by Wayne Purdy
“He didn’t see the murder, but he may have information about it.”
She took my words in. “Don’t see how Irwin can help you. That was a long time ago, more than ten years.”
“It’ll be 11 years this June. That’s a long time to wait for justice.” I paused, waiting for her reaction. I decided to change tack. “Where was Irwin on Friday night, two weeks ago.
“He was with me. We went out for dinner at the steakhouse and then saw a movie. After, we went to the ice cream shop and had a cone while walking in the park. It was a lovely night.”
“You seem pretty sure. Why is that?”
“It was our anniversary. I’m not going to forget that am I?”
“I suppose not.” It would be an easy alibi to check, but I believed her. “Is Irwin at home?” I asked again. I planned on asking him where he was. Hopefully his story meshed with hers. I never met the man, but I already liked him. He lived a simple, peaceful life. I didn’t want to disrupt it any more than I needed to.
She frowned. “He’s at work. He works down at Kirby’s. It’s a sporting goods store in town. You’ll find him there.” She turned abruptly towards the house. Hazel and I stood in the yard for a moment before realizing that we had been dismissed.
We walked down the immaculate driveway and into the truck. “What do you think?” Hazel asked. I watched as Geraldine went inside. No doubt she was calling her husband and letting him know we were on the way.
“She’s protective of him. He’s been damaged, emotionally, maybe physically. He probably has a war injury.”
“Why do you say that? I get the emotional part. It sounds like Irwin Bobb is a poster boy for PTSD, but I didn’t get anything about any physical injuries.”
“Just a hunch. Her whole demeanour changed when she saw that I was missing an eye. It was like she understood the true price of service.” Hazel grew quiet, probably replaying the interaction in her mind. Hazel took out her phone and pulled up the GPS.
“What was the name of that sporting goods store?” She asked.
“Kirby’s.” She punched it in and then it began spouting out directions. It was only a few minutes away. Kirby’s was a family owned business that had been in operation since 1987, at least according to the sign on the side of the building. It was in the same strip mall as a big box building supply store and a gas bar. We pulled into one of the vacant parking stops near the front door. A tall, skinny black man leaned against the façade, smoking a cigarette. His eyes were sunken into his gaunt face, and his head shaved. He looked like a dusky skeleton. He stubbed out his smoke against the wall and flicked the butt into a storm drain.
“You the folks looking for me?” He asked. His words were smoky.
“Are you Irwin Bobb?”
“That’s me.” He held out his handful of long, knobby fingers and Hazel and I shook it in turns while introductions were made. “My wife says you’re sort of like police. Looking into a murder? That right?”
“That’s right. Is there someplace we can talk?”
“The boss let me have my break. There’s a picnic table on the side of the store. We can talk there.” He led the way. I noticed he limped slightly, giving him a jerky gait. Under his khakis, I caught a glimpse of silver. Irwin Bobb wore a prosthetic leg. I made a mental note to point it out to Hazel and show off a little. He took a seat on one of the wooden benches and we took the opposite side.
“Mind if I smoke?” He asked as he pulled one out from a pack in his breast pocket.
I preferred that he didn’t, but I also wanted him to feel comfortable. “Fill your boots.”
He lit up. “Geraldine don’t like me smoking. I told her I quit, but she knows I still light up now ‘n again. She can smell it on me. She doesn’t know I’m damn near a pack-a-day again. I quit once, you know, after I got back. Didn’t take though.” He blew a cloud of smoke out, turning his head away from us as he did.
“I need to ask some questions. About a murder.”
He paused and made eye contact with me. Neither one of us broke it. He took another long draw from his smoke. “This about Mark Telford?”
If I was startled, I did my best not to show it. Hazel was less successful. I heard her let out a tiny gasp. “What makes you say that?” She asked.
He tapped his eye. “You get that over there?”
“Yes. I hit an IED.”
“I lost my leg.” He pulled up his pantleg, showing off the artificial leg. I looked over at Hazel with a bemused expression on my face. She had a look of wonder on hers.
“It was a fucked-up war.”
