Part 2 ~ Friday 8 April 1994
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Part 2 ~ Friday 8 April 1994 |
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Ray woke early the next morning; still feeling groggy he pulled on Ben’s robe and made his way downstairs, desperate for a hit of caffeine. He found his luggage in the living room and resisted the automatic urge to hang up the suit bag: creased Armani versus coffee? Usually no contest, but today… Glad to be by himself, Ray checked cupboards until he found what he wanted and made coffee strong enough to strip paintwork. Two mugs later, the pain behind his eyes had ebbed and his equilibrium was restored; he sat at the kitchen table trying to mentally list what he had to do. First he should contact Maria and Frannie and tell them the good news – he felt bad for not doing that yesterday but he’d been wiped out – next he’d have to contact his lieutenant and find out… “Morning, Ray.” “Hey, Ben. Hope you don’t mind me helping myself.” “You’re welcome to whatever you find. How are you feeling today?” “Bit more with it.” He turned to face the Mountie, but twisted back quickly when he was confronted with more flesh than he felt comfortable with: well, obviously, he had the man’s robe. But it wasn’t as if he was naked. He had a towel draped around his neck and he was wearing boxers. Substantial RCMP boxers. It was Ben’s house and it was a warm house and he wandered around in boxers. Every day, no doubt. Fine. Just how repressed are you, Vecchio? Repressed but not blind: the previous day he’d been too overwrought and exhausted to notice, but Holy Fuck, this man was gorgeous. Which helped nothing. Ben unselfconsciously sat opposite him with a cup of peppermint tea. “Any plans for today?” “Can I make a few calls?” “Help yourself. What are you going to tell your sisters?” “The truth. They know how he lived, they won’t be surprised how he died.” “Are they going to laugh too?” That smarted; Ben saw the flinch. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…” Ray waved his concern away. “You think I’m the worst son, you’re probably right. God knows that’s what he thought.” “From what you’ve told me I don’t think his opinion was worth much.” Ray looked up and met cold blue eyes that shone with uncompromising contempt for a man Ben had never met. The Mountie had taken his side without question. The surprise of getting something over on his father tingled through Ray, and he didn’t think about the smile he gave his new ally. The look in Ben’s eyes changed instantly, heated up the air between them, and Ray stopped breathing. Flustered, he turned away and out of his seat, took his mug to the sink and washed it. “Do I need to come in with you today?” “No. I’ll carry on making enquiries, but if you’re right – and I think you are – this was a professional hit and the perpetrator is more likely to be found in your part of the world than mine.” “Think I should go home?” Ben knew the answer to that but put on a show of thinking. “Stay for a while longer. If we locate where the plane ditched you might be in the right place to find some answers. Of course, if you want to leave, be with your family…” Ben left that open, but his mind was speeding, seeking a way to keep this man around for a while longer. Ray mentally juggled staying versus going home, crossed his arms, leant back against the counter. “I’d like to stay.” Ben nodded slowly, played inscrutable, successfully disguising the mental high-five. “You want me to move to the Lodge?” “No. As I said, there’s too much room here for one. In fact, I appreciate having the company.” “It’s good of you.” Ben smiled disarmingly and brought his cup to the sink. Inches from the semi-naked Mountie Ray floundered again, not knowing whether it was too obvious for him to move away like he’d been scalded. Or was it too familiar to stay where he was, very nearly in the way? This was too much like hard work. He squeezed his eyes shut and his hand came up to his forehead, attempting to rub away the migraine that had been threatening all the previous day and was now sharpening its claws. “You okay?” “Bad head.” “Have you got anything for it?” “Migraine. Nothing touches it. If it’s gonna happen it’s gonna happen.” Ray’s eyes shot open as he felt the Mountie’s hands on him, firmly turning him before hard fingertips pressed into the muscles of his neck; Ray drew a sharp breath through clenched teeth but the sound did nothing to discourage the persistent manipulation. Bracing himself against the counter Ray tried to stop overreacting, tried to relax into a touch that certainly supported the adage cruel to be kind. “You probably shouldn’t drink coffee,” Ben murmured directly into his ear, reminding Ray of how close he was. The hands worked down to the tense shoulders, easing under the robe without a moment’s hesitation or the slightest hint of ‘May I?’. Knuckles ground into the knotted muscles and Ray hissed again. Now the robe was gradually sliding down and he could feel the heat of the other man’s chest against his bare back. The torture stopped. The brutal instruments of torment became soft, soothing, and they smoothed over his back, traced his spine. “Any better?” “Umm…” Ray discovered he’d lost the power of speech thanks to that last sweet gesture. He flexed his shoulders, stretched his neck this way and that. “Better. Thanks.” God, why was Ben still standing so close? Didn’t he know that Ray could feel every one of his breaths flowing over his skin? Didn’t he know Ray would pay to have those hands on him again? Oh, shit, figure it out, Mountie. Back off. Don’t go. Back off. Shit! “Anything else I can do for you?” Ben asked cordially, despite the highly inappropriate thoughts rattling through his mind. “No, I’m fine, thanks. Head’s feeling good.” Ben drew the robe back up Ray’s arms and settled it over his shoulders with one last squeeze. That was a relief, the robe being back was a relief. Ray eased out from between Ben and the