“Then why’d he take him along?”
“Guy’s a photographer. Vega needed pictures. If he could get them. Some of his stories… let’s just say not everybody wanted pictures. Sometimes he took the photographer along just in case.”
“Worth a shot. The photographer might know something.”
“If you can find him.”
“You had to pay him, right? Yo’ve gotta have records. A name, an address.”
“He didn’t work for All News All Now. He worked for Vega, and Vega paid him cash.”
“You had to credit the guy, right? Who’d you attribute the pictures to?”
Shaking her head, Leahy brought up a file on her computer.
“Take a look,” she said leaning back in her chair.
The file was a mostly empty contact sheet. It had a name, Barton Studios, and a list of photos published.
“His name’s Barton? That all you’ve got? Too much to ask if that’s a first or last name?”
“That’s how we credit his pictures. I’m not sure it’s even a real name. The photographer knew how volatile Vega’s stories could be. He liked being paid but he didn’t want Vega’s subjects knowing how to find him.”
“That’s it, huh?”
“As far at the photographer is concerned. I never met him. Did see him with Vega once, outside the building. Young guy. Cute, if you like the nerdy, curly-haired type. Big camera around his neck. Had one of those camera vests with a lot of pockets.”
That was a fair description of the guy I’d noticed standing outside Brad’s spa Saturday morning as Shim and I started out for Emily’s place. Curly hair, big camera, multi-pocket vest. If I saw him again, I’d know him.
“No one else in Vega’s life?”
“An ex-wife. They’re happily divorced. She lives in Colorado. She did call about his insurance, though.”
***
Leahy lit up another cigarette as I left her office. Second hand smoke clouding my lungs, I headed for the pavement and the relatively clean air outside.
The streets looked shabby. Maybe it was my mood. I hadn’t gotten enough information from Leahy, which didn’t brighten my day. It was better than nothing, and I headed back to my office to try finding Barton Studios.
Olga was still tapping keys when I opened the door.
“Still at it, sugarplum?”
“What is sugarplum exactly?” She hardly glanced up when she spoke.
“A term of affection.”
“Candy is better,” Olga said.
“Any calls?”
“Messages on desk. Luke is calling with no informations. I am searching.”
“Keep it up, sugarplum.” I went into my office and shut the door behind me. Pouring what was left of the coffee into a mug, I eased into my desk chair and stared at my monitor. The sea life screensaver dissolved when I touched the mouse.
I googled Barton Studios. There were web design offices in Montana, Nebraska, California, and Texas, but nothing in Philly. Several more searches led me absolutely nowhere. I toyed with the idea of letting Nina use the photographs themselves to reveal the photographer. I’d read that all digital pics have embedded codes. I decided to call her in the morning to see if what I was thinking was even possible.
Picking up the phone, I made another call to Charlie that went straight to voicemail and I added another message to the pile I’d already created. I wondered how Brad had used him as a sub if he disappeared so much.
I sipped my now cold coffee as I reviewed the progress I’d made. So far, I hadn’t gotten an inch closer to a solution. I’d collected a lot of missing persons though: Charlie the sub, Johnny the stalker, Max the abusive ex, Matz the other possible intruder at the spa, and now the photographer.
Even if I found those guys, there was no guarantee they were connected to the killings. A lead’s a lead, I’d track down every one. Including Shuster and Sorba the shock jock both of whom feared exposure. I’d also have to look into whatever jury Brad had served on. That could lead somewhere. There were other possibilities, like the contractors who’d worked on the renovations at the spa.
I glanced at the time and decided dinner and some company might do me good. Then I’d head over to Bubbles to make sure things were on track for the show. Mondays were slow. Slower than slow sometimes. Anton usually scheduled the Best Buns contests for Mondays, which always packed the house.
Anton. Despite the frustration of the case, Anton was on my mind. Lots. I speed dialed his number and he picked up immediately.
