by Josh Thomas
Slaughter thought. “Mr. Foster, that’s helpful. Gentlemen, we cannot make this decision at this level of authority. Let us meet as soon as possible with the top brass, play them the tape and go from there. Mr. Foster, we’ll need you to be present for that meeting.”
“If I might be wired up, you better believe I’ll be there. I have two side issues as well. One, what if this is a red herring? What if we focus on the bars in Indianapolis, and meanwhile he’s in Chicago or Cincinnati or Fort Wayne? If I were he, I sure as hell wouldn’t run the risk of finding any more victims in Indy.”
Kent said stonily, “If we take his threat at face value, he doesn’t want just any victim anymore. He wants you, Jamie. He’s already got your bridge picked out.” Inside Kent recoiled, but he was a cop. “He figures that if he takes you out he’s home free.”
“Till you came along, he would be. Point two: do we have anyone watching this guy? I know events are moving fast, but we don’t want to be sitting around a table without someone watching his every move.”
“When we find out where he’s staying, we’ll surveill him 24 hours a day,” Slaughter said. “The phone company’s getting us the number and location right now.”
“If it’s his home number.”
“True.”
“That’s a pretty big if, major.”
“True. But we’ll know in ten minutes. Sergeant, do we have the original recording from the answering machine in West Lafayette?”
“Yes, sir. Jamie gave us permission. The machine records on a regular cassette, not a computer chip, so all we did was remove the evidentiary tape and replace it. If the suspect calls again, he’ll get the same outgoing message, like nothing happened.”
“Excellent.”
Jamie agonized in silence. He had to work to keep from imploding. “Damn,” he finally said. He stubbed out the lousy cigarette. He was so weary.
Tiredness he could shake off. Fury at the Strangler he could not.
He straightened his back and said, “If the brass agree that this is their best recommendation, then I will consider doing it. And you people…” he looked at the prosecutor, then at George, and finally at Kent, “you better act like Glenn Archer Ferguson is your brother or sister.”
Willingham nodded, “Fine.” He reached into his wallet, pulled something out, tossed it to Jamie. “Keep it for the duration.”
Jamie gazed at a photo of a young, pretty woman. “What’s her name?” “Cassie Willingham. She’s my sister.” Jamie put the photo in his shirt pocket, nodded pure respect. “I don’t
mean to be a prima donna, Rob.” “You’re not, I spoke out of turn too. I swear I’ll treat Mr. Ferguson
like my brother.” “That’s all I need.” Slaughter grimaced, “This meeting is over.” Kent stood, trying to look more macho than he felt. When the others
left, he grabbed and hugged the little guy. “I’m sorry.” Jamie broke the hold in 1.2 seconds and strode out of the room.
32
Summit
Jamie darted into an elevator just as the doors closed. Slaughter was the only other person aboard. He punched the Stop button.
Jamie slumped against the wall and wailed, “George, I’m so tired of this.”
Slaughter stepped over and opened his arms. “Let’s give Jamie a hug.”
Body contact was what Jamie needed, despite his rejection of Kent. Slaughter held him a long time. “You’ve been under so much stress. And still you got us that tape. You think so well, I don’t know how you do it. You’ve always amazed me, James.”
“Thanks, chief. My brain be ’bout to short out.”
“Let’s get Jamie’s needs met. What do you need? Food? A nap? A massage?”
Jamie slowly released his friend; Slaughter re-started the car. “All of the above,” Jamie said. “But most of all I want to work out.”
“Excellent. I’ll call my club and arrange it, and also a massage afterward.”
Jamie’s shoulders dropped a yard in total relaxation. “That does sound nice.”
“You need it. My treat.”
Jamie was used to paying his own way, but he didn’t argue. “I love you, buddy.”
Slaughter smiled, “I have this weakness for blonds.” The doors opened.
Kessler was waiting for Slaughter in the lobby. Seeing Jamie, he motioned him over.Reluctantly,Jamie came.Kent whispered, “You mad at me?”
