Black and Blue and Pretty Dead, Too

by Mark Zubro

“Not because of what he did in the bar. Who cares about that?”

  “The woman he beat?” Fenwick asked.

  “In this department? Don’t make me laugh. Belger could reveal all he knew about the theft ring. About torture and tasering prisoners. Everything. He had to die before he could ruin the rest of us.”

  “Who actually killed Belger?”

  “Boyle, Lensky, and Vereski held him while Callaghan shoved those things down his throat. I watched. I didn’t kill him.”

  “Why’d they kill him?” Fenwick asked.

  “Are you stupid? He was a traitor. And he was going to testify against us. We had to stop him. Boyle and I were beat cops together. I started covering for him and then it escalated. Over the years we involved others. Belger was in on everything.” He looked up. “If I name other names, will they go easy on me?”

  “How many others?” Fenwick asked.

  “A lot.”

  “The shit is going to hit the fan,” Fenwick said.

  “How’d he meet Scanlan?” Turner asked.

  “The kid saw Belger on the site. He wanted to meet him. Did so. Last year. They met on occasion. One time the kid was doing Belger in the alley behind the Raving Dragon. In the back of their patrol car. Callaghan caught them. He didn’t turn Belger in. He just wanted to share. The kid loved it.”

  Turner said, “It was right there on the video. Callaghan rubbed the pool cue up and down Belger’s ass crack. Belger was into getting his ass played with, but Callaghan was into fucking anything that moved. He and his partner had a relationship?”

  Nance said, “I wouldn’t call it a relationship. They used each other. I think they were straight. At least, they kept getting married to women.”

  “They were both doing a kid,” Turner said. “They were using their power as cops to ruin him.”

  “Who knows? Who cares? Maybe he was in love with them. He was a teenager and an asshole. He used them. They used him. The whole fair thing was a bonus.”

  “That’s why Scanlan was so confident and aggressive,” Fenwick said.

  Turner said, “He lied to us.”

  “Well, duh,” Nance said.

  Turner said, “He talked about a guy in a leather hood.”

  “That was probably Lensky convincing him to do the scene.”

  Turner said, “Scanlan didn’t look real upset that Belger was dead. More surprised.”

  “Callaghan and Boyle got Lensky to use him to lure Belger to the lower level. You found money on Belger? Hundreds? They got Scanlan to offer Belger money to let him, Scanlan, whip him. Belger would do anything for cash. Scanlan actually thought it was a real scene.”

  Turner said, “He was sixteen, probably fifteen when he met Belger. Didn’t that bother Boyle and his cronies?”

  “Belger liked being used. He didn’t care who by. And they were planning murder. Do you think they cared about the kid? They used him like they used everybody else. Like they used me.”

  “You’re an adult,” Fenwick said.

  No prizes for that today, Turner thought.

  “I couldn’t stop them. The kid left before the killing.”

  “And that makes what better?” Fenwick asked.

  “And the whipping?” Turner asked.

  “The goal was to draw blood. The kid started it. He kind of got into it. He seemed pissed at the world. They all got into the whipping. I didn’t. It was them. Then later they convinced the kid that he did kill Belger. Then it got on the news how Belger really died. Things moved fast. Boyle and the rest couldn’t know what Scanlan would do. When he got arrested, I watched on the two way mirror. He wasn’t sad. He kept snarling and sneering. Huge ego mixed with monumental stupidity. He had to die.”

  “Why’d he get released?”

  “That’s your whole double conspiracy thing. We thought everything was fine. Then he got released. We couldn’t kill him in custody. That would be too suspicious. You guys were hot after all this. We could only get away with so much. Released, he’d be vulnerable. On the other hand, Boyle thought he was invulnerable. I told them the kid was a problem. But remember, the kid didn’t actually see the killing. He whipped. He left. The others whipped him, shoved a two-by-four up his butt, killed him.”

  Turner said, “The ME said something large went up his butt. Where’d you get the two-by-four?”

  “The room was run down, half renovated. There was dirt and shit everywhere. Rotting wood, old tools, all kinds of crap.” He closed his eyes. “He really squealed when that went up there.”

  They were all silent a few moments. Nance reopened his eyes. “It all just got out of control. It just got nuts. They all went nuts.”

  “Did you try to stop them?” Turner asked.

  Nance hung his head, whispered, “No.”

  “It was such a huge conspiracy,” Fenwick said. “How did they expect everyone to keep quiet?”

  Nance said, “You must take stupid pills. How long have they been robbing the dead? Years. Did you know about it? In all your investigating did you hear the slightest whisper about it?”

  “Well, yeah, sort of,” Fenwick said.

  “But up until then, no. Not a word. They’d kept it to themselves for years. They thought they were invulnerable. They thought they were smarter than everybody else. That was Boyle to a T.”

  “If Boyle wanted to get rid of Belger, and he knew Belger was having sex with a kid, why didn’t he use that?”

  “But Belger still knew their secrets. No matter what crime they caught him on, he could turn on them. And because by that time, Callaghan was using the kid, too.”

  Turner said, “That is sick shit.”

  “It was out of control,” Nance said. “I didn’t know about their plan to kill him until just recently. I balked. I didn’t want to go along. They made me do it. It was them.”

  “Why kill Belger and Scanlan at the party?”

  “Pretty much what you’d expect. To have people think they died because they were gay or because gay people killed him. To get it blamed on the gay event. To get someone at the party involved or suspected. To divert suspicion.”

  “Did you tell Billy Dossett, the retired cop who contacted Molton, to try and get information from us?”

  “We had to find out information. We reached out. Just like we all do, Boyle has contacts in the department everywhere. He knew Molton trusted Dossett, but even so Molton wasn’t stupid and wouldn’t tell Dossett anything, and you guys didn’t tell him enough.”