“Marco! Funny you called right now.” Anton sounded guilty and happy. “We were just talking about you.”
“Oh? I was just thinking about you. Still at home?”
“Don’t worry I’ll be at Bubbles soon. I haven’t forgotten,” Anton sounded miffed.
“You’ve got it all wrong. I was hoping you’d be home. I want us to have dinner.”
“Oh. Oh, I thought…”
“See, I’m not that bad. Can we have dinner? Unless you’re already occupied? You said ‘we’ a moment ago. If I’m interrupting…”
“Yes… No… I mean sure I want to have dinner. Jean-Claude is here. He came by to pick up stuff for the contest. I thought I’d let him do set up. I need the help.”
“I was hoping dinner would be just the two of us.”
“Where should I meet you?” Anton ignored the implications of what I’d said.
“How about Knock in twenty minutes or do you need more time to get ready?”
“Uh, let’s see. I’ve got all my clothes on. The bed is made. I live right around the corner. So twenty minutes is excessive.”
“All right, all right. I know when I’ve been chastised. I’ll meet you there as soon as you can get there. I’m leaving now.”
***
If Knock’s elegant wood doors hinted you were entering a place with class, the interior made you certain. The bar, a golden-brown, polished wood island at the front of the house, was crowded. Men chatted, laughed, and drank. You felt the friendly vibes the minute you entered. As in any bar, people looked up to see who entered, then they retuned to their friends and their drinks.
Nick the manager, tall and sophisticated, waved me over.
“Marco! Been a while. How’s my favorite Italian?” He smiled.
“Stumped, Nick. Stumped on a case. How’re you? You’re lookin’ like a million bucks. As usual.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Nick laughed. “Got a table for you in the back, if you want privacy and quiet. You alone tonight?”
“Anton will be here. In the meantime I’ll have a drink at the bar.”
“You got it, Marco.”
I wandered over to the bar, found an empty seat and plunked myself down. For a moment I felt far away from everything and happy.
“What’re you having, Marco?”
I looked up, and the bartender was staring at me. I should have remembered his name but I didn’t. Young and cute, he had coppery red hair and striking blue eyes so light they were almost transparent. Then he smiled, and I was sunk.
“You still make that killer mojito?” At least I remembered that much about him.
“Comin’ up.” He pulled a few bottles, swung around, and began mixing the drink. His well-rounded glutes jiggled with his efforts.
I mouthed a hello to a few familiar faces stationed around the bar and before I could think another thought, the mojito was placed before me.
“Let me know if I’m still as good as I was,” the bartender said seductively. “At making a mojito, I mean.” He winked.
Before I could taste it and give him a report, Anton walked through the door. Again, heads turned. I heard one person next to me whisper “Who’s that?” and I smiled. Anton’s magnetism was undeniable. More than a few patrons cried the night Anton announced his retirement from dancing at Bubbles.
“Hi, boss.” Anton pecked me on the cheek.
His pine forest aftershave made me want to hold him closer. I plac
ed a hand around his waist and pulled him to me. “Glad you’re here,” I said.
Anton smiled and gently moved back so I could stand.
Sweeping up the mojito from the bar, I glanced at the bartender who looked disappointed. I gave him a wink, and turned toward Anton.
“You have a glow tonight.” I said to Anton as Nick escorted us to our table and placed menus in our hands.
“Probably the apricot scrub.” Anton smiled, then peered at his menu.
The back room was quiet. Nick had given us a table in the corner and it felt like we had the room to ourselves. I was happy we could spend time concentrating on one another.
“So…” Anton started.
A slender waiter in tight black pants and a white shirt sidled up to the table.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“You’re having your usual,” Anton said to me. “I’ll try something different.” He looked up at the waiter. “How about a Tahitian Tea?”
The waiter raised his eyebrows. I was sure he had no idea what the drink was. But that was the extent of his reaction. He returned to his professional demeanor.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll be back with your drink.”
“I guess I threw him. I wanted something different, and I saw that drink mentioned somewhere.”
