Crimes on Latimer: From the Early Cases of Marco Fontana

by DeMarco, Joseph R. G.

  Anton never forgot Marsha’s kindness and neither did I. He still looked to her for guidance.

  “C’mon, Anton. Marsha will be fine. You’ll see,” I coaxed.

  “You don’t really know that, do you?” Anton’s blond hair spilled across his forehead and he brushed it back. The expression on his beautiful face was grim. His jaw was tense, his blue eyes filled with an icy sadness. “Something’s not right. I can’t shake the feeling.”

  “Marsha knows how to take care of herself. You know that better than anyone, Anton. Everything’s gonna be fine.” Maybe Anton’s intuition was contagious, or maybe I just had the same feeling that something was off. I had to admit that even I didn’t believe what I’d said. I also knew, from past experience, that when Anton had a sense something was wrong, he was usually right.

  “You’re just trying to make me feel better. When I get a feeling—”

  “Listen, doll,” Hedda interrupted. “Maybe you’re right, but let’s stay upbeat. Know what I mean?” She fluttered her enormous hands in the air and snapped her fingers. “Marsha is not about worry and fretting. She’s a diva, and divas are all about survival.”

  “Hedda’s right. This is probably all a big misunderstanding.” Luke added.

  “Yeah, it’s probably all nothing.” Anton paused. “I’m just getti—oof!”

  A short, wiry guy barreled into Anton throwing him to the ground. As he fell, the guy tried snatching his camera but Anton had a tight grip and the guy couldn’t get it.

  I grabbed at the would-be thief, catching a piece of his sleeve, but he slipped out of my fingers and kept moving.

  Hedda swung her handbag and clipped his head which made him yelp. “Come back here!” Hedda screeched.

  “Stop!” Luke yelled and started chasing after him. But the dark-haired guy slipped into the crowd. Roughly pushing people out of his way, he didn’t look back.

  “Come on back, Luke. It’s no use,” I shouted. Then I turned to help Anton who was trying to get to a sitting position.

  People gathered around, gawking and murmuring.

  I knelt by Anton’s side and Hedda peered down at both of us. I saw that Anton still had a steel grip on the camera. He held his other hand to his head as if he had a headache.

  “Is… will he be all right?” Hedda’s voice was low.

  “Son of a bitch!” Anton shook his head and swore. His chiseled masculine face seemed incongruously vulnerable.

  “You okay, Anton?” I stroked his cheek, stubble rough under my hand.

  “I-I’m… okay. Damn! What the hell happened?” As the shock drained away, anger took its place and Anton looked confused. “Did you see that guy? He tried to—”

  “Looks like he wanted your camera. Main thing is you’re all right. Aren’t you?” I studied his face.

  The anger brought the blood back to his cheeks.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Luke asked.

  “Looks like he’s good,” Hedda said in a low voice.

  A small knot of people still hovered around us. I heard them cluck, whisper, and whimper their dismay as they fed vicariously off the moment.

  “I’m okay. Let me up.” Anton wobbled to his feet. “I’m all right.” Shrugging us away, he brushed off his clothing with his free hand. He hadn’t let go of his camcorder for a second. “What did he want with my camera?”

  “If I know my cameras, that’s the most expensive model produced. I’d snatch it myself. Maybe he could have, um, I don’t know, wanted it because it was expensive?” Luke said.

  “All right. I get the picture.”

  “Let’s just hope the camera still works and you can get the video off it.” I said as we made our way through the onlookers. I got the impression they were disappointed that nothing more serious had happened.

  “Did any of you see him? Was there anything distinctive about his face?”

  “It happened too fast, Anton,” Luke said.

  “I did notice he had a rather nice ass,” Hedda commented. “I kinda noticed that, uh, as I tried to hit him… you know, as he… ran away. You can’t help noticing those details. At least I can’t. Well, it was a nice rear end. You can’t shoot a girl for noticing.”

  That got a laugh out of Anton, and I knew then he was all right.

