“But you didn’t tell me about the second visit.”
“I am very, very sorry about that. I took advantage of you. I’m sorry. I wish I’d thought more clearly. I didn’t. I really need help now. If you found out about that second visit, the police could, too.”
“Yep.”
He rubbed his hands across his face. “I’m in deep shit. You’re not telling and that puts you in deep shit. You’re making a hell of a sacrifice I’m not sure I deserve. I’ve put the kids in an awful position. I don’t know what to do.” He had the forlorn look on his face he had when I first saw him in high school—vulnerable, lost, and a little bit desperate.
“The important questions are, why did you go back and what the hell happened?”
He said, “I made the fatal mistake of believing that if I was eloquent enough, I could convince him of anything. I was so wrong. He was meaner than ever. I talked and talked. He smirked and smirked. He kept caressing that damn cast-iron poodle. For the millionth time I wished I could take both sides of that smirk and stretch them from here to pain and gone. I was stupid to go back the first time, even stupider to try again.”
He wouldn’t look at me and his eyes shifted. There had to be more. I said, “Why did you go back?”
“I told you.”
“I’m not buying it.”
He finally looked at me. His eyes were wet. He said, “When I got home, Dustin wasn’t there. We’d fought earlier in the day. About Snarly. Sometimes he comes to meet me without telling me. Usually he calls. Dustin said he was sick of me being a doormat. I was afraid he might try something stupid. He wasn’t home. I didn’t know where he was. I haven’t had the nerve to ask him. When I got home the second time, he was in bed. I thought he was pretending to be asleep.”
“Did you ask him later where he’d been?”
“I was afraid to.” That he was sleeping next to a killer, that his lover had been out with another man?
“Would he kill Fitch because your boss was mean to you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Dustin is an aggressive guy, but he wouldn’t do that.”
“Are you sure?”
He shook his head. I waited until he was looking at me and then I spoke very softly, “Did you kill Charley Fitch?”
His eyes didn’t waver. “I deserve that, I suppose.”
“Let’s suppose you do.”
He looked away for several moments then looked back at me and held my gaze. He said as softly as I had asked the question, “I did not kill him. He was alive when I left. I swear to God.”
“He didn’t say if he was going home or going out?”
“No. At the end he just stared at me with that fatuous smile on his face. I swear to God, I could have killed him at that moment, but I didn’t.”
“I’m sure lots of people have wanted to. What’s worse is now you’ve put these kids in an untenable position. They know you and don’t want you to get in trouble, but they have information about a murder investigation. Do you want to leave the kids in that kind of position? I know you said you thought you should call Larry. I would suggest you not do that.”
He looked at me. “I’ve got to do something.” After a few moments’ pause he said, “If I tell the police, I’ll be arrested again. I didn’t get raped or anything, but the prison was awful. I never want to go back. I guess I could tell Todd.”
I said, “I’m not sure you have much choice. At the least, you’ve got to take pressure off these kids.”
“I promise I’ll tell Todd.” He twisted his fingers together. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but do you have any possible suspects besides me?”
“Dustin.”
Lee blanched.
I said, “I’ll have to talk to him.”
“He didn’t do it.”
I just looked at him.
He gulped. “Anyone else?”
I said, “I’m trying to get an interview with one of the call boys he was currently seeing. Maybe there was one there this past Friday.”
“As an adult, I never asked about his sexual escapades. I never cared. I haven’t used the place since I was a kid. Dustin and I stick to our apartment.” He took a sip of coffee. “I feel bad that the kids are in the middle of this. Is Larry the only one who heard me? Is that why he was back there? He wasn’t trying to hurt himself because of me?”
“He heard you.”
“Shit. I’m supposed to be helping kids, not fucking them up. I’ve got to help find out who did this. I’ve got to clear my name. Sitting in jail was twenty-four hours of pure hell. I know you’re pretty angry, but I need your help.”
I remembered the first time I’d met Lee. I’d found him in the boy’s washroom on the second floor of the high school. I’d heard moaning from out in the hall. He’d been severely beaten. I found out later he’d been trash canned and given a shit-infused swirly topped off with the beating. His injuries put him in the hospital for a week. He’d come back to school looking like a martyr. Back then he’d held his head up and kept going.
I agreed to help.
“Who could have done it?” he asked. “Not one of the kids.”
“I don’t think so. My guess is one of the employees or volunteers at the clinic or one of the people Charley feuded with in the community. Plus there’s the brewing financial scandal.”
“You think that’s really true?”
“I hope so for your sake.”
Lee said, “I had as little to do with fundraising as I could. I hate that shit. It’s like begging for your supper.”
“Other people had to do work to pay your salary. It paid your bills.” I knew it was harsh, but I wasn’t quite ready to add reality checks to my list of things I wasn’t going to say to him.
He looked abashed. “You’re really angry.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll apologize as many times as necessary and do whatever it takes to get you to trust me again. You were my teacher. You were my friend in high school when I had nobody. I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t need for him to be groveling, but I didn’t think a healthy dose of guilt would hurt much either.
