against him. We have the report on his sister's rape and death, and the fact that the man responsible is still missing. We still have not gotten fingerprints or done a criminal background check on the pilot who brought him to the island or on Nelson, who works here as the maintenance person. Nelson is his last name, apparently, but I can't get him to come into the office to –« «What's the pilot's name?» The red pencil was out again.
«I'm not sure,» Susan began. «The company said the usual pilot for that flight was called for medevac, and they had somebody fill in, but the fill-in was either –«
«Oh, come on!» Mulligan slammed his notebook shut. «That is the most basic information gathering. I didn't come out here to do your grunt work. I've been a state trooper for eight years, and I will tell you that this is the worst mess of paperwork and confusion I have ever seen! You've got these gay men here at the time of the murder. One admits he saw the vic just minutes before he found the body. Then there's this suspicious conversation with a stranger in the kitchen. Convenient, ain't it?» He rocked back on the back chair legs again and pointed the red pencil at Susan. «Why are you looking for zebras, when you hear the pounding of hoof beats coming closer? You understand what I'm saying? I wonder if this boy Travis thought through his statement clearly!» «What about the journal?»
Susan was making shushing motions behind Mulligan's back, but Peter ignored her. «Jacob had a journal and it seems to have disappeared. Someone broke into his room to look for it. That suggests that it might be important.» «You ever see this journal yourself?» Peter shook his head. «No, but Travis said –«
«Travis being one of two people in the hotel at the time of the murder. Travis being the person who heard this alleged, strange conversation between the vic and someone else in the kitchen. Travis being the person who found the vic less than five minutes later. So tell me
about this Travis. He's the vet, just got out of the Marine Corps, right? He had combat experience? Did it seem like he was suffering that combat stress?»
Peter set a stack of plates down with a bang. He was starting to really feel afraid now. What had Casper said to Travis, something about military men being presumed to be more violent? This guy looked exactly like the sort of dim-witted functionary who would believe that sort of nonsense.
«If you knew him, Officer Mulligan, you would know it is ridiculous to presume –«
«Would that be knowing him in the biblical sense of the words?» Mulligan smothered a chuckle. «What I know is basic police work. He was here, his statement is questionable, you've got the whole gay thing; that's motive and opportunity.»
«What whole gay thing?» Peter had his hands on his hips, could feel his face flushing.
«Just the usual. Your vic, he was a pretty young boy. One of 'em asks, one of 'em says no. Somebody gets pissed off, tries to force the issue. Violence ensues. That gay thing.»
«There were no signs of a struggle,» Susan reminded him. «No skin under the nails, no defense wounds.»
Mulligan pointed his red pencil at Peter. «You mind stepping out of this room so I can get some work done?» He moved the pencil over and pointed it at Susan. «Now, tell me about Travis.»
It got worse, of course. Mulligan's face was bright pink with glee when he called Peter back into the dining room. «Seems like you forgot to mention you were having some sort of sexual relationship with the vic.»
«His name was Jacob and I think you're calling him the vic over and over to upset me. Why would you do that?»
«I'm just a policeman trying to do basic police work.» He cut his eyes at Susan, then looked back at Peter. «Were you and the vic, excuse me, Jacob, having any sort of disagreement?» «No.» «Then why was he leaving?»
«He was moving to Montreal. I believe he had nonrefundable flight reservations.» Peter sat there woodenly, and watched Mulligan write this down. Did he really believe…?
«And what did your other boyfriend think about this little fling you were having with one of the hotel guests? What is he, like, your steady boyfriend?» «I don't have boyfriends, Officer Mulligan. I only sleep with men, not boys.»
Mulligan sucked on his teeth like somebody had just shoved a lemon up his ass. «Sebastian McCann. Now that is unfuckingbelievable. I saw him on the Iditarod last year, and the Yukon Quest just a couple months ago. I still can't believe he's one of those gay boys. Oh, excuse me. He's not a boy, right. You only sleep with men.»
Peter stared at him, could see a lonely life of barbecue pork rinds and beer and delivery pizza for supper in front of the TV, always wondering why he was sitting there alone. What was wrong with everyone else, that he was there alone? Peter thought that they should all be afraid of him. It was the weak ones, the ones who were sad and not very smart who were the most dangerous, the most likely to attack. «When did you first speak to Sebastian McCann after the murder?»
Peter tried to think, but he couldn't remember. Was it the night of the murder, or the next morning? «I'm not really sure. Maybe in the middle of the night? Susan, can you remember?» Mulligan raised his pencil. «I'm asking you, not her. Did you call him?»
«No, I…» Peter felt a frisson of fear in his stomach. «He was up the Yukon at his fishing camp.» «Did he know about your little boyfriend when he called?» Little boyfriend? Peter stood up. «Susan, are you taping this interview?» «That's standard procedure,» Susan said, agreeably.
«Whoa, whoa.» Mulligan held a meaty hand toward Peter, palm out. «Next you'll be calling a lawyer and then I'll know something's really fishy here.»
«We have an attorney as a guest here, Officer. Maybe it would be a prudent idea to ask him to sit in. I'm feeling uncomfortable with the nature and tone of your questions.»
Officer Mulligan sat back, grinning under that little mustache. «The nature and tone of my questions? Now, what do you mean, exactly?»
«No need to answer. Peter, I think it's my turn.» Sebastian had pushed through the door with Mike, and they both sat down at the table. Mike was wearing a pale blue button-down oxford with a British school tie, very lawyerly.
Mike put on his reading glasses and opened a legal pad, then looked carefully around the table. «Do I have your credentials, Officer? Are we ready?» He pulled out a small tape recorder, set it on the table so it pointed toward Mulligan. «Anytime, Officer Mulligan, is it? Naturally we just want to help law enforcement solve this terrible crime.» * * * * *
Peter retreated to the kitchen, to the comfort of his stove and refrigerator and beautiful clean countertops and copper bowls. He had his favorite copper bowl tucked under his arm when Sebastian came into the kitchen and stopped short. «What's the matter, Peter?» «Nothing, why?» «Are we having meringue?»
«I can make some if you would like, Sebastian,» Peter said, pulling open the refrigerator door. «We've got enough eggs. I didn't know you liked meringues.» He grabbed a couple of cartons, but Sebastian took them out of his hands, put them back in the fridge and closed the door. He tugged the copper bowl out of Peter's hands, then pulled him into his big chest.
«Settle down, Peter. I was making a joke. A food joke, you know? Meringues? The copper bowl?» Peter stared at him, his mind a blank. «What? A food joke?»
Sebastian leaned over and kissed him, his mouth as warm and meltingly sweet as…meringue. «My poor hunny-bunny. You're having a bad time.» Sebastian stroked his head, gave him a little cuddle and scratch behind the ears, and Peter felt so grateful for the attention he wanted to jump up and lick his face, just like one of the dogs, but he couldn't, because the kitchen was rapidly filling up with men. «You asked Mike to help?» He kept his voice pitched low. «Of course I did. You should have, too.»