Body on Pine

by DeMarco, Joseph R. G.

  “What was I gonna do, man? I went home. I had other gigs. It happened with Pete sometimes. His subjects don’t show, or they get camera shy.”

  “You know what he was working on that night? What photos he wanted?”

  “Oh man, Pete was secretive. Like me times a hundred. He only told me the basics. The dude was paranoid. Never told me much and honestly, man, I never wanted to know too much. I took the shots and got out.”

  “He told you at least something, right? He didn’t keep you totally in the dark.”

  “He… sometimes… yeah.”

  “What’d he tell you this time? Anything about the story he was working or the people?”

  “Coulda been a couple of things from what I remember. Of course, coulda been something else, too. That’s the way Pete worked.”

  “What were the possibilities?” I coaxed.

  “Pete was workin’ two maybe three pieces. One was domestic abuse. How the police still don’t take it seriously. Especially with the gays.” He paused, looked up at me apologetically. “Pete made a few enemies on the force doin’ those interviews. I heard about a couple of crazy gay guys who wanted to punch out his lights.”

  “And the other story?”

  “Had to do with some trial. Eastern European dude up for murder… no… kidnapping, maybe… or somethin’ else. Kon… Branich… Dubich…Odak… who knows?… I try to forget names. Less trouble.”

  “What about the trial? Why was he investigating it?”

  “Think he mentioned somethin’ about jury tampering or… maybe a dirty lawyer… some trial thing… I don’t know. It’s always serious shit with Pete. That’s how he rolled. He had a sense for that stuff.”

  “You said there might’ve been a third piece?”

  “Could’a been. He mentioned contracts and lawyers or maybe it was politicians. He was really vague on that one. But it sounded like it could be hot.”

  “What kind of contracts? Any…”

  “Pete would never tell me that kinda thing.”

  “Why go to the spa? What did that have to…”

  “Good question, man. Sometimes he met people in odd places. Just in case… He liked throwing people off the scent, that’s what he said. He loved hidin’ one story inside a different one. A fake out. It was, like, part of his paranoid thing.”

  “You think that’s why he used the spa?”

  “The spa is kinda out of the way. But the spa could’a been involved. Depends on the story he was workin’ which he never told me much about and I didn’t care but maybe this time I should’a. I told him things would come back to bite him in the ass. Pete was a weird dude. I loved him but he was weird.”

  “Did he say anything about who he was meeting or who he wanted you to photograph?”

  “All he said was ‘somebody who knows a lot’ and ‘somebody on the inside’ and that’s all. No… he… he said the dude was scared, and I could only take shots in silhouette. Could’a been about domestic abuse. Somebody he got to tell his story. About the abuse… y’know.”

  “That’s all he said?” I felt as if I’d come so close and then nothing.

  “Don’t ask for more details ‘cause I don’t have any. That’s all I know.”

  Even if he knew more, he wouldn’t crack, yet.

  “You see anybody else go in or out of the spa that night?”

  “N-no… I don’t think… No… Guess I wasn’t watchin’ the door that close. Y’know? I wait for a call from Pete. I don’t hafta watch.”

  “You didn’t hear anything… gunshots… anything like that?”

  “Naw. I wasn’t that close to the place.”

  “Where can I reach you, Jenks? The listed address of your studio is an empty lot.”

  “I… I don’t wanna get involved. This was it for me. I gave you what I know. That’s it.”

  “Not good enough, Jenks. I may need…”

  “No, man!” He stood and the desk chair spun into the wall with a thud and a crack. He moved to the door, jiggled the knob. “Unlock the door. I told you everything I know.” The fear in his eyes was painful to see.

  “Vega was mutilated pretty bad you know.” I moved slowly to the door. “Couldn’t even tell it was him until they did some tests.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about, man. Whoever did this, they don’t fool around. Cops are lucky they found Pete at all.”

  “That’s all you owe Vega? You tell me a couple of nothings and that’s it? He’s rotting on a slab in the morgue and you run home to your little hole in the wall, like some rat.”

