Outburst (Todd Mills Mysteries) - Hardcover

Zimmerman, R.D.

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0385323751 ISBN 13: 9780385323758

Publisher: Delacorte Press, 1998

Synopsis

Todd Mills is running out of time.

Against his instincts, Todd is lured to the Stone Arch Bridge by an anonymous phone call with promises of a hot blackmail story.  Under pressure, and in need of a scoop, Minneapolis television's most well-known (and only) openly gay reporter soon finds that his visit to the bridge does deliver a sensational exclusive, but not the one he is expecting: Todd arrives to see a man murdered, leaving him as the sole witness to the crime.

Todd's lover, city homicide investigator Steve Rawlins, immediately takes on the case.  But when a mysterious suspect emerges, the danger only intensifies, for this suspect has a secret, a past, and an identity that isn't what it appears to be.  An attempt is made on Rawlins's life in the course of his investigation, and Todd--dragged into the center of the story he's trying to cover--makes a frightening discovery.  The murder victim was a police officer, and was gay.  The killer, it seems, has developed a taste for watching gay cops die.

And unless Todd and Rawlins are able to put together the pieces of the suspect's meticulously concealed past, the consequences may prove deadly--for them both.

About this title

About the Author

Award-winning author R.D. Zimmerman has been nominated for three Lambda Literary Awards, two Edgars, and an Anthony.  He has written eleven previous novels, including Hostage, Tribe, and Closet (1996 Lambda Literary Award winner) in the Todd Mills series.  He is also the author of six children's books, and created six bestselling mystery jigsaw puzzles.  Raised in Chicago, he now lives in Minneapolis.

From the Inside Flap

s running out of time.<br><br>Against his instincts, Todd is lured to the Stone Arch Bridge by an anonymous phone call with promises of a hot blackmail story. Under pressure, and in need of a scoop, Minneapolis television's most well-known (and only) openly gay reporter soon finds that his visit to the bridge does deliver a sensational exclusive, but not the one he is expecting: Todd arrives to see a man murdered, leaving him as the sole witness to the crime.<br><br>Todd's lover, city homicide investigator Steve Rawlins, immediately takes on the case. But when a mysterious suspect emerges, the danger only intensifies, for this suspect has a secret, a past, and an identity that isn't what it appears to be. An attempt is made on Rawlins's life in the course of his investigation, and Todd--dragged into the center of the story he's trying to cover--makes a frightening discovery. The murder victim was a police officer, and was gay. The kill

Reviews

A confusion of sexual identities colors the latest case for gay Minneapolis TV reporter Todd Mills, last seen in Hostage (1997). While following up on a call to his office, Mills is set up as a witness to murder on a Minneapolis bridge in the middle of a tornado. When it turns out that the victim was a gay cop, both Mills and his lover, homicide detective Steve Rawlins, are involved personally and professionally. Further contacts from the killer spur Mills's investigation and suggest a link to the killing of another gay cop. Suspicions all point to a transsexual suspect whose past is darkened by a death in California. Aware that he is being manipulated, Mills uses his investigative skills and his contacts in the gay community to sort out the truth, at the same time leading Rawlins and another close friend from his college days, attorney Janice Gray, into mortal danger. Zimmerman's portrayal of the gay community is fully dimensioned, and his characters, gay and straight, are are engaging and complicated. The fast-paced plot incorporates the capricious summer weather of the upper Midwest to grand effect, both in the beginning and at the spine-tingling, satisfying conclusion.
Copyright 1998 Reed Business Information, Inc.

It's been six weeks since Todd Mills's last big story for WLAK-TV in Minneapolis, and since the pressure is on him to justify his A-list salary, he's willing to follow a fishy tip to meet an anonymous blackmail victim in the middle of Stone Arch Bridge. When he gets there, though, he finds he's been set up to witness the killing of uncloseted gay policeman Mark Forrest. All the evidence points to Kris (n Christopher) Kenney, a beautiful transgender waitress whose earlier indictment for killing a gay cop in Los Angeles was dismissed on a technicality. But Todd can't help thinking the package is too neat. Why did the anonymous caller make sure the Twin Cities' most visible gay reporter was on the scene of the murder? If Kris isn't the killer, what's the connection between the two crimes? And is the next target Todd's HIV-positive lover, Sgt. Steve Rawlins, or their old friend Janice Gray, Kris's lesbian defense attorney? Only a thunderous climax during a dark and stormy night will tell. As in Todd's hardcover debut, Hostage (1997), the clever mystery is completely overshadowed by Zimmerman's high-intensity look at the dark side of sexual politicsin this case, the plight of Kris Kenney, stigmatized and despised by both straights and gays as beyond the pale. (Author tour) -- Copyright ©1998, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved.

