The Witness Wore a Puppy Tail, chapters 21, 22, and 23 (Patreon)

Twenty-One

Ken woke with a start as a blaring horn startled him out of some dream. His face itched, and he realized he had not laid a sheet down. He probably had the rough texture of the couch cushions tattooed on his face. Great. His arm dangled off the side of the couch, and when Ken moved, his fingers brushed a warm body. Blinking sleep slowly from his eyes, he squinted down to find Robert curled on the floor beside him, his closed eyes appearing over the edge of the blanket.

Ken didn’t remember falling asleep on the couch. He definitely hadn’t gotten himself a blanket, and yet he was now covered. The last thing Ken remembered was sitting in the dark with Robert and staring out the window. Robert must have gotten blankets for both of them, but the blankets were upstairs, which meant that he had climbed the stairs and then chosen to come back and sleep next to Ken rather than collapsing in the big, comfortable bed upstairs.

Ken brushed his finger across Robert’s cheek. Morning stubble rasped against Ken's thumb as he traced Millan's strong jaw. The man wasn't feminine at all with his square face and prominent Adam's apple, and yet Ken would describe him as beautiful. He pulled the blanket down to the shoulder so he could see more of Robert. For a moment, Robert shifted in his sleep, and then he stilled again.

In sleep, Robert had a stillness he never had in life, but Ken imagined that the young man could find it in subbing. Tied to a bed so that his muscles stretched tightly, he wouldn't have to focus that energy that seemed to pour off Robert in erratic waves. Forced to his knees, he wouldn't feel the need to come back with the sharp retort.

Ken slid his fingers through Robert’s short curls. He truly was a beautiful man. In the army, Ken had known plenty of men who had experimented with each other in the dark behind the barracks. One lieutenant with grey eyes had even tempted Ken once, going to his knees and sucking Ken's cock while Ken clung to a chain-link fence to keep his balance. Even though Ken had enjoyed the attention, he'd never even tried to find the man again. It happened. Ken enjoyed it. The end.

But now, stroking Robert's hair, Ken wanted him.

Ken trailed his fingers down Robert's neck. So strong.  Ken groaned as he thought of Robert under him, writhing, begging, desperate. Ken smiled as he thought of Robert as the puppy bounding from one interesting smell to the next. Yeah, Robert fit the bill. But Ken couldn't resist putting himself in that picture, holding the leash, pulling the puppy back when it got too excited. And based off Robert’s teasing, he would not might that leash tightening. 

Everything Robert did... the teasing, the energy, the hidden pain and need for something more... called to Ken like a siren. Of course, if he let down his control right now, if he did what he wanted and pinned Robert to the ground, he'd destroy his case and his career as quickly as the sirens destroyed the men who heard them. So, control.

With one more stroke of a knuckle down that exposed throat, Ken forced himself to push off the blanket. He had a job to do, and right now doing that job meant getting away from Millan before he lost the last remnants of his self-control.

After locking the bathroom door, Ken felt like he had some control over his mutinous feelings. Guilt and lust had tangled together until Ken didn’t know how to feel anything else. But he had to get control. Denying his sexual interest had failed, so maybe it was time to wear himself out sexually. Once in the shower, he stood under the beat of the warm water, and let his eyes fall shut. His mind wove a fantasy. Robert slipped into the room, his eyes mischievous as he slid out of his clothing.

Ken ran the washcloth over his chest, but the ghost of Robert standing by the sink distracted him. Dropping the cloth, Ken let his fingers run over his slicked body while the water drummed against his back. He imagined Robert slipping in behind him, and his cock swelled. Not wanting the fantasy to end too quickly, Ken kept his touch light as he imagined Robert’s fingers moving over his body.

Ken let his fingers dip lower, brushing the shaft of his cock, and now the fantasy shifted. Robert slid to his knees, one hand resting on Ken's hip for balance. Looking up from under his lashes, he managed an expression that promised both submission and devilry. Robert would reach out and run a single finger over Ken's cock while Robert's own cock hung hard and aching between his legs.

“Please,” he would whisper, his eyes sliding down Ken's body until they found Ken's hard cock and remained there. “Please.” Ken stroked Robert’s hair and silently nodded his permission. Eagerly, Robert would take Ken's cock in his mouth.

