The Dream Ender

by Dorien Grey

  “They wanted to know if we knew Cal, and of course, we said yes. It would be stupid to deny it. Then they asked if either Jared or I had a grudge against him. I told them that, of course, we did—Cal was murdering gay men. They wanted to know if there might be any other reason, and I told them as far as I was concerned, the reason I gave them was reason enough.

  “Then they asked if either one of us had AIDS. I told them to check with our doctor.

  “I know they thought we were giving them the runaround, but tough! If we’d given them a direct answer that, coupled with the fact my gun’s the same kind that shot Cal, we wouldn’t stand a chance. We’re not about to hand them our heads on a silver tray. If they want us, they’re going to have to get us without our help.”

  “Look,” I said, “just try to take it easy. Let me know if you hear anything else from anyone, and I’ll do the same. If you have a chance to call me tonight when Jared gets back, please do. I want to know what happened on the Carrington end.”

  “Okay. And thanks. Hi to Jonathan and Joshua.”

  *

  I had no sooner walked into the office and filled the coffeepot with water when there was a knock on my door. Through the opaque glass, I saw two silhouettes. I didn’t have to see them clearly to know who they were.

  “Come on in,” I called, and the door opened to reveal Detectives Carpenter and Gresham.

  Marty, being the last in, closed the door behind him.

  “Detectives,” I said. “This is a surprise. Sit down, please.”

  From the looks on their faces, I knew this wasn’t a social call.

  “Would you like some coffee?” I asked as they sat. “I was just going to make some.”

  “No, thanks,” Carpenter said.

  I replaced the pot on the coffeemaker and went to my desk to sit down.

  “We talked to your friends Jake Jacobson and Jared Martinson this morning,” Marty said.

  A most telling choice of words, I thought, especially since Jake had specifically said they hadn’t mentioned my name and I definitely had not mentioned theirs.

  “We saw your photo in Jacobson’s apartment,” Carpenter, apparently reading my mind, explained.

  Shit! I’d forgotten that photo.

  “Nice looking kid,” he added.

  I assumed he meant Joshua rather than Jonathan, but I merely said, “Thanks.”

  “Why didn’t you mention Martinson and Jacobson when we asked you about the Male Call?” he continued.

  They had me.

  “Well, I don’t consider them Male Call regulars, which was what you asked me for,” I said. “I know that sounds like an evasion and I guess it is, but these guys are my friends. I didn’t want to drag them into something I know they had nothing whatever to do with.”

  “So, you’d call having the same kind of gun as shot Cal Hysong off a twelve-story building nothing?” Carpenter asked.

  “Was it the same gun?” I asked. I didn’t want to let them know I’d talked to Jake.

  “Well, that’s another interesting point—we don’t know. Jacobson claims his gun was stolen. Pretty convenient, I’d say.”

  “Not if it’s true,” I said. “And if Jake says it was stolen, it was stolen.”

  “Did you know Martinson had a run-in with Hysong shortly before he was killed?”

  How in hell could they have known that? I then realized they’d been doing their job on background checks on the Male Call and what went on there.

  “Yeah, Jared mentioned it,” I said.

  “And you knew this wasn’t their first encounter? That Martinson was arrested after a fight with Hysong at the Male Call a couple years ago?”

  “Yes, and you probably know I was the one who bailed him out. And you forgot to mention that half the bar was involved in that melee, not just Jared.”

  “Do they have AIDS?” Carpenter asked.

  Oh, Jeezus, how do I get around this one?

  “Nice non sequitur,” I observed. “You’ll have to ask them. I’m not a doctor. You saw them. Did they look sick to you?”

  “The evasion game’s wearing pretty thin,” Carpenter said.

  “Do either of you guys have any idea what AIDS is doing to the gay community?” I asked. “Nobody knows who’s got it and who doesn’t. You’re healthy one day, and you’re dead the next. Our acquaintances and friends and partners are dying all around us, and no one knows for sure how or why or when it will be our turn. It’s scary as hell. The straight world, and too many gays, treat AIDS like leprosy—people hear you have it and they run in the other direction. Did you know some doctors and nurses—and hospitals—won’t treat you if they even think you have it? So, am I going to point to someone and say ‘He’s got AIDS?’ Not likely!”

