Murder on Camac

by Joseph R. G. Demarco

  "You see my point, then, Father? Everyone was upset. Even the folks at Opus Dei were probably unsettled."

  "I suppose someone might have mentioned they were. Yes. I suppose so."

  "All I'm doing, is tracking down leads and opinions. Never know where they'll take you."

  "Well, Mr. Fontana. I don't know, I don't really know what I can tell you. I mean, Opus Dei. Goodness, Opus Dei. A controversial group. We have no control over them." He paused and pulled some sort of book from a small rack on one side of his desk. I saw the word 'Directory' as he opened it.

  "You won't find much in the Directory, I'm afraid. Not much at all." He turned to a page and showed me the entries. "See? Nothing. Their headquarters are out of state. They are their own prelature. Which means they aren't governed by these offices. They have their own bishop. You'd have to..."

  "He's right, you know. The Archdiocese has no authority over Opus Dei. The Cardinal's office, other than offering an opinion, can't do much in Opus Dei matters," Kusek added. "They're not a rogue group, you understand. But they do act on their own authority. We have no control."

  "You've gotta know someone involved in Opus Dei in this city. Someone who's part of that community, who liaises with the Archdiocese. There must be a leader of some sort." I was going to hold their feet to the fire until I got something out of them.

  "Well, Monsignor, do you think...?" He glanced at Kusek. As the Cardinal's representative, I guess the guy controlled Marlon's tongue.

  "I don't see any reason we couldn't give out some information. Do you?"

  "I'm a little concerned that this is a murder investigation. Murder. They won't take kindly to being implicated in anything like murder. Don't you agree?"

  "I'm not accusing anyone of anything," I insisted. "I'm following possible leads."

  "I don't see the harm," Kusek said. "Especially if knowing more will bring comfort to your client."

  "That's the point, Monsignor," I said. "Knowing for sure Opus Dei wasn't involved will go a long way to bringing my client some peace of mind." Not to mention my own peace of mind. I was itching to get out of this rabbit hole. Everything was beginning to look upside down.

  "There is a fellow. Nice fellow, really, despite what they say. He's a good man, you know. Does a lot of good works." He paused, placing the Directory back on the rack.

  There was a knock at the door and Tony entered carrying a tray with a silver coffee service. Everything was laid out nicely. Bone China cups, silverware, even a small torte and plates.

  I watched Tony move as he set down the tray, gave each of us a cup, and poured the coffee. He was amazingly fluid for the little muscleman he appeared to be. I found myself judging him as a potential member of StripGuyz and had to mentally slap myself back to reality.

  "Shall I cut the torte, Monsignor?" he asked Kusek. I noted that he directed most of his attention to the blond. Tony was either currying favor with the powerful or he had a thing for Kusek. I was betting on the latter.

  "That's fine, Tony. You've got your own work to do. But take a cup of coffee for yourself." Kusek smiled, a little too widely.

  Tony happily took a cup, poured some coffee, then left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  "You were saying, Father?" I prodded. His attention was riveted on the torte and I really didn't have time for tea and crumpets. On the other hand, I found it interesting that they didn't defend Opus Dei even when murder was involved. I was well aware that the Opus Dei people ruffled lots of feathers.

  "Yes, I was going to say there's a man you might talk to. What's his number? I have it here somewhere," he mumbled as he riffled through an address book. There's a Father Bidwell at the New York offices and locally there's Francis Clifford. He's not in Opus Dei but he lets them board at his home. Maybe he can help." He took a piece of paper, scribbled something on it and handed it to me. "Their numbers. Tell them I gave you the information. Now, look at this pastry. Lovely isn't it?" Marlon bubbled.

  ***

  I got out of there before allowing myself a piece of pastry. There was something odd about sharing niceties with priests. After one more exchange of glances with Kusek and shaking hands all around, I was on my way.

  October got chillier by the day. It made me melancholy watching the light die early, seeing the trees give up their leaves, knowing another year was about to close. At the same time there was a sexiness to the chill in the air. I can't explain it exactly but there was something about the onset of Winter that made me think sex and romance.