counter. “Thanks for fetching my bags.” Ray was impressed that his voice sounded so normal, as if he was manhandled by a man exposing that much skin on a regular basis. “I should…” Ray motioned to where his luggage awaited, and followed the motion with his body until he had escaped the disruptive presence of his host. Ben impassively watched Ray leave the room, but the moment he was alone a hint of a smile appeared. He brought his hands up to his face, cupped them over his nose and mouth and breathed in and in and in. And in. Taking Ray’s scent and learning it and letting his body respond to it. Self-satisfied and horny, Ben headed for the shower, happy to use a little imagination and indulge himself privately. The previous evening’s mental contortions popped back into his mind and he paused, long enough to remind himself that Ray warranted respect, and needed help not seduction. Thoroughly chastened by his own thoughts, and with a self-reproving sigh, he promised himself that, going forward, he would do his very best in Ray’s presence to be no more than the perfectly restrained Mountie. Back in his bedroom Ray felt like barricading himself in, falling against the closed door and taking deep calming breaths. Everything was fine; this hands-on approach was obviously some quirky Canadian eccentricity that he hadn’t been expecting, and now he understood what Ben was like he’d be better able to cope with it. Him. There was nothing underhand, untoward, subversive, or even overtly sexual in his behaviour – nothing to be intimidated by. Ray wasn’t used to people touching him, that was all. The Mountie was harmless. Friendly but harmless. Friendly. Harmless. Anything else was in his head. Except that one look. Which he’d probably misinterpreted. No probably about it. Ray wasn’t used to people looking at him, that was all. He wasn’t a person, he was a cop: people didn’t usually look beyond that. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t make eye-contact. The Mountie did make eye-contact but was friendly and harmless. Friendly, harmless, friendly, harmless. Ray was dressed and on the phone by the time Ben came downstairs in uniform. He carried on getting ready for work, listening to Ray without compunction. “…and you have to talk to Spinetti as soon as possible to find out about Poppa’s will. … Because I have to know that he’s provided for you and Frannie. I’ll get the cop who’s investigating the case to give him a ring to confirm Poppa’s dead. … Sergeant Fraser, RCMP. Fraser, you got that? Tell Spinetti he’ll call. … Tuktoyaktuk. Tuk-to-yak-tuk. … Calm down. … Maria, calm down, everything’s gonna be better now. We’ll be fine. … I know, I know that, but we’ll be fine. … How’s Frannie feeling? … You gonna talk to her or shall I… … Sure? … Okay, do that, and I’ll talk to you both later. … Yes, I promise. … Yes, yes, anything at all, I’ll let you know. … I promise. … Take care. … Bye.” Ray replaced the receiver and sat in one of the armchairs, dropping his head into his hands and closing down for a few minutes. “Difficult call?” Ben asked sympathetically. “Yeah. She’s scared.” “Of what?” “Everything,” Ray muttered to himself before looking up to answer Ben properly. “We’re always scared. Anything to do with him and we’re scared.” “Still?” “I don’t expect to understand. When your head’s been screwed with for this long…” Ben sat opposite Ray and studied the troubled face. The man’s situation tugged at something inside him that he couldn’t quite identify, but it brought a whole lot of memories to the surface. Memories he’d usually force back into the depths of his psyche, but Ray needed empathy and, as uncharacteristic as it was, Ben needed to share. “My father walked out on me when I was eight,” he told Ray softly. “It was exactly a year after my mother died. I actually became a Mountie because, as a child, I’d read the stories that said they always got their man. My intention was to get my father back.” “Well, I guess you don’t wanna hear it, but sometimes you’re luckier when your Pop doesn’t come back.” “I can see that. I’m grateful for the insight.” Ray looked up to see if the Mountie was trying to get a rise out of him but the handsome face showed nothing more or less than acute sympathy. “You glad you stuck with it?” “The RCMP? Couldn’t have made a better decision, whatever the basis. The work is rewarding, I enjoy my life here, I love the way the dress uniform always gets me a second glance,” he grinned now and Ray easily reciprocated. “What’s the dress uniform?” Ben stood and fetched a framed photograph of him taking command of the detachment. He was wearing a red serge tunic, navy jodhpurs, brown boots and, of course, the Stetson. It was certainly an eye-catching costume and Ben looked a million dollars in it; Ray could see why he caught people’s attention. “Vanity surpasses discomfort every time,” Ben explained. “I look good in the uniform. Hell, I even look good in the hat!” “You do look good in the hat,” Ray agreed with mock gravity, “which is why, I guess, that you’ve kept it and the brown when everyone else goes with the blue uniform.” Ben laughed, taking the photo and shoving it carelessly back into the bookcase. “Have you got the number of Mr Spinetti?” Ray readily accepted that Ben had heard his side of the phone call and copied a name and number from his diary onto the back of one of his cards and handed it over. “Family solicitor?” Ray nodded. “I’ll take care of that. Anything else?” Ray shook his head, rose and trailed behind the Mountie as he collected his coat and hat. “You going to be okay here by yourself?” “Yeah, I’d appreciate the thinking time. You’ll let me know…” “Anything turns up, I’ll call. And you can always ring me, the office number is memory one on the phone. Assuming you’ll have completed your calls, do you want company for lunch?” “That’d be good.” “I’ll get back.” Ray followed Ben out of the front door, shuddering as the cold hit him and turning back for his coat. When