Chapter Seven
Blair jumped up from his seat, grabbed some napkins from the tray and knelt on the floor to begin clean up.
"Oh, dear, no. You don't need to do that, Dr. Sandburg." Despite her words, Mrs. Jones stayed on her feet. "I'm so sorry, Dr. Hunter." She looked at him, her eyes wide and frightened.
"What is wrong, dear lady?" Hunter smiled at her. Jim believed he was sincere in his concern.
She wrung her hands. "It's just so upsetting. All of it...the awful blackmail, the horrible things they're saying about you - I know you're above it, Dr. Hunter, but I *hate* seeing all those terrible letters you get, telling you that you're evil or prejudiced when if they only *knew* you...I'm sorry. And you're so kind to me, too...hiring me even though I can't use those computers like all the young girls. And now Dr. Sandburg is cleaning up after my mess, too. I'm so sorry." She took hold of a table, as if bracing herself to kneel on the floor. At that point, Blair stood up, holding the shards of china in the napkins in one hand. He put the other on Mrs. Jones' arm.
"It's all right. I've got it. I wouldn't walk around here without shoes until someone gets a chance to vacuum, but I think we're fine. Why don't I take you back to your desk and get you your own coffee? Would that be all right, James? Dr. Hunter?" Blair didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he tucked Mrs. Jones' arm into his and led her out of the office.
Jim watched him leave. When he turned back, he could see Hunter following his partner as well. "Does Blair fascinate you so much?"
Hunter shrugged one shoulder. "In so many ways, yes. He reminds me of myself - full of righteous anger and confusion that the world doesn't run the way I want it to run."
"Is *that* why it bothers you so *much* that he's gay? That he's my lover? Because he reminds you of *yourself*? What *are* you afraid of, doctor dear?" Jim tilted his head.
He only smiled in return. "I'm afraid of many things. Those terrorists, for example. The question is, what is *he* afraid of? If you love him, why isn't he happy?"
"Blair is happy." Even as he said it, he wondered. "This is not relevant to this case, now, *is* it?"
"You brought it up, detective. Still, you are correct. Shall we get back to the note, or should we wait for Dr. Sandburg to reappear?"
Jim could hear Blair making soothing noises, and, judging from the sounds, fixing Mrs. Jones a cup of tea. "He might be a while. Your receptionist seems rather flighty."
"I hired her as an act of charity, but she is an excellent receptionist even if her devotion is a trifle wearing. So...the note."
Jim picked it up again, and read it out loud. "'Tsk, tsk, Dr. Homophobe. We told you not to go to the police. Now look what you went and did. You have a choice. Either recant all the nasty things you've been saying during your radio show or you and your little secret will lead the five o'clock news. And we wouldn't want that, would we?' Interesting that they don't want money."
"I can't think about that right now. I was a fool yesterday. I let my concern for Dr. Sandburg overtake my good sense. That *is* what you want me to say, is it not?"
Jim smiled. "We had a week to find them. Now we're down to hours. I assume you are *not* going to give in to their demands?"
"Don't you want me to? Wouldn't it make *your* life easier if *I* did as they asked?" Hunter smiled back.
Jim sighed. "No. I don't want you to do that. I don't like what you say, but I *do* know you're an honest man. There is *nothing* good about you giving in."
"What about airing my secrets?" Jim could almost see Hunter's blood pressure rise.
"Excuse me." Blair walked in the room, carrying a broom and a long handled dustpan. He began to sweep up the remaining pieces of cup and saucer. "Mrs. Jones refused to relax until she knew every last bit was gone. This was the only way I could stop her from doing it herself." Jim frowned. Blair's movements were odd. Instead of the soft strokes that would have collected the splinters efficiently, he was making hard, short sweeps that would only serve to scratch the polished hardwood floors. His muscles were tense, too. Jim could see how they bunched through Blair's long-sleeved t-shirt. Blair was always tense lately.
Then he noticed something else as Blair walked close to him. There was a familiar scent in the air.
He frowned. Mrs. Jones' perfume was everywhere, distracting him. 'Oh, sweetheart, you are *not* the type for Shalimar...' He tried to filter it out to get to the other scent, but it didn't work. Did she bathe in the stuff? That scent had been on the first note, though, so maybe it was on the second? Blair noticed his frown and put down the broom to move closer, touching his shoulder. The elusive scent was mostly gone, but Blair's touch helped to center him.
He picked up the new note again, as if to examine it. More Shalimar. She must have held it to her bosom. He tried to filter again, but it didn't work.
"Detective Ellison? Is everything all right?"
Jim blinked. "I'm *so* sorry. I was just *thinking.* Who did you say found the note?"
"I did. I was the first one in this morning. I used my handkerchief to pick it up."
"So no one else touched it?"
"No."
"Did you leave your office at any time?"
"Not yet. What is wrong, detective?"
"I'm not sure, yet." Jim put the note down on the desk again. "Do you have a computer? Mrs. Jones said something about not being able to use one."
Hunter shrugged. "She can't - she's afraid of them - but as she types 100 words a minute with no mistakes and takes excellent shorthand, I have no real complaints."
