The Truth Can Get You Killed

by Mark Richard Zubro

  “Probably. Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “We have independent confirmation that Francis Barlow is gay. You have any leads on him?”

  “I’ve been running a standard check through my grapevine. Up until recently at least, he had a membership in Body Beautiful, a gym down on Clark Street. My source thought he spent a good part of his Saturdays there. I was thinking of stopping by.”

  “Fenwick and I can check it out.”

  “You want this guy bad?”

  “He may have been the boyfriend of Mike Meade.”

  “I want to go with you.”

  “No.”

  “Who’s given you three major leads in this case?”

  “I admit you’ve helped. How can I drag a reporter along? Acting Commander Molton has been terrific so far, and I don’t want that to change. Besides, Barlow might not even be there.”

  “So then what have you lost if I come along?”

  “No questions, no articles. If you’re there, you’re in the background. You are silent.”

  “I understand.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I was a cop. I do understand. I’m also a reporter. I shall be as discreet as you might wish.”

  “We’ll pick you up,” Turner said.

  “Don’t trust me to not run over there?”

  “Ian, you are one of the best reporters around. I expect you would sell bushels full of relatives to get this story. You stay where you are. You’ve helped me, but I’ve also given you what we’ve told no one else.”

  “I’m not going to wreck it,” Ian said.

  Turner filled in Fenwick as they drove to the newspaper.

  “Ian is not a suspect?” Fenwick asked as he raced through the streets.

  “He’s my best friend besides Ben. He didn’t kill anybody.”

  Fenwick gave a neutral grunt.

  Ian was waiting at the front door of the newspaper.

  The gym was on Clark, a block south of Montrose on the west side of the street.

  As they drove over, Turner gave Ian more details on what they’d found out.

  Fenwick added when he was done, “What I have a tough time with is this closeted stuff. Maybe it’s because I’m straight. I understand a lot from being friends with you guys, but I don’t know. That’s a powerful lot of fear.”

  “I feel sorry for them,” Turner said. “I know what it’s like to be scared.”

  Ian said, “I don’t see what the big problem is. I don’t see why these people are so closeted. Twenty years ago, yes, but not today.”

  “Lots of gay people are still scared,” Turner said.

  “You have no need to be. No person in the city needs to be. Chicago has a nondiscrimination ordinance. You couldn’t be fired. I think you should join that gay cop organization. In fact, you’d be good at leading it.”

  “People are scared and have good reasons to be. You know better than that. Discrimination these days is often more subtle where it can’t be blatant. Personal slights, promotions skipped, missed opportunities, fear of personal attack. Being fired is the most obvious, but being antigay can take many forms.”

  Ian said, “The world has changed. You can’t call us faggots on the floor of Congress without a storm of protest. Unless you’re a religious nut and have your own call-in show, you can’t be that vile. Of course, if you’ve got your own venue, you can say all the vicious lies you want about us, but who does that affect really? All this closeted stuff doesn’t seem real to me. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  Turner remembered the crack Ian had made the other day about closeted gay people. This latest was too much. He blew up at his friend. “Who the hell are you to talk about other people’s closets? You work in an environment where being openly gay is never a problem. How pleasant and comfortable for you. How many gay people have that kind of luxury? Not very goddamn many. It’s the gay reporters and journalists who are so goddamn holier than thou about the rest of us coming out, but they sit there in their safe little environments and judge the rest of us. How terribly brave for some fucking activist to tell me how to run my life.”

  Ian said, “The more of us who come out, the sooner we will have our rights.”

  “I’ve heard that a million times,” Turner said. “Most of the time I think it’s true, but people’s fears and the knowledge that human beings can be massively cruel to one another is also true.”

  Ian said, “I wouldn’t live in fear.”

  “How can you be so blind and unsympathetic to the compromises most of us have to make? Like you never made alterations to hide your sexuality. We were lovers, Ian. I know you. We’ve all done the subtle little things to protect ourselves. The leaving out of information when having conversations with new people. The ingrained sense of self-preservation that keeps most of us from walking hand-in-hand down the streets of most cities, and in those few cities where we can, only in certain neighborhoods and often only in gay pride parades. We’d all like to be as out as you. Do you deny the dangers for some? Outside Chicago and a few rare suburbs, schoolteachers in this state can be fired if they’re gay. Do you want them to announce their sexuality on television? Will you guarantee them a job if they get fired? Will you pay their rent? We’re all being more out all of the time. Do you deny the dangers for some? Even you, Ian, would hesitate to walk hand-in-hand with another guy in Wicker Park and most of the other neighborhoods of this city that don’t border on the lake. I don’t blame anybody in the case we’re investigating. I think they all have serious problems which I have sympathy for.”

  “Which have probably led to murder.”

  “We’ll have to see about that.”

  Silence descended on the interior of the vehicle for the rest of the ride over. When they arrived outside the gym, Fenwick turned off the car. They sat quietly for several moments.

  Fenwick said, “Can you guys work out this gay political shit later. I’m not trying to be insensitive here, but it’s awful goddamn cold. I’d like to get started.”

  Ian spoke first. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I forget sometimes. I know it’s not easy. Sorry.”