he re-emerged the Cherokee’s engine was running as Ben walked around scraping ice from the windows. Ray’s eyes almost left their sockets when he saw what was in the vehicle. “My God, isn’t that…” “Come and say hello.” Ray cautiously crunched over the snow to where Ben held the driver’s door open. “This is Diefenbaker. He’s my wolf.” “You have a wolf? Is that usual around here?” “No. It’s a long story; I’ll tell you later. Move over,” Ben very deliberately told Diefenbaker, who ungraciously relinquished his place behind the steering wheel. “So, you don’t let him drive. Can’t get the insurance, huh?” “Now that’s just silly, Ray,” Ben said stiffly as he climbed into the Jeep. Then his face broke into a grin. “He can’t drive because his paws don’t reach the pedals.” … At ten on the dot there was a banging on the door and Ray hesitated before opening it, feeling naked without his gun and wishing he’d thought to ask Ben if anyone was due to call around. After a second tirade of banging he cracked open the door; a guy with a cardboard box in his arms, looking innocent enough. “Sergeant Fraser isn’t here right now.” “Ben’s at work, I know that,” Steve said with more than a
little contempt. “Guess he didn’t expect me to drop his stuff off so soon. Can
I come in?” Ray hesitated. “Give him a call, check me out. You want his
personal number?” Ray stepped back and opened the door, allowing Steve in. He
dropped the box on the couch and turned to study Ray appraisingly. “So…you’re
the detective from “That’s right.” “Yeah, the dead yank, we all know about it. Been wondering why he had to come all this way to get himself killed. You folks sick of slaughtering each other on your own streets?” Ray wondered how angry the sergeant would be if he kicked the shit out of this guy in his nice home. The life-honed swallow came in useful once again. “What’s your name?” Ray asked. “What’s it to you?” “Fraser asks me who dropped this stuff off, a name will be a lot simpler than working up a composite.” “Oh, he’ll know,” Steve smiled coldly, starting back to the door and pushing roughly past Ray. “What is your problem, pal?” Steve switched back. “You, pal. You turn up here and within hours I’m dumped. I’d love to know what you did for him in those hours.” Ray was momentarily speechless, and Steve watched his stunned confusion with spiteful interest. “What? You didn’t know?” “This is fucking ridiculous. Get out.” “You think he’s doing you some big favour here? Letting you stay with him because of his altruistic nature?” “I’m here because I didn’t want to stay at the Lodge.” “He let you believe it was what you wanted? As opposed to him simply needing to keep you to himself? You didn’t figure that out, Detective?” “Look, the timing may be crap, but whatever happened between you two is nothing to do with me.” “You’ll learn. He wants you; he’ll have you. He’ll eat you up and spit you out and you’ll wonder what the fuck hit you. He’s entirely self-centred, he’s cunning and a user and he’s a manipulative bastard, and you don’t stand a chance.” “There is nothing like that going on here.” “You better be sure he knows that, because what he wants, he gets, and then it means nothing to him when he tosses you aside. Y’know I thought I was different. I thought I’d been clever, beaten him at his own game. He’s a predator – know the type? – so I did all the chasing to put him off his stride. I pursued him until I realised he’d caught me.” Steve pulled back, knew he was giving too much away and would regret it later. He took another look at the cop before rapping his fingers over his own heart. “You’re too soft. He’ll eat you alive.” Steve left the house, miserable and hunched, hating Ben, hating the cop, hating the fact that he could see what Ben wanted and why. He especially hated the way the cop had smelt. Expensive. He smelt expensive. Steve threw himself into his ATV and within seconds the engine roared into life; before he floored the accelerator he glanced angrily back at the house where the cop still stood in the open doorway, staring after him like he couldn’t believe all this had just happened. An unexpected pang of conscience hit Steve. None of this mess was directly the cop’s fault – the shock on his face had undoubtedly been real – and he’d just received both barrels for no good reason. Well, at least he could consider himself forewarned. Simmering anger allowed Steve to shrug off the guilt, smiling grimly to himself as he concluded that this was his good deed for the day. … The migraine came. Between violent bouts of nausea Ray buried his head under his pillow and, as far as he could concentrate, counted the seconds. His migraines lasted exactly an hour and a half. He counted the seconds. Ben got back at a little after one. His peace of mind was shattered by the hostile look he received the minute he walked into his home. “What’s happened?” The cop looked away and resumed pacing. “Ray?” “Your boyfriend showed up. Sorry, ex-boyfriend. Left some stuff for you, gave me hell for breaking you two up, also left me with a few prime thoughts I really don’t need right now.” “I’m sorry you got caught up in that. The timing is pure coincidence.” Ben peered into the box: a couple of his books, a sweater, CD. Nothing that couldn’t have waited. He hoped Steve had enjoyed the look he got at the cop because it was the only reason he’d come. “What were the prime thoughts?” Ray stopped and glared at him. “You being nice to me because you want a novelty fuck with the new guy in town? Did I miss that? Am I as stupid as I feel?” “Ray…” “I gave you the benefit of the doubt about this morning, but is that what it was all about? You think I’m so shook up over Pop you can take advantage of me?” The tantalising appeal of finding a crowbar and going after Steve flashed through Ben’s mind, but he remained externally placid, watching Ray with an appearance of calm he certainly didn’t feel. He was about to screw this up totally and it reminded him just how much he