“Get on your radio,” Paul commanded, “and call the guards and stop anyone from leaving the pier. Do it now.”
“We can’t just …” began the guard.
Paul yanked the radio from the guard’s belt. He pressed the on button.
“Hey …” The guard reached to grab back the radio.
Paul turned his back. He gave the person on the other end a description of the attacker. He took out his cell phone and dialed 999 to hook up directly to the local police zone. He identified himself and asked for backup and an ambulance.
Ben sat on a chair in the last row of the ballroom. A small crowd stood around him. The commotion had caused many to turn and stare momentarily, but the show had continued. Paul recognized the strains of the last movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. He saw a huddle of sopping clothes a few feet to Ben’s left. His lover was wrapped in layers of tuxedo jackets and elegant wraps. A mink muff held in place by three silk scarves encircled his feet.
Ben shivered. “I have never been this cold.”
Paul leaned down and held his lover. A woman covered in furs and diamonds handed Ben a glass filled with liquid.
“What’s this?” Paul asked.
“Brandy. It’ll help warm him up.”
Paul looked at the woman. “We need something warm. Liquor isn’t good for hypothermia.”
“Oh,” she said. Her diamonds glittered and sparkled. “I’ll find something.” Moments later, as a squad car pulled up, she appeared with a steaming cup of coffee. Ben gulped down the scalding liquid. Paul identified himself to the uniforms. They placed Ben in the front seat of the squad car and turned the heat on full blast.
“Does he need to go to a hospitals?” a uniform asked.
Mars lights rotated on an ambulance hurrying down the pier. Paul hovered nearby as the paramedics examined Ben. In minutes they assured him Ben would probably be okay, but he should be looked at by a doctor. The woman in the furs reappeared a few moments later with a man in a tuxedo.
“Theresa says you need a doctor?” He examined Ben for several minutes, talked to the paramedics, then confirmed that he would be okay. Paul thanked him, and the doctor returned to the party. Paul looked for the elegantly attired woman to thank her, but she had gone.
Paul joined Ben in the squad car. He sat behind the wheel. The heat was stifling.
Ben gazed at him. “I look more ridiculous than you do.”
The pile of elegant clothes rose and fell with Ben’s breathing.
“You okay?” Paul asked.
“Starting to get a little warm. You know I’m naked under all this crap.”
“We’ll get you some real clothes as soon as possible, although that is probably the priciest outfit you will ever wear.” He put his arm around Ben’s shoulder and held him awkwardly.
“Maybe I’ll start a new fashion trend,” Ben said.
“Where’d you go? What happened?”
“For quite a while, I stood in the back of the hall out of the lights. I was pretty much under control, but I wasn’t about to crawl over all those people to get back to my seat. I’m surprised the rich and famous don’t mind being packed in like sardines. Unfortunately, I lost it again with the woman in the rainbow-colored ostrich plumes. She reminded me of a bad drag act I saw in New Orleans years ago. I couldn’t stop laughing, so I got my coat and went outside. I walked down to the other end of the pier. When I got back to this end, I was thinking of going inside, but the January warmth was so pleasant, and the water was so pretty with the moon and stars reflecting off it. I kind of lost track of anything else.
“Suddenly, somebody tried to push me. I tried to grab whoever it was, but I couldn’t get a good hold. I was too close to the edge. When I tried to push back, my feet slipped into nothing. The next thing I knew I was in the freezing water.”
“You remember anything else at all.”
Ben thought. “He kind of smelled like he hadn’t had a bath in a while.”
Paul asked, “Did you get any kind of look at the attacker?”
“Nothing. It all happened so fast.”
A uniformed cop knocked on the car window.
Paul said, “I’ve got to check things out.”
Ben nodded.
Outside the car several officers clustered around Paul. One of them said, “We’re going to have a thousand people trying to leave in a few minutes. We don’t have the personnel to stop and inspect everyone. Who are we looking for anyway?”
