Cold Serial Murder Read online

  Cold Serial Murder

  (Book 2 in the Beach Reading Series)

  Mark Abramson

  Published by Lethe Press

  Maple Shade NJ

  Copyright © 2009 by Mark Abramson.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief citation or review, without the written permission of Lethe Press.

  www.lethepressbooks.com

  [email protected]

  Book Design by Toby Johnson

  Cover by John Daniul

  Lethe Press, 118 Heritage Avenue, Maple Shade, NJ 08052.

  ISBN 1-59021-140-5 ISBN-13 978-1-59021-140-3

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank all the people who were kind enough to read some of the early drafts of the books in this series and encourage me to continue writing them anyway, especially: Barb Gard, Gordon Thomas, Jerry Thornhill, Michael Kinsley, Le McLellan, Glen Straight, Darrel Zdawczyk, the late Lynne Schaeffer and my editors, Toby Johnson and Steve Berman.

  _________________________________________

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Abramson, Mark, 1952-

  Cold serial murder / Mark Abramson. -- 1st U.S. ed.

  p. cm. -- (The beach reading series ; bk. 2)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-59021-140-3 (alk. paper)

  ISBN-10: 1-59021-140-5 (alk. paper)

  1. Gay men--California--San Francisco--Fiction. 2. Serial murder investigation--Fiction. 3. Castro (San Francisco, Calif.)--Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3601.B758C66 2009

  813’.6--dc22

  2008056132

  Praise for

  Beach Reading, Book 1 “I just finished reading Mark Abramson’s Beach Reading and the only word I can think of to describe it is ‘WOW!’ It’s a short book—only 193 pages—and each of those pages is a pleasure... Beach Reading is a ‘love song to San Francisco’ and I felt like singing along as I read it. It seems that city on the bay has been the center of gay life forever and after reading this you will understand why.”

  —Amos Lassen, Eureka Pride

  “The first installment... is a tale firmly invested in San Francisco’s gay culture, and has a charm because of this that is evident from the first lively page to the defiant last.”

  —Steve Williams, Suite 101

  “Abramson’s first in a series of books to come, this charming tale takes place in that shining homo beacon in the bay—San Francisco. Whether it’s celebrating disco queernery, battling homophobia or getting over that pesky ex, this book’s got you covered. And who ever said that protests were unflattering? Provocative yet short, its title says it all—only wait much longer and it may be more like Subway Reading.”

  —Brandon Aultman, HX Magazine

  Also by Mark Abramson

  Beach Reading

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Praise for the Beach Reading Series

  Also by Mark Abramson

  Table of Contents

  Disclaimer

  Chapter 1 — start the novel

  Sneak Peek at Russian River Rat: Book 3 in the Beach Reading series

  About the Author

  Disclaimer

  Despite any resemblance to living and/ or historical figures, all characters mentioned or appearing in Cold Serial Murder are fictitious except Al Franken, George W. Bush, George Moscone, Harvey Milk, Dan White, Andrew Cunanan, Gianni Versace, Dianne Feinstein, Roy Rogers, Sean Penn, Gus Van Sant, Mae West, Cher, Auguste Rodin, Claes Oldenburg, Barbara Stanwyck, Gail Wilson, Ethel Merman, Larry King, Dolly Parton, The Beatles, Bette Davis, Leonardo DiCaprio, Val Diamond, Jeff Stryker, Al Parker, Dame Edna, Kathy Bates, Frances McDormand, the San Francisco Gay Men’s Chorus, John McCain, Sarah Palin, Faye Dunaway, Joan Crawford, Elizabeth Taylor, Diana Ross and the Supremes, Patti LaBelle, Madonna, Kathy Bates, Mr. Blackwell, Stephen King, Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence and President Barack Obama.

  Chapter 1

  “The first thing we should do, Aunt Ruth, is fire up a joint. We need to celebrate your arrival in San Francisco.” Tim Snow reached for the ceramic Dalmatian next to the couch. He’d seen it at a yard sale and thought it tacky enough to be cute. The appeal tripled when he brought it home and found a few stray buds and rolling papers under the secret lid.

