“Yeah, usually tonight is request night at Ballinger’s, but I took it off because Mikal said he’d be back today, but it turns out that he’ll be gone for some time.”
Mikal was the new guy, and given how much time she’d spent with him, I had reluctantly accepted that he was the one she’d been looking for all these years. Like most of her boyfriends he was a musician, a keyboard player and arranger. Supposedly, he heard her one night, based on a friend’s recommendation, told her how much he liked her, and they’ve been an item ever since. He was going to get her recorded; get her moved up to a better circuit of gigs. Joanie assured me he was well known around town.
Lately though, he and his combo, as she liked to put it, were on the road opening for some big named act. I watched as she absentmindedly swirled her drink.
“He called and asked me to take my key back to the manager of his place since, apparently, the tour’s been extended to Europe and then Asia, and he was going to have his stuff put into storage rather than pay to keep the place. I got the impression there was something else going on, but he told me the move was no big deal, besides the tour was a great opportunity for them to pick up some more positive exposure and fans. So I took the key over to the manager, a guy I call Skeevy Rob, and asked where Mikal’s stuff was going. He said he couldn’t tell me; that’s confidential you know, but if I gave him a blowjob he might be more forthcoming. Like that was something I’d have any interest in, but it made me wonder, so I called Mikal’s brother and he hemmed and hawed and yammered that he didn’t really know, that I should wait till Mikal gets back and so forth.” That explained the long look after the Madison’s.
“Well, he didn’t actually blow you off, so it’s possible it’s not a big deal other than he’ll be gone longer than he thought.”
She sighed which was followed by a half-smile. “You may be right. It’s just that I was anxious to see him and missed him and given my history worried that our time was winding down.”
“No to worry, if you get desperate, there’s always me.” This elicited a laugh. Charm is a man’s best friend.
“So, you still want to marry me?”
“Sure, what the hell.” More laughter. I wasn’t technically joking but I’d already made my feelings known so why open that up.
“So, how is your love life? Still slaying the babes?”
“Not lately, although I did get invited to have drinks with a woman I met today.”
“Really, well that’s something isn’t it?”
“I suppose it is.”
She asked about my day. I gave her the nuts and bolts of my trips and the sordid business with Desiree and Boyer. An odd look crossed her face as she regarded me with this last bit of news.
“I’m surprised you didn’t throw up. I’m pretty sure I would have. Sounds like a terrible thing to witness.”
“I guess it was. I wish I could say I’d never seen anything like it before, but sadly, I can’t.” That got her looking even harder. She turned directly towards me.
“Should I ask?”
“No. It was years ago, bad timing, bad mojo. Let’s just say it made me take a very hard look at what I was doing, and it had a lot to do with why I moved down here.” Now along with Desiree and Boyer, I was seeing James again, lying there, bleeding to death, his body, tied to the back of a truck, being dragged away. Had it been more than twenty years? I looked at Joanie; she was still staring back at me. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into some meaningless sex tonight?”
“I don’t know… It’s tempting, but I don’t think I’m ready to let go of Mikal yet, and I wouldn’t feel right if we did, besides it might mess up your date with…”
“Agnes.”
“Right, Agnes.”
“It’s just drinks.” More laughter. “What?”
“How long has it been, Buttman?”
“Too long,” I tried to look pathetic, in need. “Can’t you throw a lonely man a bone?”
“I could, but then you might expect it every time your prospects got thin, and I don’t think I can make that kind of long-term commitment. Sorry.” This was accompanied by her best puppy dog frown. “Besides, you might get lucky tomorrow. You never know?”
“You never know.” I leaned over and gave her a kiss, which, thankfully, she returned. “So, what are you going to do about Mikal? Stick it out till he comes back? Do you know when he’ll be back? Did he say? Too many questions, what?”
“Too many questions. I don’t know what I can do till he returns, other than wait.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “You know how much I like the guy, right?”
“I know.” I squeezed her hand. The worry was back on her face. The man she loved wasn’t where he was supposed to be. There was only me.
The rest of the evening was fairly quiet, some small talk about bands and gigs and people with too much money. We were too jaded to wallow in dreams, better to focus on what we could do, whatever that was. Another drink and I was ready to ask her the question I really wanted to ask.
“How would you like to go up to the farm with me this weekend; sometime, soon?”
“The farm?”
“The farm.”
“Why don’t you go by yourself? You don’t need me to go.” She was well aware of my unwillingness to go alone.
“You know why, and I do need you. What do you say? It’s that or the sex.”
“So this was just a set up to get me to go back home with you? Maybe I should rethink the sex?” She laughed at that too.
“Maybe.” The light was gone from the sky and we were both tired. I was ready to crash, sex or no sex. Joanie stood up and folded her chair. She leaned over and gave me a big wet sloppy kiss.
