by Dorien Grey
He saw me, motioned toward the garage entrance, and kept running. I joined him, and we hit the doorway just as the rain became a downpour.
“Good timing,” I said as we stood behind the heavy glass doors and watched the machine-gunned raindrops ricocheting off the sidewalk. It showed no signs of being merely a passing shower, so I said, “You want to come down to my car? We can talk there, and I can give you a ride back to headquarters when we’re done.”
“Sure,” he said, and we turned and went down the stairs.
He was slightly in front of me, and I had a chance to see him from, literally, a different angle than usual. He was in civvies, and I sure liked the way he moved.
Oh, fer chrissakes, Hardesty! my mind snapped. He’s straight! Get used to it!
We found my car, and being the gentleman that I am, I opened his side first then moved around to the driver’s side as he leaned across the seat to unlatch the lock from inside.
“So,” I said when we’d settled in, “what’s new?”
“We’re going to arrest Matt Rushmore.” he said.
“For…?” I asked, thinking Didn’t we just play this game with Gary?
“For the murders of Stuart Anderson, Billy Steiner, and Laurie Travers.”
“Based on what?”
Richman moved around so he could better face me, one shoulder resting against the door, the other against the back of his seat.
“Based on his interview, his having no credible alibis for any of the murders, and the fact that the knife box, even though it was found behind Gary Bancroft’s apartment building, had no fingerprints on it. We think Rushmore planted it there.”
“And Gary’s silver Porsche?”
“Good point,” he said, “but Bancroft swears Rushmore’s been following him―some ‘jealous lover’ business, I gather. He figures Rushmore saw him drop Laurie off, picked her up himself, and did her in.
“We’ve been spending a lot of time interviewing the regulars who hang around Cole and Prentice, where Bancroft claims he let Laurie Travers―he did identify her from her picture, by the way―out of the car, and we found a bag lady who thinks she saw a woman get out of a light-colored car at about that same time.”
“And did she see anybody else pick Laurie up?”
He hesitated for a moment.
“Well, no, but…”
Gee, a hooker getting out of a “light-colored car” on a corner near a coffee shop frequented by hookers. Bet that doesn’t happen often, I thought.
I shook my head. “That hardly seems like a steel-clad case,” I said, and Richman, watching me as always, gave a little smile.
“True,” he said. “From what we can tell, the weapon used to kill Stuart Anderson is still being carried around between the legs of his killer. But we have the murder weapon for Laurie Travers, and all we needed was the pillow that suffocated Billy Steiner. The pillows we took from Bancroft’s apartment were filled with goose feathers…eiderdown.
“That, no fingerprints on the knife case or the murder weapon, and what Bancroft had to say about his…ex-friend…pointed us toward a set-up by Rushmore. We were able to get a search warrant for his apartment early this morning to get his pillows, and guess what? It looks like they’re filled with eiderdown.”
“How in the hell can you tell the difference?” I asked. “Feathers are feathers.”
He smiled again. “Not quite. Eiderdown is distinctive in several regards, including a predominance of black-and-white feathers. The lab is making the final analysis now.”
“But you haven’t arrested him yet?”
He looked at me without expression for a full minute, then said, “No. If the lab says it’s definitely eiderdown, we’ll formally arrest him then. I thought you might want the chance to talk to him first, to see if you can pick up on anything that might let us cement the case.”
I rolled down my window about halfway―it was getting uncomfortable in that car, in more ways than one. Having rolled it down, I turned back to the good lieutenant.
“I’m afraid I don’t like this, Lieutenant. I’m not a police informant, or some snitch.” I was really surprised at how strongly I felt about being used by the police department. Richman could have unzipped his fly right then and offered me unlimited sex in exchange, and I’d still have said no―which gives you an idea of just how strongly I felt.
Lt. Richman just looked at me, and the corners of his mouth curved up just the slightest bit.