Bullets cut short a rendezvous between Minneapolis investigative reporter Todd Mills (Hostage, LJ 12/97) and his anonymous tipster before they can talk. As a result, Todd and boyfriend Steve, an HIV-positive homicide detective, work the same story. Meanwhile, beautiful, troubled, and (almost) transgendered Kris catches the eye of handsome would-be governor Judge Stuart Hawkins. What will Stuart's vigilant law clerk do to "save" his boss from scandal? Zimmerman pulls out the soap-opera stops here, sometimes with lurid overtones, but the plot moves with dispatch. For larger collections.
Copyright 1998 Reed Business Information, Inc.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Mid-July

In the following days the headlines would brag how the savage summer storm  had descended upon the murder, the city's fortieth of the year, and  wreaked havoc upon brutality. But, of course, beyond the chance of a  thunderstorm, Todd knew none of what was to come.

It did occur to him that for once the weather guys weren't going to screw  up, that the midsummer heat and humidity were about to be doused with  rain. As he parked his Jeep Grand Cherokee on the edge of the Mississippi  River in downtown Minneapolis, Todd, wearing black jeans and a freshly  pressed blue shirt, glanced out the windshield at the skies now looming so  dark over the river and to the northwest. It was going to pour, there was  no doubt about that. On a hot July night like this it was usually light  until nine-thirty or ten--the long days one of the few payoffs these  northern parts offered after the long winters--but not tonight. As  predicted, something was blowing in from the westerly plains, clouds so  black and virulent that they not only blotted out the setting sun, but  sucked up whatever light was left of the day. Even as Todd sat there, the  streetlights flashed on, and he glanced at the clock on the dashboard, saw  that it was seven twenty-five. He just hoped that this guy would be on  time, that whatever he had to say would be quick, that this furtive  meeting would be over before the skies slit open.

He was just reaching for the door handle when a muffled sound started  ringing in his briefcase. Leaning over to the floor in front of the  passenger seat, he stuck his hand in his leather case, groped about, then  pulled out his cellular phone.

Flipping it open, he said, "Todd Mills."

"Hey, it's me."

"Hey, you. What's up?"

"Just driving around," replied Steve Rawlins, Todd's boyfriend, who was a  homicide investigator on the Minneapolis police force.

"Burning up taxpayers' money, are you?"

"Right," laughed Rawlins. "I'm on middle watch until ten-thirty," he  said, referring to his shift on Car 1110, which was manned twenty-four  hours a day, seven days a week by investigators. "Want to get a late bite  to eat when I'm done?"

"Sure. I'm meeting this guy--the one I told you about--down at the Stone  Arch Bridge. I just parked in the lot in front of the Whitney Hotel, but  this shouldn't take too long. In fact, I should get going. I want to get  this over with as quickly as I can before it rains."

"Don't forget your phone. I mean, you don't know this guy, do you?"

"Don't worry, Sergeant," joked Todd. "In fact, I bet he doesn't even  show--it looks like it's about to pour."

"Well, be careful. Actually, we're having a pretty quiet night, so I'll  give you a call in a bit. Hey, and think about where you want to eat."

"You bet."

Todd hung up, slipped his phone into his shirt pocket. He sat there for a  moment, told himself he had to stop obsessing about it--Rawlins's health.  Everything was going to be okay. Only a few months ago Rawlins had been  shot at the Megamall, but he'd recovered just fine. In fact, perfectly.  Now the only question was would he survive HIV infection.

Trying to escape the worry, Todd climbed out of the Cherokee into the  thick, humid air, which immediately closed in all around him. Breathing  with gills would have been easier, he thought, and then wished that he was  already in some air-conditioned restaurant having a nice meal and a glass  of wine. Looking at the darkening clouds, he started toward the Stone Arch  Bridge, a serpentine structure of granite and limestone built over a  century ago to carry the trains of the Great Burlington Northern across  the Mississippi. According to the various historical markers along the  way, the nearly hundred-per-day passenger trains on this route were long  gone, and the bridge had recently been converted to pedestrian and bike  use. Todd proceeded onto the bridge, his eyes scanning past the massive  lock, past the harnessed falls of St. Anthony, and to the purple-black  billows of clouds now shimmering and popping with lightning.