liked this man. “Ray…if I did want to fuck you, it would not be because you’re stupid.” For the umpteenth time that day Ray was stunned into silence. Ben saw some hope. “I’m not quite as cynical as Steve thinks. If I’m being nice to you it’s because you deserve it. Your father’s been murdered, and whatever you thought of him, that’s a terrible thing to have to deal with. I hoped a little kindness would help you to cope. And it has nothing to do with any attraction Steve imagines I feel for you: I would be the same with anybody in your position.” “He called you cunning, a user and a manipulative bastard. Shouldn’t he be in a position to know?” “He also knows I never loved him and he can’t forgive me for that. Of course he feels used. Wouldn’t you?” Ray was out of pacing energy. He sank onto the couch and stared at the floor. “I guess.” “Last night he told me I was cold, inhumane, humourless and incapable of love. Do you see a pattern here, Detective?” “I’m sorry. Look, I’m sorry, this is none of my business.” Ben felt the mood turn and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He smiled and spoke ruefully. “Welcome to my home. Peace and quiet, plenty of privacy. A liar as well as a manipulative bastard.” A thought occurred to Ray that caused a genuine grin to break out on his face; he gave a chuckle. Ben looked a question. “Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” That caught Ben completely off guard. “Favourite film?” “Back home my partner is one Stanley Kowalski. Say that line to him and he’ll bang his head against the wall for your entertainment.” Ben nodded and smiled again to show he got the joke; behind the façade he berated himself for not finding out sooner: he has a partner, despite the loner vibes the man has a partner. He patently isn’t the fast and loose type and he has a partner. “Been together long?” “Few years on and off. He comes and goes, does a lot of
undercover. I expect he’ll be gone again by the time I get back to Ah. Partner. Work partner. Make sure. “You’re obviously very fond of him,” Ben fished. Ray cocked an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know if fond is the word I’d use.” But then Ray stopped to think. “Or maybe it is. But if he didn’t keep getting sent away we’d probably kill each other.” “Still…” “Yeah. Still.” Ben finally shucked off his coat and went into the kitchen, calling back. “What would you like to eat?” Ray followed him and lounged in the doorway, limp and exhausted by the migraine and the surrounding events. “Not fussed.” Ben looked back at him, scrutinized the pale face. “Migraine caught up with you then?” “Oh, yeah.” “Do I have to consider what foods will set it off again?” “Nah, food doesn’t do it. Nor does coffee,” Ray added pointedly. Ben paused by the coffee pot. “Ray…I was just trying to help this morning.” “Okay, I know, I shouldn’t have listened to your excitable friend. I mean, as if…” he vaguely gesticulated to himself and gave a short humourless laugh. “I don’t usually overreact like that. I’m more…cut up about all this than I figured.” He thought for a few minutes. “Mind if I call Maria again?” Ben gestured openly toward the phone and Ray thanked him before going to make his call. Ben eavesdropped, wondering as he listened to a voice so filled with concern and hurt and loneliness how the sister bore it without being able to put her arms around Ray and make him feel better. For the first time Ben started to seriously question exactly what it was he wanted from the cop. In the cold light of day he’d dismissed the previous evening’s laughable hopes that Ray was the one, but Ben was starting to feel edgy, uneasy, and it wasn’t just the shock of Steve’s vitriolic contribution to their developing friendship. Ray was special: he had a quality that stirred emotions in Ben that had been assumed dead through disuse. He made Ben laugh. No-one made Ben laugh, no-one thawed the chill in his heart, no-one challenged Ben’s vision of himself as an emotionally untouchable chancer who was superficially appealing but ultimately unlikeable. Steve had been wholly correct about him, and he was appalled at how he’d hoped to win Ray over with a hackneyed routine of banal lines and questionable sincerity. But Ray was too good for that, too good for him, and he forced himself to admit that, as much as he wanted the cop, he didn’t choose to con him into bed. What were the chances that Ray would come to reciprocate his wanting in the little time they’d have together? Ben couldn’t stop watching Ray, admiring the line and grace of his body, enjoying its delicacy when compared to the stocky men of the region and the heftiness of the hunters who visited Tuktoyaktuk in passing. Was it that misleading fragility that made him feel so protective toward the cop? Or was it the perpetual frown that kinked the skin between his brows that Ben felt moved by? The desire to kiss that frown away nagged at him, and he had to look away before he gave in to the impulse. The Mountie stared out of the kitchen window, over the snowy landscape. But his thoughts remained centred on Ray, and it was too easy to lose himself in fantasies of touch and taste and possession, but there was more, and it was a constant more. It was frightening to entertain the notion of needing this man. Not wanting but needing. How would it be if Ray could bring himself to need Ben too? Would it be his way back from a barren existence as bleak as the view from his window? Ben sighed and headed to the refrigerator, knowing that he was indulging in a far more improbable fantasy than all of his erotic daydreams put together. Ray Vecchio wasn’t here for him, he was here for his unfeeling bastard of a father. The last thing this fragile man needed was an unfeeling bastard of a lover. … Ben was determined to keep Ray with him that afternoon, away from introspective silence or the chance of a further visit from the rabid ex. It took a fair bit of coaxing to persuade the cop into the Jeep with