File Under Dead

by Mark Richard Zubro

  The second most important thing was that I didn’t get arrested. Third was that the paramedics said I didn’t need stitches. I resisted their suggestion about stopping at the hospital to get my head checked.

  The police were not happy about a whole bunch of things. They asked me where I’d been after the questioning about Jan. When I mentioned Lee, I thought Abernathy might begin salivating. They’d be hounding Lee again.

  They took the body away. The cops wouldn’t let me have my car back. Near the end I asked, “Could I get something out of the car?” A cop watched me take the books from the floor and my briefcase from the back seat. The cops had examined all of them. They had evinced no interest in the books nor in the contents of the briefcase. I didn’t think they’d want to grade freshman essays.

  Todd drove me home about three. I called Scott. He’d been asleep. He didn’t mind and I didn’t either. We talked and I told him I loved him. He said the same. With my headache from the collision with the headlight, any other long-distance intimacy didn’t seem appropriate.

  27

  The next morning I awoke dizzy and sore. Scott would be home by this time tomorrow. That cheered me up considerably. I ate plain toast and orange juice. My stomach seemed okay with that. Three dead bodies. I had trouble wrapping both my reason and my imagination around that.

  I was convinced the attack on me was connected to the murders. How could it not be? Who was I a threat to? Did I know something that was a threat to someone? If I did, I sure wished I knew what that was.

  I examined the books from the car floor. They were ledger books. From the clinic. A second set of ledger books? I was nowhere near enough of an accountant to know if I had a real or fake set of books or both. I was determined to get some answers. Pre the accumulation of dead bodies, I’d originally planned to do some laundry and work on requirements for a web project I planned to assign the kids after spring break. Après the mound of corpses, I began with phone calls. It was a little after nine. I wanted to talk to all the people who’d been looking into the financial dealings at the clinic. Better yet, I needed to get all of them into one room. I wanted them talking to each other. I was fed up with this secrecy crap. If finances were the basis for murder, then I wanted to shine a bright light on them. How Jan’s murder worked into the financial mix, I had no idea. Karek with a set of books was more than enough to put him at the top of the suspect list. Him being dead also put a huge crimp in placing him anywhere on the suspect list. I could believe Jan saw something, or thought he saw something, that got himself killed. At least if the killer thought Jan knew something, it might cause the teen to be killed. By the time I’d made several rounds of phone calls and more than one threat to simply call the straight press and spill the beans, everyone connected with the clinic’s finances agreed to meet at eleven. The people doing the investigating were eager to show up, the reporter for the gay papers presumably eager for a story. Others perhaps ready to blow the whistle on enemies in factions they hated. Or maybe just honest people as fed up with this crap as I was.

  I intended to get the name of Larry’s boyfriend out of Larry. That threat would be simple: no boyfriend’s name, I call the police. I phoned him. I asked. He stalled. Under intense pressure from me, he agreed to get the guy to the Rainbow Café by three that afternoon.

  I called the three kids whose names Brenda had given me who knew Jan and that she’d mentioned he’d talked to. Whether they were scared, or simply didn’t know me, or didn’t trust another adult, I got no help from them.

  I called Abernathy to find out if she’d tell me the cause of Jan’s death. She said, “Strangled with that feather boa, then strung up to make it look like suicide.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “That’s what the ME said. I can’t imagine he’d lie.”

  “I didn’t assume he was lying. It was murder.”

  “Yep.”

  “No suspects?”

  “You’d make a good one.”

  “Could you give me the approximate time of death?” She laughed.

  I gave up on getting anything out of her that would help me.

  It wasn’t suicide. I felt better about that, but not much.

  The day was oppressively humid and close for early April. A front was approaching and was scheduled to pass overnight with the possibility of violent weather.

  I called Todd. I said, “Have you been in touch with Lee since I talked to him last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he give you the information that I suggested he give you?”

  “You know I won’t answer that question. Ask him.” I called Lee and left a message on his machine.

  When I talked to Walter Truby I asked him to bring Timothy Chong, the board’s investigator. He wanted to know who gave me Chong’s name. I said, “From a gossip columnist.” That seemed to deflate him. I asked, “Can you get me an introduction to the other Fitch siblings?”

  “I only know the two brothers.”

  “It might help if I could talk to them.”

  “I can try.”

  Tajeda called my cell phone about ten. “How are Abdel and Max doing?” I asked.

  “I did find two gay guys who are active in the foster care system who would take them in.”

  “You’d think they’d be pretty well known for taking care of gay kids.”

  “They live in Rockford. It’s not a unit we deal with often. It took a great deal of effort to find them, even more to get the two boys placed there. A placement out of the area is definitely an odd thing to do. Then again, none of our local agencies had someone willing to take two gay teens.”

  “But they’re together?”

  “For now. They want to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “They wouldn’t say.”

  “Do I go there or do they come here?”

  “The foster parents have agreed to bring them to the Rainbow Café.” I suggested four that afternoon.

