A Blade Away

by Jack Wallen

  Skip wasn’t about to let this be difficult.

  “Hey, it’s still a case. You have questions, and I have to face that Broadway flop sooner rather than later. So shoot.” He was forcing the humor. He amazed me sometimes.

  “If Tye Siam is the victim, and he performed at Club Connect, that would make him a drag queen. That’s not the same as a cross-dresser. First of all, he’d more than likely be gay. Second, he wouldn’t have any desire to actually be a woman, just imitate one.” I was actually going somewhere with this.

  “All obvious facts.” Skip wasn’t following me.

  “Our killer wants to give these men what he thinks they desire—womanhood. That doesn’t gel with this victim.” I expected Skip to chime in here, but he was silent for a long while before speaking.

  “Not exactly. Tye had just started undergoing hormone therapy. He was planning on having sex reassignment surgery. He only told a few people, including me. He was afraid it would affect his appeal as a performer, so he made sure that very few knew his secret. And as far as I could tell, no one told a single person.”

  “Can you tell me who else knew?” I hated to push, but I felt we were actually getting somewhere.

  “Myself, Sugah Brown, S’Fonda, and his boyfriend Stephen. We were it. He made us swear we would never tell anyone else.” He anticipated my next question. “And no one told.”

  Again, S’Fonda Heels was coming under the scrutiny of my subconscious. I really couldn’t put my finger on why. Maybe it was simply the need for a suspect? Maybe it was the way he continued to pop up in regard to this case. Maybe it was just intuition. No matter the reason, the suspicion was there.

  I had started to press Skip for more information on S’Fonda when we pulled up at what I assumed to be Tye Siam’s home. My questions would have to wait.

  The home was a small split-level that looked every bit the part of a Brady Bunch sequel. We were the first to arrive, so we took it upon ourselves to become the lead in the team.

  “Let me deal with the boyfriend. He might be a little fragile.” Judging from Skip’s tone, this wasn’t going to be easy. I agreed and told him I would take care of the body and the scene.

  In unison, we stepped out of the car and made our way to the front door. There was no sign of forced entry at the doorway. The front door was locked from the inside.

  “Did the witness call from the home?” I asked Skip, who was busy taking a look a bit farther away from the door.

  “Yeah, the boyfriend. I told him to lock the door and stay inside. I don’t see anything. No visible signs of any struggle, no tire tracks. I think it’s safe to go in.”

  I rang the bell. I knew exactly what was waiting for me inside, and it made me sick to my stomach. The boyfriend was going to be a basket case; they always were when death was involved. I hated these visits.

  From the door came a hoarse voice. “Who is it?”

  “Police. Officers Davenport and Abrahm. We’re responding to your call.” I knew this man would be frightened beyond trust, so I held my badge up to the peep hole. After a moment, the locks started ticking away, and the door was cracked open.

  “Yes?” was all he said as the door opened fully. I was taken aback by the absence of any signs of sadness. No puffy eyes. No handful of tissue. In fact, this man seemed to be fine.

  But then, as if on cue, the man saw Skip and broke down. He threw open the door and flew past me into my partner’s arms.

  “Oh God, Skip! Oh God, oh God, oh God…” Skip immediately put his arms around the man. “I stayed a little late at the club to go over a new number. When I got home, the door was open, and….” He choked on his words and buried his head in Skip’s shoulder. Skip motioned for me to go on inside. I knew I could trust Skip to care for the man, so I walked past them into the house.

  The house was small, but charming. Although sparse, the furniture smacked of good taste filtered through Ikea and Pottery Barn. I spent a little time obsessing over the entryway. At first, I saw nothing to indicate that there had been any sort of struggle: no scratched wood, no bloodstains, and no scuff marks on the immaculate parquet floor. I turned around and stared at a small, half-round table butted against the wall underneath an antique oval mirror. Nothing was out of the ordinary on the surface. There was a delicate princess-style phone and a tablet of paper and pencil. The phone didn’t seem to be placed well on the table, which seemed out of place with the rest of the decor. I dropped to one knee when I noticed the phone cord had been pulled from the wall.

