A Body to Dye For

by Grant Michaels

  “But you know who did it?”

  “I know what I know.”

  “Sounds like you’re blackmailing someone, Aaron.”

  “Your vernacular is crass, and you are not welcome here, so why don’t you leave now.”

  “I get the feeling there’s someone else around.”

  Aaron planted his strong bare feet firmly in the carpet. “There’s nobody here but me.”

  “I’ll just go have a look,” I said, and walked past him.

  He tried to stop me, and the guy was damn agile. But I’ve got agility, too, plus those twelve or so extra pounds I’m always trying to shed. Now it all came in handy. He stood in front of me to block me, which made it real simple. I moved to his side and crouched low, then slammed one arm behind his knees and knocked him off balance. He fell into my arms. His body was surprisingly light, but then, he was a dancer. I used my legs and whole body to lift him up and throw him down hard onto the floor. He made a loud rough cough when he hit the floor, and I knew I’d knocked the wind out of him.

  I moved quickly through Hal’s apartment looking for the infamous “other” room he’d mentioned the first night we talked. I finally found it, and waiting for me in there was a stunning surprise.

  I mean, I was stunned.

  He was hovering in midair, suspended from the wood-beamed ceiling by four long, shiny chrome chains. The chains were attached to a matrix of leather straps that bound his naked body. His wrists were tied together above his head. His mouth was gagged with a broad leather belt.

  “So we meet again,” I said.

  It was Hal. He looked at me with mild amusement. I quickly unfastened the gag so he could talk, and was surprised to withdraw from his mouth a long leather phallus attached to the leather strap. I wondered how he could breathe. Ah, the mysteries of life.

  “Nice to see you,” he said, as casually as though we were chatting in a supermarket aisle.

  “What the hell is going on here, Hal?”

  “I should think that’s obvious. Would you like to join us?”

  “Thanks, but its not my idea of a kaffeeklatsch. Do you know where Calvin is?”

  “Obviously not here.”

  “I thought you said you never made it with these guys.”

  “Not with Calvin. But as you can see, Aaron and I are …” He smiled. “… familiar.” He seemed relaxed and was enjoying himself. “Why don’t you stay?” he asked. “There are skins in the closet. I’m sure there’s something for you.” His eyes were inviting and his equipment was tantalizing. The guy was built for sex, lots of it. And here he was, trussed up and ready to serve a willing taker. Was that me? Is that what I wanted?

  I felt a slight rustling in my groin. “I’ve got work to do, Hal. But I’ll certainly keep you in mind.” It was probably one of the stupidest things I ever did, but I left him there, unused.

  Back in the living room, Aaron was now slumped against the sofa. I opened the door to leave. “See you around, Aaron,” I said. “You might want to find new digs, now that I know where you are.”

  He groaned. “I’ll get you for this.”

  I arrived at the shop around ten o’clock. Nicole seemed pleased that I’d arrived earlier than I’d promised. She greeted me with a kiss and a small white paper bag. “What’s this?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier, Stani. You have a full schedule ahead of you, and I thought you’d need the energy.” It was an almond-filled croissant.

  “Thanks, Nikki.”

  “Any word from Yudi?”

  “Christ! I forgot about him! He didn’t show up here?”

  “No, dear. How did your visit with Calvin go?”

  “He, uh, wasn’t home.” She didn’t need to know what else I’d seen there. “Nikki, did you drive that rented convertible here?”

  “Yes, dear, and don’t change the subject.”

  “I want to go to Cambridge and see if Calvin’s at work.”

  She frowned. “Not now, Stanley. You have a customer coming in at eleven.”

  “Nikki, I have to do it now. With the car I can go and be back by eleven.”

  “I rented that car to help you, not to lose you.”

  “I promise I’ll be back in time.”