Grabbing his cock, Ken struggled not to come. He wanted this fantasy to last long enough to dull the sharp edge of need he could feel every time Robert stood too close. His cock throbbed, and Ken held on mercilessly, squeezing the base to force the orgasm back. His fantasy-Robert ran hands up Ken's thighs. Licking his lips, he pleaded with Ken to let him finish this. Ken couldn't resist the expression and he loosened his hold. Turning so that he faced the spray, Ken imagined the warm water was Robert moving closer, teasing with a wicked smile right before swallowing Ken.

Ken pulled on his cock twice and came. Weeks of denial exploded, and Ken grabbed at the handrail as his knees trembled. Panting, Ken slowly reassembled the pieces of his self-control. As soon as the lust faded, guilt set in. Ken understood that Robert’s interest was based off fear, not genuine interest. Their sexuality did not align, so they weren’t even compatible. Sure, they were both bisexual men who gravitated more toward gay sex, but Ken was not in his twenties. His libido had faded to the point that he was ready to label himself an asexual and embrace the purple and black flag. Robert was far to sexual to settle for someone like him, and anything else was fantasy driven by Robert’s inappropriate teasing and need for a protector figure.

If Robert’s father hadn’t pulled such a shitty trick when Robert had been seventeen, Robert probably would have gone running home by now. Finishing his shower as quickly as possible, Ken dressed without opening the door to allow steam to escape. Since his window was painted shut, he couldn’t even open that. By the time he was dressed, he felt like his clothing had been glued to him. He hated Chicago summers.

Ken came out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, and Robert was leaning against the wall, scrubbing his face with a hand and yawning. Guilt stabbed Ken under the ribs, yet he still wanted the man. Ken was pretty sure he was going to hell.

“Hey, you leave any hot water?” Robert asked as he drifted closer to the open door, his eyes not really open.

He doubted he'd left much. “A cold shower will wake you up,” Ken answered. 

“Is that what you took? A cold shower?” Robert asked, and as he passed Ken, he sent his shoulder into Ken's, a little friendly bump men might share on basketball court, but Ken could feel his desire rise like a Phoenix from the ashes of his orgasm.

“You think I need a cold shower?”

“Buddy if you don't, I'm not working it hard enough,” Robert said, the teasing not quite as sharp as yesterday, but definitely back.

“We have a case to work on, unless you've changed your mind about helping.”

“No way,” Robert quickly said, the sleep vanishing from his eyes as he looked up at Ken.

Since Ken was the detective, he felt the need to bring a little cold reality into the situation. “When we take these guys to trial, the defense lawyer is going to ask why I had a lead witness staying at my house.”

“Because you're a bully who threatened to throw me in jail if I slept on the streets,” Robert quickly shot back.

“He's going to ask what our relationship is. He’ll want to know whether we ever had a relationship or are in a relationship as of the time of the trial. Am I inappropriately interested? Maybe. Maybe I am just reacting to your need for…” Ken cut himself off when he spotted the look on Robert’s face. Clearly they were not going to discuss Robert’s mental dysfunction at this time. “But until these guys are not just arrested but convicted, this case is the priority.”

“Oh fuck,” Robert breathed, and he fell back against the wall with a thump. “No, no, no, no, no. Listen, I am not good with self-denial.”

“Until the last conviction comes in, nothing will ever happen.” Ken didn’t add that once the convictions did come in, Robert would feel safe to go back to his own sexual conquests.

Robert groaned. “So, how fast can you guys get those convictions?”

“If they’re under sixteen, their lawyers will try to get them charged in juvenile court.”

“For a murder? No fucking way.” The words burst out of Robert in a blast of self-righteous fury. Ken remembered when he had enough energy to get that angry about the injustice of the world. It was good that someone still held onto his idealism.

“If we’re looking at a ringleader who manipulated the others into this, or if one of the perps is mentally impaired, they could still end up in juvie court, although it’s a long shot. The hearings will slow the process down though. On the other hand, Gary's good... from what I’ve heard from the other detectives, he’s the best at his job. If he has all the evidence in place, he might be able to get a conviction in six to eight months. However, if the suspects have private lawyers who know how to work the system and have clients willing to pay, the case could take two or three years.” Ken had seen any number of criminal defense lawyers that milked families for every dollar. Considering that Robert’s father was a lawyer, he should know how the system worked. If someone had money, the gears ground more slowly and the lawyers got a lot richer. And sometimes the guilty party walked away. This was the reality that had stripped Ken of most of his idealism.

