With that, she walked away. Tripp stayed. He took a step closer, and every muscle in my body tensed with awareness. It wasn’t a particularly warm day, but suddenly I began to sweat. My heart beat fast, and I had a little trouble breathing. It felt like lust, but then again it might have been fear.
“Can I ask you a question?” I said, my voice wobbly.
“That’s not usually the way we do this, but go ahead.” Tripp looked me right in the eye, and I almost forgot what I wanted to ask him.
“Is there a way to tell if Eddie had sex or was having sex when he died?” If he or his client were into scarfing, I wondered if there was a scientific way to prove it.
Tripp watched me for a moment. I could tell he was trying to figure out why I’d asked that particular question. “I was at the autopsy,” he said. “There wasn’t any semen found on his body. As far as other indicators are concerned...the report’s not complete yet, but the coroner said it can’t be ruled out even though he doesn’t have conclusive evidence.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m not doing you any favors. When you get a lawyer, he’ll be able to get you the autopsy report.”
“I can’t afford a lawyer.”
“The state will provide a lawyer when the time comes.”
“You could at least say if, if the time comes.”
He gave me a sad, disappointed look, then said, “I could say it, sure. But I don’t think there’s any if about it.”
After Tripp walked away, I stood there a minute or two. I couldn’t get over the feeling that coming to the funeral had been a mistake, and not only the funeral. I had the feeling every move I’d made in last few days had been wrong.
I walked slowly back to my car. Before I got there, I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Carlos Maldonado running up to me. His face was red and angry. “Why did you come here? Haven’t you done enough to this poor family?”
Absurdly, I felt shame. As though I’d done the things he was suggesting. I had to defend myself. “I didn’t hurt anyone,” I said.
“You’re not the first killer to tell that lie.”
“You can tell his family that I’m looking for the killer. I’m going to find out who did this.”
He stared at me for a moment, then chuckled. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”
“I’m not kidding. And when I find the killer, you can apologize to me.” His face turned even redder. Pleased with myself, I walked away.
Driving home from the funeral, I realized I’d committed myself to finding the killer. Well, I really didn’t have a choice. Tripp and Hanson weren’t doing anything to find him. I was sort of stuck. I did have an idea about how to do it, and when I got home, I put the plan into action.
Walking into the house, I went straight for the spare room. Eddie’s table was still in there, just where he’d left it. I unzipped the case and took the table out. It was fairly simple to set up. I took it down and set it up again. I did it a few more times until I felt I might look like I knew what I was doing. In the side of the case was a pocket where I remembered Eddie keeping his lotion, his iPod, and the flannel sheet he used to cover the table. I slid my hand into the pocket and found it empty. Nothing was in there. Eddie had probably just thrown his supplies into his overnight bag. It would have been easier. But the police had taken his bag. I’d have to make do.
Then I headed in to my bedroom and took off my clothes. I slipped on my smallest pair of designer briefs and went out to the living room to get my phone. In my bathroom, there’s a large mirror covering the wall above the sink. I hated it and had hoped to replace it with a more modest, less narcissistic, medicine cabinet when I redid the bathroom. That particular afternoon, though, it was very useful. Standing there, I held the phone in front of my face and snapped a photo. Not so hot. I’d exposed too much of my face and wasn’t happy with the way my stomach looked.
I got down on the bathroom floor and did twenty-five sit-ups. Then, tightening my stomach muscles as hard as I could, I centered the phone in front of my face and took another photo. I got one that might work, but I wasn’t completely convinced. I did about a hundred more sit-ups and took another ten photos. I wished again that I had my laptop. There was a rudimentary photography program on it. It would have been nice to adjust the color and up the contrast. But I didn’t have my laptop, so I’d have to deal with what I had. Taking a deep breath, I slipped my briefs off. This would be the difficult part. I needed a picture I could put on the massageformen.com where my cock was a least semi-hard.
Unfortunately, the police had removed not just Jeremy’s box of kink but all the porn from the house. That left me with just my imagination. It had been a long time since I’d masturbated without visual aids. Not that I needed to finish. Not that I needed to get very far along even. But still. I felt like the only porno-deprived fag in Los Angeles County.
Closing my eyes, I began pulling gently on my cock. I started considering what I should think about to make this easier. I’d certainly had a number of sexual adventures recently. I could have recalled any of them. But Eddie was dead and it was too creepy to use him as an imaginary fluffer. The guy at the gym was an ass; thinking about him now might make my dick shrivel.
