Reasonable Doubt, page 5
part #5 of Hazard and Somerset Series
The boy just kept crying.
“I’ll get him something,” Hazard said, and he at least had the decency to look ashamed of himself. When he came back, he had a Coke and a plate of sugar cookies—filched from the break room, no doubt.
“Why don’t you eat something?” Somers said. “You’ll feel better.”
Wiping his eyes, Lazarus sipped at the Coke and nibbled the cookie. After a few bites, his appetite seemed to grow: he polished off the plate of cookies in record time, and then he slammed back the Coke. When he’d finished, some color had returned to his face, and his eyes looked clearer.
“What’s your real name, Lazarus?” Somers asked.
“Clyde Andrew Beauchamp. I’m not supposed to tell anyone, though. I’ve got a new name.”
“Clyde, how old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Jesus Christ,” Hazard muttered.
“Where are your parents, Clyde?”
“Arkansas, I expect.”
“Is that where you’re from?”
He nodded, but he was thumbing the cookie crumbs from the plate and pressing them against his tongue.
“Get him something to eat for real, would you?”
Hazard left again.
“How’d you end up with the Waldens?”
“Oh, I met Brother Jeshua in Branson.”
“Branson, Missouri?”
“Everyone told me there were good Christian people in Branson. Food pantries like you couldn’t believe. Maybe a job if I kept my nose clean.”
“You ran away from home.”
“No, sir.”
“Your parents are dead?”
“No, sir.”
“How’d you end up in Branson without parents?”
He shrugged. “My folks just left one day. They said they were getting jobs in Little Rock. They said they were working for Walmart. They were going to send money back, and when things were good, I’d go live with them again.”
Outside, the fax machine continued to screech, and suddenly the only thing Somers could think of, the only thing in the whole goddamn world, was taking a baseball bat to that machine. Hit it again and again and again until the damn thing was quiet. And maybe just keep hitting it. He was seventeen. Seventeen, and those pieces of shit had lied to him and walked away from him and left him for the Waldens to find. A baseball bat wouldn’t be enough. Somers wanted a sledgehammer, something that would really get the job done.
“I tried to find them, but it’s a big city. It’s hard to get around without a car. And after a while, I figured I’d better make my own way, and some people I’d met told me about Branson, and I headed up there. It was all right until winter, but it wasn’t as easy as people said it was going to be. Everybody wants you to perform, and I don’t know how to sing or dance or do magic. And then one day I walked right past Brother Jeshua’s tent. He was calling people to God, and something about his voice pulled me in. I sat in the back row. It was raining, and I was shivering. Brother Jeshua looked right at me, and he said, ‘If you fall, I will catch you.’ And then I wasn’t shivering anymore. Brother Jeshua told me that was God knocking at my heart, and I just had to let him in. It’s hard though. I’m wicked as sin.”
Somers didn’t trust himself to speak, and he was grateful that the door opened. Hazard carried a microwaved burrito and another Coke, and Clyde devoured the burrito and chugged the Coke.
“Clyde, what happened yesterday?”
The boy’s face turned the same color as his hair, and he said, “Sister Mary was helping me get the devil out.”
“Did you see anything unusual? Hear anything?”
“No, sir.”
“Were you with Sister Mary the whole time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It was just the two of you. Nobody else.”
“And Brother Jeshua. He worked with me some. He’s got a holy anointing for me, and he wants me to deserve it. I will, too. He’s mean as hell some days, but he’s helping me, and I know I can do it.” The boy hugged himself, and again Somers noticed the still-healing burns and cuts on his arms. Nickel and dime stuff, mostly, but a lot of it.
“Clyde, did you get into a fight with Mr. Walden? Maybe you were just yelling and things got out of hand. Is that what happened?”
“No, sir. He put me in Sheol, and I didn’t see him again.”
“What does that mean, he put you in Sheol?”
“That’s to purify me. That’s going to make me great in God’s eyes.”