  “It’s not like that. You see what they did to him, man. I don’t want that to happen to me.”

  “It’s not gonna happen to you. Help me, and we put whoever did this away. He’s not gonna touch you or anybody else.”

  “I…”

  “Not even certain I’ll be calling you. Just in case I need you… How about it?”

  Jenks jiggled the doorknob, without much force this time.

  “Pete was a good guy, y’know,” he said, his voice thick with fear or sadness. “This shouldn’t’a happened to him.”

  “Then stand up for him, Jenks. Pete wasn’t afraid. He went after tough stories because he knew it hadda be done. Something like this happened to you, he wouldn’t stop till he found your killers. You know I’m right.”

  “Yeah… yeah, you are…” Jenks drew a shuddering breath. He went back to the desk. “Got a pencil?”

  “On the desk. Paper’s there, too.”

  Jenks wrote out a series of numbers.

  “This isn’t my number but it’s how you get me. It’s how Pete reached me.” He paused. “You can’t tell anybody. Not even the cops. Especially not them.”

  ***

  I watched Jenks leave Bubbles, and sensed he had more to tell. It’d take time and trust.

  To Kent’s great relief, the contest hadn’t started by the time I got backstage.

  “He’s back,” Bruno called out to Kent. “Now you can stop quivering like a little puta her first night on the streets.”

  Kent laughed nervously. “I don’t care what you say, Bruno, as long as I don’t have to get up in front of those screaming queens, I’m happy.”

  “How many contestants?” I asked.

  Bruno shuffled some papers.

  “We got…” He flipped pages. “Twenty-eight but don’t count on all of them goin’ through with it when it comes time to show their ass. Some’a them looked scared.”

  “Where are they all?”

  “In the back room,” said Jean-Claude appearing from behind a curtained-off area. “This is right, no? Anton says they must be kept together or we lose them.” Jean-Claude laughed. “They are like the kittens wandering all around.”

  “Good job, guys!” I smiled at them and picked up the registration forms. “Guess it’s showtime!”

  Everybody went to their stations and I headed out on stage. I was distracted. After talking with Jenks, my mind raced over my next steps. If Jenks was right about Vega’s work, I’d have to make another attempt to find Max, Brad’s ex. I’d also need to look into the trial where Brad had been a juror. Jenks had mentioned a possible third story but had no details.

  Then there was Wheeler’s office. I’d be making a trip there, too. Someone might know why he was at Brad’s. They might not want to talk about Wheeler and a gay masseur, but what they wanted and I what I needed were two different things.

  I had my work cut out for me. Things felt more solid.

  I forced my thoughts back to the stage just as the baby spot washed over me with a golden glow.

  “All right guys, it’s time for Philly’s Best Buns…,” I shouted over the applause and hooting. The night was off and running.

  Chapter 20

  I woke with a start to the muffled sound of my cell phone. Jumping out of bed I scrambled to figure out where I’d left it when I got back from the Best Buns Contest the night before. Then I remembered it was still in my pants pocket. My
jeans lay in a heap on the floor where I’d stepped out of them. “Fontana.” I headed back to the bed and sat down. It was still warm and inviting.

  “Marco, sounds like I woke you up.” Detective Shim sounded all too alert and raring to go. Gave me a headache.

  “You did. Late night.” I yawned. My bedside clock read 7 AM which meant I’d gotten four hours sleep. No surprise I felt woozy. Of course, Shim was perky, he was so straight-laced he’d probably gotten eight hours sleep. I decided to try and disrupt his schedule one of these nights.

  “The business you’re in, I can imagine.” Shim laughed. “Must be tough.”

  “Yeah, looking at bare male asses all night can get pretty rough. But…”

  “Oh… uh… I was just…” Shim stumbled over his words, obviously thrown off by the mention of bare asses.

  “You think it’s easy scrutinizing men’s asses all night?”

  “Uh…” He cleared his throat. “I… uh… wanted to uh… I have the autopsy reports,” he said, effectively cutting off talk of the buns contest. “You can look at them if you want. There’s nothing you don’t already know.”

