Drop Dead

by Mark Richard Zubro

  “You can’t do this to me.”

  Fenwick laughed. “I can’t ask you questions? Sure, I can. Watch. Why did you go to the Blue Diamond to talk to him?”

  “That’s where he was. Why would I go someplace he wasn’t to try and talk to him?”

  Fenwick’s face turned an unpleasant shade of red. Attempting to head off a possible explosion, Turner asked, “What did you talk about?”

  “Sex, drugs and rock and roll.”

  “When he’s frustrated,” Turner said, “my partner gets annoyed and yells and carries on. It takes forever to get an interrogation done that way. I’d like to do this in a simple way. I ask basic questions. You give basic answers. I don’t get snotty. You don’t get snotty. We all go home with less stress.”

  Veleshki mulled over his options. After a few moments Turner saw the man’s shoulders slump. Light sweat broke out on his upper lip.

  Turner said, “Earlier today you said you hadn’t had contact with him in months. You lied. We need an explanation from you about what is going on.”

  Veleshki leaned forward in his folding chair. He stared at the floor for several minutes. Turner and Fenwick let the silence build. They knew the quiet worked in their favor.

  Finally, Veleshki said, “I went to try and get him to continue his affair with me.” He squirmed. The rubber-bottomed chair legs squeaked against the floor. “He turned me down. He said he’d had me and that was enough. He told me to go away. So I left.”

  “Why’d you lie?” Turner asked.

  “You think I’m going to admit this kind of thing in front of my lover?”

  “You could have picked up the phone and called us,” Fenwick said.

  “Volunteer information to the police? What planet are you from?”

  “He just said no, and everything is calm and peaceful?” Turner asked. “We’ll be checking with whoever was at the club. With the camera crew filming Furyk. We’ll find anybody who saw you talking. You took this rejection awful well. Maybe someone else will have a different perspective.”

  “I was as passionate as I could be in trying to convince him in a semi-public place. He is a charming young man.” Veleshki put his elbows on his knees and placed his hands on either side of his head. He took several deep breaths. “I threatened to break off the deal to have him come work for us.”

  “You did have a deal?”

  “Yes. I also told him I’d try and keep him from working for the other fashion houses.”

  “You have that kind of power?” Turner asked.

  “No. I don’t guess anyone really does. Not with someone who has Furyk’s reputation. Somebody breaking in, yeah. That would happen mostly by innuendo anyway. You float rumors that the person is hard to work with, a drug user. I was bluffing, but I didn’t care. I was mad. I wanted to get even. I’m not good with rejection. I don’t know if people heard us or not. I wasn’t paying a lot of attention. I might have been a little loud. I doubt it.”

  “Did he know you were bluffing?”

  “He laughed at me when I made my threat. I’d say he knew I was bluffing.”

  “What was it about this guy that was so special?” Fenwick said.

  “Charisma? Vulnerability? You looked at him and you thought about hot sex, about touching the perfect man, about making the world safe for him. In reality, he was like the iceberg with legions of men as Titanics heading for him. What’s worse is, I knew he was there, and I didn’t stop. I’m not sure many people would. Funny thing, though. The sex with him wasn’t that great. You had to practically turn yourself inside out to get a response out of him.”

  “Did your lover know about this meeting?” Turner asked.

  “God, no. I told him I had to be in town early to check some last-minute preparations with a caterer for a big party we’re having the night after all the shows in town.”

  Fenwick asked, “At the penthouse, did you go out on the balcony any time from when you arrived to when you left with or without Furyk being there?”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Tell us about the deal for him to work for your company,” Fenwick said.

  “I would do anything to defeat Franklin Munsen, even agree to cooperate if I thought it would gain me an advantage. Getting Cullom to model for us would be a coup.”

  “Did Munsen know about this?”

  “You’d have to ask him.”

  “Were you and your lover having problems?” Turner asked.

  “We’re great together.”

  “Then why were you trying to have an affair?” Turner asked.