  Turner drew a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have blown up at you.”

  “Great, you made up nice,” Fenwick said. “If you’re going to kiss as well as make up, do it on your own time. You ready?”

  “Let’s get this guy,” Turner said.

  21

  They entered the gym. At the reception desk, Turner and Fenwick showed their identification to a sweatsuit-clad twenty-year-old. She called the manager who accompanied them as they hunted for Barlow.

  The health club was set up on three levels. The ground floor had row after row of exercise machines. The second floor was completely open for large exercise classes. The top floor contained a running track. Inside the oval was gymnastics equipment. Most gyms on the near-north side of the city had a large gay clientele. As far as Turner could see, that was true of this one as well.

  They found Francis Barlow using a universal weight machine designed to increase his upper-arm strength. His plain gray T-shirt was cut off to expose his midriff. The cotton was damp down the front and at the armpits. Matted hair peeked out from around the collar of the shirt and glistened around his lower torso. His tight shorts bulged in the front, were damp at the crotch, and ripped up the sides. Turner could see the straps of a jock showing. The skimpy clothes showed off his taut muscled frame. His shoes were pure white, as were his socks. Every strand of his slicked-back hair was still in place. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and his forehead.

  They stood directly in front of Barlow who stared at them as he finished his repetitions.

  “I can’t stop my workout,” he said.

  “Indeed, you can,” Fenwick said.

  Barlow tried to stand up. Fenwick placed a large hand on the front of his T-shirt and shoved. Barlow sat back down. He picked up a towel from the floor and mopped at some of his sweat.

  People around them were beginning to stare.
/>   “What is it that you want?” Barlow asked.

  “You were Mike Meade’s boyfriend,” Turner said.

  “If I was, that is not a crime.”

  “His death is.”

  Barlow looked each of them in the eye. “That’s bullshit. What do you mean he’s dead? I saw him myself last night.”

  The three men were silent.

  Barlow turned pale. “No, that can’t be true.”

  “He died this afternoon.”

  “What happened?”

  “That’s what we want you to tell us,” Turner said.

  “I had nothing to do with his death.”

  “We need for you to accompany us down to the station,” Fenwick said.

  “Am I under arrest?”

  “No.”

  “Then why should I go down to the station?”

  “We’re making the rules here, Mr. Barlow,” Fenwick said. “Cut the crap.”

  Barlow said, “I would like to shower. I would prefer to be talked to in a less public place, but unless I’m under arrest, I don’t believe I have to accompany you anywhere. We can talk here. I need to take a shower first. This is horrible news about Mike. How can he be dead?”

  Fenwick said. “We’ll accompany you to your locker.”

  “You a closet case?” Barlow asked.

  “Not this week,” Fenwick said.

  The three men stood at the opening to the shower room as Barlow ran spray over himself. The two cops were not about to risk another possible witness getting away. The other patrons, seeing three fully clad men watching Barlow, either grinned lasciviously or frowned worriedly and hurried out. Turner didn’t find himself the least excited by what he saw.

  Barlow took his time in his ablutions. Turner noted Fenwick getting testy. Fenwick didn’t look like he’d be the slightest bit gentle with this man.

  The club permitted them to sit in an unused office to ask their questions. Barlow wore a black Air Apache Flight Suit. He sat rigidly in the office chair and crossed his legs at the ankles just above his black Georgian Logger boots. He rested an elbow on the desk. His hair was now genuinely wet while being slicked back.

  Turner sat on the desk near to Barlow. Fenwick and Hume stood against opposite walls.

  “Tell me what happened,” Barlow said.

  Turner noted that Barlow’s hands trembled slightly. One foot tapped the other regularly. Barlow’s rigid control was cracking.

  “When was the last time you saw Mike Meade?”

  “He called me last night from his house after you were through with him. I stopped over. I didn’t ring the bell. I waited in my car outside. Reporters were lurking all over the place. When I got there, he ran out and jumped in the car. He was angry about what you had accused him of. The poor guy was a mess. He felt really guilty about his dad.”

  “You mean he killed him?” Fenwick asked.

  “No, not that. About the things he said to him before he died. He was heartbroken. He really loved his dad. He wanted to talk. We went to his place in Rogers Park. He cried a lot. We spoke until about four this morning. I left. He stayed there.”

  “Do you have proof that you went home?”

  “I have proof for none of this. At the time I went home, the streets were quite deserted. I saw no one. I slept until nearly one this afternoon. I went out and ate at a health food restaurant near my home. Then I came here, and I’ve been here ever since.”

  “Tell us about your relationship with Mike Meade.”

  “We were good friends, but we were never lovers.”

  “His sister told us you spent a week with him at their cabin. We found pants in his closet that are likely your size. You were more than friends.”

  “I must have left the pants in the cabin by accident.”

  “Tell us about you and him,” Turner said.

  “First, you tell me what happened to him. You say he’s dead.” Barlow’s voice wavered. Turner saw the pursed lips loosen and tremble. Barlow leaned over, put his elbows on his thighs, and intertwined his fingers. He looked up at Turner. “Please tell me what happened.”

  “You wanted to be lovers, but he didn’t,” Turner said.

