Death at Dawn

by Arthur Day

  “She hung out with Billy Black, John Rossman and Jacob Warren when they were in school?” she asked softly. She wondered what they would say if they knew what Dianne’s parents had gone through with her. There were tears and protestations. Her mother could not or would not understand how Dianne could change her exterior to match her interior. My father told her that he thought she was just doing this to get back at them for trying to raise her like a normal human being. How could she do this to your mother he would scream almost every day and sometimes multiple times. He did not raise me to be some kind of freak. A year later he died. She was eighteen she said, and she would make her own decisions and she was sorry that her mother could not understand that this was something that she did not feel she had any choice on. Dianne’s mother took Xanax and went to bed where she stayed, unable to face friends and neighbors who might know what had happened. Unlike Susan, though, Dianne’s mother had made a huge effort not to lose touch with her in the maelstrom of sexual change. It had not been easy for her or Dianne, but she still called her mother regularly or, if things were really insane, she would just text her that she was okay. Just took a few seconds. She wondered why Susan had not been able to find those seconds. Apparently, she had been angry enough to cut off all ties with her home and parents.

  “Yes,” Ralph replied. They were inseparable. If we could not find Susan, we knew she would be with the boys. She was a big tomboy. They ran all over the woods in this area. I have to say I think that was a better way to grow up than to be glued to a phone or a tablet. At least that’s what I thought at the time. Now, I’m not so sure. Emma thinks that Susan reacted to her mother’s death and my friendship with Emma and had nothing to do with how Susan grew up. I suppose she’s right.” He looked perplexed as if someone had asked him to describe a nuclear reaction.

  “Of course I’m right,” Emma Bencham chimed in. “Susan was close to her mother and then she lost that support. I had no chance to even try and fill the gap even in part.” She looked across the table at her husband. “You know I’m right Ralph. From what you describe Susan was a typical happy high school student who was applying to colleges and going out on dates with her friends and then Pat gets cancer that kills her within a few months and your daughter becomes a withdrawn, rebellious lout hanging out in Rockmarsh doing God knows what and coming in at all hours and then not coming home at all.” Her voice broke and she looked down into her lap and then back up at Dianne. “She never gave me a chance.”

  Dianne reached into her purse and brought out a small packet of Kleenex that she handed to Emma. “I wouldn’t beat yourself up,” she said. “Sounds to me as if you were simply a convenient target for her mother’s death.”

  “See Emma.” Ralph nodded vigorously. “That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

  “Do you know of the places where Susan used to hang out in Rockmarsh?”

  Ralph shook his head. “Sorry no. That was many years ago. You can look in her room if you like. You might find something useful.”

  Driving away from the Bencham farm Dianne went over what she knew and had found out about Susan Bencham, A friend at DMV had returned a favor and found that Susan had never had a Connecticut driver’s license. A search of public records had turned up nothing either. Susan had managed to avoid any attention wherever she was, or she had married and changed her name or simply used a false name and paid in cash. There were multiple possibilities that would explain the lack of a paper trail. Perhaps the sheriff with access to more information across state lines would be able to find out more. Dianne had only one small lead from all this and that was a book of matches that she had found in the top drawer of Susan’s dresser in her bedroom. Maybe somebody there knew her or remembered her.

  She thought about the match book that she had found at the bottom of one of Susan’s drawers. The BLACK CAT was the name on the matches. Dianne knew of the place, a shabby night club on Bickford Street that catered to the young drug crowd. The music there was loud, the drinks watered, and few questions were asked. One could arrange almost anything at the Cat if you had the money and knew who to ask but it was no place for tourists, pilgrims or naïve teenagers no matter how much they thought they knew.

  Suddenly she realized what she had been missing. The Cat was no place for kids, but it would be a perfect place for someone like Jacob Warren. There he could find out anything he needed and whatever tools or help he could afford and he was from the area so he would know about the Cat. Dianne knew some of the people who were regulars at the place. If Warren had been there they would know.

