“He had a lot of conquests?” Turner asked.
“I think he started having sex with the other babies in the hospital when he was born. He just had a natural way of attracting people. I know he bragged about one of his biggest moments being when he got the star of the high school basketball team to go down on him, which was the night after he got the same guy’s girlfriend to go down on him.”
“Did they know about each other?” Fenwick asked.
“Cullom said they didn’t. He thought it was funny.”
“He had sex with women?” Turner asked.
“Mostly he told me about guys he’d been with, rarely girls. But if it was breathing and it tickled his fancy, he screwed it. While he was in high school, he had sex with at least three of his teachers. Once he told me he went back and had sex with one of his junior high teachers. Sex was like a game to him. Or at least the seduction. Like the triumph of adding another notch to his gun. He was into being able to get someone to have sex with him and then drop them before they rejected him.”
“Wasn’t just being another conquest demeaning to you?”
“At the time I didn’t think in those terms. I was young, horny, lonely, and in love. I remember clearly the second or third time after we had sex, I told him I loved him. He patted my head and said he’d been with six other guys that week. I was very depressed. I thought about suicide.”
“You didn’t break up with him?” Turner asked.
“People wanted to hang around Cullom. Be close to him. He could be very coaxing, and he was always playful. He never took things seriously. He never planned things. Like in Casablanca early in the movie when Rick rejects Yvonne. That was Cullom. He fell into that fashion contest which got him the contract with GUINEVERE. He just happened to be with some friends downtown.”
“Have you known him well in the past few years?” Turner asked.
“When he’d come back to town, we’d get together. He’d talk about all the famous people he knew and who he’d been to bed with. I liked hearing him talk about them. He had lovers all over the world, and sex in all kinds of exotic locations. It was my connection with celebrity. Probably the closest I’m ever going to get to being famous. He claimed to have had sex with all the young male actors on one of those hip shows that got canceled.”
“Did he talk about his causes?”
“Once in a while. He laughed about them sometimes. I never thought he was serious about them.”
“Someone said they saw Furyk with his tongue down the throat of one of the caterers today. Was that you?”
“No … I … Wait a minute.” Findley sat up straighter. He snuffled. Turner took a hand towel off the table and handed it to him. Findley used it to clean his face. “This is for sure? He was seen kissing? He wasn’t very versatile in his sex. With him it wasn’t a question of unsafe as much as it was that he thought it was boring. I only tried to kiss him once, but he turned his head away.”
Turner said, “Maybe his repertoire expanded some since you had sex with him.”
“It had to be that slut Larry Bitner.”
Turner looked at his list. The name was next.
“Did Bitner know Cullom prior to this?”
“I doubt it. Bitner was born on some farm in Wisconsin. Just two months ago he moved to Chicago to be gay. I met him at a volunteer meeting for an AIDS hospice. I liked Larry and I helped him get a job with the caterer. He was awed to be at the fashion party today. He thought it was a big deal because he wanted to be a model too.”
“You didn’t see them together?” Turner asked.
“No.”
“Did you notice when Furyk left the table?”
“No.”
“Did you go out on the balcony after dessert?”
“Nope. I did my work, cleaned up, and got out of there.”
“Do you work for the caterer full-time?” Turner asked.
“Part-time. Mostly I go to auditions, and I’m trying to write a screenplay, and I do a little modeling.”
Fenwick asked, “Was it a coincidence that you were there today?”
“I asked to work all the fashion events that the company was catering this week. Any little in helps, I think.”
“When was the last time you saw Furyk before today?” Turner asked.
“We had lunch just before he left for his vacation in Greece.”
“Do you know where he was staying?”
“He wasn’t staying at the penthouse?”
“Not according to the people at GUINEVERE.”
“I just assumed he was.”
“Did you talk to him today?”
“We just said hello.”
“That’s all?”
“I was working. He was busy.”
“Did you know he and Sean Kindel were lovers?”
“Who?”
“A guy who writes for the Gay Tribune.”
“Never heard of him. Cullom never mentioned him.”
“He would have told you about a lover?”
“Definitely. He told me everything.”
Turner took out a sketch of the penthouse. He’d run off extra copies so that when they questioned people, he could quickly fill in any new details. He added the times and places of Findley’s movements.
In the car Fenwick said, “Sluts to the right of me, sluts to the left of me, sluts in front of me nymphed and fanarked all through the park.”
“The rhyme scheme sort of works,” Turner said, “but the last part makes no sense.”
“It’s poetry. It’s sensitive.”
“That’s okay, then,” Turner said. “I wonder if all those sexual exploits were true. Maybe he exaggerated his conquests to impress people.”
“We’ll have to ask,” Fenwick said.
“Let’s find Larry the slut.”
At the address on Waveland Avenue just west of Wrigley Field, they got no answer.
Outside of Area Ten three blue-uniformed officers stood in front of fifteen or twenty reporters and photographers. Turner could hear an argument going on about First Amendment rights. The officer responding kept his voice low and calm.
At his desk, Turner had a message from Ian to call. Fenwick went in search of a large piece of paper to make a chart of the movements of all the people in the penthouse.
