Dead Speak Page 7

  “He isn’t a dog on a leash.” Tennyson rolled his eyes. “He wants to know why his Mommy and Daddy hate each other now.”

  Ronan had to admit it was a fair question. “Can you ask him what were they like before he got lost?”

  Tennyson rolled his eyes. “Michael is sitting right here. He can hear you.” Ten laughed.

  “Okay, then. Michael, what were your parents like before you went missing?” To be honest, Ronan felt like a complete idiot asking an empty chair a question. It was the reason he’d asked Tennyson the question in the first place.

  “Michael said they laughed a lot and held hands every day.” Tennyson seemingly smiled at the empty chair to his right. “How have your parents gotten along since you went missing?”

  Ronan watching while Tennyson nodded as if he was listening to the answer.

  “He says they used to yell all the time when he first went missing and now they don’t talk at all, and they sleep in different rooms.” Ten wore a sad look on his face, as if Michael’s pain were his own.

  Ronan leaned in closer to Tennyson, his voice pitched low, “As fascinating as this is, Ten, why aren’t you asking him what happened the day he was taken?”

  Tennyson shot Ronan a warning look. “We need to do this Michael’s way or risk him leaving again. He wants to talk about his family, so that’s what we’re talking about.”

  Ronan had to remind himself that they were dealing with a child. Michael was only five years old when he was taken. He had no idea if spirits aged the way a living child would. Maybe there was a way he could ask his questions and still keep Michael talking about what he wanted to talk about. “What were you and your Mommy and Daddy going to do that night, Michael?”

  Tennyson squeezed Ronan’s thigh in what Ronan could only assume was approval.

  “Mommy was making meatloaf since it was mine and Daddy’s favorite Friday supper. We were gonna have Halloween cupcakes me and Mommy made for dessert. Then we were gonna build a Halloween Lego kit and go to a pumpkin patch on Saturday since Daddy didn’t have to go to the hospital.” Tennyson smiled up at Ronan after he recited Michael’s answer.

  Ronan nodded. Those things all matched up with notes in the case file. Both Ross and Jackie Frye had told versions of that same story. “Then you went outside to play with Max?”

  “He’s got his arms folded over his chest and he’s not saying a word, Ronan. Be very careful,” Tennyson warned.

  “Do you know what my most important job is, Michael?” Ronan changed the tone of his voice. It was soft and sweet. He needed the little boy to know he was shooting straight with him.

  “He’s shaking his head no.”

  “Finding you and bringing you home to your Mommy and Daddy, Michael. That’s all I want to do here, buddy, is find you.”

  “Don’t you ever call me buddy! I’m not your buddy!” Tennyson shouted. His tinny voice echoed off the ceiling. “He’s standing on the chair, with his hands fisted on his hips. He’s seriously pissed, Ronan,” Ten added.

  Grabbing his notepad, Ronan jotted that down. It was pretty obvious whoever it was that took the boy had used that moniker to lure him out of the yard. “I’m sorry, Michael. I didn’t mean to say that. It won’t happen again.” Ronan wasn’t quite sure where to go from here. How did one soothe an angry ghost-child?

  “Michael, all Ronan wants to do is help your parents. They miss you so much and just want to find you and bring you home. All we need is a clue of where to start looking. If you had one clue to share with me, we could go out and find you. Maybe then your Mommy and Daddy could start being happy again.”

  Dead silence fell over the room. Ronan’s gaze went back and forth between Tennyson and the empty chair. He knew from his time in homicide that kids were often the hardest witnesses to work with. He didn’t imagine much changed when you were dealing with the spirit of child versus one of flesh and blood.

  “That’s a great clue, Michael. Thank you,” Tennyson enthused. “Ronan and I are going to get right to work with it.”

  “What is it, Ten? What did Michael say?” Ronan felt his heart kick up a notch. This was the moment detectives lived for, getting a lead and being ready to chase it down at a moment’s notice.

  Tennyson’s head hit the table with a loud thump. “Candy. Michael said the word candy.”

