Closet

by R. D. Zimmerman

  He remembered cranking up the radio. A song by U2 had played. Yes, full blast. He wanted the voices, the guitars to blast everything from his mind, clean it all away. Like a zombie, he'd just driven and driven.

  “How far, Todd?”

  “I don't know. Until I stopped for gas.”

  “Where was that? What did you do then?”

  “Past Burnsville. I remember going by the mall. And that ski place, you know, the one that's on the right. I might have gone another ten miles. Then I looked at the gas gauge, saw the fuel light was lit up, and so I pulled off.”

  “Where? Do you remember what town?”

  The vision of that glowing sign poked out of the night and into his memory. “No. It was just some gas station on the edge of a cornfield.”

  “Did you pay cash or charge it?”

  “I don't know. Probably charged it.” Wasn't that what he always did? “That's what I always do.”

  “Where'd you put the charge receipt?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Do you keep them?” she asked, trying to coax the answer out of him.

  “I usually stuff them in the glove compartment.”

  “Okay. Good. We'll have to see if we can dig that up.” She jotted more down, making an arrow up to something else, some other little point that could be tied in. “Did you talk with anyone?”

  “Not really.”

  “What do you mean, not really?”

  “I just went in and paid.”

  “Do you think the cashier would remember you?”

  “Shit, I don't know.”

  “Was it a man or a woman? Did he or she say anything?”

  It had been a chilly night, particularly down there, out of the city and on the plains. There'd been a breeze rustling the browned cornstalks. And the smell of earth. Except for the streaking of the cars, it had been so quiet. He'd gone in, picked up a pack of Trident, then paid.

  “I handed the cashier my credit card, and she looked at me, my name.” Yes, thought Todd, they did exchange a few words. “She said she knew she'd seen me before. I was the guy on the crime thing on TV. I didn't say much, just signed the receipt. I just wanted to be left alone, but she did push a piece of paper forward and ask for my autograph.”

  “Which you gave her, right?”

  “Automatically.” Todd looked at her, shrugged. “I always have to be on. Always the nice guy. You know, presentable, pleasant. And I always do signatures. Stella, my agent, is always beating it into me: ‘Your fans are gold, doll, pure gold. Once you lose them, your career is kaput.’ ”

  “Excellent, Todd. This is excellent.” Janice hastily added a couple of things. “And then you started back to the city?”

  “Exactly. I was going to go home, but then I realized I still didn't know what I wanted to say to Michael. I wasn't completely clear about everything. When I got to Four ninety-four I just sort of veered right, and I kept going until I saw my picture up there on a billboard. That's when I stopped at that restaurant.”

  “Right.” Janice flipped back a couple of pages. “I've already got all that. Was it two or three girls who saw you?”

  “The hostess, my waitress. There might have been another waitress too. I think they were all talking.” He recalled looking over, seeing them huddled together, glancing at him. “Talking about me, I mean. That happens sometimes. You go in a place, and then people huddle and point at you. It kind of drives me crazy. I've always been worried that they're looking at me, saying, he's a fag, isn't he?”

  “Oh, Todd.” Janice reached across the table, placed a hand over his. “It's time to let go of all that. Otherwise you're going to get an ulcer or go crazy. Or both.”

  He managed a small laugh. “I suppose I don't have to worry anymore, because from now on everyone'll know what I do when the lights are off. Did it make this morning's paper?”

  “Front page.”

  “Oh, shit. Stella's not going to like this.” He asked, “What about the station? What are they saying?”

  “They're concerned about you.”

  “Bullshit. They're concerned about their fucking ratings. Locker must be quaking. Could you—”

  “Todd, we'll worry about them later. Let's just finish up. The most important thing is to get you out of here.” She studied her notes, said, “How long were you at that restaurant?”

  “I don't know. A while.”

  “What did you have?”

  “Uh, a cup of coffee.” There was something else too, wasn't there? “A cup of coffee and some chili.”

  “Good,” she said, scribbling.