“Ain’t they all?” Irwin said. “I remember you. You were the MP investigating Telford’s murder. I remember you got hurt chasing down Sergeant Bello. He was my commanding officer. A hard man. Didn’t get on with nobody.”
“Did you know Mark Telford?” I decided it was best to use her male pronoun and name with Irwin. He was talking and I didn’t want to do anything to disrupt that.
“Not really. I knew him to see him, but we never talked. We weren’t friendly or nothing.”
“Did you ever hear about anyone hurting him?”
Irwin drew quiet. “There were rumours. We were told to make it hard for him. Some of the guys enjoyed it more than they should’a. The brass turned a blind eye.”
“Where did the order come from?”
“I first heard it from a couple of the guys. Then I heard it from Sarge.”
“Frank Bello?”
“That’s right. He took me aside one day. He said Telford was a faggot. That he needed to be straightened out. I heard he was a transvestite or a crossdresser, or something.”
“Did you ever ‘straighten him out?’”
Irwin dropped his gaze and his eyes fell to the ground. “It wasn’t something I was proud of. It came from the top. I had to. I saw Telford one time; I think he had just had sex because he was doing up his pants. He was gay, you know.”
“I know.”
“He’d meet some of the men for sex behind the barracks. Anyway, I seen him, and it just confirmed everything that Sarge said. I was pissed. I punched him in the gut. He doubled over, and I kneed him in the face. Then he fell, crying. It was the most pathetic sound I ever heard. After that, I was still pissed, but with myself. Dude needed help. I should have helped him, instead, I brought him low.”
I jotted this down quickly in my notebook. “Did Bello give you any other reason for it?” I asked, “Other than because Telford was gay?”
“Nah. That’s all he said.”
“You said that the brass turned a blind eye. What do you mean?”
“Shit, man. This came from higher up than Bello. He was only a sergeant, pretty low man on the totem pole.”
“Do you think Colonel Cutler ordered Telford to be hazed?”
“What’s that?” Hazel asked, her first words since the interview started. I was annoyed but tried not to show it.
“Hazing. It’s a big problem that the army has. Always has had. It’s when someone is hurts someone else, physically, sexually, emotionally, what have you. Happens everywhere not just the army. There was a private school where some of the boys shoved a broomstick up another boy’s tailpipe,” Irwin said.
Hazel’s face blanched. “I remember hearing about that school. It was an initiation. Are you saying that Grace…Mark…was hazed?”
Irwin looked from me and then to her. “Officially, the army is against it. It’s a crime, and they will prosecute. Unofficially…” he shrugged and let the words trail off.
“Unofficially, it has its uses,” I finished.
“I guess it does,” he said. He took another smoke from the pack.
“Let’s back it up a minute. You said that the reason Telford was being hazed was because he was gay? There was no other reason?”
“That’s what I was told anyway. There was a rumour that he had a boyfriend. Someone high up. I don’t know if that’s true. I never saw him with anyone. Not even with any of the men who used him for se
x. Funny isn’t it? Everyone beat the shit out of Telford for being gay, but he had no shortage of dance partners.”
“Not you though?”
“No man. Look, I don’t have a problem with gays. So long as you’re not hurting anyone, you can fuck whoever you want, know what I mean?” I nodded. “But it wasn’t something that I was ever interested in.”
“Okay, Irwin. You’ve been helpful. One more question; where were you two weeks ago on Friday?”
Irwin looked at me with the same suspicious eyes I’d gotten from his wife earlier. “Why?”
“There was another murder. It was a lot like Telford’s.”
“And I’m a suspect?”
“No. Not really. I just need to rule you out.”
“I was with my wife. It was our anniversary. I forgot all about it, until I saw a memory pop up on my Facebook. It totally saved my ass. We went out to Lieber’s Steakhouse, caught a movie, it was that chick flick with Ryan Gosling, and then we got ice cream. You want to know what happened when we got home?” He asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“That’s good enough.” The last thing I wanted was to picture Irwin and Geraldine Bobb making the beast with two backs. As it was Irwin had given me plenty to think about.