  During the long hike from the Village to our hotel in midtown, Hedda regaled us with tales of Pride parades she’d been in over the years. The walk was pleasant enough until I noticed a car tailing us. An old, gray Chrysler. I watched as the car appeared and disappeared around corners, never losing sight of us as we headed to midtown.

  This cast a different light on things. Maybe Anton’s instincts about Marsha were better than I thought. Something wasn’t right. Me not believing in coincidences, I had to think maybe this was connected to what had happened to Anton, too. But that made no sense to me. I decided to keep my suspicions about the car to myself until I could get a better handle on things.

  ***

  The Hilton’s lobby was cool and quiet. Glass and brass mixed with golden oak along with plush carpets the color of melted butter and pink lemonade, gave the place an expensive appearance. It had the unmistakable smell of hotel, which is recognizable but indefinable.

  The staff were obviously used to Pride Day and the characters it brought to town. No one batted an eye when gigantic Hedda marched into the lobby behind us panting and out of breath.

  “That was like… torture. How can you walk so far, so fast? I could hardly keep up. I need water. I need to sit. I need—”

  “To get out of those platform shoes, Hedda. You’ll feel better,” I said.

  “It’s no wonder you had trouble keeping up.” Luke chuckled.

  “Well, let’s get up to your room, then, gorgeous. I need a lie down.”

  We found the right set of elevators and waited. Other hotel guests wandered up to us as the elevator arrived, but when they saw Hedda enter, they allowed us to have the car all to ourselves. Anton said nothing and no one else made a sound as we were whisked up to the twentieth floor.

  “That way.” Luke pointed when we left the elevator. He’s got a nose for directions. Not that I’m bad at finding my way, but sometimes it’s like Luke has a GPS system in his head. He led us down one hall, then turned onto another and we were there.

  I swiped my key card through the lock, and the green light pulsed. Hedda rushed in behind me and, sighing noisily, flopped onto one of the beds in the main room. Anton took to the couch and sat in silence.

  “Anybody want anything?” Luke asked.

  Before anyone could answer, the phone rang.

  “I’ll get it. Could be Olga. She was researching something for me.”

  “Marco?” It was Barkley and he sounded exhausted.

  “Hey! All through with the finishing touches?”

  “There won’t be any finishing touches. You haven’t heard, then?”

  “Heard what? Just got back to the hotel to get ready for your party.”

  “The party’s canceled. That’s why I’m calling.”

  “What’s wrong, Barkley? You sound awful.”

  “Marsha is dead. Some kind of bizarre accident. I still can’t believe I’m even saying this.”

  “Marsha! You can’t be serious.” I almost lost my grip on the receiver. I noticed Anton come to attention and stare at me. Hedda sat up on the bed she’d commandeered, eyes wide with alarm. Luke sat next to Hedda, his eyes on me the whole while.

  “It’s unreal. Every time I say it, the words don’t make any sense, Marco. But it’s true, Marsha is dead. There was apparently a terrible accident somewhere close to the parade route. There must have been so much confusion and noise out there. I couldn’t get to the parade this year, I was too busy here.” He paused and I could hear him breathing, trying to maintain control.

  “It was chaotic like always,” I said.

  “But you must’ve heard something. Didn’t anyone make a fuss? Didn’t you hear sirens or anything? It’s been on the n
ews a while now. Everyone here is in shock.”

  “And you’re sure it’s Marsha? You’re sure she’s dead?” I glanced at Anton when I said that and saw a pained expression on his face. “There’s no mis—”

  “There’s no mistake, Marco. She’s dead.” He cut me off. “Someone identified the remains.”

  “Oh,” was all I could say as I watched Anton’s face. I motioned him over to me but he shook his head. He balled his fists and turned to stare out the window.

  Hedda moved to my side. “It’s true? She’s… she’s…” The rest of the sentence was slurred in tears and a guttural sound of grief. I reached out a hand and squeezed her shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry, Barkley. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Thanks, Marco. We’ve got things covered. Marsha always talked about wanting to see you again, about coming down to Philly some time. But she was so busy with the restaurant and all.” Barkley sounded defeated. “Now she’ll…” Barkley lost it then and started crying softly into the phone.”