  Fenwick asked, “Did Boyle know Callaghan and Belger had a sexual relationship?”

  “I don’t know. Boyle did know about Belger being on the website. That was enough for him. He knew he could leverage that against Belger. That kind of information was dangerous for Boyle to have. I think that’s when he got the idea to kill Belger. The party happening was kind of a bonus.”

  “Where did you kill him?”

  “I didn’t kill him. It was them. It was in one of the speakeasy caverns. There’s a secret entrance. It’s down there.”

  “Who planned all this?” Turner asked.

  “It was all Boyle. All Boyle.”

  He repeated the “it was all Boyle” defense ad nauseum.

  Near the end, Turner asked, “What was the connection between the three of you? What was so important that kept you together? Why did Boyle protect Callaghan?”

  Nance sighed his deepest sigh. He began with, “It was all Boyle. And Callaghan.”

  “What happened?”

  “It started small. That theft ring when Belger and Callaghan were called to death scenes.”

  Fenwick interrupted him. “The theft is big enough to maybe justify murder, but I’m thinking something deeper. This must go way back. What happened?”

  More deep sighs. They’d kept Nance supplied with brown paper towels from the washroom so he could wipe his sweat. He said, “You’re right. What really turned their relationship into total criminal hell started years ago. A guy was pissing in an alley outsi
de some bar. Callaghan was on his own. He decided to give the guy a hard time. But the guy got belligerent. Callaghan called for backup. Boyle and I were nearest. When we drove up, we saw Callaghan thumping the guy’s head against a wall. He stopped when he saw us.”

  More sighs. More towels. The sweat poured off him. “I didn’t do anything. I just watched. The guy wouldn’t go down. Boyle got between him and Callaghan. I thought Boyle was going to put a stop to it, but the guy kept mouthing off and shoving at Boyle. Boyle hit him. Once. Jesus. God. Once. And the guy went down. He didn’t move.”

  Turner asked, “They could cover up a murder?”

  “You guys are so stupid. Do you read?” Nance asked. “You saw the series about the so-called cover up connected to the mayor’s relative.”

  “Yeah, we know,” Fenwick said.

  Nance wiped more sweat and continued. “It’s not that hard. This guy was just some out of town drunk. Nobody cared. Nobody got interested because he wasn’t related to someone famous and his attacker was listed as unknown. Just a random mugging gone bad.”

  When they were done and as they were walking back to their desks, Fenwick said, “I feel dirty.”

  “Coming from you that’s saying something about this mess.”

  “An underage kid?” Fenwick asked.

  Turner said, “It’s not the first time, gay or straight, that we’ve seen it. It won’t be the last. We can only arrest the ones we catch.”

  An hour after the interrogations were done, Molton plunked his butt on Fenwick’s desk. He asked, “How are you guys surviving?”

  Fenwick said, “Just as much goddamn paperwork with this case as any other.”

  Molton said, “They arrested Vereski and Lensky.”

  “Good,” Fenwick said.

  Molton said, “Half the police department is looking for the room Boyle and company murdered Belger in. We’ll find it. We’ll get evidence from the scene no matter how well they tried to clean it up.”

  Turner asked, “How’s headquarters taking this?”

  Molton smiled, “Not well. But you guys solved it, and that means they’ll get over it. Great work as always. Congratulations.”

  Turner gazed at him, “I don’t think I feel as triumphant as I should.”

  Molton gazed at the detective. He said, “I know. It was a tough case. Tough on all of us. We survived this. We always do. We endure. Maybe that’s not enough for a party, but it’s enough to feel good about yourself.”

  “Thanks,” Turner said.

  During the rest of the morning, arrests flew, paperwork happened, reporters breathlessly reported on television screens. Turner and Fenwick watched Zuyland get his air time. Neither of them felt the need to comment.

  FORTY-FOUR

  That Sunday night Paul Turner was in the living room, beer in one hand and gray boxer-brief clad butt on the couch. He’d slept much of the afternoon, then got up, showered and shaved.

  They’d received text messages from both boys. Each reported they were having a great time at their respective camps.

  A baseball game was on television. Wearing baggy white athletic shorts, Ben entered carrying another beer. The house was air-conditioned against the continuing brutal heat. Ben sat on the floor between Paul’s legs. Paul encased his partners torso with his legs.

  Ben used the tips of his fingers to caress the hair on Paul’s legs. He said, “The kids are still gone.”

  “And we’re not,” Paul said.

  Ben said, “I could change into something more leather, more butch.”

  Paul touched the back of Ben’s head with one hand. He rubbed the stubble on his husband’s chin with the other. “You’re plenty butch enough for me just as you are. Although we could get rid of these.” He reached for Ben’s shorts.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Mark Zubro is the author of twenty-three mystery novels and five short stories. His book A Simple Suburban Murder won the Lambda Literary Award for Best Gay Men’s mystery. He also wrote a thriller, Foolproof, with two other mystery writers, Jeanne Dams and Barb D’Amato. He taught eighth graders English and reading for thirty-four years. He was president of the teachers’ union in his district from 1985 until 2006. He retired from teaching in 2006 and now spends his time reading, writing, napping, and eating chocolate. His newest book, Black and Blue and Pretty Dead Too, is his tenth book in the Paul Turner series which features a gay Chicago police detective. One of the keys in Zubro’s mysteries is you do not want to be a person who is racist, sexist, homophobic, or a school administrator. If you are any of those, it is likely you are the corpse, or, at the least, it can be fairly well guaranteed that bad things will happen to you by the end. And if in Zubro’s books you happen to be a Republican and/or against workers’ rights, it would be far better if you did not make a habit of broadcasting this. If you did, you’re quite likely to be a suspect, or worse.

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