  “I don’t know. All the pressures of the new line and the expansion? Furyk himself? I’m an idiot? A combination of all of the above. I wanted him to work for us because it would give me an excuse to see him and talk to him. I thought if I could just keep him around, maybe I could convince him. Just looking at him, just being in his presence, was enough to take your breath away.”

  “You sound pretty infatuated,” Turner said.

  “I was a fool. After my explosion, I don’t know if he presumed he was or wasn’t modeling for us. I walked out on him before anything like that could be settled.”

  “You didn’t get angry at the rejection and kill him?” Turner asked.

  “If he was dead, I would never have him. Alive, there was a chance. Look, I didn’t go out on the balcony. Not for an instant. I was in Roger’s presence every minute. He’ll vouch for me.”

  They left him in the room and trudged up to the fourth floor to meet with Heyling in an interrogation room. The walls, the wooden table, the linoleum, the wire mesh on the screen, and the chairs were all different shades of gray. When they opened the door, Heyling had his elbows on the table, his head in his hands, his shoulders hunched, his legs tight together. He looked at the detectives warily.

  Fenwick took a folding chair, turned it around, and straddled it backward. He put his arms on the top edge and smiled at Heyling. The other man gave him a mystified look.

  Fenwick said, “Your lover met with Cullom Furyk yesterday morning to ask him to renew their affair.”

  Heyling dropped his head until his chin almost rested on the table. “I know,” he muttered.

  “He told you?” Turner asked.

  “I’m not stupid. Gerald has strayed before. I can sense when he is getting restless. I don’t know what to do when that happens. I try to get him to talk, but he won’t. I’m not very good at talking.”

  “How did you know they met?”

  “I knew there was no meeting with the caterer. I asked Furyk at the brunch if he’d met with Gerald. He told me he had.”

  “What did you do?”

  “What could I do? I love Gerald. I’m sorry, but I do. Sometimes I wish I didn’t. Sure, I won all that lottery money, but it’s Gerald who’s given me a life. He showed me how to spend it wisely. He showed me how to invest it.”

  “He manages the money?” Fenwick asked.

  “I see what you’re trying to say. That he duped me and now I’m broke. That’s not true. From the very beginning, it was my idea to start the company. He didn’t twist my arm.”

  “But it was all your money,” Fenwick said.

  “I loved him before I won the money. I loved him when I won it. I love him now.”

  “Even though he’s a cheater?” Turner asked.

  “Why would I kill Furyk? What would be the point? Gerald was the cheater. Furyk was just another in a long line. If I was going to kill anyone, it would have been Gerald. Not that I would have. I know he’ll come back to me. He always has.”

  “Why do you take him back? What kind of dignity is that?” Turner asked.

  “Love is much more powerful than dignity, isn‘t’ it? I think it is. We may not have been legally married, but we promised each other our lives together.”

  “He didn’t keep his promises,” Turner said.

  “But I do.”

  “Did you go out on the balcony at any time from when you arrived at the brunch
until it was over?” Turner asked.

  “No.”

  “Did Gerald?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “Was Gerald in your presence the whole time?”

  The slightest hesitation, but the detectives noticed it. “After the dessert was served, I went to the bathroom. When I left, he was in the dining room. When I came back, he was there. I was only gone a minute or so. He was sitting exactly where I left him. He certainly did not have time to hunt for Furyk and kill him.”

  “You left the room, though,” Turner said. “Yesterday you told us you weren’t outside of each other’s presence. You lied to us.”

  “No, I didn’t. You asked the question and Gerald answered. I kept my mouth shut.”

  Fenwick said, “That’s a hell of a fine distinction for someone on their way to being a murder suspect. He lied by commission. You lied by omission. That works out to the same thing.”

  Turner asked, “Did anyone see you go into the bathroom and come out?”

  “One of the caterers saw me go in. I don’t know which one. It wasn’t a memorable moment. We just passed each other in the corridor.”

