Closer by Morning (19 page)

So what was he going to do now? He didn't have a plan. Neglectful really, when he'd been dreading this moment for the whole of his career. He should have had
something
planned. Unlike a major Hollywood player, he didn't have a team of lawyers, agents and publicists to call upon when the heat was on. The story was about to be written and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

So what? There were more important things to agonize over. Poor Aaron for instance. The man was dead along with two others. What did it matter if Dale Zachary, who most people in the UK hadn't heard of until last week, was a fag? The news was hardly going to break the internet.

The people in his life, they were the ones he had to worry about.

He picked up his phone and dialed his ex-wife's number.

“Hi, Dale,” Laura answered after a couple of rings.

“Hi. Can you talk?”

“Not long. I'm working. Is something wrong?”

“Oh,” he stalled. “Well, maybe I could call you later. At a better time.”

“Tell me now. Just a second, I'll step outside. Okay, good. Now, quickly, what is it?”

Oh, boy.
His insides contracted. His throat was tight. The words wouldn't come out. “It's… It's erm…”

“You're scaring me now,” Laura said softly. “Is there something wrong? You're not ill, are you?”

“No, no. I'm not. It's not that.”

“Then what is it?” she pressed.

“Okay.” Deep breath. “You know we're getting a lot of heat from the press about this show?”

“I'd have to live on Mars to miss it.”

“Well, the heat is about to be turned up higher. There's this journalist, well, she's barely that, more like a glorified gossip columnist. She's going to write a story about me. Outing me.”

“Shit. Dale, I'm sorry. Can't you put a block on it somehow?”

“I have neither the money nor the influence. To tell you the truth, I don't think I want to. I've been in hiding far too long. I'm in my mid-thirties and still living a lie. I think the time has come. No more hiding.”

“That's very brave.

“Not really,” he said honestly. “If Keeley wasn't about to out me, I wouldn't do it myself. But that's not the issue. It's how it's going to unravel. It's not going to be pleasant. It serves me right, in a way. If I had come out myself I could have avoided headlines. Unfortunately, now, I think it's going to be front page news. No, I don't think, I know. The story is big.”

“What are you talking about?”

He told her about his casual relationship with Aaron Oxford. “Keeley is going to portray me as the secret gay lover of the latest victim. That'll make one juicy lead story, don't you think?”

“It's offensive. The boy's grieving family doesn't want to read that.”

“Exactly,” he sighed. “And I don't want my family to read it either. That's why I'm calling, Laura. I want to speak to Jack before the story breaks. Listen, we've been stood down on the production until Monday. If I drive down this afternoon, I could speak to him tonight, put him in the picture before the headlines turn ugly. I don't want him to find out his old man is gay from someone else.”

Laura gave a soft laugh. It was not unkind. “You're a little late to that party, I'm afraid.”

A fresh wave of shock came over him. Dale sat down as his legs began to weaken. “He already knows? Who told him?”

“Nobody. Well, I did. Kind of. But Jack had already figured it out when he asked me. He's a bright boy, Dale. And a modern boy. Kids today, they don't have any hang-ups about that kind of stuff. And they're better for it.”

“Oh my God.” What an idiot. How could have waited so long to do this? He'd been living in a protective bubble, blindly believing that everything was okay. “What did he say?”

“Dale, relax. He's totally fine about it. He's got a lot of questions, naturally. Stuff I couldn't answer for him. But, as far as having a gay dad goes, he's completely chilled.”

“Really?”

“Honestly. He's a great kid. You have nothing to worry about.”

Relief flooded through him and suddenly there was a lump in his throat, a hard ball of emotion. “I want to see him.”

“Of course.”

“Can I still come tonight?”

“Yes. You don't have to ask.”

“I think it's best, don't you? He might be okay about me but I don't think anyone is going to be fine with the headlines that are about to drop. I'd like to tell my side of that story before he reads a distorted version.”

