Stranger Things Have Happened: An Adrien English Write Your Own Damn Story (The Adrien English Mysteries) (10 page)

“I am being stalked,” you tell him.

“Who do you think is stalking you, Mr. English?” Chan asks politely, unwrapping a stick of gum.

You drag them upstairs and show them Rob’s yearbook, delivered by Tara. You tell them about Rusty Corday maybe or maybe not committing suicide.

Chan is unimpressed. “In any high school graduation class there’s going to be a number of deaths, suicides, even homicides by the time your tenth reunion rolls around. It’s the law of averages.”

Riordan is noncommittal.

Chan says, “This book of yours that’s going to be published; it’s about a man who stabs to death an old friend, isn’t it?”

“Actually, it’s about a man who finds out who stabbed to death an old friend. He’s an amateur sleuth.”

“He’s a homosexual,” Riordan says.

“Yeah, well, we all know you’ve got some issues there, Detective,” you say.

There’s an uncomfortable silence. Riordan stares at you with dark, fathomless eyes.

Chan changes the subject hastily. He mentions Tara is the beneficiary of Robert’s insurance policy. Riordan points out that apparently Robert didn’t feel stalked before his murder. So it’s full circle. As far as Riordan and Chan are concerned, your stalker and Robert’s murder are not connected.

Or, more precisely, you’re making up the whole stalker thing.

They leave and you start to get ready to go have dinner with Jean and Ted, but then you hear the downstairs buzzer.

You run downstairs and who should be fidgeting on your doorstep, but Mr. Law and Disorder himself.

“What do you want now?” you demand.

Riordan tugs unconsciously at his collar. He says gruffly, “Can I talk to you?”

“Talk.”

He glares, but then his gaze falls. “I owe you an apology. For the other night.”

“You do, yeah.”

His lashes lift. His eyes look almost green in the evening light. “I’m genuinely sorry for what happened. There’s no excuse for it, so I’m not going to waste your time trying to come up with one. I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“Really? Because it seemed — felt — pretty instinctive to me.”

“No. I’ve never used unauthorized force on a civilian. This was assault. I committed assault.” He seems genuinely appalled even now, remembering it. “You should have reported me, but I’m grateful that you didn’t.”

You shrug uncomfortably.

“I want you to know that the morning after it happened, I made an appointment with the department shrink.”

“You did?” That does surprise you.

Riordan nods. “What you said was true. I’ve got some unresolved issues. But I’m working on them. I just wanted you to know that. And to know that I’m sincerely sorry for shoving you.”

“Even if I am a murderer?”

He grimaces. “I don’t think you’re a murderer. You know that wasn’t the reason.”

“I know.”

He gives you another one of those pained, guilty looks. “I could have really hurt you, Adrien. I’m very much aware of that.”

You smile, surprising yourself. “It’s okay. Only my ego was dented.”

His gaze softens and he says seriously, “Your ego should still be intact. If anything, I reacted
because
—” He breaks off but you can still follow his line of thought.

“Oh,” you say. And then
“Oh?”

He smiles faintly. “Yeah. Anyway, I just needed to let you know that nothing like that will ever happen again. You have my word.”

“All right. Thank you. I appreciate the apology.”

He nods curtly and turns away. You close the door firmly.

You don’t see Detective Riordan for a few days and by then things have changed pretty dramatically. You’re dating Bruce, Claude has informed you that Riordan is not only gay, he’s involved in the BDSM scene, and then Claude himself is murdered.

Riordan shows up right after the crime scene people arrive. “How are you doing?” he asks, and he seems genuinely concerned in his terse way.

You’re dismayed by how much you want to believe his concern is genuine. After all, you know first hand what a violent temper he has. Claude tried to blackmail Riordan and now Claude is dead. Coincidence? It seems unlikely.

“Still kicking,” you say, or words to that effect.

“You feel up to making a statement?”

Not really. In fact, your chest is tight, your left arm is numb, and your heart is skipping every couple of beats. But you’re more afraid of dragging attention to your physical frailties than you are of having a heart attack, so you nod.

