Closer by Morning (12 page)

****

Matt's last client of the day was seeking a divorce after sixteen years of marriage. The only man Ellie Coatsworth had ever loved, her schoolyard sweetheart, was no longer the man she had married. Matt discreetly shifted a box of tissues across the desk and listened patiently as she told her story. It was a slight variation on one he'd heard a million times before.

After one too many ‘late nights at the office', her husband had come home rolling drunk. So drunk she'd had to undress him and put him into bed. As she had folded away his clothes, Ellie had found a mobile phone in the pocket of his trousers. Not his regular phone. A very cheap pay-as-you-go handset.

“He had the balls to accuse me of snooping on him,” she said.

The phone was only used to exchange texts and calls with a single number. Dan Coatsworth had been having an affair with a woman at work for over two years. The affair alone was grounds for divorce but the deception ran deeper than that. There were gambling and credit card debts totaling sixty thousand and Ellie had caught her husband just as he was about to secure a second mortgage on their four-bedroom home.

“His share of the house won't even cover his cards,” she said. “I want him out. The bitch is welcome to him and all his stinking debt.”

Matt admired her steel. The tissues were not touched. There were no tears from this lady. She knew exactly what she wanted. “I can start proceedings right away,” he said. “If that's what you want.”

“The sooner, the better,” she said, leaning forward in her chair. “I've wasted too many good years on that bastard. I want rid of him ASAP.”

The office was closing down as Ellie Coatsworth departed. Matt made a few notes in her file and left it on his desk. He would set the divorce process in motion the following day. It was straightforward enough, as long as the husband's lawyer didn't push for anything more than he was entitled to, which wasn't much of anything, given what he'd done.

He checked the time. Six-twenty-five. He had to be at the police station at seven. So far no other calls had come in for that evening. If it stayed that way he should be home before nine. Enough time for Dale to come over. Matt couldn't wait. He was happy just thinking about him. He'd been like that all day.

Matt headed to the watercooler and checked his phone for messages. There were several texts from Conrad. Trivial stuff, telling him how his day was going and a reminder to ask Dale for help with the charity.

A donation and/or a personal appearance would be great.

Conrad was beginning to sound like a broken record. Nevertheless, Matt had promised to ask Dale for something and as yet he hadn't.

He would do it tonight, before they had sex. He couldn't account for anything he did afterward. Dale literally fucked his brains out.

There was also a voice mail. From Dale. He dialed into the account and quietly prayed Dale wasn't calling to cancel. He tabbed through the voice mail options and smiled again as he heard Dale's honeyed tones.

“Hey, sexy. Hope you're having a better day than I am. The only thing making this bearable is remembering all the things we did last night.”

It had taken a great effort to think about anything else. From the morning meeting to Ellie Coatsworth's divorce, sex with Dale had never been far from his thoughts, resulting in some highly inappropriate hard-ons.

“I'm just calling to let you know I'll be late tonight. Long story, I'll tell you about it later, but we have to attend some crappy press function at the hotel in Durham. I'm going to blow it off as soon as I can, but that might not be till around ten. I hope that's not too late 'cause I really want to see you.” Dale's voice lowered. “Oh God, how I want to see you. I've got a stiff one just thinking about you… But I'll call before I set off. Okay, sexy. See you later.”

Whatever time Dale arrived it would not be too late. Matt sent him a quick text to that effect, telling him to come by no matter what the time was.

He went back to his office to retrieve the file on Gary Draper and packed up the rest of his stuff.

There was one thing he'd avoided thinking about until now. It was exactly a week since he'd sat in on Gary Draper's police interview. Tonight was the follow-up. He'd have to see Jamie again when he went to the station. He didn't want a repeat of what had happened on his doorstep last Thursday. Maybe Jamie was over it. He'd had the weekend to cool off, to move past the idea of them staging a reunion. 
Some chance of that
. Three months apart hadn't convinced him. What difference would a few more days make?

There was no point getting into another argument and he wouldn't give Jamie the opportunity. He would keep it professional. No personal chat. No time alone. He was there to discuss Gary Draper. Nothing else.

There was a noticeable difference in the sky when he left the office. The evenings were getting longer. Dusk was cutting in but it wasn't dark, as it used to be. There was enough purple-tinted light left in the sky for Matt to notice straight away that there was something wrong with his car.

The back passenger side tire was completely flat. No, hang on a minute… The front tire was flat too. With a tightening in his stomach, he walked all the way around the car. Fuck!