When he ended the call, Dale laughed. A nervous, uncertain sound. He was still trembling. The world felt like a completely different place from the one he was in before picking up the phone. It was a lot less frightening. Hopeful.

Maybe it would be all right.

He could only hope.

Chapter Seventeen

The bedroom was small and dark. Dirty net curtains hung across a tiny window, blocking a nondescript view of the alley behind. There were two twin beds with mismatched, over-washed covers. The dark blue carpet was worn right through to the floorboards beside the door and probably responsible for ninety-five percent of the bad odors in the room.

Jamie couldn't imagine spending one night in a shithole like this, let alone the three months
Blood Falls on Stone
was scheduled to film for.

Nigel Perigrew, a sound engineer who had shared the room with Aaron Oxford, stood against the wall with his arms folded. He was a heavyset man in his early forties, with thinning ginger hair and a red face. “It's a toilet, I know, but I've stayed in worse. It's cheap and that's what counts. We can't afford to spend our wages on fancy hotels.”

Jamie nodded understandingly. “That's for the stars, eh? Dale Zachary?”

“Too right it is. They can afford it. That guy, Dale, he's renting a posh house in the country. The rest of us go for the cheapest digs we can find.”

“Did you always room with Aaron?”

Nigel nodded. “Since we've been here, sure. I never met him before then but we've had this room since getting to Durham. To be honest, I wouldn't mind something cheaper myself. I don't care how shitty it is. What I've got left in my pocket at the end of the week, that's all I care about.”

“How did you get along with him? Aaron? What kind of man was he?”

He shrugged. “Didn't have a lot to do with him if I'm honest. You try not to spend too much time in a place like this. The bathrooms are so bloody dirty we've taken to showering at the studios. Breakfast is better there too. This was just a place to get our heads down, that's all.”

Breathing in the fetid air, Jamie said, “It's a miracle you could do that much.”

“I'm telling you, man, I've stayed in worse. And no doubt will again, but neither Aaron nor me spent much time in here.”

The two men kept their possessions on separate sides of the room, though neither appeared to have made much effort to unpack. Aaron's stuff was stored in an open suitcase, with a handful of personal items spread across the dresser on his side of the room. There was a can of deodorant, a small plate for loose change, a phone charger and a trial gym membership card. No effort had been made to settle in. His clean clothes were folded neatly in his suitcase rather than stored in the wardrobe. His mobile phone and tablet computer had already been taken to police HQ for analysis. They had failed to yield anything of use so far.

“Did Aaron ever bring anyone back here?” Jamie asked. “Lovers? One-night stands?”

Nigel rolled his eyes. “Would you? It's not exactly the kind of place to make romance.”

“I guess not. Did he ever talk about anyone? Tell you if he was meeting someone? Going on a date?”
Like with Dale Zachary?
He left the last question unsaid.

“I hardly knew him. He wouldn't tell me that stuff anyway. We shared a room. Some days we didn't even see each other. Just a lump beneath the covers as we went to bed late or left early. Don't get me wrong, he was a nice lad and all that. I wouldn't have a bad word said against him, but we weren't good friends or anything.”

“How did you come to be sharing together?”

“There's a young girl in the production office, she sorts all that out. She puts out a list of cheap local accommodation and we all go in for it. It's pot luck. Find someone willing to go in with you on a penthouse like this one and you're made up.”

The room had already been gone over by a specialist team. Jamie was not going to find anything here that hadn't been discovered before. The identity of Aaron's killer would not be found in this rundown bed and breakfast. But he wanted to see the place. To get an insight into the kind of man Aaron was and what his life here in Durham had been like. There wasn't much to be learned. Aaron was a transient worker, passing through with no intention of setting down roots.

The trial gym membership said everything. Temporary. No commitment.

“Okay, then.” He smiled at Nigel. “Thanks for letting me look around. I know our boys have already been through this, but you never know what a fresh pair of eyes can find.”

“Happy to help,” Nigel said. “I just hope you catch that fucker soon. Before he hurts anyone else.”