Somers opened his mouth to press, but, to his surprise, Hazard shook his head. Instead, Somers asked, “Was there anybody else in your group who might have wanted to hurt Mr. Walden? Anybody else who got in a fight with him?”
Still looking at his feet, Clyde shook his head. This time, though, Somers could tell it was a lie.
“Look at me, please.”
Clyde’s head came up. He was biting his lip so hard that white lines showed under his teeth.
“Two girls are missing.”
As soon as Somers spoke, Clyde began to moan and shake his head.
“Clyde, do you know something?”
“I promised. I promised Brother Jeshua.”
“He’s dead,” Hazard said. “He can’t hurt you now.”
“He ain’t dead. He’ll rise again, and he’ll put me back in Sheol and never let me out, and then I’ll never be great in God’s eyes.”
“He’s dead,” Hazard said. “And we’ll bury him real deep just to make sure.”
“Did he hurt those girls?” Somers said. “Do you know where they are?”
“I was taking him his repast. That’s what he called it. He had retired to his room, and he wanted his repast, so I was taking it. And I heard yelling. Not just shouting but—you ever heard a dog get real mad? Not like he’s barking just to bark, but when he’s going crazy, like he wants to take out your throat? It was like that. Like whoever was in there was killing mad. And then something shattered, and the door opened, and I was—it scared me bad. I dropped the tray.” By the end, his voice had fallen to a whisper.
“It’s ok,” Hazard said.
“He said we don’t get enough milk that I can go spilling it on the floor. He said somebody ought to clean that up. He said go on then, let me see you drink your milk. And I was going to get a towel, but he pushed me down and put his foot on my neck and said let me see you drink your milk.” Clyde snuffled and ran his arm under his nose, and mucus streaked his skin. “And I did it just like he said, and when I finished, he put me in Sheol ’cause I wasted food and that’s what we earned with our sweat like God said.”
“He can’t hurt you now,” Somers said, and it was the shittiest, stupidest thing in the world, and it didn’t mean a damn thing because Walden already had hurt this boy, had hurt him and humiliated him and God only knew how many times he’d done it.
“I looked up, and she’d been watching me the whole time. She’d cooled down after their fight and just stood there watching me. That made it worse, you know?”
“Who was watching you?”
“Sister Sarah.”
IN CHIEF CRAVENS'S OFFICE, Hazard held his hands firmly in his lap. If he unlaced his fingers, he was going to start hitting things, and if he started hitting things, he might not ever stop.
Cravens, for her part, had the same unruffled calm as always. She was older, with long, gray hair, and she was well on her way into middle-age spread. Something about her eyes and her smile made her look like she was just somebody’s grandmother; anyone who scratched the surface, though, just found old, rusted gunmetal all the way down.
“I’m sorry, there aren’t any other options,” she was saying. “Norine won’t be back until Tuesday, and the state won’t send somebody on the weekend.”
“So he’s going to sit in a jail cell.” Hazard caught his partner’s glance; Somers mouthed, Cool it, and Hazard added, “Chief.”
“I appreciate your concern, but he’ll be fine, Detective. He’s a minor; we can’t send him back to those people. We can’t turn him loose on his own. And we can’t put him in Social Services because everybody needs a weekend and we’re small-fry and can’t raise hell.”
“It’s a jail cell. He’s a kid.”
“We’re not going to cuff him, Detective. But he needs to be somewhere safe.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
Somers put a hand on Hazard’s shoulder. “What my partner is trying to say—”
Cravens spoke over him. “Do you want to take custody of him, Detective Hazard?” She tapped a pile of paperwork. “I’ll be happy to turn him over to you until Tuesday.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Hazard said.
“Then the discussion is finished. Go work your case, Detective. And keep me up to date.”
In the bullpen, Hazard stared at the computer. He wasn’t ready to type. Not yet. Last time he’d typed while he was angry, it had cost him a keyboard.
“You need food.”
“I need to get away from this shit.”
Somers nodded. “Let’s get away.”