  “If I know you—”

  “Doll, if I’m late, just reschedule me.” I took the bag and headed out the back door. “And thanks for the snack.” Sure enough, the white convertible was parked in the alley. I got in, dropped the top, and headed onto Storrow Drive, which runs alongside the Charles River. With the morning traffic past, the drive to Cambridge was easy. In the bright sun the trees along the riverbank glowed orange and yellow and red. If nothing else, autumn in Boston was colorful.

  I pulled into the Choate Group parking lot and jogged to the door. I thought it might be too early, since any hour before 11 a.m. is almost dawn by Cambridge architectural time. Patrick, the receptionist, sat at his desk reading an expensive European fashion magazine. He barely acknowledged me. I leaned over his desk and tipped his magazine down. “Tell Calvin Redding that Vannos is here to see him.”

  He looked up lazily at me through his oversized horn-rimmed glasses. “Is that your name today?”

  “That’s who I am every day.”

  “Whoever you are, Mr. Redding is not here.”

  “We’ve done this dance before, sweetheart. I know Calvin’s here, so I’ll just go have a look for myself.” I started toward the offices.

  “I wouldn’t advise that,” he said.

  I turned back to him. “Excuse me?”

  “If you enter without my consent, I will consider you a trespasser.”

  “Then why don’t you make life easy for both of us and just consent?”

  At that moment a gravelly voice echoed within the open atrium. “Patrick, it’s all right! Let him in.”

  I looked through the open space of the lobby and saw Jennifer Doughton’s soft bulky body leaning over the second-floor railing. She waved to me. I discreetly waved back. “Hi, Jennie.”

  Patrick said, “You can go in now.”

  “Thanks, Patty-love,” I said, then trotted across the atrium and up the ramp to where Jennifer was standing.

  She wore a lint-speckled black skirt and a dark knitted top that had begun to pill. A tiny particle of moist potato chip clung to her chin. She spoke low and her eyes moved excitedly. “I’m glad you came. I tried calling you, but they said you were out of town.”

  “No matter. I’m back now. Where’s Calvin?”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Where is he, then?”

  “When he was released, the boss gave him time off to rest.” She sniggered. “As though he needs it, with his work habits.”

  “Do you know where he went?”

  “Probably the Caribbean.”

  Jennie’s words created an annoying montage in my mind, with Calvin lying on a sunny beach, languidly sipping a piña colada, his body laden with cocoa butter, while I raced around the country trying in vain to convict him of murder.

  Jennie continued nervously, lowering her voice even more. “But I’ve got good news for you. I found some incredible facts about that ranger’s visit here in Boston.”

  That was music to my ears. “Tell me,” I said.

  “I can’t talk now. I’m meeting with a major client any minute. Can you see me later, after work?”

  A little warning bell sounded inside my head, but I answered, “Sure. Where and when?”

  “Harvest Lounge in Harvard Square, say around seven tonight.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good. I’m honestly relieved you came by. You won’t believe what turned up.” She waddled back to her office double-time and left me feeling bothered. Even though she’d found something, I still didn’t trust her.

  As I headed toward the ramp to leave, I heard a familiar voice behind me ask, “How was your vacation?”

  I turned and saw Roy Brickley approaching me.

  “
It was fine,” I answered, perhaps too quickly.

  Dark gray pleated pants showed off his waistline. I envied Brickley’s trim midriff. After all, he had about twenty years on me, yet his belly was flat. He shook my hand and smiled, but it was one of those designer smiles.

  I asked, “How did you know I was gone?” .

  “My wife called your salon, and they told her you were out of town for a while. We assumed you were on vacation.”

  “Did she need anything?” I asked, wondering if Mrs. Brickley had really called the shop.

  “Nothing urgent. Just more praise for your work, but I imagine you’re used to that.”

  Not these days, I thought.

  “Where did you go?” he asked.

  “I was in New York. Hair stylists’ convention.”

  “Really?” Brickley’s left eyelid twitched for an instant.