For Jamie, it was another look at long-lashed brown eyes full of concern.He sighed,weary of this too.“No,Kent.You’re doing great.I’m just mad at this situation. Sick to death of it. I’m sorry I attacked your motives. You’re a fine trooper, the best these cases have ever had.”
“No problem. If I’d been working a case for four years I’d get frustrated too.”
“But hey,” Jamie said, more energetic. “I get to work out. I need to do something to get this stuff off my mind. While you guys chat up the top brass, I’ll be filling my lungs with fresh air and sunshine, pumping iron, and then a massage afterward. Bliss! I’m going to float up to heaven.”
“Ooh, I wish I could work out with you.”
“Yeah, right. So you can beat me in every category?” Don’t add to my frustrations.
“That ain’t why, it would feel good. Can we have lunch together at least?”
“Major,” Jamie called, “where are we going for lunch?”
“We’ll meet you at the club, Mr. Foster.”
“Cool,” they said.
***
Jamie called Columbus. Casey was laying out the front page with the psychological profile, as well as dummying an Extra since the story was hot. The office was on high alert, exhilarated and scared and nearing deadline. Jamie told his editor the morning’s developments. Casey cried, “Child, you make my heart stop!”
“It won’t affect this issue, though. We can’t report the tape, it’s too dangerous. But the minute you’re done, get over here.”
Casey would hop a plane at Port Columbus that night. He’d also bring Kenny Dyson. If there was a bust, the portly Straight antique dealer/secret Gay stringer deserved to be in on it; and The Times would need all the editorial help it could get. “Don’t get your hopes up, Case. We’ve been down this road before. We can still lose him.”
Louie was anxious but subdued with Jamie. “Don’t get yourself killed, hotshot. If something happens they’ll raise my insurance rates. Where would I find another stud reporter at this rag? Anyone near as good as you.”
“Why, Louie, I didn’t know you cared.”
“Aw, I’m over you, prettyboy.”
“That’s ‘stud reporter prettyboy’ to you.”
Louie didn’t rise to the bait. “Be careful, James.”
Jamie got quiet. “Right, Lou. Thank you for all your help. I know I’m spending your money, but it’s for a good reason. Look at what you’re financing, tracking down someone who murders Gay men. I have nothing but respect for you.”
“Works both ways. Now get off my phone.” ***
His body liquid after the massage, Jamie flowed into the club dining room, ornate in its carved wood and simulated English atmosphere; not half-bad. He found George and Kent at a table. They stood up for him. It was odd, but an honor, and Jamie liked it.
They ordered, and Jamie learned the time of the bigwigs’ meeting. “You’ll even have time to take that nap if you want,” George noted.
“Great. It would make up the deficit between sleeping in and sleeping in.”
Kent smiled, started to go into some discussion of the case, but Jamie held up a hand to slow him down. “Kent, is this essential for us to know before the meeting? If so, then lay it on us, but if not, I’d rather talk about anything else. The chief here just got me feeling good.”
Slaughter asked, “How was André’s massage today?”
“Wonderful.” Jamie closed his eyes to feel it again. “He loosened the fascia in my back, did the most amazing things to my abs and feet.”
Kent grinned, “Go w
ith the flow, buddy.”
“I even wangled my way into a pickup basketball game. I love playing old men. Suddenly I’m Michael Jordan.”
So they chattered about sports, movies, Slaughter’s recent trip to Mexico and Cuba, Kent’s plans for hunting season. Jamie tried to act non-judgmental at that topic; Kent invited George to tag along on his Dunes trip, and the chief said he’d go. They rehashed their water skiing adventure on Lake Shafer, and Jamie said he’d never done it. “Come next summer,” Slaughter invited. “Both of you. We’ll have a great time.”
Jamie happily accepted. Does this mean I get to see my guy in swimming trunks?
Kent accepted too. ***
After the meal Kent told him, “Working out agrees with you. This is the first time I’ve ever seen you clean your plate. I was starting to think you were Karen Carpenter.”
“I can pack it away with the best of them if I’m getting my…” (physical) “…needs met. Like a return to normal life.”
