Josh Lanyon - The Mermaid Murders

“Are we done here?” Kennedy sounded bored.

“Done?” Gervase and Boxner echoed.

“Well?”

Gervase threw Boxner a not-exactly-apologetic glance. “Well, Boyd, it does seem like—”

“We’re not even going to question him?”

“Question me about what ?” Jason demanded.

Boxner started to explain what , but Kennedy broke in.

“West is a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Which means he’s passed the most rigorous physical and psychological testing in the country with flying colors. The Bureau takes only the best. We don’t make mistakes.”

“You’re talking about yourself too, you know,” Boxner said.

Kennedy grinned. “That’s right. I am.”

Boxner gaped at the sweeping arrogance of that. Even Jason was a little impressed.

Gervase said in his steady, even way, “Nobody can be above suspicion. Of course no one’s suggesting Agent West—”

“Of course not,” Kennedy said. “Because that would be fucking ridiculous. So let’s call it a night. We’ve all had a hell of a long day, and enough time has been wasted on this nonsense.”

Gervase’s jaw tightened. “Anything you wish, Special Agent Kennedy.” The words were tinged with sarcasm.

Kennedy nodded to Jason, and Jason opened the door and walked out. His heart was still pounding with frustrated fury—a tidal wave of adrenaline crashing against the rocks of common sense. You could not punch people for saying outrageous, stupid things. No matter how much you wanted to—and they deserved it.

The door slammed behind them, and he could hear Boxner’s raised voice through the wood.

“Well, that was interesting,” Kennedy said as they walked out the front doors of the station. His tone was sardonic but also weary. They were all exhausted, all depressed over the outcome of the day’s search.

Which made the last half hour all the more surreal.

“Thanks for what you said in there.” Jason’s voice was tight with the effort of not giving in to his own ranting.

Kennedy threw him a look of disbelief. “Believe me, that wasn’t personal. A federal agent under that kind of suspicion? Not acceptable. I can’t get over the fact you didn’t think this was information you needed to share.”

“You already knew I spent summers here as a kid. And the rest of it… I never knew I was a real suspect.”

Kennedy’s expression was disbelieving. “They gave you a lie-detector test.”

“They gave all of us, every boy, every man Honey knew, a lie-detector test. Her father. Her brothers. I’m sure Boxner took a lie-detector test too. Every guy Honey ever dated—not that there were that many—took a polygraph. It never occurred to me I was any more of a suspect than anyone else. I’m not sure I was. That could be Boxner’s take.”

Now, looking back, Jason wondered with a sense of shock whether his parents’ sudden decision to sell their vacation home and never return to Kingsfield had something to do with Jason falling under suspicion.

It was not a thought he liked.

The night air was cool. Moonlight reflected off the hoods and rooftops of the cars still crowding the parking lot. Most of Kingsfield PD would be working through the long night—and more nights to come.

They climbed into the silver sedan. Kennedy started the engine and said, “This is getting messy. I don’t like messy.”

“I’m not compromised,” Jason said. “Gervase said himself I was completely cleared.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You think I like it?” And he was going to like it even less if Kennedy tried to use this as another excuse for getting rid of him.

Kennedy did not put the car into gear. “What about Boxner? What’s the situation between the two of you?”

“There is no situation.”

“West, pull your head out of your easel. Boxner hates your guts. Why?”

“Because I’m gay.”

The silence that followed was as stark as the report of a rifle.

“No.” Kennedy shook his head. “It would have to be more than that.”

That answered one question. Kennedy had already worked out Jason’s sexual orientation. Not that it was a secret, but in the Bureau everybody played it straight. It went with the territory.

“Would it? You didn’t know Boxner when he was a kid. Believe me, if he wasn’t homophobic, he was pretty damned close.”

“Yeah. Well. The adolescent male ego is a fragile and frightened thing.” Kennedy sounded almost philosophical. “I don’t get the feeling Boxner is a homophobe per se . I’ve known guys like him. He probably even regrets some of the shit he pulled as a kid. But not where you’re concerned. His dislike and distrust of you shines like a beacon.”

“Then it has to be because Honey and I were best friends.”

Kennedy sighed. “West, I don’t have time to drag it out of you word by word. Tell me about that summer.”

“Boxner had a crush on Honey. Honey…wasn’t interested.”

After a moment, Kennedy said, “I gather you’re being modest. Continue.”

“We were kids. Honey was sixteen, I was seventeen. We were both lifeguards at Holyoke Pond that summer. And we were involved in the park theater program. I was just stage crew, painting backdrops and props, but Honey acted in the production. We were doing Barefoot in the Park .”

Patiently, Kennedy said, “And where does Boxner fit into all this?”

“He was a friend of Honey’s older brother Dougie. He was just always around.”

“He wasn’t a lifeguard?”

“No.”

“He wasn’t involved in the park theater productions?”

“No.” God no , Boxner would have said at the very idea.

“Okay. So basically you and Honey were inseparable, and Boxner felt thwarted and jealous.”

“Basically, yes. I would guess.”

“Hm. Maybe.” Kennedy seemed to be thinking aloud. “Maybe if he saw you as an obstacle to Honey’s affections.”

“No,” Jason said. “He knew I was not an obstacle. He knew before I did. And partly he knew because…” It was one thing to privately reflect on the old hurts and humiliations. To have to say it aloud was more painful than Jason had expected.

Kennedy sounded uncharacteristically startled. “God almighty.” He threw Jason a quick look, although it was unlikely he could see much in the weird light of the dashboard. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“As a heart attack. Which is about how healthy that was.”

Kennedy made a terse sound that could have been humor.

“So to add to Boxner’s frustrations, he had to worry about the fact he was attracting the wrong kind of interest, which is always going to be an issue for an insecure male. Especially an adolescent. Yeah, it fits. It makes sense. What was Boxner’s relationship to the second victim, Theresa Nolan?”

“I have no idea.” Jason tried to read Kennedy’s face in the dim light. “I didn’t know Theresa. You’re not thinking Boxner—”

“I think Martin Pink is—was—the Huntsman. But it’s our job to keep an open mind.”

Jason had to admire that level of open-mindedness. Kennedy must have balls of steel if he could contemplate with equanimity having jailed the wrong man ten years earlier. If that was the case, it would be the second and perhaps mortal blow to his career.

Abruptly, Kennedy shifted into gear, and they pulled out of the parking lot.

He said thoughtfully, “I think maybe it’s time to pay an old friend a visit.”

“What old friend?” Jason was thinking uncomfortably of Honey’s family. He had made no effort to see her parents since his arrival in Kingsfield, and he really should at least stop by. See how they were. He had spent an awful lot of time under the Corrigans’ roof and at their dining table.