“That’s what happened to Evan. He met this guy through work. Dan was his name. A rich dude, lived up in Kenilworth. What Evan never knew, because I couldn’t ever bear to tell him, was that I had been with Dan too.
“So had Tony. So had Michael. Roger. Brandon.” Rufus smiled sadly. “Evan had fallen in love with a guy who couldn’t get enough, but somehow Evan convinced himself he was Dan’s one and only.”
“So he shared this secret with you,” Wren said. “I still don’t get how this relates.”
“When I realized that a woman was involved in these murders, I realized who it might be—Dan’s wife. Evan used to talk about her, about what Dan would say about her. He didn’t bad-mouth her or anything, but he told Evan she was unstable, in and out of mental hospitals. A sick puppy.
“And what would set a sick puppy over the edge?”
Wren nodded. “Finding out hubby is cavorting with male prostitutes.”
“Kind of busts up the family unit. And I guess there were kids involved too, one of ’em disabled.”
Wren shook his head. “Dan sounds like a real prince.”
“Hey, don’t judge. You don’t know the guy. Maybe this is how he came to terms with himself and managed to stay with his family. I’ve been with lots and lots of married men, and so many of them are not party guys out there looking to betray their wives and families, but tortured men who were so far in the closet they weren’t getting any air or light. They suffered under the weight of the mask they showed the world. Suffered a lot. Paying for a little outlet, a little release now and then, was how they handled the big rift in their lives. You couldn’t possibly understand that, Wren.”
Wren felt heat rise to his face and inwardly cursed himself for being so young and naïve. He lacked not only judgment but compassion. He shook his head, disappointed at his own foibles.
“It’s cool. Don’t feel bad—you’re young. Hell, I’m young. Being in this job opened my eyes to lots of stuff, and one of them was married men. After a while, more than anything, I felt sorry for them. They were trapped in these lives they thought the world wanted for them, and they’d never find the kind of love they really needed to be happy.”
“Wow.” Wren hadn’t realized how much depth could have gone into working as an escort. He just thought of it as a trade of sex for money. Now he could see that some men exchanged their money hoping for a lot more, for something that was, really, unattainable. All of this was food for thought—for later. “So Dan has an unstable wife. That doesn’t mean she’s a killer. That’s quite a stretch.”
“You don’t get it. Evan told me she found out about Dan’s extracurricular activities, and she tried to kill Dan.” Rufus paused. “She tried to stab him. That was the first time she got committed. From what I understand, it was years ago.” Rufus let out a sigh. “But it just makes her seem, to me, like the most likely candidate.”
“So why not go to the police with this?”
“Do you know anything about the police? The district attorney?”
Wren shook his head. “Just from what I watch on TV.”
“And that should be enough to tell you that those folks do not generally operate on hunches. They need proof. They need evidence.”
Wren said, “I don’t understand what you’re thinking of doing, Rufus. Yeah, they need those things. But whether this woman is a killer or it’s someone else,
you
need protection.”
“What if we could get evidence?”
Rufus’s question chilled Wren. He didn’t know if he wanted the answer to his next question. “What are you talking about?”
“What if I go to this woman? Talk to her? Have my iPhone recording? And I could maybe get her to admit to something.”
“That’s a crazy idea, Rufus. And I doubt, even if she admitted killing all three of those guys, that’s something that would hold up in court.”
Rufus stared down at the floor for a long time. When he looked up, his face was a mask of fear. “I’m lying to you, buddy.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I want to confront that bitch. But I don’t want to set her up for
prosecution
—” Rufus said this last word like it was something disgusting, unsavory. He looked away from Wren for a minute, then turned back to him. “I want to stop her.”
Wren felt everything inside him go cold. He whispered, “You want to kill her?” This was a side of Rufus he didn’t realize existed. This was a side he wasn’t sure he could love. And the thought filled him with fear and anxiety.
Rufus laughed. “Dude, I don’t have it in me to kill someone. This bitch may be crazy, and she may have killed people I care about, but she’s still a human being. She’s still someone’s
mom
, for Christ’s sake.”
