The Rebuilding Year (12 page)

The raccoons had been digging though. He bent and looked closer. They had brought some food, the remains of a small animal, to eat here and…
No.

He turned away for a second, gagging. Then he forced himself to look again. Those fine gnawed bones weren’t the leg of a mouse. At one tip, there was a flat oval nail, with just a hint of polish. Emerging from the dirt were the tips of other fingers, flesh still clinging to them. And in the dirt beside them, the glint of a woman’s ring.

Okay. Stop and breathe.

There was no hurry. That burial hadn’t happened in the past hour. Or even in the past day. Despite the creeping feeling at the back of his neck, no one was out there watching him.
Oh hell
. He spun around, staring through the underbrush. He was alone. He knew he was alone.

He fumbled out his cell phone. One bar was good enough. He dialed 9-1-1.

It seemed to take forever before he heard voices through the trees. GPS strikes again. He wasn’t sure he could have found this spot from the campus side without a lot of searching. Coming toward him through the brush were two town cops he didn’t recognize, and Benson from campus security. John walked a few steps toward them.

“She’s under there,” he said, pointing. “I tried not to mess up the ground, once I realized…” He swallowed. “She was buried, but not very deep. It’s her hand sticking out.”

“You’re sure there’s a body?” Benson stepped around John. “Not just some kind of animal bones or twigs?” He headed for the mound of dirt.

“I’m sure.” John turned to the woman cop who seemed to be in charge. “There’s nail polish.”

“Okay.” She yelled, “Hey you, Benson, don’t mess up my crime scene.”

Benson had knelt down to look more closely. Suddenly he turned aside and vomited.

“Oh hell,” muttered the woman. “There goes the forensics.” She turned to her partner. “Mike, call it in, request backup, the coroner, everything. At least we don’t have to worry about crowd control out here.” She looked back at John and narrowed her eyes. “So. Two hundred acres of wild land, and you just happened to stumble over her?”

“Not exactly. I mean, yes, basically that’s what happened.”

“I think,” she said, “that you had better start at the beginning.”

Anita was trying to get Ryan’s attention again. Last anatomy lab before finals, and half a dozen students were still finishing up. Ryan was working late because yes, once again, Kaitlyn had managed to dissect at half speed and yet totally miss the path of the artery she was after. Anita was staying late because…well he wasn’t sure. It might just be his ego saying that she was hanging around late for him. He hoped he was wrong. He wasn’t sure what she saw in him. She was young, pretty, blonde and stacked. There were plenty of guys in the class eager to put a move on her. And yet she chased after him. This time, she brought over her anatomy-lab text and asked to look at his dissection.

Since he was pretty proud of the way he had isolated the carotid artery, he let her look. And stepped back a little as she accidentally-on-purpose brushed her ass against him as she bent over. Not that it wasn’t a world-class ass. But he just wasn’t interested. She was too young for him. Too needy. Too something.

As he casually circled to the other side of his cadaver, on the pretext of getting a better view, their classmate Ron wandered over to join them. He gave Anita a wolfish smile. “Hey, pretty lady, want a strong guy to walk you home after you’re done with lab?”

She gave him a scornful look. “Which strong guy? Anyway, I think I can cover five hundred yards to the dorm by myself, thank you.”

“Don’t be too sure,” Ron said. “You might get murdered, like that girl they found today?”

That got everyone’s attention. “What girl?” Anita asked suspiciously.

Ron preened, enjoying the attention. “Well, I heard that the cops found the body of a girl out in the woods on campus.”

“Who says she was murdered?” Anita demanded with a flick of her hair.

“It was Trevor who told me about it. I heard she was buried in a shallow grave. They arrested some guy too.”

“The killer?” Sharon asked.

“I don’t know. That landscaper guy who does the flowers and shit.”

“They
arrested
the groundskeeper?” Ryan demanded.

He didn’t realize how loud he had sounded until Ron took a quick step backward. “It’s just what I heard. God, chill. I mean he’s just the gardener.”

“John Barrett?”

Ron shrugged. “I didn’t hear the guy’s name. The gardener. But I don’t know if they really think he did it or what.” He turned his attention back to Anita. “If he’s not the right guy, then there’s still a killer out there, prowling the campus. You should let me walk you home.”

“In your dreams.” Anita turned a smile on Ryan. “Maybe I should have
someone
to walk me home, though, just in case.”

He didn’t have time for this. “Call a campus escort if you don’t want to take Ron up on his offer.” Her mouth twisted angrily at this blatant brush-off but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He draped the cloth over his specimen. “I’m outta here.”

It had to be some kind of mistake. There were several guys in the grounds crew. Surely it was one of them who had been arrested. Ryan pulled on his jacket, grabbed his cane out of the corner, and headed for the bus. As soon as he was out of the building he speed-dialed John. The phone went straight to voice mail.

Which means nothing.
He opened his jacket to put away the phone and caught a whiff of himself.
Ugh. Eau de formaldehyde.
He’d go home for a shower, he decided. John would probably be there. Certainly by the time he got out of the shower. And if he wasn’t, well, time enough to figure it out then.

Two hours later he stood staring at the front entrance to the central York police station. It was dumb, taking the bus all the way down there, on the off chance John was actually here. On the chance he needed Ryan’s help. But maybe if it was a matter of an alibi… They’d spent last night in the house. He could vouch for John’s movements until almost midnight. And again after six thirty this morning. It might help.

He’d make it clear that he couldn’t vouch for midnight to six, though. So no one would get the wrong impression. But he could tell them John would never hurt anyone. He just wasn’t like that. Ryan knew the guy well. As a friend.

He was still standing on the steps when the door opened. A pair of women came out. Behind them, tugging on his jacket, was John.