  DIANNE

  The Black Cat was a dump and, if you did not know where to look for it you would miss it entirely and that, thought Dianne, was probably the point. If you knew about it at all, it was because someone told you and that put you in the millennial mix of people who colored outside the sexual lines or thought that they could or wanted to be considered avant-guard. The majority of the customers were LGBT but there was a sprinkling of others, college kids who thought they knew it all and even a sprinkling of high schoolers looking wide-eyed and providing targets for the predators in the crowd.

  The inside of the long narrow room was jammed with people. There was a bar but no tables. At the far end of the room was a tiny stage used by an older tired-looking pole dancer. The light was so dim that it was hard to know the color of the walls or even the type of liquor in your drink if you were able to get to the bar and order one. Two waitresses forced their way through groups of people taking drink orders, getting groped and groping right back. Dante could not have described a scene from the Inferno that held a candle to the Cat.

  Dianne hated the place but there was where the trail led so there was where she had to go but she knew better than to be there early. Early was for the few tourists who thought “slumming” would be a great adventure. There were several muggings there every year but if you wanted to disappear the Cat was the place. The Rockmarsh police kept an eye on the place and tended not to interfere as long as everyone behaved. The place was owned and run by a bull dyke named Beth and she had no sympathy if Gerold at the front door refused to let someone in. He was six feet five and over three hundred pounds and carried his massive frame in such a way that it was a brave person who argued with him. All weapons were tagged and checked at the door and, if Gerold didn’t like the person he would strip search them right there on the spot.

  The regulars slept during the day, ate at eight or nine o’clock at night and then went down to the Cat if that was where they wanted to go and where many of them made their living. Dianne got there around eleven thirty and the place was jumping. Music blared from the speakers. The pole dancer must have been on break because there were two women on the stage kissing and pulling at each other’s clothes. A steady stream of people were coming and going all watched benignly by Gerold seated on a large metal chair by the door.

  “Evening Dianne,” he nodded and smiled at her. “Been a while. How’s it hanging?”

  “Loose and to the left,” she responded. It was a standard question and answer and she stopped briefly before going in. “You ever see this girl here?” She showed a picture of Susan that the Benchams had given her. “Dunno. Lots of people in and out of here every day.” Dianne reached out and took the picture slipping a twenty dollar bill into Gerold’s huge paw as she did so. “It’s important Gerold. Could keep the cops away as well and we both know what effect they have on business and especially tips. If you see her or anyone working here has seen her let me know. My number hasn’t changed.”

  Gerold made the twenty disappear and grinned at her. “Got it sweetheart.”

  Dianne smiled at him and walked through the door. The smoke was thick enough to cut with a knife and the heat was incredible. Dianne felt sweat breaking out on her face as she pushed and edged her way to the bar. Carlos was on the bar. He was a slim Latino who never seemed to sweat although the temperature in the room must have
been in the eighties and completely overwhelmed the overhead fan. He had an easy smile and the ability to keep everyone happy while ringing up huge profits for Beth. He made a small fortune off the pooled tips, lived in an upscale apartment in Rockmarsh and thought he was the greatest stud that ever walked the streets of the city. He was never seen twice with the same woman but somehow managed to avoid being shot or otherwise inconvenienced. If a cat has nine lives, Dianne thought, Carlos must have nine cats. He was at the far end of the bar but worked his way quickly down to where she was pressed between two lesbians and a cross-dresser. “Hey Dianne. How ‘bout we go behind the bar after shift and I’ll give you a lovin’ spoonful.” He reached across the bar and stroked one of her breasts. “No charge just for you,” he crooned and moved his hand over to the other breast.

  “Thanks Carlos but I’m working tonight.”

  He looked around. “Don’t see no houses here and no normals to sell them to.” He smiled showing two gold teeth of which he was inordinately proud. Dianne palmed another twenty onto the bar with a picture of Susan and Jacob Warren. “You see either one, especially the man, you let me know. Don’t go playing hero and risk losing those teeth of yours.”