Robert thumped his head against the wall several times. “I'm going to be dead of frustration by then,” Robert said to the ceiling.

“Given your job playing in bondage, I think your frustration level will be just fine.” Ken walked past Robert before he could say something stupid. Guilt and jealousy were not healthy emotions.

Ken was halfway down the steps when Robert shouted down, “Do you really think I’m going to go have sex with the first random guy I pass on the street?”

Ken stopped at the bottom of the stairs and smiled up. “Random? No.” He then headed for the kitchen, the sound of Robert storming down the stairs right behind him.

Robert grabbed Ken’s arm before Ken could reach the coffee. “Just tell me that I'm imagining this whole connection we have, and I'll go out and get myself some therapy and a big, buff client with a penchant for bullying.”

Ken tightened his jaw, fear and anger rising up: fear that the kid would go find someone else, and anger at the idea of someone else touching Robert, tying him down and feeling him writhe helplessly. “Don’t push this.”

“I mean, finding a partner won’t be easy after you staked your claim in those bars. God knows none of the tops in those places would touch me after you practically marked me, but what are we doing here?” Robert sounded emotionless, the teasing of earlier gone.

“I didn’t mean to make your life difficult. I can go back and explain that we aren’t together.”

Robert snorted. “And then you’d get your ass kicked for leading me on, and then they’d get arrested. Can we skip that and have one minute of honest conversation?”

Ken scrubbed his face with his hand. “Neither of us is in a good emotional state to have a conversation.”

Robert poked him in the chest. “Don’t you fucking tell me what my emotional state is. Yes, I’m gutted about Wilson’s death. I’ve had enough therapy to recognize the illogic in my guilt, and I’m working on that. However, none of that changes the fact that I’ve fallen for a man who is strong and ethical and willing to break the rules when he sees they need breaking. I found those qualities pretty sexy before I met you.”

“I’m the one protecting you,” Ken said. “You don’t get… I can’t do this with you.”

“Because you’re protecting me?” Robert sounded angry about that. “Maybe I need protection from the three psychos trying to kill me, but I don’t need you to wrap me in cotton and protect me from my own emotions. Is that what you’re trying to do? Because I am fully capable of making my own decisions.”

“As am I,” Ken shouted back. He took a deep breath and centered himself. “I am not interested in having a relationship with you.” The lie tasted like ashes.

Robert frowned. “Interested. That’s an interesting verb: interested.”

Ken turned back to the coffee maker. He couldn’t handle Robert without large quantities of caffeine—and that was one hell of a huge red warning sign.

“Do you like me?” Robert asked in such a small voice, that Ken dropped the coffee scoop back into the can. 

“Of course I do. You have an idealism that I miss in myself.”

Robert slid between Ken and the counter, and Ken backed away to avoid contact. “That’s better than lusting after me because I look good in a harness and cuffs, although I do look amazing in leather.”

Ken sighed.

“Look, I have way too many people who lust after my kinks and don’t care much about me.”

“Then get another job,” Ken suggested.

“This has nothing to do with my job. Hell, on the job, I set the limits so I do get what I want. I get to play and know someone will force me to be quiet sometimes. I get to lay on the floor and sleep and get petted and praised. But when it’s not about money and about an actual relationship, my kinks don’t really match up well with most of the guys. They think I need to be trained to enjoy being humiliated.” Robert gave a full body shiver.

“No, don’t let someone talk you into believing that line of shit.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Robert’s grimace suggested he had already gone down that path, and now Ken felt a quick flash of homicidal anger. “I can tell you lust after me, but you are way more about protecting me than getting your rocks off.”

“Most detectives would be.”

Robert snorted. “You have more of that idealism left than you think. I’ve met plenty who offered to cancel my prostitution charge if I would actually prostitute myself out to them. Sadly, they don’t even see the irony in that.”

“That’s why you started protesting police violence.”

“Sadly, I hadn’t thought much about police abuse of power until they targeted me. My idealism is limited by the fact that I grew up in a part of the city where cops are Officer Friendly standing on the corner, always quick to say hello. And until I changed zip codes, I didn’t realize how many cops are utter assholes. But I feel like you’re different, or maybe I’m fooling myself and I just need to believe that one good person cares about this case… about me.”