Jamie left the B and B—feet sticking to the stair carpet—and headed back to his car. The mental picture he was beginning to form of Aaron was of a regular, hardworking guy. Quite unremarkable. He fit the killer's brief in so much as he was of similar age as the earlier victims, slightly older but not so much you'd notice. A good-looking boy-next-door type.
Gay
boy next door. But, unlike the others, Aaron wasn't a local. It was a cruel twist of fate that brought him to work in Durham right when the strangler was hitting his swing.

But what was it that brought Aaron to his attention? Or any of the other boys?

That was the thing the police were struggling with. The boys were all gay. Sure. And they were handsome. But there was nothing else to connect them. They didn't know each other or go to the same places, or frequent any of the local cruising areas. They all had social media profiles—but who didn't? They had online dating accounts but none of the boys were overly promiscuous or risk-taking in their behavior. They weren't cruising for dick twenty-four hours a day or touting for anonymous sex. There was nothing to connect them.

Except the fact that they had all caught the deadly eye of a serial killer.

****

“What'll you have?” Conrad asked. “Wine?”

“Not tonight,” Matt said, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it over the back of the chair. “Vodka and tonic. Make it a strong one.”

“Bad day?”

“Get the drinks and I'll tell you about it.”

They met in town, straight from work. Matt had been working late when Conrad had called to say he was in the area and asked if he fancied a drink. He'd jumped at the chance. Dale had called earlier to tell him about the incident with Keeley Rank on his doorstep. “I don't think she knows about you. Not yet anyway. But it'll only be a matter of time. I just want to forewarn you.”

Dale was on the motorway, heading south to see his son. He didn't know how long he would be gone. It could be the whole weekend.

“I'm gonna miss you like crazy,” Dale had said.

Matt felt the same way. The notion of being apart for just one night was bad enough, but three or four—it was unbearable. “Just do what you have to do,” he'd told Dale. “Your son is the most important person here. You're doing the right thing. And don't worry about me. I can take care of that tit-witch journalist if she does come knocking at my door.”

They both had laughed but it was a bittersweet gesture, masking the pain of separation.

Conrad returned from the bar with Matt's vodka and a large glass of white wine for himself. They sat at a table by the window. The sky outside was steadily darkening, casting an ominous aspect over the tranquil river. The water here, which had always been so peaceful and safe, was tainted by the recent killings. Matt wondered if he would ever be able to look at the river and feel anything other than sadness again.

He took a long swallow. The vodka was pure and strong. The fiery heat as it went down was most welcome.

“So what gives?” asked Conrad, sipping his own drink.

“Dale,” Matt answered, giving him a brief update on the last few days.

Conrad listened quietly, without any remark or judgment. He'd always been a good listener. Matt appreciated it. He couldn't tell anyone else about this. Certainly not Annabel. She would widen her eyes and gasp and smile all the while then post a Facebook update to share the story. Conrad wasn't like that. Matt could tell him anything and he would respect his confidence.

“It sounds like it's getting serious between you.”

“It is.” Matt smiled. “He told me that he loves me.”

“Wow, already?”

He nodded. “And I love him too. I know we've only known each other five minutes but I've never felt anything like this. Not with anyone. I've been in love before. I loved Jamie for a while. But it was nothing like this. This is…so strong, so all-consuming. I think about Dale all the time. When I wake up the first thought I have is about him. And all through the day, when I should be concentrating on my cases, I just look at my watch and count down the time until I see him again.”

“I'm happy for you, Matt.”

“Even with all the shit that is going on, it makes me happy just to think about him.” He told Conrad about the visit he'd had from Jamie. “He's working on the case now. Of course, when the boy from the studio was murdered, Jamie took it as an opportunity to put some pressure on Dale and me. Even had the nerve to suggest Dale might be the killer. He was none too happy when I provided Dale's alibi.”

“Shit. He won't take that well.”

“He didn't. It doesn't matter what I say, he wants to get back together.”

“He'll find someone else soon. Once he realizes there's no chance of you making up.”