  The walk back to the gayborhood gave me a chance to guy-watch. In Rittenhouse Square, I spotted Kent. Poor, lovesick, lost, Kent. Sitting on a bench in the Square, he looked as if no one cared.

  "Hey," I said sitting next to him.

  He hardly moved and stared at the ground. I heard him sniffle.

  "Kent?" I placed a hand on his shoulder. He trembled. "Look at me."

  He turned his face to me and his eyes were red. He mumbled something incoherent. I gave his shoulder a squeeze and watched a tear tumble down his cheek. But he held himself together, drew in a deep breath, then exhaled.

  "Things will get better, you know. You can't let this destroy you."

  "I know. But..."

  "Whaddaya say we get something to eat?" It had to be lunch time or near it and I knew the kid could use company. "My treat."

  "O-okay... uh... but... I don't really feel hungry."

  "Sure you do. Or you will when we get there. We'll go to Woody's. How's that? You and I can have a talk. Something I want to ask you."

  "Sure."

  A few people lounging on other benches had watched both of us closely. One reedy man with huge glasses shook his head disparagingly. And a young guy sitting across the way looked at us in a dreamy way, imagining, no doubt, that he'd just witnessed a pair of lovers reconciling.

  We walked most of the way in silence. Kent seemed lost in thought. As we reached Thirteenth Street, he looked at me.

  "You think things are gonna be all right?"

  "How do you mean?" I wasn't about to make any promises.

  "Am I gonna make it all alone? I don't wanna be alone. I can't."

  "Hey, listen. Alone is what we are most of the time. You have to learn to like what's inside you, Kent. Then being alone won't feel so bad. Anyway, a looker like you won't be alone for long. Be happy with yourself and you won't be so afraid of being alone." Great advice coming from a guy who had his share of afraid-to-be-alone times. I hadn't yet learned the trick to being totally happy with me. But I was making progress. There were even times I enjoyed being by myself.

  "Marco!" Anton called out from across the street.

  "You guys finished at the house?"

  "We're breaking for lunch. But there's some stuff you should see. It might help with the case."

  "What are we talking here?" I asked and tried to shelter Kent from Anton who I knew was still understandably upset about the night before.

  "E-mails, letters. All of them threats, death threats."

  Chapter 7

  I told Anton I'd meet them after lunch. The death threats weren't going anywhere. Kent was in need of more immediate help. He didn't seem to have anyone else to talk to and something about him made me want to hear him out. Besides, I think everybody deserves another chance.

  It was just shy of lunch hour so Woody's was relatively empty. We took a window seat and I reevaluated my opinion of Kent. I'd thought he was a loony stalker. Now I wasn't so sure. He'd come to see Nando before last night but had never bothered him. He'd probably felt lost, alone, and scared. Nando was his lifeline and he couldn't face losing him. The more I observed, the more I wanted to help him. I'm no saint, but some people tug at my heart strings. Still, I wasn't going to baby the guy.

  Kent's movements were shy, his body language tending toward the defensive, as if he needed to protect himself. "I've never been here before. To eat, I mean."

  "Nice place. Besides I didn't think you'd want to eat at Bubbl
es right now."

  "How is... how's Nando doing?" His voice was laced with pain. "I miss him."

  "He's okay. Right now, I wanna talk about you." I gently rattled the menu. "What're you having for lunch?"

  "I'm not really hungry. Just coffee," he mumbled.

  "I'm Italian, we can't stand to see somebody not eating. Seeing people enjoy food makes life worthwhile. So, you're gonna eat, right? Or do I have to force feed you?"

  "Okay, okay, what're you having?"

  "There's a hamburger with my name on it in that kitchen. I'm having it with the works." I smiled. "You?"

  "A hamburger sounds good." He looked over the menu and then at me. "Yeah, I'll have a hamburger. And coffee."

  I caught the waiter's eye and we ordered.

  "What kind of work do you do, Kent?"

  "Still a student. At Temple. I can't wait to finish." He sat up straighter.

  "What're you studying?"

  "Hotel management. Hospitality."

