by Dorien Grey
“I was just on my way to the office,” she said, the tension back in her voice. “Mr. Glick is already there. Let me give him a call to make sure he’s free, and if you’ve not heard back from me in five minutes, just come directly over to the office?”
“I’d appreciate that,” I said. “I hope to see you soon.”
*
I fidgeted around the office for about ten minutes then, not having heard otherwise from the Glicks, headed out for the ModelMen offices. The receptionist, obviously expecting me, smiled and motioned me directly to Mr. Glick’s office. I knocked, and when he said “Come in,” I did so, closing the door behind me.
Mrs. Glick had apparently not yet arrived, and Mr. Glick got up from behind his desk to come over and shake my hand.
“Iris will be here any moment,” he said. “Have a seat, please.”
I sat and then, not wanting to get into the details until Mrs. Glick arrived, asked, “How is Phil doing?”
Mr. Glick returned to his own chair and sighed.
“He left this morning right after breakfast,” he said. “He’s insisted on returning to his apartment. We both urged him to stay with us a few more days, but he said he had to start getting on with his life. Would it be an imposition to ask if you might look in on him to see that he’s all right?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll stop by later today. And if I may, I’d like to express my admiration and thanks for how kind you and Mrs. Glick have been to him. Not many employers would be nearly as caring.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hardesty,” he said, “but Mrs. Glick and I were serious when we said we consider all our models much more than employees.”
The door opened, and Mrs. Glick entered, wearing a black skirt and white blouse, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She looked very businesslike. After we exchanged greetings and she’d sat down, I got right to the point, telling them of my conversation with Lt. Richman and that the police were very close to zeroing in on ModelMen.
“I’ve evaded and eluded about as much as I can at this point,” I said. “Our only hope is in diverting as much attention elsewhere as possible. But with both Stuart Anderson and Billy directly linked to ModelMen, this won’t be easy.
“What can you tell me about Company and any other model agencies that provide escort services but don’t advertise them? Does Charter?” It occurred to me that Matt Rushmore might have switched more than his modeling talents over to his new employers.
The Glicks exchanged glances, then Mr. Glick cleared his throat and said, “Well, it isn’t really quite ethical for us to reveal what we know of other services…”
I cut him off.
“I can appreciate that,” I said, “but we’re a bit beyond ethics here if there is any hope of keeping the police from coming down on ModelMen with both feet. All I need is some basic information as to their operations.”
Mr. Glick sighed.
“Yes, you’re right, of course,” he said. “Company is quite successful, from what I understand, and considerably more broad-based than ModelMen. Like it or not, under the circumstances, we do stand out in the quality of our service, and in our discretion and protection of both our clients and our escorts.
“As for Charter, I don’t believe they provide an official service, although any model has ample opportunity to freelance his…other talents…if he so chooses.”
“We will do anything we can to help find out who did this terrible thing to Stuart Anderson and Billy,” Mrs. Glick said, “but under no circumstance can we or would we reveal our client list. I’m sure the police would love to have it, but it could have absolutely no bearing on Stuart’s or Billy’s deaths.”
“Well,” I said, “if you’ve not already done so, you might want to consider engaging a good lawyer, just in case. I assume you have an attorney?”
The Glicks exchanged glances and a small smile, and Mrs. Glick said, “Did you have anyone in mind?”
“You won’t find a better attorney than Glen O’Banyon,” I said. “I would recommend him highly.”
“I’m delighted to hear you say that,” Mr. Glick said. “Mr. O’Banyon has, in fact, been our attorney for some time now. We had a meeting with him early this morning regarding the current situation. We were delighted to learn you and he have worked together in the past, and he seemed pleased to hear we had engaged your services.”
I thought immediately of the photo of Phil and Stuart Anderson with O’Banyon and wondered if there were more to the picture than met the eye.
We were all silent for a moment, lost in our own thoughts. Then, I said, “It would be nice if he could be at dinner tomorrow night, but I know that’s probably out of the question, given his work load. I feel better just knowing he’s available if things get tough.
“So, here’s what I would suggest for the present. Tomorrow at dinner I—or you—can lay everything out to the escorts and gear them up for the fact they’re probably in for a lot of tough questions by the police. Urge them to tell us beforehand if they know anything they think the police might latch on to. If there is anything, we can pass it on to O’Banyon. That way, everyone can be prepared, and the chance for surprises can be reduced.
“Then I’ll approach Lieutenant Richman and try to arrange a swap—yours and the escorts’ total cooperation in exchange for their not demanding to see your client list. I think Richman will go along with it—he’s not one of those cops who seem to think his badge gives him the right to pass judgement on matters that don’t concern him or the case in question.”
Mr. Glick sighed again.
“Very well,” he said, “though I’m very sorry it has come to this. Of course, catching the killer takes precedence over everything, but I still cannot believe Stuart’s or Billy’s deaths could be connected to ModelMen. It has to be some incredibly tragic coincidence. That anyone we know could be capable of such acts…”
Mrs. Glick nodded in agreement.
