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Dan nodded. He glanced toward the building. “Then let’s go talk to him.”
They got out of the car and walked to the glass doors at the front. Inside, Gary spied the sign that said Supervisor’s Office. “We’ll start there.”
Dan rang the bell, and a moment later the door opened. Aiden Reynolds had to be almost six feet tall, a heavyset man with a shock of graying hair and gray eyes with no spark of warmth. He wore jeans, heavy boots, and a plaid shirt.
He frowned. “Can I help you?”
Gary flashed his badge, and Dan held up the credentials provided for him. “I’m Detective Gary Mitchell, and this is Dan Porter. We’d like to ask you some questions about Cheryl Somers. You went on a date with her once.”
Reynolds’s frown deepened. “Cheryl….” His eyes widened. “You have got to be fuckingkiddingme. You wanna talk about a date I went on—” He paused. “—almost thirty years ago, for Christ’s sake.”
“Can we talk about this in your office?” Dan asked in a polite tone. “Or do you really want to discuss this in the lobby?”
Reynolds stood aside, glaring at them. “I suppose you’d better come in.”
They walked past him into a sparsely decorated square room with a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet. Through an open doorway, Gary got a glimpse of a living room, the TV blaring a football game. Reynolds closed the door, then faced them, his arms folded. “I still can’t believe you guys wanna talk about that freak after all this time.”
Gary got out his notepad and pen. “We know from our records you were arrested on a charge of assault in June 1989. Can you tell us what led up to that arrest?”
“Why do you want to know? This is ancient history.” Reynolds’s scowl knitted his eyebrows together.
“We’ll get to that part in a moment. Just tell us what you remember.”
Reynolds flopped into the chair behind his desk. “Fucking freak. Should’ve told me.”
Saturday, June 17, 1989
AIDEN REYNOLDScouldn’t stop staring at his date. He couldn’t put his finger on what was so different about her, but there was definitely something. Cheryl Somers had glossy shoulder-length brown hair, a sort of chestnut brown that matched her eyes. Not too much makeup, but then again she didn’t need it. Fine cheekbones, clear skin… a natural beauty. Okay, so she was no catwalk model, but she had something. Unlike most of the girls he dated, she hadn’t gone for a plunging neckline, which was a pity, because he badly wanted to see what was under that blouse. She talked about her work, something to do with art, and he pretended to listen, but all the while he kept thinking about what would comeafterdinner. Not that they’d made plans—she’d said dinner, and that was all—but Aiden’s dick was like a rock in his pants. If he’d unzipped, it would’ve been smacking itself on the underside of the table.
He still couldn’t believe she’d said yes. It had been one of those “eyes across a crowded coffee shop” moments, and he knew the minute she’d noticed him. Aiden wasn’t one for false modesty. His job kept him fit and toned, and he spotted her giving him the once-over. So he’d struck up a conversation while they waited for the server to get their names wrong, and by the time they’d finished their coffee, he’d impulsively asked her to have dinner with him.
But now dinner was over, and Aiden’s mind turned to other appetites.
They split the check, he tipped the server, and then they were out into the evening air. She told him she’d left her car near the public alley, and he offered to walk her to it. Still nothing to indicate if there’d be a second date. But once they entered the alley, Aiden’s libido got the better of him.
He pushed her against the wall. “How about a good night kiss?”
Her breathing hitched. “Sorry, but I don’t kiss on a first date. Not unless we’ve talked first. Now, would you please let me go?” She tried to sidestep out of the way, but he blocked her.
“We’ve talked all night,” he ground out. “Besides, what is there to talk about?”
“Look, I need to tell you some—”
That was as far as he let her go before he smashed his mouth against hers, grinding against her, placing his hands on her breasts to—
What the fuck?
Saturday, July 14, 2018
“SHE DIDN’Tget the chance to tell you she was trans,” Dan observed. “According to your statement when you were arrested, you claimed she initiated sex, but that wasn’t true. You did.” The more words tumbled from Reynolds’s lips, the less Dan liked him.
“I was horny, all right? I didn’t wanna wait, so I went for the tits. Except that was when I discovered he didn’t have any. Knew that the second I squeezed ’em.”
“So you assaulted her. Beat her up, in fact. I saw the police photos.” Gary’s expression was grim.
“Consumer rights,” Reynolds fired back at him. “If the product and label don’t match, I got a right to complain.”
Gary glared at him. “Not when you do it with your fists. And you’ve done that a lot.”
