04
12:40 AM, January 13, 2010
Outside CSI Building
"Are you trying to piss Mac off or what? Jesus, Flack, what the hell were you-"
Danny ceased this verbal assault the moment he saw Flack's face. His eyes had dark circles beneath them, and his unshaven face looked haggard. Danny shut the car door, sealing them into the unmarked police car together. It reeked of alcohol.
"You can't keep going like this, Don," Danny said quietly.
There was no question of what 'this' meant.
"I'm fine," Flack said, though the lie lacked its usual defensiveness.
"I'll tell Mac that you need a break," Danny offered. "You go home, get some rest."
Flack pulled the car into the street in reply.
"You can't drive like this!" Danny protested in dismay. He hastily fastened his seatbelt.
"I got here, didn't I?" Flack pointed out. "Just tell me the address, all right?"
Danny told him. He settled back in his seat, resigned to praying for their survival. He shut his eyes, trying not to envision the car swerving into an oblivion of twisted metal and fire.
"Was Mac really angry?"
Danny opened one eye to look at him. Flack looked incongruously pleased with himself. Danny was reminded of children that misbehaved to get their father's attention. Was Flack vexing Mac deliberately? To what end? Did he want a repeat of four years ago? The possibility that he did rekindled Danny's encroaching feeling of jealousy.
"Mac was patient," Danny said. "We've all been 'patient' with you, Don. A terrible thing happened to you-"
"Happened to Jess," corrected Flack. "Nothing happened to me, it happened to Angell. I'm fine."
He spat the word bitterly. Danny finally realized why he kept repeating that phrase. It was not only a blatantly untrue denial of his pain, but a lamentation. He was physically fine, and thought he did not deserve to be.
"Don, you've had a really tough time during the last couple years," Danny said slowly. "First your sister, then Jess. We all feel bad for you. But you haven't taken any time off. You haven't mourned. You've been putting off the trauma counseling. It's dangerous, doing your job like this. Everyone's worried about you."
"Yeah?" Flack grinned, the smile so hard that it might have cracked his face. "Well, everyone can stop worrying. I don't die. Naahh. Not Don Flack. Everyone dies around me, but I'm fine. I'm fine, I'm just fucking fine."
He hit the steering wheel with his hands. The car meandered into the next lane, then he brought it back. Fortunately, there was not much traffic at this hour.
"Don, this isn't what Angell would have wanted," Danny told him. "You know that."
"No, I don't know that, and neither do you!" Flack shouted at him. "No one knows what someone would want after they've died, not even the people themselves! You know why? Because no one pictures themselves dead! No one thinks that from one moment to the next, they're gonna be gone! So don't give me that crap about the dead wanting me to go on or stop drinking or whatever! Just don't!"
Danny was startled by the outburst, so much so that he did not dare speak. Flack's eyes were rimmed in red, in hideous contrast to the dark circles around them. The depths of suffering within them made Danny turn away.
The two men fell into a stormy silence. It began to snow outside, soft flakes swirling in the ghostly beams of the street lights. The quiet of the city was disarmingly eerie. So much as New Yorkers bemoaned the constant chaos of their home state, most would admit the perpetual presence of life was a comfort. To see the streets and buildings of man standing so still and empty gave one the impression of the inevitable end of all.
"I'm your friend, Don," Danny finally said. "I don't want you to wreck yourself. Come on, you know how that feels. You went through it with your sister."
Don winced as if he had been struck. His hands gripped the wheel tightly, the knuckles going white. He accelerated, and for a moment, Danny worried that he intended to crash them. Then they approached a red light, and he slowed to a stop.
"That's not fair," Flack said. "That is not fair, Danny."
"Yeah, you know what? It is!" Danny retorted. "It is, because for years we've all listened to you bitch about your irresponsible sister. You didn't like her drinking, you didn't like her taking risks, wrecking her life. And now you're gonna do those same things?"
"Yeah, so I'm a hypocrite. So what?"
"That's the thing, you're not," Danny said. "You're not a hypocrite, and you're not any of the things your sister was. You're a good guy, Don, and her failures had nothing to do with your success. You didn't do anything wrong."