Paul gave them the limited he description he had.
He saw one of the uniforms gazing at his outfit.
“What?” Paul demanded.
“I never thought I’d see a detective wearing an outfit like that.”
Paul had discarded his coat when it had gotten soaked in the rescue. He’d been acting too quickly to notice the cold. “You guys got here pretty quick,” Paul said. “Maybe whoever it was didn’t get a chance to get off the pier. Let’s see if we can’t organize a search party. Station a couple of people at the other end of the pier.
Paul stood at the main exit and eyed the crowd. He saw Munsen surrounded by reporters and a large entourage. Findley hung on to the fringe of this group. He saw Sibilla Manetti in a full-length fur coat. She sported a muscular bodyguard at each elbow. They wore tuxedos under their open Burberry overcoats. The guards made no visible move, but the photographers avoided getting too close. Flashbulbs popped near her as she strode toward him. When she was close enough, she spoke softly, “I hear there was a problem.”
“Word travels quickly.”
“Doesn’t it always? May I help?”
“We need a set of clothes. My lover was pushed into the lake.”
She bent over and glanced into the car at Ben. She stood up straight. She murmured to one of her guards, “Marco, hurry to the limousine and get a change of clothes and bring something to keep Detective Turner warm as well.”
The man at her left hurried off.
“Thank you,” Paul said.
“A gay detective,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Why would someone want to push your lover into Lake Michigan?”
“I don’t know.”
Oldinport and Battle joined them. “Sibilla, I haven’t had the pleasure this trip.” Oldinport sounded like a bereaved father. He leaned over to kiss the air next to Sibilla’s cheek.
She stepped back. “Go away.” Her remaining muscular companion immediately stepped between them.
Oldinport looked as if he’d been slapped. Battle sneered. Photographers rushed toward the group. Sibilla put her arm through Paul’s and walked with him down the pier a few feet. Their backs were to the entire rest of the crowd. “You don’t get along with Oldinport,” Turner observed.
“He has been vicious in his column to me for years.”
Paul wasn’t sure what to say to this. He muttered, “I’m sorry.”
“I fear I was not completely honest with you,” Sibilla said.
Paul smelled her perfume. It made him think of chalk dust in grade school. He wondered if it was supposed to be alluring. “What haven’t you told me?”
“Cullom wasn’t planning to leave GUINEVERE voluntarily. Franklin Munsen was throwing him out.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I have strong ambiguous feelings about Munsen. I do owe him a great deal. At one time he and I were close.”
Turner hesitated about asking how close. Unless it bore directly on the murder, he was not interested in the details of another assignation among the fashion glitterati.
“In many ways he helped make me what I am today. Tonight, it was almost as if he were crazed. He was rude, abrupt and cruel to me and all the other models. It wasn’t the first time he turned his vicious side on me, but always before I’ve let it roll off my back. Maybe tonight it was loyalty to Cullom or maybe I’m sick to death of his malevolent spite. At any rate, I wouldn’t mind casting a few aspersions on him.”
“
Why be mean to you? Were you going to tell me he killed Cullom?”
“Munsen is an example of the triumph of paranoia. He knows you talked to me, and he thinks I may be the source of some suspicions you may have.”
“Or do you have some kind of hold on him? Was he cheating on his wife with you?”
She arched an eyebrow at him.
“Sorry, my lover’s been attacked. I don’t have the patience I probably should with all you people. You all lied.”
“If it serves their purposes, doesn’t anyone? And knowing you are in the presence of a detective could make a person at least a little nervous.”
“Yes,” Paul conceded. He knew this to be true. In a crowd of people Paul didn’t know well, he avoided mentioning his profession. He was heartily sick of people asking him his opinion of prominent cases, from O. J. to Ramsey to Cunanan. If it wasn’t a case he was working on, he knew as little or as much as the rest of the public could read in a newspaper or see on television.
Turner said, “Why was he getting rid of him?”