  “You could have found him and killed him.”

  “I didn’t. There wasn’t time for that, either. People must have seen me enter and leave.”

  Turner doubted if anyone could remember the times and movements of any of the others at the party with the degree of precision the detectives would need to accuse someone of murder.

  Turner simply accepted Heyling’s statement as something to be checked and verified as best as possible. He had listened to people lie—from vicious serial killers to spur-of-the-moment murderers, husbands and wives who couldn’t take it anymore. Some were obvious liars. Some were brilliant at it. And whether they told the truth or not, it was better to get hard, physical evidence.

  “If Furyk was going to be modeling for your company,” Turner asked, “weren’t you afraid he would try and steal your lover?”

  “Cullom Furyk was not the problem. How many times do I have to tell you that? Gerald was.”

  “Whose idea was it to get Furyk to model for you?”

  “Gerald’s. He said we needed him for a boost in sales. It is true that Furyk’s presence in an ad campaign has made significant differences in a company’s profits. Huge differences.”

  “You needed him more than he needed you?” Fenwick asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought your company was doing well.”

  “Better than ever, but this time of the year is difficult. Cash flow can be rough about now.”

  Turner figured they’d have to get some accounting experts to talk to in the near future.

  “Would the company have failed without him?” Fenwick asked.

  “I don’t know! I’m a designer. I create. Gerald handles the financial aspects. I trust him.”

  “Why?” Turner asked. “If he was cheating on your relationship, why wouldn’t he cheat with the company?”

  Heyling looked as if this was a new thought. He tried rallying. “He wouldn’t.” He ran his hands over his face. “I want to go now,” he said.

  “Wait here,” Fenwick ordered.

  They stopped in Veleshki’s room. He sneered at them. “Now what?” he demanded.

  “You and Heyling were not in each other’s presence the whole time.”

  “Yes, we were.”

  “He went to the bathroom during dessert.”

  Veleshki gazed at them. “I don’t remember him leaving. If I remember correctly, during dessert I was discussing an upcoming article about the company with Jolanda Bokaru. It was very important coverage. I did not have time to monitor my lover’s movements. Are you saying he was out of the room? He most certainly is not the killer. That’s absurd.”

  “How do you know?” Fenwick asked.

  “I’ve been his lover for fifteen years. I know him.”

  “How has he put up with your cheating?” Fenwick asked.

  “I believe that is between him and me.”

  They left. At their desks, Fenwick said, “I want chocolate. There may not be enough in the entire city to satisfy me.”

  “You frustrated by our witnesses?” Turner asked.

  “No, just hungry.” He tapped his fist on the chart on top of his desk. “You realize,” Fenwick said, “that this entire exercise has been futile. There’s all kinds of gaps when any one of these people could have slipped out and pushed Furyk.”

  “Yeah. Works out that way sometimes.”

  “But it’s such a pretty chart.”

  Not having a clever response to this crack, Turner said, “We need to talk to Kindel before we decide what to do next.” He paused, then asked, “Did Heyling or Veleshki kill Furyk?”

  Fenwick considered. “We have no physical evidence. No witnesses. Did either of them have the time? Only if they knew precisely where Furyk was. Only if they had a very quick argument with him. Remember, Norwyn said he heard an argument.”

  “Maybe Furyk wasn’t arguing with the killer.”

  Fenwick considered some more. “I got no instinct either way. I know we don’t have enough to arrest them.”

  Turner agreed. “Let’s let them stew for a while and see if the uniforms can get Kindel in here.”

  They’d been working on the day’s paperwork for fifteen minutes when the phone intercom buzzed. O’Leary said, “We just got a call on that Kindel guy you’re looking for. He’s in the hospital. They’re not sure he’s going to live.”

  A phone call to the emergency room doctor got them only the data that Kindel was unconscious, and he didn’t know when or if his patient would awaken.

