by Dorien Grey
Chris had said he and Max had been to a party at Tait’s right after casting was finalized. I asked him if he knew where Tait’s bedroom was.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s at the opposite end of the living room from the dining room. There’s a short hall with a guest bath at the end of it, and right next to it is Tait’s bedroom. I snuck a peek at it on my way back from the bathroom. It’s huge!”
Hmm. That sure doesn’t sound like the room Chuck described, I thought.
Gee, my voice-in-charge-of-sarcasm chimed in, d’ you ’spose maybe there’s more than one bedroom in the place?
“What’s next to the library, do you know?” I asked. “On the side away from the conservatory.”
“A guest bedroom, I think,” he said. “It must be at least a four-bedroom apartment.”
I tried picturing the library again. No mirror.
Well there wouldn’t be, Sherlock, the same mind-voice said. You’d be able to look right into the bedroom.
Right. So no mirror. But there was a large portrait on the adjoining wall, as I remembered—another thing to check out.
A wave of total frustration swept over me.
Two-way mirrors. Masters and slaves. Fascinating. And just what in hell did they have to do with Rod Pearce’s death?
*
With a very great deal of effort I managed to get my mind-voices to shut up—or at least tone it down—so I could pull myself back to Jonathan and Chris, both of whom, I realized, were very much aware that I’d been mentally absent from the room.
“Get it solved?” Jonathan asked with a smile.
“No,” I sighed.
“You will,” Chris said reassuringly.
We concentrated on what if anything we might want to do for the evening, and Chris suggested Jonathan might enjoy seeing Battleship Potemkin if I wouldn’t mind seeing it again.
“Good idea,” I said, contemplating drowning my sorrows in a jumbo box of popcorn and a giant soda. “Would you like to see it?” I asked Jonathan.
“Sure.”
“I’ll call the theater to see when the next show starts,” Chris said, getting up and moving to the phone book.
He returned a minute or two later. “Twenty minutes,” he said. “But Ivan the Terrible is first. Do we want to see them both?”
“Sure!” Jonathan repeated.
Not being sure how long each film was, Chris wrote a note for Max to let him know where we were in case he got home first, and we left.
*
The movie was exactly what I needed. We all three sat there, shoveling popcorn into our faces and slurping soda, totally transfixed. Battleship Potemkin was made in 1925 and showed its age in the sometimes-grainy images. But Sergei Eisenstein, the legendary director, was an unchallenged master storyteller. The scene of the Tsar’s troops slaughtering civilians on the Odessa steps, with the single image of an unattended baby carriage bouncing down the steps, is probably one of the most famous film scenes of all time.
“That really happened?” Jonathan asked as we left the theater. When we assured him it had, he shook his head. “Wow,” he said, “I’ve got to read up on that!”
We got home about ten minutes after Max did and sat around talking for about half an hour or so. Jonathan was uncharacteristically quiet—apparently the films had really gotten to him.
“I’m going to ask Jared all about Russian history when we get home,” he said as we climbed into bed and assumed our customary “spoon” position. “I mean, I knew there was the revolution and all that, but I really didn’t know the people had had such a rough time for all those years. I feel so bad for them.”
I wrapped my arm around him tighter and kissed him on the back of the neck. “You’re a good man, Jonathan Quinlan,” I said.
“Thanks.”
Within five minutes, his breathing told me he was asleep.
*
Call Gene Morrison.
Now?
When you wake up.
Why?
To see if Gene knows whether Rod Pearce might have been into S&M in any way. Jeezus! Enough already with the S&M/Master/slave crap!
You’re the one who’s been dwelling on it. There must be a reason.
If there is, I don’t have a clue what it might be.
Just an intuition, huh?
Well…no. Maybe…Shit, I don’t know.
But there’s something.
Okay, something.
*
Tuesday. Four more days! Move, Hardesty, move!
“Max,” I said as we sat having our morning coffee—Chris was in the shower—“What do you know about Rod’s sex life? I mean, considering all the guys he bedded just from the Whitman, I’d have thought you might have heard something from some of them.”
Max grinned. “Yeah, I heard a couple of stories, some direct, some through the grapevine. A versatile guy, Rod, from what I gather.”
“How so?”
“Well, take Russ, the prop man,” Max said. “He’s a real sweetheart, which is why what Rod did to him was really shitty.”
“What did he do to him?” Jonathan asked, a concerned look on his face. I immediately felt a pang because it was likely that Jonathan was remembering something from his hustler past that he didn’t want to remember.
Max quickly corrected himself. “No, no, he didn’t do anything to him other than to break the poor kid’s heart. You can ask Chris. Russ sort of cried on his shoulder after Rod dumped him. Rod really led him on. Russ kept telling Chris how gentle Rod was, and how considerate. He brought him flowers, played him like a violin until Russ gave in—which of course took about two days. Then it was ‘It’s been fun… See ya around.’
“Owen Smith, the redhead who plays one of the Board and Mr. Ashton in the Titanic section, he’s a wild man from what I understand. Anything goes and the more the merrier. Apparently Rod, Owen, Owen’s roommate, and the roommate’s boyfriend had a great time together, I was told—by Owen. Rod didn’t have to try to land Owen. Owen threw himself into the boat, as did a couple of the other guys. But Rod seemed to go out of his way with guys like Russ and Joe.”