  Barlow looked at the ground. Turner saw Barlow nod his head as he whispered, “Yes.” Turner saw a tear fall to the ground. Turner and Fenwick were masters at waiting for a suspect to speak. After a few minutes Barlow wiped his nose on his expensive sleeve and began. “We met at the bar Au Naturel. I knew who he was, though. I’d seen him from a distance at the office once. At the bar it was his night off, and he was by himself having a beer. I introduced myself to him, mentioned I saw him at the office. He became quite concerned. I assured him my interest was in him and how good-looking I thought he was, not in any connection with his dad. That was true. I didn’t date him because it could help my career. How could it? I liked him because he lived a looser, unstructured life. Mine is pretty rigid.”

  “Did he talk to you about coming out to his parents?”

  “He was never out to his dad or mom. As far as I knew, he’d told only his sister.”

  “Does your family know about you?” Turner asked.

  “That I’m gay? No. That’s why I took the job here. If I’d have gotten an offer from the West Coast, I’d have taken it. I needed to have some space. Mike and I shared that in common. It was good to have somebody to talk to who wasn’t judgmental. Guys I’d date a few times were always asking about why I didn’t come out to my parents. One guy wanted me to go with him to a party with his co-workers on that National Coming Out Day last October. I broke up with him because of that. I’ll come out in my own good time.”

  “What happened with you and Mike?”

  “We began dating. It was amusing in the office. The judge would be bragging about his kid, but I was the one who knew the true story.”

  “When did you meet?”

  “Last spring.”

  “And you were dating until now?”

  “No. We dated for about three months, but he had odd hours and I have a great deal of work I bring home. We couldn’t see each other that often. I wasn’t about to go to the bar to get a feel, not when I’d been with him in bed.”

  “You broke up.”

  “I wouldn’t put it like that. I told him I loved him. He said he wanted to just be friends, and we were good friends still. We could open up with each other without the demands of a lover’s relationship. You probably wouldn’t understand, but we were an outlet for each other.”

  “Fuck buddies,” Fenwick said.

  “Crudely put, yes, but not so much recently.”

  “But you each saw other people?” Turner asked.

  “He did. I was too busy. Sometimes we’d get together and talk about who he was dating.”

  “That must have been difficult for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Guy you loved telling about his dates.”

  “Hold it, you’re getting this wrong. This isn’t some jealous lover’s murder here. If it was, why would I murder Judge Meade? I’d have been angry at Mike. We didn’t have an angry breakup. That vacation last summer was the best time I’ve ever had.”

  “You knew he hustled?”

  “Of course.”

  “That didn’t bother you?”

  “If we’d become lovers, it would have, but we weren’t.”

  “Did you go skiing with him in Aspen this past week?” Turner asked.

  Barlow hesitated.

  “He told us he was with a wealthy client and then later with a friend. We can check the airlines. They’ll have records. We can check your credit card company.”

  “I know that. We agreed to meet in Aspen after he was done with the client. I went with him to St. Louis. At each stop, he insisted that we stay in a room with two beds. He told me I could meet him as long as we got separate beds. We couldn’t afford separate rooms. I admit, I would still have been happy to make love to him. What he didn’t know about what I caressed while he slept wasn’t going to hu
rt him.”

  “What did you do in St. Louis?”

  “Tourist stuff. Went to the Arch, the train station, had dinner at Tony’s restaurant.”

  “Fabulous place,” Ian said.

  “Yes, it is. Refined, elegant, and very expensive. As you know, the flight back to Chicago was delayed.”

  “What happened when you got here?”

  “They gave us free drinks on the plane while it was delayed. We were feeling no pain. We walked off the plane arm in arm. His dad must have seen us. Mike gave me his baggage claim ticket so I could pick up his luggage and bring it to his place later. Mike was afraid he was going to be late for work, plus he said he had to meet somebody at the airport.”

  “Do you know who?”

  “No.”

  “A client?”

  “When he didn’t give me a name or tell me it was a friend, I assumed it was a client. He never said.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “He said he would find his friend and get a ride with him or take a cab with him. I wanted to go straight home. I had to get moving. I was supposed to meet my friend from New York for dinner, and I was very late myself. We said good-bye on the lower concourse. We were still pretty intoxicated, laughing and giggling. I teased him about the sugar daddy he was probably meeting. We were feeling really giddy. I grabbed him and kissed him good-bye. I figured, who would know me at the airport?”

  “The judge saw you?” Turner asked.

  “He came running up to us. He started berating Mike, calling him names, making cracks about him being a faggot, how dare he make a public display of affection—that kind of thing. I felt bad because it was my fault we kissed. I was feeling affectionate and New-Year’s-party-happy. All the time he was castigating Mike, Judge Meade never raised his voice. Nobody around noticed us. Mike was really pale. Trembling. His dad looked like he was ready to hit him. I tried to get in between them. The judge turned on me. He told me he’d be sure I was fired as soon as he got back from Montreal. He said ordinance or no ordinance in the city of Chicago, he was going to find a way to fire me. He said that it applied only to city workers, not to federal employees.”

  “Is that true?” Fenwick asked.

  “I think so,” Ian said.