A Killing Snow (2/2)
Name: Barb G
Title: A Killing Snow
Pairing: Ray K/Fraser
Summary: The bodies were found in pieces, dumped in alleys. Ray and Fraser return to the way things were. Written for the [personal profile] spook_me challenge. Ghosts and violence warning.
A Killing Snow
Ray glanced down at his watch. That it was only 4:45 and the sun still showed from between the tall office buildings was already setting. The Hope Mission that Cooke had spent his last days in was less than a six block drive from the headquarters, so they walked it. With rush hour traffic emptying the small downtown core of the city, it was faster than driving.
Lester B ran ahead of them obediently on his leash. Downtown Edmonton was like any downtown in any city. The heat from the buildings melted the early snow even in the shadows and the crush of bodies was everything from executives shivering but too important for winter jackets to street people settling into their doorways for the night.
The Mission, with its curved building and office-like entry way surprised Ray. He was expecting something with a little more depression added on. There was no mistaking the smell though, Lysol mixed with overcooked vegetables, or the look of the people just sitting with their unidentified food and juice boxes as anything else other than a shelter.
The volunteer put down the pitcher she was holding and came to them. “Officers?” she asked, brushing a strand of grey hair that had escaped the tight ponytail at the base of her neck. Her voice was thick, like a lifetime smoker.
Fraser took off his hat. “We’re looking for your director.” They hadn’t discussed who was going to do the talking, but it felt right to Ray being behind Fraser.
She put her hand over her mouth. “This is about poor David.”
“It is, ma’am.”
“I will grab Angelo for you. One moment, please.”
A family had come in while they were talking. Mom, dad, and two kids. The adults had a stunned look about them, the husband’s mouth was open and the woman looked as though she’d spent most of the day in tears and was about to cry again. The two kids looked exhausted. She sat the kids down and helped the adults get dinner trays for everyone before going to get the director and Ray didn’t mind the extra wait at all.
Angelo came out from the drab hallway side the hall. He wore black, with a white collar. “Officers? We could go back to my office but I can tell you absolutely nothing that you don’t already know. No one here saw or heard anything the night of the murder.” He kept voice down but Ray didn’t think it would matter. The men and women at the tables were so wrapped up in their miseries Angelo’s voice had nowhere to carry to.
“We understand that,” Ray said.
“Then why do you keep coming back? A large percentage of my clientele have a phobia of law enforcement. You coming here doesn’t help them.”
“What about him?” Fraser asked, motioning with his chin toward a young man wearing a baseball cap. He wore a heavy coat. He had high cheek bones and skin the colour of really milky tea.
“He can’t help you,” Angelo said, not even looking over, but when he did he made a clicking sound in the back of his throat. “That’s Mike Man Standing On The Side Of The Road. I didn’t know he was back in town. He took off to Vancouver after the murder.” Angelo rubbed his hands over his face. “He was David Cooke’s best friend.”
“May we speak with him?” Fraser asked.
Angelo gave him a dirty look. “You don’t need permission from me.”
“No. But we’re asking you regardless.”
“Of course you can. But be careful with him, please. He had a huge fight with David the day before the murder and hadn’t seen him since. He blames himself for not being there.”
“There was no mention of him in any of the reports.”
“What good would it do? He was across the city when the murder took place.”
“We’ll be gentle.”
Angelo stepped away. “Ray, stay back,” Fraser said. “And whatever you do, don’t speak.”
Ray didn’t even argue to ask why.
Fraser made eye contact with Mike first, all but asking permission to approach. Mike’s dark eyes were heavy with mistrust, but he nodded his head a quarter inch. Fraser walked slowly to the table, and Mike didn’t look away from him until Lester B reached the table first. He buried his head under Mike’s hand, then tossed his head back so that Mike was scratching him behind the ear before Mike was even aware that was what he was doing.
“Nice dog,” Mike finally said.
“Thank you. He’s an excellent judge of character. Mr. Man Standing On The Side Of The Road, do you know what kind of law enforcement officer I am?”
Mike’s lips peeled back. “You’re RCMP.”
“Do you know what that means within the incorporated city limits?”
“Yeah, I do. It means you don’t got no authority.”
“That’s right. No authority whatsoever.”
Mike glanced to Ray. “But he’s a cop.”
“Despite how difficult it’s going to be for him, I’ve already asked him to let me do the talking. It’s why I’m asking you to come to the RCMP headquarters to help us find who killed your friend. You’re under no obligation and you can leave at any time.”
Lester B whined. Mike scratched his throat with practiced confidence. “We always had dogs at home,” he said, his voice wistful. “Real dogs.”
Fraser opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he was going to say to the sound of the door chimes going off. Fraser turned at the same time Mike looked up, so only Ray saw the colour drain from his cheeks. He bolted for the back door without a word, and Fraser, with only a glance to tell Ray to stay where he was, ran after him.
Ray finally turned to see George Collins standing in the entranceway. He looked as though he’d slept in the uniform he had on, and the dark shadows and hair flattened to the right side didn’t help dispel the look.
They met eyes, halfway across the hall, and the sudden joy in George’s eyes didn’t last for more than a second before he all but boxed his ears with his own fists, turned around, and ran out the door.
*
The floor of the shelter was polished and Ray’s shoes were wet from the walk over. It took him a few extra seconds to cross it and even with the extra care, he almost crashed into the doors. By the time he got outside, he lost George to the crowd. He froze, concentrating on the crowd half a block away looking for any sign of blue to the south, but saw nothing. He turned north, to 107 Avenue, and saw the flash he was looking for turning east, into Chinatown.
He took off after him. In plain clothes he didn’t carry his radio on his belt. He went to grab his cellphone, but realized he would be calling in on a cop in uniform, who hadn’t done anything wrong. Asking for back up because a fellow officer had run out of a building for no apparent reason on the first day that Ray had been bumped up to a detective wasn’t going to go well regardless of how often these things happened in Chicago.
Gut instinct told Ray to be careful. It also reminded him that George had a firearm, and that if the cop felt cornered, it wouldn’t go well for either of them.
At the corner of 107th and 99th Street he caught a flash of the red stripe down George’s pant leg flying east again the next block over. There was no way Ray would catch up to him, but he followed him down the street and then down the alley way behind the Lucky 7 Grocery Store.