Ken pulled Robert to him, holding him tight and letting his chin rest on the top of Robert's head. At first, Robert stood tense in his arms, shaking slightly, but as Ken just held on, Robert slowly sagged into the embrace, his own hands coming up to Ken's waist.

“I’m a basket case. You’re probably right to avoid me like the plague.” Robert’s words were muffled by Ken's chest. “Just… am I imagining the connection between us?”

Ken knew the smart thing to say, and he said the opposite. “You aren’t imagining it, but I can't let these guys walk.”

“And that means we can’t do anything for months or maybe years?”

“I can’t do something that will hurt the case.”

“And you don't want me to go somewhere else,” Robert added softly.

Ken hesitated. “What I want isn’t important. You need to do what’s right for you, and if you want me to go back to those clubs and make it clear that you’re back on the market, I’ll do that.”

Ken could imagine sitting home, wondering whether Robert had a client, or even worse, a lover that night. Months of legal wrangling and pre-trial hearings would give Robert a chance to go back to his old life, and Ken definitely didn’t fit.

Robert started squirming.

“I haven’t taken a piss yet,” he complained. Ken accepted the excuse and let him go. Hopefully he wouldn’t actually have to tell the men in those clubs that he was alright with them fucking Robert. He wasn’t. He was jealous and angry and feeling more sexual tension than he had in years. He wondered if it counted as asexual if he wanted sex and couldn’t get it or if asexual was reserved for those who abstained by choice.

Ken reached into the refrigerator for the eggs. He just needed to focus on making breakfast and not on the way he could still feel the warmth in where Robert had touched him. A ghost touch still shimmered across his skin as he scrambled his eggs.

Twenty-Two

“Here's the list,” Ken said as he handed over Leif Wilson's bank records, the businesses highlighted in yellow. “What did you get on the phone records?”

Carol leaned back in her chair until her back cracked. “Not much. Or rather, too damn much, but nothing relevant. I’m going to be reading X-rated texts until this time next year.” She used her foot to push her guest chair out. “Sit.”

Ken recognized an order when he heard it, so he took a seat. Considering that she had gotten Gary to sign off on Ken providing protection, he owed her that much. He still didn’t know how she’d done it, but he suspected blackmail had been involved.

“This case is hitting you hard,” she said. If she’d shown one ounce of emotion in that statement, Ken probably would have exploded. Instead he shrugged.

“When the rest of us got our first big case and started seeing shadows and boogey-men behind every corner, we had the advantage of being wrong. It taught us to avoid getting too excitable.”

“You think I’m excitable?” Ken asked incredulously.

“I think you’re carrying your emotions on your sleeve. Mendoza’s death is not your fault. Unless your dog died last night, this case is hitting you far too hard.” She frowned. “Your dog didn’t actually die last night, did it?”

“I don’t have a dog.”

“I’m weirdly relieved. But that means we’re back to you putting too much into this case. You can’t blame yourself for every death or you’re going to eat your gun. I’ve seen too many good officers and detectives end their lives that way.”

“I’m not suicidal,” Ken said. Maybe he had been right after he’d left the service, but he’d dealt with those demons. Brigi didn’t haunt his dreams anymore.

Carol frowned.

Knowing he had to give some explanation—preferably one that didn’t involve his inappropriate lust—he leaned forward. “I fucked this case up. If I had waited until you were involved, until Mendoza had died and this was an actual homicide, we could go to the FBI right now, couldn’t we?”

The frown vanished, but Ken resented the sympathy that took its place. “Maybe,” Carol said. “Maybe not. The higher ups are just like us. They don’t want to trade in more favors than they have to, and they don’t want to look incompetent by having an outside agency come in and tell us we’re jumping at shadows.”

Ken grunted. That was not reassuring.

“In the grand scheme of things, your fuck up is not materially different than the ones made by every other detective in this precinct. Hell, in this city. Rookies get enthusiastic. It’s a rule,” Carol said with a dark laugh. “You just had the bad luck of crying wolf when there was an actual wolf present. I don’t want you to take this case and then assume you’re going to be right every time.”

“What are the odds the brass will let us consult with the FBI?”

She pressed her lips together. “Technically it takes three kills to be a serial killer, but if we had two bodies, we could argue that any number of other assault victims could have been number three.” She lowered her voice. “That would go over better if someone on the outside was agitating for action, and you did not hear that from me.”