I looked at him. “So you think Rod might have gone along for a little innocent S&M?”
Max moved his head back quickly and knit his brows. “What do you mean? You think Rod and Tait had…? No way! Tait and Gene are too good friends for that!”
“Then maybe Rod and Keith?”
Now it was Jonathan’s turn to look surprised. “Oh, gosh, Dick, I can’t imagine that,” he said. “I mean, I don’t know Keith hardly at all, but I really think he does love Tait, and…”
“Not everybody is monogamous, Jonathan,” Max said.
“Well, they should be!” Jonathan replied firmly.
So. Rod has sex with Keith, Tait finds out about it, and…voila! The connection!
I realized I was neatly placing the cart about half a mile in front of the horse, but it was something to think about. Like I needed something else to think about?
“I want to give Gene a call, if you don’t mind,” I said.
“Feel free,” Chris said.
I got the phone, excused myself, and carried it into the kitchen, which is about as far as the cord would reach. I dialed Morrison’s number, and he picked up on the third ring.
“Gene Morrison.”
“Gene, it’s Dick. Do you have a moment?”
“Well, Dick, I was just about to call a cab. I’m meeting Tait for breakfast.”
“Ah, well, then, I won’t keep you,” I said.
“No, that’s fine. I can spare a few minutes. I assume it is important.”
“It is. I have a couple of rather personal questions I really hope you don’t mind me asking.”
“Go ahead. If I don’t want to answer, I won’t.”
Okay. Here we go.
“Was Rod ever into any…uh…bondage and discipline or S&M that you know of?”
“Certainly not with me,” he replied calmly, “though I knew hi
s ‘interests’ were wide-ranging, from what he’d told me of his earlier life and from what I heard rumored. I understand he was willing to go along with whatever his…partner…might want.”
I’ll take that as a “yes.”
“Thank you. This next question may be even more awkward, but I have a reason for asking. I know you and Tait don’t discuss the intimate details of your private lives, but what do you know about his sexual preferences?”
There was a very slight pause. “Other than men, you mean? I honestly don’t know. He keeps that part of his life very private. He…” a much longer pause “…what are you implying, Dick? That Tait might…that Rod might…that’s ridiculous! Totally out of the question! Tait is one of my closest friends. He would never betray our friendship like that!”
Obviously I’d struck a very raw nerve.
“I’m sorry, Gene, but I really had to ask.”
The tension and anger were clear in his voice. “Why?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say right now, but believe me, I would not have asked without good reason.”
“Tait hired you!” he said. “I’m frankly surprised and disappointed that you could even consider that he might be involved in Rod’s death, or that he and Rod…”
I didn’t know if I could say anything at this point to calm him down.
“I’m not turning on Tait, I assure you,” I said, hoping I sounded more definite than I felt, “but I would not be doing my job if I didn’t explore every possible angle of the case.”
He sighed and when he spoke his voice was calmer, but still a bit cool. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I really must call a cab. I understand your position, of course, and out of respect for you and for Tait I will not tell him of our conversation.”
“I very much appreciate that, Gene. Thank you.”
Goodbye, Suspect #1 Gene, Hello Suspect #1 Tait!
Get serious! several of my mind-voices snorted in unison. Can you seriously believe that Tait would be stupid enough to kill Rod and then hire you to narrow it down to him? Forget that other bullshit you gave yourself a while back about him just wanting to be sure he’d gotten away with it. Nobody is that dumb.
I returned to the living room, determined to call Tait later and set up another meeting. If that didn’t give me anything more to go on than I had so far, I was seriously considering just telling Tait I give up, and let him go to the police or not go to the police as he saw fit.
What a fucked-up vacation this had turned into! I was ignoring my partner, ignoring our friends, unable to think about anything but this damned case. And it was my own damned fault! Why did I get involved in the first place? Shit!
*
“Oh-oh,” Jonathan said as I entered the room. “What’s wrong?”
I tried to smile, but it probably came across more as a grimace. “Nothing, really,” I said. “Just the same thing that’s been wrong with this case since I took it. I’m thoroughly convinced that someone at the Whitman killed Rod Pearce, but I’ve eliminated everyone but the one person I don’t believe could have done it.”
“I guess you can’t solve ’em all,” Chris said.
“Well, I want to solve them all, damn it. That’s why I’m a private investigator.” I realized I was sounding like a petulant teenager, and decided to shut up. “Sorry,” I said, and walked over and sat down beside Jonathan, who put his arm around my shoulder.
“Better,” I said.
“So,” Max said, changing the subject, “we’ve been talking about maybe running up to the Cloisters today—unless you’ve got to meet with Gene or Tait.”
“No,” I said, sighing. “I do want to set up another meeting with Tait, though, and try to get to the bottom of all this shit. If it doesn’t produce something tangible I can deal with in the next three days, I’ve had it.”
“You’d quit?” Jonathan asked, surprised.
“Yep.”
“But then he wouldn’t have to pay you!” Jonathan said. “He only wanted you to work on it while we were here. Do you really think you should quit now?”
