Dead Egotistical Morons

by Mark Richard Zubro

  Turner said, “Then we get here, and you’re having a press conference spewing blame while another one of your band members is missing. How dare you? The boy could be dead.”

  “He could just be out walking,” Zawicki said.

  Turner said, “You lost the right to justify yourself when you screwed the first boy for your first band. One of the members of this band has been murdered. For all we know someone could be after the others as well. Instead you’re having a press conference blathering bullshit to the world.”

  “You’re not a therapist or a priest. You’re just a cop. You have no moral authority over me.”

  Turner said, “For now, you are in my jurisdiction. While you are here, you are going to concentrate on helping us deal with four boys who you’ve helped to fuck up. Yes, they’re rich beyond their wildest dreams. You’re right, I’m not a therapist, but I’ve been a cop for a long time. I know ill health when I see it. I saw it this morning in this poor kid. Don’t you understand there’s depth here? Don’t you realize the effect you are having on these boys’ lives? And you want to blame us for investigating poorly. Are you nuts? If there is someone to blame, look to yourself, and not just for sexual activity with them. Something is wrong here. One of them has been murdered. Another is missing. There is going to be a price to be paid for what’s happened. I’m going to make sure you pay your share of that price.”

  Zawicki licked his lips and glanced to Fenwick and back to Turner. Finally he muttered, “I didn’t kill anybody.”

  “Don’t say one more word of justification. Not one.”

  Zawicki shrugged.

  Fenwick asked, “Did Roger Stendar trade sexual favors so you would permit Sherri Haupmin to be one of the opening acts?”

  “I knew she was trouble. I did everything in my power to minimize her influence. Roger thought he was in love. What a mistake. I thought I’d try keeping her close, the better to keep her under observation. She could barely sing two consecutive notes and was an even worse dancer. The best packaging in the world can’t cause there to be talent.”

  Turner said, “I think you lied to us a few minutes ago when you said you had sex with them once and that was about it.”

  “Sex has nothing to do with this murder.”

  “How often did you have sex with the members of the band?” Turner demanded.

  “I didn’t mark it on a calendar or carve notches in a gun.”

  “How often?”

  “Roger more than the others. He was the most independent of the bunch, the hardest to control, so the most fun for me to force to submit, but he was the most passive during sex.”

  Turner said, “This morning Dexter told me you had sexual relations with him almost continuously.”

  “With the other three, just the once. With Dexter once in a while. At times I find his type alluring. He seemed to enjoy it more than the others.”

  Turner said, “That’s more than harassment, that’s sick. Forcing a presumably straight boy to continue servicing you. Doing it to anyone male or female, gay or straight from a power position is loathsome. Here’s what you’re going to do. You are going to hold another press conference in which you say you are retiring from your job as chairman of Riveting Records. That you are donating your severance package to charity. We’ll find one that specializes in helping abused children. If you do not do that tomorrow morning first thing in front of legions of reporters, I will release the information to the press about what you required of these boys.”

  “They would never confirm it.”

  “False hopes will not serve,” Turner said. “As you said, these are not the first band members you required sexual favors from. Once it becomes public knowledge, it will snowball. Certainly, some of the former victims will talk. People who your victims have confided in will come forward. Others will want their fifteen minutes of fame connected to this band.”

  “I resign and you say nothing?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll think it over.”

  “No, you won’t,” Turner said. “You will do it, or I release the news. And the rest of the band members will be allowed to renegotiate their contracts and be free to choose other companies.”

  Zawicki’s angry glare didn’t indicate to Turner that he was in any way prepared to be cooperative.

  Turner said, “I almost hope you try to bluff us. One boy is dead. One has had a breakdown. One is missing. We’re going to talk to the last two again. My guess is there’s more ugly stuff that is going to come out.”

  Zawicki said, “You do what you have to do. I will do what I have to do.”

  Turner asked, “Where are the rest of the boys right now?”

  “In their rooms. We doubled security.”

