“Karek was this handsome, up-and-coming star of the gay firmament. They traveled the world together. Well, one night, Snarly came back to find his true love in the arms of the president of the Log Cabin Republicans. That was before Karek converted to the right wing.”
“Converted or not, Snarly had a right to be pissed.”
“The television show wasn’t the first time furniture was thrown.”
“They had a history of violence?”
“No S and M that I know of, but domestic violence, abuse of some sort.”
“Are you sure of this information?”
“Well, one puts two and two together. I never repeat gossip unless I’ve got it confirmed from at least two sources.”
I doubted this. Frankly, I figured he just made up most of his crap.
“Did you ask Karek or Fitch about this?”
“Snarly ignored me completely. Karek confirmed it. I met him at an exclusive gay fundraising cruise on Lake Michigan.”
“Why would he confirm it to you?”
“I try to be a friend to everyone who is someone in the gay community. But he was not the only right-wing person who fought with Snarly.”
“Really?” A variation on my standard comment—how interesting, tell me more.
“Each side would plot against the other. Karek and his lover would make all kinds of elaborate plans. Each side was like a group of unsupervised little kids in a sandbox, but with chemical and biological weapons. There was no holding back. It was a frightful mess.”
And a boon for you, I thought.
“What about Benton Fredricks, the guy whose show they had the fight on?”
“It is not true that Benton is a closet gay. So it is even more not true that he was or is Karek’s lover.”
“Did people think that?” I guess I miss all the good stuff.
“All kinds of people think Benton is gay. He is not married. I made it my business to find some of the women he dated in college. According to them, he was a hell of a lover.”
“Until further notice we’ll move him into the heterosexual column.”
“But Karek isn’t the only homocon in town. His lover, Reece, who is hot, hot, hot…”
The file drawer never looked so good to me.
“He’s been in several porn magazines. Made a ton of money as an escort and in the video biz. You know how these young porn stars are supposed to waste all their money on drugs and circuit parties?”
“I’ve assumed the cliché to be true.”
“Well, Reece saved every penny. He’s very rich and very conservative. Has a degree in philosophy from Stanford. Supposedly had a professor from there as a client, which made matriculation much easier. I have no idea about that. I do know that he is bright, bright, bright. And big. Six-foot-six. The original blond Viking. Big, strong, handsome, and smart, hell of a combination. Reece and Karek were the toast of the town. No love lost there with Snarly. Some people say Reece is the brains in that household. I think he and Karek are both really bright.”
“Did this Reece appear on any talk shows?”
“A few. Not as many as Karek. Reece was kind of the manager, setting up speaking engagements around the country. I don’t want to imply that gay men are shallow, but the shows sometimes had Reece play Mr. Eye Candy. And he is. People responded to that. More importantly, do you think the homocons were at war with the leftists and that’s why Snarly was killed?”
“I’ll believe it if it helps get Lee out of jail.”
“Personally, I think you need to look into the internal affairs of the clinic itself. Maybe even Snarly’s family. You may know enough about the clinic, but do you know about the family?”
“I’ve talked to the sister. She doesn’t like the gay press.”
“She hates all of us. She felt we unfairly portrayed her brother. She always stood up for him. But I hear there’s skeletons in that closet.”
“What skeletons? They were openly gay and rich. Where’s the problem?”
“There are other siblings, and I heard one or two of them were”—he leaned closer and whispered—“you hate to say this in polite company, but they were Republicans.”
I figured he must be kidding, but maybe not. I said, “I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.”
“The other siblings wanted the family money for their own projects. I don’t think they were homophobic particularly. I just heard there were some feuds about how the money was spent.”
“Exactly how many people were voting members of the family trust?”
“There were five besides Snarly and Susanna. They didn’t have equal voices. I think that caused resentment. In their father’s will he gave out odd percents. Susanna got thirty-nine point something. Each of the other six got nine point something. There was one uncontrolled percent that could break ties among them.”
“Who was in charge of that?”
“I don’t know. I do know that the two brothers and three cousins are supposed to be rich brats and eccentric loonies. I’ve never met them. Walter Truby had some connection there. He might be able to get you an introduction.”
“How did the family make its money?”
“Started out in snake oil, real, genuine, fake snake oil, back in the 1880s, graduated to Colpers Products today.”
“The Colpers?”
“Yep. One of the biggest drug manufacturing companies in the world. Makes a ton of money, especially in third-world countries.”
“A pharmaceutical company operating in the third world? That’s got to be ripe for traffic in illegal drugs. Hell, even illicit prescription drugs. A perfect motive for murder.”
“That may well be, but Snarly had nothing to do with that part of the family’s money. The foundation existed for this generation of kids. Old Man Fitch didn’t trust any of his offspring. He left sensible business people in charge of the company. I’ve never heard a whiff of scandal about the company. The kids and cousins got a percentage of the profits every year, but they had no say in the running of the business. From what I heard, Snarly never even spent his percentage of the profits on himself.”