“We’ve got work to do.”
“You need lunch. I need a partner who’s not going to rip my head off. Let’s get away. Half an hour. Then we’ll come back here and start fresh.”
“I don’t want to eat.”
Eyebrows raised, Somers put on a thoughtful expression. “Well, that’s a problem because you need to eat. But you’re also being obstinate.”
“Fuck off.”
“What should we do about this?”
“You should fuck off, Somers. Right now.”
“I might be able to take you in a fight.”
“Not a chance.”
“Or I could try to use my dazzling charm.”
Hazard turned on the computer, shifting his attention away from Somers.
“But I think the most effective method with you is blackmail.”
“Then you don’t know me very fucking well, do you?”
“I know that you’re ticklish.”
Hands above the keyboard, Hazard froze. “You don’t have the balls.”
Somers frowned. “I mean, I know you’re ticklish, and it hasn’t changed how much I respect you. But I wonder how all these other guys would feel.”
“I don’t care how they feel.”
“So you wouldn’t mind if I—” Somers stood and circled the desk.
“Touch me, and I’ll break your hand.” Hazard shoved the keyboard away. “Fine. Let’s eat.”
Instead of driving, they walked to Saint Taffy’s, the cop bar on Market Street. It was April: sunny, warm, the sky just hinting at the deep blues of summer. Hazard walked fast until Somers took him by the hand, and then the day felt a little warmer, a little brighter, and the sky was a deeper blue. They had been together two months, and his touch still did that to Hazard. Two months, and they still got looks on the street, not that it mattered.
It was going to happen, Hazard knew. Any moment now, Somers was going to start asking questions. And then those questions would turn into more questions. They’d proliferate: questions upon questions until Hazard wanted somebody to drag him out back and put a bullet in his head. And the worst part is that it would all come from Somers’s genuine concern. So Hazard braced himself and waited.
They walked the two blocks to Saint Taffy’s. At noon, Market Street was busy, and people stared. One woman picked up her little girl and carried her across the street to avoid walking near them. For the most part, though, the stares weren’t hostile—simply curious. Even though Wahredua had a growing LGBT community, Hazard knew that he and Somers stood out for a number of reasons.
And still no questions. Somers had a furrow between his eyebrows, the kind of pondering look that made Hazard want to curl up next to him with a book and enjoy the silence. That little furrow took up a lot of Hazard’s thinking. It was damn sexy, that look on Somers.
Inside, Saint Taffy’s was cool and dark, with a polished concrete floor, a long bar, and a pool table mixed in among the seating. A few months ago, Somers had gotten drunk and laid waste to the bar; the old mirror that had hung there was gone, shattered and replaced with a 4k TV. But Somers had paid the damages, and Saint Taffy’s was a cop bar, so after a month they’d let Somers come back, and now they just charged him extra and tried to hide it when the bill came.
They sat, ordered a burger each, and even after the waitress had left, Somers still hadn’t asked any questions. The girl came back with soft drinks. The only sound in the bar were the conversations at the tables around them. Then the burgers arrived, and they ate. And still not a damn question. Not even a word. Just that very sexy furrow between his brows, while Somers stared off into space like he was doing calculus for fun.
“All right,” Hazard finally said, dropping the half-eaten burger on the plate. “Just ask me already.”
“What?”
“Ask me whatever it is you want to ask me. Why I’m so pissy today. What’s going on with me. Whatever it is, just ask me so we can get it over with.”
“Nah.”
“Somers—” Hazard swallowed and leaned closer. “John, you want to ask me, so just ask me.”
“Yeah, I want to ask you. But you don’t want me to ask you. Or you don’t want to tell me. I don’t know which one. So it’s fine; you’ll tell me when you want to tell me. Or not.”
And then he picked up his burger, took a bite, and grinned like he hadn’t said the most goddamn confusing thing in the entire universe.
“What does that mean?”
“Huh?”
“What you just said. What does that mean?”
“I don’t get what’s happening.”
