Murder on Camac

by Joseph R. G. Demarco

  Eyes wide, body wondering why I tortured myself getting up early on a Saturday, I remembered my meeting with Clifford at Cactus Corner, then with Luke at the Fortress of Geekiness, after which I'd recruited Kent to come along to canvass for witnesses.

  I took the longest shower I could. It's a way for me to relax into the day. I try not to think about anything but the water and my body. Today that wasn't easy. Clifford's cryptic aside that the case wasn't what it appeared to be made my thoughts race.

  He knew I was working the angle that the murder was related to Brandt's work. Which still topped my list. But talking to Hollister and hearing Scanlan's threat, I knew there were other potential scenarios. I wondered which lead Clifford would endorse. According to Hollister, Clifford himself had something to hide.

  I left the apartment in plenty of time to get to the diner. On my way through the lobby I glanced at Carlos to make sure he wasn't being menaced by a giant rodent. He wasn't. Unfortunately he still had all his clothes on. The way he smiled at me, though, made me wonder if he knew what I was thinking.

  Cactus Corner was bustling when I arrived and I took a booth at the back. Broad and Lombard had been a grim intersection bordering the center of town. With the advance of what the city called the Avenue of the Arts, even that area benefited. The Avenue was Broad Street moving from City Hall to the south and lined with five or six theaters, music venues like the Academy of Music and the Kimmel, educational institutions like the University of the Arts and a high school for performing arts. With even more coming, it lived up to its name.

  Clifford sauntered in exactly at ten, wearing the brightest orange sweater I'd ever seen along with a green jeff-cap. He resembled a walking citrus.

  Waving to him, I wondered what in hell he was thinking when he dressed that morning. He smiled broadly when he saw me. Making his way toward me, several people greeted him and he responded extravagantly. Lots of the customers seemed to know him. There was something familiar about Clifford but I realized quickly that he was a type. A type I'd known since I came out: the campy uncle who knew everything and everyone. A good-time Charlie with a purposely bizarre sense of style meant to make people notice and remember. It was difficult imagining him working for the Archdiocese.

  He took my hand when I stood to meet him.

  "Mr. Fontana," he said, looking me up and down. "So nice to meet you. You're the very picture of a Private Eye. In fact, you're better. Not grungy or decadent."

  "I'm kinda disappointed. That I don't look decadent, I mean." I felt his eyes scanning me. "Thanks for meeting." I sat back down and motioned the waitress over.

  "My pleasure. More fun for me to talk away from the office. So formal and stuffy there."

  "Scrambled eggs and a short stack, Angie," I said to the waitress.

  "What'll you have, gorgeous?" She asked Clifford. "The usual?"

  "Um, oh..." Clifford eyed me as if I were the Food Police. "No, hon, how about black coffee and some toast."

  "Whatever you say, doll." Angie stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. She glanced at me and smirked. She probably figured, as I did, that he was trying to impress me with his Spartan habits. But Sparta wasn't exactly the place you thought of when you looked at him.

  "How long have you worked for the Archdiocese?" I asked.

  "Oh... on and off about thirty years, I suppose. In one position or another." He winked when he said that but I pretended not to notice.

  "Right now you're..."

  "I help out in the PR department and I circulate from office to office doing whatever they need done. They aren't swimming in money for staff. I do what I can."

  "I guess Brandt's book caused quite a stir there? You probably heard about it everywhere you went."

  "A stir? You could call it that. An open wound is more like it," he said as if he'd just sucked a lemon. "You don't produce work like that and expect accolades. The man hurt a lot of people."

  "But he hadn't named names. At least not in that book."

  "He came darned close. He implicated supposed 'friends' of the late Pope, higher ups in the Vatican hierarchy, officials of the Church. It wouldn't take much to put two and two together and come up with the answers he hinted at."

  "And those answers were...?" I coaxed.

  "Naughty, naughty. I don't tell tales out of school."

  "Who seemed most upset?" I didn't think he'd answer but I had to try. The guy was cagey despite dressing like a clown.

