“He didn’t follow up on phone calls or much of anything else unless they were rich donors. He’d put off decisions to the last minute. He’d deign to tell everyone about some vital project or the paperwork for some grant the day it was due. Then there would be a mad scramble to get it done. Later on the people who did the work in that mad, slap-dash way would be blamed if there was something wrong with their work or his presentations. If a grant didn’t come in, the blame game would start. Snarly Bitch would claim it was someone else’s fault, everyone else’s fault. Besides the hassles with the boss, there was the usual wrangling you get in any organization. People would fight about responsibility and territoriality.”
It was a mystery to me why Snarly Bitch didn’t tell people weeks or months before a deadline instead of the day something was due. What was the hold up? Laziness or meanness or ineptitude? A combination of all three? Certainly the money meant more to their jobs than to his. He had money.
“Didn’t he want the clinic to succeed?” Stafford asked.
“I assume he did.”
“Where were you last night?”
“Home, alone, reading a book.”
“What else did you touch in that room?”
“About everything. I use the office. I wasn’t being particularly careful.”
“We’ll be taking everybody’s fingerprints so we can eliminate the ones who belong and establish the ones that don’t.”
Obviously my fingerprints would be on the filing cabinet. If mine were the only ones, I would be very depressed.
The door to the office swung open. Jan Aiello swept into the room. Jan was Grover Cleveland’s and the clinic’s budding teen drag queen. A red-faced beat cop followed him into the room and tried to clamp a hand on the kid’s arm.
“Oh, sorry.” Jan held up his hand to his face and tittered. “Are you the police?”
Jan knew they were. He wasn’t stupid and his entrance wasn’t accidental. He was ushered out of the room. The police asked me to hang around. I acquiesced.
In the hall several members of the clinic’s board of directors asked to talk to Todd.
Lee found me. “I’m in trouble,” he said.
3
Police personnel swarmed over the scene. People milled about in the three body-part-free buildings on the south end of the complex.
After I was fingerprinted, Lee took me into an office the police hadn’t cordoned off. It was a cubbyhole slightly larger than mine but with about half the clutter. It was in the third of four buildings from the north end. A poster of two soccer players exchanging shirts at the end of a game covered part of a wall.
Lee looked pale and his hands trembled. He had weighed over three hundred pounds as a freshman in high school. He’d gone out for football. By senior year he’d lost all the weight and felt better about himself, but the coaches hated him because he was no good to them as a skinny faggot. Fat faggots were okay, I guess. Nowadays he kept his red hair brush cut and wore mostly khaki pants, blue shirts, and pale yellow and blue ties. He worked out at a health club two hours every other day and ran several miles along the lake-front on the off days. His hands usually trembled slightly from caffeine overload. He’d never smiled much as a kid. He was one of the first ones to come to the Eponymous Gay Teen Club at my school and his dedication to the kids at the clinic was total. He was determined to do everything he could to prevent gay kids from having to go through what he had.
Lee asked, “Mr. Mason, are you okay?”
“Been better.” I’d told him once that it was okay to call me by my first name. I was no longer his teacher and he’d graduated from college and had an MSW. But he rarely used my first name. I didn’t harp about it. Whatever made him comfortable was fine with me.
“Jesus, that must have been awful. You just opened the…”
“I’d rather not go into great detail.”
“Yeah, right, sorry.” He hesitated a moment, then asked, “How much does your lawyer cost?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Snarly Bitch fired me last night. I think I may have been the last one to see him alive.”
“What happened?”
“The goddamn prom committee met last night. They meet every fucking night. How hard can it be to plan a fucking dance? We had fights every night. Could kids come in drag? Should there be any dress restrictions at all? Should there be a separate prom for transgender kids?”
“Were there a lot of transgender kids?”
“Probably none, but at least two people on the committee were concerned that the needs of these possibly nonexistent kids were met. I graduated from college in three years and lost tons of sleep in grad school to put up with this petty shit? I got fed up.”
