by Dorien Grey
“Okay, Lieutenant, here’s what I know…”
*
I don’t wear a suit of shining armor, I don’t ride a white horse, and I’m sure as hell not one of those detective novel PIs who can look at a cigarette butt and tell you what size shirt the smoker wore and what college he’d gone to. I may be short on brilliant deductive reasoning, but I’ve been pretty lucky at following my hunches and gut reactions.
Finding killers, I can handle. Apprehending them is a job for the police, but if I was in a position to provide information to enable them to do so, I was obligated to provide it.
Whether or not Richman followed everything I told him, or understood it, or agreed with it, I couldn’t say, but he did listen to every word without comment or objection.
“…which brings us to right here, right now,” I said. “There are still a few things I want to find out, and I hope you might be able to give me a little time to do it.”
I knew by now that, much as I might want to think Richman was sitting there because of my irresistible charm and sexual appeal, he was Captain Offermann’s de facto legman, and was there with Offermann’s full knowledge and approval.
“I can’t promise anything,” he said, “but I’ll see what I can do.”
“That’s all I can ask.”
He glanced at his watch.
“Uh-oh,” he said, slapping his palms on his knees and leaning forward to get up, “I’m late for dinner. My wife’s going to be really pissed, not that she’s not used to it by now.”
As I was getting up from the couch, the phone rang.
“Go ahead and get it,” he said, offering me his hand for our parting handshake. “I can let myself out. But keep me posted.”
“I will. For sure” I said, picking up the receiver as he closed the door behind him. “Dick Hardesty.”
“Did you get my message?”
I recognized the voice immediately.
“Sorry, Matt, I had a visitor the minute I walked in the door, and I haven’t had a chance to check the machine. How did it go with the interview?”
“I fucking knew it!”
“Knew what?” I asked, although I didn’t have to.
“He’s setting me up! I told you that’s what he was doing, and I was right. That fucking bastard!”
“Hold on a second,” I said. “Tell me everything that went on. Who interviewed you? What did they want to know?”
“Know?” His bitterness was clearly evident. “They seem to know everything; they mostly told. Two detectives—Carpenter and Couch, I think their names were—took me into one of those interrogation rooms with that fucking one-way window. I don’t know who the hell all was outside there watching me.
“They told me how I’d gotten fired from ModelMen and why, my specialty with clients, my temper. They even had my police file from back home, when I beat up that sonofabitch boyfriend of my ex-wife’s.
“And a lot of it was stuff only Gary could have told them—stuff from our Marine days, the Rolex. That I’d had the hots for Billy, even that I hate to wear condoms, fer chrissakes! What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Why? Phil might have mentioned it, but I was betting on Gary: and if that was the case, why would he have said anything unless he knew the autopsy would show that Billy’d been fucked without a condom?
I forced myself to put that thought on hold and got back to the subject.
“Did you go to the Male Call last night, to look for the guy you were with the night Billy died?” I asked
“Yeah,” he said, his voice still echoing his anger and frustration. “Stood there for two fucking hours hoping he’d come in. He wasn’t there. The cops think I just made him up so I’d have an alibi. I’m heading back there tonight just as soon as I calm down a little. I’ve got to find him. He can prove I couldn’t have killed Anderson.”
“Well, obviously, the cops didn’t think they had enough to arrest you, or they would have,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. I wondered if he knew they’d arrested Gary but decided not to mention it unless he did.
“They’re just waiting,” he said. “Gary’ll come up with something. You watch.”
I could certainly empathize with him, but…
“Matt,” I said, “I still can’t figure out why Gary would turn on you like that. So, you broke up. Too bad, but Gary definitely doesn’t seem like the type—and I hope you’ll excuse me here if I hit some sort of nerve—to be vindictive over the end of a relationship.”
Matt’s short laugh didn’t have a hint of humor in it.
“A ‘relationship?’ I was the only one who ever thought there was a relationship. Gary never gave a shit about me. He conned me from day one. I was nothing to him but a fucking go-for, and the minute I stood up to him he does this.”