Riordan gives you a measuring look. “Let’s step over here.” He gives you his suede jacket and he has you sit in his car while he questions you.

You try to stay calm, but you’ve just come face to face with a murderer and lost one of your best friends. And you’re not absolutely sure that Riordan isn’t somehow part of this. You don’t want to think it, but…

You tell him everything that happened. He doesn’t take notes. Why? He just listens to you, nodding slowly to himself. It’s just you and him. No one else can hear your conversation, and that worries you too. Why has he taken you out of earshot of the other crime scene personnel?

Meanwhile, he keeps picking and pulling at your story. “Skull mask? You mean like the mask you saw on the prowler outside your apartment?”

You assent.

“Or do you think you saw something, say a white ski mask, and your mind made the connection?”

“No.”

“You said yourself it all happened pretty fast.”

“I know what I saw. A skull mask. Like you buy at Halloween. The same mask. The same man. Hefty. Your height. Your build.” You can’t control your voice. You start to shake.

Riordan watches you like you’re something unpredictable and dangerous. “Okay. Bring it down a notch, Adrien.”

“See, I have this problem,” you tell him. “There is such an obvious link between everything that has happened that a blind man could see it, but somehow
you
don’t see it. So I am asking myself,
why
don’t you see it? Because you don’t want to? Or because you don’t want anyone else to?”

“Lower your voice.”

You do lower your voice but that’s because you can’t catch your breath. In fact, you’re really in trouble now, and you know it. Your body is bathed in cold sweat. Pain radiates from your shoulder all the way down your left arm. There’s a crushing weight on your chest and you feel a sense of impending doom.

“What’s wrong?” Detective Riordan asks from a long way away. “Adrien?”

“Heart,” you gasp out. “My heart…” You close your eyes. Your voice is thin and faraway and you’re afraid he doesn’t hear you. Or maybe he hears you but he will choose to do nothing about it…

But no.

Next time you open your eyes you’re in a hospital bed. You learn you’ve had a massive heart attack and you’ve lost one-third of your heart’s function, but you’re alive thanks to the quick thinking and quick acting of Detective Riordan. When Riordan realized what was happening to you, he drove you straight to the nearest hospital, sirens screaming, lights flashing.

Er, that would be the car, not Riordan, although according to the nurses, Riordan was pretty damned upset and insistent the doctors save you.

And save you they did. So now you’re busy recovering, which is a slow, painful process. There’s no use denying that you’re frightened. You nearly died and your heart is in bad shape. Thanks to your mother and all her filthy lucre, you’re receiving the best possible treatment, but the prognosis after a massive heart attack is not good.

On the other hand, the fact that you survived at all
is
very good news. So you might as well look on the bright side.

Preoccupied with your own problems, you don’t give a lot of thought to poor Claude’s murder — or even Robert’s. But then one afternoon Detective Riordan shows up. You think at first he’s there to question you yet again, but no. He’s brought you a couple of Mark Cohn CDs and a book on police procedure.

“You don’t look as bad as I expected,” says Riordan, ever the silver-tongued devil. He takes one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs and drags it next to your bed. You’ve just returned from your morning stroll, such as it is, and you’re feeling tuckered out and peevish. Still…you’re kind of glad to see him. More glad than you expected.

“You’re too kind.” You study the book.
Basic Criminal Law: The Constitution, Procedure, and Crimes.
“What’s this for?”

“I read your manuscript. I thought you could use a good resource or two.”

You laugh for the first time in nearly two weeks. He smiles too. A crooked sort of grin.

You say, “I guess I should thank you for saving my life.”

“Not if it hurts that much.”

You pull a face. “Yeah, well, I am grateful. Mostly. Thank you.”

He shrugs. “We’re even. You spared my life, I saved yours.”

“I don’t think I actually spared your life,” you feel obliged to point out.

“I think you probably did,” Riordan says. “Anyway, I’ve been going through your notes on the case —”

“You did
what
?”

He looks uneasy. “Hey. You’re not supposed to get excited.”

“You went through my papers?”

“I did, yeah. And it turns out you’re not just a pretty face.”

