Chapter Eighteen

Declan was jarred awake by a loud beeping sound.

"Don't worry," Luke said. "I set my phone alarm so I don't miss roll-call. I've always had this thing about being on time." Luke leapt out of bed, pulled his uniform shirt out of his gym bag and started to put it on.

As Declan watched Luke get dressed, he said, "Were you one of those kids who always wanted to be a cop?"

"Nah."

"Parental pressure?"

"No. My own stupid choice." Luke laughed. "Dad wanted me to follow him into politics. I was an only child, and that's what was expected."

"So. The son of a politician, huh?"

"Not just any politician. Calvin Luther Fraser."

"No way? ‘Old Stetson'—he's your father?" Declan was shocked.

"I never should have told you."

Declan grabbed Luke and pulled him back into bed. "Are you kidding? Points to me. I just slept with the son of, what is it, fourth-generation Conservative Party royalty!" Declan tickled Luke's ribs. Luke giggled like a kid. "You choosing to be a cop… That must have been tough on him. It's the end of a political dynasty. That's got to be a kicker for an old-time right-winger like him," Declan said.

"What's really important to him is that I'm happy. That's what we all want for the people we love, isn't it? To be happy?" Luke asked.

"Not my dad," Declan said.

"He must've been proud of you when you signed up for the force."

Declan frowned. "The words ‘pride' and ‘my dad' don't go together. He basically told me that I'd be joining up right after high school. He thought it'd toughen up his faggot son and I wanted nothing more than to prove that being gay didn't mean I wasn't a man. In training, I pushed myself harder than any of the other cadets. I was the top of my class in everything. Even then, my dad never showed any sign that he was proud of me. I was always a fag to him."

"Did he say that to you?"

"He didn't have to. I could tell." Declan got out of bed, went over to the sink and got himself a drink of water.

Luke sat up on the edge of the bed. "When you got fired—what happened? I asked around but no one would talk about it in detail."

Declan turned around. "After I graduated, I was involved in a domestic dispute call. A guy had beaten up his wife. She was a mess. I flashed back to the fights my folks used to have—not physical, like this one, but just as abusive. I wanted to kill the guy, but my partner could see how it was affecting me and got me out of the way before I did something I'd regret.

"When we got back to the station I went to shower off the stress. There were a bunch of guys in the change room. This one cop, Hays, looked at me and said, ‘I've heard the rumours, and there's no way I'm showerin' with a queer! Use the ladies' showers, you fuckin' little cocksucker.'

"I remember flying across the room. A few swift punches left Hays on the floor with three broken ribs, a fractured jaw and a concussion. I walked away with my dignity and a pink slip. I found out later that my dad had saved me from a criminal assault charge by telling Hays that he would let everyone know that he was beaten up by a fag in a shower room if he dared to talk about the incident again. That was the extent of my dad's loving instinct."

"Wow. That's rough."

Declan moved back to the bed and sat down. "So, Constable Fraser, does your dad know what you like to do in your spare time?"

Luke got up and continued to dress. "Not the particulars. Yes, he knows I'm gay but I'd rather not talk about that right now. Look, I gotta go."

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No. I've got to get to work. See you sometime later today?" Luke asked.

"Sure."

"I'm off at four. I'll text you my address in case you want to drop by."

He gave Declan one more quick kiss, finished getting dressed and headed towards the stairs.

* * * *

Charlie got up early and snuck out to avoid having to deal with the questions his parents would undoubtedly ask him. He arrived outside Gwen's shop and tried the door. Still locked.

Charlie knocked at the window and Gwen appeared. She waved and made her way around the counter to the café door which she unlocked.

"What gets you up so early?" she asked, ushering him in and locking the door behind him.

"I have a baking emergency," he said with enthusiasm.

"Well, we can't have that, can we? What'll it be?"

Charlie's eyes scanned the display case. "I…don't know," he said, dejected. He turned to her. "What does Declan like best?"

"I know just what you need." She went behind the counter and assembled a box, which she started to fill. "Two pains au chocolat—"

"What are those?" Charlie asked, pointing to little pastry balls coated in chocolate, stacked two high, with a little collar of piped cream in-between.

"Those, my hungry little friend, are religieuses—choux buns filled with pastry cream, topped with a chocolate ganache and decorated with a little collar of piped whipped cream. They're supposed to look like little nuns."

"You had me at pastry cream. He likes them?"

"He'll deny it, and he'll curse you for every ounce of weight he puts on, but, yes. He'd choose them over oxygen any day."

Charlie took his box of treats up to the office. When he entered, he noticed that Declan had not armed the security system. He might have forgotten the code. Charlie made a mental note to remind him. He left the pastries on his desk and went into the kitchenette to prepare the morning coffee. Declan would be down in a few minutes.

As he finished pressing the ground espresso beans into the portafilter, the door to Declan's office opened. Through the partially opened kitchenette door, Charlie saw a person. It was not Declan. His first thought was that someone had broken into the office. Then, from the safety of the dimly lit kitchenette he recognised the intruder. It was Luke Fraser. He'd spent the night. Again.