  “Send for them please.”

  Zawicki picked up the phone, tapped several numbers, and gave the requisite orders.

  “What happened with Jason Devane?” Turner asked.

  “We don’t know. The other guys don’t know. He wasn’t in his room. Contrary to what you might think, I am worried. They know better than to just walk off. Pastern is an idiot. It would look bad to get rid of him now, and it would cause chaos. He’ll be gone days after we all get back home.”

  “You told us last night that everyone in the band got along fine. Dexter told us that there was dissension in the band. That Roger was planning to leave. Was that true?”

  “His contract was ironclad.”

  Turner put pauses between the next words long enough to encompass an ice age. “Cut. The. Crap.”

  “Yes, Roger was unhappy. They could all be unhappy. They could all be incredibly happy. They danced and sang. I did not cause anyone’s death.”

  “Maybe not directly,” Turner said. “Maybe you’re completely innocent, but as of tomorrow, you are out of the picture.”

  Defiant silence.

  Fenwick asked, “What did you and Blundlefitz discuss this afternoon? Why’d you pick him as the shill for your little charade and why bother to berate us? Last night Blundlefitz accused us of being in league with you in some kind of cover-up. Now, you guys are buddies against the bungling detectives. Why the change?”

  Zawicki said, “Have you found the killer? I don’t see anything getting done. Even now, you threaten me, but how does that get you closer to the murderer? As for Blundlefitz, he’s a fat fool. He was pissed at you. I wanted to use him as much as he wanted to use me. He will lead the publicity barrage against you. He thinks he’s some kind of goddamn Miss Marple who’s going to find out who killed Roger. Ha!”

  Fenwick said, “That moronic twit will be sorrier than you are.”

  “I’m not sure how sorry I need to feel.” Zawicki stood up. “Feel free to use the suite as long as you wish.” He left.

  Fenwick turned to his partner. “Who do we believe about the security guy being fired—Pastern or Zawicki?”

  Turner said, “I feel neutral about Pastern and don’t like Zawicki, but I’m not ready to make that decision yet. I can picture Zawicki and his minions making that kind of thing up. Look how he’s trying to smear us.”

  Fenwick said, “And why frame Pastern? Is he trying to shift suspicion away from himself or do his own cover-up?”

  “Don’t know,” Turner said. While pulling out his cell phone, he added, “We’re getting the local beat cops involved with finding this kid.” He talked to a dispatcher for several moments then the commander of the local district and Molton from Area Ten. He hung up and said, “The local district cops will get on it. I’m calling Ian. I don’t want to get out of my depth here. The department might help us out, but I think I should get Ian on board. He’ll know more about releasing information about this guy to the press.”

  “Zawicki’s going to fight,” Fenwick stated.

  “If he is, I’m going to be as ready as I can.” He punched in the pager number of his friend Ian Hume, the reporter. Turner knew he would be at the office late on a Sunday, deadline day for the weekly paper. Ian worked late nearl
y every day. In moments Turner’s phone rang. Turner said, “I need some help with a press problem, and do you guys have a music critic at the paper?”

  “Yep.”

  “Could you meet me around eleven and get the music critic there about twelve? I know it’s a Sunday night and you’re on deadline.”

  “I’m always on deadline. I always wonder about reporters who are so frantic when a deadline looms. Is it a surprise to them that they have a deadline? You always know your deadline so get off your ass. As for the critic, he’s a part-time bartender up at a place on Halsted. We can meet there and talk to him after his shift is over.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “The Stendar murder.” He gave Ian a sketch of the important details. Turner didn’t have to tell his friend that what he was saying was confidential. The reporter would reveal nothing without permission. Besides being an old friend, Ian had also been a cop before turning to journalism. Turner trusted him implicitly. He said, “We’ve got people to talk to. If we get delayed, I’ll call you.” He hung up.

  There was a knock on the door. Pastern brought in Danny Galyak and Ivan Pappas.