"So you don't have a computer at all?" Blair stared at Hunter in wonder. "Not even for, like, email?" Jim chuckled a little to himself. His partner wouldn't go camping without his computer.
Hunter brushed the hair away from his face. That gesture looked oddly familiar, but the hair was all wrong. "I have a computer." He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a laptop and placed it in front of him, carefully arranging the various cables. "I just don't like it cluttering my desk."
"May I look at it, Dr. Hunter?" Blair walked to Hunter's side.
Hunter frowned, but nodded. He opened the computer. Jim felt his nose twitch. Was there more Shalimar in the air or not? At this point, he couldn't tell.
Before Hunter could turn it on, Blair touched his hand. "It would be better if I did that."
"Be my guest." Hunter stood and gestured to his chair. Blair nodded and sat down. His face lit up and he began wiggling on the leather seat and stroking the padded arms.
"This is some chair. Does it come with a massage unit, too?"
Jim noticed that Hunter's face softened when he smiled, and his eyes danced. There was something there. Just something...
"I'm afraid not, Dr. Sandburg, and I will tell you I was quite disappointed. But you were going to do something with my toy there?"
"Oh, yes. Right." He bounced once more and then turned to the laptop. "I'm going to boot to DOS instead of to Windows, so I can run a couple of diagnostics." He looked at Jim and grinned. "Cassie taught me these."
Jim rolled his eyes. "At least Miss Cassie was good for *something*."
"Excuse me, gentlemen?" Hunter, who was watching Blair typing along, looked up at the two of them.
"Sorry, Dr. Hunter." Jim moved to Blair's other side. "Miss Cassie was a forensic specialist who wanted to be a police officer. Her asthma prevented her."
"Yeah. She was good as a forensics person, and if she'd concentrated on that, she'd have been an asset. Instead, she tried to be a cop and to hit on us." Blair never looked up from the screen.
"Did the young lady have a penchant for lost causes?"
Jim looked across Blair. Hunter's eyes were sparkling again. The man had an actual sense of *humor*. Who knew? "You'd think, wouldn't you? Actually, I was pretty firmly closeted at the time, so people only *suspected* us, and she *never* got a clue." Hunter chuckled.
"Yes!" Both men looked down at Blair, who was pumping his fist in the air. "They worked!"
Jim peered at the screen. "It says here that this computer was last booted at 1700 hours and turned off at 19 hundred hours. When did you leave last night?"
"I left at 4:30. I was home by 5:30, and my housekeeper served me dinner at 6PM on the dot. After that, I watched the news and then read my Bible until I went to sleep at 10PM."
"Was your housekeeper with you at the time?" Jim pulled out a notepad and took down this information.
"She and her husband live in my home. Her husband is my gardener and driver. They are both more friends than servants, and we often spend the evenings together. I can supply you with their names if you wish." Jim nodded, and Hunter complied.
"Where was the computer at the time?"
"Here. In this office. I have a desktop at home if I wish to look in on my email or do some writing, so I have no need to take this with me."
"Were you the last person here?"
"Oh, no. Mrs. Jones always stays late to tidy up. She says she just doesn't trust the building people to do the job right." Blair looked up and exchanged glances with Jim. "Oh, no. She's terrified of computers. Won't go near them. She even leaves the room when I take this out."
Blair shook his head. "Someone was here, Dr. Hunter. And the printer record shows something was done, something extremely short. Like, say...your note. And there is some activity on the telnet...whoever was in here knew computers fairly well, I'd say, judging from the programs used."
"Then Mrs. Jones is completely off the hook." Hunter sounded relieved.
"Is she? How long has she been working for you?" Blair stared into Hunter's eyes.
He frowned. "I've known her sister's family for years. They're members of my church. When her husband passed on four months ago, and I found myself in need of a new receptionist - my old one having decided to stay home with her newborn - her sister convinced me to hire her. I haven't regretted it."
"Four months." Jim thought about that. "And you got your first note when?"
"Yesterday. When I brought it in. Why would she wait that long? And why would that sweet, Christian lady want to blackmail me?" Hunter walked away and began to pace his office. "This does not make sense. What possible motive would she have? She doesn't need money. Her husband left her comfortable. She only works to keep from being lonely. They were never blessed with children."
"She's still a prime suspect now. What is her first name?"
"Iris."
Jim blinked. "Iris? Iris Jones? No, it couldn't be. Iris is..."
"It couldn't be Iris Jones. She's nothing like her. It's just a coincidence, James."
"Who...what do you mean?" Hunter shifted his gaze from Jim to Blair and back again in confusion. "You know someone with the same name as my receptionist?"
The door opened. Mrs. Jones stood there, straight and tall, her eyes and hands steady. Jim looked at her, mentally changing the elegant silver-gray French knot to wild blue curls and the demure long-sleeved jacket dress to jeans and a denim vest. He checked the right wrist - yes, there was just the edge of what he knew to be a blue rose tattoo.
"Iris, *darling*. I should have *known* it was you. You *have* to cut down o the perfume."
"I nearly wet my pants when you and Dr. Blair walked in yesterday." Iris grinned broadly. "I guess the Stepford Secretary bit through you off."