  Tim was thrilled to host the only family—by blood, not by Castro—that he cared about. It had been years since he saw his Aunt Ruth. Of course, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d entertained a houseguest for longer than one night. Did it count if you couldn’t remember their names? “I’ll roll us one while you get comfortable.”

  Ruth Taylor kicked off her shoes and rummaged through her carry-on bag for a pair of sandals. “I haven’t smoked marijuana in ages. Not since my college days at Stanford.”

  “Trust me; it’s like riding a bike.” Tim didn’t make the joint as thick as he normally liked, just in case. “Then I’ll call Jason and see if he still wants to drive to San Gregorio this afternoon. It’s a perfect day to put the top down on his convertible and head to the beach. If not, we can just walk over to Dolores Park for some sun. Are you hungry? I had a bowl of cereal earlier, but I could whip up some eggs and toast.”

  “No thanks. I bought a bagel in the Minneapolis airport that’s still sitting on my stomach like a rock. Who’s Jason, sweetie? Someone new in your life?”

  “Oh, we’re not like that anymore. But he does have a great car.” Tim flicked the lighter. He was pleased that he could talk, could think, about Jason as a friend.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We went from boyfriends to just friends in less time than it takes some guys I know to pick out an outfit.” Tim offered her the joint, but she was gazing out the window, not seeming to pay attention. “Are you okay?”

  “Sorry, dear. I must be jet-lagged. I shouldn’t be smoking pot, that’s for sure. What were you saying about your friend?”

  “He’s a handsome guy, but I’m not the only one who thinks so. He can get anyone he wants. I’m glad we can be friends since we still have to work together.”

  “You’re a very handsome guy, too, Tim.”

  “From an unbiased source, I’m sure.” Tim took another hit off the joint and held it a while. “I’m so glad you could break away long enough to visit me. How was it volunteering for Al Franken’s Senate campaign?” Tim imagined his aunt attending her neighborhood caucus in Edina, hosting a room full of wealthy liberal suburban housewives munching organic crudités and sipping white wine.

  “You know, I liked him way back when he was on Saturday Night Live and I didn’t even know he was political. Or that he was from Minnesota. But it’s Obama that really got me excited this year.”

  “Yeah, he’s kinda hot if you like that skinny type, I guess.” Tim took another hit off the joint and held it toward her.

  “Maybe just a tiny puff, but don’t you dare tell your cousin Dianne. She’ll have her entire Bible class praying for me again. She thought they could pray me out of my divorce.” Ruth pursed her lips and raised the joint to her mouth like she was taking a sip off a drinking straw.

  “Now, don’t get me wrong,” a sudden cough broke her words. “We could all use the power of prayer now and then, but it seems to me that the people who are sure they have a direct line to heaven are most often calling collect with bad news.”

  She handed the joint back to Tim, stood up and took a couple of steps toward the window to stare out again and caught her reflection. She was amazed at how quickly the years had passed. I’m 57 years old. It seems like only yesterday I was just a college girl. Her wedding announcement in the society pages of the Minneapolis Star and Tribune had read St
anford Class of ’73. How many other graduates had tried to cover the growing belly under their wedding dress with a bouquet?

  Ruth handed the joint back to Tim. “That tastes kind of nice. Brings back memories.”

  “How is dear cousin Dianne, anyway? I haven’t seen her since we were kids.”

  “She was such a sweet baby, really. Now my bundle of joy is all big-haired Texas housewife who still thinks George Dubya Bush walks on water. I don’t know where she gets it. I always knew she was rebellious, but I never dreamed she’d turn out this way. The last time we talked on the phone she cut me off because it was time to watch her favorite blowhard on Fox News. You can imagine what a disappointment she’s been to me.”

  “If that’s how she feels, I guess I’m beyond the help of her prayers.”

  “It’s ridiculous. The whole world can be blowing up, but people want to fuss about gays getting married and same-sex couples raising kids. Plenty of children grow up well-adjusted with only one parent in this day and age. If two people love each other and can take good care of a child… aren’t those kids better off than living in an orphanage? I’ve seen a lot of straight couples that were lousy parents.”