  14

  Tennyson

  Hours later, he could still hear Ronan’s outraged bellow ringing in his ears. He hadn’t wanted to tell the detective what Michael had said, knowing full well that Ronan was going to be bullshit. But, the answer was what the answer was, there was nothing Tennyson could do to change what the little boy had said.

  Ronan had grilled him for nearly an hour after Michael had left the room. He’d borrowed from every reserve of patience he had to keep his calm and answer every one of the angry detective’s questions. Even if he was answering them for the fourth or fifth time around.

  When Tennyson had asked Michael for a clue to where the boy’s remains had been hidden, Michael had simply replied “Candy.” He’d known that word was going to mean trouble the second the little boy had uttered it. Ronan hadn’t disappointed in that regard.

  “Hey, you okay?” Carson asked, walking into his living room from the kitchen.

  “Actually, no. I’m not. After listening to Ronan yell and vent for two hours, my nerves are on edge.” If he were the type, Tennyson could use a stiff drink. He’d learned early on though that tequila was the wrong answer to dealing with his anxiety.

  “That’s why I asked Truman to make lasagna and a nice salad for dinner tonight. When you’re stressed out, the best thing for you is a big dinner and Looney Tunes.”

  Tennyson snorted. Nothing made him feel better faster than Roadrunner cartoons. There was something about Wile E. Coyote’s ridiculous antics that always made him laugh and made his anxiety fade away. Truman’s lasagna was a bonus. That man could cook.

  “Do you think he’s going to come to our football party on Sunday?”

  Tennyson groaned. While Truman had been filling Ronan full of the bakery's coffee and Cassie's passionfruit muffins, he'd also dropped an invitation to their Sunday dinner.

  During football season they made gameday foods like wings and grilled pizza. Tennyson always made his famous seven-layer dip, which his friends were crazy about. No doubt Truman had played that up to Ronan.

  "He doesn't look like he misses a meal, so yeah, I think he'll show up." Carson grimaced.

  "I think he'll show up because he wants to see you," Truman said from the doorway. "Dinner's ready."

  Tennyson hauled himself off the couch and took a seat at the table. While he'd been bellyaching over the thought of Ronan invading his personal life, Truman had been putting salad in his bowl and a square of lasagna on his plate. Sadie, Truman’s Yorkshire Terrier, followed after Tennyson.

  "I’m willing to bet he’s as curious about you as we are about him," Carson said. "Especially since he kissed you."

  "He didn't kiss me so much as he angry kissed me." Tennyson rolled his eyes. He really didn't want to get into this now.

  "What's the difference?" Truman shot his husband a confused look. "Did he force you? I mean if he forced you, I'll kick his ass from here to New Hampshire."

  "No, he didn't force me. God knows, I wanted that caveman to kiss me." Tennyson still wanted Ronan to kiss him. It had been all he’d been able to think about while the angry detective had been grilling him back at the shop this afternoon. If Brett hadn’t been in the room with them, he would have kissed the cop just to shut him up.

  "And more besides..." Carson elbowed him.

  "Maybe, but you know I'm not the type to just throw down with someone. Especially since we're going to be working together."

  "Do you think he's any closer to believing in what you do?" Truman asked carefully.

  That was the million dollar question. "There are moments I think yes and then there are moments like in the reading room today when I think he
ll, no."

  "Let's talk about what happened." Carson exchanged a wordless glance with his husband. "I nearly jumped out of my skin when Ronan started to yell."

  "You're not the only one." As much as Tennyson hated to admit it, he'd been frightened that Ronan was going to get violent in that moment.

  "What happened?" Truman asked.

  "Michael was in the room with us. We were talking with him about the day he was taken. Ronan called him buddy and the boy threw a fit. I was trying to calm him back down so he wouldn't leave again and I asked him for a clue that Ronan and I could use to help find him."

  "Did he give you one?" Truman set his chin in the cup of his hand.

  Tennyson nodded. "He said the word ‘candy.’"

  "And that's what made Ronan lose his shit?" Carson looked confused.

  "Yup. Crazy, huh?" Tennyson could still hear Ronan's bellow echoing in his tired brain. He couldn’t imagine Ronan would act that way with a living, breathing child. They would need to have a discussion about that at a later time. He couldn’t treat a child’s spirit like this either.