  Marty’s face reflected his empathy. “Look, Dick, I do understand. But having AIDS is also not a justification for murder.”

  “Of course not,” I agreed. “But as I said, I know these guys, and it is inconceivable to me that either of them could be capable of killing anyone.”

  I believed that. I really did. But in some far corner of my mind something shameful lurked—could I kill someone who deliberately gave me AIDS? I would sincerely like to think not. Could I kill someone who deliberately gave Jonathan AIDS? In a heartbeat.

  “Well, loyalty to friends is an admirable trait,” Carpenter said, “but we can’t afford that luxury in a murder investigation. We’ve asked the Carrington police to get a search warrant for Jared Martinson’s home. If Jacobson owns the same make and model gun as killed Hysong and it isn’t at his place, the next logical place to look is Martinson’s.”

  “You’re wasting your time,” I said. “As I said, if Jake says the gun was stolen, it was stolen.”

  Carpenter gave a small smile. “Perhaps. But some coincidences are easier to go along with than others.”

  “You know Jacobson’s brother is an immunologist working with AIDS patients?” Marty asked.

  “Yeah, I know that. And if he was an obstetrician that wouldn’t mean Jake or Jared was pregnant.”

  “We asked him for a list of his AIDS patients, and he wouldn’t give it to us.”

  “Like you expected him to?” I said. “You knew damned well he wouldn’t, and no other doctor or hospital would, either.”

  “It would make our jobs a lot easier,” Marty observed, “We might be able to track some of the cases back to Hysong and broaden our suspect base. This is a murder case, after all.”

  When he said “broaden our suspect base” I knew “beyond Jared and Jake” was implied, but there was nothing I could say or do about it.

  “I don’t suppose you know anything else about either Martinson or Jacobson you’d care to tell us?” Carpenter asked.

  Jeezus!

  “Like what?” I asked. “Look, guys, you know I’ve always done everything I can to work with the police. I want you to catch whoever killed Hysong, and I know you will. Believe me, if I thought for one second Jake or Jared might have been involved and I knew something that might prove it, I’d tell you. But please don’t put me in the position of trying to dig up dirt on my friends when I know they’re innocent.”

  I was thinking specifically of the fact that Jared had been a sniper in Special Forces while in the military. I knew the police would add that to a list of circumstantial evidence, and while they very well might find out about it, they were just going to have to do it on their own.

  Marty sighed. “Well, I wish I had a friend like you,” he said.

  “You do,” I replied, and he grinned.

  “Touché.”

  Chapter 15

  They left shortly thereafter, and I went downstairs to the coffee shop in the lobby for lunch, though after my talk with Marty and Carpenter I didn’t have much of an appetite. I sincerely hoped they were paying as much attention to the many other potential suspects as they were to Jake and Jared, but considering the issue of Jake’s missing gun, I tended to seriously doubt it.

  *
>
  That evening, just as I came out of the bathroom with a freshly scrubbed and pajamaed Joshua, headed for the bedroom and Story Time, the phone rang. Jonathan answered, talked quietly a moment then held the phone out to me.

  “It’s Jared.”

  “Start without me,” I said as he handed me the receiver and went off to collect Joshua, who’d run into the kitchen to say goodnight to his fish.

  “So, what happened?” I asked without preamble.

  “Thanks to the cops showing up here at Jake’s and asking eighteen thousand questions, I was nearly late for my first class. I didn’t have a chance to stop at the house. And when I drove into the parking lot at school, a squad car with two cops pulled up right behind me. One of them got out and asked if I was Jared Martinson. When I said yes, he handed me a search warrant and asked me to come with them to the house to let them in.

  “I said I had a class from nine until nine fifty, but my second class wasn’t until eleven, so I asked if I could meet them at the house at a little after ten. He went back to the squad car to talk to his partner—it turned out I have the partner’s daughter in my nine o’clock. They talked a minute and then the first one came back and said okay, but he made it pretty clear they were going out of their way to oblige me.