Half way down, Ray slipped on an oily patch of broken pavement and went down on one knee. He swore, but caught himself before he did a face-plant. He glanced up, quick enough to see George turning east onto the street. If he crossed 97, the roads there turned into an inner city labyrinth of inner city snarl. George was gone.
Ray stood up and felt the delayed smart of pain from the knee he’d landed on. The alleyway was just like all the pictures of the body dump sites, down to the rubble and garbage behind the businesses. The sun had gone down and he realized suddenly just how dark the alley was. A few of the doorways had a dirty light bulb that was actually on, but it was just enough light to make the shadows stretch. Any one of a dozen could have been a mound of body parts.
He turned back the way he came. When he put weight on his left knee it twinged at him, but took his weight. Still, it was going to be a long walk back to the shelter.
As he limped along, picking up the pace with every step, he saw the shape of a man cross the mouth of the alley. For a heartbeat he thought, impossibly, that George had lapped the block and was now coming for him. The uniform was the right colour, but the build was wrong. Maybe it was another beat cop, who’d seen a plain-clothed man chasing after a uniform. Ray was reaching into his pocket to pull out his ID before thinking that was probably not the best thing to be doing in such a poorly lit place.
Then he saw the bloodstain.
It was black against the blue uniform, and the blackest point of the stain was at least two of Ray’s fists. The wound was right over the sternum, missing his heart by inches. It hadn’t mattered, of course. The pink streetlight reflected grey off the waxy skin.
Ray froze for the second time that night. The way the cop’s mouth hung open left no question that he was dead. A deafening buzz filled Ray’s skull. At first he couldn’t get his lungs to take in enough air to scream, then he realized it was more serious than that when he couldn’t even breathe at all.
The cop took a shuffling step on legs that didn’t bend where the knee should. The sound of something sucking through wet cloth filtered through the buzzing.
Ray didn’t faint, so much as he decided that the best thing to do at that moment was just sit down. He drew his knees up, burrowing his head in his arms. He squeezed his eyes shut so tight the muscles around them hurt.
The world greyed out and turned to black. But not before Ray heard screaming over the sound of the saw.
*
Ray hugged the blanket to his shoulders and got out of the cruiser. When he’d seen the uniforms leaning over him, he’d had enough breath left to actually scream. The officers had leapt back as though Ray had brandished his gun.
Once Ray had been helped to his feet and the EMT’s cleaned and bandaged his knees, he’d convinced Amanda and her partner Bill to drop him off at the RCMP headquarters on Kingsway rather than take him all the way to Royal Alex hospital further down the road.
The RCMP member at the desk pointed him to the cafeteria instead of the interview rooms. The caf itself had been closed down, but Mike sat at one of the far tables, with a pizza box from the Funky Pickle. He had a blanket over his shoulders as well.
Fraser glanced up as soon as he entered, relief obvious across his face. Ray hoped someone had already told him that they’d found Ray in one piece, even if it was curled up in an alley way. Fraser’s partner, Jessica, sat on the other side of Mike. Her thick black hair had a gloss to it even the institutional lighting couldn’t dim.
“Welcome back, copper,” Mike said, helping himself to another slice. “Thought you were a gonner.”
“Why would you think that?” Fraser asked. The question had mild curiosity in it at best, but the line appeared back between his eyes. Ray wanted to rub his shoulders and tell him he was perfectly fine. He’d also have killed for a slice.
As though reading his mind, Fraser pulled off one and slid it over to him as Mike finished chewing. He swallowed and drank down at least half a can of coke. “Because he was running after Officer Collins.” He waited, no doubt expecting Fraser to argue the point. Mike met Ray’s eyes, too, daring him to defend his department, but Ray had already seen what Mike knew.
“He killed his partner.” Mike said.
“And why did he do that?” Jessica asked. Her voice was soft.
“They didn’t agree on their dates. Peterson liked them a bit softer than George, you know?”
“Did you see anything?” Fraser asked. Ray knew what he was thinking. If it was a regular suspect, they could probably get a warrant on eye-witness testimony, but they would need more.
“Not me. We were fighting then, too. We fought a lot. I didn’t want to come to Edmonton. David was always looking for the next big score.”
They all exhaled, despite themselves. Mike saw them, and just as Fraser made their excuses, Mike reached into his shirt and pulled out a leather thong. On it was a film canister. He popped the top and shook out a mini-SD card. “I didn’t see a thing. David recorded it.”
“Why didn’t he come forward to the authorities?” Ray asked, despite himself. “We could have done something about it.”
Mike shrugged. “David thought he had it made. I was supposed to go with him, but we fought about that, too. I thought Collins would kill us both.” Mike’s mouth twitched. “I would have shared the money, though.”
*
The judge signed off on the warrant and the SWAT team moved in. Ray pointed out that Collins’ address was Peterson’s old address. The lights were off, the garage empty, and the team knocked down the door.
Jessica remained behind. She had no jurisdiction, after all. Ray still didn’t feel up to driving so he handed the keys over. Downtown to Riverbend meant they had to get across downtown and over the river, so they were stuck in stop-and-start traffic for half an hour.
The High Level Bridge traffic slowed to a crawl as they waited their turn to merge into one of the lanes. Ray had adjusted the heater higher and higher until a heat flush started to grow from Fraser’s collar, but he didn’t say anything about it.
“They told me they found you in an alley,” Fraser said, finally. “I heard on the radio that they thought you were shot. When you--" Fraser either couldn’t finish or find the word. “When they found you and you were all right, I was very glad.”
Fraser’s typical over-reaction. Ray slipped his hand over Fraser’s thigh. He wanted to tell Fraser what he’d seen, but he couldn’t quite speak about what he saw, but he couldn’t put it into words. He tried, a couple times, but he couldn’t even begin the sentence.
Fraser squeezed his hand and slipped into traffic.
The SWAT team was already gathered, and was just moving into the house by the time they arrived. The massive front doors needed three whacks with the battering ram before they came off its hinges. Ray strapped on his bulletproof vest as Fraser did the same.
The all clear was sounded fifteen minutes later. Ray was the first non-SWAT into the front door. Fraser was right behind him. Fraser glanced towards the group of gathered police in the living room, and then down to a closed door off the kitchen.