“No,” he said, “you’re not a police informant, and you’re not a snitch. What you are is a private investigator who doesn’t want to see a guilty man go free, or an innocent one go to prison.
“The fact is that, right now, we don’t know for sure what the hell to believe. Is Bancroft setting Rushmore up? Is Rushmore setting Bancroft up? You know these guys one hell of a lot better than we do; you can see things we can’t. That’s all I…we…want—the truth.”
I managed to calm down as he talked. He was right, of course.
“And let me ask you,” he said calmly. “What were you were intending to do if…or let’s make that when…you do figure out who did it? Wrestle them to the ground? The police have to come into it at some point.
“Now, let me turn the tables on you a little, and use one of your favorite arguments. If you want us to take over the whole case from this point on, fine. We can and we will. You can just walk away. But I think I know you well enough by now to know you could never do that. And we both know you have a better chance of bringing this to a head quicker than we do, and you can see things we can’t when it comes to the gay community.”
I gave a deep sigh and nodded.
“So, what do you want from me?”
Richman returned the nod.
“First, I…we…don’t want you to do anything stupid. No heroics. Just remember the guy we’re after kills people. When you’re really sure which one of these guys did it―or even if you’re sure neither one of them did it―you just give me a call and let us take it from there. Agreed?”
It was with a surprising degree of effort I managed to say, “Yeah.”
“Good.” he said, and smiled. Then he did something that really surprised me. He reached out with his left hand and slapped my right leg lightly. In almost any other situation, my crotch would be yelling “Whoopee!” but not now. It was a pat on the leg. Period.
But my little inner voice still managed to say Damn!
We’d said just about all there was to say, so after a minute or two of relative silence, I asked if he wanted me to drive him the two blocks back to headquarters, and he said yes.
*
I decided to call Matt from the office―I wanted to check for messages anyway, and when I did, I found one from Jared.
“Hi, Dick—Jared. Sorry I’ve been missing you, but I’ve been really…busy. I’m on my lunch break, but I’ll give you a call at home as soon as I get off work, okay? See ya.”
Nothing from the Glicks. Nothing from Gary. Nothing from Phil or Tim, but I put two and two together on that one.
I had no idea whether Matt might be home or not, but I gave it a try and was surprised when he answered on the first ring.
“Matt—Dick. Just thought I’d check in and see how things were going.”
“They searched the place,” he said.
I didn’t tell him I knew.
“And?” I said.
“They took my pillows. My fucking pillows! And I just figured out why! What a fucking idiot!”
“You want to talk about it in person?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I think I’m going to go over and have a talk with Gary.”
I didn’t like the tone of his voice, and I definitely didn’t like the implication.
“Hold on a second,” I said. “That’s a really bad idea, and you know it. Why don’t you let me come over, and we can talk about it? I can be there in less than fifteen minutes. Can you hold off that long?”
There was a moment of silenc
e, then: “Yeah, I guess so. But I’m not making any promises after that.”
“Good,” I said. “That’s all I can ask. Just try to calm down, and I’ll be right over. Stay there.”
“You better make it fast.”
I was halfway around my desk heading for the door as I hung up.
*
Matt had the door open by the time I reached his apartment after ringing the buzzer. He motioned me in with a jerk of his head. He looked really pissed.
“He’s done it this time,” he said, his voice a study in barely-controlled anger.
“Okay, so tell me about it.” He led the way to the couch, and I sat down. He started to sit but apparently changed his mind and walked to the window, looked out for no reason I could tell, and walked back again. He just stood there, his hands on the back of the chair in front of me.
“When Gary moved out of here and into his new place,” he said, first taking the time to light a cigarette and offer me one (I was tempted but declined), “he left most of the furniture. None of it was good enough for his new place. He conned Iris into buying most of what he needed, including a fancy new bedroom set.” He looked at me and almost smiled, but not quite. “That woman is on one enormous guilt trip, and Gary milks it for every penny he can get.
