by KJ Rollinson
We stood in the entrance of the lounge. The curtains were drawn although it was 10 am in the morning. The room was a mess. Upturned chairs, a smashed lamp and an empty wine bottle lay on its side on a glass coffee table. Half-dried wine splashed on the table and wine stains were evident on the cream carpet. Two wine glasses lay smashed against wine splattered walls, as if they may have been hurled there.
We looked at each other and without a word we made our way back along the hallway towards a bloodstained half opened door. I used my handkerchief to push open the door. I knew better than to remind Michael and Gina not to touch anything. I suppose we half knew what to expect.
We’d all seen similar in the past but a dead body was still a shock. It didn’t get any easier, and this crime scene was one of the worst I’d seen. I’d seen gay murders before and they were often brutal, usually caused by suspicion and jealousy. I recognised that the half-clothed corpse lying on the bed was Julian Lean. He looked to us as if he’d been dead for sometime as his body had passed the rigour mortis stage and was discoloured. His throat had been slashed and numerous stab wounds to his chest. One arm lay palm up. I could see there were stab wounds on his wrist and palm as if he had tried to ward off the blows. The room looked as if a tornado had hit it. The only thing which wasn’t covered in blood was a knife which lay beside the body. No finger prints there!
I contacted the Precinct and arranged for forensics, a photographer, and crime squad to do the necessary. I also got hold of Bernard Bentley in the Coroner’s office so he could officially establish the time and cause of death.
We went around to Anna’s apartment to tell her the bad news. Gina made the coffee for us as poor Anna wasn’t capable. Gina had brought the cat and pushed it into Anna’s lap as she sat there crying. That helped. The cat and she looked as if they could give each other comfort. The moggy settled down in her lap and started purring – at least someone was happy!
When Mike’s sister had recovered enough, I asked her if she minded if I asked her some questions. Mike sat alongside his sister, gave her a hug and held her hand.
‘This Tom Walker. How long had Julian known him? Was he a live-in lover?’
‘No, detective he wasn’t a live-in lover. I think Julian had known him for about a year.’
‘Do you know how old they were - are?’
‘Julian was 25, and Tom, I think is about seven years older.’
‘You said when you saw Julian last he had a black eye. Did you hear anything during the last few days? Any noises which indicated a row?
‘No, niente. My husband and I went out three nights ago.’ Anna clutched her throat and gasped. ‘Do you think that’s when it happened? Come to think of it I’ve not heard a sound for days.’
I pursed my lips. ‘We won’t know when it happened until we receive the coroner’s report. Do you know where they met? Is Walker an actor or does he work in that line of business?’
Her brown eyes narrowed in concentration. ‘I don’t know what he does for a living or where he works but I remember Julian said they’d met at Boxers. That seemed to be their favourite haunt.’
Gina turned to Mike, ‘that’s one of the largest gay bars isn’t it?
‘Yeah, it’s between 5th and 6th Avenue. The bartenders strut their stuff in boxers. I guess that’s how it got its name.’
‘Do you know where Tom Walker lives?’ I asked.
‘No I don’t. Oh dear I’ve not been much help have I. Would a photo help? I’ve got one of Julian, Tom, my husband and I taken together at a party at his place. It’s only a few weeks old.’
I smiled at her. ‘You’ve done fine. The ‘photo would be great help. We can find out the other stuff ourselves.’
*
When we got to the Precinct we reported our findings to Captain Carson. I was given the go ahead to start an investigation.
I asked Gina to check the computer files to see whether we had anything on either of them. I didn’t think there’d be anything on Julian but it was worth checking on them both. I also asked her to find out where Walker lived and if possible where he worked.
In the meantime I asked Mike if he was free tonight.
He gave me an arched look, and said, ‘Detective Rode, I didn’t know you cared.’
I laughed. The guy had a sense of humour. I suppose you had to have in his position – with all the stick and prejudice he could get.
‘I thought you could take me to Boxers tonight.’
He grinned. ‘Do you have anything you could wear to make you, er, blend in with the scene.’
‘What do you suggest?’
His eyes twinkled. I could see he was enjoying this. ‘You could wear an ear ring, lipstick, a little eye-liner, and the tightest trousers you’ve got.’
I gritted my teeth. ‘If I find one word gets back to the department about this I warn you there’s going to be another murder. If you think I’m gonna wear make-up and an earring you’ve got another think coming.’
‘I’ll pick you up at your place tonight at eight.’ He grinned, ‘can you get hold of eye-liner at least?’
I threw a file at him. ‘Go – andante, before I change my mind.’
I didn’t tell him I hadn’t gotten rid of a thing since my wife died several years ago from cancer. In our bedroom I knew I’d find make-up. She’d have had a real laugh if she could see me. No way was I getting into Mike’s car displaying my regalia. I’d wait until we arrived before I put on the eye-liner, and I’d wear a coat over some trousers I’d not thrown out; ever hopeful I could get back down to a 36” waist. Since I’d lost quite some weight I might manage to squeeze into them painfully for a few hours.