“We can always hope that’s the case,” I said, “but whenever logic comes up against coincidence, the odds are pretty heavily on logic’s side.”
*
I left the Glicks’ shortly thereafter and returned to the office to check for messages. I was mildly relieved to find one from Glen O’Banyon’s office. I returned the call immediately and was put through to Donna, O’Banyon’s secretary.
“Mr. Hardesty,” she said, in her usual bright, efficient executive secretary voice. “Mr. O’Banyon is expecting your call, but he’s on the other line right now. Would you want to hold, or shall I have him call you?”
“I can hold for a few minutes, thanks.”
“Fine, he’ll be right with you.”
I pulled the morning paper out of my top drawer, laid it out on the desk, and idly paged through it with one hand to see if any of the stores might be having a sale on air conditioners. I didn’t get very far before I heard a click, and then O’Banyon’s voice.
“Dick!” he said. “It’s been a long time.”
“That it has.”
“I understand you’re working for the Glicks on these godawful murders. What a terrible business! I met Stuart Anderson, you know, and I understand you knew both of the victims.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I didn’t know Anderson very well, or Billy, either, really, but Billy was a real sweetheart. Neither of them deserved this. I can’t tell you how relieved I was to hear that you’re the Glicks’ attorney. This whole thing is getting messier—and stranger—by the minute.”
I then told him of the forthcoming dinner and the plan I’d laid out with the Glicks.
“Since I’m not a lawyer, I just want to be sure I don’t give these guys the wrong information on how they should react if they’re questioned.”
“Just tell them if they feel they’re being unduly pressured at any point, to give me a call. The Glicks have my emergency number. And tell them to answer every question as best they can but not to volunteer any other information.”
“I’ll do that,” I
said. “Thanks.”
“Well, I’ve got a client coming in in about two minutes, so I’d better go. Keep me posted and let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“I really appreciate your help,” I said, and meant it.
Feeling a lot more confident, I waited a moment then put a call in to Phil. He answered on the third ring.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“Okay, thanks. Strange, but okay. I just keep the door to Billy’s room closed for now. In a couple days, I’ll start packing his things up, but I’m not quite ready for that just yet.”
“I understand,” I said. “And if you’d like some help when you do…”
“That’s nice of you, Dick, but I…we’ll see.”
“I was wondering if you’d like to go for an early dinner tonight,” I said. “I don’t feel much like cooking, and I could use an excuse to go out.”
“Well, thanks, Dick, but I…”
“So, you’re going to force me to stay home and slave over a hot stove? Come on…it’ll do us both good.”
He was quiet a moment, then said, “Okay…sure. Where would you like to go?”
The one place I did not mention was Napoleon, and we settled on Calypso because of its patio.
“I’ll stop by around seven, then, okay?” I said.
“Sure. See you then.”
*
I was right, dinner out did do both of us good. We managed to avoid any mention whatsoever of ModelMen in general or Billy in particular but still found plenty to talk about. We exchanged family histories, and growing up stories, and favorite memories, and most embarrassing moments. There was even a laugh or two, and I could both see and sense Phil relaxing. He still had a long way to go, but it was a start.
*
I spent much of Friday morning going over what I’d say to the gathering at the Glicks’ dinner and how to say it. I tried to figure out ways to couch questions that would elicit the most information, realizing I was at something of a disadvantage when it came to Mark and Steve in that I’d not yet met them. And I knew that, no matter what I said or how well I said it, this would be extremely painful for Phil.
I wanted very much the chance to talk with each of the escorts individually, and in private. Perhaps I would have a chance to do that, after dinner.
I’d also promised Lt. Richman I’d get back to him, and that wasn’t going to be an easy task. I’d have to tell him about my involvement with ModelMen, and I knew damned well that I was risking the destruction of the relationship—however undefined that might be—we’d built between us. I couldn’t blame him if he felt I’d not been truthful with him, but I could counter, at least as a form of justification to myself, that I had never outright lied to him. My first loyalties were, after all, to my clients.
Reluctantly, I phoned police headquarters and asked for Lt. Richman’s extension. When he answered, I told him I had the information he wanted, and that I thought I should talk with him in person.
“That’s fine, Dick,” he said, “but there’s been a new development in the case, and I’m going to be tied up for some time with it. Let me give you a call, okay?”
“Sure,” I said, totally puzzled. “Uh, can you give me some idea what sort of new development?”
“It’s too soon to discuss, I’m afraid. But I’ll tell you what I can as soon as I can.”
“Okay. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
We exchanged goodbyes and hung up.
What in the hell’s going on? I wondered.
It was about 11:30, so I debated whether I should call downstairs to the diner for lunch and bring it back to the office or to go down and eat it there. Realizing that, other than the questionable ambiance of being in the company of Eudora and Evolla, I’d be much more comfortable eating at my desk, I called to order a ham-and-turkey club and a large Coke to go.
Of course, all the way down to the lobby and all the way back up to my office, I was thinking—and worrying—about what Richman’s new development might be. Since he hadn’t asked me to come down to headquarters—and I was mildly reassured that he had not done so—I hoped I could rule out the discovery of yet another body. Still, I wondered.