“The bartender will know what to do.”
“So, what’s the occasion?”
“Does there have to be an occasion? Can’t I have dinner with you just because I want to?”
“I suppose. Only… I know you Marco, and I know there’s never just a simple dinner or a simple anything else. Is something wrong?”
“I’m at a dead end in the case. The police aren’t pursuing it aggressively now that they have another high profile murder. Most of my leads are no better than phantoms. I needed some time away to let my mind work without me interfering. You know?”
“Oh.” Anton sounded disappointed. “I think so.”
“Really though, I wanted to see you. We haven’t had dinner, just the two of us, at a nice place in a long time. I wanted some alone time with you.”
“Oh,” Anton said. His voice was low, almost sad. “You know I’m always here for you, don’t you?”
“You’ve never let me down.” I paused and stirred my mojito with the stick of sugar cane. “Which is more than I can say for myself. I know I’ve let you down lots.”
Anton was silent. He was either choosing his words carefully or he agreed and didn’t want to say it out loud.
“You deserve someone who can give you everything you want.”
“You’re saying what… exactly?” Anton looked at me.
“I’m saying that you need someone who’ll be good to you and good for you.”
“Why’re you…”
The waiter placed Anton’s drink in front of him.
“Ready to order?”
I looked over at Anton. He stared down at his menu.
“Give us another minute, okay?”
The waiter scuttled off.
“Why’re you saying all this, Marco? Are you trying to tell me something?”
“I…”
“Because if you are, just spit it out. Don’t play games with me.”
“It’s… lately I’ve seen you and Jean-Claude kind of hitting it off… you two look good together. He treats you like you should be treated. I don’t want to… you know, I shouldn’t…” I was tongue-tied.
Anton peered at me as if my head was about to topple off my shoulders.
“Marco… I’m not sure what you think… but there’s nothing…”
My phone chose that minute to ring. I ignored it, determined to give my complete attention to Anton.
Then Anton’s phone rang, and he looked startled.
“Something’s going on,” he said. “Can’t be a coincidence.”
“Go ahead answer it.”
He flipped open his phone. “Anton.” He listened a moment. “He’s right here with me. No… why? What’s wrong?...” He listened, his eyes widening. “Did you call 911?... Right. We’ll be there in a minute.”
Closing the phone he looked at me.
“We’ve got to go, Marco. It’s Ty. He’s been hurt.”
Before he stood, he took my hand in his and squeezed.
***
Paramedics rushed out of the ambulance as Anton and I arrived at Bubbles. Pushing our way through a small knot of people near the entrance, we saw Ty lying on the floor, an EMT attending to him. Ty’s slight form was crumpled like a tissue used and discarded. The paramedic attempted to make him comfortable.
Ty looked still and even more pale than usual. Blood smeared his face, hands, and even his golden, tangled, curls.
I knelt on one knee and looked into Ty’s face, one eye still swollen shut from the other night. The paramedic tried to stanch the bleeding from a large gash over Ty’s other eye. His jaw was bruised and his right arm was bent at an awkward angle. I could only imagine the bruises on his wispy body.
Ty squirmed and moaned as the paramedic stopped the bleeding and gently felt for broken bones before they would lift him onto a stretcher.
“Who did this, Ty?” I whispered. As if I didn’t know. Eddie, his boyfriend, was responsible and this time I’d make sure he paid. “Ty, can you hear me?”
“We’ve got to get him to the hospital, sir. If you could…”
“He works for me. I need to know who did this,” I was reluctant to touch the kid, fearing I’d only add to his pain. “Ty, tell me. I’ll take care of it. Was it…”
Ty’s mouth was swollen where he’d been punched. Red and painful-looking, I hated having to make him talk.
“Can you nod your head, Ty? I know it hurts… but… was it Eddie?”
He squirmed and squirmed as if trying to back away.