“How much money are we talking about?”
“The profits? Millions but not billions. Eight figures, maybe nine.”
“More than enough money to kill for.”
“I don’t think this is about money. Besides, I never heard that Charley had any interest in being in business. Their trust, along with the company itself, combined with overseas holdings, is one of the top twenty in the world. That’s comparing family trusts. They’ve got plenty more than enough cash to play with. Nope, I think you have to look to that clinic or people who worked with him to find a killer.”
“I’d like to try and talk to the rest of the family.” I didn’t know how I’d get an introduction. Certainly the sister didn’t seem very open.
The reporter said, “I really think you need to look to the clinic. How many spies for how many different groups were working at the clinic?”
“I’m not sure.” I figured there were at least two, Smith from the Karek/Wells faction and Timothy Chong for the board. Then again, maybe all the volunteers were spies for someone else. Although if they were, you’d think they’d go out of their way to be polite to each other and not make waves. How the hell can you hide that many spies? I had this vision of a Marx Brothers comedy with one investigator going out a back door while another came in a side door.
He said, “The clinic is a huge organization. It does all that youth work, and a great deal more. And Snarly has been an activist for a long, long time. He knows everybody. And they had that outreach program to let other organizations meet in all those rooms. He was planning to use that two-story office building they just bought to set up a woman’s clinic. I think that was to mollify his sister Susanna.”
“But you don’t think this is about cash?”
“No. Who was it that said the rich are different? Hemingway, Fitzgerald? I don’t remember, but it’s true.
These people weren’t worried about money.”
“But they had to scramble to get donations for the clinic.”
“Well, yeah, but not for personal money.”
I said, “If it’s not about money, maybe it’s about sex. I heard Charley Fitch used call boys.”
“Yes, he did.”
“You seem awfully sure of that.”
“He and I used the same escort service.”
It was such a casual announcement that it took a moment to register. I managed to say, “You did?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t that big a deal.”
“Could one of the guys from the service have been planning to meet him Friday night?”
“I have no idea.”
“Could you help me find out?”
“Sure, but none of the guys from the service are violent.”
“You’re the one who says this isn’t about money. It’s got to be about something. That’s a place to ask questions. Are you saying that none of the guys for this service did S-and-M scenes?”
“I guess they must have, but they are not a violent lot. They’re very professional.”
“Yes, I suppose they are.” I think I kept the sarcasm out of my voice.
Awarjak said, “I can try and find out who he had dates with recently.”
My cell phone rang.
It was Larry Mullen. “Mr. Mason, you better get here. I need your help.” He gasped and gulped several times, as if he’d just got done running a two-mile sprint and was trying to breathe, drink fluids, and talk simultaneously.
“What’s wrong?”
“You gotta help me.”
“Where are you?”
“In the clinic basement. Please hurry here.”
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s a big problem.”
“Are you going to hurt yourself?”
“No.”
“If you’re in danger, call the police. Now. Do not wait for me.” I wasn’t going to be responsible for him being dead when I got there.
He said, “I think the danger’s over. Please hurry.”
I left.
23
The front door of the clinic had been padlocked. Yellow crime-scene tape flapped in the cool breeze. I rushed around to the back where I figured the kids’ entrance had to be. It was solidly boarded up.
I hurried to the back door I’d used the morning before. Night sounds of the city drifted into the alley: an ambulance siren, passing traffic on Addison, the rumble of a bus, the slurred song of a reveler who’d revelled too much. Broken bits of light from a distant alley lamp caught on various pieces of metal in the darkened entry. The padlock hung from a broken hunk of metal. This crime-scene tape lay strewn and broken on the ground. As I approached, the door began to inch open. I saw a hand reach out of the blackness. The padlock fell to the ground. It clattered for an instant or so. The door slid open. I could make out Larry’s face. Light fell on the pale beige of the sleeve of his letterman’s jacket. I saw several dark stains on it. I smelled piss.
I rushed forward.
“Help,” he mumbled and grabbed me fiercely. I held him several moments, then moved out of the dim light to just inside the clinic’s doorway. He put his hand on my arm and leaned toward me. He still breathed heavily. I could smell cheap burger on his breath. With his other hand he wiped his eyes. He said, “In the basement.”
I didn’t move. “What?”
“It’s Jan.”
I led the way to the basement stairs. Any crime scene-tape we encountered was lying on the floor. At the top of the stairs, I found the light switch, flicked it on, and then proceeded down. It was my first time in the basement. The first room we entered had remnants of blood stains along the walls and floor. Here’s where Snarly’s killer had done his work. Thick wooden beams crossed the ceiling. Pipes of different circumferences trailed along the ceiling and walls.
Larry pointed. He led the way through a second to a third room. Jan hung from a center beam. His face was deep purple. The room smelled acrid. His khaki pants were stained. He’d soiled himself. I held my breath and walked up to him. No question. He was very dead. His feather boa was tight around his neck and tied to the beam. They must make feather boas industrial strength if they didn’t break under the pressure of a dangling body.
