by Dorien Grey
“I stood it as long as I could…until I was sixteen. I got a job as a waitress at a truck stop on the interstate about five miles south of town, and one day I just asked one of the truckers for a ride, and that was that. I couldn’t take Gary. I knew my parents would look after him, and that he’d be much better off with them.”
We drank our coffee in silence for a moment. I sensed it wasn’t necessary for me to say anything, and that she’d get on with her story in due time.
Finally, setting her cup and saucer on the tray, she again settled back on the settee and continued.
“I was sixteen, pretty, and though I’d never finished high school, I wasn’t stupid. I ended up in Las Vegas, where I lied about my age and got a job in a casino. I worked hard, saved my money, took a correspondence course to get my high school diploma, then started taking courses at CCSN.” She gestured toward my still-half-full coffee cup. “More coffee?”
“No, thanks,” I said, not wanting to distract her.
She gave a fleeting little smile then continued her story.
“A little more than three years ago, there was a knock at my door.” She paused, and her voice quivered ever so slightly as she said, “and I opened it to see this absolutely beautiful young man standing there. I had no idea who he was, until he said, ‘I’m Gary.’” She looked away, then turned her head slightly and wiped at her eyes quickly with one hand.
“How had he found you?” I asked, not because I didn’t think she was going to tell me but just to give her a moment to compose herself.
She took a long, slow inhale, squared her shoulders almost imperceptibly, and took up her story.
“One of the truckers I’d known when I worked at the truck stop had happened to see me in a show I was doing. By that time, I was pretty much out of the show scene but had been filling in as a last-minute replacement for one of the girls who’d gotten ill. Anyway, how he ever managed to recognize me out of those dozens of other girls onstage I have no idea, but when he passed through Nebraska, he told everyone at the truck stop, and somehow the word got to Gary, and he came looking for me.”
“You’d not been in contact in all those years?”
She shook her head. “No. Not once. There wasn’t a day I didn’t think about him, and wonder how he was and what he was doing, but I figured I had hurt him enough by leaving. I didn’t want to remind him of it. And I’d managed to almost convince myself that maybe he didn’t remember me, or didn’t care.
“But here he was. He had no job, so I insisted he move in with me. I’d started an informal school for showgirls and others who wanted to improve themselves and their social skills. Gary began telling people we were brother and sister rather than try to explain our closeness in age. I got him a job selling insurance with a…friend…who was an executive at an insurance company. Gary had worked in insurance back home both before and after he got out of the service. He’d become one of their top salesmen.”
Given Gary’s looks and personality, that was hardly surprising.
“And when did you meet Mr. Glick?” I asked
She poured herself another cup of coffee, and I let her warm mine up before she continued.
“It was shortly after Gary arrived.”
“And when did Matt enter the picture?”
“It was just about the time Gary took the job with the insurance company. He and Gary had kept in close contact since their marine days, but it was a month or two after I met Mr. Glick that Matt came to Las Vegas. He and Gary shared an apartment.”
I wasn’t quite sure how to ask the next question so decided to just ask it.
“Is that when you found out Gary was bisexual?”
She took a long sip of her coffee and replaced it on the saucer before replying.
“No, that was when I met Mr. Glick.”
Well, of course! I thought. Pieces were falling into place with the velocity and impact of very large hailstones. I’ll bet anything Gary hustled Glick! And then, when he found out Glick was both rich and bi, he introduced him to his “sister”! Jeezus!
But where did Matt fit in to all this?
Patience, Hardesty, patience!
“Did Gary’s being bisexual surprise you?”
She gave me an enigmatic Mona Lisa smile and shook her head.
“Not at all. Oh, a bit at first, perhaps, but only because he was sleeping with just about every chorus girl on the strip. It just hadn’t occurred to me that he might also be sleeping with the chorus boys.”
Well, that little corner of the puzzle was fairly well filled in. Now to Matt.
“So, then, Matt showed up,” I prompted.
“Yes. My apartment wasn’t big enough for three, so Gary and Matt got a place together. It was quite obvious that they were…very devoted to one another.”
“What sort of work did Matt do?”
“He got a job in security at one of the…rowdier…off-the-strip clubs.”
“He was a bouncer, then,” I said.
She nodded.
“You mentioned that they were…very devoted to one another. You mean you thought they were lovers?”
Mrs. Glick looked at me for a moment, as though she’d expected the question but still didn’t know quite how to respond to it.
“I don’t…I don’t really know. Neither Gary nor Matt ever brought it up, so all I have are assumptions. I did sense a…bonding…that seemed very strong. Matt and Gary are very much alike in many ways, but I always had the impression that Matt…well…almost idolized Gary.
“I know that sounds very strange considering they both are strong, confident, very…well, masculine…and don’t express their inner feelings too openly. But I’m quite good at sensing things in people, and I sensed that, while he never said anything, Matt felt a little stronger about the relationship than Gary did.”
I took the last by-now-cool swallow of coffee, shook my head when she gestured toward the coffee pot, and set the cup and saucer on the coffee table.
“How so?” I asked, leaning back into the settee.