They were all the same. All four tires deflated.

Stooping to inspect the first wheel, he knew what he would find. They'd been slashed. A clean, inch-wide puncture in every tire. 
Bastards!

Who might have done it? No one obvious came to mind. It could be anyone. In a job like his, there was no way of knowing who you had pissed off. A disgruntled client was the obvious guess, but maybe not. He defended plenty of criminals, and there were always victims and relatives on the other side of the case who blamed the lawyers for the perceived injustice. Or it could be the opposite party in a divorce case. And just because it was his car didn't mean it was a personal attack on him. It could be a grudge against the firm or any one of their lawyers and his vehicle just happened to be the only one left at the end of the day.

There was no CCTV on the car park either, so slim chance of ever finding the culprits.

It must have happened recently, though. Between the others leaving and him coming out. Some people just couldn't help being bad.

What a pain in the ass.

Matt headed to the police station on foot. He would report it when he got there. There wasn't much else he could do.

Gary Draper was waiting at the door when he arrived. He had come straight from work. In his suit and tie, he looked a lot more together than when he had been interviewed the previous week.

“I didn't want to go in on my own,” he said, stubbing out a cigarette. “Will they put me in a cell again?”

“Unlikely,” Matt answered him. “Try not to worry.”

“Easier said than done.” He popped a mint into his mouth and followed Matt into the station. “I've thought about nothing else all week.”

They signed in and were directed to a waiting room.

Matt attempted to keep Gary calm, though he was nervous himself. He wouldn't show it but the prospect of seeing Jamie filled him with dread. It wasn't fair. Jamie had no right to be dredging up the past after all this time. It was unprofessional, for both of them. He had to focus on his client, not an ex-boyfriend who refused to let go.

He'd have to speak to him. It was unavoidable. They had to reach a compromise that meant, when moments like this arose, they were able to deal with it professionally. They still had jobs to do. Responsibilities other than themselves.

His anxiety was unfounded. When DS Sophie Talalay came through to speak to them, she was accompanied by a young female officer. Talalay's smile was wide, her manner soft and friendly. Matt knew immediately that Gary was safe. She was over-compensating—being too nice. She had no case.

The Detective Sergeant confirmed it moments later. “Mr. Draper, I'm happy to inform you that Mrs. Smith has withdrawn all allegations against you, and after investigation, I can confirm that there will be no further action in this case.

Gary stared at her, open mouthed. “What does that mean?”

“It means you're free to go. The case is closed.”

He looked at Matt and then at DS Talalay. “I don't get it. I've been accused of rape. And now you say it's over. Just like that?”

“That's right. All the allegations against you have been withdrawn.”

“So Victoria is now saying I didn't rape her? That we did have sex and she did consent to it?”

“That's right.”

“And she lied about me. She told an absolute lie, accused me of a despicable crime—one of the very worst—and that's it. She can get away with that?”

“This case is over, Mr. Draper.” Talalay was already heading out of the door. “Go home and forget about it.”

Alone again, Gary looked at Matt, his face dejected. “They're going to let her get away with that? What's to stop her saying something else about me? Or some other poor guy? All my friends know what I was arrested for. My family. Everyone is talking about it. You know what they say—‘No smoke without fire.' How can she get away with that?”

“They won't prosecute her unless you make a complaint.”

“What will happen then?”

“Well, she could be charged with perverting the course of justice.”

“What does that mean?”

“If found guilty, she could go to prison. More likely she would get probation.”

“Then I want to make a complaint. I don't want that bitch getting away with this. She'll do it again if no one challenges her.”

Gary was angry. Understandably. Matt persuaded him to do nothing right away. “Go home and relax. You've had a terrible week. You need time to come down from that. Give yourself a few days to take it in. If you feel the same way after that, come see me at the office and I'll talk you through your options.”

After calming Gary down and sending him on his way, Matt went to the front desk to report the criminal damage to his car. It was merely a formality, for his insurance claim as much as anything. They were never going to catch who was responsible. But it was better to have the incident logged in case of further damage.

Finally done, tired and hungry, he called a taxi and headed home. At least he would still see Dale tonight, which was something to look forward to.

The phone was ringing as he entered the house. Instinctively he answered, regretting the decision straight away.

“It's me, Jamie. Are you all right? I heard you filed a report about your car.”

Good news had a way of getting around.

“I'm fine. It was the car that got damaged, not me. Look, Jamie, I appreciate your concern and all that, but I just walked through the door. I'm tired. I haven't eaten yet.” He kept his voice calm. Better to get rid of him gently. The last thing he wanted now was a fight.

