Outburst (31 page)

“Can you tell me where you're located?”

“Certainly, sir. We're in the Lakes Village Shopping Mall on Lake Street.”

Exactly, thought Todd. The strip mall not three blocks from his condo.

“And is Maureen Shea in this morning?” he asked.

“Yes, she is. Would you like me to connect you?”

“No, that's okay,” he said, quickly hanging up.

He spun around and, driving considerably faster, headed back down to Dean Parkway and out to Lake Street. He turned right past his building, continued on, and steered into the strip mall not more than three minutes later. Lakes Real Estate was right next door to a bakery Todd had shopped at a handful of times.

Todd parked and went in, swinging open the glass door and entering a reception area filled with a couch and a handful of large plants. An attractive woman with blondish hair and brown glasses looked up from a reception desk.

“Good morning,” she said with a pleasant smile.

Since he'd just spoken to her, Todd lowered his voice slightly and said, “I just drove by a house that you all are selling. I believe Maureen Shea's the listing agent. Would it be possible to speak with her?”

“Of course.”

Without further question the woman picked up her phone and called back to Maureen's office. And within less than a minute—after all, it wasn't every day that a potential buyer simply walked in off the street—a trim, attractive woman appeared. With thick, black hair and wearing black pants and a grayish top, she bore a smile that seemed strained.

“Hi, I'm Maureen,” she said, extending her hand. “Thanks so much for coming in. Are you looking for a house?”

“Hi, Maureen.” He hesitated, then said, “I'm Todd Mills.”

Her smiled vanished, and her hand fell to her side. “Oh.”

“I'm sorry about Mark.”

Not at all pleased, she looked away, mumbled, “I … I …”

“And I'm sorry for just stopping in like this, but I'd very much like to speak to you. Do you have a couple of minutes?”

“I'm … I'm sorry, but I'm very busy. Mark's death has been very difficult for me, and this is my first time in the office in a couple of days, and—”

“Please. It's important, obviously.”

She looked up at him. “But I thought they already caught the guy who did it.”

“They have a suspect, that's all.”

She thought for a moment, then without a trace of enthusiasm said, “Okay, but I really don't have much time.”

Todd followed her down a short hall to the first door, which led into a small conference room filled with a table and chairs and prints of antique cars on each of the four walls. Maureen sat down and pointed to one of the seats opposite her.

“Lookit, Mr. Mills,” she began, “I'll be real frank about this. I didn't call you back because I don't want Mark's death sensationalized.”

“Of course not. Neither do I.” Assessing that he needed to be just as frank, he said, “Please don't forget that I was right there, that I witnessed the shooting. I've done a number of stories on it already, but, trust me, it hasn't been easy.”

She stared at him, seemed about to ask a question—and Todd knew exactly which one—then caught herself.

Trying to keep this going, Todd said, “If I understand correctly, you two were very good friends.”

“Who told you that?”

“A friend of his.”

“Oh.” Satisfied, Maureen paused, looked away. “Well, we were close. Very close. We saw each other only about once a week, but we talked every day, sometimes twice a day. He was my pal, my bud.”

“I see.”

“Do you know how great it is for a straight woman to have a gay man as a best friend? I mean, there was no sexual tension between us. Just friendship … and love.”

“Of course. I hardly met him, but he seemed like a great guy.”

“The best.” Starting to cry even as she smiled, she wiped a tear away, then said, “I was helping him look for a house. That's what he really wanted, his own place.”

“Maureen, was Mark dating anyone?”

“Oh, brother, that's a complicated question.”

“What do you mean?”

“A guy as gorgeous as him could've had anyone. I mean, really. Gay men and straight women were always hitting on him. Instead, he goes and falls for that jerk.”

Todd tried to rein it in, his excitement, softly asking, “Who?”

“Oh, this stupid closet case. Some guy who travels here on business.”

“Did you ever meet him?”

“No, never. I wanted to, but Mark said the guy was too scared, that it was too big a step.” She shook her head. “It was all wrong. A guy as great as Mark deserved the best, someone who was around all the time, not some uptight jerk who was only around once a month.”

“What about his name? Did Mark ever tell—”

“Russ.”

“Russ?”

“Yeah, that's all Mark ever told me, that he was going down to the Redmont because Russ was in town. I have no idea of his last name.”

Excellent, thought Todd. That should be enough to find him, definitely so, particularly with Rawlins's aid.

“That might be very helpful to the police,” Todd said. “Do you mind if I pass that along?”

“Not at all, not if you think it might help.”

“Anything else?”

“No, not really. Listen, I don't know what you're looking for—”

“Neither do I.”

“—but I sure as hell hope that once you find it you treat it with care.”

“I promise I will.”

He thanked her again, then started to get up. And then, reticent but needing to know, she asked it, the question she'd earlier stuffed and the one they always asked.

“Mark wasn't in a lot of pain, was he? He didn't suffer, did he?”

“No, not at all. It happened very quickly. I'm not even sure he knew.”

“Thanks.”

Leaving her sitting in the small conference room, Todd had no idea where this information would take him, but he had a gut feeling it would be someplace interesting. This might be just a piece, a singular part of a puzzle, but the more anyone understood about Mark Forrest, the more quickly this might be wrapped up. Or so he hoped.

Emerging from the cool air-conditioning, he stepped into the day that was rapidly growing more hot and humid. On the early-morning news he'd heard that a huge storm was blowing in from the Dakotas, and Todd didn't doubt it, not one bit. Something was going to break.

He was just reaching into his pocket for his keys when he heard steps behind him.

“Todd?”

He turned, saw Maureen Shea pulling her dark hair from her face, then shielding her eyes from the bright sun.