"I do not understand. Who is this person? And why..."
"Iris has been a very bad biker dyke."
"Biker..." Hunter collapsed in Jim's chair. "You've been lying to me all this time. Why?"
"Because my group, PTU - Partners of the Total Universe - believes that you are a hypocrite. We know your secret, Dr. Hunter. We know that you will go to any lengths to hide your shame. Just like those of us who have to be closeted from our friends and family. My sister didn't lie to you. She thinks I am a sweet little old widow. And I am. My partner, Toni, did die four months ago, and we were certainly not blessed with children. Or maybe it's cursed? How do you feel about that, Dr. Hunter?"
"All children are a blessing. No matter what."
"Even your oldest son?" Jones grinned.
"Even he."
"We're going to find out..."
"Iris, before you say anything, I have to tell you a few things." Jim walked around to the front of the desk and leaned back on it, crossing his arms.
"Go ahead, Jimmy boy. Do your job." Iris sat down in Blair's chair, crossed her legs at the ankle and listened to Jim read her rights, replying "yes" every time he asked her if she understood. "Okay. Now I can talk and then Jimmy can take me in with no problems."
"Just tell me why...Miss Jones, I presume."
"It's 'Mrs.' Or 'Ms.' Kept Bobby's name even after I left him for another chick. He was a good guy, and if I'd have been straight, it could have worked. I told you why. You go on the air and talk about Jesus this and Jesus that, and how God hates us gays and you never once say a word about your gay son. So, when Sharon told me you had a job opening, I figured, 'why not?' God, it's going to be a relief to look like *me* again." She looked at her pale pink nails in disgust. "Haven't been able to tune my machine in weeks, just so I don't ruin the damn manicure. But I do type 100 DubyaPeeEmm, and I really don't like computers. That don't mean I don't know how to use them, but hell. It kept you from suspecting me, or it should have, and I didn't have to use them during the day." She shrugged off her jacket, revealing her toned arms and their delicate tattoos.
Hunter closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them and looked at her. "Mrs. Jones. I understand that you don't like me, any more than Detective Ellison or Dr. Sandburg do, and I understand why. I say unpleasant truths, or what *I* believe to be truths, about your lifestyle choice. And, yes, Dr. Sandburg. I'm aware that you don't consider it to be a 'choice.'" Hunter raised his hand to forestall comments. Blair subsided back in Hunter's chair. "Although in your own case...well. Anyway. I understand your animosity towards myself. What do you have against my son?"
Iris blinked. "I don't see what you're getting at." She took the pins out of her hair and let it fall past her shoulders.
"It's very simple." Hunter smiled tightly. "If you reveal that I have a gay son, you will hurt him."
"He's not in any closet, you know. He's one of the biggest drag queens on Stonewall."
"Oh, my *God*!" Jim dropped his notepad. "Your son, Dr. Hunter...is he Adam, junior?"
"Yes. He is my namesake. Although I'm aware of his activities, and name change."
"James? You know who it is? I don't know any Adams..." Blair stared at him.
"Look at Hunter's eyes, sweetheart. He has the same eyes. He brushes back his hair the same way. And think what an Adam would change his name to..."
"Oh, my God. Lady Eve. He's Evie's father. You're Evie's father?" Blair turned to Hunter.
"Yes. My son is gay, and my son wears women's clothing, and he has rejected me and my name. And if he has chosen to do that, I will not go against his choice. Much as I pray it was different."
Blair frowned. "You pray that your son is straight?"
"I pray that my son changes his mind about that, yes. But I also miss him. He came out to me shortly after his mother died, twenty years ago and I haven't seen him since. His choice."
"What was his choice, Dr. Hunter?" Iris uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. "To be gay or be your son?"
"No. He will always be my son. But he chose to not see me until I change my beliefs, and much as I love him, I can't do that. And I know that if *his* secret came out, it might damage him in his own community. Yes, I pray that he choose to lead a normal life. I can't do otherwise. But...I'm worried about him. I pray he is as happy as his lifestyle allows him to be. And I pray that he is healthy. Is he, Detective Ellison? You know him. Is he?"
Jim paused. He chose his words carefully. "She is happy. She's loved and respected on Stonewall Street, and she has quite a family there."
Blair nodded. "He's one of the most important people there. He's an organizer and a leader. You can be proud of him."
"Oh, dear, sweet Lord." Hunter's face became white. "He's...he's sick."
"He's doing all right, sir. The new drugs are working fine."
"My son is sick. He could have...he could have died and we'd never have spoken again." He squeezed his hands together. "You haven't answered my question, Mrs. Jones. Why do you want to hurt my son?"
She bit her lip. "We...we didn't think. I mean, it was a joke, that Adam Hunter's son is a drag queen. It would have been splashed across the news. We didn't think about Evie."
Hunter took a deep breath. "And now it's unavoidable, with this arrest. Is there anyway you can keep this quiet? Not for me. For Adam, junior." He looked at Jim.
Jim shrugged. "I don't know. Even if you don't press charges, it will come out. So to speak."
"You have his phone number." Hunter said it as if it were fact. "Call him for me."
Jim nodded and took out his cellphone.