Turner called Ian at the Gay Tribune.
Ian said, “I found somebody. He knows everything. He’s one of the fashion columnists for Gorgeous magazine.”
“We met the owner and editor.”
“This guy hates her. The traditionally disgruntled employee. He’s ready to blab anything about her, the magazine, or the fashion industry to you. He knows dirt and gossip that he can’t wait to spill.”
“How well do you know this guy?”
“I’ve helped him on a few juicy stories in the past.”
“I realize what a fine, upstanding journalist you are. However, my suspicious-cop nature tells me you might really be helping so you can get an exclusive story out of this.”
“I’m not sure how interested I am in this murder. It does have a gay angle, but it’s the fashion industry.”
“Guy’s just as dead no matter what his job was.”
“Lots of dead people I don’t care about. For now this is another one on that list. I care enough to help you because you’re a friend. Yeah, if I get an exclusive, I’ll run with it, just maybe not very far.”
“When do I talk to your source?”
“That’s the thing. The whole fashion industry in this town is nuts this week with the showing of the summer and fall lines. Lots of big events all over town every day. There’s a fancy ball tonight doubling as an AIDS fund-raiser. This guy is willing to talk to you there. He could also point out people and explain relationships and connections to you.”
“Excellent.” Turner thought a moment. “I have nothing to wear to any kind of fashion extravaganza, nor am I going out to purchase anything. In fact, I’m not sure I can go tonight. I was planning to sp
end time with Jeff. I won’t break a promise to him.”
“Bring him along.”
“Are you serious?”
“Sure. This is the fashion industry. Everybody will dress outrageously although I hear it’s a construction worker theme. No one will know who you are, so what do you care what they think of you? And it’s a fund-raiser. It won’t look odd to have the kids there. Both of your kids might get a kick out of it.”
“Maybe. I hope Ben can go. It might be kind of fun for him, but he’s been staying late at work every night lately. They just switched the whole operation over to computers. They’ve had a lot of glitches. So,” he continued, “this guy can get us that many extra tickets on such short notice?”
“Tonight’s soiree is at that new Midwest Trade Center.”
“I thought that wasn’t finished yet.”
“Even in the state it’s in, you could fit half the town in there. I gave him yours and Fenwick’s description. He’ll find you. If you want Brian to go, just mention the name Sibilla Manetti and tell him that she’ll be there.”
“Who?”
“Trust me. Mention her. He’ll want to go.”
Turner hung up and told Fenwick the news.
“Madge will want to go,” Fenwick said.
“On such short notice?”
“It’s just as short for you and Ben.”
“Yeah.”
“I better call her. Ian’s buddy can get all of us in?”
“He didn’t seem to think it mattered how many of us wanted to show up. Who’s Sibilla Manetti?”
“Who?”
“That’s what I said. Ian told me to mention her to Brian, and he would want to go.”
“Never heard of her.”
Commander Molton approached them and asked for an update. After Turner filled him in, Molton said, “Be sure not to jump to conclusions.”
Fenwick gaped at him. Commanders could say what they wished without fear of being shot.
Molton gave them a half smile. “I’ve been hanging around you too long, Buck. I’ll get you overtime for tonight. You shouldn’t have to go without getting paid.”
Fenwick called Madge while Turner called Ben. Turner explained the circumstances to Ben, then said, “Can you or do you want to leave your computer for this kind of thing?”
“You’re suggesting an evening in a mob of overdressed people smiling hypocritically at each other instead of pounding on this goddamn keyboard? Tempting as that is, I can’t. This computer is driving me nuts. I had angry customers in here all day over mistakes. We almost replaced somebody’s head gasket, and he only came in for an oil change. Remember, you promised Jeff the evening with just the two of you.”
“I know. I hope he thinks this will be fun. It’s tough to find him a sitter on short notice. I don’t want to ask Brian and Mrs. Talucci isn’t due back yet.”
Rose Talucci was Turner and Ben’s ninety—something next-door neighbor who had been a surrogate mother to Paul’s children. She was used to Paul’s erratic schedule and often stepped in if Paul had to work. She’d been diagnosed with cancer several months before. She hated the gatherings of over-emotional relatives and had begun taking numerous overseas trips to give herself some relief. At the moment she was in the Outback of Australia with one of her nieces.
“Do you and the boys have the right clothes to wear?” Ben asked.
“Ian says it doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah, as if he were a judge of what is fashionable.” The relationship between Ian and Ben was cool at best. “No chance anybody will get shot at or involved in any police activity?”
“Only if they’re lucky.”
“What time do you think you’ll be home?”
“It’s a school night so it can’t be that late.”
He told Ben he loved him and hung up. Turner found Fenwick examining the large sheet of paper onto which they would chart the suspects’ movements.
“Madge coming?” Turner asked.
“She’s in the shower as we speak.”
Fenwick rattled the paper and tried putting it down on the top of his desk. He began moving debris out from underneath and stacking it on the floor.
“Shouldn’t we be able to make this chart on a spreadsheet on a computer?” Turner asked.