“But you get fed up a lot. Remember the committee for the Pride float last year?” The stories I’d heard about those legendary meetings were harrowing. What kinds of flowers to use and what colors they should be had taken fifteen hours to decide! And that was one of the quicker decisions.
“I know,” Lee said, “but this time I said something. I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it. I’d been at the hospital yesterday with a gay kid who tried to commit suicide. I’d dealt with his parents, who were in stunned shock, and his younger brother who found him. It was even more sad because the parents claimed they didn’t care he was gay. All the boy’s anxiety about their reaction had been in his own head.”
Lee had a tremendous reputation at the clinic for dealing with suicidal teens. He’d brought many back from the brink and was also fantastic with those who had made the attempt.
“What happened when you got back here?”
“Snarly Bitch insists the full-time staff has to be at all committee meetings, no matter how trivial, or how easy it would be for only a few people to make the plans and come to the others with their decisions and get review or more input. Nope. We all had to be here. So I came back. I’m used to working ten-, twelve-hour days. We all are, but I was exhausted. I thought every issue they discussed at the stupid meeting was crap. Just total, mind-numbing crap. People bickered endlessly. I just wanted the damn meeting to end. I kept my mouth shut. That’s never good enough for Snarly Bitch. He insisted I give my opinion about the color scheme of the decorations. I give a rat’s ass about the goddamn color scheme. But he pushed and he pushed. I snapped. I told him to back off. We went at it hammer and tongs. I said everything I’d been holding back since the day I started. It felt great. At the end I told him to fuck himself. He fired me on the spot.”
“Lots of people had fights with him. Why fire you?”
“It’s not so much that we had fights with him. It was more he bullied and ranted after we tried to explain. We usually didn’t fight back. Certainly not in front of everybody. Of those who did fight, nobody had been fired. I’m the first he just out and out canned in front of everybody.”
“There must have been others.”
“According to what I’ve been told, I’m it. After what you found this morning, they called in everybody. I asked around. I’m the only one.”
“But I led the protest committee.”
“But you’re a volunteer. Your lover’s rich. And you didn’t fight. You were so calm in the face of his sarcasm. I don’t know how you did it. He held back with you, but he was pissed.”
“If you’d already been fired, what do the police think would be the point in you killing him?”
“I’m not sure what they think. Revenge? They’re sure to find out about the fight. Then again, half the people in that room despised each other.”
“They’d also have reason to kill him. Most of them would have longer histories with him.”
“Yeah, I guess, but I was the last one to leave. I stayed to clean out my desk. I didn’t see anyone else inside or out. My office has one of the doors you can get out of, but you’ve got to go around to a different entrance to get back in.”
“You didn’t want to wait for the morning to clean out your desk? Maybe he
’d reconsider after he cooled off.”
“He told me specifically that he would not reconsider, that I was to clean out my desk right then. I went out and came back in three or four times with stacks of stuff. I had a lot of personal things, a lot of files of my own, for clients of my own. I used this office to see private clients as well. Between trips to the car, I smoked a cigarette in the alley for a few minutes. The light was on in his office the last time I walked out. I didn’t notice anybody else. They’re going to think I did it.”
“Everybody fought with him,” I reminded him.
“My fingerprints will be in his office.”
“So will everybody’s probably.”
A uniformed cop knocked at the door. “The detectives are ready for Mr. Weaver.”
I got my lawyer, put him together with Lee, and returned to the office to wait.
Daisy Tajeda poked her head in. “I’m in trouble,” she said.
4
Daisy was a slender woman in her early forties. She’d been with the clinic for years. She, along with Lee, had begged me to be the spokesperson who went to Snarly Bitch to try and get him to change his management style. She was one of the few people in the clinic who’d been pleasantly friendly to me every time we met. She was less territorial than many of the others.
She threw herself into a chair. I sat on the edge of the desk.
She said, “This is awful. You really found his head?”
“Yep.”