“I’m going to help you,” I said. “We can work on our relationship after we find out who did this.”
“Thanks. Whatever you can do, thanks.” He took a deep breath and then sipped some coffee. He said, “Have you talked to the homocons? That’s a place to look, although I have a hard time picturing any of them wielding an ax.”
I said, “I can picture a number of people I know doing great violence. There’s a line we usually don’t cross. The police think you were capable of crossing it.”
“Do you?”
“I think any of us is capable. I don’t think you killed Charley Fitch.”
“Thanks.” He paused. “Why not?”
“I’ve known you for a long time. I watched you grow up. It might sound sappy to call it instinct, but I don’t think you did it. That you lied pisses me off, but it doesn’t make you a murderer.”
“Thanks for that. Is there anything I can do, we can do?”
“I think you should keep a low profile. The police won’t be happy about me investigating. The actual arrested suspect getting involved in asking questions might really piss them off, but you can help me. Do you know Karek and these other homocons, Albert Bergland and Mandy Marlex?”
“I know Mandy a little bit. I’ve met her at a few events. Albert I only know from comments Snarly made. Snarly hated them both. I think the feeling was mutual.”
“Bergland told me he and Charley were close.”
“Not from what Charley told me, but then he could rip somebody one minute and be their best friend the next. He was such a hypocrite.”
Brenda Hersch, Jan’s closest friend, walked in. Her face was a mass of tears.
25
Brenda scanned the crowd, spotted us, and rushed over.
“Is it true?” she gasped. “Is it true?”
“I’m sorry,�
� I said.
She didn’t stop sobbing for five minutes. We brought her napkins to clean up with. Lee held her hand and patted her on the back.
“Is it true you found this body?” she asked.
I nodded then asked, “Do you know why he would commit suicide?”
“No. No. No. Jan would never do that. Never. I hotmailed him off and on today. He was investigating Fitch’s murder. He was talking to all the kids who used the clinic. He was trying to find things out. He was excited. Sure, we all talked about depression. Sometimes with the counselors. Mr. Weaver, you were great. We all trusted you. Are you okay? The police let you go. They don’t still think you did it do they?” She clutched his arm.
“I’m afraid so. I’m out on bail.”
“Oh, but I know you didn’t kill anybody. I know you wouldn’t ever.”
“Do you know if Jan actually found out anything?” I asked.
“He wanted to meet with me, but he couldn’t get out of the house during the day. He was supposed to call me this evening. His parents were going to a play. They took his cell phone away, but we still had the Internet. Jan wasn’t one of those gothic depressos. Jan was always ‘up.’ He never got down. But he could get serious. None of you ever saw that side. Everybody thought the drag-queen stuff was an act, but that was Jan. He was pure. He wanted to be exactly what he was. Everybody at the clinic kept telling us to be ourselves. Well, Jan was himself. That’s exactly who he was. Why do so many people think that if we just be ourselves, we’ll all be calm and sensible and reasonable? I can’t believe he’s gone. He was so vibrant. I could talk to him better than anyone else.”
“How did you get out of the house?” I asked. “Weren’t your parents angry about you being involved in all this?”
“My parents are pretty liberal. When I told them last year, they took my being a lesbian surprisingly well. They found about the clinic before I did. They drove me here for my first meeting. They thought it was a good place for me to meet people. It was outside the school environment. They were right. They always told me they would help me any way they could.”
I asked, “Did Jan say where he was going tonight?”
“Jan wanted to help Mr. Weaver. He also wanted to be the great detective. He said he was going to get out of the house as soon as his parents left. They always had places to go and people to meet for dinner. They were out of town half the time on business or visiting his brother at college or his sister in Little Rock. Jan was left on his own pretty much. He got away with a lot more stuff than I did. My parents are liberal, but they check up on me pretty closely. His parents didn’t have much of a clue. Jan kept saying he wanted to get his face on television. He always said he was going to get more than fifteen minutes of fame.”
Lee said, “He shouldn’t have been investigating.”
“If Jan got an idea in his head, there was no stopping him. He wrote me that he had some ideas about what had happened. I know he didn’t commit suicide. Which means it had to be murder.”
“Have you talked to the police?” I asked.
“I’m not talking to them. Us kids don’t trust cops. I was hoping somebody from the clinic would be here. Maybe you guys can do something.”
“Tell me exactly what Jan e-mailed to you today.”
“He wrote that he liked the way that you asked questions. He made some obscene speculations about you and your lover. Sorry. Jan was like that. He’d say or write the most outrageous things. That’s what I so liked about him. I’m so ordinary and conservative. I was a great audience for him. I preferred being an audience. I could never be a star like him.”
I didn’t try to correct her perception of herself.
“What else did he write?”
“I’m trying to remember everything. He said stuff about you. He talked about Larry. He had a crush on Larry.”
“Were his feelings about Larry strong enough that if he were rejected, it might cause him to kill himself?”
“I think his feelings were more in the stage of being attracted to Larry and wanting Larry to notice him. Larry was pretty oblivious. It’s hard to ignore Jan, but Larry managed. Larry wasn’t mean, just clueless. Jan expressed his feelings as more of a wish, more, this is a hot guy and I’d like to cuddle with him.”