As I unlocked the door, holding the Coke in one hand, my keys in the other, and the paper bag containing the sandwich in my teeth, I heard the phone ringing. Tossing down my keys and taking the bag out of my mouth, I reached across the desk.
“Hardesty Investigations.”
“Dick, it’s Tim. I’m on my lunch break and thought I’d better call.”
“Tim, hi!” I hoped he might have some information on Richman’s new development. “What’s up?”
He sighed. “We have another body.”
Oh, shit! Why didn’t Richman tell me, or yank me down to headquarters, as usual?
I was glad I hadn’t already eaten lunch.
“Same pattern?” I asked, hoping against hope it wouldn’t be another ModelMen escort.
“Basically, yeah. No head, no hands, Dumpster…”
“Basically?” I said. “What do you mean ‘basically’?”
There was a slight pause before Tim said, “This one’s a woman.”
Chapter 8
I could swear I heard the distinct sounds of depth charges as every theory I’d been working on was instantly blown out of the water. Stuart Anderson’s and Billy’s deaths, while inconceivably brutal and tragic, were coincidences; both were the victims of some insane serial killer. ModelMen was not involved.
Iris Glick is a woman, my mind observed while kicking me squarely in the stomach.
As soon as Tim hung up, I dialed the Glicks’ home.
“Glick residence,” Johnnie Mae said.
“Mrs. Dabbs,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound as tense as I felt, “is Mrs. Glick in?”
“Yes, she is, Mr. Hardesty. I’ll get her for you.”
I released a huge rush of air from my lungs. Thank God!
When Mrs. Glick came to the phone, I told her about the third victim—and that it was a woman. She was silent a full minute then said, hesitantly, “I’m afraid I’m rather ashamed of myself, Mr. Hardesty.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
“Because some poor woman is dead, and my first reaction was one of relief.”
“I understand completely,” I said…and I did. “However, I don’t think we should alter our plans for talking with the group…” I don’t like being paranoid, but wiretapping was not an unknown practice. “…at dinner this evening. We’re not off the hook yet. And if possible, after dinner, I would like to talk with each of them separately, including Phil.”
I specifically included Phil, in part so as not to make him or the other escorts feel I was treating him any differently and in part because we had not really talked much about Billy since his death. There was the outside chance he might remember something he’d not mentioned before.
“Of course,” she said.
“I’m sure you want to contact Mr. Glick, so I’ll let you go and will see you around seven.”
“Yes…and thank you, Mr. Hardesty!”
*
I wanted to talk to Richman as soon as I could but knew I’d have to wait until news of the discovery of the latest victim was made public. I couldn’t risk putting Tim’s job in jeopardy by letting Richman know I had another source of information, and as smart as Richman was, it wouldn’t take much for him to connect the dots.
In the meantime, I had to sort carefully through the bits and pieces of facts and conjecture now scattered all over my mental landscape to see which ones I could discard. I found they all tended to go back in pretty much the same order as I’d had them before the discovery of the third victim, and I had an all-too-familiar gut-level sensation that was important.
I really hated the stupid games I played with myself. If I knew something, why the hell didn’t I tell me? But that wasn’t the way it worked, and I had to live with it.
*
Around 4:00, the phone rang.
“Hardesty Investigations.”
“Hi, Dick…Jared. I was thinking maybe you might want to go out for dinner tonight. Maybe we could call Tim and see if he wants to come along.”
Well, well, Jared, my lad, I thought. Tim must really have made an impression.
“I’d like to, Jared,” I said, “but I’ve got plans…business, unfortunately. But why don’t you call Tim? I’m sure he’d like to go.” I suspected Tim would very much like to go. Then I remembered Tim’s call. “Ah, I forgot. He called at lunch today, and it’s possible he may be having one of his late nights. Wouldn’t hurt to call and leave a message, though.”
“Yeah, I think I’ll do that,” Jared said. “Oh, and I meant to tell you. I stopped over at Aaron’s last night to see his new place. You really ought to go—if you think you’re up to playing with the big boys.”
“Which means…?” I asked, suspecting I already knew.
“You’ll find out,” he said. “But don’t worry, he won’t go too far.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So,” Jared said, “I’d better get going. Got a few more stops before the shift ends.”
“Do you have Tim’s number?”
“Yeah, I do. I’ll give him a quick call now. See ya.”
“Later,” I said, and we hung up.
*
I had just enough time to get home, take a quick—for me—shower, put on some clean clothes, and head out for the Glicks’. There were several other cars in the parking area when I arrived at 6:20, and Johnnie Mae greeted me at the door.
“They’re all out by the pool, Mr. Hardesty,” she said, “if you’d like to follow me.”
“Don’t bother, Mrs. Dabbs,” I said, “I can find my way. I know you’re busy.”
She smiled broadly. “Well, yes, I am…but then, I’m always busy.”
She led me across the foyer and pointed down a hallway behind the massive staircase not visible from the front door.
“Right that way, sir,” she said then disappeared in the general direction of the dining room.