S awyer knocked on Mendoza’s door and received a prompt command to enter the office, so he turned the knob and stepped into the room. Though the chief sat behind his desk and his husband, Sheriff Abe Beecham, sat in a chair on the other side, Sawyer couldn’t help but feel like he’d interrupted something personal. “Is this a bad time, Chief?”
The two men looked at one another, a mere glance, but he caught a flash of heat between them. Yeah, he’d definitely interrupted an intimate moment or conversation between husbands. Probably the kind of chat Royce coerced Sawyer into behind his closed office door, which usually included a lot of kissing and some light petting. He refused to search for further signs of what the two men might’ve been up to before he knocked.
Chief Mendoza’s dark, penetrating eyes zeroed in on Sawyer. “If I’d been busy, I would’ve said so instead of inviting you in.”
Abe snorted. “Invite? More like you barked a direct order.”
Mendoza ignored his husband and gestured for Sawyer to take a seat. “You wanted to speak to us about a meeting you had with Alec Bishop?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sawyer filled them in on the conversation he’d had with Alec and the ties his family had to the area. “The first murder connected to Andrew Bishop occurred when his father was forty years old. We’re all familiar with various theories about serial killers and the profiles performed on them. One of the common denominators in their behavior sequence analysis is that they start killing young, usually in their mid to late twenties. Of course there are exceptions, but according to Alec, his father ticks off all boxes in the ‘How to Make a Serial Killer’ checklist. He actually uses that phrase when talking about his father’s history, particularly the trauma and abuse he suffered as a kid.”
“And Alec hypothesizes that if his father has met all the other markers, then he likely fit the starts-young criteria too,” Mendoza said.
“It’s not a gigantic leap,” Abe admitted. “We’ve got the tools at our disposal to sort through unsolved cases and pinpoint ones that fit the criteria. Did Alec tell you when his family lived in Chatham County?”
“Yes, sir. I entered the dates into SPD’s database and came up with five potential matches. They’re all unsolved murders of young women. Three had positive identifications, and the other two are listed as Jane Does. All five were exposed to harsh elements for significant time, and our chances of getting conclusive test results from the biological evidence are low.”
Mendoza steepled his fingers in front of his chest as he considered the situation. “You think it’s a long shot?”
“I do,” Sawyer agreed, “but Alec Bishop has raised a lot of money for this project and will guarantee the funding for any testing.”
“What’s in it for him?” Abe asked.
“Book deals, speaking tours, and probably a Netflix series,” Mendoza said.
Abe scowled. “Fame and money, then.”
“But if we’re successful, we could get closure for the families without straining our department’s budget,” Sawyer said. “It’s hard to find a downside to the proposal.”
“He could make our departments look like idiots,” Abe replied.
“True, but I already mentioned that concern to him,” Sawyer said. “He will offer editing approval for any departmental interviews he includes in the podcast or that he makes available to subscribers through bonus material on Patreon.”
“I’m okay with transparency,” Mendoza said, “even if it shines a negative light on past investigations our police department had conducted.” He held Sawyer’s gaze for several seconds and tapped the tips of his fingers together. “Have his people call our people.”
“And who are our people?” Sawyer asked.
Mendoza chuckled. “Hell if I know. Have Mr. Bishop write up a detailed proposal, and I’ll personally deliver it to Commissioner Rigby. She’ll consult with our legal department, and we’ll go from there.”
Sawyer thanked Mendoza before turning to the sheriff. “And you, sir?”
Abe nodded toward his husband. “What he said. Bishop needs to put a formal proposal and email it to hot top cop at CCSD—” Abe’s words died mid-sentence when he ducked from the Tootsie Roll Mendoza lobbed at him. “You’ll pay for that.”
“Promises, promises.”
It was a carefree side of the men Sawyer had never seen before, and he sat there staring at their interaction until an awkward silence fell over the room. Mendoza arched a brow in silent question.
“Um, yeah,” Sawyer said. “That’s all I needed.”