"Then why did I lose Angell?"
Danny stared at him, baffled. "What?"
They were driving again, going slowly as Flack looked out the window for the right building.
"I did nothing to save my sister, and then when Jess was shot, there was nothing I could do," Flack explained. His voice was remote, but his eyes gleamed with bleak emotion. "I heard it happen through my phone, for Christ's sake. I held her in my arms while she bled to death. A life for a life. But it wasn't my life. It was Angell's."
"You think you're being punished?" Danny asked incredulously.
"Yeah, I do," Flack said wearily. "It wasn't enough that I die. I wish it had been. But I had to lose everything, to suffer. My happiness, Danny, that was the price I had to pay for abandoning my sister."
"Don, you can't believe that!"
"I do," Don affirmed. "I'm supposed to suffer, so-" He shrugged listlessly. "-I'll suffer."
They parked, and sat very still for a while. Now that he knew what was motivating Flack's self-destruction, Danny almost wished that he didn't. Throwing oneself into a self-designed purgatory was uncomfortably familiar. They said children paid for the sins of the father, but Danny thought that siblings could make you pay a fair amount of dues, also.
"We're here," Flack said unnecessarily, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Come on."
They exited the car. The snow was coming down in frenzied waves now, powdering the concrete until its flaws were masked. Their footprints lifted the snow off, revealing the pavement's sins once more. The world was so still and silent that one could almost feel the eyes of a deity upon them. Danny glanced dubiously up at the purple, cloud-bloated sky. God. Yes, he believed in God. He believed in a God that watched their actions, judged their choices, and lamented their wicked folly. Normally, this belief was comforting, but tonight it only made Danny shiver. He turned his coat collar up and bowed his head, as if hiding from an unseen eye.
The Upper East Side apartment building was beautiful from the inside out. Danny looked around the foyer in frank appreciation of the details, though he found the overall design a bit fussy. They had to rouse the dozing guard at the front desk to gain access to the elevators. The guard scrutinized their badges, casting a suspicious gaze upon scruffy, swaying Flack. Reluctantly, he handed them visitor keycards to access the elevators.
"I was not expecting this," Danny remarked in the elevator. "This guy's a former gigolo. What gives?"
"Maybe he's got a sugar daddy," yawned Flack. "Who knows? Who cares? As long as he doesn't try to run, he can be as rich as he freaking wants."
Given the late hour, Danny had to agree. They exited the elevator into a lavish hallway. Danny marveled at the quiet. He even paused at a few doors to listen, but heard no evidence of life. The silence combined with the marble inlaid into the floor and part of the wall gave him the feeling that he was inside a very luxe mausoleum.
"Don't bother," Flack said, pulling Danny away from a door by the jacket. "I heard some places like this got renovated to soundproof the apartments. It's a big thing, not hearing anything outside your own little swagged-out fish bowl."
"Swagged-out?"
Flack shrugged one shoulder. "You know what I mean."
They came to Jans's apartment, and Flack knocked. There was no response. Flack knocked louder, irritated.
"NYPD!"
"I thought you said these places were soundproof," Danny smirked.
Flack looked at him, realized the futility of his call, and sighed. He banged on the door incessantly. The pounding made Danny's head begin to do the same.
There was a speaker panel beside the door. A voice came through, sleepy and just as irritable as Flack's. "Yes! What? Who is there?"
Danny pressed the outside 'talk' button and leaned closer to the box. "Robert Jans? We're with the NYPD. We have some questions for you regarding Alan Fraser."
A pause. Then, "Alan? Why? Has something happened to Alan?"
"Mr. Jans, can you open the door please?" Flack interrupted. "This really shouldn't be done through a box in the wall."
The door buzzed, and then swept open. Robert Jans had been obviously handsome in the lock box photo, but his physical presence put the image to shame. He was Flack's height, but his limbs were longer, his body whip-thin. There was a promise of finely sculpted muscle through the blue silk robe he wore, and his sharp collarbone was visible. From here a long, slender neck flowed up into a face that was worthy of fashion magazine spreads. It was difficult to tell if he was more striking than beautiful, or the other way around. His face had not an ounce of excess flesh on it, being all tight, smooth, flawless fair skin spread over razor-edge cheekbones and brazen bone structure. He was all hard angles, save for round, sky blue eyes, and a full, softly curved mouth.
