That must have been what Bill Ryan felt, and when his mother drove him to the bus station and told him not to come back, it would only have confirmed his belief he was irreparably defective. Then he got here and he met Waldo and later Nick and for a while the fear subsided. But something triggered it and to judge from what Nick had told me about Bill’s possessiveness, that something was likely love itself. The more Bill loved, the less worthy he felt of love, and the tighter he had held on to Nick. This set up the cycle: Nick squirming to escape, Bill using everything at his disposal to keep Nick with him, including threats of suicide. Then the AIDS tsunami touched down, swept Waldo away and, for Bill, added to his old fears, the terror of dying a ghastly death. The terror swamped him so that when he discovered the lesion on his leg, there seemed one way out for him and for Nick.

As I lay there in the dark, my thoughts turned to my situation with Adam. I was still avoiding him, still putting off the inevitable conversation and still, I realized, holding out hope that, somehow, I could make him feel for me what I felt for him. How different was I from Bill, thinking of ways to manipulate another guy’s emotions so as to bind him to me and avoid the fear of being alone and unloved? I was shamed but also grateful for the insight. As soon as I finished this case, I would do the right thing with Adam.

Randy Gifford read Bill Ryan’s suicide note and then slowly massaged his temples as if trying to expel its content from his mind.

“I knew he was obsessed with getting sick, but God Almighty.” He looked at me wearily. “You know, there will be other stories like this. Men killing themselves when they get the diagnosis. Abandoning sick partners. Getting thrown out by their families.”

“Not everyone will cut and run. The Trejos aren’t abandoning Nick. You and I both know men whose friends have taken care of them as they were dying. We both know men who are sick and fighting it.”

He allowed himself a small smile. “You keep being the voice of hope. We’ll need it.”

“It’s not hope,” I said, thinking about how Larry Ross had extended himself unselfishly to me. “It’s experience.”

He tapped the note. “You want me to send a letter to Western States disclaiming any interest by Bill’s estate in the policy?”

“Yes. Isabel Trejo’s already sent a letter on Nick’s behalf. I realize it’s a little more complicated for you to renounce a potential asset because Bill’s family is trying to get their hands on the estate.”