Part 1 ~ Thursday 7 April 1994
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Part 1 ~ Thursday 7 April 1994 |
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His father was dead. He was, unbelievably, standing staring at the place where it had happened. Where his father was – deep breath – murdered. There was snow. Blood in the snow, a vivid slash of dirty rust in the pure of the white. His father’s blood. The irrational bubble of emotion he’d been swallowing down since he’d heard the news almost exploded out of him. But he took another swallow. He was good at taking another swallow: he’d had a lifetime of practice. He obediently did not pass through the tape that separated him from the crime scene, denied himself the impulse that suggested he should scrape up the bloodied snow and take it home. In his mind he saw himself packing it into an insulated container and transporting it to the freezer in his apartment. To look at whenever he needed reassurance. The next swallow very nearly choked him. His father was dead. And he wanted to scream for joy. … It was trying to snow again when Detective Raymond Vecchio
walked into the Royal Canadian Mounted Police’s Tuktoyaktuk detachment. He
glanced around, feeling the merest hint of irritation when there was nobody to
actively meet him, but quelling it by reminding himself that the people here
had no idea of who he was or when he’d been due to arrive; he was simply the
detective from “Sorry, Sir, didn’t see you there. Don’t you just hate paperwork?” “I need to see whoever is in charge of this case,” Ray told her firmly, trying not to be brusque in his urgency. Carol glanced at the paper. “If you’ll wait just a moment, Sir.” Ray gave her a nod and she took the paper and disappeared
into the depths of the station. As he waited for her to return he caught a
glimpse of himself in the window of the back office: with his woollen hat
pulled low and his thick scarf wound high he was nothing more than a swaddled
pair of eyes. If he’d walked into his squad room in Keeping his constable waiting, Sergeant Benton Fraser peered
through the blinds covering his office’s windows and studied the man sitting at
the furthest desk: about his age, American by the clothes, Italian descent by
the features, headachy by the way he squinted in the light, bone-tired by the
way he had to keep reminding himself not to fall asleep. He glanced through the
file pertaining to the body he had awaiting identification at the local nursing
station, scrutinizing the photographs and looking for a resemblance to the man
who’d come looking for him. There was, of course, nothing to say that the two
were related, it was merely what the sergeant’s gut told him. In fact, the only
reason that he had contacted Ben took another look at the stranger. There was more to him than the average exhausted cop – he had the air of someone emotionally wrung out by circumstance. Beside him Carol politely cleared her throat. “Show him in, Constable.” Tucking the file away, Ben turned to greet the man as Carol showed him in. “Detective Ray Vecchio, Chicago PD,” Ray introduced himself immediately, flashing his badge, extending a hand to the man in charge. “Sergeant Ben Fraser,” Ben reciprocated, shaking the offered hand and noticing that the warmth of the room had not touched the detective. He gestured to a chair but Ray continued to stand. Ben looked a question. “I’d like to see the…deceased as soon as possible.” Ignoring the file and its photographs, Ben pulled on his greatcoat and picked up his Stetson, explaining how they only had a nursing station in the town, not a hospital, and that the victim was to be found in one of the outer buildings packed in a chest of ice, not tidily tucked away in a morgue drawer. Ray nodded absently, and Ben could see the man’s composure unravel a little further at the prospect of the visit. Sons and fathers, Ben mused, a disastrous combination. … “I’m afraid I have to come in with you,” Ben explained when they were standing on the opposite side of the door to the body. “I realise that,” Ray answered quietly, the first words he had spoken since they had left the detachment. Their eyes met and an understanding passed between them. “You know, don’t you?” The sergeant adopted his trademark inscrutable silence; Ray accepted it without further thought. It was a moment that would be seared onto his being for the remainder of his life: standing before the body of his father, waiting for the sheet to be pulled back. The waiting was far worse than the happening. Ray indicated his readiness and Ben nodded to the nurse who had prepared the body with as much care as was possible under the circumstances; she neatly folded back the sheet before leaving the room. Ray swallowed, took a step forward, staring hard, trying to associate this hunk of frozen meat with the man who had made his life misery from day one. “Can you make a formal identification?” Ben asked softly. Look, Ray. Really look. “Yes. Joseph Vecchio.” Oh, God, that made it real. This was… “Your father?” Poppa. “My father.” “Thank you, Detective.” His duty fulfilled, Ben now respectfully stepped away. Abruptly struck by the fear of being alone with his father, Ray couldn’t fight the desire to keep the sergeant close, still irrationally intimidated and wanting company to bolster him; Ben’s naturally good instincts meant it only took a concerned glance in his direction to bring him back to