  “I’d like to take a look anyway,” I answered. “Not that I don’t trust you, Dae. I’m a hands on kinda guy. I like seeing things for myself.”

  “Be my guest. Call when you want to set it up. I should—”

  “Got a question for you. Maybe you can save me some work.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I’m following every lead I can think of on Brad’s case. You know, the one you guys placed on a back burner?”

  “Hey, listen. We did no such—”

  “Let’s not argue the point. Maybe you can help.”

  “Shoot. If it’s one of those ‘no go’ areas, don’t expect much.”

  “You remember Emily told us Brad had been on a jury recently?”

  “She said he was upset about it interfering with his work.”

  “Right. Any hints on the easiest way to get my hands on trial information, like transcripts? Assuming I can guess which trial.” I had my own contacts, but I wanted to see how helpful Shim was willing to be. Besides, he might know some shortcuts.

  “For criminal proceedings you go to the Criminal Justice Center. They’ve got some stuff on the web, but don’t expect much.”

  “Been there. I’d have to know exactly what I was looking for on that site and I don’t. Got any contacts at Criminal Justice?”

  “Can’t think of any… haven’t had that much time on the force and haven’t bumped up against the court system much yet. Haven’t had time to develop contacts.”

  “Nose around a little… you never know what you’ll come up with,” I said. “I guess I’ll just have to do it the old fashioned way. Bribes and threats.”

  He didn’t respond but I could hear his breathing quicken. Shim took me too seriously. I’d have to remember that. Hard to believe he was so innocent, or maybe it was just that he believed Giuliani’s assessment of me. “Just kidding,” I said. “You knew that, right?”

  “According to Giuliani, I should take seriously whatever you say. But I think I know when you’re kidding and when you’re not… right?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Right?” Shim said again.

  I laughed. “Don’t believe even half of what Giuliani says about me.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “Thanks again for offering the autopsy reports, Dae. I owe you a drink.”

  “We’ll see,” he said noncommittally.

  “Right.” At least he didn’t say ‘No’ flat out. That was progress. I’d make sure to keep my promise on this one just to see if he’d go through with it. He was tough but I wasn’t about to give up. There’d be plenty of time after the case was closed.

  “Did you make that appointment with the Department artist yet? Remember?”

  “I’ll do it today… maybe tomorrow. Promise.” I felt a little guilty for not telling him about Jenks. But Jenks hadn’t given me much and he’d made me promise not to tell the police. I was skirting around obstruction and I knew it. If the case went south, I might find myself wearing orange for a while.

  We ended the conversation and I slipped back under the sheets, placed my head on the pillow and tried imagining I was on a beach in a hammock between two palms. It was no use. My mind raced over details, schedules, and lists. Four hours sleep or not, I was wide awake.

  ***

  No city offices would ever be open at seven in the morning, so I took some extra time getting myself going. Even wide awake, I felt the downward drag of too little sleep. A shower, some oatmeal, tons of coffee, a glance at the morning news, and I was as ready as I’d ever be. Still feeling as if I were walking in sand, I left the apartment.

  Carlos was on the front desk. The early shift was his domain. Dark haired, with eyes black as coal, he surveyed things from his perch behind the gleaming mahogany counter. As I walked past, he gave me one of his sultry smiles. This morning he threw in a wink. I waved and smiled as I breezed through the automatic doors and onto the street.

  Cool May air wrapped itself around me and finished the job of waking me up. A trip to City Hall was at the top of my agenda. The patronage bees who worked in that hive wouldn’t be on duty for a couple of hours. Working the jury angle would have to wait until there was someone available to unlock the secrets.

  I’d have to call Nina to see what she’d discovered about Max. Vega was working a story on same-sex domestic abuse, so Max was back at the top of my list.

  The photographer implied the domestic abuse story had ticked off the police, putting Vega in their sights. But that made no sense. Angry police officers committing a triple murder over bad press? Couldn’t buy that. That line of inquiry wasn’t worth pursuing.

