This wasn’t the first time I’d heard of that happening.
“My dad would like to be involved with that kind of thing,” Max said. “He attacked you.”
“Why would your dad kill anybody?”
“He wouldn’t, I guess, but it would sure make sense for the two of them to have done it together.”
“Make sense to whom?” I asked.
They both looked a little chagrined. I said, “You can’t go around accusing people of murder without some kind of proof.”
“My dad was at the clinic,” Abdel said.
“A week ago. We have no proof he was out of your house at the time of the killing. He may have met Fitch, but other than Fitch being terminally rude, he had no cause to kill him and the other two. You guys are letting your imaginations run away with you.”
“We were just trying to help,” Max said.
“I appreciate that, but an excess of suspects is almost as bad as no suspects. Flights of illogic aren’t going to help anything.”
Abdel said, “I think you should talk to my older brother or for sure my dad. He knows more than he said.”
“I don’t know why either one would be willing to talk to me. I barely met your dad, and I doubt if he’s happy with me.”
“You could try,” Abdel said.
I supposed I could. Teenagers. Eternally optimistic, when they weren’t contemplating suicide or weeping on my shoulder.
31
At about 5:30 I met with Benton Fredricks, the cable show host. Fredricks had a mane of poofy hair with a bald spot mostly unhidden by the mass of tangles. He was in his forties. He wore jeans that were too tight two sizes ago. He wore a sport jacket with leather elbow patches over a T-shirt that proclaimed him a fan of TROGLODYTES FOREVER. I didn’t know if this was a political philosophy or the name of an obscure modern rock group.
Fredericks had a lot of bounce in his manner. We met in his office at his studio. He looked like he enjoyed cleaning as much as I did. Mostly his clutter was CDs, DVDs, cassette tapes, and electronic equipment. I counted seven sets of headphones.
He began, “I’d love to get you and your lover on the show.”
“I don’t think it’s the kind of venue we’d be interested in.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t be interested in giving you information if you weren’t.”
“Is that why you met with me? To make deals?”
“That’s what makes the world go around. Deals.”
“If the information you give me leads to the real murderer, I’ll consider it. I can’t speak for Scott.”
He mulled this over then said, “I suppose that’s as good as I’m going to get. You guys would be great. I could get some right-wing opponents and have a real debate.”
“No.”
“No?”
“We won’t do shows for debate purposes. We don’t think we should be debating our rights. You don’t debate black or women’s rights. We won’t appear with any right-wing people.”
“I guess the two of you would do.”
“I’ve made no commitments. You’ve got to know something first and it’s got to be significant.”
Fredericks sighed. “I’m not sure I do.”
“You had Karek and Fitch on your show.”
“Many times. They were great. They hated each other.”
“What actually happened the night of the show with the chair incident?”
“I sold that tape for a fortune. It couldn’t have been better. They ran into each other in the lobby as they walked in. They were snapping at each other before we even went on the air. I think I should have offered to have them duel. That would have sold tickets.”
“And boosted ratings.”
“It’s all about ratings.”
“What started the fight?”
“Transgender rights. I guess it was this big sticking point. You know there was a big controversy just before the vote in New York on the gay rights bill? Two of the legislators wouldn’t support the bill if it didn’t include transgender rights. Fitch went crazy. Karek did, too. Karek said aligning gay rights with every fringe group was the road to madness. He said that Fitch never could see what was reality and what was crap. Fitch just lost it.”
“Is that what they were fighting about earlier?”
“That was my understanding.”
“How did it end?”
“Well, Karek was there cowering under the table. I think Fitch just came to his senses. Neither actually landed a blow. Karek put a big dent in the console with that chair. At the end Karek chased after him, and I guess there was a to-do in the parking lot, but I don’t have tape of that.”
“What was the to-do about?”
“I heard by that time it was personal. It wasn’t about anybody’s rights, it was about them being pissed at each other. That’s what gets the best ratings for me, when people are pissed at each other.”
“Did they have any other particular enemies?”
“You know about Marlex and Bergland?”
“Yes.”
“That’s about it. I didn’t know these people personally. I didn’t care about their politics. I only cared about my ratings. Will you and your lover consider being on the show?”
“I won’t.” I left.
I called Karek’s lover, Reece. He said he’d been calling my answering service, trying to set up a meeting. If I spent much more time at the Rainbow Café, I could just move in.
32
Reece Coleman had his six-foot-six frame draped in the darkest corner of the café. He had a cup of hot chocolate in front of him. His hair was awry. His shirt and khaki pants looked like they’d been slept in.
He said, “Thanks for coming.”
I got myself some hot chocolate. The night was cool with the mid-April temperature back to normal. The café was quiet at seven on a Monday.
He said, “I need to tell someone what I’ve found out. I can’t go to the police.”
I nodded. He looked worn and defeated.
He began, “I loved Billy with all my heart and soul.” He sipped his chocolate and sighed.
“But you were worried.”