  In one of the café’s upstairs rooms, I met late that morning with Ken Wells, the head of fundraising, Marty Bennet, one of his assistants and a fighter with Charley at a party, Irene Kang, the executive assistant, Walter Truby, the head of the board of Directors, Chong, the board’s investigator, Susanna Fitch, Evan Smith, the investigative reporter, and Todd, my lawyer. At my request, Ken Wells had brought the clinic’s books with him.

  I said, “I gathered you all here because, one, some, or all of you were investigating this place’s finances. One, some, or all of you were responsible for this place’s finances. I think the time for this bullshit fiddling around with who knows what needs to be out in the open.” Several of them glared at me. Few of them looked at each other. I sensed nervousness, defensiveness, and outright hostility.

  “Why is this lawyer here?” Truby asked.

  “He’s protecting my interests,” I said.

  “Shouldn’t we have the clinic’s lawyer here?” Susanna asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  Irene Kang said, “Is somebody making an accusation?”

  “I will,” Evan Smith said. “How come there was never as much money made from clinic fundraisers as the same type of fundraisers in other cities?”

  “Talk to the people in charge,” Kang said. “That had nothing to do with me. I just counted the money.”

  “But it’s possible to overcount and undercount,” Smith said.

  “Is that an accusation?” Kang asked.

  “Is it true?” Marty Bennet asked.

  Kang said, “You’re just an assistant around here. You have no standing to say anything, much less make accusations.”

  “Must we play territorial games?” Ken Wells asked.

  “I’m not playing a game,” Kang said. “This is serious business. I took pride in my work. I counted everything right. Charley always checked my work.”

  I said, “I heard he was going to fire you.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I did,�
� Smith said.

  “It’s not true.” She pointed at the reporter. “Who told you?”

  “Fitch did.”

  Kang snorted. “And he’s not here to tell us what a liar you are.”

  I wanted to get us back onto the finances. I asked, “Who actually handed you the money?”

  “Charley or Ken usually did. Sometimes if it was less than a couple hundred, one of the volunteers. Maybe one of them was shorting the money. It didn’t have to be me or Charley.”

  “I saw evidence of more than one set of books,” Smith said.

  “Where are they?” Kang demanded. She pointed to the pile of ledgers next to Wells. “There’s only one set of books here.”

  Smith said, “Then somebody took the second set of books. I saw evidence they existed the night of the murder.”

  “Is that when you found them?” Bennet asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You were searching,” Kang said, “while we were meeting? You used a ruse to snoop and pry. How do we know you didn’t hide out and commit the murder?”

  “I have no reason to kill Charley Fitch.”

  “You would if he caught you,” Kang said.

  I was tired of this. I undid the snaps on my briefcase and dumped the second set of ledger books on the table. Rather than touch the now dried blood, I’d encased them in plastic.

  “You took them!” Susanna exclaimed.

  “Nope. I found them on my car floor after someone killed Billy Karek. I’m the one who gets to be shocked and outraged here. I’m the one finding dead bodies. I was attacked last night. You people have explaining to do. Do it.” I’d made copies and given them to Todd before the meeting.

  They all began to talk at once. A couple reached for the books and began to examine them.

  After leafing through several pages, Kang said, “Maybe you fabricated these.”

  “I might be able to make up the ledgers, but the banks themselves will have records of clinic transactions. One of these sets of books will match their records.”

  Truby said, “We can’t have a scandal. The clinic will go up in flames. All the good work for gay kids will be destroyed. Was what Charley did all that illegal?”

  Susanna Fitch said, “We haven’t established that he did anything illegal. Karek actually had the second set of books. It looks like he’d be the guilty party. The money for this place comes from our family. Most of it anyway.”

  “Half isn’t most,” Ken Wells said. “Five million came from the family, five million from fundraising.”

  “And how much money is missing?” Susanna asked.

  No one knew.

  “Isn’t that the first thing we need to find out?” Susanna asked.

  “One of many things,” Ken Wells said.

  Bennet asked, “Who’s going to conduct an audit or an investigation? Does any one of us trust the others to do this?”

  “There can’t be a cover-up,” Smith said. “The people who gave the five million in donations have a right to an accounting.”

  Truby said, “And all the kids this place serves. If it closes, where will they go?”

  “Kids survived before this place,” Susanna said. “There are other outlets.”

  “Not that many for gay kids,” Truby said.

  “You’re just worried about covering your board of directors’ ass,” Wells said.

  “No,” Truby said. “Think what you want of me. I care about these kids. I didn’t have this kind of thing growing up. This clinic fills a need.”

  “You can’t fill a need by committing fraud,” Smith said.

  “Could the clinic stay open with just the family money?” I asked.

  Susanna said, “With Charley gone, I’m not sure how interested the family would be in keeping that place in business.”

  “Then it’s hopeless anyway,” Truby said. “Maybe we should just call the police or give up and go home. This scandal will hit more than just Charley. Good people are going to be tarnished by this.”

  “I’d like to keep Charley’s name clean,” Susanna said. “If at all possible. He was a good man. He wasn’t a crook. Maybe the discrepancies in the amount raised compared to other fundraisers can be explained.”

  Smith said, “I don’t know how you’re going to explain away a separate set of books.”