“Fraser?” Ray asked, but Fraser wouldn’t look away from the closed door. Ray saw nothing, until he looked away. He caught a glimpse of blue. Sweat broke out and chilled his back and ribcage. He grabbed at Fraser’s arm. “Ben, don’t. Please.”
“It’s all right,” Fraser said, and again patted his hand. “They can’t hurt you.”
“What?” Ray demanded. He couldn’t stop his head from replaying the way the mouth gaped.
“You can stay here,” Fraser said. He headed towards what could only be the basement stairs.
To Ray’s own credit, he only stayed put for three very long, very heart-thudding seconds before he was back where he belonged at Fraser’s side. As he walked through the doorframe he felt a cold, sticky feeling like walking through a spider web on a cool autumn day. He shook his head, plunging down into the brightly lit basement with his partner. “They said it was all clear. They would have checked the basement. If they meant all clear except for the basement I’m sure that’s exactly what they would have said.”
“I’m sure it is all clear,” Fraser said. He wasn’t looking at Ray, but went into what looked like an unfinished laundry room.
“Are you sure you’re sure?”
“Almost positive.”
Fraser stopped, and stared at a newly mudded over drywall. “This isn’t to code.”
Nothing Fraser said really surprised Ray any more. “We’ll be sure to add that to the list.” Fraser ignored him and started to move the empty baskets and detergent bottles. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for a crowbar.”
“A crowbar?”
“Or a tire iron. A rebar might do, if it was short enough to give the proper amount of torque.” He pulled the washing machine away from the wall with a god-awful shriek. “Aha.”
“Who says that?” Ray asked. Fraser emerged, his uniform only slightly dusty, with a crowbar. Ray didn’t want to really look at. He’d seen too many weapons encrusted with blood or brain matter, but it was a perfectly clean, serviceable tool.
Fraser ran his hand down the long seam that was two and a half drywall sheets stacked on top of each other and slid the crowbar into the non-taped side. For a moment, nothing gave, then the whole wall slid open like a door.
Ray expected a smell like he’d spent the day with when he babysat the body what seemed like a year ago. Or at least the unforgettable metallic stench of blood that had congealed and dried that stuck to murder scenes long after the bodies had been removed.
What he got was a nose full of bleach. While peered at the wall, trying to find a light switch or something, Fraser walked to the centre of the room and reached up. The cord was almost invisible outside of the harsh rectangle of light from the makeshift doorframe. The cord was there, and brought a naked, 100 watt lightbulb to life.
The bottle of bleach was to the left of a large drain hole. A table saw, missing the tell tale tooth was on a bench beside the drain hole. It was clean, no doubt hosed off after each use. The hose, probably hooked up to the washing machine behind the walls, was coiled on the floor next to a wall. It had a high pressure nozzle on it
The walls in the room weren’t drywalled. The naked studs had pink insulation between them and, right next to where Ray was standing, was the slowly moldering body of Officer Peterson in pieces, his bottom jaw on the skull gaping and as white as its teeth.
*
Ray said nothing all the way home. He couldn’t. Fraser drove with his fingers white on the steering wheel.
Relief washed over Ray as they arrived, safe in their yard. Fraser turned off the engine, and they stayed in the warmth of the car for an extra second before unbuckling their seat belts and getting out.
Fraser went inside the house long enough to get changed into work clothes and then he turned on the floodlights, turning the back of the house into a white arena. The wire that made up the fifteen yards or so of old fence looked practically invisible in the bright light.
They finished it, working well into the night. Ray’s knee where he skinned it gave out with a vicious twist of pain before they finished the last couple feet.
Fraser grabbed his arm, and even through the gloves and the thick jacket, Ray felt the touch electrically. Fraser leaned over and kissed him on the part of his forehead that was exposed in the night air. “Go inside and start a fire. I won’t be long.”
Ray almost asked him to promise, but held his tongue. He limped back to the house and turned every light on the main floor. The fire was well established before he heard the back door open and close again, and then came the familiar rattle of Lester B’s dog tags off his collar.
Fraser clumped around the mudroom for a few minutes. Lester B had sprawled in front of the fire on the carpet over the old hardwood before Fraser came in from the kitchen, turning off lights as he came. “All done?” Ray asked.
“All done,” Fraser agreed.
“Thank god. Let’s go to bed.” Ray pushed the old throw he’d put around his shoulders down and went to stand.
“No,” Fraser said, maybe a little too quickly.
Ray sat back down on the couch. “No?”
“We should stay down here.” Fraser paused. “To have sex.”
Fraser leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. If it wasn’t for the slight line of worry that appeared again between his brow showed he wasn’t entirely comfortable.
Still, Ray didn’t want to make Fraser stress anymore than he already was. Ray leaned back against the sofa. “That’s your big seduction?”
“Did it work?” Fraser ran his hands through his hair.
“Yes.”
Fraser relaxed. “Good.”
He moved to the couch. They were older now; it took an extra couple seconds to adjust themselves so that Fraser straddling his lap was comfortable for both of them, but they adjusted. Ray put his hands on Fraser’s thighs, up tight against his. Fraser’s skin was cold from being outside but beneath the surface chill he felt Fraser’s core heat.
He felt Fraser shift as he shifted his hands down to the seams of Fraser’s inner thighs. His breath caught in his throat. Ray cupped Fraser’s balls through the jeans. Here there was no cold, just Fraser’s radiating warmth. He wanted it closer to him.
But Fraser wasn’t quite ready to move yet. Any attempt Ray made to shift him away so that he could take off their jeans was met with a dodge. Eventually Fraser gathered Ray’s wrists and pinned them down to the back of the couch. Ray exhaled, sharply, not fighting Fraser’s hold so much as wanting to be held down and still have Fraser’s body pressed against his.
They were at a stalemate. He didn’t want to come in his pants, but Fraser had both of his hands occupied as well holding down Ray’s wrists. Ray relaxed, and Fraser transferred both of Ray’s hand into his one.
“Don’t you have something else you could use?” Ray asked.
Fraser cleared his throat. They didn’t use handcuffs. It was too close to work. But in the beginning, they used to use Fraser’s belt before the routine settled in. Fraser backed off a few inches. With one hand he unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the loops. The friction sound of it sliding free made Ray shiver.
