Highway Butcher – Chapter Sixteen

NOT EDITED

Chapter Sixteen

6:33 PM; WEST LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT, PARKING LOT

For the sake of marking it off officially, Bo and David had gone out to Abby Richard’s house as well. Bo had been right. Her place had been cleaned out too. David, of course, hadn’t doubted Bo on that for a single second, but it was still odd to see firsthand. Two victims who had seemingly packed up their things to leave and then been murdered shortly thereafter. Unlike Judy’s place, there had still been a few dishes in the sink, but the closet had been empty, save for the hangers her clothes had once been on.

As he finished up his notes, David glanced over at Bo. Leaned back ever so slightly in the passenger seat, the blonde had finally fallen asleep. Thank God. He wasn’t exactly oblivious to the fact that Bo hadn’t slept since leaving the hospital, despite Bo’s best efforts to convince him otherwise. David hadn’t quite been able to determine if the lack of sleep was insomnia-related or trauma-related. Either way, even if Bo only caught a couple minutes of sleep in the car, it was better than nothing.

Who the hell knew when the last time he had an actual good night’s sleep was. David knew he had slept like absolute shit during the Hangman manhunt. He imagined it hadn’t gotten much better since. Or any better. Truthfully, he was starting to fully understand Bo’s belief that it never would get better, and his ever-growing ability to understand it terrified him.

David let out a slow breath before pushing open the driver’s side door. He slid out of the car and closed the door as quietly as he could. He waited a moment, simply to confirm Bo remained asleep, and then headed up to the station.

Though Jamal’s shift ‘officially’ ended sometime around five most evenings, the man was just about always at the damn station. Especially since the Kathy-Dallas bullshit had gone down. So it didn’t surprise David in the slightest that the man was in his office, Franklin seated in his usual chair against the wall, a book open in his hand. David rapped two knuckles on the open door.

Jamal’s eyes lifted to his face as he closed the folder on his desk. “Quinn. To what I do owe the pleasure?”

David snorted. He wasn’t sure he’d ever held a job for so long in a place where the boss’s utter disdain for him was so obvious. Or where his disdain for the boss was so obvious. David held up the folder in his hand. “The friend gave us a positive ID on the second victim as Judy Crane. Bo and I went to her apartment. Place was clean, fridge was empty, and all of her things were emptied out of the closet and the dresser drawers. She packed up to leave before she died, and our walkthrough of the first victim’s place indicates she did the same.”

Jamal’s brow furrowed for a moment before he held out a hand. “Let me see?” David crossed the room and handed the folder over before lowering himself into one of the chairs in front of Jamal’s desk. “Abby Richards is the first victim, yes?”

“Yeah. Her house wasn’t as empty as Judy’s. Her closet was empty, but there were still dishes in the sink and food in the fridge. Most of her dresser drawers were still full.”

“What does Bo think?”

“You know just as well as I do that he won’t tell me.”

“Is that… because of me?”

For a moment, Jamal almost seemed human. The emotionless mask he usually wore fell, and when his eyes met David’s, they looked human. “No,” David finally said. “Even I can’t blame that one on you. He kind of always kept some things to himself, but I noticed it a lot more after the Kathy-Dallas manhunt started. I, uh… I think it’s because he didn’t know Dallas was Hangman, and if he didn’t know that, he doesn’t know anything. He thinks he should’ve known long before anyone else did.”

“Still?” Jamal asked.

“I don’t think he’ll ever not think that.”

“Mm.” The mask came down over Jamal’s face again, and he looked back at the folder. “You should speak to Miss Crane’s landlord next. If Miss Richards was renting, you should speak to hers as well. See if either of them broke their lease or if their lease recently ended.”

David nodded. “We’re also planning to talk to the people in Judy’s chronic pain support group. It’s possible she would confide things in the people there that she wouldn’t tell her friends outside of the group. They might know why she packed up just about everything. Pretty much all that was left was her furniture and the sheets that were on the bed.”