  "Now Mr. Fontana, even if I knew, would you expect me to implicate innocent people?" He paused and looked me in the eye. "Especially when I know there are others who had even better reasons to want Brandt out of the way."

  "So you said on the phone. Any chance you're gonna let me in on your little secret?"

  "Far be it from me to name names, detective." Clifford rolled his eyes. "I'm not that kind of guy."

  "What kind are you, Mr. Clifford? The kind who lets a man die for writing a book? Or, the kind who likes to play games in order to obstruct justice?"

  "I'm just a person who knows what he knows. And I know Brandt had been fooling around with someone else's man. That didn't sit too well with the offended party. Didn't sit too well at all."

  "That's it? No names, no nothing?" Even gossip columnists gave hints. "I'll need more than that. You could be talking about someone halfway around the world."

  "No. Just around the block, so to speak."

  "Meaning?"

  "You do like to press, don't you? This isn't mere gossip. That I'll tell you. It's a very real... or was a very real situation. Brandt came between two people who loved each other. Of course, Brandt didn't care one whit about that. He was all about his own pleasure and gratification. Whether it was the pleasure of destroying good people with false accusations or the pleasures of the flesh which he took with anyone he pleased. Didn't matter to him."

  "Did you dress him down with that same speech when you and Brandt argued on the street not long ago? Was it satisfying calling him a liar and worse in public?" I stared at him but there was little reaction. "You seem angrier than anyone else I've spoken to, Mr. Clifford. Considerably more incensed over Brandt."

  "What? You'll put me on your little list of suspects?"

  "You sure seem to have some personal grudge."

  "Nonsense."

  "That little dust up on the street a while ago, it wasn't because you were angry?"

  "I ran into Brandt downtown. No law against going shopping, is there?" He paused, mostly for effect I guessed. "I was coming out of Mikey Leto's and Brandt was there, window shopping."

  "So you took the opportunity to give him a piece of your mind?"

  "Something like that. We'd met before through his friend Hollister. But Brandt pretended not to recognize me."

  "That when you let him have it?"

  "I asked him why he would write a book of harmful lies and he turned on me. Like a dog. Said he remembered me and knew I worked up close with all the big boys. He said I should know why he wrote what he did because I saw what they did every day. I told him he'd hurt a lot of people with his distortions. That only made him angrier and he implied that because I worked for the Archdiocese, I was responsible for covering up the truth. He said I worked for a hypocrite and I was one, too. He actually said he cared about the Church. That the Vatican had hurt it more than his books ever could. And I'll never forget what he said next, never. He said, 'People like you rob the Church of any power to do good.' That's about when I lost it and screamed at him, told him he was a liar and a destroyer. Which is what he is... was."

  "Seems like he was dedicated to his work."

  "Dedicated to destroying the Church is more like it."

  "Who did he mean when he said you work for a hypocrite? Who do you work for exactly?"

  "I told you, I circulate" Clifford's eyes shifted down and to the left. It wasn't difficult to tell he was evading the truth. "I don't work for anybody in particular. I'm not important. Just a cog in the works. I respect the
Church, I'm not tearing it down like Brandt. Despicable. That's what he was. A despicable, narrow-minded man bent on hurting a lot of people for his own glory."

  "Sounds like you've got a pretty big axe to grind. Maybe I should look into you for his murder."

  "I would never have anything to do with violence. I may have despised the man. But I would never..."

  "Then who? Your Opus Dei boarder?"

  "What? What are you..."

  "Your boarder. Maybe he was behind this."

  "John?"

  "Yeah, John." I said, not really knowing the guy's name but Clifford had slipped and I intended to make him go further. "Maybe John is a violent zealot who organized this whole thing. Maybe he even did it himself."

  "John Navarro is a man of God, a peaceful soul. He would never..." Clifford stopped himself. "Forget him. He's not the one you should be looking for. I told you..."

  "Well, who is this phantom couple you seem to think is involved?"