“I hope you're right.”

Matt finished his drink and went to the bar for another round. The place was starting to get busy. He was in the mood to stay out and get drunk. With Dale down south, it was a good way to blot out the lonely night ahead. But it was only Thursday. He still had to work tomorrow and he had a trial lined up at Crown Court. No way he could do that with a hangover. No, this would be his last drink. He would get up early and head to boot camp for the last session of the week.

Conrad gave him an update on his charity fundraiser.

“Damn,” Matt said, suddenly remembering. “I was supposed to ask Dale to get some autographs and stuff from the studio for your prize fund.”

“Don't be daft,” Conrad said. “You two have far too much to worry about.”

“No, I said I would help and I completely forgot. It's too late now. I don't think Dale will be home until Sunday evening.”

“It's not a big deal, honestly. You can fix up a prize for next time instead.”

It was a shitty thing to forget. These charity nights were a big deal to Conrad and the kids at the theater. “I'll be there though,” he said. “Feel free to sting me for as many raffle tickets as you like.”

“You're on.” Conrad smiled.

Matt suddenly had an idea. It wouldn't make up for the missed celebrity autographs but it was better than nothing. “I'm going to boot camp in the morning. Why don't I ask the instructor if he'd like to help out? You know, donate a prize or something. He runs a gym as well as the morning groups. Maybe he could provide a free membership or something along those lines.”

“All donations are gladly accepted. You know that.”

Matt grinned, pleased with his idea. “Clint's all right. A bit intense, but I think he means well. I'll speak to him. I'm sure he'll be happy to help out.”

****

It took six hours to complete a journey that would usually take a little over four. Heavy traffic and frequent roadworks all down the motorway meant Dale rarely got above fifty miles per hour. He pulled off south of Nottingham to use the bathroom and sent Laura a text to say he was running late. After driving all this way, he didn't want her to put Jack to bed before he arrived. Now that he'd decided to be open with his son, he couldn't wait another night. Who knew what kind of stories they'd wake up to in the morning? He had a suspicion that Keeley would keep a lid on her scoop until the weekend. Scandal played so much better in the Sunday editions, but the murders in Durham were major news. Maybe she would go straight to press before another journalist got a lead on her exclusive. Only one thing was certain—the story was coming out. There was nothing he could do to stop it.

He'd been a jerk. Six hours on a dreary motorway had given him ample time to assess the situation. It was a mess entirely of his own making. Matt had been right, no one gave a shit about gay actors these days. They assumed the pretty ones were all gay anyway. Why the hell hadn't he come out when Laura divorced him? Or when he had followed her to England? A new beginning in a new country, it was an ideal chance to start over. No more lies or covering up. It would have been so easy.

Better than becoming a scandalous footnote in a murder enquiry.

Thinking about the murders, and Aaron, only made it worse. His problems were nothing compared to what those boys had gone through and what their families must be suffering now.

If he could only get to Jack before the shit hit the fan. If Jack was okay, he didn't care about anyone else.

Eventually he reached the modest three-bedroom house where Laura had settled with her new husband. A large white Qashqai was parked on the drive and Dale pulled in behind it. He left his luggage in the trunk. He'd look around for a hotel once he'd seen his son. He saw movement behind the living room window and the front door opened before he raised a hand to knock.

Henry Kinnear, Laura's second husband, greeted him with a warm smile and a handshake. A heavyset, balding man, Henry made up for what he lacked in looks with a friendly personality, kind eyes and a wicked sense of humor. When they'd first met, Dale only had to spend a few minutes with the guy to totally get what Laura saw in him. If another man had to be a father figure to Jack, Dale couldn't have chosen better.

“Don't look so serious,” Henry said, welcoming him inside. “You have nothing to worry about here.”

The house was in its usual state of habitual chaos. There were children's toys all over the floor, laundry on the radiators, the TV blasting to an empty room.

From above, came the thunder of footsteps across the landing and Jack's excitable face appeared at the top of the stairs.