Charlie's heart hit the floor.

"Wait," Declan called out from the inner office. "The alarm'll be on."

Declan ran past Charlie's hiding place. It was the first time Charlie had caught a glimpse of Declan fully naked. He was…glorious. Charlie didn't think his heart could fall any further, yet somehow, it did.

Declan said, "Shit, I forgot to turn this thing on. Charlie'd kill me if he found out."

There was silence. Charlie crept to the crack in the door, and peered through. The two were kissing deeply.

After the kiss finished, Luke turned and left the office. Declan sighed loudly, walked back to his office and went up the stairs to his apartment.

Charlie stood in the dark and started to cry. Pull yourself together, Charlie. Act like a professional.

He made his way to the office washroom where he rinsed his face. In the mirror, he could see that his eyes were bloodshot. He would blame it on allergies.

Just then a large crash rang out through the office. It was leg-day for Declan.

Charlie needed to step out.

He made sure to leave a large note on his desk—one even Declan wouldn't miss.

Gone to Gwen's.

He locked both the office and street doors and re-entered the aromatic refuge of Les Trois Magots.

"Back so soon?" Gwen asked.

"I guess it's hard to stay away, and I forgot to get coffees."

Gwen stared at him.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Charlie shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing."

"Then why are your eyes red?" she said as she came around the corner of the counter.

"Allergies," he said to the floor.

Gwen put her hand under his chin and raised his head until he was looking her in the eyes. "You know, you can always talk to me if you're having problems," she said.

"I'm good."

Gwen patted him on the shoulder. "All right. How about a latte?"

Charlie smiled. "Please. And an Americano for Declan."

"You got it."

He thanked her for the coffees, then left the store, pushing the door open with his back. He was surprised to find an attractive young man trying unsuccessfully to open the street-level office door. The man was well-built and stood a little taller than Charlie. He wore an immaculately tailored light-grey suit and expensive Italian leather shoes.

"May I help you?" Charlie asked.

The man seemed a little flustered. "Uh… do you work here?" he said, pointing to the locked door.

"I most certainly do."

"Are you Declan Hunt?"

Charlie laughed. The young man seemed hurt. His face flushed. "Oh, don't worry. If you saw him you'd understand. Do you have an appointment?"

"No. No I don't. I'm sorry—I knew he wanted to speak to me. I was in the area and thought I could get this over with."

Get it over with?

"Come on up. I'll see if he's free."

Charlie's hands were full. "Would you mind…" Charlie said, handing him one of the coffees. Charlie unlocked the door, opened it and asked the nervous young man to follow. At the top of the stairs, he unlocked the office door and held it open.

"After you," Charlie said, plucking the coffee cup from the fellow's hand as he passed. If he wanted one, he'd have to put up with one that Charlie had made. He might have been young and cute, but that coffee was for Declan.

"So, may I have your name?"

"Michael Taylor."

The name more than rang a bell.

"If you'd please take a seat, I'll be right back." Charlie walked quickly to Declan's office, which was empty. He looked at the green door behind the desk. He walked up to it and knocked.

He opened the door and called up, "Declan? You decent?"

There was no response.

He snuck up the stairs, hoping to catch his boss in a compromising situation. There was no one there…

When the door to the bathroom opened, Charlie jumped. Back-lit by the light pouring from the window stood Declan, just out of the shower. The way he held the towel covered the one thing Charlie wanted to see more of.

"Yes?" the detective asked.

Charlie quickly composed himself. "Sorry to barge in, but Michael Taylor is downstairs and would like to see you."

"Well, this is interesting. I'll be right down." Declan spun around and his towel dropped. Charlie took in the glory of the Greek sculpture that stood before him, sliding into his underwear.

When Charlie left Declan's office, he was certain that Michael would hear his hammering heart. "Mr Hunt will be right with you."

"Thank you."

Charlie watched the man absentmindedly rubbing his index fingers with his thumbs as he stared at the wall ahead of him.

Declan emerged from his office. "Mr Taylor? Thank you for waiting. Please, come and have a seat in my office." Declan indicated the way.

Michael stood, straightened his jacket and headed in. Charlie followed. Declan met him halfway.

"This guy looks pretty tense," Declan whispered. "I think he might be more cooperative if this wasn't two against one."

"Yeah. Something's got him wound up. Oh, I got us some coffees," Charlie said, picking up one of the cups from Gwen's. "Do you want yours now?"

"You are a life-saver…" he said, taking the cup with one hand, and rubbing Charlie's shoulder with the other, "but…" He chewed on his bottom lip, then over his shoulder yelled out, "Michael, would you like a latte?"

"Sure," Michael yelled back.

Declan got a sheepish grin on his face.

"Take it," Charlie said.

"My hero." Declan took the coffees into his office, then closed the door.