The lad had a very good point there, I realized.
I shrugged. “We’ll see how the next meeting goes,” I said.
CHAPTER 10
Breakfast at the jumbo-servings place, where Jonathan did yeoman service to another order of steak and eggs, and about a quarter of my unfinished corned beef hash, scrambled eggs, and hash browns. Max, Chris, and I watched him in amazement.
“You want the rest of my bacon?” Chris asked.
Jonathan wiped his mouth with his napkin and grinned.
“No, thanks. As Grandpa Quinlan used to say, ‘my sufficiency has been suffancified.’”
“I like this place,” he said as we stepped onto the sidewalk and headed toward the subway.
*
The day consisted of the Cloisters—at the far northern end of Manhattan—Lincoln Center, a pleasant lunch, and constant thoughts of what I was going to say to Tait when we got together. Obviously, not only had I not gotten over my frustration, but it was intensified by the fact that I was able to cram nearly an entire day of our vacation into the first eighteen words of one sentence without really enjoying three-quarters of it. Jonathan, Max, and Chris had a great time wandering around the Cloisters, a museum devoted to medieval art, artifacts, and architecture and its grounds. I remember Jonathan jokingly asking if the knights carried a can opener for emergency exits from their suits of armor.
Just confront him, I told myself. Lay it all on the table.
Oh, sure. “Tait, did you kill Rod for screwing around with Keith?” Simple. “Oh, and if so, why did you bother to hire me in the first place?”
Lunch at a restaurant in the Cloisters was pretty good as far as museum restaurants go, and for a while there I almost pulled myself back into reality and enjoyed talking and laughing with the guys.
But it didn’t last.
You know what would be helpful? If you knew for sure that Rod was into Master/slave games, and if so, how far, and if Masters go around killing people who try to have sex with their slaves, and…
Lincoln Center was beautiful, what little I remember having seen of it. What about Keith? I know that if somebody made me stand behind a two-way mirror and watch Jonathan having sex with another guy…yeah, like I’d let that happen…. I’d be more than a little miffed. Maybe Keith…
…Yeah, kill Chuck. But he didn’t, and it’s Rod who’s dead.
And that’s what Master/slave is all about—the Master making the slave do whatever the Master wants. And the slave’s supposed to love the humiliation.
He is? Chapter and verse, please?
Shit!
Jared would know.
“Know what?” Jonathan asked.
“Excuse me?” I said, startled back to the moment.
“You said Jared would know. Know what?” Jonathan repeated.
“Oh,” I said, thoroughly embarrassed and hoping I wasn’t blushing. “I’m sorry. I guess I was thinking out loud.”
“We were wondering where you’ve been most of the day,” Max said with a grin.
I sighed. “Yeah…I’m really sorry, guys. But I’ve been trying to figure out just what in hell might be going on, and when it comes to Master/slave relationships, I don’t know enough about them to even hazard a guess whether I might be wrong or right in my assumptions. It occurred to me that Jared would know.”
“Jared’s into S&M?” Chris asked.
“I’m not sure. Not much that I’m aware of,” I said. “But he likes leather and he has a favorite leather bar he hangs out in. He’d know a hell a lot more about the subject than I do. I’ll give him a call tonight. I’d like to talk to him before I meet with Tait again.”
There were three sets of raised eyebrows and questioning looks, but no one said anything.
“I’ll explain later,” I said.
*
We returned to the apartment at around 4:30, and since everyone knew I was eager to talk to Jared,
Chris and Jonathan suggested we just spend the evening at home. Again, I felt guilty for letting my job interfere with our vacation, but appreciated the offer. We stopped at the deli on the way to pick up something for dinner. We ended up with four huge sub sandwiches—eight inchers for Chris, Max, and me, and a twelve-incher for Jonathan, plus a bucket of potato salad. Spotting a huge five-gallon jar of kosher dill pickles, we added four of them to our order. As the clerk removed the large pickles from the jar with a pair of tongs, Jonathan looked from the pickles to me and grinned.
“Not a word!” I said.
“You’re no fun,” he replied.
I put in a call to Jared as soon as we walked into the apartment. I knew he was probably still teaching, but left a message on his machine asking him to call me as soon as he could.
I really like a good sub sandwich but they are sometimes, as these were, a tad messy in the actual eating. They almost required a hinged jaw to get the whole thickness of the sandwich in in one bite. Plus that demonstration of the laws of physics wherein when you take a bite out of one end, everything seems to want to come out of the other. Ah, well, all part of the fun.
Max left for the theater at around 6:45, and Jonathan and Chris were panning the TV guide for any potential nuggets of entertainment gold when the phone rang.
Chris hurried to answer. “Oh, hi, Jared!” he said, waving me over. “No, it’s Chris. How have you been?… Great!… Yeah, Max is fine. He just left for the theater… Yeah, it looks like it’s a real hit. Okay… Here’s Dick.” He handed the phone to me, and I walked it into the kitchen. As I left the living room, Jonathan said: “Let me say ‘hi’ to him before you hang up, okay?”
“Jared! Hi,” I said, glad he’d called so soon.