“I just wanted to know you were all right. We might be finished but that doesn't mean I stopped caring about you.”

“I know.” He sighed. His determination to keep Jamie at arm's length was weakening. He didn't have it in him. “Where were you tonight? Sophie Talalay did the follow-up interview on Gary Draper.”

“I'm in the city. Seconded to MIT to investigate the murders.”

“Congratulations.” His enthusiasm was muted. It was the promotion Jamie had always wanted but if Matt gave him too much encouragement he would exploit it. “I really need to go now.”

“Wait. Matt, I just want to say something.”

Oh no, here it is again.
“Jamie, don't.”

“It's not what you think. I want to tell you to be careful. These murders we're investigating, well, both of the victims were gay and it's looking like the most obvious connection between them. Someone is preying on young gay guys. We don't know how he chooses them or why. Until we do, I just want you to take care.”

“I will.”

“I mean it. Don't take any risks with strangers.”

“You know I'm not like that,” Matt said. He knew what Jamie was doing. Trying to control him through fear. It wouldn't work. “Good night, Jamie.”

“I don't want yours to be the next body we fish out of the river.”

Enough
. Matt hung up.

Chapter Eleven

There was no time to go home and change after the shoot. Dale didn't wrap until after seven. If he went home he would not be back for the press party. Not that he wanted to be there, the pull of seeing Matt was too strong. But the directive to all major cast and crew members was very clear—attendance was mandatory.

And that was okay for those staying at the hotel. They could go back to their rooms and freshen up. Dale didn't have that luxury. He showered in his trailer and the wardrobe department arranged for him to borrow some clothes for the night. Dark jeans, a gray jersey and a sports jacket. Everything in his size. Not bad. It was better than wearing the rumpled sweatpants and T-shirt he had arrived in that morning. Boy, that seemed a long time ago.

He considered leaving his car at the studio and taking a taxi to the hotel so he could have a drink. But that would make it difficult to get away easily and find his way to Matt's place. The freedom of a quick getaway was worth the aggravation of a sober evening. He could kill for a drink, but seeing Matt was so much more important.

The party was already swinging when he arrived. The function room was full while smartly dressed waiters catered to the needs of the crowd with trays of champagne and canapés. Dale suddenly realized he hadn't eaten since noon and was starving. He grabbed a napkin from a passing waiter and loaded it with mounds of unsatisfying bites.

He was stuffing them into his mouth when Edward, Johan Turner's odious assistant, took hold of his elbow.

“Finally, you're here. Good. Come this way. Johan will introduce you to Ms. Rank.”

Dale resisted his clawed hand. “Can I finish eating first?” He shoved two more canapés into his mouth. They were dry and difficult to swallow. He should have stopped for food on the way here.

Edward folded his arms and watched him disapprovingly. The assistant had squeezed his chubby figure into tight black trousers and a pillar-box red shirt, which stretched unflatteringly across his man boobs. It was profoundly unattractive. Dale found it hard to look at anything other than his squidgy rack.

With some effort, he swallowed the last mouthful. “All right,” he said. “Take me to court.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. After you.”

Keeley Rank was a short woman in her early fifties. Her hair, a mixture of severe blonde and scrappy roots, had been teased into a huge nest around her head. If the look she was aiming for was 1980s rock chick dragged through a bush backward—she had totally nailed it. Her powdery makeup failed to conceal a crêpey top lip and soft jowls.

Surrounded by Johan, Nicola Donahue, Russell Jones and a group of nodding yes-men, she was the queen bee surrounded by her swarm.

Johan, spotting Dale's arrival, bustled forward. “Here he is,” he sing-songed loudly. “Dale Zachary, our American stud. Isn't he gorgeous? Be careful with him, Keeley. He's a real lady killer, this one.”

Dale shot the writer a filthy look. What the hell was he playing at? Presenting him like a piece of meat. Maybe Elton had the right idea about this asshole. There wasn't much to like about him.

Keeley considered him with cool gray eyes and extended a bejeweled hand. “Keeley Rank.”

She presented the back of her hand, as though she expected him to kiss it. Dale took it in a firm grip, turned it over and gave her a traditional handshake. “Glad to meet you. Your arrival has caused quite a stir.”

She returned a weak smile. “When Johan told me what was happening here, I just had to come up and find out for myself. Pitchforks and flaming torches.” She laughed at her own joke. “You really have pissed off the yokels. I do love
the North
. So earthy and basic. It's like another country. Another era. Talk about stepping back in time.”