“It’s been a while,” Fraser said. He looped the belt around Ray’s wrists calmly, but rather than tying it off he gave the loose strap to Ray to hold. He tightened it, feeling the strain, but when he relaxed, it did, too.
“Too long.” It didn’t need to be said, but Ray said it, regardless. With Fraser’s hands free, he could unbutton’s Ray’s shirt and pull up his T-shirt underneath. Fraser put his hands on Ray’s chest, then, all but ignoring the strain Ray made to force the hands down lower, to his own cock.
Fraser smiled, genuinely thrilled. He leaned forward, letting only his finger tips touch Ray’s belly. He started to stroke down the line dividing what passed as Ray’s flat abdominal muscles. Ray could only suck in his breath and arch his back. “If you’re waiting, now would be a good time.”
“Hum,” Fraser said. He moved his hands lower, slipping them into the waistband of Ray’s jeans.
Ray closed his eyes and leaned back against the couch. As much as he wanted Fraser inside him, he could wait in this moment forever for it. The anticipation, want and need of Fraser’s hands on him, of his straining cock desperate for attention drove away the badness he’d witnessed. There was no saw, no photographs of body parts, just this, here, in the now. The darkness behind his eyes had no fear in it.
Fraser could have been reading his mind. Their jeans came off with practiced care. Ray felt Fraser grab his hips, pulling him down so that he was on the edge of the couch. Fraser knelt down between Ray’s legs. He felt Fraser’s mouth on his hip. His breath tickled.
And then his mouth was over Ray’s cock. Blow jobs were quick. They were in the shower or too tired to really fuck or quick morning before a day’s work sex. A lick and a promise, so to speak. This wasn’t any of that. Fraser took his time, with his hands firmly on Ray’s stomach. He wasn’t holding Ray down, so Ray could lift his hips, driving himself further down Fraser’s throat in the same slow, deliberate pace that Fraser had already set. He twisted his hands in the belt, loving the strain on top of what Fraser’s lips and tongue were doing, but he suddenly couldn’t take anything else slow.
With his hands still bound together, he brought them forward, to Fraser. The leather between his wrists cradled the back of Fraser’s head and just like that, he was in complete control. Fraser made a sound he felt in Fraser’s throat.
Fraser jerked his hands away from Ray’s belly, and the flesh on flesh sound he made kept pace with him. He didn’t even try to stop or slow the orgasm as it was happening. He didn’t feel that he could begin to contain it. He felt his body bow away from the couch so that only the back of his neck and thighs touched it, and even that wasn’t enough. The rush throughout his body stole his breath and sped his pulse so much he could feel it crashing in the back of his mouth.
Fraser pressed his forehead against Ray’s abdomen too. His shoulders started to shake, then his whole body. When he lifted the belt from the back of his head and sat back on his heels, his entire face was flushed.
He didn’t say anything, though. Neither of them did. They didn’t have to. Fraser pulled himself up beside Ray on the couch, and his arm and pectoral muscles spasmed while he did so. They sat there, arms still entwined as Ray’s lungs remembered how breathing worked again, and it was good.
*
The fire had burned down to ashes before Ray felt the need to speak again. “You saw him, at the house,” he said, simply.
“I did. You saw him in the alley way.”
Ray nodded, and swallowed. “He didn’t move right. Did he move right to you?”
“No.” The word felt cut off at the end. Ray kept staring at the fire. Fraser had more to say, and he wasn’t going to push. “They appear the way they want to appear, I suppose. There aren’t any rules.”
Ray wanted to ask how Fraser knew that, but they both heard a crashing sound coming from the yard. Fraser was up and dressed in the time it took Ray to pull his jeans back on, but he was at Fraser’s side a moment later.
“What the hell was that?” Ray demanded. A single flash light was on in the shed, but it was on the floor and rolling away.
“A trap,” Fraser said. He pulled on his boots and ran outside.
Ray grabbed his phone off the charger and his gun and followed. He heard a horrible groaning sound, but this one sounded very much alive still. “He still has a weapon,” Ray warned.
“It’s the very last thing he’s thinking of right now,” Fraser promised.
Ray didn’t want to know how Fraser was so sure, but when he saw the tangle of barbed wire dug into Collins’ leg, he didn’t doubt it either. There must have been five or six strands of it, just loose enough to wrap around his legs as he fell, and the barbs, too cruel for Fraser to trust around animals, dug into his legs at dozens of bloody points.
Collins didn’t have the attention span to fight as Ray trained his gun at the large, central mass of him. He tried to put his hands up but couldn’t take them away from the bloody mess his legs had become. Fraser plucked the service revolver from Collins’ belt and rather than use it himself, he threw it into the darkness.
He did take Ray’s phone, though, stepping just outside the shed to make the call so that Collin wasn’t so loud.
Suddenly Collins stopped screaming, so suddenly Ray wished he had continued. Collins’ eyes bulged out of the skull in a way pure pain alone couldn’t make them. Ray stepped even further into the light.
Ray didn’t want to study the shadows. He didn’t want to see, not just the flash of blue that he knew would stop his heart, but the other shadows in the back of the shed. He and Collins weren’t alone anymore, and from the desperate, garbling sounds coming from Collins, he knew it too. The waiting ones’ vigil had the still, endless patience that only the dead could have. Ray blinked hard, and the shadows blurred back into the familiar shapes of the tool shed, but Collins still stared into the dark corners. Ray had a feeling Collin would be seeing them for a long, long time yet. Ray shuddered with more than just the cold, and stepped back out to the snow-swept yard.
The rest of it was pretty routine. Fraser was given a verbal warning for putting the trap up to begin with, but the town of Beaumont was RCMP territory and Fraser had full jurisdiction. There would be a tonne of paperwork in the morning, of course, there always was, and Ray waited until the last rookie put up the last bit of police tape around the scene before leaving to ask the question he had to know.
“How did you know he’d go to the shed, first?”
Fraser put his arm around Ray. They’d both gone in to get their jackets at different time during the evening, but they’d both the connection.
“It was where we kept the power tools.”
“He could have broken into the house and shot us both.”
“He could have,” Fraser said. “But his partner knew he’d go for the shed.”
“When did he tell you that?”
“In the basement. He tried to tell you.”
“The alley?”
Fraser nodded.
Ray shivered. “C’mon, Fraser, it’s cold out here.”