He exited as quickly as he could and strode back to his office. Sawyer opened his phone calendar, where he’d noted Alec’s contact information, and saw the entry for the fertility clinic appointment. Instead of firing off an email to share the update with Alec, Sawyer stared at his phone. He remembered the conversation with Kelsey and her suggestion to call Dr. Flores to put his worries about the insemination to rest. He dialed the clinic before he could talk himself out of it. A receptionist answered on the second ring. He expected the staff to sound harried and frustrated, but the woman was calm and sympathetic as Sawyer stated his reason for calling.
“Can I place you on a brief hold?” she asked.
“Of course. Thank you.”
Sawyer expected someone else to come on the line, an assistant or a nurse, but Dr. Flores greeted him warmly a few minutes later. She understood why he’d called but didn’t rush him or try to guide the conversation. After Sawyer finished explaining his concerns, she patiently described the safety protocols her clinic followed to prevent accidental errors.
“And I assure you, I’ve only acted with a hundred percent integrity,” Dr. Flores said. “If the allegations against Dr. Matisse are proven true, then he acted in the most egregious way. I’d never betray my patients like that. If Friday’s insemination was successful, and I do like your odds, the paternity of your child will match the choice you and Royce made at the clinic. And that’s a guarantee.”
A montage of beautiful images flickered across Sawyer’s mind, not a home movie of experiences he’d already lived but snapshots of what his future would look like. Royce and their child were at the heart of every one. He imagined his husband cradling their baby for the first time, rocking them to sleep while telling outlandish stories, dancing with their toddler in the kitchen, and picking out school supplies that were functional and fun. Everything Sawyer had been bold enough to dream was on the verge of coming true and—
“Sawyer, are you still there?” Dr. Flores asked.
Her voice snapped him back to reality, and he blinked a few times to bring his office into focus. Sawyer’s vision remained blurry, and that was when he realized his face was wet. He chuckled nervously as he rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “Yes, I’m still here. Thank you so much for your time and your assurances.”
“My pleasure. I’ll see you at the pregnancy blood test in ten days.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After they said their goodbyes, Sawyer leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He let peace wash over him and chase away negative and scary thoughts surrounding the potential pregnancy or paternity concerns. Finding faith in a chaotic world felt like throwing himself out of an airplane without a parachute, grasping and clawing for anything to keep himself from hurtling toward his death. It was a free fall of mind fuckery, giving him a false sense of well-being one minute, only to jerk it back when the lifesaving parachute was nothing more than a mirage. Sawyer knew all too well how precarious and precious life was. He’d loved and lost. Floated like a feather and plummeted like a rock. Sawyer had dreamed and failed. Then he dared to love again. Why would anyone set themselves up for such nauseating risks? How could they not? The highest highs weren’t possible without the lowest lows, and knowing he didn’t leap alone made the risk worth it.
A phone rang in the cold case squad room and snapped him back to reality. He’d gotten so caught up in the imagery of free-falling that his stomach lurched as if he’d just landed in the chair, and Sawyer would’ve sworn his hair even rustled in the breeze. Then he heard the familiar rattle from the air-conditioning vent above his desk and laughed at himself. As much as he’d love to get lost in daydreams, he needed to focus on work. He found Alec Bishop’s email address and typed a brief message, asking him to call when it was convenient. Sawyer debated whether to add his cell phone number or just use his direct line at the SPD. He went with the latter since there was no valid reason for Alec to call him outside his office hours. Sawyer hit Send and was surprised when his desk phone rang almost immediately.
“This is Detective Sergeant Key,” he said.
“Hi, it’s Alec.” His voice was soft but eager, just as Sawyer remembered from their private chat.
“That was fast,” Sawyer said. Too fast, or were Royce’s doubts getting to him?
“I was scrolling through my inbox when your message hit. It was a convenient time for me to call, so I did. Is this a good time for you to talk?”
“Sure. I just came out of a meeting with my police chief and the county sheriff after doing a preliminary search for cases that could meet your father’s MO.”