“Yeah,” Fenwick said, “I’ll put it on a spreadsheet the day after Judge Cabestainey apologizes for being a moronic twit.”
Turner wasn’t confident enough of his computer skills to give it a try either. For an hour they worked on the chart. Down the left side of the paper they placed everyone’s name they had so far. Then they put the time in five-minute intervals along the top. They started from when Munsen claimed Cullom showed up to the moment the detectives arrived in the suite. They worked from their own notes, and the maps the beat cops had compiled. They were only half finished when they needed to pick up their respective family members for the fund-raiser.
NINE
Paul Turner drove up to his house just off Taylor Street. Jeff was playing a game of chess with the computer in the living room. Paul gave his eleven-year-old a hug.
“Brian’s looking for you, Dad,” Jeff said. “He wants to go camping again.”
Brian sauntered in. “You blabbed.” He thumped his middle finger against his younger brother’s head.
Jeff swatted at his brother. “Hey, stop that.” He swung his wheelchair around. “I’ll delete your homework from the computer if you don’t quit it.”
“Both of you stop,” Paul ordered. “Do you guys want to go with me to a fund-raiser at the Midwest Trade Center tonight? I need to go as part of a case I’m working on.”
“Can we help investigate?” Jeff asked.
“No.”
“Do I have to take another bath?” Jeff asked.
“No.”
“Is it going to be one of those boring, dress-up, society things?” Brian asked.
“It might be fun for you guys to go. A lot of famous people might be there.”
“Like who?” Jeff asked.
“The mayor and the governor.”
“Pooh, who cares?” Jeff asked.
“Ian said you might recognize the name Sibilla Manetti,” Paul said.
“Who?” Jeff asked.
“Is she really going to be there?” Brian asked. “She’s the hottest model in the world today.”
“You know who she is?” Paul asked.
“She was in an article I read,” Brian said.
“He’s looking at dirty pictures,” Jeff accused.
“How would you know?” Brian asked.
Lately the two boys had been having more quarrels than usual. Paul thought it might stem from the fact that as Jeff got older, he was more irritated when he felt that he had fewer choices than his older brother. Paul sometimes wondered what form Jeff’s teenage rebellion would take. Living with spina bifida was difficult. Being a teenager, he suspected, added a whole other dimension.
Before their squabble could escalate, Paul said, “Let’s make this easy. Who wants to go?”
“Me,” Brian said.
“Me, too,” Jeff said. Jeff was still in the stage where, if his older brother wanted to do something, Jeff wanted to do it too.
“It’s a school night,” Paul said, “so you won’t be out late.”
“My homework’s done,” both boys chorused.
“What am I going to wear, Dad?” Jeff asked.
“I’ll help you pick something out after we eat,” Turner said.
An hour and a half later, they were on their way to the Midwest Trade Center. Brian wore a yellow paisley acetate-cotton suit, blue cotton dress shirt, red leather double-wrap belt, and leather high-top sneakers. The clothes looked excellent on his athletic frame. Jeff wore his dark gray dress suit. Paul wore his work clothes—dark blue blazer, light blue shirt, stripped gray and blue tie, gray pants, black shoes, and a tan overcoat.
Brian drove their van. At the stoplight at Harrison and Halsted he looked at Paul c
ritically. “You know, Dad, I would have lent you some of my clothes to wear tonight. You don’t always have to look like a detective.”
“I like the way Dad looks,” Jeff said from the backseat.
“I feel comfortable in this,” Paul said.
“You always dress so boring,” Brian said.
“That’s what I like,” Paul said, “boring. It fits my lifestyle.”
Brian gave a muted teenaged martyr sigh. Moments later they arrived at the edifice along the west bank of the north branch of the Chicago River at Kinzie Street.
Immediately inside the door was a reception area where they found tickets and the head of security waiting for them.
“Thanks for calling ahead,” the security guard said. “You’re not expecting any trouble?”
“No. Just part of an investigation. We’ll be talking to a few people.”
“Heck of a crowd,” the security guard said. “These rich folks are pretty quiet, although you have to watch the silverware. Lot of weird outfits, though. Your partner is waiting for you over there.”
Turner spotted Fenwick and Madge about thirty feet away. Madge hugged all three of them. Buck was wearing a tuxedo.
“Cool, Mr. Fenwick,” Brian said. “Where’d you get the outfit?”
Fenwick blushed. The cut of the formal wear enveloped his ample form perfectly. The bow tie was knotted precisely.
“I thought you only had one good suit,” Turner said.
“He’s too embarrassed to tell you,” Madge said. “He owns the tux. He always dresses nice for formal events. He has a closet so full of chic clothes that he keeps a tailor in the neighborhood busy letting them out.” She wore a long dark-blue evening gown with a simple star brooch close to her left shoulder.
Fenwick grumbled, “Gruff-hick act exposed by nattering wife.”
Madge whapped him on the shoulder with her beaded clutch. “I’ll natter this up your butt if you make any more cracks like that.”
“I didn’t like it the first time,” Fenwick said.
“Hush, there are children present, Buck.” But she smiled and put her hand through his arm and together moved forward with the others.
Drop Dead Page 7