  Turner arranged for there to be a police guard on Kindel’s room. They were to be called immediately if he came around. Then Turner called the Twenty-first district. The beat cop who made the initial report wasn’t in. The sergeant at the desk looked up the paperwork and gave Turner the basics. Found unconscious in an alley off Broadway. That’s all he knew.

  They had little choice but to let their suspects go. Turner was reluctant to free Heyling and Veleshki, but they had no hard evidence and certainly nothing a prosecutor could go with.

  SEVENTEEN

  When Paul got home, Ben was at the computer, and Jeff was watching him carefully. Paul hugged them both. “Any luck?” he asked.

  Ben said, “I have not bashed it to smithereens with a baseball bat yet.”

  “I wish I understood the program better,” Jeff said. “I wish I could help.”

  Ben saved what he was working on and stood up. Jeff called up a game on the computer. Paul and Ben strolled into the kitchen. Ben checked the lasagna in the oven.

  “Brian home?” Paul asked.

  “Yeah, I think he’s given up on the camping deal, but I also think he’s got a new project. I don’t know what it is, but he’s been whispering on the phone since he got home.”

  They both listened to the thudding of the older boy as he pounded down the steps. Moments later he was in the kitchen.

  “Hi, Dad. When’s dinner? I’m starved. Can I borrow the car to drive to Iowa City this weekend?”

  “Hi, son. Soon. No. What’s in Iowa City?”

  “People, houses.”

  “You want to talk car use or do an inept imitation of Buck Fenwick?”

  “The university is having an open house for people considering going there.”

  “Amount of supervision?”

  “I think one of the parents of one of the kids is going.”

  “Not a ringing endorsement designed to win over a doubting father.”

  “Whining do any good?”

  “You used up this week’s quota on the camping trip.”

  The phone rang once. Seconds later Jeff’s voice called from the living room, “Brian, phone.”

  Brian picked up the extension and took it as far as the cord would allow down the basement stairs. Paul heard, “No, h
e won’t let me go.”

  Ben turned to Paul. “We weren’t like that when we were teenagers, were we?”

  “I was,” Paul answered. “So were you.”

  “I don’t know if that’s frightening or comforting.” Ben sighed. “We better get them fed.”

  Over dinner Jeff asked, “What is this fashion show you guys are going to? Is it going to be like last night?”

  Paul said, “I think this is one of those deals like you see on television with the models strolling down the runway showing off a line of couture clothes.”

  “What’s couture?” Jeff asked.

  Paul explained. “Each model wears a one-of-a-kind outfit that is very, very expensive.”

  “You should dress up tonight,” Brian said.

  “What do you suggest?” Paul asked.

  “I’ve got some stuff I might lend both of you. You’ve got to make an impression.”

  “Ben wouldn’t fit into any of your clothes,” Paul said. His lover was slightly taller and more muscular.

  “Maybe I can find something a little different,” Ben conceded.

  To the fashion show Ben wore a pair of black leather pants snug enough on his hips not to need a belt; a crisp white T-shirt that showed off his broad shoulder muscles; black boots; and a fur-lined leather jacket. At Brian’s insistence Paul wore his son’s iridescent plum shirt and silver pants with suspenders. He wore his own dress shoes and a dark blue overcoat. Paul went along with Brian’s suggestions partly to make up for his refusal to let him go on the camping trip and partly because he figured he wouldn’t meet anybody who would razz him about his outfit later. And he had to admit to himself, he did wear boring clothes.

  As they were getting ready to walk out the door, Paul looked at himself in the full-length mirror in the living room. “I look ridiculous,” he said. “These aren’t clothes for somebody my age.”

  “You look perfect,” Brian said. “You’ll be the studliest-looking guys there.”

  “I like it,” Jeff said. The eleven-year-old looked critically at Ben. “Ben looks like a movie star.”

  “We clash,” Ben said. “What could be better? We’ll be making our own fashion statement. You look very sexy.” He kissed Paul on the lips.

  When the kiss began to be prolonged, Jeff said, “Kissing’s mushy.”