"Please, come inside," he said without preamble.
Once more, Danny was surprised by Jans. His apartment was not decorated in harmony with the building's traditional style. The walls held the same architectural detailing, but they were all painted stark white. The furniture was also classical in silhouette, but covered with fabrics of shocking modern hues: violet, red, peacock blue, and green. Photography prints were hung around the room, black and white nudes with the occasional picture of the city, another combination of hard angles and sensuous curves. Jans turned on a fireplace, where flames leaped above a bed of quartz crystals. In his drunken state, Flack found himself transfixed by the flickering display.
"Please, sit down."
Danny took a seat on the peacock blue sofa, and tugged Flack's sleeve until he joined him. Jans took one of the two violet chairs opposite an incredible coffee table made of layered agate slices inlaid into a silver-painted base with Victorian styling.
"Did something happen to Alan?" Jans asked. His voice was accented, but he spoke clearly. "Is he all right?"
Danny removed a picture from his pocket. "Mr. Jans, is this Alan Fraser?"
Jans looked at the picture. His lips tightened. "Yes, this is Alan. Why? Why does he look like that? Has he been hurt?"
"He's dead," Flack said indelicately. Danny shot him a look, and he added, "Sorry."
"What do you mean? He can't be dead!" Jans exclaimed angrily. "What are you saying? Was there an accident? Is he hurt, or-"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Jans, but Alan was found dead in his apartment last night," Danny told him, trying to make up for Flack's lack of sympathy. "He was murdered."
Jans stared between the two men. "That … That can't be."
"It is," Flack said simply.
"Oh my God." Jans sank back into the chair, like a doll devoid of stuffing. His hand covered his mouth. "Alan. Oh my … Oh my God!"
Jans buried his face in his hands. He was muttering something in another language, crying. Danny and Flack waited patiently, Flack staring into the fireplace blankly. After a few minutes, Jans rose from the chair abruptly. He walked into another room, and they heard water running. When he returned, his face was moist, but his eyes were dry. He fetched a pack of cigarettes from a desk, lit one, and returned to his violet wingback chair. His sky-shade blue eyes were clouded as they looked at Danny and Flack.
"He is dead, in that picture?"
Danny pocketed the photo. It was procedure to make one autopsy picture look as lifelike as possible, so it did not spook witnesses when presented. He always suspected they weren't fooling anyone with these shots, and Jans's reaction confirmed that opinion.
"Yes."
"Murdered?" Jans's voice hitched. He took a drag on his cigarette, exhaling smoke. His slender fingers rubbed his temple, then impatiently pushed his lank blond hair off his forehead. "That makes no sense. Who would want to kill Alan? Everyone who met him, loved him. He was very popular at his precinct."
"You can't think of any enemies he had made?" Danny asked. "Anyone that might want to hurt him?"
"He was police, I'm sure he had arrested some people that would want revenge," Jans said. He shook his head. "But I don't know who they are. When he came here to be with me, he didn't talk about work at all. When we were together … it was … it was an escape, you know?"
Jans wiped his eyes, sniffed. He waved smoke away from around his head, before taking another drag and blowing out more.
"What about your relationship?" Flack asked. "Was there anyone you know of that was offended by it?"
"No," Jans said, frowning deeply. "Why would you ask that?"
"It's possible that it was a hate crime," Flack said. "Do you know anyone that has acted specifically homophobic towards you or Fraser?"
"No one knew about Alan," Jans said. "We were very careful and very discreet. He was very- Not ashamed, you know? But he was afraid."
Jans gave Flack a pointed look. "He was afraid of how his fellow police would see him. He knew they would insult him."
"But someone had to know," Danny said. "You can't hide everything, not in this city."
"When he came here, he used a false name," Jans said. "He wore different clothing. He was disguised, always. We never went to his apartment. I have never even set foot on his street. He even dated girls sometimes."
"And you had no problem with that?" Flack inquired.