the cop’s side. With the reassuring form of the Mountie shoulder to shoulder with him, Ray now found the courage to look further, trying his level best to be a cop rather than a son. There was a small entry wound on his father’s left temple, ridiculously tidy until you saw the damage at the exit site: an area of skull the size of his fist had been shattered and was now missing. “One shot. Professional,” he muttered to himself before turning to Ben. “You’ve discounted suicide?” “There are powder burns to the face from the shot but no gunshot residue on the left hand to indicate he actually fired the weapon. There is also the incongruity of a right-handed man firing a gun with his left hand; the fact he was right-handed is strongly indicated by the callus on the second finger of his right hand which would be caused by holding a pen in a particular manner to write. No gun was found at the crime scene, which, in itself, is not conclusive, but taken with the other evidence…” “The shot was fired at too close range to be an accident.” “Yes, it’s an intimate wound, and the entry angle of the bullet indicates intent rather than accident.” “Found the bullet?” “Not yet, there’s a lot of snow to sift through. But if it’s there we will find it.” “Found the, umm… The bone fragments?” “Yes, indicating…” “That he was killed at that spot, not dumped.” “Agreed.” Ray slowly nodded. “Okay. Let’s hear what you’ve got.” “Your father flew into town last Friday from Yellowknife. It was a private charter and we’ve been able to trace the company involved.” “Is that not a regular passenger route?” “Certainly not a common one. Your father used what you’ve now confirmed to be fake ID, paid in cash for the hire, and didn’t engage in conversation with anyone before, during, or after the flight.” “Keeping it very private.” “Indeed. I haven’t been able to trace him further back from Yellowknife, so I’m assuming he used a different ID.” “He’s got a box full of the things at home.” Ben registered that with a nod. “From the airport he took a taxi – again no conversation
with the driver – to the “Had he made a reservation?” “No.” “That chancey this time of year?” “Rooms are generally available. The reception staff recall at least two enquiries regarding space in the preceding days, but we’ve yet to track down where those calls were made from.” “But if he’d taken a chance and just shown up?” “For the majority of the year it wouldn’t have been an issue.” “Okay. Any CCTV at the Lodge?” “Afraid not. He booked in under the name of Jack Casey, kept
himself to himself, didn’t engage in conversation with the staff but gave large
gratuities, ate in his room, didn’t make or receive any phone calls. He was
last seen at “Who saw him?” “Housekeeping brought him the fresh towels he’d requested. I know the employee in question, and have spoken to her. She wasn’t let into the room, just handed the towels over at the door, no conversation, and nothing out of the ordinary to report.” Ray nodded and Ben continued. “On Tuesday morning a local hunter found the body just
outside of town. Nobody had seen or heard anything, and unfortunately a fresh
fall of snow had obliterated any tracks, but a light aircraft had flown into
the airport at approximately eleven p.m. and stayed for just under two hours. Upon
checking its registration we found that it had been stolen from a private
airfield just outside “The plane?” “The owners didn’t know it was missing until we informed them.” “Know where it is now?” “We haven’t been able to trace it.” “Think it’s been ditched?” “Seems likely.” Ray touched his fingers to Joseph’s head, tracing the well-receded hairline he himself had inherited and was rapidly heading in the direction of. “Autopsy?” “The Coroner will fly out when we have your permission…” “You have it.” “…but there don’t appear to be any further injuries.” “Professional,” Ray repeated. “Professional hit.” “May I ask what line of work your father was in?” “Mob,” Ray said simply as if that one word explained everything. Ben nodded: for the moment it would do. Ray drew in a harsh breath. “Can we get out of here?” “Of course.” Ben took two steps away before stopping and waiting for Ray, watching as the detective shakily bent over the grey form and touched his lips to the forehead. “Bye, Poppa.” Face grim, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he turned and left, practically breaking into a run to get away. Ben spoke to the nurse for a few minutes before following Ray to the Mountie’s Cherokee. Ray had his elbows leant on the roof of the vehicle, his head cupped in his hands. His shoulders were heaving and Ben hesitated before joining him: he was so inadequate at this area of his job and it was a relief that, generally, Tuktoyaktuk had a low mortality rate beyond natural causes. But it only took a moment to realise that it wasn’t the predicted outburst of emotion that Ray was attempting to stem, but a bout of near-hysterical laughter. Still, Ben had seen it all. “Detective?” Swallow. “I guess this seems…” “Not at all.” “This is what I’ve wanted to do since I heard. See, I always knew it was him, it had to be him, but I didn’t believe it. Now…” Ray gave in to the laughter and dropped his head onto his folded arms as he rocked against the Jeep. Ben waited patiently while the cop got it out of his system, liking him all the better for his honesty. Ray’s head eventually came up and he wiped his eyes. “Thank God it’s