  “They were nice enough about it all, but I was pretty pissed, just on general principles. And of course, they didn’t find a damned thing, though there were a couple of raised eyebrows when they came across some of my leather gear and toys.

  “Luckily, the warrant specified it was for a Winchester Model 94 Chief Crazy Horse Commemorative rifle ‘and/or any other firearms on the property, including outbuildings,’ so they went through the garage, too. They did a good job of rummaging through everything. But if I hear one word at school about any of my personal stuff, I swear I’ll sue their asses off! My private life is none of their fucking business!”

  “Well,” I said, “I wouldn’t worry so much about that. They were just doing their job.”

  “They’d asked us this morning where we were when Cal was killed, and we told him we were coming back from my cabin up in Fenton County. They wanted to know how long a drive it was. I told them.”

  “Ah, yes, the cabin,” I said. “Did anybody see you up there?”

  “Nobody that I can think of. It’s a pretty isolated area—that’s what I like about it. We left here just before dark Friday night, drove straight up and headed back home Monday morning around ten.”

  “So, you don’t have any real proof you were there?” I asked.

  “Well, we stopped for gas on the way home. I got a receipt.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Around ten forty-five, I think. I’m sure it’s on the receipt. I gave it to the cops.”

  “And it’s how long a drive between the cabin and Jake’s?”

  “Like I told the cops, it’s almost exactly three hours.”

  “So, you were back in town around one o’clock.”

  “No, we didn’t get in until two-thirty.”

  I was puzzled. “How’s that? Did you stop somewhere between there and here? Somewhere you might have been seen?”

  I heard a sigh, then, “No, like I said, we stopped for gas about forty-five minutes after we left the cabin, and we hadn’t gone a quarter of a mile from the station before I realized I hadn’t locked the shed where I keep the three-wheeler—we’d had it out for a ride after breakfast that morning. So, we had to turn around and drive back. That added an hour and a half.”

  I instantly realized that, depending on when Cal was killed, that could be a problem. If the gas station receipt was stamped at ten forty-five, theoretically they should have been back in town by one o’clock—they had no proof of turning around and returning to the cabin.

  “Did you stop for lunch? Maybe get a receipt there? Or talk to someone who would remember you?”

  “No, we still had some stuff in the big cooler we’d taken up with us. We just finished that off on the way back.”

  So, everything depended on when Cal was killed. Before one o’clock and the ticket exonerated them; between one and two thirty, it could be used against them. After two thirty, it was worthless. So, what time did Cal Hysong die? I was sure Tim would know, since he did the autopsy.

  “This whole thing sucks!” Jared said, bringing me back to the moment. “Jake doesn’t need this hassle, though having that bastard Cal dead almost makes some of it worthwhile. I wish I did know who did it—I’d like to pin a medal on him.”

  “Maybe they won’t bother with a search warrant for the cabin,” I said. “After all, the shooting took place after you left there.”

  But I knew that wouldn’t stop them from looking. It was only a two-hour drive from Jared’s place in Carrington. They might figure he could have taken the rifle to the cabin after the shooting to hide it.

  “Well, look,” I said, “I’ll give Tim a call right now and see if he can find out Hysong’s time of death. With the gas receipt, that could let you off the hook.”

  “Thanks, Dick. We really appreciate it.”

  “Hey, that’s what friends are for,” I said. “All you can do right now is hang tight. The thing is, you didn’t do it, and that’s all that counts.”

  “No,” he said, “proving it’s what counts.”

  We said our good-byes and hung up with me thinking of all the innocent people rotting away in prison for crimes they didn’t commit.

  *

  I paused only long enough to fill Jonathan in on the conversation then dialed Tim and Phil’s number.

  I recognized Tim’s “Hello.”

  “Hi, handsome,” I said. “How are things going?”

  “Pretty good,” he said. “I’m thinking of filing for divorce, but otherwise…”

  “Uh-oh,” I said. “What’s Phil done now?’