“Cullom wouldn’t tell me. He was meeting with Munsen to try and reach an amicable solution.”
“He stayed for brunch, so assumedly they hadn’t fought, or at least there wasn’t an irreparable breach.”
“If Munsen had a chance to talk to him.”
“Munsen said they talked. Maybe he changed his mind about dumping him, or he could have been lying to you. Who else knew about this?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It couldn’t have been many people or it would have been gossiped about.”
Marco returned with clothes. Paul took them over to Ben.
“You okay enough to change into these?” Paul asked.
“I’m almost warm enough. Is that Sibilla Manetti?”
“You know who she is?”
“Vaguely.”
Sibilla knocked on the window. Ben rolled it down. “Are you all right?” she asked. “Do you wish me to provide you with a ride home? My limousine and my guards are at your disposal.”
Ben held out his hand. “Ben Vargas. I’m pleased to meet you. I’m fine, thanks.”
Sibilla held his hand for a moment.
Under the mound of clothes, Ben squirmed into the outfit Marco had provided. Paul didn’t ask why Marco had an extra set of clothes in the car. He pulled on the gray sweatshirt Marco handed to him. It had a logo of the Eiffel Tower on the front. It bulked on Paul.
A squad car with lights rotating made its way slowly through the throng that was leaving the pier. Paul could see that someone was in the backseat.
If he was expecting one of the suspects from the case, he was disappointed. He saw a scruffy white youth with close-cropped hair and an earring in his left nostril.
The uniform behind the wheel of the car got out and approached Paul. “Can I talk to you?”
Paul turned to Sibilla. “Thank you for your help. I’ll be with you in a couple minutes.”
“We must be going,” she said. “There are a number of after-show parties, and I must make an appearance. Is there anything more I can do to help? Perhaps one of my guards could return the clothes Ben has been using to keep warm.”
“Thanks.”
Marco distributed the clothes to those who had stayed to wait for them. Then Sibilla and her guards left.
NINETEEN
Turner gave the young cop an expectant look. The uniform nodded toward the interior of the car. “They found this guy hiding on the skyline stage. No driver’s license or any other identification. He says his name is Tyler Madison. He claims he’s nineteen and from Iron Mountain, Michigan. If he’s nineteen, I’m the mayor. He says he was staying at the stage for the night. He’s the only suspicious person we’ve found so far.”
They were outside the southeast end of the ballroom. Toward the lake there was no one. Knots of people stood about thirty feet toward the west, slowing meandering away. Squad cars blocked the view north and south. Ben was in a car fifteen feet away. He wore an overcoat buttoned up to the neck and was rubbing his hands together.
“Let me talk to the kid,” Turner said.
The uniform took the guy out of the car. As they neared, Paul felt himself trembling as if he himself had been in the water. Madison was maybe five feet seven, scrawny, and might be old enough to drive. The kid’s brush-cut hair was uneven and stuck up at odd angles at random points on his head. His unzipped leather jacket was cracked and worn. His torn and baggy jeans hung low on his hips. When the uniform let go of him, he slouched forward. Up close he stank.
“What?” the kid snarled.
Paul always told himself later that if it hadn’t been for the snarl, he would have been able to control himself. Paul prided himself on leaving the tradition of roughing people up to the Neanderthal days of law enforcement. Yes, he’d had to physically subdue criminals. This was different. This was personal. The uniform was on the other side of the squad car looking the other way. No one else was nearby. Paul could do whatever he wanted and there would be no witness.
Paul grabbed the kid by the coat lapels and slammed him up against the squad car.
“Hey,” the kid whined. The kid tried slapping his right hand at Paul’s powerful grasp.
Without a thought Paul slammed the kid up against the car again.
“That was my lover, you son of a bitch.” Paul’s heavy breathing came more from the emotion of the moment than the physical exertion of holding the kid in place. He slammed the kid again. “Why the hell did you shove him?”