“Why do you think they packed up?” Jamal asked.

“Right now, honest to God? I think it’s a hell of a coincidence. Nothing Bo has found on Abby’s socials indicate she was a chronic pain patient too, so they weren’t in the same social circle or support group. Judy’s friend didn’t recognized Abby’s name when I asked her about it. I already checked to make sure none of the departments had any open cases filed under either woman, and I didn’t find anything. No documented reports of an abusive ex or family member. No documented requests for a restraining order. No reports of any threatening emails, letters, or phone calls. No reports of a break-in or robbery. If they were both being stalked or threatened to the point that they felt their only option was to pack up and flee, there aren’t any indications of the build-up period to that conclusion. So right now, I think… against all odds, we’re just looking at a giant coincidence.”

“You’re a damn fine detective, Quinn. I don’t tell you that nearly enough these days, but you’re one of my finest.”

David’s brow furrowed for a moment. “Thank you,” he said slowly. “I, umm… Forgive me for asking, umm, but are you drinking again?”

“Run along, David. Go on home. You’re off the clock.”

“Bo’s not the only one worth getting help for, you know. You could benefit from help too. You know there’s no shame in Bo getting help. You have to know there’s no shame in you getting help either.”

“You worry about Bo.” Jamal waved a hand in Frank’s direction. “And he’ll worry about me.”

“With all due respect to Frank, I’m not sure his worrying is nearly enough. Christ, Pitman, look at your life the last few years. You really wanna reflect on the way you treat people you claim to care about and tell me you don’t need help beyond Frank spiking your coffee for you?”

“I no longer participate in any potential drink spiking,” Franklin reminded without looking up from his book.

“You wanna contribute something useful, Frank?” David asked.

Franklin turned the page. “Mister Pitman is aware of my opinions on the matter, and there is nothing further I can offer that he hasn’t already heard from me.”

“David, if there is one thing Bo and I have in common, it’s that if you knew the full extent of what was swimming around in our thoughts—in our minds, in our souls—you would be in utter disbelief that we’re capable of even standing on our own two feet.” Jamal leaned back in his chair, pointing at David before crossing his arms over his chest. “The difference, however, is that I am far beyond saving, helping. Bo is not. There is still something within him that can be helped. We just have to reach it.”

7:15 PM; WEST LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT, PARKING LOT

David had been beyond shocked to find Bo still sleeping in the passenger seat of his car when he came out of the station. After staring at him through the window long enough to confirm he was breathing, David had lifted himself onto the hood of the car and leaned back against the windshield, scared that opening the door again would wake Bo from a much-needed rest. His back and forth with Jamal had gone on for quite some time before David finally decided that trying to talk Jamal fucking Pitman into therapy was a slip and slide straight into an endless pit of excuses. Or maybe they truly were reasons. Maybe Jamal was beyond saving. If even half the rumors about Jamal’s mob connectiosn were true, then Jamal was probably right.

Not that the knowledge, or even the acceptance of it, made it any less irritating. Bo cared deeply for Jamal, and seeing him get help would likely help Bo to an extent. But Jamal was an alcoholic crooked cop who had gone out of his way to mistreat and disrespect Bo after Kathy and Dallas ran off, like it was Bo’s fault one of Jamal’s fucked up little family members ditched him, so he couldn’t really expect Jamal to try something that would actually help Bo.

But the stalker bodyguard pretending not to be a stalker or a bodyguard to ‘befriend’ Bo — that, Jamal could do. Choosing the only ‘bodyguard’ of the bunch that considered Kathy a mother — Jamal could do that.

Actually help? Well, it seemed beyond stupid that David had even considered it a possibility.

He turned his head to the side as the passenger side door opened. “Hey. Sorry, was hoping you’d stay asleep if I didn’t come back in.”

Bo offered a smile before lifting himself onto the hood of the car. “That’s all right. Sleep doesn’t really… happen much, anymore.” He cleared his throat. “Have you been inside?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he say?”