“It
is
another country for me,” he said, successfully keeping the edge from his voice. “A really beautiful country.”

“Really? Since your ex-wife returned to the UK it seems you spend more time here than in the States these days. Isn't this your home now?”

He didn't rise to the bait. “I'm an actor. Home is where I find work. I try to see the best of everything, whereever I go. Places, people, culture. Approach it without prejudice and you'll see Durham is as beautiful as anywhere else.”

“Except you won't find angry mobs at the gates of Pinewood,” she said smartly.

“Oh, I don't know. When you travel as widely as I have you see that anger gets into most places, if people let it.”

“A philosopher, eh? I'm going to enjoy finding out all about you, Dale.”

“I thought the whole point of your visit was to highlight the hard work and good intent of this amazing crew.”

Keeley sipped her champagne. “It is. But I'm a journalist first. I report the stories as I find them. How about I do an in-depth interview and feature on you? I'm sure it will be something special. All the tales
you
could tell.”

Dale felt nervous under her merciless gaze. He didn't do personal interviews. He was an actor. Not a celebrity. Exposing his secrets to the pen of a tawdry tabloid journalist—nothing in his contract said he had to go for that. He would do this to promote the show but personal stuff was off limits. “There are far more interesting people to write about than me. Roxanne, for instance. She is the star after all.”

“
Roxanne
.” Keeley threw back her head in an exaggerated laugh. “No one wants to read about her. We're heard it all before. But you—you're new. You're fresh. You're exactly what we want.”

Johan grinned inanely and nodded at every word she said. Dale wondered whether he was wired. There was a coked-up look in his eyes. “Yes, Dale is a real angle for your story. Your readers are going to love him. I'll make sure you two get plenty of time together.”

Dale gave him a dangerous look.
That's what you think, asshole.

First thing tomorrow, he would speak to the producers, Elton, his agent if he had to. No way was he granting any kind of personal interview to this pen-pushing piranha.

Edward returned, this time with Adrian Nelson in his vise-like grip. As the other actor was pushed forward to meet the journalist, Dale took the opportunity to step away and take Russell Jones aside.

“How long is she staying?”

“Till Thursday. Friday maybe. I'm not sure,” the producer said. “Most of the week. It depends how it goes. If the protests die down she might get bored and leave.”

“You're out of order, you know,” Dale said. “Thinking you can turn me over to her. I'm not selling my private life to save the show.”

“You're contractually obliged to carry out promotional work.”

“I've got no problem promoting the show.
The show
. Not me.”

“Dale, please.” Russell put a hand on his forearm. “You know how bad this situation has got. Our show will be dead on arrival if we don't do something to turn the tide of publicity. We need a break. Just play along for a few days, please.”

“You're selling me out.”

“No, not a bit. You've been around. You know how this shit works. Just throw Keeley a few tidbits. Make it up if you want to, but please give her something.”

Dale sighed. He didn't like it. He hated it. But he would play the game. For a while at least.

****

Aaron Oxford watched from across the room. Dale was trapped in the inner sanctum with Johan, the producers and the visiting journalist. Drones like him wouldn't be invited to that scene. He was here to make up the numbers and fill the room. He didn't mind so much. Not if it meant he could get close to Dale, away from the studio.

Dale had been distant with him for over a week now. He was uptight and aloof. Hopefully this party and a few drinks would loosen him up and help them get back to where they were before.

It had started so well. Aaron had fancied Dale the first time he saw him. God, who wouldn't? The man was to die for. He had a great look—the all-American boy grown up to be one fucking hot daddy. And with the beard he had grown for the show…
Woof
.

Aaron had sensed Dale was on his side as soon as they met. He'd read his IMDb profile. He'd known all about his marriage and divorce, his kid. But a deeper trawl of the forums had turned up the rumors. Suggestions that the hunky actor was more interested in guys than girls. Though he'd checked them all of course, Aaron had taken the stories with a grain of salt. Read the IMDb forums for any sexy, remotely successful actor and the gay question always appeared on the first couple of pages.

But when they had been introduced at the rehearsal studio in London, Aaron
had known
the stories about Dale were more than rumor. His body language, his smile, the way his gaze lingered for a fraction too long. Telltale signs, imperceptible to anyone not looking for them, but a sure giveaway to anyone in the know. Aaron's gaydar had never been wrong.

