The Darker Side

What he does bring is his mind. James is a genius in the fullest sense of the word. He graduated high school at fifteen, got a perfect score on his SATs and finished college with a PhD in criminology by the time he was twenty. He joined the FBI at twenty-one, which had been his goal all along.

James had an older sister, Rosa, who was murdered by a serial killer when James was twelve. He decided what his path would be the day they buried her. The fact of this is the only real evidence I have of James's humanity.

In most ways, James and I grate against each other, two positive poles repelling, a zero attractant. There is one exception: he shares the ability I have, to peer into the minds of those who murder for pleasure.

'Because someone's dead and someone with the power to do so has ordered us to deal with it,' I answer him.

He frowns. 'This is out of our jurisdiction. It's not our job to be here.'

I glance at AD Jones. He's glaring at James with a mix of resignation and mild disbelief.

'Stop whining,' Callie tells James, 'or you're not invited to my wedding.'

He sneers. 'Is that supposed to be a threat?'

'I can see how you might not consider it to be one, but'--and at this Callie smiles--'your mother would be very disappointed. We had a wonderful talk on the phone, Damien, and she's looking forward to meeting the people you work with.'

James scowls at her. 'Don't call me that.'

I hide a smile and allow myself some secret satisfaction at Callie's end run around James. I've never met his mother, but I know he visits Rosa's grave with her every year on Rosa's birthday, so in theory they are close.

'You want to brief us here?' Alan asks, cutting through the banter.

'Hold that thought,' AD Jones says. He turns to me. 'Remember what I said. Keep me in the loop.'

'Yes, sir.'

One nod and he walks away without another word.

'We have a car waiting over there,' I say. 'Let's get inside and fire up the heater and then I'll brief you.'

It's a big Crown Vic, a little battered but serviceable. Alan takes the driver's position, with me riding shotgun. James and Callie squeeze into the back.

'Heat, please,' Callie says, rubbing her arms and giving off an overdramatic shiver.

Alan starts the car and puts the heater on high. The big engine rumbles on idle as the heated air blasts out from the vents like wind from the mouth of a cave.

'How's that?' Alan asks.

'Hmmmm,' Callie purrs. 'So much better.'

Alan gestures to me. 'Floor is yours, then.'

WHEN I FINISH TALKING, EVERYONE is silent, thinking. James looks out the window in the back. Callie, next to him, taps her front teeth with a red-painted fingernail.

'Pretty theatrical,' she says after a moment. 'Killing that poor woman mid-flight.'

'A little too theatrical,' Alan replies.

'Yes,' I muse, 'but he pulled it off. He killed her on the plane--'

'Her?' Alan snorts.

I frown. 'Legally, yes. It says 'female' on her driver's license. What's the problem?'

He reaches his hands up, grips the steering wheel on either side, and squeezes, once. Blows air out of his mouth, a noisy sigh.

'Look,' he says, 'I don't like transsexuals. I think it's unnatural.'

He shrugs. 'I can't help it. I dealt with a few tranny murders when I worked in the LAPD, and I did my job and I felt for the families--a person is a person--but it doesn't change the truth. They disgust me on some level. Sometimes it slips out.'

I gape at my friend, shocked. Absolutely, one hundred percent poleaxed. Am I really hearing this from Alan? Outside of an interrogation room, Alan is the calmest, fairest, most tolerant person I know. At least I've always thought so.

'My, my, my, where have those clay feet been hiding?' Callie asks, echoing my own thoughts.

'He's a homophobe,' James says, the venom in his voice surprising me. 'Right? You don't like fags, do you, Alan?'

Alan rotates in his seat so he can look at James. 'I'm not a fan of seeing guys kiss, but no, I'm not a homophobe. I don't care who you screw. There's a big difference between that and cutting off your breasts or chopping off your cock.' He scowls. 'This is my 'thing,'

okay? I'm not saying it's right or that it makes sense, and frankly, I don't want a bunch of crap about it. Elaina's given me a piece of her mind on the subject already, and it just doesn't seem to change. It won't affect how I do my job.'

'Tell us the truth,' Callie says, her voice solicitous. 'Was it a woman you picked up one time? Lots of tongue-kissing and then you reached down and found sticks and berries?'

Alan groans. 'Fuck this. I shouldn't have said anything.'

'You're right,' I say. 'You shouldn't have. If you let that kind of comment slip around the family . . .'

He nods, chastened. 'Yeah. I'm sorry.'

'Not homophobic, huh?' James says.

I glance at him, surprised. His face is angry. He's not letting this go.

'I already said I wasn't.'

'Bullshit.'

Alan looks ready to get angry, but sighs instead.

'Fine. Don't take my word for it. Doesn't make it less true.'

James stares at Alan. He's scowling and shaking. I have no idea what's going on here.

'Really? Then tell me . . .' He stops, hesitating, breathing deeply, in and out. 'Then tell me what you think about this: I'm gay.'

Silence fills the car. I can hear the heater blowing and the sounds of breathing.

'Oh boy,' Callie says. She mimes eating from a bag of popcorn.

'Go on, don't stop now, honey-love.'

For myself, I'm speechless.

James, gay?

It's not the revelation itself that shocks me. It's the fact that he's revealing anything at all. It's just too personal. It would be as disconcerting if James told me what his favorite flavor of ice cream was. I am, on some level, surprised at how well he's managed to hide it. We've dealt with gay victims before. He's never let the slightest hint or opinion slip.

Of course, neither had Alan.

'Why are you telling us this now?' Alan asks.

'I don't know!' James snarls. 'Stop stalling. Answer the fucking question.'

Alan gives James a long once-over. The slightest smile tugs at his lips. 'Then I'd say . . . I still don't like you.'

Callie snorts and begins to giggle. She sounds ridiculous. Some of the anger drains away from James's face. He scrutinizes Alan, looking for deception.

'And that's all you'd have to say?'

'That's it.'

Something happens that rocks me. Alan reaches his arm out over the seat and places a hand on James's shoulder. It's a gentle gesture, full of reassurance. What shocks me though is James's reaction. No twitch or flinch or turning away. I see a hint of something else, a kind of . . . what?

Relief, I realize, amazed. It's relief. What Alan thinks matters to him.

'Really, son,' Alan says again, his voice as gentle as the gesture. The moment hangs. James shrugs off the hand. 'Fine,' he replies. He glares at Callie and me. 'I don't want to hear anything more about it, okay?'

I hold my fingers up in the 'scout's honor' salute. Callie nods, but slides herself across the seat, putting as much space between her and James as possible.