Title: A Killing Snow
Pairing: Ray K/Fraser
Summary: The bodies were found in pieces, dumped in alleys. Ray and Fraser return to the way things were. Written for the [personal profile] spook_me challenge. Ghosts and violence warning.
A Killing Snow
Ray glanced down at his watch. That it was only 4:45 and the sun still showed from between the tall office buildings was already setting. The Hope Mission that Cooke had spent his last days in was less than a six block drive from the headquarters, so they walked it. With rush hour traffic emptying the small downtown core of the city, it was faster than driving.
Lester B ran ahead of them obediently on his leash. Downtown Edmonton was like any downtown in any city. The heat from the buildings melted the early snow even in the shadows and the crush of bodies was everything from executives shivering but too important for winter jackets to street people settling into their doorways for the night.
The Mission, with its curved building and office-like entry way surprised Ray. He was expecting something with a little more depression added on. There was no mistaking the smell though, Lysol mixed with overcooked vegetables, or the look of the people just sitting with their unidentified food and juice boxes as anything else other than a shelter.
The volunteer put down the pitcher she was holding and came to them. “Officers?” she asked, brushing a strand of grey hair that had escaped the tight ponytail at the base of her neck. Her voice was thick, like a lifetime smoker.
Fraser took off his hat. “We’re looking for your director.” They hadn’t discussed who was going to do the talking, but it felt right to Ray being behind Fraser.
She put her hand over her mouth. “This is about poor David.”
“It is, ma’am.”
“I will grab Angelo for you. One moment, please.”
A family had come in while they were talking. Mom, dad, and two kids. The adults had a stunned look about them, the husband’s mouth was open and the woman looked as though she’d spent most of the day in tears and was about to cry again. The two kids looked exhausted. She sat the kids down and helped the adults get dinner trays for everyone before going to get the director and Ray didn’t mind the extra wait at all.
Angelo came out from the drab hallway side the hall. He wore black, with a white collar. “Officers? We could go back to my office but I can tell you absolutely nothing that you don’t already know. No one here saw or heard anything the night of the murder.” He kept voice down but Ray didn’t think it would matter. The men and women at the tables were so wrapped up in their miseries Angelo’s voice had nowhere to carry to.
“We understand that,” Ray said.
“Then why do you keep coming back? A large percentage of my clientele have a phobia of law enforcement. You coming here doesn’t help them.”
“What about him?” Fraser asked, motioning with his chin toward a young man wearing a baseball cap. He wore a heavy coat. He had high cheek bones and skin the colour of really milky tea.
“He can’t help you,” Angelo said, not even looking over, but when he did he made a clicking sound in the back of his throat. “That’s Mike Man Standing On The Side Of The Road. I didn’t know he was back in town. He took off to Vancouver after the murder.” Angelo rubbed his hands over his face. “He was David Cooke’s best friend.”
“May we speak with him?” Fraser asked.
Angelo gave him a dirty look. “You don’t need permission from me.”
“No. But we’re asking you regardless.”
“Of course you can. But be careful with him, please. He had a huge fight with David the day before the murder and hadn’t seen him since. He blames himself for not being there.”
“There was no mention of him in any of the reports.”
“What good would it do? He was across the city when the murder took place.”
“We’ll be gentle.”
Angelo stepped away. “Ray, stay back,” Fraser said. “And whatever you do, don’t speak.”
Ray didn’t even argue to ask why.
Fraser made eye contact with Mike first, all but asking permission to approach. Mike’s dark eyes were heavy with mistrust, but he nodded his head a quarter inch. Fraser walked slowly to the table, and Mike didn’t look away from him until Lester B reached the table first. He buried his head under Mike’s hand, then tossed his head back so that Mike was scratching him behind the ear before Mike was even aware that was what he was doing.
“Nice dog,” Mike finally said.
“Thank you. He’s an excellent judge of character. Mr. Man Standing On The Side Of The Road, do you know what kind of law enforcement officer I am?”
Mike’s lips peeled back. “You’re RCMP.”
“Do you know what that means within the incorporated city limits?”
“Yeah, I do. It means you don’t got no authority.”
“That’s right. No authority whatsoever.”
Mike glanced to Ray. “But he’s a cop.”
“Despite how difficult it’s going to be for him, I’ve already asked him to let me do the talking. It’s why I’m asking you to come to the RCMP headquarters to help us find who killed your friend. You’re under no obligation and you can leave at any time.”
Lester B whined. Mike scratched his throat with practiced confidence. “We always had dogs at home,” he said, his voice wistful. “Real dogs.”
Fraser opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he was going to say to the sound of the door chimes going off. Fraser turned at the same time Mike looked up, so only Ray saw the colour drain from his cheeks. He bolted for the back door without a word, and Fraser, with only a glance to tell Ray to stay where he was, ran after him.
Ray finally turned to see George Collins standing in the entranceway. He looked as though he’d slept in the uniform he had on, and the dark shadows and hair flattened to the right side didn’t help dispel the look.
They met eyes, halfway across the hall, and the sudden joy in George’s eyes didn’t last for more than a second before he all but boxed his ears with his own fists, turned around, and ran out the door.
*
The floor of the shelter was polished and Ray’s shoes were wet from the walk over. It took him a few extra seconds to cross it and even with the extra care, he almost crashed into the doors. By the time he got outside, he lost George to the crowd. He froze, concentrating on the crowd half a block away looking for any sign of blue to the south, but saw nothing. He turned north, to 107 Avenue, and saw the flash he was looking for turning east, into Chinatown.
He took off after him. In plain clothes he didn’t carry his radio on his belt. He went to grab his cellphone, but realized he would be calling in on a cop in uniform, who hadn’t done anything wrong. Asking for back up because a fellow officer had run out of a building for no apparent reason on the first day that Ray had been bumped up to a detective wasn’t going to go well regardless of how often these things happened in Chicago.
Gut instinct told Ray to be careful. It also reminded him that George had a firearm, and that if the cop felt cornered, it wouldn’t go well for either of them.
At the corner of 107th and 99th Street he caught a flash of the red stripe down George’s pant leg flying east again the next block over. There was no way Ray would catch up to him, but he followed him down the street and then down the alley way behind the Lucky 7 Grocery Store.