  My mind was racing, picturing Tye entering the house, being met by the killer, the killer ripping the phone cord from the wall, and ending with Tye being subdued and finally destroyed. If the killer was following a pattern, the body would be lying prone on the bed.

  Before I could make my way to the bedroom, Skip and Stephen came inside. Skip opened his mouth before the door was shut. “We have another lead.” Skip turned to Stephen. “Tell her what you told me.”

  Stephen spoke slowly. “We were having a little trouble at home a few weeks ago. You know, the usual ego shit. Tye left in a huff, saying he was going to the Club for a while. Well, he didn’t return until very late that night, and when he did, he was pretty drunk. He came up to the bedroom crying and told me that he had nearly been unfaithful. He also said he had made the mistake of telling another man about his hormones. He said he was at the bar drinking, and this large man introduced himself as Dr. Lakmé. They started talking, and this doctor managed to drag Tye’s secrets out of him, who he was, what he did, who his partner was, what was in his future, everything. Then, the guy invited him back to his house. Tye actually started to go along. He said he was following this doctor in his car when the neighborhoods started to get a little rough. Tye said they were driving way out on the west side, and he chickened out. He turned the car around and sped home. He felt so guilty about it all.”

  Stephen couldn’t take it anymore and broke down. Skip was right there. After a moment of comfort, Stephen continued, “After that, there were some phone calls from the man asking if Tye would meet him. He knew we lived together. He knew everything, but it didn’t stop him from openly calling. Tye never answered the phone or returned the calls.” Stephen stopped and looked as if he was trying to remember something. “I think we might have saved one of the messages in case we needed to prove he was harassing Tye.” My eyes widened at the thought of tangible evidence. Stephen went to the answering machine. Fortunately, they had an old-school machine that still required the use of micro-cassettes.

  “Here it is. There was a rather lengthy message on this tape. I would play it for you, but I just don’t think I could hear it again.” Stephen was nearly in tears as he finished.

  Before I could say anything, there was a knock at the door. Stephen nearly jumped out of his skin. I quickly said, “That’ll be the rest of the investigation team.” I looked over at Skip. He knew exactly what I was thinking.

  “Hon, why don’t you and I go into the kitchen and make us some tea?” Stephen nodded, and the two of them headed off.

  I walked over to the answering machine and hit play. The machine rewound and began playing a steady stream of ‘I love you’ and ‘I’ll be home soon’ messages. These two were obviously a loving couple.

  Just as I started to think the message had been erased, a different man’s voice spoke. Instantly, I knew it was the killer. There was an eerie monotony to the tone. The man showed no signs of the usual thrill of contacting victims.

  “Hello, Tye. I’m sure you recognize my voice. We’ve met once…or twice. I’ve watched your show. Over and over, I’ve sat among the crowds. I’ve come to know you. I’ve come to understand your desires, your dreams. I can make those dreams come true. All you have to do is hand yourself over to me, and your life will change forever.”

  There was a slight pause. It was perfectly silent. “I’ll be watching you, Tye. I’ll be waiting. When the time is right, your new life will begin.” The end of the message wa
s filled with a slight breathing sound. The breathing began to get heavier and heavier. It abruptly stopped, and the line went dead.

  A sick chill went down my back, causing my flesh to get goosey. Without thinking, I pulled the tape out of the machine, pocketed it, and turned to find a stairway that I assumed led up to the bedroom.

  I started to take my first step and then remembered the door. I ran to open it and was greeted by Igor and Renfield. They smiled their cold, mortuary grins and nodded hello.

  “Hello, boys.” I smiled and winked. They gave me the creeps, but I figured I’d totally throw them off guard and keep them off my back if I pulled the tiniest flirt. I saw shock register on Igor’s face. My ploy had worked. “I think the body is this way.” I said and turned to head upstairs. When I reached the top of the stairs, the smell of death whomped me upside the head. I paused for a moment to gather some fortitude. Finally, I made it to the bedroom, and just as I thought, the victim was tied to the bed. Only this body was wearing a red sequined evening dress and heels.