  "Like it?" At least he wasn't majoring in Business, or worse, Psych.

  "I love it. Really. Just... right now, things aren't going great. Since Nando's been gone, I can't concentrate."

  "I understand," I said and I did. When Galen disappeared I was lost. We weren't lovers but we loved one another. He left a big hole in my life.

  "You do? Guy like you can have anybody he wants."

  "You think it's all that easy, huh? I've been left, too. More than once. But there was one time it hurt more than all the others put together."

  "You're just shittin' me so I'll feel better."

  "Listen, after what you did last night, I should be jackin' you up in some alley, teaching you a lesson. Last thing I thought I'd do was play nice."

  "See? You are shittin' me with all that talk."

  "What's my motive, Kent? Why would I be sitting here with you?"

  "Yeah, well, it's kinda strange. I had a gun pointed at you and now..."

  "You did and I should'a knocked you into next week. But I decided to give you a chance. Somebody does that, you should act more grateful."

  "It's just... why are you bein' so nice? Nobody's ever that nice." He paused, looked at the table.

  I said nothing.

  He looked up at me, guilty and confused. "I'm sorry about last night. I acted like an idiot."

  "Can't argue with that."

  "I don't know why I did it. It was like another person doing it. Not me."

  "Put it behind you, Kent. Sometimes pain makes us do stupid things. I understand or I wouldn't be sitting here. But it's over now."

  "I'm really sorry. I don't know how to say it better than that. But I owe you. You coulda turned me in and you didn't."

  "You do owe me and that's another reason we're sittin' here talking. I want you to consider working for me."

  "As a detective? Are you..."

  "No. I don't have enough work to keep me busy. Though you might be able to help some time. I was more thinking about StripGuyz." I just casually dropped that in his lap and waited.

  "StripGuyz! Are you...? Are you asking me to..? 'Cause I won't, y'know. I won't. I'm not taking off my clothes." His eyes were all confusion and something else, like fearful curiosity.

  Tom, the waiter, brought our coffees just as Kent said he wouldn't take off his clothes. Eyebrows were raised.

  "You tell him, sweetie. Besides, if anybody's taking off his clothes for Marco, it'll be me. Right?" Tom looked at me.

  "Would I ask anybody to take their clothes off? Me? Would I do that?"

  "Yeah, you're right." Tom smirked. "You've never asked me. I've been waiting. I've even offered for chrissakes."

  "See, Kent? I'd never ask you to do that." I'd wanted to, because he'd make a great addition to StripGuyz, but I knew he'd react the way he did.

  "Anyway, sweetie," Tom addressed Kent. "If the nice man asked me to take my clothes off for him, I'd be naked in a flash. You might give it some thought." He sauntered away without looking back.

  "Seriously, Kent. I'm not asking you to strip. Though I think you'd be terrific. Actually I'm wondering if you'd like to help with crowd control, keep an eye on the audience." I'd have to get Anton to agree. I respected him too much not to. And, Nando, of course. He'd have to agree. But I had a feeling there wasn't as much space between Nando and Kent as there appeared. If I could bring them back together it'd be worth it. In any case, Nando only worked certain nights. I'd schedule Kent when Nando wasn't dancing.

  But Anton's approval had to come first. Convincing Anton would probably mean dinner at Le Bec Fin and a trip to New York to see a show. Seeing the pain in Kent's eyes, I thought it would be worth it.

  "I wouldn't have to strip?"

  "You think I force people to be a part of the troupe? You've got to want to do that. If you don't it shows and you wouldn't make a dime."

  "What if I bumped into Nando? He wouldn't mind? If I was there, I mean. He wouldn't think I was hanging around just to be with him?"

  "Would you be?" I stared into his eyes daring him to lie.

  "I... I don't know," he said and hung his head.

  "That's at least honest. I wouldn't have believed anything else," I said and placed my hand over his.

  ***

  Lunch lifted his spirits and mine, too. There was something about him, despite what he'd done the night before. I guess I'm a sucker for a kid in need. Anyway, he agreed to consider my offer and to not do anything foolish. Like come back to the club with a gun. Or, hurt himself.