  I said, “I was hoping to talk to Calvin Redding today.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. He’s not here. He’s taking some time off to recover from the stress of the past week. We have three big contracts coming up soon and I need him eager and bright.”

  “Do you know where he went?”

  “No idea. Perhaps to New York … just like you.”

  “It’s a nice place to visit,” I said, catching the inflection on his last three words. He knew I was lying.

  He nodded and smiled again. “I must get back to work. It’s good to see you, and thank you again for what you did with my wife’s hair. We’re both very happy with her new look.” He turned and headed up the ramp to his office.

  Cripes, I thought, it was only a lousy shampoo and set!

  I walked back through the bright open atrium toward the entranceway to the building. As I passed the receptionist, I blew him a kiss and said, “See you later, pumpkin.” He scowled.

  I drove back to Boston, breaking the speed limit all the way. There was one more stop I had to make, even if it meant being late for my eleven o’clock appointment at the shop. So what if the damn police hauled me in for speeding? I was going to see Branco anyway, to tell him what I’d just found out about Aaron Harvey and Calvin Redding.

  There were no parking spaces near the station, so I pulled into one of the empty bays reserved for the cruisers. Hell, how’s a responsible citizen supposed to cooperate with the cops if he can’t even park near the station? I waved energetically as I charged by the desk sergeant. “Branco!” I said with brusque authority. “He’s expecting me.” Today my cocky attitude seemed to work, and the sergeant buzzed me in through the locked door that led to the rest of the station. Little did I know that Lieutenant Branco really was expecting me.

  He was seated behind his desk: chair tilted back, hands clasped behind his head, legs up on the desk, bent slightly at the knee. For a panoramic view of his business region, the pose was without equal.

  “Good you came in, Stan. Saved me coming after you.”

  “You wanted to see me?”

  He nodded. “You were supposed to report to me this morning, remember?”

  I’d forgotten. “I guess I thought after our talk last night—”

  Branco interrupted me. “Where’d you get that climber’s chock you gave me?”

  “I told you, I found it in a tree near the slide site in Yosemite.”

  He looked through me, trying to detect the faintest trace of a lie on my face. Then he sat straight up in the chair and faced me directly, a stance that meant all business. “The stuff on that piece of metal is a material called Rezon. It’s a plastic explosive that detonates through resonance. It’s under top-secret development at M.I.T.” I knew Branco was referring to the prestigious Massachusetts Institute of Technology, in Cambridge.

  I asked, “How did it get on a climbers chock in the Yosemite Valley?,,

  “Good question. I was wondering if you had any friends, maybe a customer who works in the labs over there.”

  “Come off it, Lieutenant. I did not put that gunk in that chock.”

  “Somebody did. And it seems unlikely that the Rezon went all the way out West just to come back here in your luggage. Maybe you stuck it on the chock just before you gave it to me.”

  “That’s absurd! I have no reason to pull that kind of prank.”

  Branco stared at me. “No telling how far you’d go to incriminate Calvin Redding.”

  “Why bother now, since he just skipped town.”

  “When?”

  “I just came from Cambridge. He wasn’t at work.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’s skipped town.”

  “You’re not even tailing him, are you?”

  “What do you expect, Stan? I can’t put out an APB because a guy doesn’t show up for work.”

  “You did for me.”

  “That was different.”

  “Sure was. He’s a killer and I’m a goon.”

  “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

  “Have you found Aaron Harvey yet?”

  Branco shifted in his chair.

  “Well, Lieutenant, if you move fast, you’ll find him with Calvin Redding’s downstairs neighbor, Hal Steiner.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I saw him there this morning, during one of my secret ‘gay probes’ for you.”

  Branco picked up his phone and ordered a crew to pick up Aaron at Hal’s apartment. While he talked, I noticed a small frame on his desk. It contained an old black and white photo of a man, a woman, and a small boy together. The man was fair; the woman dark-featured, with Branco’s eyes; and the boy was a miniature version of the very cop seated before me. They were on vacation somewhere warm and sunny with mountains. Italy maybe, long ago.