“Wow. You didn’t waste any time. Did you find any potential matches?”
“I only have access to SPD’s cold cases, but I identified five that have all the right markers. I told Chief Mendoza and Sheriff Beecham about your intentions, and they were willing to discuss the opportunity further.”
Alec snorted. “Meaning there are hoops to jump through and hurdles to leap over. Do they realize how much funding I can provide?”
“I did point that out, but you also have to understand that our legal department will have to approve participation.”
Alec sighed heavily. “Fine.”
“You’re welcome to investigate these cases without our help,” Sawyer said calmly.
“That’s not what I want at all. I’m a team player, and I’ll prove it to you. How does your chief and his husband want me to proceed?”
The question gave Sawyer pause. He hadn’t told Alec that Mendoza and Beecham were married. It was common knowledge locally, but outsiders would only know if they’d researched the men. Alec must’ve read into Sawyer’s delayed response because he chuckled.
“Come on,” Alec said. “I did my homework on all the key players in Savannah before I pitched my idea to you at the convention. So hit me with their demands.”
“They just want you to send a formal proposal so they can submit it to the proper channels for approval.” Sawyer paused as he remembered the grievances he shared with Kelsey. “And I also have a caveat.”
“You do?” The question almost came out like a purr. Was Alec flirting with him? If he’d truly done his research, then he’d know about Royce. “Hit me with it.”
Sawyer paused to consider his phrasing, then decided he didn’t care. Part of him wanted Alec to call the whole thing off. “I would like you to honor your father’s known victims. They’ve been left out of the narrative, and I think it’s unfair and just plain wrong.”
“That’s never been my intention,” Alec said contritely. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“Dedicate episodes to the victims. Sit down with the people who loved them most so they can share who these women were.”
“Interesting,” Alec said. “Tell me more.”
“Some podcasts release this type of content at the conclusion of a season, and others pepper them in between episodes of the current investigation. You could either extend the season or release two shows each week. Some podcasts would include this type of material in their Patreon feed.”
“I don’t want to seem like I’m profiting off their deaths,” Alec said. “That’s the main reason I’ve kept the focus on my dad’s story.”
Sawyer could argue that there wouldn’t be a story without the victims, but he wanted to give Alec the benefit of the doubt. “So put the bonus episodes in the regular feed or promise to donate the subscription revenue to victims’ advocacy groups.”
Alec sucked in a breath. “Damn, you’re good. I better hope you don’t take my idea and run with it on your own.”
Chuckling, Sawyer shook his head before he remembered Alec couldn’t see him. “You don’t have to worry about that. I have no desire to take on additional projects, nor will I have the time.” Those images of Royce with their future baby flashed in his mind again, and Sawyer felt dizzy with happiness.
“You’ll be otherwise engaged?” Alec pressed.
“You could say that.” And that was all he planned to say on the matter. “Write up your proposal and send it to us. We’ll have our legal departments review it, and we’ll go from there. Maybe we could do a Zoom call between the principal parties.”
“I’ll have the proposals ready in a day or so and will be in touch.”
“Sounds good.”
Sawyer couldn’t say he was fully convinced working with Alec Bishop was a good idea, but he felt better about it after their conversation. His cell phone chimed with an incoming text from his husband. Have warrants. Going back out to the Matisses’ home. Hope to wrap this case up soon. xo
Sawyer tapped out a quick reply. Can’t wait to hear all about it. Be careful. 3
Some might dismiss socialites as dangerous, but they made drag queens seem like tame kittens when things didn’t go their way. Besides, if Royce had warrants, he suspected one or more of them of murder or manslaughter, depending on their intent. People with dark secrets have proven they’re willing to go to extreme lengths to keep them buried. Royce had a reputation for being a wild card when Sawyer joined the police department, but it hadn’t taken him long to see the label as nothing more than camouflage. Royce was an aggressive pursuer of justice, but he didn’t cross lines or carelessly put lives in jeopardy, which was good since they were going to become fathers. And just like that, Sawyer got lost in the daydreams of what would be.