  “No worries senorita. Momma didn’t raise no fool.”

  Of that Dianne had no doubt. Carlos put a tonic and lime in front of her. “Just for show, you know,” he said. Dianne put another ten on the bar and, turning her back on Carlos, scanned the room. If either Susan or Jacob showed up she would hear about it but that might not happen for days or weeks or maybe never. How did that matchbook get into Susan’s room? Any number of ways for sure. Dianne had picked it up by the edges, put it into a small glassine envelope and mailed it to the sheriff’s department care of Buckmaster. No telling what prints they might be able to lift from it but again it would take time and she didn’t like the idea of MJ being a walking target any longer than necessary.

  She needed to talk with people who might have seen them or might know where they were staying, particularly Jacob. She had no doubt he was still around.

  “’Bout time you showed up darling. Wassa matta? You get your shiny little cock caught in a crack?” This was followed by a high-pitched female laugh that would have quieted any normal room in seconds.

  Dianne whirled around and found herself face to face with the very person she needed to find. Garland Ebony was a six-foot two inch stick of a man, a black queen homosexual, more woman than man and, as far as Dianne was concerned, more man than most of the men she had met. “I heard you used that nasty old thing between your legs to beat up on your last partner. Aint you learned no manners after all this time? You should stop squeezing through the crack in closed doors. Don’t do your sex life no good at all, hear?” she drawled in deliberate imitation.

  “Fuck you Vargas you scuzzy-assed bitch.” Garland grinned, reached out and brought Dianne into a hug that threatened to push all the air from her chest. He pushed her away as much as possible in the crowd. “You lookin’ fine, Dianne. Whatchu been doing?”

  “Looking for you, Gar. I need some information. Can we talk?”

  “Sure sister. We kin do whatever we want.” He grinned as he reached between them and groped her. “I be up for anything,” he continued.

  “Get outta here your own nasty self. Where can we talk?”

  “Pretty quiet in the cubes.” Garland turned and, hips swishing and silver Leiber JL Marry pumps clicking, she pushed through the people around them.

  They went through a door marked Employees Only and into a short corridor with two small doors opening on either side. Garland turned left into the first doorway. “You got a problem my friend. I’ll help if I can.” Suddenly he had lost his lisp, and his voice was much more masculine. We be good here if we don’t talk too loud. Sounds like there’s action in the cube next to us.”

  There were four tiny rooms behind the bar for those people who couldn’t wait and needed a room and could afford to pay for it. Garland had backed Beth when Beth needed cash to start up the Cat. In return, Garland had the run of the place. Dianne knew that her friend had a finger in almost every pie and a paid ear against every keyhole. Garland was a wealth of information on the town’s richest families and many more beside. If anyone knew where either Susan or Jacob was it would be he. Dianne brought the picture of Susan out of her pocket and showed it to Garland. I’m looking for this woman. Also, a man called Jacob Warren. The two used to run together when they were kids.” She looked around. She leaned in close to Garland’s ear. “Does Beth have a mic and camera on us?” Dianne whispered.

  Garland nodded gravely. He turned his back on Dianne, and probably the camera as well, bent over and looked at the picture for a long moment before straightening up and turning back to her. “The usual arrangement?” he asked her.

  Garland charged a lot for information. Dianne would not have been surprised if she had learned that he did a little blackmailing as well, but she had never looked too hard in that direction and, if he was doing that, Garland had been both discrete and lucky. She could not pay the money he normally charged but, because they were friends and Garland trusted her, he settled for a favor that he would call for later when he needed her PI services. Failing that, she was fairly sure that the Pease family would be willing to cover expenses to find the person who murdered their daughter. She nodded assent and they turned and went back through the door to the cacophony beyond.

  JACOB WARREN

  Where the hell have you been?”

  “None of your dammed business.”