He flicked his cigarette butt onto the compacted dirt that surrounded the picnic table. The grass had been worn down because of the frequent foot traffic. “Well, if that’s everything, I need to get back to work. The boss will be having a conniption right about now.”
“You’ve been a big help, Irwin,” I said. We shook hands again and I closed my notebook up and slid it into the back pocket of my jeans.
“I hope so,” Irwin said, then paused. “I wasn’t proud of what I done over there. I knew that Telford was a freak, and I knew that he was weak. I should have stood up for him. I know that now but-”
“But sometimes you’ve got to go along to get along?” Hazel said.
He regarded her for a moment with solemn eyes, “I guess so.” Then he turned to me, “you get the sonuvabitch that did this. I could use a good night’s sleep for a change.” You and me both.
Hazel and I got into the car. “We won’t be able to see Frank Bello today. By the time we get to Millhaven, the prison will be closed to visitors. We could stop in Port Hope and see if Hernan Estes is home, but I think we should just head to Kingston, get a motel room, and settle in for the night. We can see Bello first thing in the morning and get Estes on the way home. What do you think?”
“Sounds good to me.” I was glad to hear it. Kinston was about a two-and-a-half-hour drive. We could get there by early evening, check in to our motel, and get some dinner. Since I wasn’t police, and I had no expense account, the room came out of my pocket. Hazel offered to pay half, but I turned her down. The room I reserved had two double beds. It wasn’t as professional as I would have liked, but it would have to do.
I drove onto the 401 and headed east. It was rush hour, so it would add an extra twenty minutes or so to our arrival time. “What did you think of Irwin Bobb?” She asked after we had been driving for a few minutes.
“I found his story to be believable,” I told her.
“Even after all these years?”
“Yes. This man is haunted by what he did -and didn’t do- in Kandahar. He beat Gracie because he told himself that he was just falling orders-”
“A popular defense used by the Nazis,” Hazel said.
“It’s not a great excuse, but you have to understand the mentality of a soldier, especially in a warzone. Following orders is ingrained in your daily life. You’ve got to respect the chain of command. It could mean the difference between life and death.”
“But he felt guilty about it. You could see it on his face, hear it in his voice. That man was ashamed of himself,” Hazel said.
“That’s the other part. He knows he let her down, and probably let himself down too. He’s a proud man. I’m betting dollars to donuts that he thought he was made of sterner stuff and was embarrassed to find out that he wasn’t.”
“Why would he do it then?”
“Irwin seemed to think that the hazing was ordered because of Gracie’s sexuality. She was an easy target in the macho world of the military. It’s changing, but slowly. Women have a hard time still. I can only imagine how hard it would be for a cross dresser.”
“So, you think Gracie was killed because she was transgender?”
I took a moment to consider. “It can only be because of her sexual identity, otherwise, how does Sandra Mack tie into all of this? I think that the hazing was ordered, probably by Cutler. Whoever killed her may have used the hazing order as cover or distraction, but she was killed because of her sexual identity.”
“Do you think Cutler did it? That he killed her?”
“I don’t know yet. It doesn’t jive. He’s a man’s man. We know about the mistresses and the spousal abuse. He seems like a plain, old misogynist to me.”
“He could be a self-loathing homosexual, or a violent homophobe,” Hazel said. “But that doesn’t seem right either. Remember, Irwin did say that he heard that Gracie had a boyfriend, probably an officer.”
“That’s true. Whoever killed her did take the time to wrap her in a blanket that looked like a cocoon from the outside and butterfly wings once it was unravelled. Whoever did this thought they were helping Gracie transform into a woman. It was probably someone that cared about her, maybe even loved her.”
“And I thought I was unlucky in love,” Hazel deadpanned.
I chortled, but the remark stayed with me. I knew she was half joking, but Hazel did have a point. Why did we always seem to hurt the ones we love? I turned on the radio, it was set to an alternative music station, and REM’s Everybody Hurts came on. Michael Stipe was trilling the song’s chorus through the speakers, the pain in his voice superseded the song’s lyrics. I turned it off, deciding that silence was preferable. We continued driving. The urban sprawl receded and soon we were surrounded by open pastures and mature trees. Without preamble, we both succumbed to quiet reflection, and watched as the countryside passed by our windows.