“You want to ask me, so ask me. There. I told you to. So do it.”
“I don’t really want to know.”
“You think that’s going to work? That reverse psychology bullshit?”
“I’m not doing anything. I told you that I wasn’t going to ask. You can tell me whatever you want. That’s it.”
Hazard took a bite of his burger, but he couldn’t taste it, and he had to chug cola to get it down his throat. He tossed the food back onto his plate. “Fine.”
Somers laughed. “You’re going to make my life really hard sometimes. That’s what this is about, right?”
“When I came out to my parents, you know what they did?”
That wiped the laughter from Somers’s face. “Ree—”
“They waited until the summer, and then my dad told me we were going on a family vacation, and he drove me to this shithole in Iowa and left me there for two months. He and my mom went on to Kansas City. That was the family vacation. I stayed at conversion therapy.”
Somers set down his burger. One of his hands came across to Hazard’s, and Hazard had to fight not to jerk away.
“Two months. Bible study, fasting, late nights, early mornings, hard work. We’d go to our sanctuaries. That’s what they called these little closets where they’d lock us up; we were supposed to spend the time in prayer, but mostly, it was to make us lonely, desperate for contact and approval. They’d put us in a room and show us porn. Straight porn, I mean. They hammered at us all day. Every day. There were no breaks, no changes to the routine. We were either isolated or immersed in a group where we couldn’t build relationships.” Hazard’s throat was tight, and he drank some of the cola, but that didn’t do a damn thing. “It’s all pretty standard brainwashing stuff. You get punished when you don’t do what they want. You get rewards when you do things right. Most of the time. Then, out of left field, you get punished anyway because they don’t want you getting comfortable. The whole thing is meant to break down your resistance, make you pliable, make it hard for you to think rationally or critically. Things just start to make sense. They get inside you and you can’t get them out.”
Somers didn’t say anything. His grip on Hazard’s fingers tightened, though. And his eyes—they were dark, the way even the deepest waters grow darker when clouds race over them.
“I came back pretty fucked up.” Then he had to take a drink again, and his throat was still dry, still so goddamn dry, and the cola didn’t help at all. “And maybe I would have stayed fucked up, but then I met Jeff, and—I don’t know.” He tried to laugh, and his chest moved, but no sound came out. “Like you said, I’m obstinate. My parents never talked to me about it. They never asked me about it. I brought Jeff home one time when I was feeling brave, and they didn’t say anything about that either. Maybe by then they couldn’t give any more fucks. Maybe they just couldn’t.”
Somers still hadn’t said anything. He got out of his seat, still holding Hazard’s hand, and he dragged the chair around so they were side by side. Then he sat again, looping one arm around Hazard’s neck and pulling him in for a kiss. It was long, tender, and surprisingly chaste.
Hot prickles traced Hazard’s neck. “We’re in public.”
“I love you.”
“Yeah, John. I know. But we’re at a restaurant and everyone’s staring—”
Somers kissed him again. This time, he added a little tongue.
“Any more objections?”
Everyone was still staring, but Hazard couldn’t think of a single damn thing.
Instead, Hazard turned his gaze to the window, where sunlight and shadow cut neat lines out of the sidewalk. “I just can’t think straight when I’m around that kind of stuff. God, Jesus, all that. I’m back in that shithole again. And I know, up here, that it isn’t all the same. I know about Mother Theresa and I know about people, good people, who are religious. But then someone opens their mouth and it doesn’t matter what my brain says.”
Somers nodded. Clouds were still racing over those eyes, turning their turquoise the color of stormwater. “Let’s get the check.”
Outside, the daylight was crisp, and from Market Street Hazard could outline the catkins on the riverbank, could count the silver scallops on the water, could see, on the far side, the grasses rustle as a hidden animal came down to the shore. He saw all that, and inside he was seeing north, to Iowa, and the closet they had called the sanctuary, and its scintillating white paint as the sun crawled in, and the way that cramped space had smelled of sweat and carpet padding and basement.
