The Mermaid Murders (The Art of Murder 1)

“Well, that was interesting,” Kennedy said as they walked out the front doors of the station. His tone was sardonic but also weary. They were all exhausted, all depressed over the outcome of the day’s search.

Which made the last half hour all the more surreal.

“Thanks for what you said in there.” Jason’s voice was tight with the effort of not giving in to his own ranting.

Kennedy threw him a look of disbelief. “Believe me, that wasn’t personal. A federal agent under that kind of suspicion? Not acceptable. I can’t get over the fact you didn’t think this was information you needed to share.”

“You already knew I spent summers here as a kid. And the rest of it… I never knew I was a real suspect.”

Kennedy’s expression was disbelieving. “They gave you a lie-detector test.”

“They gave all of us, every boy, every man Honey knew, a lie-detector test. Her father. Her brothers. I’m sure Boxner took a lie-detector test too. Every guy Honey ever dated—not that there were that many—took a polygraph. It never occurred to me I was any more of a suspect than anyone else. I’m not sure I was. That could be Boxner’s take.”

Now, looking back, Jason wondered with a sense of shock whether his parents’ sudden decision to sell their vacation home and never return to Kingsfield had something to do with Jason falling under suspicion.

It was not a thought he liked.

The night air was cool. Moonlight reflected off the hoods and rooftops of the cars still crowding the parking lot. Most of Kingsfield PD would be working through the long night—and more nights to come.

They climbed into the silver sedan. Kennedy started the engine and said, “This is getting messy. I don’t like messy.”

“I’m not compromised,” Jason said. “Gervase said himself I was completely cleared.”

“I don’t like it.”

“You think I like it?” And he was going to like it even less if Kennedy tried to use this as another excuse for getting rid of him.

Kennedy did not put the car into gear. “What about Boxner? What’s the situation between the two of you?”

“There is no situation.”

“West, pull your head out of your easel. Boxner hates your guts. Why?”

“Because I’m gay.”

The silence that followed was as stark as the report of a rifle.

“No.” Kennedy shook his head. “It would have to be more than that.”

That answered one question. Kennedy had already worked out Jason’s sexual orientation. Not that it was a secret, but in the Bureau everybody played it straight. It went with the territory.

“Would it? You didn’t know Boxner when he was a kid. Believe me, if he wasn’t homophobic, he was pretty damned close.”

“Yeah. Well. The adolescent male ego is a fragile and frightened thing.” Kennedy sounded almost philosophical. “I don’t get the feeling Boxner is a homophobe per se. I’ve known guys like him. He probably even regrets some of the shit he pulled as a kid. But not where you’re concerned. His dislike and distrust of you shines like a beacon.”

“Then it has to be because Honey and I were best friends.”

Kennedy sighed. “West, I don’t have time to drag it out of you word by word. Tell me about that summer.”

“Boxner had a crush on Honey. Honey…wasn’t interested.”

After a moment, Kennedy said, “I gather you’re being modest. Continue.”

“We were kids. Honey was sixteen, I was seventeen. We were both lifeguards at Holyoke Pond that summer. And we were involved in the park theater program. I was just stage crew, painting backdrops and props, but Honey acted in the production. We were doing Barefoot in the Park.”

Patiently, Kennedy said, “And where does Boxner fit into all this?”

“He was a friend of Honey’s older brother Dougie. He was just always around.”