He was not in the habit of seducing actors on the shows he worked on. There had been the odd short-lived traveling affair but nothing as major as blowing the star. The more time he had spent alone with Dale, Aaron had got a sense that Dale wanted it as much as he. And he had been right. It had been the briefest of seductions. Three days into shooting and Dale was his.

There was nothing like it. Taking a man in your mouth. Rendering him helpless. Feeling his body react, listening to his desperate breathing, taking him to the ultimate release. Aaron prided himself on his skill. Untroubled by a gag reflex, he could deep throat without effort. He gave the very best blow jobs.

Everybody said so.

No teeth. No hands. He could get a man off with the skill of his mouth alone.

Dale hadn't been able to get enough in the beginning. Aaron had offered to mix it up, making his juicy ass available, but it was his blow jobs that had driven Dale crazy.

Maybe it was stress-related. Or guilt—not uncommon with sexually confused guys—but Dale had gone cold on him lately.

Not for much longer. It had been over a week. Aaron needed cock and he needed it tonight. One way or another, Dale would give up that hot ejaculate.

“God, is there nothing decent to eat?” asked Jess, the wardrobe assistant, as she knocked back her third glass of champagne. “They force us to come to this butt-kissing party but don't bother to cater for the little people.”

“Looks that way,” Aaron said.

The waiters with the canapés attentively circled the upper echelons of the company but didn't come near the unimportant people.

“Let's get out of here,” Jess said. “We've done our duty and put in an appearance. I want a pizza. There's an Italian place five minutes from here. What do you say?”

The rest of the group nodded in agreement.

“This will be done by nine,” Aaron said. “We should wait.”

“Stuff that. I've got to be up at five-thirty. I want food and an early night.”

Aaron helped himself to a fresh glass of champagne. His fourth. “Go ahead. I might catch you up later. I'm not really hungry yet and, you know… Free booze.”

Jess and a group of ten left him alone. Aaron didn't mind. He could hardly make a move on Dale with that lot around. Discretion was key with the closeted types.

He bided his time around the edge of the party, never letting Dale out of his sight, careful not to get drawn into another group of colleagues.

Time moved slowly. Dale looked as bored as Aaron felt. Roxanne and Elton had yet to put in an appearance, so Johan and Edward guarded Dale, not letting him wander too far from their cherished reporter, dragging him back into her orbit whenever he looked as if he were making an escape.

Aaron was happy just watching. It had been a long time since he'd fancied a man as much as this. Dale was perfect. Ridiculously handsome and funny, with a lovely big dick and meaty ass. Aaron had to be careful. He wouldn't fall in love, tempting as that was. Falling for Dale, an actor with a ton of emotional baggage, could lead to a lot of heartache.

But if they kept it light, fuck buddies with a bit of spice… The end of
Blood Falls on Stone
was being kept open. If the show was a hit, they would all be back to film a second series. Who knew where their on-set romance could go from there?

And if it didn't develop, the sex alone made it worth the effort.

Patience finally paid off. Roxanne Maxwell and Elton Weaver made a grand entrance together. Roxanne looked amazing. She had really gone to town with the glamour. Big hair, overstated makeup, a dress that showed plenty of bronzed and toned flesh. For a woman approaching fifty, she was an absolute knockout.

The entire room stopped to watch, then burst into rapturous applause. Even Aaron was entranced, taking his eyes off Dale to cheer the leading lady. This party had been all about the journalist Keeley Rank. Not anymore.

Roxanne, often so aloof on the set, greeted runners and third assistants like her dearest friends. Smiling beatifically, she crossed the room, shaking hands, flashing jewelery. The photographer assigned to accompany Keeley rushed forward then began to walk backward in front of Roxanne, cameras flashing to capture every moment. It was some spectacle.

Dale took advantage of the distraction to slip from Johan's grip and head to the men's room.

At last it was Aaron's chance.

Dale was at the urinal when he followed him in. He went right up beside him. “I was beginning to forget what that thing looked like,” he said, staring at Dale's pissing cock.

Dale started. “Jesus, Aaron.” He shook and shoved his dick back into his pants.

Not the reaction Aaron had hoped for. “You should relax. You look tense.”

“I could do without all this,” Dale said, washing his hands. “I feel like I've been pimped out to the press.”

“Roxanne is here now, so relax. She's a natural at this kind of thing. You saw how she came in. No one will notice if you and me slip away. What do you say? Back to your place? It'll be nice to do it somewhere other than your funky little trailer.”