Dief, but they’d both been able to joke over it. “He called you humourless?” Ray had asked when they were on their way into town. “I think…I think he may be right.” “No.” “The people I work with would agree with him.” “Maybe they don’t know you too well.” “And you do?” “It’s difficult – being in a position of authority – not wanting to let your people cross the line. Then, sometimes it’s easier to be yourself with strangers. You joke with me, you’re not humourless.” “I feel very comfortable with you,” Ben said simply, knowing it was a step forward or a step back. He waited tensely for Ray to reply, and he waited for a long moment. “Yeah. I know.” Ben gave an involuntary laugh and Ray glanced at him questioningly. “That’s a good answer. I bet you’re a good cop.” “Oh, sure. When your call came through to the Precinct I was in my lieutenant’s office being given the ‘be better’ lecture. Make of that what you will.” “Why?” “Why what?” “Were you getting the lecture?” “That doesn’t matter.” “It obviously does.” Ray sighed. “He always starts off with, ‘You have the makings of an excellent cop, Ray,’ then he moves on to the if onlys. If only you could show more confidence. If only you could be more assertive around the department. Be louder, pushier, go for it!” Ray repeated the sigh. “Jesus wept. He has no idea.” “You’re paying the price for having an abusive father.” “See, Ben, you get it. But I can’t have some heart to heart with Welsh and explain that I’ve got this…this conditioning that tells me if I’m out of line I’m gonna get a smack in the mouth. Or worse, someone else is gonna get a smack for me.” “Perhaps you should specialize. Get off the street and into an area that’s less confrontational.” “I’ve thought of that but it’s not what I want. I’m not interested enough in any one aspect of the work. It’s what comes from going into the job for the wrong reason.” “What was the wrong reason?” Ray smiled grimly. “You became a Mountie to get your dad back; I became a cop to see if I could put mine away.” “Seriously?” “Seriously. Apart from the satisfaction of him freaking out that I was going to be a cop, I wanted the chance to get him for what he was: low-life scum, crooked as a seven-dollar bill. The day I graduated he got me alone, banged me up against the wall so hard he cracked a rib, and he said, ‘You think you’re gonna be the one to take your poppa down?’ See, he knew me well enough to read my mind.” “But you didn’t pursue him?” “I left it for a long time, wanted him to think he’d been wrong. Left it for years, until I made detective. Then I started looking at him seriously – from the outside, legitimate investigation, no inside information – and I was getting somewhere with it. Then one day I’m picked off the street by two of his goons, guys I’ve known for years, guys I’ve sat up all night playing poker with, and they take me down to Lake Michigan, apologise, then beat the shit out of me. I’m in hospital for weeks, and when I get out I find out he’s…he’s…” Ray’s hand came up and pressed over his eyes; Ben couldn’t figure out if it was because of pain or emotion. He waited. “God help me, that’s all I need. Another headache on top of the last one. If I say stop the car, can you stop the car real fast? Get a migraine and I can hurl for my country.” “Crack the window,” Ben suggested. Ray did, and the freezing air seemed to anaesthetize the incipient pain. “Perhaps you shouldn’t think about it,” Ben said softly, despite wanting Ray to finish what he was saying. “I get out of hospital to find he’s given Frannie to one of his up-and-comings. He’s married her off as security because he knows I will never, never do anything if there’s a chance of my girls getting hurt, and this puts Frannie where I can’t protect her.” “You haven’t mentioned your mother.” Ray’s hand came up again. “Stop the car, stop the car.” Ben sat in the car, watching Ray wandering in an aimless circle fifty feet from the vehicle. It was a shame that the only way he knew how to make someone feel good was to fuck them, because Ray needed to feel good right now and Plan A was out of the question. Being emotionally cheap and shallow (that had been the conclusion of the guy before Steve) he apparently didn’t have much to offer in the way of empathy, but he did feel bad for Ray, and was utterly determined to do what he could to solve the murder of the father, just to give the son a little peace. Under his gaze, Ray crouched and scooped up a handful of snow, taking a mouthful and letting it start to melt in his mouth before swallowing the slush down. Another mouthful and Ray was dawdling back to him. He switched his attention to the tapes that were crammed in the door pocket, trying to find something easy to listen to. Ejecting the existing tape he stuffed Automatic for the People in, pressing a button and being confronted with Everybody Hurts. He practically clawed that out of the machine and grabbed the next tape without looking at the label, shoving it in and hoping it was vaguely suitable. Ray climbed in and, seeing where Ben was looking, reached out and tapped on. “I don’t know what…” Ben started to say but was cut short by the opening bars of Smells Like Teen Spirit. Oh, marvellous; he must think I’m thirty-five going on fourteen. Ben took a sneaky look at Ray, but the cop just slid down in his seat, eyes closed, foot tapping. “You okay?” “I’ll be fine as long as you do the talking and I stick to a minimum amount of thinking.” “Understood.” There was no conversation for the remainder of the Nirvana track. “Did you find him?” Ray asked. “Find…?” “Your father? When you became a Mountie did you look?” Ben hesitated. Ray held up a hand in apology. “It’s none of my business.” “It’s not that. I just haven’t thought about this in years. No, I didn’t look. As I grew older it became less important.” “You started to resent him,” Ray suggested, “and eventually
you didn’t want to know.” Ray knew the pattern; apparently it didn’t matter if