“Of course not,” Ken said. Robert might have called her all sorts of names the previous night, but if he’d seen her conspiring to back the commissioner into a corner, he would have given her a big kiss. And then Carol would have decked him.

She studied him, her long fingers tapping on the desk before she pulled out the pencil that held her gray hair back in the world’s messiest bun. Then she tapped it. “You’re taking profiling classes, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I’m six months away from starting my master’s thesis.” Ken planned to work on local law enforcement attitudes toward profiling and how well they understood the tools.

“Are you aiming for the FBI?”

“Maybe I just want to be a better detective. Honestly, I haven’t thought about anything past finishing the thesis.”

Carol gave him a small smile. “The cases we get will be solved by talking to witnesses the vast majority of the time. I can count on one hand the number of times I worked a case where profiling could help identify a suspect.”

“Do you include this case in that number?” Ken asked. 

The pencil stopped tapping for a moment. “Probably,” she admitted. “And that worries me too. You’re a good detective, Ken, but I don’t want you relying on psychological profiles when you would learn more walking down the street and looking around. We had one rookie in here that couldn’t look up from his phone long enough to make eye contact with witnesses because he thought everything could be found on social media. If he had the password to a victim’s social media accounts, he thought he could solve any assault or homicide. Needless to say, the department invited him to work somewhere else.”

“I’m not over-focused,” Ken said. “I did military intelligence. I know what happens when you’re so focused on your equipment that you miss obvious threats twenty feet in front of your face. Profiling is a tool, nothing more.”

“Uh huh. And you’re dragging your ass around here looking like a death row inmate because you don’t feel guilty about your inability to identify the suspects. Got it.”

Ken crossed his arms. “Your sarcasm is turned up a little high.”

“It usually is. However, you almost don’t annoy me, and I don’t want you getting fired for thinking that profiling can solve everything. And if you’re worried that your mistakes are going to cost you a position at the FBI, don’t. If you’re honest about how you screwed up, they’ll know these mistakes normal for a rookie and hire you because of your ability to admit that you fuck up from time to time.”

“I haven’t even thought of the FBI.”

“Uh huh.” Carol narrowed her eyes. “So, tell me, what lead do you want to chase next?”

“With you or on my own?” 

“Oh, I’m going to be spending quality time with Wilson’s dirty, dirty phone. The man knew how to describe a hard on in creative and vivid terms. I’m going to be here a while, and I may have to go to confession after I finish. I’m pretty sure I’m committing venial sins just wondering how certain positions would work. Either Wilson was very flexible or he lied his ass off to the guys he met on Tinder.”

Ken put his hand on the list of businesses where Wilson had used his debit card. “I’d like to visit these places and see if I can’t shake some trees and see if something falls out.”

Carol nodded. “What’s your plan of attack?”

“I’m going to show Wilson’s and Millan’s pictures around and see if someone panics. Several of these businesses are the sort teenagers might hang out: a few fast-food restaurants, a skate park concession stand, a number of stores, and an escape room place. That’s not counting the most adult-oriented purchases he made at places that our suspects aren’t old enough to get into.”

“And Millan? If you’re providing security, shouldn’t you pick him up from the university soon?”

“He’s going to be there for hours, yet. He’s working in the tutoring center today. And I’m planning to do something unforgivable.”

Carol’s look turned thunderous. Ken continued before she could stoke out.

“I’m going to call Sebastian Millan and ask him to put someone on his son’s security. Robert Millan can still sleep at my house, so I can keep him safe at night, but that way he can do his business during the day without us having to worry that his body will end up behind a dumpster.” Technically, Robert should be safe on campus, but Ken didn’t trust campus security to stay alert for the days or weeks it might take to find the suspects, and Ken needed a little space.

“That’s actually a good idea. If that was an option, why was the department paying you to babysit?”

“Because Millan was too panicked to think logically and he has huge issues with his father. He’s going to kill me for this, but I’m hoping his father can hire someone discreet enough to avoid being seen. That’s going to be my next call.”

“Sounds like a good plan. Go forth and conquer,” Carol said with a smile. Ken headed back to his desk. Part of him regretted the need for more distance between himself and Robert, but it was the most practical solution. If Carol could see that he was emotionally losing his equilibrium, then the captain could as well. Ken was on thin enough ice, and he didn’t want his idiot cock losing him this job. He liked being a detective. Usually.