I reckoned Mike would laugh himself stupid when he saw me but I, too, could have a sense of humour. I decided to enjoy the charade.
*
Mike looked me up and down. With my hand on my hip, I walked up and down my lounge in a pink shirt and black tight trousers. I’d opened the shirt’s first three buttons and sported a pink scarf with black spots which I’d found within my wife’s accessories.
‘Mm, not bad. Here I’ve brought you this black leather jacket.
I tried it on. As long I kept it unbuttoned it fitted across the shoulders OK.
When we arrived at Boxers on East 20th, I applied the eye-liner with the aid of the car mirror. I looked across at Mike and my expression dared him to make a comment. He should’ve been an actor – he kept a straight face.
When we got out of the car I removed my coat and slipped on the leather jacket.
‘Er, do I have to alter my walk?’ I said to him.
‘Nope, you walk just fine.’
I looked at him searchingly. I wasn’t quite sure how to take that remark!
We arrived during Happy Hour so we each got two drinks for the price of one. Mike suggested we save the extra two to give to anyone who gave us information.
We struck lucky with one of the bartenders. He pointed to two men sat out on the large patio smoking. ‘They know Julian and Tom. They may be able to help you.’
I left it to Mike to talk to them. He asked me to hold our drinks and he put the extras down in front of the men. ‘Can we join you?’
He got into a conversation with them and geared the talking around to whether they’d seen Julian or Tom lately.
‘Nothing for four days,’ said the chap called Allan.
‘Nothing,’ confirmed his eloquent mate.
‘Did they look OK together? Happy? Mike said.
‘Nope,’ said the garrulous one.
I looked enquiringly at Allan who said, ‘Julian came in early four nights ago. When Tom arrived he found Julian laughing with this guy and I figured he thought Julian was flirting, as a few minutes later they looked to be arguing. They left shortly afterwards. Or should I say Tom got hold of Julian’s arm and dragged him out.’
‘So you haven’t seen anything of them since?’
‘Nope,’ said the chatty one.
‘You could try the
XES Lounge, Tom and Julian sometimes went there,’ Allan said.
*
Gina had checked the computer records and found out Tom Walker lived on East 108th, East Harlem, and had been pulled in two years ago for beating up some guy. We couldn’t get an answer when we called at his apartment. When we checked with neighbours they said they hadn’t seen him for about four days. One of them told us that Walker didn’t have a regular job. I figured that’s why Gina hadn’t found anything. He probably bummed off his partners for anything he needed. (Sorry bad choice of words).
When we got back to the Precinct I got a call from the Crime Unit officer who’d bagged all personal possessions found at Lean’s apartment.
‘We found bank statements in Lean’s name but found no ATM card in his wallet. We thought this was suspicious. We checked his bank. The card has been used since he was murdered. Over $5,000 was withdrawn five days ago, and the money wasn’t pulled out from Lean’s usual bank.’
He gave the name of the bank. It was close to Walker’s place.
We circulated a description and details of Tom Walker to all Precincts. The papers somehow got hold of the murder story and mentioned Julian Lean’s boyfriend was a Mr Tom Walker, who was missing. Damn, I thought gone was our chance to lull Walker into a feeling of false security. He might suspect we were looking for him if he read the papers. Mike was working on a case with Kat, but I asked Mike if we could go on another jaunt tonight and see what we could find.
His eyes twinkled and he exaggeratedly puckered his lips. ‘My boyfriend will start getting jealous if this carries on.’
I threw a file at him again, except this time it was heavier.
*
We went to the XES Lounge on East 24th, between 6th and 7th Avenue, at 9 p.m. We got the same information. No signs of either Lean or Walker for about five nights. We did learn some interesting stuff though. We were told that Walker had a good singing voice and sometimes did a drag impression of Shirley Bassey. He liked to go the Splash Bar on 50 West 17th, where they had drag karaoke, starting at 8 p.m. The next show was tomorrow night. I asked Mike if he would be free.
‘Sorry, I’ve to see my boyfriend tomorrow. He’s gonna start saying something if I go out without him another night.’
‘I’ll have to ask Gina then. Thanks Mike for your help. I reckon I know what to expect now so I should manage just fine. You’ll hear the full story when we catch up with Walker.’
We shook hands as he left for his apartment in Chelsea and made my way back to my pad on East 120th, between 1st and 2nd Avenue. It was only 10.30 pm so I decided to phone my daughter Lucy and her husband Frank before I settled down to an hour of ‘Much to do about Nothing.’
Gina was game to accompany me to the Splash Bar that evening. She said she’d change into her undercover clothes at my apartment. She arrived with a bundle under her arm and disappeared into my bedroom, after she’d finished laughing at my outfit.
She sauntered into the lounge twenty minutes later and – wow! I didn’t recognise her. Gone was the pretty blonde female. In her place there stood a handsome moustached young man, wearing tight chinos and a cotton sweat shirt. She’d somehow made her short curly hairstyle look more masculine.
I pointed to her flattened chest. ‘Where have those gone?’