Half way down, Ray slipped on an oily patch of broken pavement and went down on one knee. He swore, but caught himself before he did a face-plant. He glanced up, quick enough to see George turning east onto the street. If he crossed 97, the roads there turned into an inner city labyrinth of inner city snarl. George was gone.
Ray stood up and felt the delayed smart of pain from the knee he’d landed on. The alleyway was just like all the pictures of the body dump sites, down to the rubble and garbage behind the businesses. The sun had gone down and he realized suddenly just how dark the alley was. A few of the doorways had a dirty light bulb that was actually on, but it was just enough light to make the shadows stretch. Any one of a dozen could have been a mound of body parts.
He turned back the way he came. When he put weight on his left knee it twinged at him, but took his weight. Still, it was going to be a long walk back to the shelter.
As he limped along, picking up the pace with every step, he saw the shape of a man cross the mouth of the alley. For a heartbeat he thought, impossibly, that George had lapped the block and was now coming for him. The uniform was the right colour, but the build was wrong. Maybe it was another beat cop, who’d seen a plain-clothed man chasing after a uniform. Ray was reaching into his pocket to pull out his ID before thinking that was probably not the best thing to be doing in such a poorly lit place.
Then he saw the bloodstain.
It was black against the blue uniform, and the blackest point of the stain was at least two of Ray’s fists. The wound was right over the sternum, missing his heart by inches. It hadn’t mattered, of course. The pink streetlight reflected grey off the waxy skin.
Ray froze for the second time that night. The way the cop’s mouth hung open left no question that he was dead. A deafening buzz filled Ray’s skull. At first he couldn’t get his lungs to take in enough air to scream, then he realized it was more serious than that when he couldn’t even breathe at all.
The cop took a shuffling step on legs that didn’t bend where the knee should. The sound of something sucking through wet cloth filtered through the buzzing.
Ray didn’t faint, so much as he decided that the best thing to do at that moment was just sit down. He drew his knees up, burrowing his head in his arms. He squeezed his eyes shut so tight the muscles around them hurt.
The world greyed out and turned to black. But not before Ray heard screaming over the sound of the saw.
*
Ray hugged the blanket to his shoulders and got out of the cruiser. When he’d seen the uniforms leaning over him, he’d had enough breath left to actually scream. The officers had leapt back as though Ray had brandished his gun.
Once Ray had been helped to his feet and the EMT’s cleaned and bandaged his knees, he’d convinced Amanda and her partner Bill to drop him off at the RCMP headquarters on Kingsway rather than take him all the way to Royal Alex hospital further down the road.
The RCMP member at the desk pointed him to the cafeteria instead of the interview rooms. The caf itself had been closed down, but Mike sat at one of the far tables, with a pizza box from the Funky Pickle. He had a blanket over his shoulders as well.
Fraser glanced up as soon as he entered, relief obvious across his face. Ray hoped someone had already told him that they’d found Ray in one piece, even if it was curled up in an alley way. Fraser’s partner, Jessica, sat on the other side of Mike. Her thick black hair had a gloss to it even the institutional lighting couldn’t dim.
“Welcome back, copper,” Mike said, helping himself to another slice. “Thought you were a gonner.”
“Why would you think that?” Fraser asked. The question had mild curiosity in it at best, but the line appeared back between his eyes. Ray wanted to rub his shoulders and tell him he was perfectly fine. He’d also have killed for a slice.
As though reading his mind, Fraser pulled off one and slid it over to him as Mike finished chewing. He swallowed and drank down at least half a can of coke. “Because he was running after Officer Collins.” He waited, no doubt expecting Fraser to argue the point. Mike met Ray’s eyes, too, daring him to defend his department, but Ray had already seen what Mike knew.
“He killed his partner.” Mike said.
“And why did he do that?” Jessica asked. Her voice was soft.
“They didn’t agree on their dates. Peterson liked them a bit softer than George, you know?”
“Did you see anything?” Fraser asked. Ray knew what he was thinking. If it was a regular suspect, they could probably get a warrant on eye-witness testimony, but they would need more.
“Not me. We were fighting then, too. We fought a lot. I didn’t want to come to Edmonton. David was always looking for the next big score.”
They all exhaled, despite themselves. Mike saw them, and just as Fraser made their excuses, Mike reached into his shirt and pulled out a leather thong. On it was a film canister. He popped the top and shook out a mini-SD card. “I didn’t see a thing. David recorded it.”
“Why didn’t he come forward to the authorities?” Ray asked, despite himself. “We could have done something about it.”
Mike shrugged. “David thought he had it made. I was supposed to go with him, but we fought about that, too. I thought Collins would kill us both.” Mike’s mouth twitched. “I would have shared the money, though.”
*
The judge signed off on the warrant and the SWAT team moved in. Ray pointed out that Collins’ address was Peterson’s old address. The lights were off, the garage empty, and the team knocked down the door.
Jessica remained behind. She had no jurisdiction, after all. Ray still didn’t feel up to driving so he handed the keys over. Downtown to Riverbend meant they had to get across downtown and over the river, so they were stuck in stop-and-start traffic for half an hour.
The High Level Bridge traffic slowed to a crawl as they waited their turn to merge into one of the lanes. Ray had adjusted the heater higher and higher until a heat flush started to grow from Fraser’s collar, but he didn’t say anything about it.
“They told me they found you in an alley,” Fraser said, finally. “I heard on the radio that they thought you were shot. When you--" Fraser either couldn’t finish or find the word. “When they found you and you were all right, I was very glad.”
Fraser’s typical over-reaction. Ray slipped his hand over Fraser’s thigh. He wanted to tell Fraser what he’d seen, but he couldn’t quite speak about what he saw, but he couldn’t put it into words. He tried, a couple times, but he couldn’t even begin the sentence.
Fraser squeezed his hand and slipped into traffic.
The SWAT team was already gathered, and was just moving into the house by the time they arrived. The massive front doors needed three whacks with the battering ram before they came off its hinges. Ray strapped on his bulletproof vest as Fraser did the same.
The all clear was sounded fifteen minutes later. Ray was the first non-SWAT into the front door. Fraser was right behind him. Fraser glanced towards the group of gathered police in the living room, and then down to a closed door off the kitchen.