“Just wanted to know what you thought it meant, the apartment being cleaned out.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“The truth. That I didn’t know.”

Bo fiddled with the rubber band on his wrist, twisting it one way and untwisting it the other. It was better than snapping it, if nothing else. David would take whatever little wins Bo would give him. “Was he disappointed?”

“In you? No. He was…” David sighed. “I don’t know.”

“You can tell me. Anything you tell me can’t make me any worse than I am. I don’t think there’s a point any lower for me.”

David tried not to focus on that too much. He much preferred Bo’s honesty about his state of mind compared to his lies, but it didn’t make the pangs of guilt and sadness hurt any less. “He asked if it was because of him, that you didn’t share your thoughts and opinions with me. He seemed… almost human for a moment when he asked if it was his fault.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“That even I couldn’t blame it on him.”

After a moment, Bo nodded. “Thank you. I know you… you don’t like Jamal much.”

“It’s hard to. I don’t know why you do.”

“I… don’t know. Growing up, I would see him around the house sometimes. Early in the morning, late at night. He was usually outside with Dad or inside at the table with Mom, always talking quietly. I don’t think I was supposed to know. It was always before they woke me up or after I went to bed. But… but they seemed to trust him. And if they can trust him… I don’t know, maybe I’m supposed to, as well. And he gave me a job here at West when I was let go following the whole, uh, Mammoth debacle. When I couldn’t handle working at West because of the people, he made sure I got back to my ‘home’ lab. He gave me a million more chances than anyone else ever would have given a child. If it weren’t for Jamal, I… I wouldn’t have a career. Or, I wouldn’t have had one. I wouldn’t have gotten to tag along for interrogations and arrests and do things that your typical sad basement geek doesn’t do. It feels fundamentally wrong to hate him, even after the alcohol-fueled abuse. It’s hard to hate someone who did so much for me, and I don’t know what he did for my parents, but it must have been something big too. And I can’t hate him after that.”

“Have you ever asked them? About Jamal, I mean.”

Bo shook his head. “I’m not sure I want to know. What if I find out they’re in Jamal’s very own witness protection program? Or that they used to work for him? Or still do? What if I find out that the only reason I got into the LAPD and kept getting to come back was because my parents have some kind of dirt on Jamal?” He offered another shake of his head. “No, I’ve never asked. I don’t know that I ever will.”

David would, though. He had no damn problem asking. If Jamal’s precense in Renee and Denzel’s life was because he meddling in it, holding something against them, treating them the way he had treated Bo in recent years, he had every intention of finding out and putting an end to it.

“Are you off the clock for the night?” Bo asked when the silence had drawn out a little too long.

“Yep, totally free. Whatcha need?”

“Would, uh… you be willing to drive me somewhere?”

“Sure. Where to?”

“My house?”

David raised a brow. “Do you need more clothes?”

Bo shook his head. “No, I sold and donated just about everything I didn’t take with me. I just, umm…” He cleared his throat. “When we were at the diner, I saw Jensen outside. My… my kindred spirit? His mom was murdered when he was a child, and he wants me to look at the case. I-I said no, b-but he practically begged for me to be the only other person who cares about his mom, a-and I couldn’t… couldn’t say no again after that. I agreed to meet him at the house to look at the file. I don’t expect to be able to offer any valuable insight, but I might be able to help him feel like his mom matters to someone, and that… is still worth it to me.”

God. How would Bo feel if he found out his kindred spirit was a fucking plant in his life? A plan drawn together by just about every damn person he trusted? The very thought of it made him sick to his stomach.

“Yeah,” David whispered. He cleared his throat and tried again, a little louder, “Yeah. Absolutely. I can take you. Do you want to grab supper on the way? Take something for you to eat? Maybe for him?”

“That’s okay. I’ll have him order something for delivery if he’s hungry.”

David nodded. “Okay. Let’s roll. Yeah?”

Bo offered a smile. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Bo.”

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