File Under Dead

by Mark Richard Zubro

  16

  As soon as I arrived, I called the answering service. I had twenty-two messages. Most were kindly friends inquiring if I was okay. A few were reporters. One call was from Billy Karek. The answering service woman said, “He begged and pleaded with me to have you call him as soon as you got in, no matter how late, but he wouldn’t say what it was about.” I wondered if Truby had gotten through to him.

  I was tired and out of sorts. In the quiet, high above the city in Scott’s penthouse, the clamor of the day seeped into my consciousness. I put off the call. I read most of the early edition of the Sunday paper while I had some ice cream and an ocean of chocolate sauce. I’d have to work out an extra hour tomorrow.

  Scott called from the West Coast just after I finished reading the QT column in the paper. He was loving and understanding. After I started talking, the words began to tumble out. I included more of the gruesome details than I’d told anybody else. He listened attentively as my reason began to catch up with my emotions.

  Scott again asked if I wanted him to come back as soon as he could get a flight. It was silly for him to miss a start for this. The team wasn’t scheduled to be back until after a night game on the Coast on Monday. I told him it wasn’t necessary for him to come back.

  When I mentioned Karek, Scott said, “My agent got a call from a friend of Karek’s. He asked me to try and convince you to talk to him.”

  “I already want to talk to him.”

  “My agent begged me to convince you. I guess he and this friend are pretty close.”

  “I wonder what the urgency is on his part.”

  “I don’t know. Obviously Karek is pulling out any stop he can think of to get you to call. It’s gotta be something important.”

  “You’d think. I’m not so worried about him. I’m far more concerned about the kids who use the clinic. I’d hate to see them lose such a valuable resource. Whether from financial malfeasance or parental fears, the place is in trouble.”

  Scott said, “Any parent would go nuts if their kid was involved, no matter how peripherally, in a murder investigation. The kids didn’t see anything last night?”

  “They claim they didn’t see anybody. Larry might have been there last. I can picture Jan sneaking back to catch a glimpse of Larry making love.”

  Scott asked, “Are you sure Larry’s not trying to implicate anyone he can? The cops might not know about what those kids were up to, but you do. You need to check into all of them. You need to talk to Larry’s boyfriend even if nobody else does. You’ve got to be sure you have all the facts.”

  He was right. I had a fleeting worry that the teenagers might start distrusting me if I asked them tough questions. That was absurd. This was a murder investigation.

  “I’ll talk to them,” I said.

  “Or,” Scott said, “Larry and the rest of them are telling the truth. I understand about Larry and sports. After this is over I’d be happy to meet him or with him and his dad. If it’ll help, I’ll do it. I feel sorry for all those poor kids, even Jan.”

  “Me too. What do you think I should do about Karek?”

  “Call the guy. What can it hurt?”

  “The message says he called about nine this evening. After the kids told the police about him being at the clinic.”

  Scott asked, “How did the killer do it?”

  “I told you, chopped him up.”

  “Yes, but how? You don’t just say to someone, ‘Would you please hold still, I’m going to decapitate you.’”

  I thought for several moments. “Good question. The cops have got to know. I’ll ask them. I’m not sure they’ll give me much of an answer.”

  “Were there signs of a struggle?”

  “The police didn’t say. I’ll ask that, too.”

  Scott said, “Maybe it’s sort of one of those eternal conundrums, what came first, the chicken or the egg, death or decapitation?”

  “Todd was doing attempts at feeble humor earlier. He wasn’t very successful.”

  “I’ll bet mine was more feeble than anything he tried.”

  I appreciated Scott’s attempts to ease my stress with a little humor. A very little. For quite a while we talked about my feelings in dealing with the dead person, as well as with Lee’s seeming duplicity, and about the kids at the clinic.

  Then we had phone sex. Well, what did you think we did when we were apart? When we finished, I told Scott I loved him. He said the same.

  It was a little before one. I called Karek’s number. I told the male voice that answered that the message had been to call no matter what time I got in.

  “I’m his lover, Reece. Would you be willing to meet us tomorrow for breakfast or an early lunch?”

  It was a little late to beat around the bush. “Why?”

  “Billy’s got to talk to you. It’s important.”

  “If it’s that important, tell me now what the hell this is about. More secrets aren’t going to help.”

  “I honestly don’t know why. He’s not here. If I knew, I would tell you. Please, he’s my lover. I think he’s in a lot of trouble. He’s still out meeting with his lawyer. If you knew someone who could help your lover, wouldn’t you plead for help? Well, I’m pleading.”

  I thought he and Karek might be grasping at straws. I wasn’t going to let on that I was just as eager for the meeting. We set up a time and place.

  17

  I had trouble falling asleep. When that happens I like to reread a favorite book. This time I picked Early Autumn by Robert B. Parker. Some may not consider it the most mysterious of his fine books, but I find it comforting as Spenser works at domesticating a recalcitrant teenager. I fell asleep as Spenser and the boy were driving back from the ballet.