“Yes?” he said.

“Well, there's just one other thing.” She looked across the parking lot, grinned, then looked back at him. “I don't know if they really did or not, but Mark said he and Russ always tried to stay in one particular room at the Redmont.”

“Which one, the Princess Suite?”

“No,” she replied with a small laugh. “Room 469.”

Todd couldn't hide his own amusement, but in the moment that he groped for some witty reply a distant phone started ringing. Both Maureen and he glanced back toward her office, then turned and looked at his Grand Cherokee.

“That's mine,” he said, fumbling to open the door. “Thanks again, Maureen!”

“You bet.”

Pulling open the door as quickly as he could, Todd leaned across and grabbed his phone from the passenger seat.

He said, “Todd Mills.”

“Listen up,” said a deep voice. “It's me. Don't tell anyone I called, just get your ass down to City Hall, the main entrance. Now—on the fucking double. Got it?”

“But—”

“And bring one of your camera guys.”

“Okay, but I really need to talk to you.”

“Later. Just get down to City Hall. You're not going to believe it—they're letting Kenney go.”

Thirty minutes later, thanks
to the tip, Todd and Bradley were the only ones from the media standing there in the sultry summer air. No one else knew. Not yet anyway. And they were right outside the main doors of the granite fortress of bureaucracy when Christopher Louis Kenney came tramping out of City Hall, escorted by none other than his attorney and Todd's closest friend, Janice Gray.

Oh, God, thought Todd, spying Janice. I don't want to be doing this. I really don't. But did he have a choice? Of course not. He had all of a few seconds to get what he needed—a sound byte from the accused, who was also now the liberated. To do that, to get Kenney to say something outrageous, something that would pop on television, Todd was going to have to be obnoxious, repulsively so.

Todd took a deep breath and said, “Here they come, Bradley.”

“Oh, yes. Oh, yes, indeed,” said the photographer, his camera on his shoulder, his eye on the lens, and his finger on the trigger.

“Chris! Janice!” called Todd, wiping the perspiration from his brow, then stepping quickly toward them, a stick mike in hand. “Over here!”

The two of them turned their heads as much in surprise as in shock. As soon as Chris saw the camera focused on him, he bowed his head. Janice, playing the good attorney, stepped in direct line of the lens.

“Oh, shit,” moaned Janice, stepping into the hot sunlight.

“What the hell are you doing here, Todd? How did you find out already? Or is that an exceedingly dumb question?”

“I'm sorry, Janice. I really don't want to be doing this.”

“Then don't.”

“The choice isn't mine.” He took a deep breath, forced himself to ask, “Will you comment on your client's release?”

“Knock it off, Todd! Just turn the camera off and leave us alone, okay?”

As his stomach twisted into a knot, he said, “Sorry, I can't.”

“Don't be an asshole!” she shouted, moving along and shaking her head in disgust. “You know what I've never told you, Todd? I hate the media. Particularly television. You people are such bottom feeders.”

It stung, no doubt about it, but Todd pushed past it, saying, “Janice, I didn't ask you to represent him, for God's sake. I only asked you a few questions. It was your idea to go down and check on him to make sure he—”

“She.
You can refer to Kris as
she
, got it?”

“So how did you get Kenney out?” demanded Todd, keeping up with her. “What did you have to do?”

“Kris Kenney was released because the evidence against her was purely circumstantial. End of statement.”

“Congratulations, Janice.”

“Eat shit, Todd. We both know I'm involved in this only because of you. And between you and me and strictly off the record—” She stopped, glanced at Bradley's camera, then stared right at Todd and raised her finger. “And I mean off the record—if you use any of this I'll never speak to you again, so help me God. Got it?”

He had no doubt she meant it, too, and he turned to Bradley and said, “Turn the camera off.”

“Well,” began Janice, “I didn't even have to make any protests. The judge tossed this one out on his own.”

“I see.”

“No, Todd, I don't think you do. I don't think you truly understand what's going on here.”

Janice then turned and shepherded Kris onward. Todd in turn shouted at Bradley to start filming again, then rushed after them. A mother and her daughter on the sidewalk scurried away. Someone else stopped and stared. A cop looked on from his squad car.

Darting in front of them, Todd blurted, “Kris, I hear they let you go because of a lack of evidence. Does that mean you actually didn't kill Officer Mark Forrest?”

As she walked Janice shouted, “Shut up, Todd!”

“But what about your raincoat, Kris?” pressed Todd. “What about Forrest's blood on your raincoat?”

“Stop it!”

Kris said, “I—”

“Don't say a thing!” Janice advised, hurrying faster.

Desperate not to lose her, the worst of his journalistic instincts kicked in, and he shouted, “Did you dress up for them both, Kris? Were both Dave Ravell and Mark Forrest into drag queens? Is that what it was? Were you lovers with them?”

Kris flinched as if someone had just hurled a stone at her. The next instant she twisted out of Janice's tight grasp, turning on Todd with a vicious face.

“I knew Dave Ravell and I loved him. But I didn't hurt him. And I didn't hurt this faggot named Forrest either. Hell, I didn't even know him!” she shouted. “As for me, I'm not straight and I'm not gay, do you understand? My name is Kris with a
K
and I'm
queer
, very fucking
queer!
”

Stunned, Todd didn't move. Unfortunately that was it, exactly what he needed for the six o'clock.

“Are you happy now, Todd?” asked Janice, shaking her head. “You're going to make all us ‘deviants’ look really good on the news tonight, aren't you?”

Standing there, he watched them hurry away, Janice leading the way through the heat and across the street. He took a deep breath, mopped his brow, then turned to his photographer.