  “You self-righteous prig.” Susanna looked ready to belt him one.

  I said, “But this whole thing seems to be backwards. If Charley was stealing, why is he dead? Why wouldn’t he be the one who tried to kill whoever was trying to expose him?”

  “Maybe he did,” Wells said. “Maybe he tried, failed, and the other person, in protecting himself or herself, landed a lucky blow.”

  “Then why chop him up?” I asked.

  “Blackmailer turned sicko,” Bennet said.

  Wells said, “If the murders are connected, they’d have to be explained in terms of all three of them. I’ve seen Jan do any number of wildly impulsive or stupid things. I don’t know how Karek would fit into that.”

  “We’re not going to be able to solve the murder,” Truby said. “That’s up to the police. We’ve got to take action about this scandal. I think the whole board should meet. This isn’t a public company.”

  Smith said, “Public or private, embezzlement is still a crime. And I think it would be a very interesting question to find out why Karek had the second set of books.”

  “Mason actually had them,” Susanna said. “He says Karek had them. His friend, Lee Weaver, was arrested. Maybe he’d do a great deal to get him off.”

  “But how would stealing Charley’s books do that?” I asked. “And we have no connection between Lee and the books and fundraising.”

  She had no answer to that.

  Wells said, “Weaver never had anything to do with helping to raise money. He used to sneer at it. I don’t know why. It helped pay his salary. The guy could have been at least grateful at times. Never said thank you. It was like pulling teeth to get him to come to an event. What we have to do is examine both sets of books and find out if anybody else knew about this or was in it with him.”

  “Him who?” Susanna asked. “Charley or Karek or someone else?”

  “Anybody connected with finances,” Wells said. “I know I’d be one of the suspects. I suppose any of us who had anything to do with the money would be. We’ve got to get to the truth just to clear our own names. I was honest with turning over the money from the fundraisers. Kang and Charley were the ones who got it to the bank.”

  Kang said, “I resent the implication that I did something wrong. I’m not going to help convict myself.”

  “You won’t be in trouble if you didn’t do anything wrong,” Truby said.

  I said, “Karek told me one of his checks to the clinic came through one of Charley’s private accounts. Maybe you could get those records as well as the clinic’s.”

  Wells said, “That might help.”

  “I’m not sure I want to do that,” Susanna said.

  “Why not?” Wells asked. “Unless you think there’s something to hide.”

  She leapt across the table. Wells’s chair fell back as he dodged out of the way. It took several minutes before everyone was finally reseated and calm.

  For the next half hour, I sat and listened to them fight and argue.

  During a break, while some were getting coffee from downstairs, I pulled Marty Bennet aside. I said, “You had a fight with Charley at a party.”

  Bennet said, “I didn’t kill him. I only care that I don’t get smeared in this mess.”

  So much for help.

  Walter Truby informed me that the rest of the Fitch menagerie would meet with me. After he filled me in on their background, I figured menagerie was the right word. He said, “Susanna won’t tell them anything. They figure they might get something out of you.”

  I found out that Smith had done his snooping from around 6 to 6:30 and that Chong had been in Snarly’s office around 7:30. Chong didn’t hav
e the combination to the safe.

  I left them to their bickering so I could meet with Charley Fitch’s relatives.

  28

  Charley Fitch’s family members were an eccentric and gritty bunch in that frivolous way some of the rich can be. Three cousins sat on the opposite side of a large polished-wood table. One had had his ear bitten off by a grizzly bear when he was in college on an expedition to the Yukon where they only wore loincloths and could only carry implements used in the Stone Age. The grizzly’d had the same implements he’d always had. The cousin lost the argument with the bear. Another wore a pink beret and made comments that I guess he thought were funny. The third wore a T-shirt with a large bulls-eye on it that said YOU’RE NEXT. On my side of the table, next to me on my right, was Fitch’s older brother. He wore a bright blue business suit, but no underwear. This was obvious from the excessively prominent bulge in his pants, which he spread his legs wide for all to see. Either that or he’d attached the largest dildo in history from his crotch to his knee. The one who seemed to have most of the grit was on my left. He was the younger brother. He wore crossed bandoliers over his naked chest. His upper torso and face, below his severely brush-cut hair, were painted with streaks of black greasepaint. Swaths of dirt artfully smeared parts of his anatomy. His tight black jeans encased a taut set of hips. His hair was dirty and matted. He’d either just spritzed himself from a spray bottle of water or had run up the fifty flights of stairs to this office in the John Hancock Center. The gritty one, Harley Fitch, said, “I want my part of this money and I want it now.”

  “You’re never going to get any of it,” the older brother, Barley Fitch, said. “We’ll out-vote you. Nobody’s going to spend the money on your second-amendment causes. No one cares.” Harley? Barley? Charley? Their parents must have been nuts. No wonder they were such an odd bunch.

  “I care,” Harley said.

  Barley Fitch said, “What can you tell us? Susanna is being hateful. She won’t say a word.”

  I told them the parts that were not confidential.

  When I finished, Barley said, “So nobody knows much of anything.”