“Who are you trying to kid? The FBI’s well staffed.” T.J. took a bite of his burger.
“Domestic issues are taking a backseat to the terrorist units,” Mitch told him. “A lot of the new agents are going that route. The drones like me who handle the routine same old, same old-serial killers, kidnappings, sex crimes-keep getting further and further behind in our work, because God knows there’s no shortage of predators.” He ran a hand through his brown hair, and his eyes darkened. “Honest to God, it’s tough keeping up with them. You put one away in Florida, another one pops up in Wisconsin.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel guilty…” T.J. rubbed the back of his neck.
“Nah. Guilt didn’t work before, it isn’t likely to work now. It’ll take something bigger than that to bring you back,” Mitch said. “So, we’ll move on. Let’s get to the nitty-gritty here. Story time.”
“How ’bout I eat while you tell us what you found out today, then you can eat while I tell you what we did.”
“How come you get to eat first?” Mitch asked T.J.
“Because my story is probably shorter than yours and I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
Lorna sat between Mitch and T.J., poured beer from an ice-cold bottle into a glass, and prepared to take mental notes.
“Okay, here’s what happened. We-Regan and I-started with the New Jersey victim first. Sixteen-year-old boy, Sid Calhoun, went missing…” He turned to Lorna. “Guess how many years ago.”
“Twenty-something,” she replied immediately.
“Damn, you are smart. You ever think about working for the FBI?” Mitch said.
“She owns her own business,” T.J. reminded him. “Why would she want to work for the FBI?”
“Good point.” Mitch nodded. “Anyway, we sat down first with his mother-the father died last year-who basically told us nothing about her son. Oh, sure, he played in the school band, he liked the beach. She showed us his room. The life-sized Saturday Night Fever poster-complete with Travolta, posed in that white suit-still hangs on the wall. The room has been cleaned, but nothing has been moved in all these years. It was pretty creepy, actually.”
“That is really sad,” Lorna said.
“It gets sadder,” Regan told her. “Just as we were leaving, Sid’s older brother, Bob, shows up outside. We introduce ourselves, we chat, he tells us to stick around for a few minutes, Mom is leaving for work, and we can talk.”
“Did Bob have something worthwhile to share?” T.J. asked.
“Did he ever. Seems Sid had known at a very young age that he was more interested in guys than in girls. He apparently tried to come out to his family when he was thirteen, but Mom and Dad wouldn’t hear of it. They told Sid it was just a phase he was going through and he’d grow out of it.”
“Poor Sid.” Lorna put her burger down on her plate.
“Well, poor Sid knew better, and just more or less went with it. Bob said over the next few years, Sid became actively homosexual and sought out relationships. He said that on more than one occasion, he’d had to drive into Philadelphia or Wilmington to pick up his brother, because he’d gotten himself into a jam with someone who turned out to be not so nice.”
“Sounds like Sid wasn’t very discriminate in his choice of partners,” T.J. said.
“I think it was more inexperience than anything else,” Regan told him. “I think he just hadn’t learned how to tell the good guys from the bad guys.”
“So maybe he hooked up with someone who was badder than he’d bargained for,” Lorna thought aloud.
“That’s what Bob thinks,” Mitch agreed. “And in view of what we learned about the other victims, I’d say Bob was right on the money.”
“Are you going to tell us?” T.J. gestured for Mitch to continue.
“Victim number two. Hugh Costello. Newark, Delaware. Age seventeen. Same deal,” Mitch told him. “Only difference was, his parents were more rational. We met with both of them. They’re retired now, living in a small beach community on the Delaware Bay. While they admitted that the gay lifestyle would not have been their first choice for their only son, they tried to be loving and understanding. And you have to give these folks credit, this was before the current openness about homosexuality. I think they tried really hard to be accepting, and twenty-five years ago, that must have had its difficult moments.”
“They obviously loved their son very much,” Lorna observed.
“It was very apparent. But like Sid’s brother, Bob, they worried Hugh would fall into bad company. Apparently, he did,” Mitch told them.
“And neither Bob nor Hugh’s parents had any idea who this bad egg was?” asked T.J.
“None. It sounded to me as if it was a one-night thing, both times. Both times, the guy went to a club and never came home. The only difference is that the Costellos were pretty certain that the club was somewhere outside Wilmington.” Mitch bit off the end of a French fry. “Same with the third victim, Tim Gossette. Disappeared after leaving the house to go to a club around Wilmington.”
“I guess you already know the name of the club,” T.J. said, “given your superb computer skills.”
“Actually, I do. It was called the Purple Pheasant.”
“Was?” T.J. asked.
“It closed about twenty years ago. But with my superb computer skills and my trusty laptop, I was able to find the name of the owner. Who, unfortunately, is not available.” Mitch looked around the table, then asked, “Anyone want to take a guess?”
“Don’t say he disappeared.” Lorna’s jaw dropped.
“About a month before the club closed. Which, incidentally, was the reason it closed down. He simply vanished. According to the newspaper archives I was able to access, the club had been very popular and appeared to be operating in the black. In spite of the fact that it was visited often by the state police and closed down more than once for serving underage boys.”
“So the owner… what was his name?” Lorna asked.
“Lorenzo Blair,” Regan told her.
“So Blair runs this club… which all of the victims so far had frequented. They disappear and are found buried in my woods. Then he goes missing?” Lorna bit her bottom lip. “Do you think he could have been the killer?”
“I think it’s more likely he was one of the victims,” T.J. replied. “No one is going to walk away from a venture that’s making money. You’d sell it, but you wouldn’t just walk away. Maybe we can track down a relative, see if we can get some DNA, perhaps get a match to one of the remains found back there.”
“Already on it.” Mitch smiled. “I have a meeting with his mother next week. First, however, I’ll be meeting with Chief Walker to fill him in. Gotta keep the locals in the loop. Besides, I want to see what he’s found over the past few days. He’s been awfully quiet.”
“Wouldn’t he have told you if another body had been located?” Regan asked.