  The makeup had been applied more carefully this time, and the overall effect was getting less sloppy. But I knew that what was underneath the fabric would tell a much nastier tale.

  I pulled out a tablet and pen and started taking notes. I took in the entire room, looking for something, anything, that might give us a better idea of who the killer was or why he was doing this.

  Although it seemed the killer was taking more time with the victim, he was taking much less time with the surroundings. Like the previous scene, there was quite a bit of blood covering the floor surrounding the bed. But outside of the bed, chaos seemed to be the order of the day.

  On the far side of the room, next to the closet, was a full-length mirror shattered on the floor. As I looked closer, I noticed a small spot of blood on a piece of the mirror. “Bingo!” My voice, a little louder than necessary, actually made Igor and Renfield jump. “Either of you have a sample bag on you?”

  Renfield came to my rescue with a small bag. I was able to take a piece of the broken mirror with enough blood stain for DNA processing. I pocketed the sample and turned to the bed.

  The goons were in the process of photographing the body. The flash bounced off of my retinas, causing me to turn away for a moment. My eyes were flashing between the dead body’s masquerade face and sun spots. They eerily began to meld together. It was like some of my worst dreams, the dreams that haunted me after homicides, dreams of death and the ugliest side of humanity—the inside.

  I was taking a few last notes on the body when I noticed a small bruise on the right side of the neck. In the center of the bruise was a pin-sized spot. “Did either of you notice this?” I pointed the spot out to the goons. They looked at each other and shook their heads. “What does this look like to you?”

  Igor spoke first. “Forced needle-entry point, hit him hard, too.”

  “What does that tell you?” I pressed.

  “Either our victim was a junkie, or he was knocked out with something,” Renfield answered.

  “I want his blood checked for any possible toxins or agents. And I want the results called in to me as soon as you get them.” Their cold coroner eyes just stared at me. I knew what they were thinking; the chief would have their necks if he knew they were helping me. I also knew they both had one weakness. Being the creeps they were, their exposure to the feminine sex was pretty much nil. All it took was a lick of the lips, a bat of the eye, and a thrust of a hip.

  “Got that?” My voice flirted beyond my usual professional tone. They quickly acquiesced with a synchronized nod.

  I decided that I had seen everything I needed and left the goons to finish their jobs. As soon as I returned downstairs, I was greeted by Skip and Stephen.

  “Anything?” Skip stood.

  “Found a possible blood sample.” I nodded my head in triumph. “And one other thing. Stephen, I have to ask you something, and it might not be easy to answer.” I could tell he was instantly nervous.

  “Go ahead.” He breathed deeply, expecting the worst.

  “Did Tye have any history or problem with drugs?”

  “Not at all! Tye was a lot of things, but a user he was not. I mean, he would have a drink now and again, but that’s it. He never even smoked.” Stephen seemed shocked at my insinuation.

  Of course, if that was true, it meant that the killer was drugging his victims. If we could determine what he was using, we’d have another possible lead.

  Before we left, I asked about the disconnected phone line. Stephen hadn’t noticed it and knew the phone was working the day before. That meant that the killer had either premeditated the assault, or there was a struggle which led to Tye attempting to call for help. Either way, I made a note to make sure the phone cord was tested for prints.

  We said our goodbyes, wrapped up the scene, and headed back to the precinct. It was my turn to drive.

  “God, I feel so bad for Stephen. Tye was his world.” Skip seemed lost in sympathy. I, on the other hand, couldn’t get my mind off the possibilities.

  “I want to meet with the Southern Belles as soon as possible. I want to ask if someone would volunteer to act as bait.” I was thinking out loud. Skip heard me loud and clear.

  “You can’t possibly be thinking of getting one of those poor men directly involved in this. That’s suicide, Jamie.” His voice filled with horror. “Not only that, but you risk outing the poor man in the process.”

  Skip had a point, of course. Putting these men in physical danger was something the force could handle. Putting them in social and emotional danger was altogether different. But there were other issues at play here.