“Move,” Anton said to me as he knelt to talk to Ty. “Let me do this.” He was right, he and Ty were close. The kid always went to Anton first. He’d tell Anton before he’d tell me anything.
“Ty, who did this to you, sweetie?” Anton, who on the surface looked like a seasoned athlete, was gentle with the guys when he had to be. I could see why they all gravitated to him when they needed comfort or a hug or just a warm smile to know that someone cared about them.
Ty seemed more calm, his body relaxed. He turned his head toward Anton and I saw a small tear squeeze out from his good eye and spill over his cheekbone onto the floor.
“Who did this, Ty? Marco and I want to help. Tell me who did this.”
Ty’s lips quivered, it was painful watching him struggle. I heard a faint gurgling whisper.
Anton lowered his head to just above Ty’s lips.
“Did you say… Eddie?”
Unable to muster the ability to speak again, Ty moved his head slowly, with great effort, in an affirmative nod.
“We’ll take care of you, sweetie. Don’t worry.” Anton whispered.
“I’ll fix it so Eddie won’t hurt you again.” I stood and felt a vicious anger thrum through me.
Anton stood and faced me. He wiped at one eye. Anger twisted his features.
“Son of a bitch!” I hissed. “I knew it would come to this. The kid is lucky to be alive.”
“I’ll go to the hospital with him,” Anton said. “He doesn’t have family in the city. I’ll call them only if…”
“I’m gonna look for Eddie. You have Ty’s address? I think he told me Eddie lived there, too.”
“Be careful, Marco. He’s dangerous. Take someone with you.”
“Eddie only hits guys who are smaller than he is, weaker than he is. He lays a finger on me and it’ll be his last act on earth.”
“Take someone with you.”
“Look after Ty. I’ll find Kevin. That’ll freak out the bastard.”
The paramedics gently placed Ty onto a stretcher and got him into the ambulance. Anton slipped in behind them and they pulled the doors shut. Sirens blaring, they took off into the night.
“A
shame,” Jean-Claude said. He’d come to stand next to me.
“Did you see what happened?”
“No. It was outside. We heard noises. Someone shouting. There was a sound like something is shoved against the wall, you know? Then Ty, he comes in and collapses. I called 911, then you and Anton. I ran out to see if anyone was still there, but the street, it was empty. Was this right? Did I do…”
“You did the right thing,” I said. “Can you find Kevin for me? Tell him I need him.”
Jean-Claude moved off, and I spotted a familiar figure sitting at the bar, staring at me. Same mean face, same cruel curiosity. The guy who’d spied on me and Shuster. He was back, and I intended to find out who he was and what he wanted.
Before I could move an inch Kevin stood blocking my view with his enormous, gym-built figure.
“They said you needed me.” Kevin’s arms bulged, his chest a massive muscular machine. He stared around at the house patrons ready to take their heads off at the first sign of trouble.
“Yeah, Kev. I’m gonna need back up. Get someone else on the door and meet me outside.
I looked over to where the guy had been but he was gone. He was quick, I’d give him that. Sooner or later, he’d slip up and I’d catch him.
Right now I wanted to catch Eddie.
Chapter 15
Anton scribbled Ty’s address on a paper which I stuffed into my pocket. I stalked out of the bar with Kevin in tow. There was no guarantee Eddie would be at home. I didn’t even know what the guy looked like, but I had to make a try at stopping him from hurting Ty again.
First step was to put a scare into the bastard, then I’d work on making sure he didn’t do this to Ty or anyone else ever again.
Ty lived on the other side of South Street in a slightly seedy section of the Bella Vista neighborhood. Still being gentrified, Bella Vista had a way to go. At least it was a relatively crime free area. Of course, with Kevin at my side, anywhere we went was bound to be safe.
My anger had propelled me, getting us to Eighth Street in record time. Kevin easily kept up but once or twice glanced at me as if I were on fire. I was. I wanted to find Eddie before he went to ground and we’d have a harder time catching the creep.
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