He dialed Sebastian Millan’s number and had to work his way through three secretaries before the man came on the line.

“Detective. Did you have a question about the reading I sent you?” he asked in an amused voice.

“I was calling about your son.”

All humor vanished. “Is Robert okay?”

“Yes, he’s fine. He’s at the university, but I have a favor to ask.”

“Detective, I hate to admit this, but if you can’t get my son to cooperate, I’m not the ally you require.”

“I was actually planning to go behind your son’s back, and I was looking for a co-conspirator.” For a long minute, the phone was silent, and Ken had the pleasure of knowing he’d left a thousand-dollar-an-hour lawyer speechless.

“Excuse me?”

“After your son’s attack, the captain agreed to allow one of us to provide security, but we’re both needed to work new leads and—”

“What? Who attacked my son?” Millan demanded loudly. “When?”

“Two nights ago, three suspects pushed into his apartment and spray painted slurs.”

“I told him to find a better neighborhood. He’ll do anything to spite me. Anything.” The fury in Mr. Millan’s voice caught Ken off guard.

Ken cut Mr. Millan off before he could make any more wrong assumptions. “I doubt his neighborhood had anything to do with the attack. We’re fairly sure it was the same suspects who killed Mendoza.” Again, a long silence followed. “Robert fought them off, but the concern is that his investigation may be close enough to the killers that they may want to silence him.”

Mr. Millan let out an audible breath. “Detective, I need you to start with the last time I saw you and give me the simple facts.” While the man’s voice was low and controlled, he had a slight tremor that made Ken feel guilty.

“I’m sorry to spring this on you. I thought you knew about the attacks.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything.” Mr. Millan’s voice definitely had the sharp edge of fear in it now.

“It was on the news,” Ken said. He then gave Millan the brief rundown on the case, including Hoyt taking charge of the case and the DA’s involvement. When he finished, he wasn’t sure if Mr. Millan was still on the phone. “Sir?”

“Yes. I’m here. I’m just….” His voice shifted to something more professional. “What can I do to help, detective?”

“We have new leads to track down, but I’m supposed to meet Robert at the university at 4:30. I was wondering if you could arrange for some discreet protection. He’ll be at the student tutoring center, and I’m going to suggest he call for a car rather than taking his own vehicle.”

“That gives me a bit over five hours to get someone in place. That’s doable. But detective, I’ve hired private detectives to keep an eye on Robert in the past. For someone with no law enforcement experience, he is very good at spotting them. He is nearly as skilled at evading them.”

Somehow, Ken wasn’t surprised. He didn’t want to lie to Robert, but he could bend the truth a little to help out anyone doing the surveillance work. “I’m going to tell him that I’m trying to arrange some protection, so even if he does spot your guy, he should assume it’s one of ours.”

“Then I’ll make the calls. And detective… thank you for looking out for my son.”

“I respect his determination to protect the community.” That much was the truth, although most of Ken’s feelings had gotten too tangled for him to explain or even understand himself.

“He is a good man,” Millan said. For a few seconds, he sounded exactly like a proud father—like Ken’s father had sounded when Ken had come home and said he was joining the military. Then Mr. Millan sighed. “Too often, people don’t see that because he is skilled at driving people away.”

“I noticed that, too,” Ken said.

Twenty-Three

Ken’s fifth stop was at a grocery store that had been one of Wilson’s favorites, according to his debit card transactions. Something in this store cost $6.19, and Wilson had bought it nearly every day. That sort of habit would make him stand out in someone’s memory, and it would be an ideal place for him to gossip because the staff would know him.

As he walked through the curtain of blowing air, he saw the mandatory sale signs and the flower display. Tired women stood in line, and a baby screamed somewhere in the store. Added to cashiers who either looked ready for social security or who still had acne, and this place looked like every grocery store Ken had ever shopped in.

Ken headed toward the customer service desk, looking for anyone with a tie. Ignoring the two people in line, he flashed his badge at a young woman behind the counter. The girl had been frowning, clearly about to give Ken a piece of her mind about cutting in line, but the badge made her shut her mouth with an audible click.

“I'm looking for the manager.” Ken tilted his badge so that the customer next to him could see it.

“He's not... I mean, we just have the assistant here. I could get the assistant,” the girl said nervously as she picked up the phone.

“Please do,” Ken encouraged her.

