Ronan rolled his eyes. “Now isnotthe time to have a ball measuring contest.”
The last thing Ten wanted was to get drawn into this debate, but needs must. “Let’s hope we can use those big balls to our advantage. Vincent already knows we’re looking into Jack’s murder. He’s going to be prepared for whatever questions the three of you plan to throw at him.”
“Agreed,” Fitzgibbon grinned. “Vincent knowswe’recoming, but not Carson.” He slapped a hand on the psychic’s shoulder. “You’re our secret weapon.”
“Fitz sent me the case file last night. It wasn’t my favorite bedtime story in the world, but if me seeing those awful pictures and reading the witness statements helps to save Ten, then it’s all worth it.
Ronan pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to Carson. “You’re one of us today.”
“This is a real police badge.” Carson turned it over in his hands.
“It sure is,” Fitzgibbon agreed. “I hereby deputize you as a member of the Salem Police’s Cold Case Squad.”
“Wow,” Carson beamed, as he attached it to the waistband of his jeans like Ronan had done with his own badge.
“Okay, Deputy Carnac the Magnificent, let’s do this.” Ronan slung an arm around Carson’s shoulders.
Ten found his first laugh of the day. Carnac the Magnificent was a character the late, great Johnny Carson used to play on theTonight Show. Ten had to admit, the name was fitting.
“Carson, follow our lead and keep the psychic thing under your hat,” Jude said. “Like Fitz said, you’re our secret weapon. Jude reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a small notebook and a pen. “Write your impressions in here while we question Vincent. If you have any questions for him, feel free to ask them, but I’ll warn you now, he’s a strong man. You need to stand up to that.”
“I can sense him from here.” Carson shivered. “It feels like he’s ten feet tall and bulletproof.”
“You’re not far wrong.” Fitzgibbon paused at the locker room door. “Everyone ready?”
Ten wished he could run as far and as fast as he could from this place, but instead, he steeled his spine. “Ready.”
The smell of greasepaint assaulted Ten’s senses when they walked into the dressing room. Several clowns were in the process of applying their makeup. One of them was Kent. Ten and the others approached Jack’s lover.
“Captain Fitzgibbon, how is the investigation going?” Kent asked, looking nervous.
“We were able to get access to the original case file, including the interrogations you and the other members of the circus were subject to. We’re here to conduct interviews today. Where’s Vincent?”
Kent let out what looked like a sigh of relief when Fitz named their target. Ten focused in on him and found there was something the clown was hiding. “Remind me again, what was the state of your relationship with Jack the night of his murder?”
Ronan shot Ten a questioning look, but stayed silent.
“Well, uhhh…” Kent stammered for a few seconds, seeming to have trouble formulating an answer. “We were fighting.”
Ronan’s eyes darkened. “There was no mention of that in the interviews you gave to the Boston Police.”
“Those stupid cops were trying to frame me for Jack’s murder, saying we were having a lover’s quarrel and all that bullshit. All they were doing was trying to make a fast arrest so they could go back to being racist, homophobic, donut-eating assholes.” Kent’s hands were fisted at his sides. Ten knew the man was itching for a reason to use them against Ronan and the others.
“Take a breath, Kent.” Ten took the man’s arm and pulled him away from the detectives. “You realize all three of them are gay. None of them are racist. I will admit to Ronan and Jude loving donuts.” He’d once seen the two of them put away a dozen glazed donuts in ten minutes.
Kent offered a half-hearted laugh.
“What happened between you and Jack that night?” Ten asked gently. His gift was still telling him Kent was hiding something. He’d somehow locked the information away in a place Ten couldn’t access. He hoped Carson was having better luck reading the man.
“They’re just going to try to frame me. I’m not under arrest. I know my rights. I don’t have to talk to you.” Kent relaxed his hands and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked like a petulant child.
Ten sighed, he didn’t have the time or the energy for this conversation, but have it, he would. “If you didn’t kill Jack, they’ll be able to eliminate you as the killer, freeing them up to find the person who actually committed the crime. If you keep acting like a toddler who was told he couldn’t have a cookie, then all you’re doing is hurting yourself and wasting their time, which is short enough as it is. Some of the members of the circus are scheduled to fly out of Boston on red-eye flights just after midnight on Saturday morning, when the show ends, putting them out of our reach and out of Fitzgibbon’s jurisdiction. Refusing to cooperate only makes you look guilty.
Pulling out a chair, Kent took a seat. “We were arguing about living together. I wanted him to move in with me and Jack thought it would draw too much attention. I wanted to live my life out in the open and all he wanted to do was fly under the radar.”
“Been there. Done that,” Ten agreed. “I grew up in Kansas, in the middle of the Bible Belt, and there was no way I was ever going to come out while I lived there.” His decision might have been different if his parents were supportive, but they weren’t. In the end, he ended up on a Greyhound bus bound for Salem.
“Yeah, well…” Tears fell from Kent’s eyes. He buried his head in his hands and began to cry.