The thought occurred to me this all sounded just a bit melodramatic, but that might have been partly because I had never adjusted to the huge gulf between the ultra-butch facade Matt presented to the world and the all-too vulnerable guy inside.
“You never did say what he wanted you to do that you wouldn’t,” I said.
“Nothing,” he said abruptly. “Never mind. It’s not important.”
I was pretty certain that it sure as hell was important.
“I think it must have been. I can’t imag—”
“Drop it,” he said. “Okay? Just drop it.” The tone of his voice made it clear he meant it.
“Okay.” Which, of course, I had no intention of doing. I’d find out one way or the other, somehow.
There was a rather awkward pause, and then Matt said, “Well, I gotta go down to the Male Call and look for that guy. You just watch yourself around Gary, you hear me? And don’t believe a word he says. Especially about me.”
We hung up, and I once again found myself staring at the receiver in my hand, wondering for the umpteenth time exactly what was going on.
*
A couple of the things in my conversation with Lt. Richman were idly circling around in the back of my mind. What were they?
Ah, yes, Gary’s alibi for the night Anderson was killed. He’d been having dinner with Iris and didn’t leave until around midnight. Is there a flaw in this picture? Would Iris Glick have lied to cover for her son? Unlikely, but even if she did, Mrs. Dabbs would be able to verify what time Gary left.
Then I remembered—Sunday was Johnnie Mae’s day off. And Mr. Glick was out of town. That meant only Gary and Iris were in the house.
What else about Gary and that night? He was there when Stuart Anderson called asking for Phil. I’d naturally assumed Iris had taken the call, but what if she hadn’t? And Gary had called Matt around 9:30, just about the same time Anderson called.
Gary was setting Matt up!
My mind raced off on its own scenario. Gary answers Anderson’s call and talks him into letting him come over instead of Phil. Where was Iris? Who knows…putting the dishes away? Getting more coffee from the kitchen?
Gary then calls Matt to make sure he’s home alone and won’t have an alibi. Matt tells him he’s going to bed early. Gary makes some excuse to Iris and leaves, meets Anderson somewhere, rides to the hotel in Anderson’s car, and then…
Nice story. Only one small question: Why? Did Gary mean to kill Anderson? If he didn’t, why would he have bothered to call Matt? And if he did intend to kill him…again, why? Just to set Matt up for a murder? Come on, Hardesty! What in hell reason would he have to do that? Because Matt wouldn’t do something he wanted him to do? A little unlikely, I’d think.
Obviously, the first thing to do would be to have another little talk with Iris Glick. I’d have to wait until morning—Gary might or might not still be in jail, and in either case, the Glicks would be preoccupied. It could wait.
As for Matt and his alibi, I didn’t know whether he actually had one or if he had, indeed, made it up. But if he was telling the truth and could locate the guy, and the alibi stood up,
that would pretty much get him off the hook and nail Gary as the killer.
I decided to call Jared on the outside chance he might have gone to the Male Call that night. I dialed his number and got his machine. I left a message for him to call me as soon as he could.
Still working on outside chances, I gave Tim a call; it was remotely possible Jared was over there. The phone rang three times, and I was about to hang up when I heard the receiver being lifted and a rather breathless “Hello?”
“Tim. Hi, it’s Dick. Jared isn’t by any chance over there, is he?”
“No. I haven’t talked to him in a couple of days, actually. I heard the phone ringing just as I was coming in the door. I had an early…date.”
“Phil?” I asked, taking a not-so-wild guess.
“Yeah,” Tim said, just a little hesitantly. “He has to meet a client at ten, so we went out for an early dinner. We, uh…”
He didn’t have to say anything else.
“I get the picture,” I said.
“Well,” he added hastily, “we’re not exactly registering china patterns at Marston’s, but we do seem to be…uh, getting along okay.”