you were a “Something like that. I questioned why I wanted him in my life, and when I pushed aside the childish notion of a happy family, I saw that he was irrelevant to me, and to my future. He was hardly going to be the ideal role model, after all.” “Who brought you up?” “My grandparents. They were good people but…” Ray waited a few minutes, then opened his eyes fractionally to take a look at Ben. The Mountie was deep in thought; he settled for no answer, closing his eyes again. “I soon learnt I had to fend for myself in multiple ways. Plus, they were good people but they had no idea of how to communicate with a child, or an adolescent. Our time together was…impersonal.” “That’s tough on a kid.” “I admit that I still have trouble communicating.” “You do?” “On a personal level.” “Tell me about it!” “That’s the problem. I can’t.” “No, I meant…” Ray took another look at the Mountie and saw the smile on his face. “Walked right into that, huh?” “Sorry.” “I bet you’ve looked sorrier.” Ben gave a short laugh before turning the smile on Ray. “I’ve never talked about this to anyone else. Although…no-one’s ever asked.” The smile faded. “I’ve never been able to say that I felt deserted and unwanted and unworthy – that I still do – and that I’ve tried to overcome those feelings but I can’t.” “We’re a pair. Don’t matter whether the bruises are inside or out.” Kindred spirits. Ben liked that. It also explained a lot. Ray sat upright in his seat and turned to face Ben. “You were right not to go looking for him. You’d only have been disappointed.” “Perhaps.” “You have friends?” “Not really. I have acquaintances, not friends. I never learnt how to make friends.” “What about Steve?” “What about him?” “You weren’t friends?” Ben considered. “We may have been, I’m not sure. But he doesn’t matter to me.” “You only just broke up.” “He doesn’t matter more or less than any of the other people I’ve broken up with. Yesterday or ten years ago, it doesn’t affect me. I don’t connect, can’t bond. I’m always…detached.” Ben glanced over at Ray’s concerned face and he felt an unfamiliar warmth, decided to take a chance. “You’ll think this is a line, but you matter.” “You’ve known me five minutes.” “It’s how I feel.” “You realise you’re communicating with me on a very personal level.” “I feel very comfortable with you,” Ben repeated his earlier sentiment. They exchanged a look; Ben’s eyes reflected his words and Ray, even as he was troubled by his own gullibility, started to believe the line. “Yeah. I know.” … Carol Petty greeted Ray like an old friend, ushering him close to the nearest source of heat before prising his coat, hat and scarf from him, and fetching him coffee. Slightly bewildered by the rush of fuss he spent five minutes warming himself before being beckoned into the sergeant’s office. “ Ray really didn’t feel like speaking to Lieutenant Welsh and took the receiver with tangible reluctance. “Vecchio.” He listened and visibly brightened, taking the seat next to the desk. “Hey, Stan, how you doing? … No, nothing much yet. … Forget about that. Know where you’re going yet? … How long? … That long? That’s tough. … You don’t have to say yes, you crazy Pollack, tell them to… … Well, that sounds better – take that if you have the choice…” Ben left his office, peevishly irritated by the positive change in Ray when he spoke to his partner. He checked with Carol about the search for the plane and, for the nth time, they went over some area maps, discussing places where they thought it might be possible to put down a light plane without sustaining life-threatening damage. “How’d the killer get from the airport to the Lodge?” Ray’s voice came from behind them ten minutes later. Ben and Carol turned to him. “There were several vehicles at the airport that could have been easily appropriated,” Carol explained, “and they wouldn’t have even needed to hotwire a vehicle. Despite our advice, this area remains a ‘keys in the sun visor’ type of place. If any of the vehicles were taken and then returned to the same spot, it would have been impossible for the staff to tell they’d been moved.” “Fresh fall of snow,” Ray remembered what Ben had told him. “Yes, Sir.” “Ray.” “Ray. But they’ve all been forensically examined and we’re waiting on the results.” “Ben…can you take me to the Lodge?” Half-an-hour later they were in his father’s room at the Pingo Park Lodge. It was poky, sterile, unpleasantly anonymous. Ray sat on the edge of the bed, thinking hard. “So…something happens in “If nothing forced the victim to leave “No offence, Sergeant, but Joseph Vecchio setting up a meeting in the armpit of the frozen North? Not likely. And if it was business, why was he alone? None of this makes sense.” “The night your— The night the victim died, nobody asked for him at the reception, no calls were put through to his room. No strangers were reported in the Lodge.” “The guy knew where to find him. And if he didn’t come through the building…” Ray rose and went to the window. “My constables checked this room thoroughly.” “Okay…” Pulling back the still-closed curtains Ray studied the window pane from all angles, catching the light across the surface in different directions until he found what he was looking for. “See here… There’s been a cross marked on this window with tape. You can just make out adhesive lines where the edges were.” Ben looked and nodded his agreement; there was a definite undercurrent and Ray certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be the constable who missed the cross. “Can you find out if there’s a legitimate reason for the window being taped in any way?” “I’ll check.” Ben left the room. Alone, Ray veered from cop to son, and he
looked around the last place his father was seen alive. He crossed to the
dresser and picked up a set of keys, recognising them immediately as belonging