“Right, I can do that,” she repeated before she spoke into the phone, paging the assistant manager to the front. “I'm sure he'll be right here,” she said apologetically, as though her failure to make the manager instantly appear would somehow anger Ken. He smiled reassuringly. It terrified him to think he was about this age when he signed up for the Army. No wonder his mother had been far less supportive than his father. She’d wrung her hands and fought back tears. 

“I'll just wait; you can help these people,” Ken finally prompted her. She didn't move for a second, then she turned to the next lady in line. The customers and the girl kept shooting Ken curious looks as he leaned against a tiled pillar to wait. It took several minutes before a middle aged man with a tie tucked into his shirt waded through the customers standing in line.

“Can I help you?” he asked with the worst fake-smile Ken had seen in quite a while.

Ken showed his badge again. “I’m Detective Hoffman. I’m wondering if you could look at a couple of pictures and help me identify someone.”

“That should go through corporate office.” The assistant manager with a name badge that said “Sam” started backing away.

“Sir, this is a murder investigation,” Ken said. 

That stopped him in his tracks. “Murder?” His voice had a quiver.

“Yes, sir. Do you recognize this man?” Ken held out his phone with a picture of Wilson. “He was a regular customer here.”

“He killed someone?” The incredulity in Sam’s voice made it clear he knew Wilson. He might even know who Wilson was likely to gossip with.

“He died last night,” Ken said, leaving the details vague.

“Oh God.” Sam ran his fingers through his short hair and then pulled his tie out from between the third and fourth buttons on his shirt. “He came in here for coffee and a sandwich almost every day.”

“$6.19,” Ken said.

“What? Oh. Yeah. The cost of the lunch. Obviously he didn’t come today. Why would someone kill Leif? He was a nuisance, but he would never hurt anyone? Is this part of that gay bashing killer case?” After Sam asked that, the noise level in the store dropped. Most of the customers might be oblivious, but Ken could tell the employees were interested.

“Where did you hear about a gay bashing case?”

“That’s all Leif talked about in the last two weeks. Three times I had to ask him to keep his voice down because he was upsetting other customers in the deli area. Parents don’t want their kids hearing that sort of crap.”

Ken did a silent cheer in his head. Wilson had been talking here, which was more than he’d gotten at any of the other places he’d checked out so far. “Who was he most likely to talk to?”

Sam’s expression grew more wary. “I don’t know that I should say anything before talking to the corporate lawyer.”

“I’m not arresting anyone. I’m just trying to figure out who knew Mr. Wilson.”

Sam turned and looked down the line of cashiers and baggers. At the far end of the registers, Ken could see the sign for the deli. “There. Carl Weider.” Sam pointed at a gangly-looking bagger. “He’ll know who was closest to Leif.” Like most of the employees, Carl Weider was looking at Ken. Unlike any of the rest of them, he turned and took off running.

With a curse, Ken ran after him, hitting the speed dial for Carol Hoyt as he dodged around a display of macaroni and cheese. 

Weider pushed a woman aside and slammed into a fire exit. When he opened the door, alarms blared. Ignoring the woman, Ken followed Weider into a loading area. Ken spotted Weider’s blue shirt just as he vanished around the wall.

Ken followed, taking the corner so fast that he slammed into a blue dumpster parked just inside the alley. The force made him stumble and he grabbed the edge of the bin before he could slip on the layer of slime in front of the dumpster. “Fuck!”

He brought the phone up to his ear. “Carol?” He wasn’t sure if the call had gone through.

“Report,” she said sharply.

“I think I found a suspect. Carl Weider works at Wilson’s favorite lunch stop. When someone pointed him out as a friend of Wilson, he went running for it. I lost him in the back of Jefferson Neighborhood Market on North Freemont.”

“I have patrol cars on the way.”

“I’ll secure the scene. He was working a station and he hit the emergency latch on a side door, so we should have prints.”

“Excellent,” Carol said in a voice that reminded Ken of Mr. Burns from the Simpsons. “Stay on scene.”

“Got it.” Part of Ken might want to get the kid’s address and chase him down, but he needed to secure that emergency door before someone else touched it. Tucking his phone in his pocket, Ken started running back around to the front. He reached the door about the same time as someone finally turned off the alarm. Assistant Manager Sam was in front with a crowd of customers, soothing one while holding onto a basket full of food that another woman was trying to take to her car.