I heard Larry start to cry. I led him back upstairs. We sat in my office. As good a place as any. I decided I wanted to be in a space that was comfortable and familiar to me. The filing cabinet was gone.
Larry snuffled a long while and used the tissue from the box on the desk. When he was under sufficient control, I asked, “What happened?”
“My dad was really angry with me. Really angry. I’ve never seen him so mad. I was supposed to go to football camp starting early tomorrow. My dad said he wasn’t sure he was going to let me go. Then coach called. Word had gotten around school already about all this shit. Kids blab. He told me not to bother to go to the camp. So I went kind of nuts. My dad demanded I tell him what was going on, but I just walked out. I went to my boyfriend’s house. At least, I thought he was a friend. His dad wouldn’t let me see him. I don’t know if it was because I was gay or because of all this murder stuff. I had nowhere else to go, so I came here. I figured I could find a spot in the basement away from where it happened.”
He started to cry again. I patted his shoulder and waited for him to compose himself.
“How’d you get in?”
“The kids’ entrance was blocked up. I used a piece of concrete from the alley to bust the padlock on the back door. I got here just after sunset. I couldn’t turn on any lights. The shadows spooked me. We keep some candles and matches hidden behind one of the ceiling tiles in that first room. I managed to get a couple of those. I lit a candle. When I got to the third room, I saw Jan. I was shook up, but I managed to get close enough to be sure he wasn’t breathing. I’ve never been so scared or so frightened, but if I could’ve I would have done something to save him.” He held out his stained sleeves. “I tried to lift him down. I called his name. He wasn’t breathing.” He started to bawl. He reached toward me. I awkwardly held him and patted his back and made soothing noises.
After several minutes he muttered into my shoulder, “Why’d he do that?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
Larry sat back in his chair. He stared down at his hands folded in front of him. “All of us think about killing ourselves,” he said. “We talk about that in our group sessions. When I finally asked my boyfriend to go out, I was petrified. I know you don’t die from embarrassment, but I thought about offing myself if he said no. He could tell everybody.”
His face was a mess. He blew his nose.
I said, “I’m going to have to call the police. I’ll call my lawyer. You’re going to have to tell your dad.”
“What happens if I just leave? Can you keep me out of this?”
“I’d have to give a reason for breaking in here.” I had the fleeting thought that the kid could leave, and I’d be stuck without an explanation.
“Maybe we could both leave.”
“Then why bother to call me over here?”
“I had to tell somebody.”
I said, “Neither of us has done anything wrong. We don’t know for sure if Jan committed suicide.”
“Sure looks that way.”
I said, “It’s not an easy way to commit murder, but the police always treat every unexplained death as a homicide until it’s proved otherwise. If it was suicide, why would Jan do it?”
His voice got very low and I barely heard his whisper. “I came down here to kill myself. Didn’t you think about killing yourself when you were a kid?”
Painful memories welled to the surface. I didn’t want to talk about my feelings of fear and loneliness as a teenager. Not with a kid I barely knew. I wasn’t comfortable with those feelings then, and remembering them does not meet my definition of fun. But the kid needed an answer. And gay teenagers are still far more likely t
o try suicide than their straight counterparts. I told him about my discomfort discussing painful feelings. I added, “I never tried anything. I never really got close. When I got really depressed, I’d either sleep, work out for extra hours on the football field, or try to deny my feelings. I didn’t deal with them in the best way, but they never overwhelmed me. My parents loved me, and I always knew they would. I wasn’t picked on by the other kids. I was a football player, like you. I was athletic. I hid pretty successfully most of the time. Your dad might have been angry tonight, but my guess is he loves you. And you know you have a group of people who would be willing to do anything they could to help you.”
He didn’t look convinced. I was speaking to a hope, not a certainty. Larry said, “That’s why I came here tonight. I didn’t see a way out.”
“I’m not sure there’s always a perfect solution to our problems, but for coming out there’s always someone to call or talk to.”
“I wasn’t thinking real well,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt myself. I wish I was older and was on my own with a lover.”
“Both gay and straight kids have that same kind of desire. For now, for this situation, the truth is going to be better. We’ve got calls to make. It’s not going to look good us being in here. We’ll have to tough it out. I’ll stay with you. Neither my lawyer nor I will abandon you.”
“My dad might.”
“We’ll get through it.” I tried to infuse my tone with confidence. Yeah, we get through things. Time, whether we like it or not, does pass. Sometimes what we go through hurts a lot and for this kid, it might hurt a great deal.
I dialed my lawyer.
Todd said, “A what?”
“You heard me.”
“I know what I heard, and I’m stuck believing you. That’s two this week.”
“Technically it’s one last week and one this week.”
“Are you planning on finding any more?”
“I wasn’t planning on these two.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“I’m not some demented Miss Marple.”
“We’ll have to try that.”
File Under Dead Page 17