“Fraser?” Ray asked, but Fraser wouldn’t look away from the closed door. Ray saw nothing, until he looked away. He caught a glimpse of blue. Sweat broke out and chilled his back and ribcage. He grabbed at Fraser’s arm. “Ben, don’t. Please.”
“It’s all right,” Fraser said, and again patted his hand. “They can’t hurt you.”
“What?” Ray demanded. He couldn’t stop his head from replaying the way the mouth gaped.
“You can stay here,” Fraser said. He headed towards what could only be the basement stairs.
To Ray’s own credit, he only stayed put for three very long, very heart-thudding seconds before he was back where he belonged at Fraser’s side. As he walked through the doorframe he felt a cold, sticky feeling like walking through a spider web on a cool autumn day. He shook his head, plunging down into the brightly lit basement with his partner. “They said it was all clear. They would have checked the basement. If they meant all clear except for the basement I’m sure that’s exactly what they would have said.”
“I’m sure it is all clear,” Fraser said. He wasn’t looking at Ray, but went into what looked like an unfinished laundry room.
“Are you sure you’re sure?”
“Almost positive.”
Fraser stopped, and stared at a newly mudded over drywall. “This isn’t to code.”
Nothing Fraser said really surprised Ray any more. “We’ll be sure to add that to the list.” Fraser ignored him and started to move the empty baskets and detergent bottles. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for a crowbar.”
“A crowbar?”
“Or a tire iron. A rebar might do, if it was short enough to give the proper amount of torque.” He pulled the washing machine away from the wall with a god-awful shriek. “Aha.”
“Who says that?” Ray asked. Fraser emerged, his uniform only slightly dusty, with a crowbar. Ray didn’t want to really look at. He’d seen too many weapons encrusted with blood or brain matter, but it was a perfectly clean, serviceable tool.
Fraser ran his hand down the long seam that was two and a half drywall sheets stacked on top of each other and slid the crowbar into the non-taped side. For a moment, nothing gave, then the whole wall slid open like a door.
Ray expected a smell like he’d spent the day with when he babysat the body what seemed like a year ago. Or at least the unforgettable metallic stench of blood that had congealed and dried that stuck to murder scenes long after the bodies had been removed.
What he got was a nose full of bleach. While peered at the wall, trying to find a light switch or something, Fraser walked to the centre of the room and reached up. The cord was almost invisible outside of the harsh rectangle of light from the makeshift doorframe. The cord was there, and brought a naked, 100 watt lightbulb to life.
The bottle of bleach was to the left of a large drain hole. A table saw, missing the tell tale tooth was on a bench beside the drain hole. It was clean, no doubt hosed off after each use. The hose, probably hooked up to the washing machine behind the walls, was coiled on the floor next to a wall. It had a high pressure nozzle on it
The walls in the room weren’t drywalled. The naked studs had pink insulation between them and, right next to where Ray was standing, was the slowly moldering body of Officer Peterson in pieces, his bottom jaw on the skull gaping and as white as its teeth.
*
Ray said nothing all the way home. He couldn’t. Fraser drove with his fingers white on the steering wheel.
Relief washed over Ray as they arrived, safe in their yard. Fraser turned off the engine, and they stayed in the warmth of the car for an extra second before unbuckling their seat belts and getting out.
Fraser went inside the house long enough to get changed into work clothes and then he turned on the floodlights, turning the back of the house into a white arena. The wire that made up the fifteen yards or so of old fence looked practically invisible in the bright light.
They finished it, working well into the night. Ray’s knee where he skinned it gave out with a vicious twist of pain before they finished the last couple feet.
Fraser grabbed his arm, and even through the gloves and the thick jacket, Ray felt the touch electrically. Fraser leaned over and kissed him on the part of his forehead that was exposed in the night air. “Go inside and start a fire. I won’t be long.”
Ray almost asked him to promise, but held his tongue. He limped back to the house and turned every light on the main floor. The fire was well established before he heard the back door open and close again, and then came the familiar rattle of Lester B’s dog tags off his collar.
Fraser clumped around the mudroom for a few minutes. Lester B had sprawled in front of the fire on the carpet over the old hardwood before Fraser came in from the kitchen, turning off lights as he came. “All done?” Ray asked.
“All done,” Fraser agreed.
“Thank god. Let’s go to bed.” Ray pushed the old throw he’d put around his shoulders down and went to stand.
“No,” Fraser said, maybe a little too quickly.
Ray sat back down on the couch. “No?”
“We should stay down here.” Fraser paused. “To have sex.”
Fraser leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. If it wasn’t for the slight line of worry that appeared again between his brow showed he wasn’t entirely comfortable.
Still, Ray didn’t want to make Fraser stress anymore than he already was. Ray leaned back against the sofa. “That’s your big seduction?”
“Did it work?” Fraser ran his hands through his hair.
“Yes.”
Fraser relaxed. “Good.”
He moved to the couch. They were older now; it took an extra couple seconds to adjust themselves so that Fraser straddling his lap was comfortable for both of them, but they adjusted. Ray put his hands on Fraser’s thighs, up tight against his. Fraser’s skin was cold from being outside but beneath the surface chill he felt Fraser’s core heat.
He felt Fraser shift as he shifted his hands down to the seams of Fraser’s inner thighs. His breath caught in his throat. Ray cupped Fraser’s balls through the jeans. Here there was no cold, just Fraser’s radiating warmth. He wanted it closer to him.
But Fraser wasn’t quite ready to move yet. Any attempt Ray made to shift him away so that he could take off their jeans was met with a dodge. Eventually Fraser gathered Ray’s wrists and pinned them down to the back of the couch. Ray exhaled, sharply, not fighting Fraser’s hold so much as wanting to be held down and still have Fraser’s body pressed against his.
They were at a stalemate. He didn’t want to come in his pants, but Fraser had both of his hands occupied as well holding down Ray’s wrists. Ray relaxed, and Fraser transferred both of Ray’s hand into his one.
“Don’t you have something else you could use?” Ray asked.
Fraser cleared his throat. They didn’t use handcuffs. It was too close to work. But in the beginning, they used to use Fraser’s belt before the routine settled in. Fraser backed off a few inches. With one hand he unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the loops. The friction sound of it sliding free made Ray shiver.