  “Like mine?”

  “You turned out just fine, dear.”

  “You were always a bleeding heart, Aunt Ruth.” Tim smiled up at her. “How did you and my mother become so different?”

  “I don’t know, Tim. We were like black and white ever since we were little girls. It’s almost like you should have been my child and Dianne hers.”

  “I’m just glad you were there for me when my parents weren’t. I would have dropped out of high school and run away after that fiasco with my track coach. I couldn’t have spent one more night under their roof. I don’t know what I would have done if you and Dan didn’t take me in.”

  “Sometimes people just have to be there for each other, sweetheart.” Ruth stretched. Pot always left her feeling more restless than mellow. “Weren’t you going to call your friend?”

  “Oh yeah, I almost forgot.” Tim reached for the phone and dialed. “Jason, it’s Tim. Are you screening your calls? Pick up the phone. Where are you? My Aunt Ruth is here from Minneapolis… the one I told you about. Are we still on for that drive to the beach today? It should be hot at San Gregorio. Hello? Jason? Call me if you get back soon. It’s about 10:30 now.”

  “What happened to your car, honey? The black Mustang on the Christmas card when your hair was curlier and longer?”

  “It was always giving me trouble, so I sold it. Besides, you don’t need a car in this city except to get out of the city. We can walk to Dolores Park from here. It looks like the fog has burned off and the view is great from the corner at the top. We can stop on Castro Street and pick up something to eat. I’m getting the munchies already.”

  They left the apartment on Collingwood and turned right past the wine shop, Spike’s and the dry cleaners. One of the coffee-drinkers seated on the sidewalk greeted Tim as they passed. When they crossed 19th Street someone honked and waved at him from a motorcycle.

  On Castro Street, a tall blonde coming out of the plant store struggled with a ficus tree.

  “Teresa!” Tim yelled. “Can I help you with that?”

  “No thanks, darlin’, the car is right here. Well, maybe you could shove those jumper cables over a little, thanks. Is this your Aunt Ruth?”

  “Sure is. Aunt Ruth, I’d like you to meet my upstairs neighbor, Teresa. She’s a teacher at the Harvey Milk School. Is this tree for your classroom?”

  “No, this is a gift for Lenny, my ex-husband. He’s getting married to Teddy, that guy he met at Lazy Bear Weekend up at the Russian River last summer.” Teresa made a face as she pinched a leaf. “I’d kill it for sure if I tried to grow it. I’ve never had any luck with ficus. My place is just as drafty as yours and the man at the plant store told me they don’t do well in a draft. I hate to admit that I don’t have a green thumb at all.”

  “Tell Lenny I said hi.” Tim dusted whatever dirt from the pot clung to his palms.

  “I sure will. They’re moving into a place in the Mission together. It has southern exposure and tons of windows, so all they need is plants. Between the two of them they have two of everything else. Two Cuisinarts, two blenders, two microwave ovens, and two of every cookbook Julia Child ever had a say in. What they need to have is a yard sale. Anyway, thanks, Tim. Nice to meet you, Ruth. Seeya later.”

  “My word, Tim! Do you know everyone in this city?” Ruth asked as she waved to Teresa.

  “Not yet, but it’s a friendly neighborhood. Castro Street is just like the business district of any small town in America. Main Street, U.S.A. only a little more colorful, I’ll give it that, and with better taste, for the most part. You should see it during Christmas. They put up a big tree across the street there in front of the bank and the stores and other businesses go all out. The decorations in the Castro are a lot less tacky than in most places.”

  Outside one of the ‘adult novelty’ stores two young men were smoking cigarettes. “Hey, Tim. How’s it going? Did you get the trouble with your computer straightened out?”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Marty. I called your friend Bob. He was terrific. Hey, Marty, this is my Aunt Ruth visiting from Minneapolis for a couple of weeks. Ruth, this is Marty. He works here. Be nice to him and you might get a discount on some souvenirs to take back home. The Jeff Stryker model would be a big hit with your Edina friends.”