“So, then, the day after the Gay Pride parade, he calls me up and says he wants to come over to pick up some stuff he left. Asks if he can trade me for the pillows off our bed, bitches because the ones he bought are too damned soft. He knows I always thought the ones we had were like rocks, so I said okay. I knew fucking-A well that he was going to try to…”
He paused, took a long drag off his cigarette, and stubbed it out quickly in one of the several ashtrays on the lamp table beside him. He never finished his sentence, and I found that fact more than a little intriguing. Try to what? But I decided to let him continue, and ask questions later.
Even though he’d only halfway smoked the last cigarette before putting it out, he lit another.
“Anyway, he comes over with a suitcase and these two huge pillows and starts looking around in the closets for a couple shirts and stuff he’d left. He asked me for some coffee, so I went into the kitchen to make it. I don’t know what all he took, if anything.
“I noticed he’d put pillowcases on the pillows, which I thought was kind of odd―Gary’s not the domestic type. I found out why that night when I went to bed. I bunched one up, and a little puff of feathers shot out of one corner. The thread had come loose, and there was maybe a half-inch hole, which I fixed with a safety pin.
“I was pissed to think Gary knew damned well it was torn, but he figured he could just pass it off to good old Matt, who’d be too stupid to realize he was being pissed on again―it’s classic Gary.”
He looked at me, long and hard.
“Billy was killed with a pillow, wasn’t he?” he said.
Again I felt that cold chill. I nodded.
“From what I know.”
“I guess Gary’s right,” he said, “I am stupid. I never put two and two together. The cops never told me how Billy died, and I never knew until they came in to get those fucking pillows.”
He was quiet for a moment then sighed.
“So, I’ve had it,” he said, calmly. “I’ve got no alibi at all for the night Billy was killed, I can’t find the guy I tricked with the night Anderson died, and as far as the cops are concerned, my being completely gay doesn’t mean shit since I’ve got kids. They probably think I spend most of my free time on Pussy Patrol—hell, that’s what they’d do if they had the chance.
“So, unless I can find that guy, I’m really, really screwed―and they’ll probably arrest me before I can find him.”
His assessment of the situation was pretty accurate.
Time to take the plunge.
“Okay, Matt,” I said, readjusting my position on the couch so I could face him more directly. “We’re pretty much down to the wire here. I want to believe you, and if there’s anything I can do to help you, I will, I promise. But I know damned well there’s more going on here than you’re willing to tell me, and unless I know everything, you’re going to take the fall.”
He took a long drag off his cigarette and walked over to the closest ashtray to stub it out quickly.
“Won’t do much good,” he said. “I can’t prove anything, and nobody will believe it, anyway.”
“Try me,” I said. “And start by telling me just why Gary is trying so hard to set you up.”
He shrugged, then sighed.
“You’re sure you want to hear it all?”
“I’m sure,” I said.
He took a deep breath and began.
“I told you that, even when we were in the Corps, Gary was obsessed with the fact that his mother had dumped him when he was a kid. I told you he swore to get even when he found her. It wasn’t a matter of if he found her. I knew he would.”
He reached into his pocket for another cigarette and, finding the pack empty, got up from the couch and went into the kitchen for another. Returning to the living room, he sat back down, opened the new pack and lit up before continuing.
“Gary played me from day one,” he said. “I think he had his plan all laid out even before he met me. If it hadn’t been me, it’d have been some other sucker. He led me on, and I let him. I knew he liked women, too, and that didn’t bother me—apples and oranges. But whenever he talked about the future, it was always ‘we’―him and me.
“And then he found Iris, and called me. Shit, I was like a little kid, and I couldn’t wait to get out to Vegas to be with him.” He looked at me and gave me a sad little semi-smile. “Sounds pathetic, doesn’t it? Well, when you’ve lived all your life being something you’re not, and when you’ve never had anybody who really gave a shit about you, you’re pretty open to somebody who makes you think they might actually…well, you know.”