  The morning brought Easter Sunday. I didn’t feel much like rising. My first thoughts were of the severed head. Not good. I showered and called the answering service. Daisy Tajeda had left a message with the service giving me a time that afternoon for a meeting with Charley Fitch’s sister.

  Before driving to my meeting with Karek, I checked Albert Bergland’s website. He was one of the homocons Tajeda had mentioned. I didn’t find anything on it that would lead to murder. It seemed to be your normal personal rant site that has become so popular these days, a mixture of blog and blather. The main points seemed to be the elimination of taxes and the abolition of all government. I scanned it carefully. No clues to murder leapt out at me. After that I left a message with the gossip columnist who I knew that I’d like to get together that afternoon.

  It was a wet, rainy morning, but the traffic was light on a Sunday. We met at the Melrose restaurant at the corner of Broadway and Melrose. Karek insisted we sit in the farthest back booth. It was only eight o’clock so there was plenty of space.

  Karek was in his early thirties, tall and muscular, with broad shoulders, jeans that clung to his hips, a blue work shirt and heavy boots, construction worker drag which looked very good on him. His lover, Reece, was a six-foot-six blond Viking. He wore a blue dress shirt and khaki pants.

  The waitress brought coffee and took our order. I got toast. Karek ordered pancakes. Reece stuck with coffee.

  I asked, “Why did we need to meet?”

  Karek said, “You’re the one who knows everything at the clinic. The one everybody trusts. Your lover has clout in the community. I can’t think of anybody else to turn to. You guys are the most prominent gay guys in the city. You can help me.”

  “Help you what?”

  “You talked to those kids that ratted me out.”

  “They told the truth.”

  “I didn’t kill anybody. The police were not nice.”

  “They’ve got a murder to solve.”

  “You’re taking the part of the police?”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “I’m not the bad guy here. I presume you want to clear your friend Lee. Everybody knows he was arrested. I’m willing to help you as much as I can.”

  “Why? The police hav
e a suspect. If I clear Lee, then you’re back on the list.”

  “Because I’m afraid you will clear your friend. You’re right. If you clear him, I’m a very logical suspect. I’m not stupid. I’m not going to sit on a powder keg with my eyes closed and hope everything just goes away. I know I need help. I’d like to know who killed Charley. We had our differences, but he didn’t deserve to die. Other things are going to come out about the clinic. I’m worried that this is going to be a smear on the community. I’m worried that prejudiced people are going to see this as another instance of gay violence.”

  His comments reflected a fairly standard bit of prejudice, which was that if one person who was part of a minority committed a crime, then all the persons in the group were capable of said crime, or tainted by said crime, if they weren’t actually implicated in said crime. Guilt by stereotype. I thought it was a crock, but I’d seen the right wing use that bit of logic against any number of groups and causes.

  Reece had mostly sipped coffee, nodded occasionally, and looked at Karek with a worried frown. Now he spoke. His voice was soft and mellifluous. He said, “We really need your help. I don’t want there to be antagonism at a time like this.” Was he referring to me or his lover?

  I didn’t know what to make of Karek. I didn’t trust him. At the same time, I was certainly very interested in what he might be able to tell me. I had to be more careful and less hostile.

  Karek said, “I think people will use anything against gay people. I’m one of the ones who’s against permitting drag queens in the Pride parades. I think we’ve got to meet the culture, not rebel against it. One of the things that Charley never figured out was that the Sixties were over. That ‘us against the world’ crap is passé. I think we have to be conscious of our image.”

  I said, “I’m just worried about Lee. I’m interested in any information you can give me.”

  Karek said, “I instigated an investigation of the fundraising activities at the clinic. I wanted to avoid a scandal if I could. Charley and I might feud, but real damage could have been done to harm some very good work. At the same time the truth had to come out. There was real fraud going on. Nobody wanted to believe me. Charley Fitch was a goddamn icon in this community. I’ve never been able to figure out why. How someone congenitally rude can be so powerful is beyond me.”

  “Everybody knows he was rude,” I said. “If rudeness were actionable, half the planet would be in jail.”

  “I’m trying to explain the dynamics of the situation. I’m trying to do good for this community. Charley Fitch was siphoning off the community’s money for that clinic. There’s only so much cash available in this town for donations. He was taking a huge chunk.”

  “And you were envious, jealous, spiteful? You hated him because he was successful?”

  “Don’t you get it? The fight between us was symbolic.”

  “Of what? Rampant stupidity?” I was afraid I’d gone too far.

  Karek looked pissed, but he tried to explain. “It’s the same in every gay community in this country: who gets to be spokesperson, who the media talks to, who sets the agenda for the community, who gets the cash. A lot of us were afraid when your lover came out that he, or both of you for that matter, might try to take over from those of us who have worked so long. Neither of you did, so we could go back to fighting among ourselves.”

  “It seems like an awful lot of fighting over a very small piece of pie.”

  “But it’s our pie. Look at the fight after Daley finally appointed a gay alderman.”