  “He’s going to Hawaii for three days,” he said, “which is bad enough, but he’s not taking me, which is worse.”

  “Ah, a photo shoot?”

  “Spartan is coming out with a line of swimsuits and he’s going to be on the cover of the catalog. You know—him striding out of the surf, hair matted back, buff and sexy as all hell, glistening drops of water coursing down his golden-brown body, Diamond Head in the background…

  “Did I mention he’s not taking me along?”

  “Uh, yeah, you did. But it’s a work trip, not a play trip.”

  “It’s Hawaii!”

  “Well, I’m sure it might be a little much to expect him to go up to his boss and say, ‘Oh, and my lover wants to come along—is that okay?’”

  “You always did like him more than me.”

  Luckily, I knew this was simply Tim being Tim and he didn’t mean a word of it.

  “Okay,” I said. “You’re right. And if you get a divorce, you can have custody of the fish and Phil can move in with us. Three guys in one bed might be a little crowded, but it sure as hell would be fun.”

  “Okay,” Tim said, laughing. “Cancel the divorce. So, what’s up with you guys?”

  “I was wondering if you could do me a favor,” I said.

  “If I can. What do you need?”

  “I need to know the exact time Cal Hysong was shot off the I-beam. And I don’t imagine you would know where the shot came from?”

  “I can check out the time for you first thing Monday,” he said, “but as to where the shot came from, my best guess would be from the roof of the parking garage across Evans. The angle of the entry wound indicated the shot most likely came from only slightly below. Hysong was on the twelfth floor, the parking garage is eight stories, and there’s a two-story service and equipment tower on top of that. Like I say, it’s just a guess, but I’ll check the notes that came in with him to see if there’s anything more specific.”

  “I’d really appreciate that.”

  “You’re not working on the case, are you?” he asked.

  “Not officially, no,” I admitted. “But the cops did ask if I could k
eep my eyes and ears open in the community, and I said I would.”

  Needless to say, I didn’t want to go anywhere near the issue of Jake and Jared’s suspected involvement.

  “Who’s Uncle Dick talking to?” Joshua asked Jonathan.

  “Uncle Tim,” Jonathan replied.

  “I wanna say hi!” he declared, running over to me.

  “Do you have a second to talk to Joshua?” I asked.

  “Always,” Tim said. “Put him on.”

  I handed the phone over.

  “Hi, Uncle Tim! How’s Oscar? You got any more new fish?”

  It took me a minute to remember he was referring to the new addition to Tim and Phil’s aquarium he’d seen when we were last there for dinner—a bright pink specimen with the word oscar in its species name.

  Apparently, assured that Oscar and the other fish were fine, Joshua abruptly handed the phone to Jonathan.

  “Here,” he said then dashed over to join me on the couch to watch TV.

  “Be sure to wish Phil a good trip for me,” I called to Jonathan.

  When he got off the phone, he had an oddly sad look on his face. He came over and sat on the other side of Joshua, putting his arm around the boy, who leaned into him. He didn’t say anything, but I knew it was the mention of Phil going to Hawaii that had triggered the memory of the death of his brother Samuel and sister-in-law Sheryl. Joshua’s parents had been killed in a head-on car crash while returning from a vacation in Hawaii. The anniversary of their death was coming up, and I knew not a day had gone by that Jonathan had not thought of them and grieved for their loss.

  *

  The weekend passed, as all weekends tend to pass, far too quickly. In addition to the endless weekend chores, we managed to take Joshua to a local park for a couple of hours, and on Sunday afternoon we went to a concert by the Gay Men’s Chorus at the MCC. I must admit, I was pretty impressed, and Jonathan, who had sung in his church choir back in Wisconsin, was so enthralled he announced he’d like to think about trying out for it. Where he’d find the time, I didn’t know, but I didn’t discourage him.

  True to his word, Tim called during his coffee break Monday morning to report Hysong’s death had occurred at one thirty. Jared and Jake hadn’t gotten back to the city until after two-thirty. The question of whether the time-stamped gas receipt would help or hurt them was resolved—and not in their favor. If only they’d stopped for lunch, or…