him. Thank God it’s him.” Ben took Ray’s arm and eased him into the vehicle and out of the cold. “Detective Vecchio…” “Ray.” “Okay, Ray. Where are you staying?” Ray looked at him blankly. “Where’s your luggage? You did bring luggage?” “I have no idea. Well, yes, I brought luggage, but I have no idea where it is.” “How did you get in from the airport?” “Guy offered me a lift. I asked if he knew where the body had been found and he took me there and dropped me off. He gave me directions before he left me, and I walked to your Post from there.” “Yellow and red Ute?” Ray shrugged. “This guy: six two, monobrow, broken nose, no front teeth?” “Yeah. Fairly distinctive.” “Timothy. I’ll call him but I expect he’ll have dropped your bags off at the Lodge.” “You mean where…” Ray’s voice trailed off. “You don’t want to stay there?” “Is there anywhere small? I don’t want to be surrounded by people.” Ben considered, started the Jeep and drove. “Stay with me. I’ve got a house out at The Point: peace and quiet, plenty of room, plenty of privacy.” “You okay with that?” “Of course, you’re most welcome.” There was a substantial pause. “When did you last see your father?” “Asking for a statement?” “Making conversation.” Another pause. “Thanksgiving. I never want to go but I know who suffers if I don’t show. He always insists we get together, do the whole business, get up and say what we’re thankful for. And there’s me and the girls racking our brains trying to figure out what in hell we’re gonna say because he’s sucked every drop of joy out of our lives. He knows that; he enjoys it.” “The girls?” “My sisters. Maria and Francesca. Both still living under his roof. I never figured out how to get them away.” The guilt in Ray’s voice forced Ben to glance over. “Well… Thanksgiving this year should be one hell of a party.” Ray looked at the Mountie, shocked at the brutality of the truth. Then, taking a deep breath he relaxed and sank back in the seat. “One hell of party. Find me the killer and you’re invited, Sergeant.” “Ben. I’ll do my best.” “Yeah…” Ray’s voice dropped as he turned to stare out of the window. “Find him. I wanna shake him by the hand.” Halfway home Ben automatically reached for the cassette player before reminding himself of his company and the situation. Ray noticed the move and as Ben’s hand went back to the steering wheel he hit the on button for him, stunned by the genre and volume of the music. Ben hastily turned it down and went to eject the cassette but Ray stopped him, happy to have his brain fried by solid noise for a while. The cop looked around for the cassette case, found it, read it. The Afghan Whigs. Ray had never heard of them, but at a guess… “The Yanks have infiltrated, huh?” “Our secret. If the locals found out I’d be banished.” For the first time since they’d met, the Mountie gave him a smile. Ray struggled to return it, hiking up the volume, seeing a bigger smile still emerge. Staring out of the window again he listened as Ben joined in with the next track, singing about being cornered and scratching his way out of the pen. Ray recognised those sentiments. This was okay. Okay. The house was comfortable but unfussy, and Ray thought it suited the Mountie well. “Nice place.” “Comes with the job. It’s more than I need: too big. I rattle around like a pea in a whistle.” “So there’s just you?” “Just me.” Ray stood in the centre of the living room, gazing around, lost. “I’ll make you some tea and then I’ll phone around and find your luggage.” “Thanks.” “Or would you prefer coffee?” “That’d be good.” Ben started toward the kitchen, stopped, turned back. Registered the shivering. “Still cold?” “Too tired to warm up.” Ben suspected it was more likely shock but didn’t enter into a debate. “Go upstairs and have a hot shower. My robe’s behind the bathroom door, you can use that for now. There are toiletries and disposable razors in the cabinet over the sink.” Ray drew a hand over his bristled chin. “Look a state, huh?” “Go on. I’ll bring the coffee up.” “Thanks. Plain black is fine.” Ben watched Ray drag his weary body up the stairs before switching on the coffee maker and phoning Timothy to confirm that Ray’s luggage had gone to the Lodge. That was convenient, he had to go there tonight anyway, he’d collect it then. He dawdled over the drinks, giving Ray plenty of time to shower, before taking two mugs up to the bathroom and knocking politely. “Yeah, okay,” Ray’s exhausted voice greeted him, and he entered the steamy room to find the cop wrapped in his thick towelling robe, sitting perched on the side of the bathtub, eyes closed and head starting to nod. Ben put down the mugs, took Ray by the shoulders and guided the half-heartedly protesting man to the bigger of his spare bedrooms. “You don’t need coffee, you need sleep.” He propped Ray against the wall while he made up the bed, threw back the covers and gestured meaningfully. Ray tried to smile a thank you at the departing Mountie but ultimately didn’t even have the energy for that. … An hour later, now out of uniform, Ben strolled into the Lodge’s bar, scanning the area for a particular face. And there it was, looking expectantly at him with a contained smile. A tip of the head brought the man from his chair and in Ben’s direction; retracing his steps, Ben grabbed Ray’s bags from the reception area and headed out to the Jeep. He was just loading them onto the back seat when he felt the presence and