  “I’m sure it would, dear.” She glanced at the window display and then took a closer look. There were boxes with pictures of the male anatomy in ridiculous sizes, right out there in full view! They would never get away with this in Minneapolis, Ruth thought. Not even on Hennepin Avenue.

  At Rossi’s Deli they ordered sandwiches and cartons of salads and then headed across Castro toward the Twin Peaks bar. Ruth said, “This place looks cozy.”

  “The glass casket? I’ve heard that this was the first gay bar in town with windows onto the world outside – maybe the first in the country - way back in the seventies or something. We’ll stop in there sometime. It’s a good spot for people-watching.”

  They walked past the Castro Theatre and Ruth heard another voice call out to Tim. It came from a bleached-blonde girl in bib overalls coming out of Cliff’s, the neighborhood hardware store.

  “Hey, Stella. Buying some new power tools?”

  She laughed. “No, I’ve got all I need now, Tim. Who’s the pretty lady?” More introductions were made and Ruth was starting to feel at home already.

  Tim said, “Let’s walk by Jason’s house on our way to the park. He might have been out in the yard when I called.”

  They turned left on 18th Street and Ruth asked, “Where are we going, Tim? You said something about the beach, but the ocean is the other way. Am I turned around?”

  “If Jason’s not home we’re going to the top of Dolores Park. It’s a great place to sunbathe. You get all the same rays as at the beach without having to listen to that noisy surf!”

  “Tim, I thought you loved the ocean. Isn’t that why you moved to California?”

  “I moved to California for the men, but the ocean was a close second. I love the beach. I’m just teasing you, Aunt Ruth. That’s one of the things I love about you; you’re so easy to tease.”

  “Well, I’m not stupid. I’m sure you’re more comfortable around people you can relate to better than you could your family, myself excluded.” Ruth sighed, “Tim, can we slow down a little? I’m not used to so much walking. These hills make me feel my age.”

  “Sorry, Aunt Ruth. Some days these hills make me feel your age. What are you now, anyway… thirty-five?”

  “You’re closer to thirty-five, dear. I have a daughter nearer to your age, remember?”

  “I’m not even thirty, yet! My next birthday… maybe. You look great. My friend Renee could touch up your hair color and you’d look even better. Here’s Jason’s place. And there’s his car in the driveway. He is too ho
me. I thought so.”

  It was a 1965 cherry-red Thunderbird convertible with black interior. “Nice car, all right,” Ruth said. “I’ve always wanted a convertible, but they’re so impractical in the Midwest. They rust out before they can wear out and there just aren’t enough days when you want to ride around with the top down. It’s too cold in the winter and in the summertime in Minnesota you definitely want a car with air conditioning.” Ruth was admiring what great shape the car was in while Tim ran ahead down the driveway and around to the back door of Jason’s house.

  Ruth looked down and saw bright shiny pools of red on the ground as if the car had just been sloppily painted right there in the driveway. But the red on the ground was a few shades darker than the Thunderbird’s paint color and it looked like it was still wet. That was when she heard her nephew scream.

  Chapter 2

  The emergency room at SF General wasn’t crowded on a Friday morning. Tim and Ruth took a cab there as soon as they could get away from Jason’s house after the ambulance left. The police would have more questions for both of them, but were satisfied to take down Tim’s contact information as well as Ruth’s cell phone number.

  “Honey, stop pacing!” But Tim wasn’t listening. “Come over here and sit down with me for a minute. Do you want one of these sandwiches we bought?”

  “I’m not hungry anymore. This place smells too funky. You go ahead if you want one.” He sat down beside her long enough to wrestle the brown paper bag from the deli out of his crowded backpack and hand it to her. Then he jumped up and walked over to the nurse’s window again.

  Ruth unwrapped her sandwich, but stopped short of taking a bite. “I guess I’m not really hungry, either.” She walked to the doorway and stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. It was turning into a hot day by San Francisco standards and the Mission district was one of the warmest parts of town. It was cooler inside the waiting room, so she settled into one of the row of plastic chairs and waited for Tim to return. “What did they say about Jason, honey?”