Rufus got up from the couch and went to stare out the window for a while, and Wren wondered what he was thinking—wondered if his question had, in reality, hit too close to home. He turned back to Wren.
“I just want to talk to her, let her realize someone does know what she did. Maybe somehow I can convince her to turn herself in.”
Wren couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. He laughed for a long time, high-pitched, hysterical giggles that sounded as if someone was tickling him to death.
Then he stopped.
“This is nuts. You are not doing this. You can’t. If she
is
unstable, if she
is
a killer, you’d be putting your life in jeopardy, man.” He looked up at Rufus, gaze pleading. “And I love you too much to let you take that chance.”
He hadn’t wanted to admit his love so soon. It went against all his common sense, but if knowing someone loved him would prevent Rufus from going on this foolish and dangerous mission, then now
was
exactly the right time.
“That’s sweet.” Rufus sat back down close to Wren and grasped his hand. “I love you too, just in case you were wondering. I think I have ever since I laid eyes on you, but I didn’t want to admit it, especially to myself. Love, as I tried to tell you before, is a hard thing for a recovering addict. I still don’t know what to do about it.”
I do. Just love me. Forget all this. Leave this horror at the feet of the cops and move on. With me….
“But I have to do this,” Rufus continued. “Can you understand that? Maybe she’s not the killer. But if she is, she knows where I live. You figured that out yourself. Just a quick reverse search on the Internet and she’ll have my address. Doing this, heading her off, is crazy, but it’s the right thing.”
“It’s not. Isn’t there anything I can say to convince you?”
Before Rufus could respond, the buzzer sounded again. Rufus stood and peered cautiously out the window, careful not to reveal himself to whomever was on the street below, ringing to be let in. “Uh-oh. What does this look like to you?” Rufus stepped away from the window so Wren could see. “Careful! Stay to the side so they can’t see you.”
Wren looked down at the street below, where two men in suits stood. They both wore aviator sunglasses, and their clothing and demeanor suggested only one thing: cops. Unless they were Mormon missionaries, but somehow Wren doubted that.
“Detectives. They’re here.” It only made sense. They were probably following up with all the escorts. Rufus was, for sure, one on a list of many. Wren suspected the guys downstairs had no idea Rufus was most likely the killer’s next target. He turned to Rufus just as the buzzer sounded again. “Are you gonna let them in? This is good timing. You should talk to them.”
“No way, man. Later, I promise.”
Wren jumped back from the window as the buzzer sounded a third time and one of the men leaned back to peer up at the windows. “I could talk to them.” Wren moved away from the window, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. “You could—I don’t know—hide and listen. I could tell them what we know, see where it goes. At least you’ll know that much before you go out on this insane mission of yours, and maybe, just maybe, what you hear will convince you otherwise.”
Rufus pushed him down—gently—on the couch. “I can see lots of clashes in our future, little man. I am
not
talking to them. Not yet. Get it through your head.”
Suddenly both of them went quiet, sucking in air as they heard a pounding on Rufus’s front door. Rufus looked pleadingly at Wren, a finger to his lips. Wren so wanted to run over and open the door, but he complied with Rufus’s wish for silence. He hoped he wasn’t signing his lover’s death warrant by going along with Rufus.
There was another knock—and then silence. Both of the men waited, frozen in position. The next sound Wren heard was a tiny whispering noise, barely audible, as something was slid under the door.
Both of them breathed again as they heard footfalls descending back down the stairs. Rufus walked gingerly over to the door and stooped to pick up a business card. He looked over at Wren and nodded. “Cops,” he mouthed.
Wren moved to the window and saw the two men getting into a late-model, dark blue sedan. He waited until they drove away and then said, “I wish you would have talked to them.”
“I know. But I have to get ready.”
Wren was flabbergasted. “You’re just going to, what? Show up at her house? How will you even know where she lives?”
“Oh, I know.”
Rufus’s words sent a shiver through him.
“How would you know?”