He hated this kind of meeting. As Channel 10's investigative reporter he  got calls like this every week, each one more odd than the next, first  someone going on about a conspiracy to rob the Federal Reserve bank, the  next claiming her next-door neighbor had stuffed her poodle down the  garbage disposal--never mind the alien sightings, there were so many of  those. So when Todd got the call this afternoon, at first he was  skeptical. The man on the other end, however, was insistent.

"What do you mean," Todd had interrupted, "someone's blackmailing  you?"

"I'll tell you when I see you, but it's very serious. And there's nothing  someone like me can do."

Todd made a snap decision and said, "Give me your number. I'll call you  right back."

Todd had mumbled something about wanting to go to his office, but the  truth of the matter was that Todd wanted to make sure this guy was legit.  He'd had something like that before, a guy who claimed he was a doctor  when in fact he was nothing more than a patient with a gripe and a thirst  for revenge. Todd was going to make that kind of mistake only once.

"No!" the man had replied, his voice all hushed. "Listen, I can't talk  anymore. I . . . I just can't. But I swear, this is for real. Meet me  tonight in the middle of the Stone Arch Bridge. Seven-thirty."

"But--"

"I need your help. Please . . . just be there tonight."

The line had clicked dead.

And now Todd was here, walking along the broad bridge, wondering if this  guy was going to show and what all the drama was really about. Or was this  nothing, was Todd merely a fool for being here? No, his job was all about  hot stories and great ratings, so he had no choice but to come tonight.  WLAK management expected something sharp from Todd at least every six  weeks, and he'd passed that milestone last Friday.

He looked beyond St. Anthony Falls and to the north. No thunder, at least  not yet, but the black clouds were throbbing, a near continuous pulse of  white light. The air was oddly still, too, just the way things got before  the shit hit the fan. There hadn't been any mention of severe weather, but  when a cold front dropped from Canada and collided over the plains with a  warm front from the Gulf of Mexico, anything could happen. A few years  back the sirens in Todd's neighborhood hadn't gone off until five minutes  after a tornado had Hoovered the better part of a strip mall into the  heavens.

Todd didn't like this.

And apparently no one else did, for he looked up and down the bridge and  didn't see another soul. Something was going to hit--and soon--and  everybody but Todd had the brains not to venture out onto a high bridge  over an endless wash of water. A human weather vane Todd did not aspire to  be.

He glanced at his watch. Seven twenty-eight. He would give this guy seven  minutes and then Todd was out of there.

As he continued to the middle of the bridge, Todd wondered why the hell  he'd gotten the call in the first place. Was it his notoriety and his  relatively new position as investigative reporter at Channel 10? Or the  fact that he was queer?

Because some part of Todd would always be paranoid, he suspected the  latter, that this might be some kind of bizarre setup. In his early  forties and in great shape--"If you're gonna work in broadcast you gotta  keep that chest bigger than your gut," his agent, Stella, continually  prodded--Todd had thick brown hair, a handsome face that was a tad broad  and a tad rugged except for the eyes, which were soft, too soft for his  face. Whereas he used to be extraordinarily closeted, the events of his  life had now made him the most visible gay person in Minneapolis, and from  time to time he got calls at the station asking him out to dinner. From  time to time, too, he got threatening messages on his Voice Mail. Hate  mail too. Which is what he feared out here tonight, an attack of some  sort. But, no, thought Todd, the tension and worry in the caller's voice  had been real, hadn't it?

Reaching the midway point of the bridge, Todd stopped and looked around.  Virtually no sign of anyone, male or female. He stared at the falls as  they roared over a broad concrete apron the milling giants had built so  long ago. Looking straight down more than a hundred feet, the dark, muddy  waters of the Mississippi swirled and churned. Next, raising his head,  Todd gazed at the glass towers of downtown Minneapolis, huge modern boxes  that sprouted like Oz on the plains. Oz, Todd mused, about to be slapped  by an evil storm, for the thunder was starting now, not just an occasional  burst, but long and steady rumbles. This was going to be a biggie.

Something grasped his right should...

Edition details

• Publisher: Delacorte Press
• Publication date: 1998
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0385323751
• ISBN 13: 9780385323758
• Binding: Hardcover
• Number of pages: 304