“When we met Sunday, I didn’t know anything specific and now he’s dead. The guy who was investigating for him, Evan Smith, I know him. He called me. He told me you found the second set of books and that Billy had them.” He drew a deep breath. “Billy was cheating with Charley Fitch to defraud the clinic.”
“Billy said he’d asked for an investigation.”
“He did.” He rubbed his nose, scratched his neck. I noticed his large hands were red and raw. “Billy was playing a dangerous game. He figured he was safe. If it came out, it would be Charley’s word against his. Charley wasn’t a big detail guy. Billy kept the second set of books. He took care of all the figures. He had it worked so it looked like Fitch committed all the crimes. He was a liar and a thief. How could I have been so blind as to miss all that? How could I not see I was living with a criminal?”
I asked, “How did you find all this out?”
“He left records with his will. Records of all his deposits that he never told me about. I checked the dates and fundraising. I began to figure it out. Every time he met Charley Fitch on a talk show, he made a deposit within twenty-four hours in an account I knew nothing about. The talk shows were used as a cover-up for their embezzlement conspiracy. This is so sad and so sick. How could I have been so blind?”
“Who would want to kill him?” I asked.
“The police questioned me. I don’t know. There’s so much happening on the gay political scene, but I can’t imagine gay politics would lead to murder. We were so committed to our cause. At least I was.”
“You loved him,” I said. “You’ve got grief that he’s gone, and you’re feeling betrayed at the same time.”
“I feel like shit.” He drank more chocolate. “How was it finding him?”
“Absolute hell.”
He nodded.
I said,
“I heard rumors that Fitch tried to sabotage some of the fundraisers. Do you know anything about that?”
“Billy’s notes said it was another part of the plan. If things went wrong, they would try and shift the blame. Wells was an awfully smart guy and it was difficult. They floated some of the rumors of sabotage themselves.”
“Did Wells ever find out?”
“Not from what Billy said in the notes.”
And Wells hadn’t said anything at any of our meetings.
I said, “The staff talked about getting a series of threatening calls recently.”
Reece said, “That was part of the plan. They wanted uncertainty and suspicion. But Billy was double-crossing Fitch. He might have gotten away with it. If he could have substituted the second set of books, Fitch could have been in deep trouble.”
I said, “But that fight at the television station sure looked real.”
“The public stuff was supposedly an act. I guess Billy didn’t believe in his politics. He was just out to cheat. They thought people might have been getting suspicious of them. You know how on some talk shows they shout at each other and then they’re all laughing and buddies. They didn’t want anyone to think they were cooperating.”
I said, “But the kids said they heard the two of them fighting in Fitch’s office about a week before the murder.”
“Some of their fights were real. Billy hated Fitch. It’s all over his notes. He was using him. He wrote about the arguments they had. They were making each other rich with their scheme, but they didn’t like each other. It was more like they needed each other.”
“Charley was rich. Why did he need your lover?”
“I guess Billy was sort of blackmailing him. Fitch could get money for his clinic from his family, but he had a harder time getting cash for himself. Supposedly Fitch’s sister is a holy terror. They were in it together though. Since they were lovers. They’d been doing this for years. It was like they each had hold of the others balls and were squeezing hard. Each was afraid to let go.”
“What was Billy doing with the set of books on him when they found him dead?”
“I don’t know. He must have been trying to substitute one set for the other. I do know that the night of the killing they were making more plans. But Billy didn’t kill him. I know he didn’t.” He paused. “I don’t think he did. He made no mention of that in his notes.”
So the financial scandal was hatched by two of those who were dead. Was someone they defrauded pissed off? And how would I find out? I couldn’t imagine Jan fitting into Karek’s and Fitch’s conspiracy. Why involve a teenager who would be likely to blab? Whoever killed Karek must not have had a notion that the books were important. Did this mean the killer was not involved in any of the clinic finances? Seemed a logical conclusion.
Reece said, “I don’t know if this helps you. I’m trying to do right. Doesn’t seem to help much. My lover’s gone.” I said as many comforting words as I could muster. He left.
I phoned Susanna Fitch to get her perspective on the fights in Aruba, as reported by the rest of the Fitch clan. She said, “Those bastards are fucked up.” And hung up on me.
I decided to pay a visit to Lee Weaver and his lover Dustin. I needed to ask Dustin a few questions.
They were in. They sat together on the couch. Not as close as first-time lovers. Not at the ends like two people feuding in a relationship beyond repair.
“I heard you were attacked,” Lee said. “Are you all right?”
“Not as right as I wish I was.”
“What’s happening?” Lee asked.
I said, “I need to find out where Dustin was the night of the murder.”
“What did you tell him?” Dustin demanded.
“You weren’t here when I first came home.”
“You made me a murder suspect?”
Lee reached out his hand and touched him. Dustin shook it off violently and stood up. He said, “I can’t believe you’d do that.”