“How could someone do that, cut off…And they’d have to carry it around? And the other parts? I can’t imagine it. One leg was in the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet. Thank god I wasn’t the one who found it. I’d have panicked. At least you’re calm. You can handle things.”
I wasn’t about to volunteer to be the designated body-part finder. To her comment I said, “I think I was more numb and shocked than calm.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself. What I don’t like is that the police have been through everything in the clinic. They’ll probably go through all the kids’ files. Those kids need their privacy.”
“Why would they read all the private files? I’m not sure they can, legally. I’m not sure there’s a purpose—some of these files go back years.”
“Most of the old files are in the basement. They’re probably covered in blood.” She shuddered.
I wondered what the killer had used to cart the parts around to avoid leaving remnants of blood and gore on the surfaces he passed. Then again, I wondered why the killer would care if he left drops of blood and bits of flesh and bone. What difference would it make if he made a bloody mess? Why bother taking the time to distribute body parts? Did he want more than one person to experience the shock effect as had I? Did the killer think after the first was discovered that the police wouldn’t be called? Or that the police would allow the staff to hunt for cut-up bits of their former boss? Now that I knew the killer had scattered body parts around, I assumed he wasn’t sending a message to one person. The image I didn’t relish conjuring up was someone grasping bleeding bits of flesh and walking the same corridors I had.
I tuned back in to Tajeda. She was saying, “You heard they found a mess down in the basement? I presume it was horrible. Are you okay?”
“Not as good as I was yesterday at this time.”
“What did the police say to you?”
“Usual questions. Did I know him? What was he like? Where was I last night?”
She looked worried. She asked, “Is your lawyer expensive?”
If this kept up, maybe Todd could retire from the referrals from today alone.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I think I may have been the last one to see him alive.”
“How’s that?”
“After that horrible meeting about the prom, I went to talk to him in his office. He stays late every night. He does most of his business then, personal interviews, phone calls—probably waking up people on both coasts and across the ocean. I needed to make my point. I was glad he was still here. I can’t believe people don’t understand how important it is to do everything right for the kids at that dance. I want it to be perfect for them. I don’t understand Lee’s unconcern. He’s got to understand why this is so important. But still, he shouldn’t have been fired over it. And the decision to fire him should have been discussed at all levels.”
“What exactly happened at the meeting?”
“Lee sat there pretty quiet. I knew he’d had a rough day. We had a huge number of items to get through on the agenda. Actually it’s not bad when somebody’s quiet. When one fewer person talks, there’s that many fewer fights. Snarly Bitch insisted Lee give his opinion about the color scheme. Lee just blew up. He really let him have it. Said that Snarly Bitch was a petty dictator who cared more about himself than he did the kids. That he cared more about insignificant details and petty interpersonal victories than he did about helping kids. Lee ended up saying that Snarly Bitch could take his money and fuck himself.”
“He actually said ‘fuck himself’?”
“Yep. I cheered inside as he hurled each insult. Everything he said was true. Snarly Bitch is evil, but still I went to talk to him after the meeting. I wanted to appeal to him not to fire Lee. We need Lee. Among the full-time staffers, he’s the best. He’s better at paperwork than I am. I relate to the girls better, but I’ve got to admit he’s better than I am with the boys. He’s intervened in some pretty rough cases since he’s been here. Kids who haven’t opened up in years trusted him. We can’t afford to lose him.”
“What did Snarly Bitch say?”
“He told me that if it was necessary, I’d be next. I got angry at that. I raised my voice.”
“But he didn’t fire you?”
“No, but I got that damn smirk of his. I’d like to slap that smirk off his face.”
One of the major complaints the staff had about Charley Fitch was that while he said rude, mean, or demeaning things, he kept this nasty smirk on his face. This outraged them almost as much as what he said. They interpreted the smirk to mean Fitch was saying, “I’ve got power over you and fuck you.” A lot to read into a smirk, but I agreed. Added to that, when someone was trying to have an ordinary, non-hostile conversation with him, Fitch often kept a fatuous smile on his face, as if he were the older, wiser adult, just waiting for the silly child to finish prattling on. The workers at the clinic had learned that the fatuous smile usually immediately preceded the smirk, which would be followed by the next mean, stupid, or rude comment.