“No, I’ve got a useless body too.”

He scowls. “Knock it off. I’ve talked to your doctors. Other than your heart, you’re pretty healthy.”

“Oh! Well, since it’s just my heart!”

“I said knock it off. You’re going to recover from this. And it’s not like your dreams were pinned on becoming a pro athlete. Anyway, since you’re laid up, I thought maybe you could help me out with the case.”

“Help you out?” You repeat doubtfully. You’re still processing the fact that Riordan talked to your doctors and you’re apparently not shuffling off the mortal coil in the immediate future. Everyone has ducked that particular point with you, but maybe Riordan’s job has better prepared him for delivering bad news. Or maybe he really does take the optimistic view. You decide to go with his version of events. What the hell do you have to lose?

“Nothing strenuous,” he says. “But you know a lot of the principals in this case, so I thought maybe I could come by each day and maybe talk the case over with you.”

“Use me as a sounding board?”

“Something like that.”

You think it over. You like the idea. A lot, actually. You like the idea of seeing more of Detective Riordan, you like having something to think about besides your own ill health. And, if someone
was
trying to kill you, you’re in a more vulnerable position than ever, so it’s to your benefit to get this case solved.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll help if I can.”

True to his word, Detective Riordan — you come to know him as Jake — shows up every evening to discuss the ongoing case with you. Even after you’re released from the hospital and staying at your mother’s, he turns up every evening with his case notes.

You usually talk for a few hours, longer than your mother, who plainly fears you’re going to keel over any moment, would like. At first you just talk about the case — argue about the case, mostly — but then you start talking about other things including Riordan’s therapy and your own experiences as a gay man.

You don’t really have a lot in common, although you do laugh a lot and you never seem to run out of things to talk about. You like him. Very much. And he seems to like you. In fact, he starts stopping by on weekends and sometimes you don’t talk about his case at all.

Sometimes you go out for a drive together or a walk in the park.

You continue to recover but the doctors tell you you’re not ever going to be well enough to go back to running the bookstore. No stress, no strain. Your life has to be very different from here on out, and that’s that.

You tell Riordan this, and as you might expect, he’s more bracing rather than sympathetic. “So you’ll focus on your writing career instead, right?”

“I can’t earn a living writing!”

You expect him to say what Lisa always says: you don’t need to earn a living. But he says, “How do you know? You’ve never tried till now.”

So you begin work on your second book.

And then Riordan solves Robert’s murder. It turns out that Bruce Green, the reporter from
Boytimes
, knew Robert in high school and held some kind of a grudge. He also killed Claude because…well, it’s not exactly clear why. Maybe because he was afraid Claude recognized him?

You don’t know, because Riordan stops coming to see you.

Just like that.

Case closed and your usefulness is at an end.

It hurts. But you sort of suspected that was going to happen eventually. Despite all the therapy, Jake Riordan hasn’t worked out that he’s gay yet, and by the time he does work it out, you might not still be around. Or he might not be interested. In fact, he almost certainly won’t be interested in you that way. He’s going to be looking for someone like himself. Some big, robust asshole he can box with and jog with and knock around when they don’t see eye to eye.

You keep working on your second book and the days go by. And then the weeks and then the months.

Your first book is a moderate success and you sell the second book. You begin work on a third book.

And then Mel comes to visit. He’s visiting his parents and learned about your heart attack. Of course this is the very reason he bailed on you; he always knew this day was coming. But he’s very sweet and very attentive and your ego could use a little nurturing. Mel visits a couple of times.

On Mel’s second visit, Jake Riordan shows up unannounced.

Gloria, your mother’s housekeeper, shows him out to the pool area where you and Mel are sunning yourselves in the autumn sunshine.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you had company,” Riordan says. He looks out of place in his suit and tie. Tall, thinner, a little fine drawn. You feel a twinge of anxiety. Is he okay? He looks tired, grim. Are things not going well for him?

You rise from the lounge chair, going to meet him. “It’s just Mel.” You almost hug him, but remember in time that he won’t want that, so you offer your hand.