14
Hector
We checked into the Super 8 Motel in Kingston. The young man looked at Hazel and offered to upgrade the room from two double beds to one with a queen size bed. I corrected him, and he looked at Hazel and then back to me like I was crazy. Dude, its complicated. He relented, though his harrumphing let it be known that he would have sealed the deal were he in my shoes. Yeah. Sure, you would, Casanova.
He rang it up on my Mastercard. I hated using the thing, but I didn’t have enough cash to pay out of pocket and cover my rent. Regards was a reasonable landlord, and he would give me a few extra days, if I asked, but it wasn’t a habit that I wanted to get into. The room was only eighty-five dollars, and from what I saw, that was a good deal. It included a swimming pool and a barbeque area, but we wouldn’t have time to make use of the amenities, other than the free Wi-Fi and cable. We carried our bags into the room, I had a small duffel with a change of clothes, pajamas, and toiletries. Hazel wheeled in a full-sized suitcase packed to the gills. Its teeth were gritted as it strained to keep both halves together.
“What do you have in there?”
“I don’t travel light. A girl never knows what sort of outfit she might need.” It looked like she was running away from home. Hazel had never been to Kingston, and I wished we had more time to see the sights. It was a beautiful town. We took a walk along the waterfront and found a restaurant, the Kingston Brewing Company. I ordered fish and chips and a pale ale called Dragoon’s. She had a chicken Caesar salad and a Perrier water with a wedge of lemon.
“When was the last time you saw Frank Bello?” Hazel asked as she ate her salad.
“June 8, 2008. The day I was injured.” I speared a French fry with my fork and popped it into my mouth. It tasted like my childhood. When we were kids, Mom and Dad took Paris, Cass, and I on a road trip to visit a great aunt and uncle, i
n Maine. It was the first time we kids had ever left the country and it still ranks as one of my favourite vacations ever. We had a seafood feast; fresh lobsters with clarified butter, clams, battered halibut, and fries drenched in malt vinegar. It’s my ultimate comfort food.
“Are you nervous?”
“Not really. I used to blame him for what happened, but not anymore. I never thought he killed Gracie. I just wanted to question him and eliminate him as a suspect. Then he ran. I don’t know why he did, and I don’t know why I chased him. We were in the middle of the desert. He had no where to go except into Taliban occupied land. He would have come back; he had no choice. I just had to wait him out.”
“So why did you do it? Chase him, I mean?” Hazel asked.
I leaned back in my chair. “Like I said, I don’t know. The only thing I can say is that whenever I was on a case, I was so focused on it that I couldn’t see anything else. In that moment, the hunt was all that mattered.” She finished off her salad, seeming to think about what I said. My answer must have satisfied her curiosity because she let the conversation wane.
After dinner, I ordered another beer and Hazel had an iced tea. Then we stopped for ice cream and walked to our room. The motel was only a ten-minute walk from the restaurant, and the summer air was warm with an occasionally crisp breeze blowing in from the lake.
Once we got back, Hazel put the television on while I got ready for bed. I went into the small bathroom, brushed my teeth, and threw some water on my face. I took off my eyepatch, studying the indents the bands had made after wearing it all day. I contemplated keeping it on for the night but decided against it. It always hurt when I slept with the damn thing on. I wished I had packed my glass eye, but it never occurred to me. There was no getting around it. Hazel would have to see me without the patch on. I didn’t let many people see me like that. It made me feel exposed and vulnerable. Weak. I didn’t like that.
I put on an old tee and a pair of pajama pants. Night-time ritual done. I climbed onto my bed. Hazel was on hers. “What are you watching?” I asked.
“It’s called Ghost Girl. It’s about an introverted teen girl who is invisible. It’s only when she really concentrates that people can see her. Mostly things happen, murder, kidnapping, and whatever other wrongdoings, but no one ever notices her. She uses her gift to solve crimes and help people without them ever knowing it was her.”