to the “Ray?” Ray waved Ben in from the doorway. “Is it the headache?” Ben gently gave him an excuse. “Coming and going.” Ray made a monumental effort to pull himself together and turned to the Mountie, looking a question. “No reason for the tape on the window. A couple of my constables checked around the exterior of the building on Monday but…” “The snow wiped out the tracks.” “Exactly.” “He had to have arranged to meet someone here, someone he thought he could trust.” “Or trust more than the people he knew he couldn’t trust.” Ray paused to take that in. “So he says, what? Bang on the right window and I’ll come out? It’s like being back at school.” “The simplest plans are often the most effective.” “How far to where he was shot? Walk or drive?” “Drive usually. No-one saw or heard a vehicle, but, admittedly, that means very little, it was the middle of the night. The snow wouldn’t have started falling yet so they could have walked.” “Eight-hundred dollar shoes. He never walked anywhere,” Ray
sighed, frustrated. “What am I doing here? You’ve got everything wrapped up at
this end, I should be in Ben cleared his throat, hesitated. “I’ve asked Constable Petty to make arrangements to have the
body, and your father’s belongings, flown to “Spinetti. Get Spinetti to work it out. Don’t bother the girls.” Ray took a last look at the keys. “Can we walk to where he was found now?” … It took fifteen minutes at a reasonably brisk pace to reach the crime scene; the blood stain was barely visible now: a discoloured shadow beneath the last fall of snow. Ray had walked his father’s last walk, now… “Where are the photos?” “At the Post.” “Why didn’t you offer them to me yesterday?” “You wanted to see the body.” “And what? You thought pictures of my old man with his brains blown out would affect my ability to give you a good ID?” “I thought you should at least see him after he’d been cleaned up.” “I’m a cop, I’ve seen it all before. You want to try working
“I was dealing with a potential son, not a police officer. What if it hadn’t been your father but you couldn’t distinguish that from the photographs? What if he’d been a much better man than he was and you had to go through more torment before you had a chance to identify the body?” “I should have seen all the evidence.” “You have no jurisdiction here, Detective,” Ben told Ray in a voice that offered no room for contradiction. “I don’t have to offer you more than courtesy.” “But this – this…” “Is your father, I know. I also know that, whatever your relationship with him, you don’t want to let him down now.” “I’m trying to prove something here.” “Ray…you don’t have to prove anything.” Head swimming, Ray turned his back, walked off a few steps. “I can’t do this. Jesus, I can’t do this.” Ben crossed and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Then don’t.” There was a long moment’s silence before Ray took a last protracted look at the spot where his father had met his death and, allowing himself to be guided away, started to walk in the direction of the Lodge. Approaching the Jeep, Ray noticed a familiar figure loitering nearby. “Jilted boyfriend at ten-o-clock,” he warned Ben. “Right,” Ben said grimly, handing Ray the car keys and heading off toward Steve with a brooding sense of purpose that Ray would have found a little intimidating if the Mountie had been aimed at him. But Steve stood his ground, glaring at Ben as he approached. Following the wolf into the Jeep, Ray got into the driver’s seat and adjusted the rear-view mirror slightly to get a better look at what was happening behind him. Ben appeared rigidly calm, which was obviously infuriating his dumpee, but eventually Ben had enough and grasped the man by the collar and yanked him nose to nose, speaking through clenched teeth. Ray smiled to himself and readjusted the mirror, turning his attention to the tapes, replacing the Nirvana with yesterday’s Afghan Whigs and pressing play. Ben offered Steve a last few choice words and left him speechless but breathing hard, which was actually how he’d always preferred him, and marched to his vehicle, automatically diverting to the passenger side when he saw that Ray had usurped his usual position. Climbing into the car he smiled at Ray and gestured for him to drive. As they cruised past the furious Steve he turned and screamed at them: “You never let me drive your fucking car!” Ray tried to bite back the laughter, but it was a case of let it go or burst. A few minutes and it was just about under control. “He’s very upset,” Ben pointed out, trying to keep the amusement from his voice. “And he’s extremely angry.” “Of course he is: you never let him drive your car.” A further wave of giggles came and went. “He’s also jealous.” “He’s bound to be. This is one great Jeep.” “He thinks we slept together last night.” That wiped the smile from Ray’s face; he forced himself to concentrate on the road. “You put him straight?” “No. He has no right to know.” “That’s pretty hard. I get the impression you were together for a while.” “Six months. But it wasn’t a good six months.” “Six months,” Ray repeated under his breath, trying to imagine what it would be like to be in a relationship with another man for that long. With anybody for that long. “Are you on your own?” Ben asked. “Excuse me?” “You’re not in a relationship.” That was a statement, not a question, and Ray dithered over how to answer. “No,” seemed the simplest solution. “Is it that obvious?” “You’re lonely.” “Alone doesn’t necessarily mean lonely.” “When was your last date?” “With all due respect, Sergeant, fuck off.” Ray caught Ben’s grin out of the corner of his eye: it warmed him considerably and he wished he didn’t like the Mountie so much. He parked the Jeep outside the Post. “What say I cook tonight? To say thanks?” “You’ll need to keep it simple, we can’t get any elaborate ingredients in town.” “Simple’s good. Italians are the best cooks in the world, we perform miracles with simple. Point me in the direction of the store.” “You have any Canadian money?” “Some. Where’s the bank, I’ll…” “We don’t have a bank. Go to The Northern, get what you want, charge it to me.” Ben