She looked down and held her shirt. ‘Oh, these. I’m wearing a straight-jacket – it does the trick fine.’
My eyes travelled down to her slightly padded crotch. ‘And…?’
She grinned up at me with a wicked, wicked smile. ‘Just say, I’m a little bit pleased to see you!’
*
We left the apartment in my unmarked sedan. Within minutes we’d left Manhattan, entered the district of East Harlem and cruised south along Park Avenue. We got to the Bar just after 8 p.m. The Karaoke had just started, hosted by an exotic creature known as Shequila.
I’d taken the photo which Mike’s sister had given me in case I needed to show it around. I frowned there were so many drag queens present, I doubted if I’d be able to recognise him, but I needn’t have worried because Shequila announced them by their real names aka whatever.
Tom Walker was the third singer on stage. I must say his impersonation of Shirley
Bassey singing ‘Big Spender’ was very good. When the rowdy audience finished applauding him he joined some fellow drag queens at a table near us. He pulled out a sheath of bills from his dress frontage and bought a round of drinks for six guys. Gina and I looked at each other. Could this be part of Lean’s $5,000?
I noticed Gina and I were getting looks from one of Walker’s companions. He
whispered something to him and Walker gave me a sharp angry look. I saw them all looking menacingly towards our table and I thought one of them mouthed the word ‘cops’.
‘Come on Gina. We’re going. I think they’ve cottoned on who we are.’
We moved towards the exit, but not before I saw Walker hastily making his way to the toilets.
I told Gina to bring the car around to the rear of the building. I kept to the shadows and quietly made my way to the back exit. Lady Luck was with me as I was in time to see ‘Shirley Bassey’ speeding off in a white car. I just had time to pick out the number and radioed in for backup.
I climbed into the passenger seat of my car. As Gina followed Walker’s I kept on the radio and said we were heading up Malcolm X Boulevard. Gina had to put her foot down hard as Walker gassed his car, touching 90 in places.
The lights of Harlem sped by in a coloured blur, and I was reminded of Malcolm X’s quote in his autobiography ….’Harlem was like some Technicolor bazaar.’
Walker hurled up Lenox Avenue and turned left into West 145th. He then abandoned the car, kicked off his high heel shoes, hitched his long dress up to his knees and fled towards the IRT Lenox line. His curly black wig flew off as he barged passed startled people emerging from the subway. Gina and I sped after him.
I was still relaying information to the officers in the police car, who said they were a few miles away. I drew my gun and shouted to him to stop or I’d fire. This was an empty warning as I wouldn’t have fired because there were too many people milling around. But he wasn’t to know this.
In desperation he jumped down on to the rail bed, and as he ran up the track he slipped. I watched in horror as he tried to get out of the way of the approaching No.3 train by scrambling to the area between the north and south tracks, but I reckoned his bare feet or long dress impeded his movements and he didn’t move fast enough. There was a loud thump as he disappeared beneath the train; people screamed, and the train ground to a halt. I guessed that was one guy who would never ‘pop his cork’ again.
By this time the backup cops had arrived on the scene. I saw the guys stare incredulously at me and I remembered I was still in ‘disguise’. I inwardly groaned – I couldn’t murder everyone in the Precinct who’d hear about this, could I?
Gina quickly told the cops why we were incognito and asked them to arrange for an ambulance to scrape up the remains of Tom Walker. While Gina was talking to the officers I removed the pink scarf from around my neck and as nonchalantly as I could, licked a corner and attempted to inconspicuously remove the eye-liner from my eyes.
*
Was it a coincidence that all the following morning everyone who passed my desk was whistling the gay anthem by the Village People, ‘YMCA’? Like hell it was! I stood up in mock rage. I held up the heavy brass plaque which read John Rode, first grade detective, presented by my buddies when I left the Bronx, and shouted, ‘I will murder the next person, so be warned!’
*
There wasn’t much left of Tom Walker when they scraped him off the tracks but what was found intact was an ATM card in the name of Julian Lean. It lay snuggled within Walker’s padded bra.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
K.J.Rollinson was born in Salford, Lancashire, moved to Wales aged 12 and also lived in Berkshire.
Despite leaving school without any qualificati
ons, the author gained O levels, A levels, and professional qualifications through the ensuing years.
The author carved out a career and worked for many years for the National Health Service, taking various positions with health authorities within England and Wales, but now lives in Spain.
In addition to writing ‘The Rode to Justice,’ ( John Rode, first grade detective, murder stories), the author has written a fantasy trilogy. The Fallyn Trilogy is available on Amazon and Createspace. Visit https://www.amazon.com/author/kjrollinson for all my books.
Short stories by the author have appeared in various publications. ‘Precinct 25’, ‘Shorts for Autumn’, and ‘Winter Gems.’
If you have enjoyed Rode to Justice then why not buy Precinct 22, a book packed full of more murder stories set on the streets of New York.
In a moment you’ll be asked to review The Rode to Justice. Please take a moment or two to tell me and others what you thought of this book. I really appreciate hearing what you think about my work, and I know other readers will, too.
K J Rollinson