  Marsha was the funniest, most generous drag queen I’d ever met. Her stand up routine was famous and her costumes were copied by drag queens across the country. She’d had cameo roles in several major movies and on a few TV sitcoms. She’d parlayed that success into opening a swanky nightclub/restaurant on the upper West Side – Marsha’s. The simple name said it all. There was nothing she’d ever dreamed about so much as owning her own club. It was all she lived for and everything any drag queen could want. What a lot of people might want. Her image on a billboard in Times Square. Her picture popping up in ads everywhere. Her name appearing with regularity in the entertainment columns of newspapers, magazines, and blogs. She even had a blog of her own, “Marshapalooza,” which got more hits than she could count. She’d hit her stride and found herself more popular than she’d been when she was plain old Ray Stone from New Hope. Like Hedda had said, she was living the dream.

  “I’m so sorry, Barkley,” I repeated. I looked around at everyone, Luke, Anton, Hedda, all of them looked to me as if they were lost and adrift.

  “I’ll have a memorial for Marsha in a while when all this settles and I can think again,” Barkley said. “There wasn’t any family, you know. All she had were her friends.”

  Anton looked over at me, his eyes filled with questions, an air of hopelessness about him. Hedda sat down beside him and they consoled one another.

  “Does anyone know how it happened?” I asked. Especially after what Anton had said about her disappearing, I needed more information. I guess it was the P.I. side of me kicking in. I felt I should be doing something about this. I kept an eye on Anton as he placed his hands over his face. Hedda put an arm around his shoulders.

  “No one seems to know exactly what happened.” Barkley continued. “They said she was surrounded by friends all of them parading with the Dragettes. Somehow, despite everyone there, she wandered off and disappeared. The next thing anyone knew, she was found beneath the wheels of a tractor trailer a few blocks away. It’s horrible.”

  “Makes no sense. Why would she leave the parade? She lived for Pride Day every year. And every detail of her routine was planned.” My mind raced. “There’s got to be a reason.”

  “What difference would it make knowing why she left the parade?”

  “Could make a big difference. Like maybe it wasn’t an accident? Maybe someone—”

  “That’s crazy! Who’d want to do anything to her? You’re not making sense.”

  “Marsha went missing for a reason, Barkley. That might be what got her killed. We find that reason and we may be able to understand. It won’t change anything but…”

  “You’re right, of course, Marco. Knowing might help. I just can’t imagine anyone would… I’m sorry I was so brusque.” He sounded tired and defeated.

  “That’s okay, Barkley. I understand. Let me help out. Maybe we can at least find out why she took a detour and wandered off.”

  “I keep seeing her as she was just this morning. I helped her dress for the parade. She wore that pure white, sequined gown she liked so much. Skin tight. Marsha might’ve been full-figured but she was shapely. And she was happy.” His voice choked but he regained control. “I laughed with her when she chose the wig for today. That big-hair platinum blonde wig, the one she always used for special occasions. Heels, jewelry, all the rest. None of it was missing when they found her, that’s what they said on the news. Not even her purse or the money she had. She was just dead, crushed by the truck. Horribly mangled.” He exhaled and it sounded as if all the life had gone out of him.

  “Give me a little while and let me see what I can come up with.” The fact that nothing was missing, no valuables were taken could mean it was an accident. But I never took anything at face value. “One more thing.”

  “Sure,” Barkley said.

  “Do you believe it was really an accident? Was there anyone bothering Marsha lately? Was she ever depressed?”

  “If you’re trying to ask if Marsha was suicidal, forget it. If this wasn’t an accident, then it would have to be murder. Suicide was not in Marsha’s repertoire. She was one of the most stable people I know,” Barkley said.

  “I hadda ask. You understand.”

  “I know, Marco. You’re not the only one who’s asked about that. I guess because it’s all too impossible to believe anything else.”

  “I’ll call if I come up with anything.”