  “We can’t just toss one of our men in drag into a bar. This killer knows who he’s looking for. He’s not choosing his victims at random. He knows who they are, and one by one he’s picking them off. If we toss in a decoy, he’ll never fall for it. He’s smarter than that.” I couldn’t believe that I was assuming this killer was indeed “smarter than that,” and that I was about to ask an innocent man to ensnare himself in a deadly trap.

  “I don’t think that’s wise, Jamie.” Skip was holding firm to his opinion.

  A silence fell over the car. Skip was obviously upset, so I relented. “Okay, we use that as a last resort. But I want to approach the group with the plan, so they know it might come up. You with me on this?”

  Skip mulled it over. It was obviously a difficult decision. “Only as a last resort. I don’t like the idea of putting any of them in any more danger than they’re already in.”

  “Agreed. We’ll see what the evidence has in store for us, and if that turns up nothing, we’ll see about arranging a trap.” I didn’t like it any more than Skip, but I really saw no other solution.

  There was a moment of distilled silence between us. My mind immediately raced back to S’Fonda. I honestly couldn’t explain why that man was stuck in my conscience. But there he was, and I had to open the possibility to Skip.

  “What do you know about S’Fonda Heels?” I said, as the car was nearly taken out by someone failing to use their signal. They were lucky this time. Had my brain not been wrapped around S’Fonda and the current situation, I would have nailed their asses.

  “I know that he’s a power-hungry queen who looks at every gay man as competition for one thing or another,” Skip said, with a bit of lather.

  I thought back to the meeting I had with S’Fonda. He did seem a bit arrogant, now that I thought about it.

  “Why do you ask? Do you think he might….?” Skip’s voice was filled with doubt.

  I tried to explain to Skip why I held some suspicion regarding Miss Heels. He didn’t buy it, but he also didn’t refute it. It seemed S’Fonda Heels had a reputation for cat fights and brawls among the other drag queens.

  I knew there was nothing that would allow me to bring the man in for questioning. But there was also nothing to stop me from making the rounds to see what I could dig up about him. Fortunately, Skip knew his real name
to be Michael Sallas. That gave me somewhere to start. Everyone had a record of some sort, be it clean or dirty.

  I pulled off of the Watterson Expressway and onto I-64 heading toward downtown and the precinct.

  As soon as we arrived, I did a quick run on Michael Sallas and came up with a few insignificant incidents, mostly speeding tickets and traffic violations. It seemed like the man had a penchant for driving in his S’Fonda persona, and some of the officers either took offense, or advantage, of that situation. On one account, he was placed in a cell while wearing full femme attire. The report was obviously a pile of crap, because there was no clear reason why he was brought in. It was as if the arresting officer wanted to teach Mr. Sallas a lesson. Unfortunately, the lesson for Sallas was costly, and he came out of the cell with a black eye and a few cracked ribs. Cellmates can be picky about who they board with.

  Outside of that, there was very little information on Mr. Sallas. The information on S’Fonda was mostly personal, and even that didn’t paint a very clear picture. S’Fonda Heels had her own website that boasted more Glamour Shots than a man or woman should confess to owning.

  The only really interesting aspect of the site was S’Fonda’s ‘Story’ section. The poorly written autobiographical pat on the back gave a fairly detailed, and sometimes graphic, history of how Michael Sallas discovered S’Fonda Heels in his mother’s closet at the age of seven and grew into one of Kentucky’s finest examples of how man can overcome his fear of the woman inside. I nearly laughed out loud. The man was a self-proclaimed poster child for cross-dressers, a writer, and a psychiatrist. It was no wonder that Walter Jameson grew to dislike the Southern Belles. With S’Fonda leading them, I was surprised there hadn’t been a mutiny.

  When my search ended at the site du S’Fonda, I decided I would let the inquisition rest for a while.

  TWENTY

  The rent-a-room was dark and humid. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator. He liked it dark. In the dark he couldn’t see his own reflection. The dark didn’t mock him as the light did.