* * * *

Michael sat in the chair by the window. He had dark brown hair cut in a low fade, and a strong chin with a cleft. His eyes were grey and capped with thick brows. Declan could see why Katherine would find him attractive. He sensed Michael was nervous. Declan handed him the latte.

"Thanks," Michael said.

"Thank you for coming to meet me. I was going to give you a call and arrange to get together."

"I was coming down into the area so I thought I'd save you the trouble."

"What brings you to this part of town?" Declan asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

"I like to go to Dead Cat Records. It's just around the corner."

"The jazz place?" Declan asked.

"I'm into Ornette Coleman."

"Coleman's great. I'm partial to later stuff by Pharoah Saunders and Charles Mingus."

"Those two are pretty awesome."

Michael changed the subject and shifted in his seat. "Katherine said you wanted to talk. About Ian, and…other stuff."

Declan had a feeling that whatever Michael was about to say would have been rehearsed.

Michael told him the same story of reconnecting with her when he had returned from Europe, being dazzled by her European attitudes, to say nothing of her beauty. He professed his love for her and his lack of concern with regard to their age difference.

When Michael had finished his story, Declan said, "I understand your parents are unaware of this relationship?"

The tone of Michael's voice changed from nervous to one of superiority.

"My parents are blind to anything they don't want to know about. I suspect they've never given it a thought."

"How do you think they'd react if they found out?" Declan asked.

"Who's going to tell them—you?" Michael said.

"No."

"Then the chance of them finding out is virtually nil."

As his arrogance increased, Declan found Michael less and less attractive. "Tell me," Declan asked, redirecting the conversation, "what do you do?"

"Other than listen to jazz music? I'm in graduate studies. Business management with an interest in corporate real estate."

"Not law, like your father?"

"Father made it perfectly clear from an early age that he felt that I wasn't cut out for ‘the law', as he pretentiously calls it."

"But business… Are you cut out for that?"

"I happen to be very good at it," Michael snapped back.

This was the state of mind Declan had hoped for. "So, how did you get interested in business?" Declan asked.

"I took two years off after high school. My parents agreed to let me tour Europe. I met a man—Pierre Lavigne—a vintner. I saw in his eyes the joy of running your own business. After that, I spent my time there travelling and talking to businessmen from every industry—fashion, computers, hospitality, real estate—and the successful ones all had the same look in their eyes. That trip changed my life. I just needed to gain some credibility, hence the degree in business."

Declan nodded. There was passion there—no doubt about it. "Now, if we could talk about the death of Ian Mann."

Michael hesitated. "Okay."

"To clarify," Declan added, "you don't think Ian knew about your affair with Katherine?"

"No. I always felt, when it came to Katherine's personal sex life, Ian didn't care."

"What makes you say that?"

Michael paused, as if to review his mental notes. "He just never seemed to show any jealousy when other men paid attention to Katherine, even when they were younger and far better looking than him."

"Did you ever talk business with Ian?"

"Not really. He may have been a player a while back, but he inherited everything he had. He didn't build his business up from scratch. I saw him as more of a manager, and not really an effective one. Since the crash, he's down to a single property."

Michael stopped talking. Declan wondered if he'd decided that dissing a dead man made him look bad. Then Michael continued. "We did spend a lot of time talking about his hockey team."

"The Axemen."

"Yeah. He loved that team. He felt it made him a real Canadian. He treated it like it was an NHL franchise that he'd bought into, which of course it wasn't," Michael said with a patronising sneer.

"So, did you ever hear of anyone who would want him dead?"

"Ian didn't have an enemy in the world, as far as I knew."

Apparently there was someone.

Declan smiled, then stood.

"Thank you so much for stopping by. I really appreciate it. Can I get your number in case I have any other questions?"

Michael passed him a business card with his name, number and a customised realtor logo, then they shook hands and Michael departed.

Declan stayed in the reception room after Michael had gone. He stood there until the three beeps from the alarm system let him know that Michael had left the building, then turned to Charlie.

"He's hiding something. I can just taste it."

Charlie said, "Did you notice his feet? They looked to be around a size ten."

Declan replied, "It isn't an uncommon shoe size." Declan crossed his arms. "You know what's bothering me? What kind of guy refers to his lover by her full first name?"

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked.

"He always referred to her as Katherine. Never Kath, or Kat, or anything like that. What's he up to? And why did he come here unannounced? He really seemed to want to ensure that his rehearsed story was heard. I'm going out for a minute."

Declan ran down the stairs, turned out onto the street and saw Michael halfway down the block. He rushed after him, hoping he wouldn't be seen, but Michael never looked back. Michael reached for his phone and Declan was close enough to make out his voice.

"Katherine… That went well. I don't think he's as smart as you think. He believed everything I said… Look, I've gotta go. We'll talk more later." He ended the call and put the phone back into his jacket, then took something out of his pants' pocket. As Michael rounded the corner, Declan saw him slide a stick of gum into his mouth then slip the wrapper back into his pocket.