Ryan stepped forward, smiling in relief. “Hey, guy.”

John stared at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you?” Ryan said, stung. “Thinking that maybe you needed an alibi or a character witness or something. Rumor on campus was that you were arrested for murder.”

John laughed humorlessly. “Great. Just what I needed.” He turned toward the parking lot.

“I take it you weren’t.” Ryan fell in alongside.

“No. I found the body, out in the woods. They asked me to come in here to give my statement, because it was cold out there and they wanted to secure the scene.”

“So you’re not a suspect.”

John snorted and opened the truck. “I wouldn’t go that far. I don’t think they have a lot of leads yet. And I stumbled over her body in two hundred and fifty acres of forest. That has to look suspicious.” He swung himself up into the truck. “On the other hand, she’d clearly been buried out there to keep her from being found. So it doesn’t make much sense that I would do that, and then turn around and lead them to her.”

Ryan looked up at him. “They just don’t know you, or they wouldn’t even consider it. They’ll find someone else soon.”

John stared out the windshield. After a moment he said, “I assume you need a ride home. Get in already.”

Ryan circled the truck and hauled himself inside. He pulled his door shut and clicked the seat belt. “Did you know her?” he asked gently.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see…it was just her hand sticking out when I found her. I don’t know who it is…was. And can we not talk about this?”

“Sure.”

After several minutes of silence, John said more quietly, “Not that I’m not grateful to you for coming down. I mean, if I
had
been arrested, I’d have been glad of the support.”

Ryan relaxed in his seat. “Hey, I figured I’d tell them that a man who makes coffee like you do can’t possibly be a killer.”

“Yeah, that would settle it.”

They didn’t talk on rest of the drive home. Because if he wasn’t supposed to talk about
that,
then Ryan’s mind was blank. Small talk seemed disrespectful somehow. Ryan had left the porch light on, and it glowed warmly as they pulled up. “So,” John said, clearly reaching for the normal routine. “Exams next week. I assume you’ll be hip-deep in the books for a while.”

“Something like that.” Ryan slid out. “We should still think about getting a Christmas tree this weekend, for when the kids get here. I know they’re not coming until after the holiday, so there won’t be a chance to do tree shopping with them this year. We can set it up, get it decorated, before I leave.”

“Yeah. That’d be good.” From John’s tone, Ryan figured he might have proposed a newt round-up and gotten the same response.

They kicked off shoes and jackets, and John made a beeline for the kitchen. He was moving so fast, he didn’t stop to pick up his jacket when it slipped to the floor. Which was totally unlike the man. Ryan paused to hang the jacket back up and then followed him more slowly.

John was washing his hands at the kitchen sink. The water was running hot. Ryan could see the steam rising. He paused to turn up the thermostat on the wall and then went to lean on the counter beside John.

John soaped up again, and then a third time, reaching for the nail brush. His motions were hard and choppy. He brushed his fingertips, and under his nails. When he began scrubbing at his knuckles with the stiff bristles, Ryan reached over and took the brush out of his hands.

“I need to get clean,” John said roughly.

Ryan took one big hand in both of his and turned it over, inspecting the short nails and callused palm. “Looks clean to me.”

“I didn’t touch her. I don’t think I touched her.”

“Either way,” Ryan said, “you’re clean now.” He let go. The feel of John’s hot skin seemed to linger in his hands. He turned to the fridge. “Can I get you something? A soda, coffee? We could go out for a beer.” They didn’t keep beer in the house, even though John drank in moderation outside it. Surely if any occasion called for a drink this was it.

“I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“Okay.” Ryan went back and stood in front of John. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” John’s eyes were dark, the hazel faded to grey. “Don’t want to talk about it, think about it.” He looked up angrily. “Who would do a thing like that?”

“The cops will find out.” Ryan reached out and put a hand on John’s arm, suddenly aware that he hadn’t touched the man in…what, a month? Not since…
and maybe there was a good reason for that.
John’s eyes met his for a moment, gold heat rising in them. Then the older man looked down. But he didn’t step away.

Suddenly it was hard to breathe. Ryan was only aware of having swayed toward John when the other man’s hand landed on his chest, hot and hard, keeping them apart.

“Don’t,” John said.

Ryan whispered. “Don’t what?” This was crazy. This was so wrong. And yet, for the last month he had woken more times than he could count with the taste of John’s mouth on his own, with his body humming in remembrance. He’d sworn it wasn’t happening again. He’d even borrowed the truck and gone on a date with Rhonda. Who turned out to be as bored with him as he was with her, and just as glad to be dropped off at her front door with the briefest of kisses. John wasn’t boring. And despite the let’s-be-friends speech, Ryan had felt John’s interest, all this time.

“Don’t start anything,” John said, his voice just as soft. “Don’t do anything because you’re sorry for me, or want to play on the queer side for a minute.”

“I’m not playing,” Ryan said recklessly. “And sorry is the last thing I feel for you.”

“Then what?” John’s arm was like iron between them.

“I don’t know,” Ryan admitted. “I don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is…I’ve been thinking about you. All the time. I’ll be doing something else and there you are in my head. I know what you sound like, what you smell like. You walk in the front door and I come on alert like a bird dog pointing a pheasant. And maybe I’m just tired of fighting that.”

“It will change things,” John said. But his hand was sliding downward, letting them move closer. “We’re friends now, best friend I ever had. I don’t want to mess that up.”

It was so backward. When Ryan had thought about this, which he had done too many fucking times, he had imagined being seduced. He’d figured John would decide enough was enough and make some move. And then Ryan…just wouldn’t fight it. But it was him moving in, sliding his hands up John’s arms. It was his eyes that sought and held those golden-hazel ones, looking for some kind of sign. It was his mouth that leaned forward, upward, seeking John’s wide mobile lips.