"No," Jans said. He flicked ashes into a curved glass ashtray on a table between the two violet chairs. "I understood why he had to hide himself. People can be cruel. I deal with cruelty by kicking it in the ass. Alan was just not so confrontational. That's why I don't know why anyone would murder him."
Flack leaned back in the sofa, writing his notes. "Do you have any enemies?"
"No."
"Not one?" Flack asked, lifting his head from his notes. "Even after kicking cruelty in the ass for so long?"
Jans's eyes narrowed. "I've had feuds and fights, but nothing serious. Besides, I've stopped all that, after meeting Alan. There is no grudge anyone has that would lead them to Alan, definitely not to murdering him."
"What about anyone you met in your former profession?" Danny asked. He glanced around the apartment. "Is it so former?"
"You mean, whoring?" Jans asked bluntly. He inhaled cigarette smoke. "I did not whore to get this apartment. My family is in Denmark. They send me money. They always have."
"Then why sell yourself?"
"It was never for the money," Jans explained. "It was for the sex, and the danger. There is something … appealing. About being a valuable commodity, you know?"
"No, I don't know," Danny said flatly.
"Well to everyone their own pleasure," Jans said nonchalantly. "Are you finished, detectives? I would like to … I would like to see Alan. Now."
"His parents are flying in to identify the body," Danny said. "Once they have, we'll call you. You can come down and pay your respects."
Without asking, Jans reached across the coffee table and snatched Flack's notepad and pen from him. Flack squawked a protest, but Danny barred him from standing up. Jans scribbled something on the page, and then tossed notepad and pen onto the coffee table.
"Call my cell, my direct line is private," Jans said. "If you need anything at all, please, do call me. I need to see who has done this. I need to know why anyone would do something so evil."
The three men stood. Flack retrieved his notepad and pen.
"Oh, one more thing, Mr. Jans."
Two pairs of blue eyes lit on Danny with impatience. He ignored Flack and Jans both. He brought out another picture and showed it to Jans.
"Do you own a set of restraints like these?" Danny asked. "They yours? Or Fraser's?"
"No, no, Alan wasn't into any of that," Jans said, chuckling affectionately. "But hold on. May I?"
Danny handed him the picture. Jans held it close to his eyes, squinting at it. He tapped a spot.
"There, this logo, I know this brand." He handed the picture back to Danny, pointing the spot out to him. "These are custom luxury products manufactured by Gilded Glove, hence the 'GG' logo. Many people order their goods, but I do know that the club I used to work for only uses their products."
"And what club was that?" Danny asked.
"Eden of Desires," Jans said. He gave them the address. "But … I had no trouble with anyone there. I quit my job there, and who cares? They pay very well. They always have someone wanting to work there. It can't be connected to Alan's death."
"Well, if these restraints are theirs, then it is," Danny said. He took Jans's hand and shook it. "We'll be in touch, Mr. Jans."
"Yes. Thank you, detective."
"What did you think?"
Danny considered as they made their way back to the elevator.
"He looked pretty shaken up by the news," Danny said. "He calmed down quickly and was comfortable being interviewed, but that could be because he's had run-ins with the law before. Probably popped a pill in the bathroom, too. You see his pupils?"
"Yeah."
"But he still looked broken up, even when he had calmed down," Danny said. "We'll have to check out some things, like his parents sending him this kind of cash from Denmark. What he said about Fraser being closeted seemed legit, in line with his apartment and his friends not having a clue that he was gay."
"I don't trust him," Flack said. "Nothing about it makes any sense. Fraser was private and a simple, good guy. Jans flaunts his lifestyle, he's got that 'don't give a shit' Euro trash attitude. Guy's a study in contradiction," Flack said. "He's rich, but he whores himself out. He's out of the closet, but he dates a guy that's borderline paranoid about anyone finding out he's gay. He breaks the law, then falls in love with a cop. He admits to fighting with people, but says he has no enemies."
"Yeah, but different kinds of people can fall in love," Danny said. "Even total opposites. Maybe he compromised a little for Fraser, and Fraser compromised a little for him."
"Yeah, and how well does that ever work out?"
Danny scowled. "That's low."
"What?"