“Did he say anything about the murder?” I asked.
“He was obsessed. He figured the police had missed some clues. When his parents left for the evening, he called me.”
“His parents left on the day he’d gotten into all kinds of trouble?”
“He hadn’t done anything. They never talk about him being gay. Never.”
I asked, “Did he say anything specific?”
“No. That’s another reason I came down here. He wanted an audience. I think he was going to confront whoever he was suspecting. He didn’t know precisely who, but I think he had it narrowed down.”
It was possible he had hit on the killer, who may very well have perceived him as a threat. Although I wondered if he’d hit on who it was by random chance or logical deduction. If Jan could figure out who the killer was, I sure as hell should be able to.
More tears escaped down Brenda’s cheeks. She said, “I wish we’d never gone to that basement. We never should have said anything to the police. It got Jan killed. I should have talked him out of it.”
Lee said, “Brenda, Jan was a special kid. He wanted to make a difference. He tried his best. Everything he was will live in his friends’ memories.”
Lee and I spent some time comforting her.
When she was significantly calmer, I said, “I’d like to talk to some more of Jan’s friends, especially anyone he may have spoken with today.”
“I only know a few. You could maybe get the history from his computer.”
“I’m not sure his parents would let me,” I said. “I presume the police will do that. I’d like to talk to the kids, especially if they were gay. They might have a tough time talking to the cops.”
She wrote down three of the names she remembered that Jan had mentioned. “Do you know all these kids?” I asked.
“Yeah, they use the clinic. They weren’t here the night we heard Karek fighting.”
“There’s gotta be some reason he e-mailed them.”
“Probably just to hear himself talk or shoot off his mouth. I’d give a great deal to listen to that for the next couple hours.”
It was late. I was tired. Fortunately I had the next week off for spring break. Brenda called a friend who would keep her company.
Outside in the cool spring night after we’d left her, Lee tapped my arm and said, “The thing that bothers me the most about this is that it’s hurt our relationship. I feel like I used you. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not often we’re accused of murder.”
“I appreciate your faith in me.”
Lee went home to Dustin.
I walked to my car.
26
I’d parked in the clinic lot. I heard a car alarm blaring. It was a sound never far away from you if you lived in the heart of the city. Usually it meant there was a malfunction, not a robbery. Dark alley. Trees casting shadows each more menacing than the last. Sound muffled. Sound ignored. I had my keys in my hand. As I neared my car, I saw someone sitting in the passenger seat. It was also clear that my car was letting off the annoying blasts. A little mystified, a lot apprehensive, and hugely pissed, I hurried forward. I pressed the button to unlock the door and stop the alarm. I was about ten feet from the car. In the silence I thought I heard footsteps rushing toward me. I spun around, pressed the panic alarm on the key chain. The alarm started blaring again. A fat lot of good the noise had done two minutes ago. Before my spin was complete, I caught a blur out of the corner of my eye. My spin had unbalanced me. A powerful shove hurtled me headfirst toward the car. My head bashed hard enough into the headlight to break it. I felt my attacker leaning over me. I thought I saw the flicker of a knife. I thrashed and kicked wildly. I managed to land a kick
in my attacker’s nuts. I heard an oof. He stumbled backward. I scrambled to my feet. My attacker was already hustling away. I tried to go after him. Dizziness and nausea swept over me. I leaned against my car and tried to get a fix on my attacker. I could tell nothing more than that he was a large person dressed in dark clothes. I felt my head where it had hit the car. I could feel a lump. I looked at my hand. Blood. I took out my cell phone. For a moment the numbers swam in and out of focus. I hit 9-1-1 and gasped out my call for help.
The damn car alarm was still blaring. Not a soul in sight to check it out. I pressed the button. Blessed silence. When my dizziness and nausea where under control, I approached the person sitting in the car.
I opened the passenger side door and looked inside. It was Billy Karek. The head of a screwdriver was sticking out of his right ear. He wouldn’t be dodging any more microphones. Blood was smeared over his beige cashmere sweater, his jeans, the car seat, the headrest, the floor, and some black, leather-bound books scattered on the floor.
Even Todd was going to have to strain to make something humorous out of this one. This many people can’t die and there still be a one-liner left to tell. I called and woke him up.
“I’ll be there,” was all he said. He didn’t say that he thought Karek was really screwed up, but unfortunately, I thought it. At least Todd hadn’t said it.
My eyes kept straying to the wreckage that was Karek. I felt worse than I had when I found the head. Then I thought about the books on the car floor. They weren’t mine. They’d looked like ledger books. He must have been carrying them.
The police arrived.
The next few hours lacked peace and joy.
The most important thing that happened was that I didn’t get a chance to call Scott and tell him that I loved him. We usually talk every night when he’s on the road. If we don’t, it’s because of previously arranged plans that we both know about. He would wonder where I was, and he would worry. With my involvement in the murder, his concern would be heightened.
File Under Dead Page 19