“That ought to hold you for a day. I’ll let you know about the farm. Try to get some sleep, huh, you look tired.” She left me for the relative safety of her own bungalow. I folded my chair, set it inside the door, and made my way to the bedroom where I attempted to sleep without dreaming of knives and the damage they do.
The night passed without too much turmoil.
With the morning light driving me out of bed, I prepared for the day ahead.
On the off chance the day might take its own turn and leave me high and dry with regards to nourishment, I made myself an egg sandwich and a cup of tea. You never know. The birds were chirping and flitting about as I waited. The thump, thump, thump on the door aroused me from my stupor. Two uniformed cops stood in the doorway. The one to the left had his hand on the holster of his pistol. Neither felt the need to smile.
“Monk Buttman?” The lead cop spoke.
“Yes?”
“We’re here to escort you downtown for the purpose of questioning in the death of Todd Boyer.”
“And if I refuse?” It can’t hurt to ask.
“Then we will arrest you as a material witness. What’ll it be, Mr. Buttman?” I weighed the options.
“Let me get my jacket.” They watched as I retrieved the aforementioned jacket and locked the door.
The drive, other than being detained in the back of a car designed for the class of society, was quite pleasant. At one point I fell asleep. This must have irked the two up front, with one pounding on the steel mesh dividing us. Once we reached headquarters, I was escorted past the usual cast of characters and ushered into a fairly plain interview room. I was asked if I wanted a cup of coffee, I said no. I asked for water and with cup in hand waited to be interviewed. After a half hour of daydreaming about Agnes, Joanie, Judith, or any woman I could think of, two detectives, calling themselves Mallory and Descartes, entered the room.
They were both wearing white shirts with
dark trousers. Mallory’s tie was brown, Descartes’ blue. Both men were of an average build with Descartes being a little taller. He was also better looking with a full head of thick black hair while Mallory’s head did what it could with the last strands of blond hair combed straight back. To me, they appeared to be about the same age. Mallory was all business, with no discernible facial expression, while Descartes had an open face with a snarky grin. They sat down across from me with Mallory thumbing through what I presumed was the file on Boyer’s demise. Mallory spoke first.
“You found the body of the deceased, Mr. Todd Boyer, at approximately five-thirty yesterday afternoon, is that correct?” I assured him it was. I also reiterated the other points of my statement. “So you did not see the woman who was working there in the morning when you first went to the building, Ms. Desiree Marshan?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Not that you remember?”
“Not that I remember,” I repeated.
“Interesting, meaning you may remember at some point in the future when allowed to by Marsyas Durant?” Descartes chimed in. It was a curious statement. Hadn’t the captain, taken into confidence by Durant, greased these wheels?
“I can’t speak to what Mr. Durant may or may not allow. You’ll have to ask him.”
“We’ll find out, Buttman, no matter who we have to ask, you can be guaranteed of that.”
“If you say so.”
Mallory continued to page through the report. It dawned on me that they were probably more interested in the goings on at Aeschylus and Associates than just in the slaying of Todd Boyer. It should have occurred to me earlier when Durant counseled discretion. I can be slow that way. I’d heard stories of A and A that were not particularly flattering. There had been some characters through the years that had brought unwanted attention to the firm, mostly politicians, but also lawyers skirting the law. There was always talk that they had their fingers in any number of possibly illegal pies, but that Durant was too clever to ever get caught or be taken down. Perhaps I was seen as a way in, a chump or fall guy; somebody who might know something, who might squeal if pushed hard enough.
“What’s on your minds, officers?”
“We’re detectives, Buttman.” Descartes acted indignant.
“That’s Mr. Buttman, detective.” Oddly, he did not find my correction humorous. Such is life, next question.
“How well did you know Boyer?”
“I didn’t know him at all. Nor, just in case you were interested, was I privy to anything he may have been involved with at Aeschylus and Associates. I’m nothing more than an independent contractor who does some detail work for them.” So far, so good, and it made me sound more important than I was.
“I heard you were a glorified errand boy.” I don’t think Descartes liked me. From my end I hadn’t decided whether I had any regard for the two detectives.
“Call it what you like.”
“I did some checking on you, Buttman, and there’s not much there.”
“What’s your point?”
“It tells me you’re not who you say you are; that somewhere along the line you changed identities, and who does that?”
“You tell me, detective?”
“You’re hiding something, Buttman, that’s what!” Descartes leaned in.
“Think what you like.” I leaned in.
“Did you see any kind of conflict or trouble between Ms. Marshan and Mr. Boyer?” Mallory looked up at me as he asked this.
“I can’t say for certain. I was only there for a moment or two, but my impression was that Boyer had an attitude towards Ms. Marshan that she didn’t care for. Beyond that I couldn’t say.” Mallory leaned forward.
“What attitude would that be, Mr. Buttman?” I didn’t care for the spite on the honorific. Odd the things you focus on.
“That he had a thing for her and that she should abide.”
“So you think she killed him?” Descartes decided to stretch his legs.
“I couldn’t say.” He stood next to me, hands in his pockets.