Lee said, “You’ve always been so adamant in your feelings about Charley Fitch.”
“And you think I’d kill him? You think I’m that kind of person?”
“You weren’t home. You’re not home a lot.”
“And that’s worth accusing me of murder?”
Lee was on his feet. “I wasn’t accusing you. I didn’t tell the police. I was worried.”
“Maybe you were trying to divert suspicion from yourself.”
Lee said, “If I wanted to divert suspicion, I would have told the cops. I told Tom, not them. I’m scared.”
“Of what?” Dustin asked.
“Of losing you.”
“Do you think I’m a killer?”
Lee held out a hand to him. “No. Never.”
I said, “I’m going to leave and let you two sort this out, but I need to know before I leave, Dustin, where were you?”
“When I’m worried I prefer to be alone.”
“What were you worried about?”
“Losing Lee. To his work, his job, those kids.”
I left them to work out their lives.
33
Benjamin Awarjak, the gossip columnist, had set up a meeting for me with Roland Welp, an escort that Fitch had used recently. I was feeling woozy from being bashed into the car the night before, but I wanted to finish this. I was appalled by the carnage I’d seen, my mind nearly numb from trying to come to grips with the images that flashed through it at unbidden moments.
We meet in a hustler bar on Ashland Avenue near where it crossed Elston. The neighborhood was as gritty and seedy as the bar. Fat old guys with white beards sat at the bar eyeing every new person who walked in. Scott called it the Santa-Claus-is-horny effect. They reminded me of the way a starving great white shark must eye a swimmer a mile out in the ocean. No feeding frenzy occurred while Awarjak and I were there.
Roland wore aviator sunglasses, a black muscle T-shirt, and leather pants that fit well on his slender frame. His teeth were so white I assumed he must polish them on a regular basis or keep several tooth whitening companies in business. Not much eccentricity and definitely no grit. He spoke in a soft, deep voice. I bought him a beer. He said, “I can’t stay long. I’ve got a customer in a little while.”
Got to admire a guy with standards. I said, “Would you take your sunglasses off, please? I find it disconcerting talking to someone whose eyes I can’t see.”
He complied. His eyes were soft brown.
I said, “Benjamin says Charley Fitch hired you.”
“You aren’t the cops?”
“No.”
Awarjak said, “You know Tom Mason. At least you’ve heard of his lover, Scott Carpenter.”
“I guess. I don’t read newspapers much.”
Awarjak said, “The baseball player who’s openly gay.”
“Oh, yeah. I guess.”
“I trust him,” Awarjak said. “He needs help in solving a murder in the gay community.”
“I’m not trying to bring trouble to you,” I said. “I’m not with the police. I have no interest in getting you involved with them.”
“I don’t like cops. They hassle me.”
I thought, Perhaps if you’d chosen a different profession, they wouldn’t be terribly interested.
I said, “We’ll keep the police out of it.”
“Okay, I guess.”
“How long had Charley been your client?”
“About six months.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
“You mean sordid sex stuff?”
“I mean anything you can remember.”
“It’s one of the rules of the profession, we don’t rat on clients.”
“He won’t care,” I said. “He’s dead.”
“Oh, yeah. I guess.”
I repeated my question. “What can you tell me?”
“Well, I met him through the service. He asked for college guy types, but decently built, maybe a little rough around the edges. I can do th
at easily. He was actually pretty nice to me.”
I said, “He had a reputation as being snarly and rude.”
“Not with me. It was kind of funny that we always had to meet in that clinic. He’d like me to ride him like a horse. You know how dads have their three-year-olds ride them around. He’d beg to be ridden all through the clinic. I thought it was kinda nuts, but I’m not paid for my opinion. I’m paid for showing them a good time.”
“Always at the office?”
“Yeah. We usually started before ten, never got going later than twelve.”
“Playing horsy doesn’t sound too violent.”
“It wasn’t, and that was about the only thing that was odd except at the end. He liked to suck me off while I was sitting in his chair with all my clothes on and just my pants unzipped. He was a pretty easy client. He came real fast, never quibbled about price, and gave decent tips.”
“Were you the only call boy he hired?”
“I’d don’t know,” Roland said.
“I don’t think so,” Awarjak added.
“Were you there last Friday?”
“I met him every Friday. This week was a little before ten. He called my pager and gave me the go-ahead.”
“Anything strange happen?”
“Nope. We played around and he came all in about half an hour and I left.”
“Did you hear anything out of the ordinary?”
“Nope. He always had his stereo turned to a classical music CD. It wasn’t real loud. I never heard any noises. I didn’t last Friday. The phone never rang or anything.”
“You never got caught being there?”
“Nah. I wouldn’t have cared. He didn’t seem any more or less paranoid than any other client.”
This kid had been there on Friday. Certainly the police would be unhappy if they knew I had withheld that bit of news. Did I trust this kid? I had no reason to. I had no reason not to. I said, “Did you ever use the clinic services when you were a kid?”
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