fished out his wallet and took his Interac card from it, offering it to Ray. Ray hesitated. “I promise you, it’s the simplest way. And take the car.” … Ray found the store, wasn’t actually too disappointed with what they had to offer, but what he really enjoyed was the curiosity of people when he pulled up in the Mountie’s distinctive Cherokee and paid for his groceries with the Mountie’s card. Oh, this would be sweet when it filtered back to Steve. More than you got in six months, pal. Ray considered himself to be a reasonable guy, but this ex had really pissed him off. It probably wasn’t healthy to probe the why of that too deeply, but he wasn’t above enjoying himself at the expense of the man who had jump-started this morning’s migraine. He picked up Ben at the Post, surprised when the Mountie declined the chance to get behind the wheel, and they headed up to The Point. Interesting: he was a contented passenger and yet he wouldn’t let Steve drive the car. Ray could tell from the flickering glances that Ben liked watching him drive (as opposed to checking up on his treatment of his precious Jeep). Hmm… Change the subject. “Anything new?” “Autopsy’s arranged. I have a release form for you to sign.” “I’ve been thinking. Maybe I’ll give the airport a ring and
see when I can fly out. We both know there’s more I can do in “Even if we find the plane?” “You think it’s going to happen?” “There’s always a chance.” Ray fell quiet and Ben started racking his brains for an excuse to keep the cop around a little longer. But maybe it was immaterial, maybe Ray had plans for tonight, and that’s what the meal was all about: food, wine, candles, music, sex. How many times had that worked before? Hell, it usually didn’t take more than the music and the alcohol! “What are you thinking about?” “You,” Ben replied honestly. “What about me?” Ah, wouldn’t you like to know. “When did the migraines start?” “I was…” Ray adopted the pretence of remembering, but he knew to the month, to the day. “I was thirteen.” “What set them off?” Fuck, no, we don’t go there! Ray felt a twinge even as he battened the memory down. “Puberty.” “Mean time.” Ray took a sideways look at the man’s perfect skin. “Yeah, sure. Tell me you ever had a pimple in your life and I’ll kick you out into a snowdrift.” Ben laughed and turned in his seat to study Ray into a state of potentially terminal self-consciousness. “What? What!” “That’s a great face, Ray Vecchio,” Ben said, softly and honestly. “Now you’re poking fun.” “No. Pull over.” “What?” “Stop the car. Pull over.” Ray did as he was told, somewhat confused but happy to oblige. He peered out of the windows into the gloom “What did you see?” “You.” Ben’s voice seductively coaxed the cop to turn in his direction. Fingertips gently touched Ray’s cheek. “Such a great face.” Heart abruptly racing, Ray swallowed hard. “Ben, I don’t think…” But Ben was holding his chin, moving in; their lips almost touched before Ray jerked back in his seat. “No.” “Ray…” A hard shove in the chest stopped Ben’s continued advance. “I can’t do this. Not now, not like this. Will you show me a little respect here and back off?” Mentally kicking himself for the clumsy move, with a murmured apology Ben withdrew. Ray restarted the engine and put his foot down, eager to get to the house and away from this enforced proximity. Ray dumped the food in the kitchen and wondered what to do: saying he felt bewildered was the understatement of the year. He wanted, but he didn’t want; inside his head it was chaos. He paced, waiting for the Mountie to appear, as he did a few minutes later, framed in the doorway, a picture of scarily attainable perfection. “I have to apologise, Ray.” He paused, uncomfortably. “Mixed signals.” “No. No signals. I don’t give out signals. I work too fucking hard at not giving out signals.” “Would you be more comfortable staying at the Lodge now?” “You don’t get any of this, do you? I don’t have a problem with you, I don’t have a problem with here, the problem…” “Is you. Yes, I do get that. I get that you’re trying to be what Poppa wanted.” Ray shuddered; Ben saw. “But what about what you want?” “That…that doesn’t matter.” “It matters, Ray, it matters,” Ben insisted. “It’s like someone’s reached into you and switched something off. You’re five steps away from the living dead.” As Ray spun back Ben caught a glimpse of the anger that the cop regularly swallowed down. “I don’t need this from you. I don’t need anyone else to hurt me, that’s what family’s for.” “Who gets to hold you? Who gets to tell you everything is going to be all right?” “Will you shut the fuck up!” Ben was beside Ray in an instant, tugging the fractious man to him. Ray froze as the strong arms enveloped him, shivering as caring hands attempted to stroke the tension from his back. His words were antagonistic but the strength had seeped out of them: “What’s the matter? Am I about to screw over your hundred percent success rating? I bet no-one’s turned you down in your entire life.” “There’s no hidden agenda. I sincerely like you, Ray. I think you know how much.” “Yeah, but I get the feeling you like anything with a pulse.” “Not anything.” “Okay, the women around here must be relieved you’re as straight as a pig’s tail.” Ben leant back so he could see Ray’s face, staring into liquid eyes that drew him like no man’s ever had. The cop looked like all the fight had gone from him and Ben knew he could kiss him. Now he could kiss him. A flash of disdain in Ray’s eyes told him it was expected. Ben tilted forward onto his toes, reached up and rested his lips between Ray’s eyebrows. “Does this frown ever go away?” Ben whispered against the creased skin. “Oh, you’re good,” Ray murmured contemptuously. “You’re so fucking good at this.” Ben kissed the frown, kissed his way down the nose; eased them as close as was humanly possible and held tight. “Everything,” he whispered reassuringly, “is going to be all right.”
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