  Hedda stood and motioned me over to sit with Anton. I placed an arm around his shoulder and he laid his head against my chest. His muscular body felt tense. He was more vulnerable than I’d ever seen him. Usually tough and in control, Anton obviously needed to allow himself this moment of weakness. The guys in my stripper troupe looked to Anton for direction, guidance, and comfort. He never failed to solve their problems and take care of every situation that threatened to get out of hand. Anton was the definition of stability.

  Now he was the one needing someone to lean on and it felt good holding him, letting him rely on me, and allowing my arms to support him.

  “You don’t think it was an accident, do you?” he asked without moving to look at me. His voice was tight, controlled.

  “We’ve gotta consider every possibility.” I hugged him closer but he gently pulled himself into a sitting position.

  There were times Anton didn’t want comfort, didn’t need to be coddled. At those times he needed to be with himself, to think, and consider his options. He stood, drew a finger softly across my lips and walked into the bedroom shutting the door behind him.

  Luke, who’d been watching intently from across the room, came to sit with me. He’d only known Marsha briefly but they’d gotten along well. Luke peered at me with his mournful black eyes and let out a deep sigh.

  “What happens now?”

  “That depends.” I stroked his cheek. “According to Barkley, the police think it’s an accident. My guess is they won’t do much now that they’ve made that determination. They’ve got too many other cases to close. So, unless something else turns up, the case is closed for them.”

  “But you told Barkley you had other ideas. Like what exactly?” Luke was good in situations like this. He was able to think clearly and see patterns others might miss.

  “Like maybe we can find a clue as to why Marsha left the parade.”

  “How? She’s dead.” Luke looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Magic? Or, have you acquired the speaking-to-the-dead thing?”

  “None of the above, we have Anton and his camcorder. He videoed Marsha and the Dragettes parading down the street. It’s possible he caught something on video which can give us an idea why Marsha left the parade. That would only be one piece of the puzzle. But it’d be a start.”

  “You’re good, Marco. I wouldn’t have thought of the video recordings so quickly. It’s scary the way you can think so well under pressure,” Luke said.

  “Not as scary as some things, Luke.” I hugged him closer, not wanting to let go. Times lik
e this, when someone as solid and seemingly permanent as Marsha disappears from the scene, the fragility of life looms over everything. I wanted to hold tight to everyone and everything I love.

  When I heard Anton open the bedroom door, I looked up. He seemed better now but still forlorn. He came over to the couch where we sat, a sad smile on his face.

  “I could use some of that, too.” He opened his arms for a group hug. Luke and I stood and moved into his embrace. Anton’s muscles were still tense. It must’ve taken a great effort for him to hold himself together.

  “Feeling any better?” I asked.

  “I heard what you said, Marco, about the video, I mean.” He gently pulled out of the hug and looked at us. “It’s a terrific idea. I took plenty of footage of Marsha, even if she was in the background most of the time.” He paused and sighed a deep, distraught sound. “I was just with her and it was like old times. She was so alive. You’ll see when you look at that video.”

  “Let’s see what you managed to get.” I snatched his camcorder from the table. “Luke, you think we can hook the camera to the TV?”

  “I don’t have any of the cables or other stuff with me,” Anton said. “I didn’t think we’d be using the video to investig—” Anton stopped himself. “I didn’t think we’d need any of that.”

  “This model has a tiny screen that flips out. We could use that,” offered Luke.

  “I don’t think we’ll be able to see enough detail that way. Besides, all three of us need to watch at the same time if we’re going to catch everything. We need a bigger screen.” There were lots of people I knew in New York but only one of them was likely to have what we needed. Canny Milforn, the force behind a successful series of gay guidebooks, loved high-tech equipment. “I think I know someone who can help,” I said. “I’ll give him a call.”

  “If he’s gay, he’ll probably be at the parade.” Anton asked.

  “He used to go every year, but something happened a few years back and he’s refused to attend ever since. He’s never revealed what happened and I know better than to ask. In any event, his OCD keeps him from getting caught in large crowds.”