Mrs. Glick repeated my motion with her own cup and saucer, looking at them rather than me as she said, “I really don’t know how to put it. Gary, for example, is Gary, through and through. Somehow, I’ve always had the feeling that’s not the case with Matt. He’s strong and secure on the outside, but I feel that, deep inside, he’s quite another person. He uses his exterior as more a protective shell of some sort, protecting him from what, I have no idea. And of course, it’s easy to understand how Matt could become so attached to Gary—he’s a natural-born leader.”
She turned toward me again and looked me steadily in the eye.
“I do assume, Mr. Hardesty, that our conversation will remain private between us, and that Mr. Glick need know nothing…of what we’ve discussed.”
I nodded. “Of course,” I said. “And I have only one more question. Again, I apologize for my bluntness, but I am rather curious as to why you never told your husband about your true relationship to Gary.”
She sighed heavily then shook her head slowly.
“It’s easier to tell a lie than untell it,” she said. “Gary had…met…Mr. Glick, whose wife had recently died, and thought it might help him get over his grief if he were to meet someone new. Mr. Glick, incidentally, was completely open with me about his sexual orientation but assured me that he preferred the…stability…of a heterosexual marriage. Gary introduced me to him as his sister.
“Later, I learned Mr. Glick’s first wife had been unable to have children, and he mentioned to me that he did not want any at this point in his life. So, I never told him Gary was my son. We’ve never discussed it since.”
“And how soon after you left Las Vegas and moved here did Gary…and Matt…follow?”
She thought a moment before answering.
“Almost immediately. Gary said that, now we’d found one another, he didn’t want us to be that far apart again.”
Uh-huh, I thought. Something told me there migh
t be a bit more to it than that.
“And did Gary continue selling insurance?” I asked.
Mrs. Glick shook her head. “He’s still getting commissions on his policy sales from Las Vegas; my husband was instrumental in introducing Gary to many of his wealthy friends. It was shortly after we arrived here that the idea for ModelMen was formed, so he never felt the need to go back to it. With his modeling and the escort service, he does quite well.”
I thought it was about time for me to leave, but as I started to get up, I had one of my little intimations-of-stupidity thoughts. (You ask: What does that mean? The phrase “intimations of immortality” is a realization/reminder of the brevity of life. This is my way of saying I realize I am pretty stupid at times.)
“You know, Mrs. Glick,” I said, “it suddenly occurred to me that I don’t even know Gary’s last name, or the last names of any of the other escorts, for that matter, other than Phil’s. I’ve never really had a need to know, but it might come in handy at some point, and so would their phone numbers, while I’m thinking of it.”
She smiled. “Gary’s last name is Bancroft, my maiden name. Aaron’s is Aimsley, Steve’s is Thomas, and Mark’s is Neese. I have their phone numbers in the den.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “I really should be leaving.”
We got up, and I followed her across the foyer and into the study. She moved quickly to the desk, opened a top drawer, and extracted a leather-bound address book. It was clear she was super-efficient, probably a very shrewd businesswoman.
When she’d finished copying the information, she smoothly closed and returned the address book to its drawer, neatly folded the page of names and addresses in half, creased it with a rapid swipe of thumb and index finger, and handed me the folded paper with a smile.
“Here you are,” she said brightly, although I still felt like an idiot for having to have asked for them in the first place.
I smiled my thanks and once again followed her after she arced out from behind the desk and moved past me into the foyer.
She reached the massive double door before I did and opened the left side with just the slightest twist of her hand.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Hardesty,” she said. “I know I can trust your discretion.”
“Of course you can,” I said. “And I very much appreciate your cooperation.”
I was, of course, aware we were once again doing our little etiquette pas de deux as, I’m certain, was she, but she seemed to take pleasure in it, and it gave me much-needed practice in the common civil graces.
*
I didn’t have any trouble picturing Matt as a bouncer in “one of the rowdier” Las Vegas clubs. He was somebody you wouldn’t want to mess with, but I don’t think I would ever have pegged Gary as an insurance salesman. Not sure why.
I was still going over the points of my conversation with Iris Glick when I walked into the office the next morning to find another call from Lt. Richman.
Jeezus! my mind said, he’s spending more time with me than he spends with his wife.
Yeah, you wish! another part replied.
I returned the call immediately—I was getting to feel as though I were an unpaid member of the force. Well, as long as I didn’t in any way compromise my clients’ position, I could justify it.
“Lieutenant Richman,” the familiar voice said.
“Lieutenant, Dick returning your call.”
“Glad you did,” he said. “Thanks. Captain Offermann has asked me to sit in on his meeting with O’Banyon and the Glicks at nine-thirty, and we’ll begin interviewing the…escorts…this afternoon. You know all of them, right? Spent some time with them?”
Not quite sure where he was headed, I replied, “Yes, I’ve met them all, and I’ve talked to each one of them about what they might know, but…”
“Anyone we should be paying particular attention to?”
I thought about that one for a while before answering. I was, after all, working for the Glicks and not for the police department. Gary stood out as the leading candidate for primary suspect, but I still couldn’t—and wouldn’t—point the finger at him with any degree of certainty until I knew more.