  12

  Turner led the two boys to a dining area. They sat around a glass-topped table. Both boys wore running shoes, faded jeans, and sweatshirts, Danny’s with BOYS4U stenciled across the front, above which was the bright, swirling logo. Ivan’s had a picture of the Eiffel Tower on it.

  “What’s happening?” Pappas asked. “Have they found Jason?”

  Turner said, “The local police are on it. Did Jason ever do anything like this before?”

  “No,” Galyak said. “If anybody was going to stick around the hotel, it was Jason. Him, and Dexter, too, would stay in the bus instead of going out. I guess they felt safe there. Jason didn’t like going out. He would party with us only once in a great while. Do you think he’s dead?” All trace of bravado was gone from his voice.

  “We don’t know,” Turner said. “What happened after we talked to you last night?”

  Galyak said, “We all got on the bus to come back here. We had to wait until everybody was done. They’ve got that underground entrance, big enough for buses so bands like us don’t get mobbed. Most places don’t have that. Waiting got kind of boring. We were all nervous. As each of us got back to the bus, we grilled the others on what they’d been asked. Nobody remembered anything special and we didn’t know what was happening. It was like none of us could believe it. I still don’t. For a while after we talked I listened to music. Dexter looked kind of out of it. He kept walking up and down the center aisle. Kept pestering us. He always needed somebody to pay attention to him. He always bugged Roger. Mostly Roger put up with it, but he could drive you nuts. He was younger than the rest of us, and he never shut up.”

  Turner said, “He’s had a nervous breakdown. Maybe he was looking for someone to talk to.”

  Galyak said, “He was always trying to talk to somebody. It was boring. Even Roger got fed up once in a while. Dexter was a wuss. We didn’t make him needy. He came to us that way. We all figured Dex was a fag.”

  “Gay,” Turner said. “The word is gay.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it,” Galyak said.

  “Good.”

  “I know I saw Dexter writing for a while in that stupid journal he keeps,” Galyak said.

  “He kept a journal?” Turner asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Where is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  A journal? The detectives knew a possible gold mine when they heard one.

  “I was reading a book,” Pappas said. “An Agatha Christie mystery. I like them. They relax me. No matter how tense I get, they put me to sleep.”

  “What did Jason do?”

  “He played video games on a Game Boy. He turns the sound way down. He knows it drives us nuts. He plays that thing for hours on end.”

  “Do you remember anything at all Jason might have said to you?” Turner asked.

  “He talked on the phone for a while,” Galyak said.

  “To whom?” Turner asked.

  “I don’t know. He calls his parents a lot. Maybe them. He talked for about twenty minutes.”

  They’d have to get his phone records. Turner asked, “What happened after you all got to the hotel?”

  “Jordan told us we had a meeting. It was late. We were all dazed by what had happened. It was odd. Roger not being in the bus. The five of us had done a million concerts together, coming and going on that tour bus. He was always happy and dancing and moving and the life of the party after a concert. We had planned to go out to Naked Surfers, a new after-hours club. That was cancelled. After we got back, we met with Pastern, Eudace, Hinkmeyer, Zawicki, and Davis. It was boring. They kept asking us if we were all right. Dex just bawled. Jason was crying, too.”

  “We all were,” Pappas said. “Then Hinkmeyer gave us our new room numbers. She said we’d have to put up with less than first class for a night or two. I didn’t care. By that time everybody just wanted to go to bed.”

  “Did you see Jason?”

  “Yeah,” Galyak said. “I was on the eleventh floor and he was on the tenth. We rode the elevator down together.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Just good night.”

  “And you didn’t see him today?”

  “No.”

  “Where would he go?”

  “We’ve thought about it,” Pappas said. “He didn’t go places a lot. None of us did. Girls camp outside our hotel. They watch every entrance and exit.”

  Fenwick said, “A hat pulled low, some dark glasses, how much more do you need?”