  Branco finished his call and said, “Thanks for the tip. And there’s something else I want to tell you about.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “You ever hear of a guy named Jack Werdegar?”

  I weighed Branco’s intentions in asking the question. “Name sounds familiar.”

  “It ought to. He says he knows you.”

  “Oh, right,” I said jovially. “From Yosemite.”

  “That’s the one. He’s here in town.”

  “Really?” So Yudi was right—Jack had been on the plane. “You’ve talked to him, Lieutenant?”

  “He has to report to us anytime he comes to Boston.”

  “Why?”

  “He used to live here, but he had some trouble a few years back, got into a barroom brawl, ended up killing a man. He was charged with manslaughter but got acquitted on self-defense. Went out West for a new start. I just thought you might like to know who your friends are.”

  “Uh, thanks, Lieutenant.” What would Branco have thought of my recent wilderness adventure with the guy, skipping up and down the rocks at Yosemite?

  “By the way, Stan, how are you and your other friend getting along?”

  “Which one?”

  “The little one you brought back with you.”

  “Damn! I keep forgetting! He disappeared this morning. He hasn’t come by here, has he?”

  “No. What happened last night?”

  “Nothing!” I spat back. Boy, my defenses were up, and it showed. I breathed a minute, then continued. “He left my place this morning and I don’t know where he went.”

  “Maybe you ought to pay more attention to him and less to Calvin Redding.”

  I felt my face redden. “Maybe I could, if Calvin was still in custody.”

  “Stan, how many times do I have to tell you, we don’t have evidence for a murder charge.” The edge on his voice and the glint in his eyes told me he was becoming more impatient with me.

  “It’s all there, Lieutenant! Calvin was there. Roger was dead on his bed. They were both naked … the drugs … the ties.”

  “That’s all circumstantial evidence.”

  “I thought you guys thrived on that kind of stuff.”

  Branco just grunted.

  “Lieutenant, what would it take to make a charge?”

/>   “For this case, a suspect with a lousy lawyer and no connections.”

  “But it’s obvious it’s Calvin. I don’t know why you don’t just charge him.”

  “I’ve already explained the situation to you. If I charged Redding now, I’d be going directly against orders. That’s grounds for suspension.”

  “What about finding the killer? I thought that was important to you.”

  “It is, but frankly, I’m not convinced Redding did it. Otherwise, I would take action.”

  “Easy to say, Lieutenant Safe. And you’ll still have your job.” I stomped out of his office and slammed the door. I drove off with tires squealing. It was like a scene from a prime-time television soap opera, and I was proud of it.

  17

  MISTER SANDMAN, BRING ME A CLUE

  I WAS ALREADY LATE FOR my eleven o’clock appointment, so I figured it wouldn’t make much difference if I zipped by my place on the chance that Yudi might be waiting there for me, or at least have left me a note. But it was in vain—there was no sign of him.

  When I got to the shop, I was still revved up from all the fast driving, which had originated with my histrionics with Branco. I hurried in through the back door and went to the front desk, where Nicole was quietly going over the appointment book. Even I could hear the excited edge on my voice when I asked her whether Yudi had materialized there at the shop while I was gone. She responded with a dull “No.”

  “And, Nikki, do you recall if Vivian Brickley called here at the shop while I was in California?”

  “No, Stanley, I don’t recall. You see, when you’re not here, it’s very difficult to manage the shop myself, and I can’t keep track of your personal phone calls as well. She may have called, but I didn’t speak to her.”

  “But I think she didn’t call, Nikki. I’m trying to verify …” Then I noticed Nicole’s eyes glowering impatiently. “Never mind,” I said. “But I have to leave early tonight. I thought you should know.”

  “Fine, Stanley,” she answered coolly, and I wondered why she accepted it so calmly, since it meant she’d have to close the shop without me, again.