“It’s been a while,” Fraser said. He looped the belt around Ray’s wrists calmly, but rather than tying it off he gave the loose strap to Ray to hold. He tightened it, feeling the strain, but when he relaxed, it did, too.
“Too long.” It didn’t need to be said, but Ray said it, regardless. With Fraser’s hands free, he could unbutton’s Ray’s shirt and pull up his T-shirt underneath. Fraser put his hands on Ray’s chest, then, all but ignoring the strain Ray made to force the hands down lower, to his own cock.
Fraser smiled, genuinely thrilled. He leaned forward, letting only his finger tips touch Ray’s belly. He started to stroke down the line dividing what passed as Ray’s flat abdominal muscles. Ray could only suck in his breath and arch his back. “If you’re waiting, now would be a good time.”
“Hum,” Fraser said. He moved his hands lower, slipping them into the waistband of Ray’s jeans.
Ray closed his eyes and leaned back against the couch. As much as he wanted Fraser inside him, he could wait in this moment forever for it. The anticipation, want and need of Fraser’s hands on him, of his straining cock desperate for attention drove away the badness he’d witnessed. There was no saw, no photographs of body parts, just this, here, in the now. The darkness behind his eyes had no fear in it.
Fraser could have been reading his mind. Their jeans came off with practiced care. Ray felt Fraser grab his hips, pulling him down so that he was on the edge of the couch. Fraser knelt down between Ray’s legs. He felt Fraser’s mouth on his hip. His breath tickled.
And then his mouth was over Ray’s cock. Blow jobs were quick. They were in the shower or too tired to really fuck or quick morning before a day’s work sex. A lick and a promise, so to speak. This wasn’t any of that. Fraser took his time, with his hands firmly on Ray’s stomach. He wasn’t holding Ray down, so Ray could lift his hips, driving himself further down Fraser’s throat in the same slow, deliberate pace that Fraser had already set. He twisted his hands in the belt, loving the strain on top of what Fraser’s lips and tongue were doing, but he suddenly couldn’t take anything else slow.
With his hands still bound together, he brought them forward, to Fraser. The leather between his wrists cradled the back of Fraser’s head and just like that, he was in complete control. Fraser made a sound he felt in Fraser’s throat.
Fraser jerked his hands away from Ray’s belly, and the flesh on flesh sound he made kept pace with him. He didn’t even try to stop or slow the orgasm as it was happening. He didn’t feel that he could begin to contain it. He felt his body bow away from the couch so that only the back of his neck and thighs touched it, and even that wasn’t enough. The rush throughout his body stole his breath and sped his pulse so much he could feel it crashing in the back of his mouth.
Fraser pressed his forehead against Ray’s abdomen too. His shoulders started to shake, then his whole body. When he lifted the belt from the back of his head and sat back on his heels, his entire face was flushed.
He didn’t say anything, though. Neither of them did. They didn’t have to. Fraser pulled himself up beside Ray on the couch, and his arm and pectoral muscles spasmed while he did so. They sat there, arms still entwined as Ray’s lungs remembered how breathing worked again, and it was good.
*
The fire had burned down to ashes before Ray felt the need to speak again. “You saw him, at the house,” he said, simply.
“I did. You saw him in the alley way.”
Ray nodded, and swallowed. “He didn’t move right. Did he move right to you?”
“No.” The word felt cut off at the end. Ray kept staring at the fire. Fraser had more to say, and he wasn’t going to push. “They appear the way they want to appear, I suppose. There aren’t any rules.”
Ray wanted to ask how Fraser knew that, but they both heard a crashing sound coming from the yard. Fraser was up and dressed in the time it took Ray to pull his jeans back on, but he was at Fraser’s side a moment later.
“What the hell was that?” Ray demanded. A single flash light was on in the shed, but it was on the floor and rolling away.
“A trap,” Fraser said. He pulled on his boots and ran outside.
Ray grabbed his phone off the charger and his gun and followed. He heard a horrible groaning sound, but this one sounded very much alive still. “He still has a weapon,” Ray warned.
“It’s the very last thing he’s thinking of right now,” Fraser promised.
Ray didn’t want to know how Fraser was so sure, but when he saw the tangle of barbed wire dug into Collins’ leg, he didn’t doubt it either. There must have been five or six strands of it, just loose enough to wrap around his legs as he fell, and the barbs, too cruel for Fraser to trust around animals, dug into his legs at dozens of bloody points.
Collins didn’t have the attention span to fight as Ray trained his gun at the large, central mass of him. He tried to put his hands up but couldn’t take them away from the bloody mess his legs had become. Fraser plucked the service revolver from Collins’ belt and rather than use it himself, he threw it into the darkness.
He did take Ray’s phone, though, stepping just outside the shed to make the call so that Collin wasn’t so loud.
Suddenly Collins stopped screaming, so suddenly Ray wished he had continued. Collins’ eyes bulged out of the skull in a way pure pain alone couldn’t make them. Ray stepped even further into the light.
Ray didn’t want to study the shadows. He didn’t want to see, not just the flash of blue that he knew would stop his heart, but the other shadows in the back of the shed. He and Collins weren’t alone anymore, and from the desperate, garbling sounds coming from Collins, he knew it too. The waiting ones’ vigil had the still, endless patience that only the dead could have. Ray blinked hard, and the shadows blurred back into the familiar shapes of the tool shed, but Collins still stared into the dark corners. Ray had a feeling Collin would be seeing them for a long, long time yet. Ray shuddered with more than just the cold, and stepped back out to the snow-swept yard.
The rest of it was pretty routine. Fraser was given a verbal warning for putting the trap up to begin with, but the town of Beaumont was RCMP territory and Fraser had full jurisdiction. There would be a tonne of paperwork in the morning, of course, there always was, and Ray waited until the last rookie put up the last bit of police tape around the scene before leaving to ask the question he had to know.
“How did you know he’d go to the shed, first?”
Fraser put his arm around Ray. They’d both gone in to get their jackets at different time during the evening, but they’d both the connection.
“It was where we kept the power tools.”
“He could have broken into the house and shot us both.”
“He could have,” Fraser said. “But his partner knew he’d go for the shed.”
“When did he tell you that?”
“In the basement. He tried to tell you.”
“The alley?”
Fraser nodded.
Ray shivered. “C’mon, Fraser, it’s cold out here.”