“Just take it as it comes,” I said, truly delighted to think of the two of them getting together. “But I’ve got my fingers crossed for you…for both of you.”
“Thanks, Dick. Really. This is all new to me, as you well know. It’s new to Phil, too, I guess. But so far, so good.”
He didn’t ask about the case—probably too preoccupied thinking about Phil, and I didn’t want to bring it up at the moment, so I didn’t. We talked randomly for a minute or two more then hung up with the usual promises to get together soon.
I watched the late news, waiting to hear from Jared, and when I didn’t, I went to bed.
*
It had been a restless night, but I got to the office to find a message consisting of three words: “Warman Park, twelve-thirty.”
Here we go, I thought.
Well, if I had to meet Richman at Warman Park at 12:30, I’d damned well better try to talk with Iris Glick before that, so I called immediately. Mrs. Dabbs answered the phone and then put me through to a very tired-sounding Iris.
“You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Hardesty, but it was a very long and difficult night. I’m afraid I didn’t get much sleep, if any.”
“That’s understandable, Mrs. Glick,” I said. “Was Gary released?”
“Yes, thank heavens. Mr. O’Banyon was able to use his influence to expedite the process, and he was released around eleven. A terrible night!”
“I’m sure,” I said, “and I’m sorry you had to go through it. Is Gary there with you now?” I sincerely hoped he wasn’t.
“No, he insisted on returning to his apartment.”
Good!
“And Mr. Glick?”
“He had a business meeting at nine. I told him to cancel it—he is the chairman of the board, after all—but he insisted.”
Better!
“Well, I know this is not a good time, but something has come up, and it’s really imperative that I speak with you again for a few minutes. I won’t take much of your time, I promise.”
There was a long pause. “I…well, all right. I don’t mean to appear rude, Mr. Hardesty, but I’m quite upset and very tired. I hope you understand.”
“Completely,” I said. “I’ll see you in about twenty minutes, then.”
“Very well. Goodbye.”
I picked up my coffee—I hadn’t even taken the lid off yet—and left the office, locking the door behind me.
*
Mrs. Dabbs showed me into the vast living room, where Iris Glick sat on one of the sofas in a very expensive housecoat, drinking coffee. She looked tired, although she had obviously taken the time to put on her makeup and pull her hair sharply back into a ponytail.
“Would you like some coffee, Mr. Hardesty?” Mrs. Dabbs asked as she stood aside to let me enter.
“No, thank you, Mrs. Dabbs,” I said. “I won’t be staying very long.”
She smiled, nodded, turned, and moved off toward the back of the house.
Mrs. Glick didn’t even try to get up to greet me, so I walked over, as she set her coffee cup on the saucer on the coffee table, and leaned forward to take her extended hand. She then patted the sofa cushion beside her, and I moved around the coffee table to sit down.
“What do you want to know, Mr. Hardesty,” she asked, her voice weary.
“Tell me about the night Stuart Anderson was killed,” I said. “You were having dinner with Gary. Was there any particular reason?”
She picked up her cup and settled back onto the sofa.
“Not really. Mr. Glick was out of town on business, and Gary had been…well, not at all himself since he and Matt…since he had moved into his new apartment. I thought a quiet evening with just the two of us would be nice.”
“Sunday is Mrs. Dabbs’s day off, isn’t it?” I asked.
She looked at me quickly then away.
“Yes, but I’m a very good cook, as is Gary. We made a little adventure out of it.”
“And when Stuart Anderson called, who answered the phone?”
“Why, I did, of course” she said. “We have a private line for clients, and no one other than Mr. Glick or myself is allowed to answer it. Stuart said he’d finished his business earlier than he’d anticipated―from the music in the background I gathered he was calling from the restaurant―and wanted to know if Phil might be available. I told him Phil was occupied and asked if he might like to spend time with one of our other escorts. He said no, he could wait until Phil was available, and I scheduled him for the following evening at eight, their usual time.
