When the Dead Speak by Bailey Bradford (books to read to increase intelligence txt) 📗

had eased his chair a few inches farther from Rich and looked more than a little creeped out.

“Uh, Sheriff?” Matt had an almost pleading expression on his face.

“Sorry, but that would be Conner. I didn’t know until Sev told me.” Laine nodded at the papers Rich was gathering up. “If you help him out, we can continue here.”

Matt screwed up his courage and helped Rich out, too rattled to mouth off. They sat back in their seats, Rich grinning like a loon and Matt’s lips disappearing into a thin line.

“That’s kind of cool, but kind of creepy, too. I won’t even ask for specifics—”

“You wouldn’t get them anyway.” Laine cut Rich off. “Conner’s message was that someone was coming after me, and he did. He broke into my house while Sev was there asleep in my bed. Sev said that Conner woke him up and warned him, otherwise…” The image of his desecrated bed flashed before Laine’s eyes and he couldn’t quite suppress his shudder. “Matt took photos of the crime scene. We don’t have a forensic unit out here—or, rather, we are the forensic unit, us and the two deputies that work the night shift. Here.” Laine pulled the file from his desk drawer and handed it to Rich. “Everything’s in there.”

“Everything?” Rich’s eyebrows drew together as he tapped the file on the edge of the desk.

“I wrote up most of that.” Matt gestured to the file. “I tried to keep the sheriff’s personal life out of it, and I didn’t know about Conner then, but…”

“But,” Laine slipped a hard edge into his voice as he looked at Matt, “I want every bit of information in that file, nothing left out, no matter how minute, because it could be important. Which means—”

“Which means”—Matt’s sigh sounded much put upon and not as cowed by Laine’s attempt at intimidation as Laine had hoped—“that I have to go back and rewrite the damned reports, I know. I’ll do it when we finish up here.”

Laine noticed Rich was looking at Matt as if the deputy was barely a step above pond scum. “What’s the problem, Montoya?”

Rich arched his eyebrows as he met Matt’s gaze, then he seemed to shake off his attitude as he turned back to Laine. “Not a thing. Getting back on track, I caught a murder case a few days before you called, rape and strangulation of a dark-haired gay man. He was kind of similar to you in build, Laine, reminded me of you even though I hadn’t seen you in years. The guy could have been your brother, and then you called. It seemed like too much of a coincidence, I guess, and I started digging around and found that there’ve been three other murders similar to my case. No one either cared enough to connect them, or just didn’t catch it. Personally, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m thinking that no one cared.”

“That’s fucked up.” Matt’s voice dripped with disgust. “I’d think a big city like Houston, it’s gotta have a lot of gays. Surely people are more tolerant.”

Rich shrugged one shoulder. “It’s like most places, depends on who you talk to. We do have a large gay population, and a lot of people accept it, some even embrace it. But there’s always going to be those people who hate anyone and anything that differs from their idea of the norm.

“The three other men were also raped and strangled, no DNA evidence though there was proof that he’d used condoms, and all of them were obviously similar in body type, build and looks. There were small differences, like eye color, or an inch or two in height, things like that, but every one of them reminded me of you, Laine. And that made me wonder. The day you called, there was another detective in the pen. Do you remember who the responding officers were that showed up when you called in Conner’s murder?”

There wasn’t anything about that day that Laine thought he’d ever forget, no matter how much he might wish to. “Yeah, McAlister and Juarez were the first to arrive, why?”

“You ever been talking to one person and someone close by is listening intently but trying not to be obvious? I mean, you just know they’re straining to hear every word?” Rich’s eyes were gleaming, his excitement at having a suspect making him fidget enough that Laine started to feel twitchy as well.

“I think so,” Matt finally offered when Laine only nodded.

He thought he knew where Rich was going with this, and the idea that the man could be right made it impossible for Laine to force words past the knot in his throat.

“That’s how I felt the whole time I was talking to you, Laine. It was bad enough that I swear every hair on my body was damn near standing on end. I wrote down the information you gave me, and when we were done I asked Detective McAlister if he had any idea who I was on the phone with.” Rich shuddered, his eyes darting around the room before meeting Laine’s gaze. “You remember James McAlister? Well, he said he didn’t know who I was talking to, but he did, and he had that look, so carefully blank but his eyes just… I always said it was a dead look, like there wasn’t a soul behind those eyes, you remember, Laine?”

Laine didn’t answer, his stomach had pitched as soon as Rich had said the other detective’s name, and now, though neither of the two men in front of him had noticed yet, there was a distinct chill to the room. Laine knew that look, though, and he had no problem picturing Detective McAlister—the man was easily as big as Laine was, with pale skin and dark blond hair.

“I remember thinking he used to watch me, but I was pretty paranoid.” Laine had worried that the man knew his secret, and that was why he watched Laine. “I worried he’d found