  “Fans stake out the hotels. They trail after anyone that looks likely. It can be a hassle for guys with similar builds who are staying in our hotel. We’ve deliberately sent body doubles out, but that doesn’t always work, either. We could leave, but only with security or limousines with tinted glass. It wasn’t like we were prisoners.”

  “It felt like it sometimes,” Galyak said.

  Pappas added, “But Jason didn’t go a lot of places. He’d order room service and just play video games in his room.”

  “Would he go to a video parlor?”

  “No way. With all the kids, he’d be recognized in a second. He’d be mobbed. That’s why it’s so hard to think that he disappeared. He can’t go far without being recognized.”

  Galyak said, “Maybe he just fell asleep in some other hotel room by himself.”

  “There are records of who’s in what room,” Pappas said. “He’d have used a credit card. They’d know.”

  “Has he ever walked out before?” Turner asked. “Gone off by himself?”

  “No,” Galyak said. “Roger sometimes did. He was a thinker, used to read books on philosophy. He finished his first year of college. None of the rest of us ever went. Roger would want to be by himself. Even Dex knew to leave him alone at those times.”

  “Was Roger depressed at those times, angry?”

  “No, he was just private.”

  “Did Jason have any friends in town?” Turner asked.

  Neither one knew of any.

  Turner said, “Dexter told us about the dissension in the band. Ms. Haupmin claimed there were problems. That you guys hated Roger. Last night you both said everything was good.”

  Galyak said, “Sherri Haupmin is a vicious jerk. You can’t believe a thing that bitch tells you. She tried to break this band up. We’re the ones who helped her out. She was singing at junior-high dances when we gave her a big break.”

  Fenwick said, “Did it bother you that you were forced to have sex with Mr. Zawicki?”

  Galyak stood up. “Hey, what?”

  Turner and Fenwick waited.

  “Who told you that?” Galyak asked.

  Fenwick said, “Zawicki confirmed it a little while ago.”

  “Oh,” Galyak said. He sat back down. His eyes didn’t meet theirs. “I, well�
�” He fumbled. They waited. Galyak said, “How come you guys don’t say anything?”

  Pappas said, “You’re not going to tell anyone about it, are you? I never told anybody about doing it with Zawicki. It was only once and over pretty quick. Lots of guys think we’re gay because we’re in the band, but if that got out, it would be bad. It wasn’t a big deal for me. It’s just kind of embarrassing.”

  “You never told anyone?” Turner asked.

  “No, they’d think I was gay,” Pappas said.

  “Was it embarrassing for Roger or Jason?”

  “Nobody ever talked about it. I think we must have guessed the others were being made to do it, but nobody ever said.”

  Turner asked Galyak, “Did you ever tell anyone?”

  “No. Look, it happened. I got used. It was just once. I think we were each like little trophies to Zawicki. So what? You wanna be famous, you gotta make sacrifices.”

  Pappas nodded. “All the time.”

  Galyak continued, “It’s not like we’re innocent. We’re always getting offers. Real rich guys offer us all kinds of things. Women, too. Couple years ago one fourteen-year-old kid sent her butler to proposition us for her. We turned her down. Fourteen, that’s sick. But, like one guy offered to put all of us up in his house in Paris for a weekend. Offered us a million bucks. He wanted us to perform just for him. We figured he wanted sex, too. We said no.”

  “Neither of you guys resented Zawicki for screwing you?” Fenwick asked.

  “This thing isn’t about sex,” Galyak said. “Everybody’s obsessed with sex about us. The most frequently asked questions we get are about our underwear. I’m sick of the fucking underwear bullshit. People need to get a life. I’m telling you, the band and our lives don’t revolve around sex. This is all about the music.”

  “They didn’t hire the five ugliest guys to do the singing,” Fenwick said.

  “You a critic?” Galyak asked.

  “Just making an observation,” Fenwick said.

  Pappas said, “I wanted to be in the band. I would have done anything anybody said. We did a lot of stuff that you wouldn’t normally do.”