  "I don't suppose he calmed down enough after his outburst to analyze what that word could possibly mean in terms of helping to find Michael?" Carson reached for his phone.

  Ten shook his head no. "Hell, I've been so shaken up, that I haven't either, aside from thinking that might be how the killer lured him out of the front yard."

  "With candy?" Truman asked.

  "Yeah." It was a cliché, but clichés were clichés for a reason.

  "Well that was all part of the stranger-danger campaign when we were kids. Don't take candy from strangers."

  "What if candy weren't a thing but a person?" Carson asked.

  "It's possible," Tennyson agreed.

  "It could also be a place." Truman's brow furrowed in concentration.

  "What do you mean, a place?"

  "There was a candy factory in Dorchester." Truman reached for his phone. "In the 1960s, I think. It was the largest employer in the area. Made that city a boomtown of sorts. Then it went out of business. Folded under competition from Mars or Reese's..." Truman trailed off while he typed on his iPhone.

  Ten and Carson exchanged curious glances while Truman flipped through screens on his phone.

  "Ah ha!" Truman shouted. "Sweet Betty's on Charles Avenue." He flipped the phone around to show a picture of a brick factory building. "When the plant went out of business, it decimated the local economy, sending Dorchester into a downward slide. The buildings sat unoccupied until the early 1990s when some real estate developer bought them and started renovating them into apartment buildings."

  "Holy shit," Tennyson half-whispered under his breath. "Were they actively renovating this factory in 2010 when Michael went missing?"

  Truman nodded. "Phase five broke ground in June of 2010. They built a playground and poured a concrete foundation for a greenhouse in October of 2010..."

  "Holy shit! I've gotta call Ronan. Maybe Michael gave us a real clue after all."

  15

  Ronan

  After Ronan was done interrogating Tennyson for the day, he’d been surprised to find a voicemail on his phone from Tony Abruzzi inviting him to dinner.

  It had been tough on Ronan after he’d shot and killed Manuel Garcia. During the Internal Affairs investigation, he wasn’t able to have any contact with Tony, who wasn’t just his partner and an eyewitness to the shooting, but who was also his best friend.

  After Ronan had been cleared of all wrongdoing in the Garcia shooting, Tony had been quick to reach out and reestablish their friendship. Only cops who'd ever been through an Internal Affairs investigation knew how lonely being barred from contact with your friends and work family could truly be.

  Ronan had been in rehab while the meat of the investigation had been going on and that's when he'd needed his friends the most. Hours felt like days when all you wanted to do was find the closest bar and drown yourself in single malt scotch.

  Thankfully, Tony's wife, Carlotta, hadn't been barred from speaking with or contacting him during the investigation. She'd been his one lifeline while he'd been in Florida.

  Carlie had sent care packages with his favorite snacks, Cajun nuts, and cards with motivational sentiments or hilarious cartoons featuring T-Rexes with too-short arms. He could honestly say he wouldn't have made it through rehab or the investigation without her support.

  "Ronan!" She pulled him in for a tight hug after opening the front door. "It's so good to see you."

  "You too, Carlie." Ronan hugged her tightly. He knew damn well she was going to hug him for another two or three minutes at least. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he needed the comfort.

  "You about done molesting my wife?" Tony burst out laughing, slapping Ronan on the back.

  "Never!" Ronan laughed along with him. Tony and Carlie were tighter than any couple he knew. He'd once been stupid enough to think he and Josh had been that close, but he'd been wrong. Dead wrong.

  "Hey, man." Ronan hugged Tony once Carlie finally let him go.

  "You brainwashed by that fruitcake psychic yet?" Tony asked.

  The word "fruitcake" brought him up short. It had been one thing for him to refer to Tennyson as a fruitcake in his own mind, but it felt so wrong hearing Tony call him that. "He's a good guy, Tone."

  "Dude, he scams people for a living. How good could he actually be?" Tony led him into the kitchen ushering Ronan to a chair at the table.

  "Come on, Tony. He did find that missing boy a few weeks back." Carlie raised an eyebrow at her husband before setting a couple of sodas on the table. Cream soda for Ronan and a Coke for Tony.

