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Riley burst into the room. “We’ve got something.”
“I thought you said Barry was fast? It’s been five hours.”
“Hey, he hasn’t stopped since I saw him. And it’s paid off.”
Gary’s heart pounded. “Tell me.”
“He cross-referenced all deaths in Boston and came up with nothing. Then he widened the net to Massachusetts, and one name emerged that met all our criteria.” Riley consulted his notes. “Paul Philip Ludlow. Died in 2014, in Lowell, aged twenty-six.”
“How did he die?”
“He took bath salts—”
“Isn’t that some kind of designer drug? Like meth?”
Riley nodded. “The medical examiner postulated that he’d probably suffered from paranoia and psychosis due to the drug. Anyway, he cut off his own penis.”
“Jesus.” Gary winced.
“He’d been alone for the weekend. By the time his roommate returned to the apartment, Paul had died, not from blood loss but from the drug.”
“Now tell me how he fits into this.”
Riley glanced at his notes. “Paul was gay, and there was evidence of numerous sexual partners. He was also a sex worker. His roommate—who was also his boyfriend at the time—said Paul had gotten into chemsex. Quote from his statement: ‘I tried to stop Paul’s downward spiral, but to no avail.’”
“Okay, that’s two off the list. What else?”
“There was evidence someone had been with him before he died, but inquiries revealed nothing. GHB was found at the scene, along with the bath salts.” Riley paused.
Gary’s skin tingled. “And now it makes sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve always wondered why GHB was left at each crime scene but never turned up once in a tox screen.” He shook his head. “Our killer was making a statement. What about rope and cuffs?”
“They found those too. Then I had an idea. I called that lawyer, Adam Winton, and asked him to do a little digging for me. He just called me back.” Riley’s eyes gleamed. “Seems Paul Ludlow was a frequent flier at a BDSM club here in Boston.”
Gary beamed. “Well done, Riley. Now, did Paul have any family?” It had to be what they were looking for. Paul’s death ticked all the boxes.
“His parents died in 2008, caught up in a freeway shootout. That left one older brother, Christopher.” Riley cocked his head. “Want me to see if there are any uncles, cousins?”
“What about this boyfriend?”
He peered at his notepad. “His name is Christian Davis. I’ve emailed you Barry’s findings and the last known contact details for the boyfriend and the brother.”
“Either one of them could be out for revenge,” Gary mused. “But it’s a start. Find out what you can about both guys.”
Riley grinned. “Already did. The boyfriend is in Florida now. The brother was living in Boston when his brother died.”
“Then let’s make some calls.” Gary brought up the email and clicked on the number for Christopher Ludlow. He grimaced when it went to voicemail.Damn. “Mr. Ludlow, this is Detective Gary Mitchell from Boston PD. Could you call me back on this number when you receive this message? Thank you.” He disconnected.
“I don’t know about you, but I need coffee.” Riley smiled. “I’ll bring one for you too.” He left Gary to his calls.
Next stop was Christian Davis, who answered within three rings. “Hello?”
“Mr. Davis, my name is Detective Gary Mitchell. I’m with the Boston police department. Paul Ludlow’s name has cropped up during the course of our investigations, and I was wondering what you can tell me about him.” He kept his voice smooth.
“He died four years ago. How can he have anything to do with your investigations?”