  "Now, now. I just wanted to point you in the right direction."

  "Then give me a map. Give me names."

  "I can't be expected..."

  "How about I give you a name? How's Franny hit you?" I knew from Hollister that Clifford wanted to keep his past buried. According to Hollister, the days he was known as Franny, were times he'd rather put behind him. I'd easily gotten the dirt on his past. It wasn't pretty.

  "Never heard of him."

  "I know people who know Franny well. Pictures and everything. Pretty hot stuff."

  "Who... you couldn't know..."

  "But I do."

  "You're as bad as Brandt. An ugly man with an ugly soul."

  "Franny can stay buried, but I need more on this phantom couple."

  Clifford squirmed and gripped his butter knife. I knew he wanted to cut my heart out with it.

  "Well....?"

  "One works for the... Archdiocese."

  "At the Race Street building?"

  "Yes."

  "Who?" I glared at him. "Who?!"

  "Scanlan. Works for Wren. Scanlan can be dangerous." He didn't bother waiting for his breakfast. He snapped his cap back onto his head and rushed out, not even stopping to speak to his astonished friends. I didn't get to ask about his Opus Dei boarder.

  I got more than a few angry stares from Clifford's friends who'd obviously heard the heated exchange we'd had. But Angie smiled when she brought my food and that's what counted.

  ***

  After breakfast and a stop at the office, I made my way to meet Luke at the Fortress of Geekiness where Nina and her team worked the electronic fields of cyberspace with sophisticated computers.

  Nina was incredibly savvy. With shrewdness and savings, she'd managed to buy property in Olde City, part of Philly's historic district. A large, serene, red-brick, three story house became her home and headquarters. From web design to research to helping with investigations and just about anything else you could do or want done with cutting edge technology, Nina and her gang could do it.

  At the moment, Nina's company, InfoMonkeys, was composed of Nina, Hallie, and Deena. If they couldn't find what you were after, it couldn't be found.

  Luke turned the corner just as I arrived from the opposite direction.

  "You're looking good this morning," I said. "The new haircut is interesting."

  "You don't like it?" Luke said. He enjoyed experimenting with his appearance. But since he was beautiful, everything looked good on him.

  "Didn't say that. It looks good. You look suave. Worldly." I smiled. "It emphasizes your face, makes your eyes appear darker and deeper. I like it."

  "Who can believe you? You're only interested in one thing."

  "You ought to work at Quantico. They need more behavioral analysis guys like you." I gave him a hug. "Got the papers?"

  "Right here." He patted the messenger bag which he always carried. Even I didn't know exactly what he kept in that bag.

  "Well, let's gain entrance to the Fortress and see what Nina says."

  Luke pressed the bell and I waved to the hidden, to most everyone else, camera.

  There was a metallic whisper of locks pulling into themselves, of a bolt being thrown, then the door swung open. Luke and I stepped into the vestibule and the door gently shut itself behind us. We went through another door which unlocked only after the first was secured and they had a chance to see exactly who was in the entry.

  The first floor consisted of an elaborate, high tech array of computers, lots of sleek flat monitors, a whole room devoted to the latest in surface computing, and an experimental 3-D monitor. I was sure in six months there'd be even newer cutting-edge technology. Nina never let cyber-grass grow under her feet.

  I saw Nina at the surface computer, shifting pictures and maps, arranging information in patterns that would make it easier to find what she was looking for. Neither Hallie nor Deena were around.

  "Right on time," Nina said without turning around. "What've you got for me?"

  "Where's everybody else?" Luke asked.

  "Hallie and Deena don't work on Saturdays unless we're on deadline. I'm here because I live upstairs and you guys need me. Not to mention Marco promised me some extras if I take this job."

  "Oh, he did?" Luke smiled.

  "A spa experience with the works," I said.

  "So." Nina turned toward us. "What's the deal? Got the laptop?"

  "Not yet. We've got to find it."

  "You lost it?"

  "Nope," Luke said handing her the accordion folder. "Brandt probably hid it before he was killed. Nobody has a clue."