I knew.
“So, I got to Vegas, and I met Iris, who turned out to be a pretty decent lady in spite of what she’d done to Gary. Even though I’d always known he was a real con man, I was surprised at how he worked her. Even I thought he’d changed his mind about getting even. They were like best buddies, and Gary never said a word to make me think otherwise.
“Of course, I never brought the subject up; I was just glad he’d found her and assumed that, when he got to know her, he’d let all that other shit go.”
He sighed and remained quiet for a moment. I wasn’t about to butt in.
“We used to hustle the casinos to make extra money,” he continued, “and that’s how Gary met Arnold Glick. Most of the guys we hustled were pretty well off, but Arnold was really loaded! And when Gary introduced Arnold to Iris… Well, I should have started getting wise right then, but I didn’t.”
He glanced at me just long enough to check my reaction to all this, I guess.
“I’d found a job working as a bouncer at one of the strip clubs, and Iris got Gary a job with some executive she knew at an insurance company, and Iris and Arnold got married, and everything was fine. Gary was doing pretty damned well selling insurance―con men make good salesmen―and he convinced Iris that she and Arnold should take out huge policies on one another. Arnold is getting up there in years, after all.
“I thought he did it just because it would really boost his commissions. He already had her wrapped around his little finger.”
He looked at me as if to see if I was still with him. I was.
“Then one of Arnold’s real estate ventures—the plans for Belamy Towers—really took off, and he decided to move here. Iris insisted that Gary and I move, too. I’m not really sure what Arnold thought of that idea. He’s sure no dummy, but he doesn’t say much, and just lets Iris have whatever she wants.
“About the time of the move, Gary brought up the subject of a male escort service. It was a natural―he and I both hustled, Iris had had that little ‘school,’ as she called it, Arnold had quite a few rich bi friends. So that’s how ModelMen
got started.”
I’d begun to have an inkling of where all this was headed but set it aside to concentrate on what Matt was saying.
“Then Arnold sold off a couple of his business interests back in New York and made a killing.” He paused for a second. “No pun intended. That’s when Gary sprang the trap on me.
“He waited until one night just after we’d had sex. Again, I should have seen something was coming. We’d taken a week off and gone to Hawaii, and all the time there, he never once took off with a woman. It was just him and me, and he kept talking about everything ‘we’ were going to do in the future.
“So, as we’re lying there, Gary tells―not asks, tells―me what we’re going to do. We’re going to kill Iris and Arnold. Calm and casual. Nothing to it. We’ll kill Arnold first, so all the money will go to Iris―that was just in case Arnold has some relatives we didn’t know about who might put a claim on the money if they both died together. Then we’ll wait awhile and kill Iris so all the money will go to us. Us, he said! I realized at that instant how fucking stupid he thought I was, that I’d fall for that!”
He looked at me again for my reaction, but I was too zeroed in on what he was saying to register one. I was in my mind-as-sponge mode, just soaking it all in.
He sighed, put out his cigarette, and started to reach for another then decided against it.
“Part of me wanted to think he was joking, of course,” he said, “but he wasn’t. I just lay there beside him and listened to him talk. He wasn’t just thinking out loud. He’d had it all figured out since God knows when and was just waiting until the right moment to tell me. After sex is always good.
“Gary’s spent a lot of time studying Iris. He knows exactly how she reacts to things, so he could be almost positive the scenario he’d come up with would work exactly as he planned it.”
He paused again, looking at me. I didn’t say anything, but let my eyebrow ask the question.
“Arnold doesn’t like opera,” he said. “Iris loves it. Gary would buy tickets for himself, Iris, and me for a Sunday night, when Johnnie Mae was off. Arnold would stay home alone. We’d make a point of going over during the day Saturday so I could drop some hints that I wasn’t feeling very well― probably coming down with the flu, I’d say.