  “If infighting is so typical, why would it all of a sudden become a cause for murder?”

  “It might not be, but the fact that Charley was taking people’s money and misusing it could be.”

  “Are you sure he was stealing?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “By accident. A check of mine made out to the clinic had been cashed through someone else’s account.”

  “You were donating to the clinic?”

  “I believe in minimal government interference in our lives. People should take care of themselves or their own. I was helping gay kids. I know they need help. So I wrote this check, a large one. You know how with checking accounts some banks don’t give you the actual checks back anymore unless you pay for the service?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, I made some stupid error in my account, so I had them return the actual checks. I happened to look on the back of the one I wrote to the clinic. It had been counter-signed by Charley.”

  “So what?”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be. He’s not the treasurer. He’d put it into his own account. That made me suspicious. I got the ball rolling. We were starting to get more proof, but I think Charley had begun to catch on. I had to be careful that the investigation didn’t look like a ploy to discredit him or simply some kind of personal vendetta or smear campaign. I had to have real proof. We’ve disliked each other for a long while. He couldn’t stand it that I was being listened to by people outside the community. Reporters were coming to me for quotes now, not him. What’s worse, he was a remnant of the old gay socialist left. He was rude and out of step. He had to be replaced.”

  “So some of the feud was about politics. Some was about ego. Some was about violations of the rules of etiquette.”

  “It was a mixture of a lot of things. He and I disagreed a lot personally and politically.”

  “What about the other prominent gay political conservatives in town, Mandy Marlex and Albert Bergland? Was it personal or political with them?” Marlex and Bergland were the other homocons in the community that the people at the clinic had mentioned yesterday.

  “Mandy has fought for years to become a person listened to in this community. When she finally got on a few cable shows, she thought she’d arrived.”

  “And hadn’t she?”

  “Mandy never met an illogical argument she didn’t like. I know one time she argued that what we did in this country to the Native Americans was the same as what we did to the Germans in World War II.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not trying to defend her position. Most of the time she was reasonable, at least with me. She did believe in the free-market economy. On the other hand she had a string of businesses that went broke. She refused to take any kind of government money to help her out. She was very independent.”

  “But not very businesslike?”

  “No.”

  “When did she meet Charley?”

  “They went way back. I heard Mandy and Charley’s sister Susanna were lovers back in college. I think Mandy used to volunteer at the clinic as well.”

  “What can you tell me about Bergland?”

  “Albert is a bit odd, kind of a gadfly, but he has a first-rate mind. He’s a professor at Minooka Technical Institute, a small liberal arts college. He’s got tenure and has been around since god. Wants to canonize Milton Friedman.”

  “What about his connection with Charley?”

  “I’m not sure. They met a few times. I know they weren’t friends or anything, but I don’t think they were active enemies.”

  “I’d like to talk to both of them. Can you get me an introduction?”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “And both of them fought with Charley?”

  “Charley fought with everybody.”

  “How’d you know Charley was suspicious about there being an investigation?”

  “Questions he began asking around the office got reported back to me.”

  “How’d you know he was asking questions?”

  “I had a contact in the office.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Jakalyn Bowman.”

  “The press secretary was a spy for you?”

  “Jakalyn is a friend.”

  “Did Charley know that?”

  “Jakalyn never told.”

  “Why was it your job to be investigating?”

  “How
could I ignore what I learned? I’ve got a responsibility to this community. I’ve also been in contact with Ken Wells, the guy who had all the problems with his latest fundraiser.”

  “I still don’t get why Fitch would sabotage his own employee.”

  “Ken was furious with Charley. It was more than one fundraiser. It turns out, Fitch tried to ruin Ken’s reputation around the country, a very nasty, underhanded smear campaign. Ken is a very honest man.”

  “Why’d Charley keep Wells on the staff if he was trying to ruin his reputation?”

  “Charley was no fool. He recognized competence.”

  “Wells hinted yesterday that he was looking for other work.”

  “He told me he was. He was very quiet about it. He’d been to several interviews, but if anything came out about financial irregularities, he’d be under a cloud. He was in the middle of all the financial workings of the clinic.”

  “Maybe he was incompetent. Maybe he was committing fraud.”

  “I got no sense that it was Ken. My source never mentioned him.”

  “If your source was Jakalyn, maybe she just never figured it out.”

  “Jakalyn may have been my source, but she wasn’t investigating for me.”

  His lover said, “Doesn’t anybody in this town get tired of secrets and conspiracies and holding back information?”

  Karek said, “Shit happens. I don’t want it to contaminate me. I’ve got to protect myself.”

  “Did you ever ask Fitch directly about possible financial irregularities?” I asked.

  “I tried talking to him once, very obliquely. I barely got the first question out. He said I had no standing to interrogate him about what went on in the clinic.” Karek put his elbows on the table, leaned forward, and lowered his voice to a whisper. He said, “Okay, here’s the deal. I talked to a reporter for the gay press.”

  “Evan Smith?”

  “You talked to him?”