“Not really, Lieutenant,” I said. I wasn’t about to mention Matt; I felt I was already walking enough of an ethical tightrope as it was. This was an investigation into ModelMen, its owners, and its escorts, and they had to be my only concern. If the police found out about Matt, that was fine, but they’d have to do it on their own.
“Hmm,” Richman said, and I sensed he was aware of my position but had just given it a shot; and I couldn’t fault him for that. “Okay. Just checking.”
While I had him on the phone, I thought I might take a shot of my own.
“Anything at all new on the pros…on Laurie Travers?” I asked.
“We have a few leads, yes. One of the girls saw her get into a car the night she was killed. We’re tracking that down.”
“You have a description of the car?”
“Fancy sports car—silver.”
Chapter 12
Oh, shit! Well, there went the ball game! While Gary’s Porsche was not the only silver sports car in the city, the “coincidence” of his having one, added to all the other ModelMen links, almost guaranteed it wouldn’t take long before the cops zeroed in on him. Who was it said coincidence only goes so far? I didn’t like the thought, but it was starting to look like Gary might be the killer.
And you had sex with him, you stupid shit!
Look, I did it. I can’t undo it. I even enjoyed it. Now shut up and let me think!
I tried. I hadn’t said anything to Richman about Gary’s new silver Porsche. There were lots of silver sports cars out there, after all. Lots of them.
So, let the cops take it from here, the rational part of my mind counseled. Good advice, I knew, while at the same time realizing that, like a lot of good advice, I wouldn’t take it. If Gary was guilty, I had to find out for sure on my own, which, in itself, could be not only tricky but possibly downright dangerous. But there was still the very good chance I was jumping to conclusions. There was still an awful lot I didn’t know and wanted to—had to—know first.
But what if Gary was the killer? How could I confront him? Not alone, that’s for sure. Not even I would be that stupid. I hoped.
Ahead of the game, Hardesty, my mind said. Way ahead! Slow down. We’re way too far from any confrontation to start worrying about it now.
My mind was right, of course. Maybe get Gary and Matt together, privately…in my office, say. I’d never seen the two of them together, and maybe some of my other questions about their relationship might be resolved at the same time. I didn’t want to let Richman feel I was going behind his back again, but no point in mentioning it until I’d made the arrangements.
“Well, thanks for the information, Lieutenant,” I said, hoping he hadn’t noticed that I’d sort of wandered off there for a second.
“So, what have you got for me?” he asked.
If you only knew, Lieutenant! I thought.
“Nothing specific at the moment,” I said, about half-truthfully, “but I’ve got an idea or two I’ll have to mull over for a while before acting on. I’ll keep you posted, I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he said then paused. “And keep in mind we’re dealing with a sicko here. Don’t go trying anything stupid.”
“I won’t.”
There was another slight pause, which said very clearly he didn’t believe me for a second, followed by, “I’ll hold you to that, too. Well, it’s time for me to meet Captain Offermann. The Glicks and O’Banyon will be here any time now.”
We exchanged goodbyes and hung up.
*
It did pretty much seem like the case had been taken completely out of my hands, now. The police were slow, and they were a little dense at times, but they certainly were not stupid. They’d put the pieces together in short order.
As I said, I still found it a
lmost impossible to think of Gary as being a murderer. Murderers are people you don’t know—some badly lit, sullen face with a two-day beard stubble looking out at you from a Wanted poster or a mug shot. Not a beautiful photographer’s model with sea-green eyes and a natural smile. Not right. Not right, and not fair.
Welcome to reality, Hardesty.
I looked at my watch: it was just after 10:00 a.m. The Glicks were still undoubtedly meeting with Offermann and Richman and God knows whom else. I wanted very much to talk to Glen O’Banyon, but he was in the meeting, too. Since he was representing the Glicks, ModelMen and, by extension, all the escorts, I felt I could talk openly to him under the laws of privilege.
I put in a call to his office and told Donna that it was imperative I speak to him as soon as he could possibly do so. I was curious how Glicks’ interview had gone, of course, but I also wanted to see if I might have set myself up for a possible obstruction of justice charge, unlikely as that might be, for not telling Richman immediately about Gary’s Porsche.
God knows I couldn’t say anything to the Glicks, or to anyone else. And there really was the possibility that I was way off base on this one. Richman hadn’t said a word about its being a Porsche, or even a foreign car. Just a silver sports car. But Gary knew Anderson, and Gary knew Billy, and Gary was openly bisexual….
I suddenly remembered that, in one of my first talks with the Glicks, they’d said they did routine criminal background checks on all their escorts. Now I wondered if that policy might have come along after they started up, and that it therefore might not have included Gary or Matt. On the other hand, Arnold Glick was a shrewd businessman, and I didn’t think he’d have let Gary’s being related to his wife keep him from doing a check. I made a point to ask them as soon as I had a chance.
*
Einstein was right—time is relative, and an hour can be an eternity when you’re waiting for something. I was sure it must have been at least midnight when the phone finally rang, but the sun was still up, and my watch said it was a few minutes short of noon.