A Fountain Filled With Blood

“Is that who you think is behind this? Some rednecks from out of town, up here for a little fresh mountain air and blood sports?”

He sighed. “It could be. The timing certainly suggests so.” He pushed his hand through his hair, causing it to fall unevenly across his forehead. “If it is, it should be easier to spot the red vehicle. You can’t just garage your car and drive another one when you’re on vacation.”

“Russ, I can understand your concern about singling out businesses as potential trouble spots. And I can understand you not wanting Millers Kill to be associated with this sort of vicious behavior. But if you don’t let it be known that you believe gays are being targeted, you’re keeping individuals from being able to protect themselves.”

“I’m keeping them from being singled out. This is a small town, Clare. How many homosexuals do you think are out of the closet here? Every guy with a high voice and every woman with cropped hair and no makeup will suddenly be a source of speculation. Or worse, a potential target for any homophobe reading the paper who thinks, ‘That’s a good idea! I’m gonna get me a faggot!’ ” He leaned against the wall. “Let them stay safely hidden.”

“That’s bull.”

He straightened up and looked at her, raising his eyebrows. “What?”

“You heard me. Bull. It’s that sort of attitude that allows homophobia to flourish. ‘They’re different. They’re not like us. We don’t know any. Don’t ask, don’t tell.’ ” She pushed away from the wall and pulled her hair back in both hands, twisting it. “I saw the same sort of crap in the army. Force people to hide who and what they are and then act surprised that you’ve created a culture where it’s okay to make fag jokes and harass people who act ‘funny.’ How do you convince Joe Six-Pack that being gay’s not a fate worse than death when it is a fate worse than death if you’re found out?”

“Clare, I’m trying to solve a pair of assault cases here. I’m sorry, but eradicating prejudice and stupidity are beyond the scope of my job. As is reforming the U.S. Army.”

She exhaled. “I’m not asking you to do that. Sometimes I get a little…global when a problem gets under my skin.” She glanced up at him. “I still think you’re making a mistake.”

“I respect your opinion. But this is a real short chain of command here. I’m the cop and you’re the priest, and what I say goes. Period. I want you to promise me that you aren’t going to run to the Post-Star or preach your next sermon on the possible connection between Emil and MacPherson.”

She frowned and crossed her arms.

“Promise me—”

“All right. I promise. But I swear, if there’s one more incident, I’m going to organize a Take Back the Night march and start it right at the front steps of the police station.”

“Don’t worry. If there’s one more incident, the press is going to be all over this like a hog on slop, and then everybody will be weighing in with their opinion.” He pushed away from the wall and began strolling toward the elevator doors at the end of the surgery unit. Clare fell into step beside him. “However,” he added, “there’s not going to be another incident if I can help it. Every man on the force, full-or part-time, is on duty this weekend.”

“Is that because of these assaults, or because it’s the Fourth?”

“Everyone’s usually on duty for at least part of the Fourth. The road race tomorrow will suck up a lot of manpower. Then there are parties and barbecues…. Ican guarantee you that before the fireworks go off, we’ll have handled a dozen domestic fights, three car accidents, at least one kid doing something incredibly stupid with a bottle rocket, and somebody who’s gotten drunk and fallen into the Kill.” He stopped at the elevators. “You coming or staying?”

“I’m staying with the family until Todd’s out of surgery.”

He punched the down button. “Every one of my men is gonna be briefed on this and on the alert for anything suspicious. Not to mention looking for a red vehicle with impact damage.”

The elevator chimed. The door opened and Russ entered, waving a half salute at Clare.

“Speaking of prejudice,” she said.

“Huh?” He caught the edge of the door before it closed.

“How come there aren’t any women on the police force?”

The last thing she saw of him were his eyes, rolling back in his head.

Chapter Eight

“Great day for a race, huh, Chief? Gosh, I love the Fourth of July.”

Russ looked over at Kevin Flynn, who was standing with his hands on his hips beside their cruiser, eyeing the crowd of runners and spectators filling the park. Then he looked up, where heavy-bellied clouds dragged over the mountains and sailed low under a silvery gray sky. He reached through the window to retrieve his windbreaker. “At least we won’t have to worry about sunstroke,” he said.