“We chatted for a few during which he asked about Mr. Glick and I mentioned that Gary and I had just finished dinner. As you know, Gary had spent some time with Stuart when he first became a client, and Stuart always asked about him. When I said Gary was here, Stuart asked to say hello, so I put Gary on the phone.”
“And did you hear anything of their conversation?” I asked.
She shook her head, leaning slightly forward to return her cup to its saucer on the coffee table.
“No. Gary reminded me, as he took the phone, that the crème brûlée needed attention, so I went into the kitchen. When I returned just a few moments later, Gary was on the phone with Matt. I didn’t hear their conversation, either, but when he hung up, I could tell Gary was very upset.”
“What do you mean by upset?” I asked.
She leaned forward to adjust the coffee cup on its saucer and wiped at an imaginary crumb on the table with the edge of her hand. She did not look at me.
“Gary is always very much in control of his emotions,” she said. “When he’s upset, he becomes withdrawn and sullen. I could tell he was definitely upset about something.”
“And he left here at what time?”
“As I told the police, it was nearly midnight.”
I was quiet for a moment, looking at her, and she wouldn’t meet my eyes. I hoped her lie hadn’t been quite so obvious to the police.
I gave her a small smile.
“I know what you told the police, Mrs. Glick,” I said. “But what time did he really leave? I’m on your side, remember.”
She carefully smoothed out the lap of her housecoat before answering.
“I really don’t remember,” she said. “Really. We had our dessert, but he hardly said a word. Finally, he excused himself and said he had to spend some time alone. As I’ve said, he doesn’t show his emotions readily, but I know he was very distressed by his…parting…with Matt. So, I understood his wanting to leave, and I didn’t look at the clock.”
“So, when you heard of Stuart Anderson’s death…?” I prompted.
“Both Gary and I were heartsick!” she said. “We realized immediately it would be very likely the police would find out about ModelMen. Gary had been the last person to speak with Stuart; the police’s assumption he might be responsible was
axiomatic. That Gary’s disagreement with Matt, which happened after he spoke with Stuart, was the only reason he left earlier than he’d intended would mean nothing to the police. And since I hadn’t looked at the clock when Gary left, I can’t say for sure it wasn’t nearly the time I told them.”
She fell silent, and I joined her in it for a few minutes, realizing she wasn’t going to like my next question.
“Is it at all possible Mr. Anderson might have asked Gary to take Phil’s place for the night?”
She sat upright as though she’d been slapped.
“Impossible!” she said. “I asked Stuart if he wanted another escort, and he said no. If he’d wanted Gary’s company, he certainly would have asked for it. And Gary would never make arrangements with a client without clearing it through me. Never.”
Unless he knew you’d never find out about it from Anderson, I thought.
Seeing how upset I’d made her, I decided it was time for a diplomatic withdrawal.
“Well, thank you for your time and honesty, Mrs. Glick. I really didn’t mean to upset you, but I’m sure you understand that, in order for us to help Gary, we can’t afford to be taken by surprise by something the police may come up with.”
She nodded then rose with me and walked me to the door of the living room.
“Gary did not do this, Mr. Hardesty,” she said emphatically. “I know my son.”
Ya think? my mind asked, rather sadly.
Chapter 15
I parked in the underground garage at Warman Park at 12:15 and emerged to find a thick cloud cover had rolled in and it looked like it might pour at any second. We hadn’t made any contingency plans for meeting anywhere else, and I didn’t have a raincoat or umbrella with me, so all I could do was hope for the best. The usual picnickers and book readers and fountain sitters had more or less disappeared in anticipation of the rain.
Sure enough, it started to sprinkle, and I moved to the cover of a large elm just opposite where we customarily met. I could hear the rain hitting the leaves above me, so I stood with my back against the trunk debating whether I should stay or make a run for the parking garage entrance about 200 feet away. I was just opting for the latter when I saw a familiar form come sprinting down the walkway toward the fountain, followed by a curtain of heavier rain.