  We parted company on Spruce and I walked to Hollister's place. Some large clouds scudded by blocking the early afternoon sun and creating an eerie atmosphere. A chilly breeze kicked up, just right for October, but I felt the weight of the case hanging over me. I entered the Neverland of tangled little streets and eventually found Hollister's place. It was almost as if you weren't in Philadelphia once you were folded into this hidden enclave.

  "Hey, Marco." Chip greeted me as I entered the house and saw them all working. Hollister helping Chip sort papers, Anton cleaning, and Luke making sure everything was where Hollister said it should be.

  "Marco." Luke and Anton sounded off simultaneously.

  I went over to Hollister and knelt on one knee. "How're you doing, Tim?"

  "I'm better than I appear probably," he said and looked me in the eye. "You didn't have any success at the Archdiocesan offices. Right?"

  "Been a frustrating day so far." I stood, squeezed Hollister's shoulder, and turned to the others. "Tell me you've got some leads."

  "Couldn't have been too frustrating a day," Anton said, disapproval in his tone.

  "Oh? Meaning?" I knew but I wanted him to say it.

  "I saw you huddling with Kent," Anton said. "That can only mean one thing."

  "What's that?" Luke asked.

  "That I want him to work with StripGuyz. If you approve." I had to drop the bomb some time. Letting Anton know while there were people around was good. It would give him time to think about it before we spoke.

  "You and I will talk later," Anton said as calmly as I've ever heard him. That could not be good.

  "Right now, you should take a look at this, boss," Chip said and held out a bright green accordion folder stuffed with papers. "It's some of the threats we found."

  I took the folder which was heavier than it appeared. Hollister would be the best person to review it with but I knew it'd be painful.

  "Tim, this won't to be easy but..."

  "If you want me to look those over with you, don't worry. I've read through them before, with Helmut. He laughed the threats off, of course." Hollister rose to his feet, and it appeared to be a painful effort. Grief can do that sometimes. I've seen people literally bent over with the pain of grief. The lucky ones get through it.

  "How about the kitchen? It'll be quieter." I headed back to the tiny kitchen which barely held a table and three chairs.

  I sat and pulled the papers out of the folder. The pile was three inches thick.

&nbs
p; "All threats?" I asked.

  "Veiled threats, death threats, lawsuit threats, you name it. Helmut shoved them all into the folder and joked about putting an appendix into his next book with all of these." He sat next to me and placed a hand on the pile. Shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath. "Why didn't you listen to me, Helmut?"

  I waited. He was far away, talking to someone even farther away. I let him have his moment. Then his eyes fluttered open and he looked down at the papers.

  "Will you be all right?" I asked.

  "What can be harder than what I've already been through? I'll be all right. I want to see this through."

  "Let's divide them into e-mail and snail mail. Then we'll read through them."

  We spent a few minutes separating papers; e-mail was by far the larger pile. Makes sense since it was easier to be a coward in cyberspace. If you knew what you were doing you could hide, at least from non-techies. Old-fashioned mail could contain fingerprints or other trace evidence.

  "It's impossible," Hollister said after reading a few. "How can anyone tell which are real threats and which just the ravings of religious lunatics?"

  "There may be key words or phrases, screen names, things that repeat, almost anything," I said, placing a hand on his arm to calm him. "Let's look together."

  ***

  After ninety minutes of poring over the mail, I was bug-eyed. Some were angry and righteous, some were outright loony, some were well-written arguments.

  "A lot of people threatened lawsuits," I commented.

  "Quite a few people wanted to take him to court after that first book. But nothing ever came of it. When word got out he was working on a follow-up, the legal posturing began all over again."

  "Most of them are just blowing smoke," I said and rustled a letter or two for emphasis. "Just people saying they'll hire a lawyer. How about the ones from actual lawyers demanding he stop his work or be sued for libel. Anything ever come of those?"

  "No. But, one of the letters comes from a lawyer connected to a firm the Archdiocese uses."

  "That so? Was Helmut concerned about that?"