The kid began to cry. “Please, stop.”
Whether real or fake, the tears stopped Paul. He stepped back. His physical passion was spent for the moment. He waited for his breathing to come under control.
The kid had one hand on the car windshield and another clutching his side, where he’d banged into the rearview mirror.
Very quietly Paul asked, “Why’d you push him into the lake?”
“A guy offered me a hundred bucks to do it. Said he’d give me a hundred more when I was done. Why’d you hit me?”
Paul didn’t say, “Because you snarled like a snot-nosed creep.” Instead he asked, “Who was it?”
“I dunno.”
“You took a hundred bucks to kill someone?”
“I only got half. It was just to shove him into the water.”
“It’s winter. You know what happens to people when they’re in freezing water?” Paul’s voice nearly attained the rumbling depths Fenwick’s did at his most angry.
The kid cowered in front of him like a puppy who’d been hit too many times. “Please don’t hit me again.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve. The orangish glow of the pier lights reflected eerily on the kid’s tears, snot, pimples, scabs, abrasions, and red-rimmed eyes.
Shame crept into Paul’s consciousness. His training, his years of working with the pathetic and the criminal, his essential kindness reasserted themselves. His anger began to ebb. Very quietly Paul said, “They can die in moments.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You had no idea who the guy was who offered you money?”
“No. It was just some guy.”
“Short, tall, black, white?”
“White, taller, dark glasses, talked in a whisper. That’s all I remember.”
“Why were you out here in the first place?”
“I knew there would be lots of rich people around. I was panhandling, and I heard that some of these old rich guys will let a kid shack up for a while. I’m not gay. I’m straight. I just need the money. I don’t have a place to live.”
“Would you recognize him again?”
“He had a coat on. A scarf and a baseball hat kind of hid his face.”
“Could it have been a woman?”
“I guess. I just thought it was a guy.”
“What kind of coat was it?”
“Dark.”
“Was it fur or cloth?”
“I dunno. Dark.”
“Where were you supposed to meet h
im to get the other half of your money?”
“At the skyline stage. He hadn’t showed up yet.”
“Where did you meet him the first time?”
“Maybe halfway down the pier. He was walking along and saw me. He told me there was this guy at the end of the pier that he wanted shoved into the water. He offered me money, and I didn’t have to do sex for it, so I figured—great. He told me the guy was alone and wearing a leather jacket. I saw two guys at one end and this one guy by himself. I wasn’t going to try two at once. I figured this must be the guy.”
Paul knew Ben and Egremont were both wearing leather jackets. No one could have expected either Ben or him to be there. Was Ben simply in the wrong place at the wrong time? Had the accountant been the real object of the attack? He looked around for Egremont to ask him more questions, but the accountant was gone.
Turner motioned the uniform over. “Get this kid out of my sight. Lock him up and charge him with assault.” The uniform took the kid away. Paul called a second uniform over. “I need you to find Daniel Egremont. He’s an accountant with GUINEVERE, Incorporated.” He gave him some more details, and the uniform hurried off.
Ben got out of the cop car. He stood close to Paul. “You hurt that kid.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never seen you be violent.”
“It’s not something I’m proud of or that I’ll want to tell the grandkids about.”
Ben said, “Let’s get the hell out of here. I want to go home.”
“You okay?”
“I’m warmer. I want to be inside in my own home.”
Ben was forced to wait longer in the car as Paul talked to the local watch lieutenant and made reports. Before he left, he ascertained that Egremont had not been found. His condo was under surveillance.
On the ride home Paul discovered himself holding hands with Ben. At home they sat in the kitchen. Jeff and Brian were sound asleep. Paul made Ben hot chocolate. When it was ready, he poured Ben a cup, placed a marshmallow and a cinnamon stick inside and served him. Paul drank a glass of orange juice. They sat next to each other on the same side of the table, shoulders and knees touching.
“Are you okay?” Paul asked.
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