acknowledged it without looking. “Steve.” “Hello, Ben. I wasn’t sure you’d be here.” “Get in the car.” Without a glance at his lover Ben climbed into the driver’s seat and waited. Once Steve was on board he drove out of town and parked up. “Is this where you dispose of your victims?” Steve joked as he squinted into the night’s blackness. Up against Ben’s preoccupation, Steve began to talk about the day, rambling on until he was sick of his own voice. After too long he stopped and faced the inevitable. “Get it over with.” “What?” “Do you think I’m stupid?” “No.” Steve crossed his arms defensively and sat hunched in his seat. “You’ll get neck ache,” Ben warned. “As opposed to the pain in the ass I’ve already got?” Steve demanded, staring pointedly at Ben’s passive countenance. “Damn, you piss me off!” No response. “Shall I say it for you? You’ve met someone else.” “No.” “It’s what you do, Ben. You’re dropping me and moving on to the next man. I watched you for a long time before I was stupid enough to get involved. It’s what you do.” There was a deal more silence and Steve was on the verge of slapping his companion just to get some reaction. “So, I hear there’s someone new in town.” “It’s not what you think.” “And what do I think?” Ben ignored the question. “It’s regarding the murder. A detective from “So that’s what you’re pinning your hopes on, is it? A
detective from “That’s work.” “Work. But I’m being dumped the minute he arrives. How much of a coincidence is that?” “It actually is a coincidence. I have no reason to be dishonest.” “Why couldn’t you screw around with him until he goes back and then lie about it? We’d have been fine. I wouldn’t have asked difficult questions, you know that. How can a cold bastard like you have scruples about being unfaithful?” “I’ve never been unfaithful to anyone in my life.” “It doesn’t make sense.” “Because you think I don’t feel?” “No, Ben. Because I know you don’t feel.” “Well, maybe it’s best we do end this now.” “How fucking noble of you!” Steve spun angrily toward the door, popping it open, hesitating, then slamming it shut again and spinning back to Ben. “He’s not going to be able to give you what you need.” “And what is it that I need?” “No-one’s going to make you the centre of their universe. Not while you only care about you. You don’t have a streak of warmth about you, not a suggestion of humanity. You don’t even have a sense of humour! God almighty, what do I see in you?” Steve fumed silently for a few minutes, wanting to just be angry, wishing the upset hadn’t started to gnaw at him. “I knew it would end like this. One minute we’re fine…” “Fine would be an exaggeration.” “One minute we’re fine, next minute we’re finished. And…I knew.” “Then surely…” “Don’t be fucking reasonable, just ask how,” Steve seethed. Ben took a deep, irritated breath. “How?” “Because you never loved me. Not for a moment, even when we were at our closest. You’re incapable of love. You never loved me.” There was a tremor in Steve’s voice now, and he despised himself for it. But he despised Ben more for not denying what he had said, for not even having the decency to lie. “Take me home.” Ben parked up outside Steve’s house, not able to give him so much as a glance. “Want to come in?” Steve asked quietly. “I don’t think I should.” “You can’t say goodbye properly?” “Not the way you want me to.” “Oh, fuck you. Why do I have to beg? Fuck you!” As soon as Steve was out of the vehicle Ben felt able to look in his direction, and he watched to make sure Steve was safely indoors before restarting the engine. Once the jeep was moving he blanked out the man’s hurt, blanked the angry words, blanked the memory of the porch light shining on the beautiful blue-black hair he’d buried his face in so often. Not that he’d have shown it, but Steve’s words troubled him. Was he right? Was Ben incapable of feeling deeply about his partners? He knew that, if anything, he was excellent at hiding his emotions, but…what exactly was he hiding in this particular case? Affection or indifference? He switched on the player and hiked up the volume in an attempt to drown out the troublesome thoughts. It didn’t work, of course it didn’t. Because Steve had touched on a deeply buried fear that Ben had lived with for the entirety of his adult life: having spent so long working at being remote and untouchable, instigated by his less than ideal childhood and continuing into a professional life that valued impartiality and a degree of aloofness, was the inscrutable persona he’d cultivated merely a cover for an emotional void of a man? Before today he might have accepted that assessment more easily, but Ray’s situation had moved Ben, Ray had moved him. He wanted to spend more time with the cop to see what that contact could stir within him, and what he would be brave enough to let himself feel. Was that just him being as selfish and manipulative as Steve suggested, using Ray to— No, Ben told himself firmly. There was something more, perhaps even the intangible more that he’d spent the best part of his life waiting for. Ben laughed at his spiralling thoughts, the romanticism of them, knowing he was ridiculous to think that fate had delivered Ray Vecchio here to save him from his self-imposed isolation. He’d have to shake off this foolishness and be what Ray needed. Still… He smiled to himself; there certainly was someone new in town.
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