  "Not yet," I said. "But, there's a stack of e-mail I'm hoping you can track for us."

  "You mean find out who wrote them?"

  "The all-mighty Nina can do anything. That case last month? I thought it was impossible, but you did it."

  "The Twining case? Ha! Did that in my sleep."

  "That's what I mean. You're good. The best."

  "Save the flattery for your pretty boys. It's lost on me." She eyed Luke and suppressed a smile.

  "But you can do this. Right?"

  "Finding out who wrote e-mails is another story, Marco. I can get you to a machine maybe."

  "Take a look at some and see what you think." Luke pulled some papers out of the folder.

  "What've we got?" Nina riffled through the papers. "Weird names. Templar1098@yahoo, VaticanMilitia@gmail, SecularVengeance@gmail, Ciliceguy@gmail, MensEcclesiae@hotmail. What is all this?"

  "Threats, warnings, hate mail. Brandt inspired it all with his book."

  "These sound like religious nuts." Nina was contemptuous.

  "Probably," I said.

  "These people dangerous?"

  "I won't lie, Nina. One of these people could've killed Brandt or ordered the killing."

  "Cool! It'll be like that other case, then." Nina grinned. Her Aztec serpent tattoo seemed to smile.

  "That doesn't bother you?" Luke asked.

  "It's exciting." Nina's brown eyes flashed.

  "All righty then," I said, not wanting to know just how much of a risk freak Nina was. "What do you think you can do with this?"

  "There's some stuff I can try. And I see gmail accounts here." Nina flipped the pages again.

  "And that means...?"

  "That means I might, just might, be able to get some inside information."

  "Should I ask how?"

  "No. It's not criminal. I know a guy. Cerberus. We used to hang together online. Hackers have a code. And this is a murder case, right? Information wants to be free. I help free it. So, lemme see what I can do while you find that laptop."

  ***

  Luke lived nearby in a condo on a high floor; whenever I was there it seemed as if we were in the middle of the clouds and far away from everything. We'd be meeting Kent later to canvass the gayborhood for witnesses. But that was later.

  "Lunch?" Luke asked. "Hungry for leftovers?"

  "You're no leftover, mister." I looked at him and the glance we excha
nged said lunch would come a distant second to other things.

  The elevator, a high tech affair with recessed lighting and a small LCD TV broadcasting CNN, zipped us to his penthouse apartment. The housecleaning business had been good to him.

  His condo was sleek and modern. He believed in the minimal look. Everything neat, tidy, and in its place. It smelled like clean linen. Of course, that was easy when you had a team of guys doing your housework. He'd offered to have some of his guys clean my place free but Luke was the only one I trusted to roam around my apartment poking into the intimate corners of my life and work. Not that he hired untrustworthy guys, it was my own skittishness and natural lack of trust.

  I threw my jacket over a chair and flopped onto the couch. Luke didn't waste time with niceties, instead he ripped off his clothes and straddled me as I savored the beauty of his body and the elegance of his movements. Then he placed his lips on mine and the rest of the world was blotted out.

  ***

  "I had three doors slammed in my face. Seven people told me to mind my own business and three guys said they never saw a thing but gave me their numbers," Kent said. "I might use those numbers. So it wasn't a total loss."

  "Not for you," I said. Canvassing for witnesses was never fun. But sometimes, like Kent, you get lucky.

  "I have numbers for five people who say they'd be willing to talk." Luke handed me a page from his book. "I wouldn't count on some of them to be telling the truth."

  "Why's that?"

  "One of them invited me in and wanted to get cozy before he'd say anything."

  "Did you? Get cozy, I mean."

  "I don't kiss and tell. Did you have any luck?"

  "One guy says he might've seen something. A few dollars helped him remember. But he said nothing new."

  "A washout, huh?" Kent asked.

  "Sometimes it's like that."

  "I thought this would be more exciting," Kent commented. "Like on TV."

  "I'd say getting three numbers is pretty exciting," Luke commented.