“I’m late. I need to leave, and this alarm is your fault,” she was saying.

Ken flashed his badge. “Pay for it or leave without,” he ordered her. The woman lost all the color out of her face, and Sam’s expression turned smug. Ken kept right on going into the store, and Sam followed with the woman’s cart.

“No one can be in here until the fire department clears it,” he said apologetically.

“Good, then no one will contaminate my scene,” Ken said. He walked over to where Weider had been working and cursed when he realized his crime scene tape was in his car. “I need you to keep everyone out until I can mark off the areas that cannot be touched.”

“But…” Sam looked around at the abandoned carts and registers. He was not having a good day, but Ken didn’t have time to care.

“And don’t touch anything in his area,” Ken said as he turned to jog out to his car. He had to push through the milling customers, but luckily he had parked illegally at the curb, so it only took him a few seconds to collect the yellow tape from the trunk. When he stood up, one of the cashiers was standing right behind him. She looked like a high school student with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and enough make up that Ken could see the lines on her face.

“That was Carl Weider who went running, wasn’t it?” she asked.

“Police business,” Ken said. 

The girl followed him back into the store. “He’s a loser. He likes to eat lunch with Leif, but then he makes fun of him the second he leaves. I bet he would have hurt Leif if he thought he could get away with it.”

Ken stopped and studied the girl. “What makes you say that?”

She shrugged. “He’s like all the losers. They want someone to make fun of. That’s what makes them losers. And they think being gay makes guys less… I don’t know… manly I guess. We had a transman who worked here, and Carl gave him a lot of shit, too, but never where anyone would hear him. The boy quit because management didn’t want to get involved.”

“Did he talk about hurting anyone?”

“No, but his freaky friend Terry did. Terry Selmer. He’s a psycho. He told me that if we lived in an Arab country, he could rape me and that would make me his wife, but then he insults Muslims. He’s a complete freak. The manager fired him after women complained that he was standing too close and pressing up against them. He claimed those were accidents, but we all knew.”

Ken checked her nametag. “Holly, I have to secure the scene,” he said as he held up the yellow tape, “but can I come back and get a statement from you in a few minutes when the other officers arrive?”

She smiled and practically puffed up. Ken made a mental note to double check her statement. She wanted to get Carl in trouble. Either she was vindictive or she had one hell of a good radar for dangerous men. “I’ll be here,” she promised.

“One quick question,” Ken said. “Did Carl and Terry have any other close friends?”

She didn’t take even one second to think before she said, “Dan Swanson.”

“If you can wait out front, I’ll be right there.” Ken patted her on the shoulder before he hurried over to the bagging station where Weider had been working when the manager pointed him out. Ken could not imagine any reason for a teenager to panic that badly, but he supposed it was possible that the kid had marijuana or drugs on him. Not probable, but possible. His gut screamed that he’d found his killers, but the courts didn’t allow prosecutors to enter a gut feeling as evidence.

Besides, history had recorded any number of innocent men who had been convicted when cops took a gut feeling and bent the evidence to fit the suspect. Ken refused to fall into that trap. He still felt a little bubbly inside. Everything fit.

Ken had barely finished putting up crime scene tape when Carol appeared at the end of the aisle. “I just saved you from fire department pissiness. You parked in a fire zone.”

“Then it’s lucky there’s no fire,” Ken said. “Our suspect hit the bar to get out. The door is heavy enough that it should require enough pressure to get a print to stick.”

“Hopefully,” Carol said. “His age is on our side. Teenagers are oily and not as likely to wash their hands as often as they should. However, don’t pin all your hopes on getting a fingerprint match. There are three suspects, remember.”

“Carl Weider, Terry Selmer and Dan Swanson,” Ken said.

Carol’s eyes got large. “Damn. You work fast. Where did that come from?”

“One of the cashiers tracked me down to tell me how Carl was a homophobe and Terry was a psychopath. She didn’t offer up any particular reason for suspecting Dan, but apparently he likes to hang out with them. I know it’s only a theory, but….”

“It’s a good lead,” Carol said firmly. “We should get Gary in on this before we knock on any suspect doors. The captain is on his way. So where is this witness of yours?”

“I asked her to wait out front while I secured the areas where I saw Weider working.”

Carol smiled at him. “This might turn out to be a very good day.”

 Chapter 24: https://www.patreon.com/posts/witness-wore-24-21260957