“Are you sure you were the last one out?”
“I thought I was. I didn’t see any other lights, but I didn’t check the whole clinic. I made sure the door was locked behind me when I left. We always do. This might not be prime real estate, but we’re all pretty careful.”
“Did anybody else defend Lee?”
“Nobody spoke up at the meeting. Even I didn’t have the nerve to do that. We’re all cowards. Look how we had to get you to lead that meeting.”
“I’m sure I didn’t make that much of a difference.”
“You did. You stood up for yourself and us, and you didn’t get fired. It exposed the hypocrisy around here.”
“I’m a volunteer. I doubt it had anything to do with any ability I may or may not have to communicate or be brave. I suspect he thought I might be a source of big donations. Were there any other fights with other people at the meeting?”
“No. You know Snarly Bitch’s style. He fixed on one person for no very good reason. He snaps and snarls at them. It’s like he’s egging them on and hoping for a fight. When was the last time you heard a question asked at a meeting? It doesn’t happen. He’d leap down the throat of anyone who had the nerve to make the simplest inquiry. He takes everything as a challenge to his authority.”
“Did he have any fights during the day yesterday?”
“Not that I remember.”
Jan put his head in the door. “We’re talking,” Tajeda snapped.
“I need to talk to Mr. Mason,” Jan said.
I said, “In a few minutes.”
I told her I’d put her together with my lawyer.
As Tajeda left, Jan swept into the room.
5
Jan never just entered a room. He turned the act of arriving into a grand performance. He flounced. He twirled. Wrists limped. Hips swished. Outside a Broadway show, why anyone would want to waste energy on such an act, I couldn’t imagine. At sixteen he wore black silk capes draped over flowered shirts and always carried a battered paperback copy of an Ayn Rand opus in one hand. Among a few select young gays, she had become quite the rage. Many of his classmates enjoyed his ability to entertain. Keeping them entertained didn’t mean you were accepted or liked. On the other hand, many of them did their best to make him miserable. I doubt if Jan dared to enter a washroom at school. Conscientious teachers spent their time getting kids to stop picking on him. His parents spent their time in denial. Jan spent his time craving attention. I’d heard one severely closeted teacher say he wished he could be a free spirit like Jan, someone who didn’t care what others thought. Jan wasn’t a free spirit. He cared very much what impression he made on others. He dressed to get reactions. Being gay isn’t learned, but being an outrageous, attention-craving, effeminate queen is. But then without drag queens, there would have been no Stonewall. And without drag queens the media would only have hundreds of thousands of other gay people to take pictures of at Pride parades.
For Jan the clinic was a welcome respite. He was immensely popular among the other members of the youth group at the clinic. At the same time the members of the staff mostly tolerated him. His one-man drag-queen symphony annoyed all of the adults some of the time and some of the adults all the time, but while he hadn’t annoyed everybody all the time, he was well on his way to completing the trifecta.
Today, Jan wore a flaming pink feather boa over a muscle T-shirt, which had to be a little cool even for the pleasant temperatures. If the world ever needed another Dennis Rodman, Jan was ready to take his place. His skimpy shorts strained to cover the beginnings of an unattractive bulge around his middle. Jan often talked about wearing ‘tighty-whitey’ underwear as if talking about underwear was a great breakthrough in the war between adults and teenagers. Said war mostly existed in Jan’s head. At least that way he could win. He had his Ayn Rand book. Jan had seldom met an impulse that wasn’t worth giving in to. He rarely controlled himself. Worse, his parents were certifiable wackos. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he began confessing to the murder. I would have been far more surprised if he had actually done it.
File Under Dead Page 3