  Talking to the photographer convinced me to explore whether or not Vega’s death was connected to Brad’s and Wheeler’s. Except there was no solid way to link the three murders. What Jenks had told me wasn’t enough.

  The initials in Brad’s appointment book nagged me. They could mean Brad expected Wheeler and Vega. But why? Was Vega just using the spa as an unlikely meeting place away from prying eyes? Or, was Vega meeting with both Brad and Wheeler? Or was there some other explanation? Then Vega gets murdered before he gets to the spa for his meeting. He’s blown away by some random thug for an entirely different reason? Too coincidental, too convenient. Someone didn’t want Vega getting to that meeting.

  A horn blared as I stepped off a curb and shook me. I’d been so lost in thought, I’d nearly walked into traffic. The muffled voice of the driver shouting some obscenity seeped through his window as he sped past.

  The city woke up around me as I continued down Broad Street to Spruce. Blue-jeaned attendants splashed water over sidewalks. Workers gave plants a morning dousing. Window washers ran their squeegees over plate glass storefronts.

  People hurried up and down the sidewalk in front of the Kimmel Center. A flock of art students on their way to the University of the Arts, straggled past laughing and squealing. Dressed in oddly ragged clothing, the college girls huddled together at the front of the pack accompanied by a few flamboyantly gay boys. The rest of the boys followed dragging their feet. As a rule college boys are cute and these guys were no exception. But they were by far the skinniest group of guys I’d ever seen. I like sizing up guys as potential members for StripGuyz. Cute as these boys were, it’d be like a collection of bones dancing on stage. Not what most patrons want to see.

  I turned onto Spruce and headed for my office. I passed the Community Center, doors still shut, a few people clustered together on the steps waiting to get inside.

  I was surprised to see Olga working at her computer when I arrived. “You’re early, sugarplum.” I stopped and pecked her on the cheek.

  “Dark circles under eyes making boss look charming.” When she said “charming” it came out “charmink.” The tone of her voice was affectionate and she looked at me with concern. �
��You are needing kidnap.”

  I had to think for a moment. “No time for a catnap right now.”

  “Always work, work, work. Remember dark circles.” She went back to her keyboard.

  My office was quiet. Olga had made coffee as if she’d expected me to roll in early. Sometimes I wondered just how connected she was to my rhythms. I filled a mug then planted myself in my chair. Leaning back I closed my eyes and reviewed what I’d have to do for the day. The trial was a good place to start.

  I opened Brad’s computer files to find the exact dates of the trial which I’d need to get anywhere researching court records. When Brad’s calendar popped onto the screen, a sad, guilty feeling slipped over me for going through his personal files. I still felt the need to protect his privacy and dignity.

  I found the trial dates and closed the file. That should narrow the field. “Sorry Brad,” I whispered to the screen. “I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Gulping my coffee, I placed a notebook in my pocket. Next stop, City Hall. It wasn’t far so I took a long way around since it was still early. I walked to Thirteenth Street. The block between Spruce and Locust was seedier than it should have been, the hotel for transients on the corner setting the tone for most of the block. A down and out, subtly criminal atmosphere struggled with the gayborhood surrounding it. I glance up cautiously, never having forgotten the urban legends about what folks in the hotel tended to toss out the windows. Never knew anyone who’d actually been hit by anything, and hadn’t ever been conked myself. I always looked up, though.

  Ambling past the gay bar on the corner of Thirteenth and Locust and on down the street past Woody’s, the atmosphere changed entirely. The area was experiencing a renaissance with new restaurants and shops lining both sides of the street. The lone holdouts from the old days, a porn shop and an all-male theater, did their best to fit in and stay put.

  When I got to Market Street I turned left and looked up. City Hall, one of the city’s gems, had been given a cleaning which took years and I, for one, wasn’t happy about it. Sure, everyone wants clean buildings but now City Hall looked as if it came in three colors, a medium gray, then a light gray tower, with a darker gray topper to the tower. Four colors if you count the dark patina on the statue of Billy Penn who gazed off toward the Northeast as if searching for a way out of town until the building got dirty enough to look one color again.