They entered the elevator and Danny punched the button.
"Oh, you thought I meant you and Mac?" Flack asked. "I wasn't talking about you guys!"
"Forget it."
Danny's hands were shoved into his coat pockets, and he was glaring at the floor. He was normally good at disconnecting from crimes emotionally, but this one had found him on a vulnerable night. Everywhere he turned in the case, he saw similarities to his relationship with Mac. At the same time, he resented the case itself. It was unfair, he knew, but he wanted to close it so that he could get back to resolving things with Mac. It had been almost a year since they had discussed the possibility of giving it another go. Danny had not realized until yesterday how much he had been longing for the chance.
"We going to check out this club?"
"Yeah, I guess so," Danny said. "Might as well. But after this, I'm done. I need some sleep. So do you."
"I need another drink, is what I need."
Danny bristled, but he was too exhausted to fight. If it came to it, he would let Mac deal with the defiant detective. He didn't like Mac paying attention to Don, but he knew no one else could handle him quite as well as Mac could.
No one handles anything as well as Mac does, Danny reflected. But he can't handle himself. Don't get me wrong, he's perfect on the surface: strong, reliable, professional. But he can't deal with his feelings. Inconvenience, that's it. He puts anything inconvenient into a safe, locks it, throws the key away, and buries it six feet under. Even if those secrets burrow into his heart and poison it like a cancer.
But I saw it in his eyes before I came out here with Flack. Behind the injured pride and the anger. I saw what he was trying to hide. And if he's as desperate to be with me as I am to be with him, then maybe there's a chance. "Don't Ask, Don't Tell Taylor". Who knows? Maybe if I ask hard enough, he'll tell me. I'd give anything to hear him tell me he loves me again.
1:20 AM, January 13, 2010
Eden of Desires Pleasure Club, Manhattan, New York
"Hey, I know this place!"
Danny swung around on the street in surprise. He looked from Flack, who was grinning, back to the club. Perhaps Mac's discipline four years ago had had more of an impression on Flack than he had thought.
"Yeah?" Danny asked. "You, uh, use this place often, then?"
"What? No!" Flack exclaimed. His cheeks reddened, not only from the cold. "No, I busted this place when they opened up, back when I was working Vice. Guess they got their legal ducks in a row by now. How about that?"
Flack took the lead, striding up to the place. Danny followed. He glanced at the hours, and was relieved that the club did business until 3:00 AM. He had a feeling that a high-end sex club like this might also allow after hours appointments for its jet-setting, corporation-running clientèle.
Inside, they were greeted by a chic ultra-modern lobby. It was monochromatic, with vivid color photography depicting tastefully sensual nudes. Each picture was themed after a fetish, glorifying a body part, a position, or a suggestion of violence or bondage. As with the luxury apartment building, the elevators were locked down; there were keycard slots beside them. After badge-flashing and some choice tough words from Flack, the receptionist sent for the club's manager.
This person turned out to be a wiry little man with brown hair. He wore skinny jeans, a black and white graphic tee, and a charcoal cardigan sweater, and had a hip painter's brush mustache. Upon seeing Flack, he whirled around on his heels, clenched his fists, and then whirled back. Flack's grin widened further.
"Miss me?"
"You get out of my club!" the man snapped peevishly. "Get out! We have licenses! We were never doing anything illegal in the first place! I told you, we provide adult services for adult customers!"
"Adult customers that might provide a little adult murder now and then?"
The man blanched. "What are you talking about? What murder? No one's been murdered!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, enough," Danny interrupted. "Both of you. Can I get a name?"
"And here I thought we knew each other so well," Flack said. Danny shot him an evil look, and he shut his mouth, though only to suppress laughter. The path of drunkenness had led him into the land of hilarity by now.
"My name is Edmund Ragno," the manager introduced himself, still glaring at Flack. "I am the manager and part owner of the Eden of Desires Pleasure Club."
"Pleasure Club," Danny echoed doubtfully.
"Yes." Ragno crossed his arms defensively, lifting his mousy little face. "We do not sell cheap sex and bathroom blow jobs, officers. We provide provocative services of the highest quality to those who have fine taste in fantasy. We are the connoisseurs of-"
"Of the sex trade," Flack chimed in.