  “’long as I’m here it’s my business.” Jacob looked at Susan Bencham and suddenly saw a woman who would never see fifty again carrying an extra thirty pounds with gray hair and skin beginning to wrinkle making her tats look strangely surrealistic. Okay so everyone grows older and he was no exception, but Jacob did not think he had disintegrated to the degree Susan had. He looked at her sagging chins and dark bags of flesh under her eyes and wondered briefly what had happened to the elfin free spirit of his childhood. But for that big-assed bastard McCaal, he could have been happily sharing the summers with Pam relaxing in the beauty of the lake and in the warmth of her smile. That image was replaced almost instantly by the thought that she had screwed him over big time as if he were trash to be used and discarded at will. “What’s in the bag?” he asked pointing at a plastic bag Susan held in her left hand.

  “Hamburger and rolls you paranoid idiot. I don’t mind helping you out but I’m not starving to death for you.”

  “No chance of that,” he sneered.

  “Shut the fuck up if you want to eat.”

  “I can cook a hamburger, Susan. I am not disabled.”

  “So cook it already.” She threw the bag at him; it landed with a soft plop at his feet.

  Jacob suddenly knew that Susan Bencham was absolutely the last person he needed to alienate. She knew where he was and might well be able to sell that information. He wouldn’t put it past her. Also, he had found her through a mutual friend and if she went back to that asshole, he might be in deep shit. She had spent her life in Rockmarsh except for a brief stint in New York when she thought she would be the next supermodel. HAH. “I’m sorry,” he told her and meant it. “I’ve been under a lot of stress. I guess you know what that’s like.” He didn’t think she knew at all, but he had to admit that she had not prospered. Not at all. That was something that he could use to his benefit. He held his arms out in a gesture of apology.

  “Maybe you’re in trouble. Maybe not. I don’t know, and I don’t care,” she answered more softly. “Whatever you got going on it’s okay by me. Just don’t get all wound up and take it out on me ‘cause I have nothing to do with it.”

  “You’re right. My bad. Did you have to go into a store for the food?”

  “Naa. There’s a kid in the area. I give him some dough and he goes in and buys the stuff while I wait in the alley. In return, I let h
im feel me up a little. Gets his little pecker all excited. He’ll do anything I ask him to do.”

  “Still. Might be wise to use a different store next time.”

  “Why? I always use that store. I was just being super cautious like you said. They know me and wouldn’t say anything if I went in and bought something. Now if I flashed a big roll they’d know something was up, but I wouldn’t do that even if I had one.” She closed the door, walked over to Jacob and put her arms around him. “Put the food on the stove and I’ll cook it up. Afterwards we get it on.” She gave him what she imagined was a seductive smile and went into the tiny kitchenette.

  Jacob watched her move around in front of the stove banging pots and unwrapping the food that she’d bought. He needed to keep her happy at least for a little while longer and if that meant screwing that unattractive pile of fat then that is what he would do. Susan looked over at him and blew him a silent kiss. God Almighty. He might have to do it, but he wasn’t at all sure he would be able to get an erection long enough to satisfy her. He decided that he had dealt with Susan long enough. It was time to take care of McCaal permanently and then split this place before someone put two and two together. Having made the decision, Warren felt an overwhelming sense of relief that it would all soon be behind him and he could get on with the rest of his life.

  BUCKMASTER

  Buckmaster disliked conference rooms. They were all alike varying only on the size of the table, the quality of the materials, the number of windows if any and the wooden and often painted walls of some indeterminate color. They were probably the most functional and least attractive part of any bureaucracy and the one at the Sheriff’s Department in Rockmarsh was no exception. Because it was part of the public tax revenue, it was as stiff and cheap as possible with a short fake-wood table with eight chairs, plasterboard walls painted a dull green and brown all weather carpet on the floor. On one wall was a white screen for media such as slides or film. In one corner there was a movable table with a VCR-CD combination. The middle of the table held a telephone and microphone for conference calls. There were no windows. Standing in the doorway, Buckmaster felt a little claustrophobic and wondered if there was going to be enough air. Shaking off such thoughts he went into the room and joined MJ and Dianne.