To celebrate, he heads out after sunset. I know this because I was sitting in my BMW just down the street from his townhouse when the police departed. He wasted hardly any time going out.
An Uber driver picked him up at his townhouse twenty minutes later, and I followed them to Boystown.
When the driver drops Ian off at Diablo’s, I park on a side street and debate whether to go in after him or not. It’s a free country. I can’t tell him where he can and can’t go. But still, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s putting himself at risk just by being here. If he insists on asking questions, he’s going to open himself up to potential risk, and that I can’t stomach. It’s not his fault he was in the wrong place at the wrong time on the night Eric Townsend was murdered.
After sitting here debating with myself for nearly a half-hour, I turn off my engine and walk across the street. I walk right up to the front entrance and flash my police badge so I can skip the line that stretches two blocks and walk right in.
The place is packed tonight, and I ignore the looks directed my way. Some of them are just curious, and others are downright hostile. And still others are blatant come-ons. Dressed in a suit and tie, I stick out like a sore thumb in this place. Clearly, I don’t belong, and I see a lot of resentment coming my way.
Ignoring all the looks, I search the club for Ian, scanning the bar first, then the standing crowd. Finally, I spot him on the dance floor, and I can’t take my eyes