"-of adult entertainment," Ragno finished, glowering up at Flack. "We are a perfectly legal operation. Now what are you talkin' about, murder? What murder? Who's dead?"
"Hey, we're askin' the questions here, Ragno," Flack said. "You remember how this goes, don't you?"
Ragno puffed up even further, but said nothing. His thin lips turned down beneath his wiry mustache, and his lively hazel eyes narrowed.
"All right," Danny said. "Now, Mr. Ragno, do you recognize these?"
He handed Ragno the picture of the restraints. Ragno whipped out small round wire-frame glasses and set them pertly on his nose. He squinted through these at the picture. It did not take him long to nod in recognition.
"Yes, these are from the club," he said, handing the picture back to Danny. "You see the vine etching in the metalwork? We paid to have that design made exclusively for Eden of Desires."
"Glad you're so proud," Danny said dryly. "You're gonna love the publicity you get after it's announced that your exclusive bondage gear was found at a crime scene."
"Oh, I knew I should have reported it," groaned Ragno, rubbing his face in aggravation. "Goddamn it all to hell. Is this place ever going to be rid of misfortune?"
"Should have reported what?"
"We were robbed," Ragno sighed. "All restraints like these, about seven pairs."
"So why didn't you report it?" Flack asked accusingly.
"You think anyone would take it seriously?" Ragno shot back. "Would you take it seriously, Detective Flack?"
"No," Flack laughed outright. "No, it'd be laughed out of the precinct."
"Flack!" Danny exclaimed. "What the hell?"
"Sorry. I'm sorry." Flack sauntered away, though she went on, "Stolen bondage crap. Oh Jesus. Ha ha ha!"
While Flack busied himself staring openly at the erotic art, Danny took Ragno aside. Ragno's hostility waned. He looked Danny up and down in frank appraisal.
"You're cute," Ragno remarked. "You have real urban appeal. I know a few guys that would love to have you sub for them. Interested?"
Danny's eyes widened. "No."
"Sure? One night here will earn you at least double your monthly paycheck," Ragno told him. "What's it to you? A few nights on your stomach, maybe some bruises-"
"Right, right, right, I'll think about it," Danny said cynically. "Look, Ragno, so someone stole seven sets of restraints from your club. Is that right?"
"Yes."
"And when was this?"
"Let's see, ahh … about three weeks ago," Ragno said. "The end of December. This place is a mess after the holiday rush, and we had just gotten a new shipment of gear for the January rush. Security might not have been as, well, secure as is usual. We were also rebooting the security systems, so cameras were down. Like I said, it was a mess."
"So, you've got no suspects, nothing?"
"No, nothing," Ragno said miserably. "Like I said, we get a lot of clients at the end of December, holiday blues and all that. It's the best we can do just to keep everything cleaned."
"So, your thief, he must have had knowledge of the way things work around here," Danny said. "He would have to know about the holiday rush, and the security system reboot."
"Could be someone working here, if that's what you mean," Ragno said. "I don't know how that would help you, though. We have twenty permanent entertainers, one hundred and fifty staff members, and we also have freelance entertainers."
"Freelance?"
"Well, yes." Ragno remembered his glasses and removed them, wiping them on his shirt. "Not everyone wants their name officially attached to our club. Your Detective Flack is not the only one that views this club as something dirty. So, we allow interested parties to come in and do a few jobs here. Some are even allowed to wear masks throughout an entire session, if a client is game. Pay is exchanged from hand to hand, in cash."
"So no records are kept on these people at all?"
"No," Ragno said. "But I do have to approve of all outside entertainers. I know their faces, though I'm sure the names they give are always fake."
"All right." Danny handed Ragno the picture of Alan Fraser. "Do you recognize this man?"
Ragno put his glasses on again. "No, I don't. I'm very good with faces, Detective- What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't. But it's Messer. Danny Messer."
"Cute name."
"Would you stop callin' me cute?" Danny grumbled. "What about Rober Jans? Remember him?"