“Evan used to take me by their house. He was a bit of a stalker, that Evan. That’s probably how she found out about him. I don’t know how she found out about the rest. But we’d drive by late at night. Sometimes we’d even see the happy family inside, watching TV.” Rufus started toward the bedroom. “I’m gonna take a shower, then head up to Kenilworth.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No way.”
“Yes. I went along with you about not talking to the cops. I am
not
going to let you take this risk alone.”
Rufus started to say something else, but Wren held up his hand. “We are so not going to argue about this. I am going. And. That. Is. It.”
Rufus smiled. “You do have a backbone after all. Okay, you come along, but you keep quiet. Remember, at this point I just want to talk to her, see if I can figure out for sure if she’s the one.”
“
You
remember that.”
Rufus left the room, and in a few minutes Wren heard the rush of water as he started up his shower. Wren briefly considered sliding out of his clothes and joining him under the hot spray, but then reality intruded.
He needed to call his job and, after that, his mom. It might be the last time he would speak with her.
“ARE YOU
ready?” Rufus asked.
The two of them stood on the quiet residential street in the North Shore suburb of Kenilworth. Lined with large, palatial homes, manicured lawns, flowering shrubbery, and luxury cars parked in cobblestone or bricked driveways, the area seemed a world apart from bustling, dirty, crowded Chicago proper, only a few miles south. Here the air seemed cleaner, rarified, smelling sweet. There was an aura of peace, underscored by very little traffic noise, so one could actually hear birdsong and the chittering of insects.
Across from them stood the Williamses’ house. It was a large fieldstone affair, looking more fitting for a place in the English countryside than here, in an affluent suburb of the nation’s third-largest city. Black trim and tall windows topped with leaded glass set off the fieldstone.
Wren couldn’t imagine what living in such a place must feel like. He slowly shook his head. “No. I am not ready. Are you? Really?” Wren was hoping Rufus would have the sense to admit his trepidation and suggest the path Wren wanted but until now had yet to voice—to just get on the Metra train and head back into the city, leaving behind this fool’s errand.
“I think so,” Rufus said, voice quiet. He began to cross the street.
Wren caught up to him. “Wait! We don’t even have a plan.”
Rufus stopped and looked at him when they got to the other side. “We have only one plan—the truth. And I hope it works.”
“So you’re just going to go in there and accuse her? If she is the one, she’ll be like a cornered animal.” Wren’s fight-or-flee instinct, at the moment, was very much on the side of
flee
. He wished desperately that Rufus felt the same.
“Remember what I told you back at the condo?”
Wren shrugged.
“You need to let me do the talking. Trust me.” He started up the twisting cobblestone path that led to the front door. Wren tagged reluctantly behind.
At the door Rufus turned to Wren. “You know, little man, all your hysteria may be for nothing.” He shrugged and smiled. “It could just be that there’s nobody home.”
Wren prayed the latter was true as Rufus turned back to the door, lifted the brass lion’s head knocker, and let it drop to the black-lacquered door once, twice. Pause. Again.
After he had knocked a third time and gotten no response, Wren allowed a surge of relief to course through him. It was true that he and Rufus still had much to worry about, but at least this immediate fear had been postponed.
“Come on. We might as well go somewhere and wait for a bit. We can come back in an hour or two, and maybe she’ll be here,” Rufus said.
Wren’s heart sank.
“Think Kenilworth has a Starbucks?” Rufus asked as they turned and began heading back down the path away from the house.
“Everyplace has a Starbucks,” Wren replied, dour. So they would come back shortly? Nothing was over.
When they had gotten about halfway down the path, they heard the creak of the door opening.
Wren jumped, startled. A sudden urge to grab Rufus’s hand and run nearly overtook him.
“Can I help you?” The voice that carried across the summer air was not that of a woman, but a man.
They turned. Wren saw, standing in the doorway, a very handsome silver-haired man he would have pegged to be in his midforties. He had a perfect body and a sort of Richard Gere air about him—all refinement with the suggestion of sex beneath. He wore a pair of cargo shorts, a madras button-down shirt, and was barefoot. Under other circumstances Wren might have been intrigued.
Now he was only dismayed.