“Maybe he can’t say because maybe he killed Boyer?” Apparently, it was for my tearful confession.
“Like he had a thing for me, detective?”
He was smiling. “Like it doesn’t happen between men. You were there, Mr. Buttman; you’ve even got the right name, don’t you think?” He was pacing now. “Something went wrong, maybe you planned it, maybe not, but you were there. People do all kinds of things to one another, including murder.”
“I think you’re killing time, my time.” Mallory kept watching for my facial tics. It was probable that I had a few.
“It’s ok with me, I can take all the time I want! They pay me to do it.” Descartes sat back down next to Mallory. “You know more than you’re telling us, Mr. Buttman, and I’m curious as to why. Maybe Durant is pressuring you, maybe you and Boyer were butt buddies, something, but I think you’re holding out on us, Mr. Buttman, and I want to know why. I’ve got all day.”
“You know as much as I do, gentlemen. There’s nothing more to tell, disappointing as that may be.”
It was at this point that a young uniformed officer knocked and came in. The two detectives turned to him as he whispered in their ears. Whatever he said caused them to look at me in less than loving terms.
“Your attorney is here, Buttman.”
“My attorney?” Mallory didn’t care for my sarcasm.
“You heard me.”
“That’s true, I’m here to represent you.” Walking in, she gave me a faint smile then turned to the three cops. “Gentlemen, I think you’ve learned all you can from my client. He came here of his own free will. I’ve talked with Captain Goncalves and there’s no reason for this continued interrogation. There’s nothing to indicate Mr. Buttman knows anything more, nor is he, given the evidence collected, a viable suspect. Is there anything else, gentlemen?”
“We’d like a set of fingerprints, if you don’t mind.” Mallory was at this point glowering at me.
“Unless you plan to book my client, I do mind; at the proper time, gentlemen, along with proper recourse.” She gave them a rather unctuous smile. The detectives didn’t care for that either.
“We’ll be talking again, Mr. Buttman.” Detective Descartes had risen from his chair.
“That may be, but before you do, I want to know about it.” My attorney turned towards the door. “Please come with me, Mr. Buttman.” I stood up and followed her, the three cops watching.
“See you later dudes.” I couldn’t help myself.
5
“My name is Taylor Lagenfelder, Mr. Buttman.”
Taylor was the female version of the modern company man: young, smart, well dressed, and motivated. Other than being reasonably well dressed, I was none of those things. When I was young, it would periodically occur to me that I should be doing more with my life. Fortunately, I had a knack for dismissing such existential quandaries, but people like Taylor fascinated me; such dedication to the idea that they intrinsically mattered to the fate of their times and by extension to the world and the universe beyond it.
“Mr. Durant would like to talk to you.”
“Sure.” She didn’t ask if I wanted to, or had other plans. In her world Durant came first, and as he had sent her to my supposed rescue, I was willing to go along for the ride. “How long have you been lawyering, Ms. Lagenfelder?”
“Four years,” she replied, no doubt the product of a good family, good schools, all of that. No farm populated by freaks and peaceniks, no longing for a return to a bucolic agrarian American that never really existed, no flight from the mi
litary industrial complex that turned us all into sheep for her.
“School?”
“Harvard law.” This she stated with evident pride.
“Then I’m in good hands.”
“You are a fortunate man, Mr. Buttman.”
“Yes, it’s looking that way.”
Having answered my questions, the remainder of the drive was of silent observation. I was always watching, wondering. For no good reason it made me consider how a deity, any deity, could keep up with everything all these people were up to, good and bad. I looked at my attorney wondering if she believed in any faith.
The old man grew up in the church and was a true believer until his brother died. No one could explain to his satisfaction why God let Elijah die so young, so he started to dig into the liturgy and history and was disillusioned by what he found, was deeply disappointed that humanity wasn’t living up to his expectations. He never said much about Elijah. Elijah was nothing more than a few faded Kodachrome snapshots set in a frame on a dresser. When and if I get up the nerve to go back, maybe I’ll ask. Moses did, in his own way, make peace with God. Maybe age does that to you as you draw closer to the end.
Maybe.
The efficient Ms. Lagenfelder called to say we were close. We entered the garage, parked, and proceeded to the elevator that led to Durant’s office. She keyed in the proper code and the elevator came to retrieve us. Durant was waiting.
“Thank you, Taylor. I appreciate your taking time to assist Mr. Buttman.” He then turned to me, “Mr. Buttman, please contact Ms. Lagenfelder should the police again request any of your time.” She handed me her card.
“I will.” Taylor excused herself. Durant and I sat down, he behind his desk, and me in the chair facing it. I sat there as he kept his gaze on me. A sly grin slowly made its way across his face.
“Mind if I ask you a few personal questions?” He sat back.
“If you feel the need.” I did the same.
“Where are you from, Mr. Buttman?”
Where Fools Dare to Tread Page 4