“How often do you work out at home?”
“Weights three days a week, light, medium and heavy; bike and abs six days. Sundays I read The New York Times and vegetate.”
“Six days a week? That’s a great program.”
“I’d love to get back to it. To enjoy positive health, the uppermost level, I have to work out. Otherwise I don’t have enough appetite. Workouts are essential.”
“All things in balance, you’re right.”
“One way or another, it’ll be over soon,” Slaughter assured them.
“It’s the one way or another I’m concerned about,” Jamie replied.
“It’s your rule,” Kent said, pointing his finger. “Don’t think about the case. You’re off duty. Go grab that nap.”
“All right, Mom.”
Kent grinned, glad they were friends again.
***
First there was a cops-only meeting for team-building, run by Dr. Steve Helmreich. Then Kent and Jamie sat alone on a bench in the lobby of state police headquarters before they went up to the conclave. Kent said, slowly and deliberately, “We got his address, we’re watching it but he’s not home, we don’t know where he is. I may not get the chance to interview him before tonight. But it might come down tonight. If so, are you willing to help lure him out?”
Jamie thought and felt before he spoke. “He has to be stopped. If you’ll help me, and the plan is good, then yes.”
“I have to say these things to you, both as a police officer and as your friend. Don’t be an excitement freak, Jamie. Don’t be a hero.”
They looked in each other’s eyes a long time. Kent’s questions forced Jamie to make a conscious choice. “I won’t be. Thanks for the warning. Don’t let me get killed.”
“I won’t. But know your motivation. It’s an exciting, special status, being a police informant in a big case.”
It was a lot more exciting to be a reporter with a great story. But Kent was warning him of the danger; and dead war correspondents stop filing dispatches. “It’s not worth dying for. I have a simple motivation. I want him stopped. No one is allowed to murder my people and get away with it.”
“Then partner, let’s stop him.” They shook hard and headed upstairs.
Slaughter’s office was well-lit in the afternoon. “Right this way, Mr. Foster,” said Harvey, his assistant. “The conference room is right down this hall.”
They presented quite a picture at the double doorway: the dazzling blond guest of honor; the impressive deputy chief next to his tall, handsome task force commander. They took places at the head of the oblong table, the major in the power position, Kent and Jamie on either side. Dr. Helmreich sat at the foot of the table in the other power position. Harvey had arranged everything perfectly; Jamie knew he would.
Slaughter made introductions: state police superintendent Colonel Jackson R. Potts; Post 52 Commander Sgt. Eamon Gillespie; City Police Chief Melvin Watson, County Prosecutor Sanford Brown, County Sheriff Richard Grumwald; chiefs of staff for the governor, mayor and
U.S. attorney; members of the interagency task force, Detective Homer “Bulldog” Sauer and his partner, Sgt. Barry Hickman of Quincy County, Ohio; Trooper Julie Campbell of West Lafayette; Jasper County Lt. Jack Snyder and IPD Lt. Phil Blaney; Dr. Helmreich, serial murder expert from the University of Illinois and task force consultant; and FBI Agent-in-Charge Frank Carson.
Jamie studied Gillespie, old-fashioned, barrel-chested, pushing 50— and the same rank as Kent at 26.
Slaughter framed two issues: “Is the evidence already in hand against Thomas Alan Ford sufficient to charge him with the murder of Glenn Ferguson? If so, given that Ford is a suspect in twelve other murders and is the ex-lover of convicted serial killer Roger Schmidgall, and both are connected to suspect Dr. Randolph Scott Crum, is it best to take down a bird in the hand or two in the bush?”
Jamie prepared to play the tape. “It’s graphic, I have to tell you. There is homophobic content, and he’s quite viciously racist. Chief Watson, everyone else, it’s ugly.”
“He’s a killer,” Watson snorted. “What else would he be but ugly?”
Jamie hit Play. But afterward, faces were ashen.
Col. Potts was the first to speak. “I’ll be damned. What do you think, Sandy?”
Prosecutor Brown frowned and shook his head. “It’s risky all around.”