"Oh, yes, certainly," Ragno said dreamily. "Gorgeous man, a real work of art. I tried my ass off to keep him here, but he was done with it. Such a waste. He had clients booked for months on end."
"Any of these clients the jealous type? The type who might not have appreciated Jans leaving the club to be with our victim, Alan Fraser?"
"Our clientèle is far too busy and self-absorbed to become obsessed with an adult entertainer," Ragno said. Nonetheless, he leaned against the reception counter, thinking. "No, I can't think of anyone that would take it so far. It's been years, you know, since Jans quit."
"You wouldn't give me any names even if you had them, though, right?" Danny said knowingly. "Nice place like this, you must get pretty important people. Society pages people, right?"
Danny could see Ragno's guards going up.
"Sometimes."
"Not people who would appreciate being named to the NYPD, I'm guessing," Danny went on. "So what is it, Ragno? You can't think of anyone, or you can't think of anyone whose business you'd want to lose?"
Ragno wisely said nothing. The answer was obvious in his eyes, however. Danny shook his head in disgust.
"We have a standard of privacy to maintain, Detective Messer," Ragno explained. "I will tell you that I can't see anyone having a reason to go after Jans, let alone his boyfriend."
"Any clients that are specifically sadistic against gay men?"
"I don't understand what you're asking," Ragno said. "Sexuality is expressed freely here. No one comes here to batter anyone out of hatred. It's all fantasy games, pleasure. As I said, the Eden of Desires Club maintains a very high standard. Our clients simply like to engage in less vanilla fantasies."
"Yeah, well, we think this murder was someone's idea of a kinky fantasy," Danny said. "You hear me? You have any clients into fantasies like that?"
"No way, no," Ragno said. He shuddered. "Detective Messer, I am a proud bisexual. One of the reasons this club allows so much anonymity is to embrace all kinds of sexual curiosities, inclinations, and even experiments. I would never- Believe me, Detective Messer, I would never allow the kind of sick bastard you're describing to partake in this club's offerings."
Danny's shoulders sagged. All this time, and he had the sinking feeling that they had even less than they had started with. The case was going in circles. No one said anything, no one had any reason to do anything, no one knew anything, and yet a man was lying dead in the Medical Examiner's office.
"Well, if you think of anything, call me over at CSI." Danny handed him his card. "Since I'm guessing that you don't want to communicate with Detective Flack, am I right?"
"Righter than rain," scoffed Ragno. "But it was nice to meet you, Detective Messer. Do consider my offer, will you? You can always freelance."
"Yeah, uh, thanks but no thanks."
Danny went to retrieve Flack. He found him staring at a portrait of masculine hands curled around the handle of a whip. Danny glanced at him, but Flack's face was blank. He may have been staring at the picture, or straight through it. Danny tapped his shoulder, and Flack nearly jumped.
"What?" Flack looked around, and remembered where he was. "Oh, hey, Danny. Get anything?"
"Not much," Danny admitted. "Come on. Let's get out of here before Ragno signs me up as an encore or an entrée or whatever the hell he serves in this place."
Flack laughed, putting his arm around Danny's shoulders on the way out. Danny tensed, not exactly comfortable with the contact given their setting. He was fond of Flack, even thought him relatively attractive, but he had no desire to get too close.
"Sucks that the leads have dried up, but hey, at least we get a break," Flack said. They exited the building onto the street. "Come on, let's grab a drink before we go home. On me."
"No!" Danny exclaimed. "Flack, you're freaking flyin' here. One more drop, and your liver's gonna disintegrate."
"I'm no CSI, but I've never heard of that happening before," Flack said. "Come on. I'm driving, so it's not like you've got a choice."
"Don, I'm telling you-"
"It's fine, it'll be fine. Loosen up, Danny. Jeez. You were with Mac too long," Flack said. "You used to be more fun than this."
They got into the car.
"This isn't fun, Flack," Danny said. "This is a suicide in progress."
Flack's mouth twitched, but he managed a smile. "It's not a suicide. It's a drink between friends. Let's go."
Given that Flack was driving, Danny knew further argument was futile. He buckled himself in and threw his head back against the seat. He did not cross himself in prayer to survive, but it was close.