  "Yeah, I'm still not convinced that's all on the up and up." The look on his face said it all.

  Ronan had seen all of Tennyson's pictures of his different trips to Scituate over the last few years. The night they'd been snowed in at his apartment, Ten had shared them with him. His story was legitimate but for some odd reason, he didn't want to share that private moment with his former partner.

  “Come on, Tony. You remember that my Nonna always knew things…” Carlie stood with her hands fisted on her hips.

  Ronan knew better than to contradict Carlie when she stood like that. He offered up a silent prayer that Tony was just as observant as he was.

  “Don’t start with that bullshit, Carlie. You know damn well people were feeding her info so it only looked like she knew shit.”

  “Anthony Francis Abruzzi! You take that back!” Carlie yelled, dropping Ronan a quick wink. “You know that isn’t true. Nonna knew I was pregnant with Vinnie three weeks before I even knew I was pregnant. She knew like the next day.”

  “Lucky guess.” Tony rolled his eyes.

  “Has Tennyson read you yet, Ronan?” Carlie sat down across from Ronan and focused all of her attention on him.

  For the second time in ten minutes, Ronan was hesitant to share details about Ten with his friends. What the hell was wrong with him? “He’s mentioned a couple of things here and there.”

  “What kind of things?” Tony asked, sounding suspicious.

  Ronan knew that tone in Tony’s voice. His former partner had just slipped on his detective’s hat. “He knew the number of the house I grew up in and what my Mom’s name was.”

  Tony snorted. “You had me going there for a second, Ro. I thought you were gonna say he knew real shit about you. Private shit. That stuff’s just public record. Ten minutes on the internet will get anyone those answers.”

  “What else did he know? I can see you’re holding back, Ronan.” Carlie smiled at him encouragingly.

  Again, he was hesitant to say too much. He didn’t like the way Tony was talking about Tennyson without having met him. “He knew what my mother used to call me.”

  “What, Ro? We all call you that.” Tony rolled his eyes.

  “No, not Ro. She called me Ro Your Boat, when I was little.” Ronan carded his hands through his hair. It sent a shiver down his spine to remember the casual
way that nickname had spilled out of Tennyson’s mouth. “No one aside from my mother and me knew that she called me that.”

  “It was a lucky guess.” Tony waived his hand in the air. “Those scammers know how to read people. You’re a gay Irish boy. There’s no one closer to their mothers in the world than gay Irish boys. He saw that in you and just made a lucky guess.” Tony slapped a hand on Ronan’s beefy shoulder. “I gotta hit the head. Carlie, let’s eat when I get back, huh?”

  “I still can’t believe I married that caveman.” She got up from the table and hurried over to the stove, quickly pulling out the steaming casserole dish. “I can tell by the look on your face that you don’t think Tennyson knowing about the nickname was a lucky guess.”

  “It wasn’t.” Ronan was sure of it. “There have been times along the way that I’ve had my doubts in Tennyson’s ability, but he knew that. I’d stake my life on it.”

  “Don’t let Tony’s attitude about all of this deter you from what you believe, Ronan. My husband’s faith in the Catholic Church has always been strong. It’s why we have that statue of the Blessed Mother in our entryway.” She rolled her eyes as if to say the hall was the last place she wanted the statue displayed. “But too much of anything isn’t good. Too much religion, too much pasta, too much booze.” Carlie shrugged.

  Ronan knew Carlie had a point.

  “Like I said earlier, my grandmother saw things. I’ve been with my husband twenty years come Christmas and I’ve never told him Nonna was the one who told me he was the man I’d marry. This is the happiest I’ve seen you since Josh left. I can tell you like this man, Ronan. If you like him, then so do I.” Carlie brought the lasagna pan to the table.

  “I do like him,” Ronan felt the knot in his chest loosen just saying those words out loud.

  “Don’t let Tony talk you out of that either. Hell, if his mother were alive she’d be spraying you with holy water and making an appointment for the priest to come and exorcise the house.”

  “Don’t you talk like that about my mother, Carlotta!” Tony shouted from down the hall.