“What does that mean?” Jack Snyder asked.
“The tape itself is clearly chargeable, especially with those phone records. You’ve got terroristic threats, aggravated menacing, phone harassment, stalking, transporting the body, all felonies. But light ones, six years maximum. We can’t hope for consecutive sentences unless we can tie him more closely to the murder. If this is your killer, you want to put him away for life, not six years. On the question of a conviction for one murder, I’d rate it possible, perhaps even probable, depending on results from a search warrant and what kind of defense team he’s got. On the question of conviction for multiple murders, nowhere near. What is our evidence on those?”
George signaled, and Jamie played the Schmidgall videotape. Jamie then explained how the suspects were intimately connected, discussed Crum’s acquittal, the lawyers who represented him and the theory of “murder for profit as well as fun.”
Hearts sank, as Kent passed out copies of Snyder’s photos from Jasper County, showing the suspects in various groupings. Agent Carson said, “Commercial snuff films don’t exist.”
Jamie asked, “Then how did Crum pay for those lawyers? You forget the anonymity of the Internet, the compulsive need to share sexual fantasies. Killers can’t help but brag, murder is too big a secret to keep inside.”
No reply. So Jamie asked Bulldog to reveal Quincy County’s old physical evidence. Jamie had waited four years to hear this. Bulldog said, “We have a tire track from one of our crime scenes that perfectly matches one we obtained on Ford’s Toyota—the tire was almost bald, just a little tread on the inside, so there’s no mistaking it—plus an eyewitness who places Lash and another unidentified man at a fast-food joint in our county within the proper time frame on our third body. It was never enough for us to charge them, but that’s why they’ve always been our prime suspects.”
He looked at Jamie, who gave him a thumb up. If a Straight man and a Gay man could be friends and use each other, they were fast friends.
“So what are our alternatives?” IPD’s Lt. Blaney asked.
“You can do the others, but there’s only one best alternative,” Carson said.
“Catch him in the act,” said Bulldog, a little worried. Kent looked at him instead of at Jamie.
“It’s a terrible thing to ask of a man,” Phil Blaney observed.
Then everyone in the room looked at Jamie. They were waiting on him again. Jamie, the sacrificial lamb.
“There’s another question,” Carson said. “This is an awfully big operation to hang on this type individual.” Jamie stared. “No offense, kid.”
Potts seemed t
o take this as a good objection.
They don’t think I can do this, Jamie realized. Is there some undercurrent here about being Gay?
“Maybe we need to discuss this among ourselves,” Prosecutor Brown suggested.
It was because Jamie was Gay. “Wait a goddamn minute, I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to hash it out right here, right now. No one else got the death threat, I did. I’m a full participant here. I do want you to say whatever you have to say, we need to respect everyone’s input; but I will be in the room or there won’t be any operation.”
He breathed to calm himself, and was calm. Slaughter sent him good vibes. Carson smiled.
Bulldog spoke next; stood up to do it, too. “Fellows, Officer Campbell, Ms. Anderson, I have known this individual for, what’s it been, Jamie? Three years? Four?” Jamie nodded. “And in that time, he has always done exactly what he said he would do. He has worked these cases tirelessly, when nobody else in the media gave a rat’s ass about ’em. He has been courageous, he has always kept his word; he’s supplied us with very important information, always reliable. He’s a very, very bright individual, and he’s cooperated to the fullest extent with the officers involved. You can see that here today with these tapes. I don’t know how he gets the information he does. I’m sitting here amazed.
“Now I don’t agree with his lifestyle, and Jamie, you know that. But these murders aren’t about anybody’s lifestyle, and they’re sure as hell not about whether Homer Sauer happens to agree with it. They’re just murders. And sometimes when I’ve forgotten that, got caught up in the Gay aspects of ’em, Jamie’s been the one to remind me. They’re just murders. Forget the Gay thing.” Bulldog looked around the room. Dr. Steve Helmreich nodded vigorous encouragement.
“Me, too,” Kent spoke up.
“I learned it from him,” Jamie said, pointing at Helmreich.