  “But I didn't eat the chili. She was bringing it over and all of a sudden I knew I had to get back to Michael's. So I threw ten dollars on the table and left.” He'd been so sure he finally had it all figured out and he'd been so excited to tell Michael. “Why do you want to know?”

  “If need be, we might have to go through the checks, that is, if they still have them. I don't think we'll need to, but there's probably a time on it. Which would be very convenient in proving just when and where you were.”

  “Oh.”

  “You're sure it was just coffee and chili? Nothing else?”

  “No. But I didn't eat the chili.”

  “Right, I've got that.”

  “I just went out to my car and drove to Michael's.” He added, “I would have been there sooner, I suppose, but I'd turned off my pager. In case they ask why I didn't call when they paged me, you can tell them I was in life crisis and had flicked that fucking thing off.”

  “And then you got there, and … and …”

  “Right.” Todd rubbed his eyes. “It was really on the front page?”

  “Russia got the headline, but you got the photo.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit. Front and center.”

  “Well, was it a good picture, at least? I hope it wasn't that stock one that the paper keeps using, the one of me at the fishing opener. I mean, I look like a real geek with that hat on and that rod.” Notwithstanding that it made him look exactly like what he wasn't: straight. ”I hate to fish. You just sit there. It wasn't that picture, was it?”

  “Definitely not. You'll see soon enough—it was a photo taken last night—but trust me, Todd, you've gone way beyond being famous. I'd say infamous was more like it. This is going to be big.”

  “Oh.” Quietly he asked what he knew was a dumb question. “So people'll know that I'm gay?”

  “Uh, no doubt about that.”

  He rose to his feet, started pacing around the little box of a room. It didn't matter, not now. Who cared if the entire world knew his deepest secret? Suddenly it just seemed so … so unimportant.

  “You know what, Janice?” he said, turning toward her. “I don't care anymore. In fact, I'm kind of relieved. I'm tired of all that, tired of worrying what people are going to think of me.”

  “Good. You're going to need every bit of strength you can muster.”

  “Do you think they'll release me today?”

  “With all this,” said Janice, touching her pad of yellow paper, “there shouldn't be any problem. You're lucky you're so famous—it's going to work in your favor. People will remember seeing you.”

  “Will I have to post bail? I can. I've got lots of money.”

  “Todd, you haven't even been charged with anything, so there won't be any bail posted. I think you're going to be fine, but I wouldn't count on going back to work right away.”

  “Of course not. In fact, I don't know if and when I'll ever want to.” His career, which had always been the first and foremost thing in his life, had overnight tumbled to the bottom of the list. “Michael just had such a great heart.”

  “I know. Nobody could make me laugh like him.”

  That was what had drawn Todd to Michael. That laugh. He was this straight-looking, straight-acting guy—gays that were too queenly had always made Todd uncomfortable, as if by association people might realize he himself was queer—an acco
untant who was a real whiz with numbers and anything digital, yet who could look at something totally odd and just start to laugh. A deep, hearty laugh that turned high-pitched right at the end. When he really got going he even snorted, which was the one surefire way to crack up Todd as well. Anything could set Michael off too. If Michael broke something, he'd look at it and then just burst out cackling. And Todd loved that about him. Loved the irreverence beneath the businesslike sheen. It was so unlike the atmosphere in which Todd had been raised, where everything was either good or bad, right or wrong. Michael had found joy in life, and it was that characteristic that had captured Todd's heart right from the start and had even steadily chipped away at Todd's own homophobia and self-hate.

  Todd closed his eyes, couldn't imagine that this was really his life. “You don't think he was killed because he was gay, do you?”

  “I don't know, I really don't.” The thought had obviously occurred to her and frightened her, and for a moment or two she couldn't speak. “A hate crime is a real possibility though.”

  Todd had never talked to anyone about this, but he'd been frightened for so long. All his life, really. He'd known he was different, sensed it first when he was eight or ten, but didn't know what it was, why he wasn't like all the other boys. He didn't know specifically until he'd seen that Dan guy at the pool. Or was it the next year? Like all the other boys, he'd done a little sexual experimenting. Nothing major. But one of the kids had been threatened by Todd's eager, even aggressive exploration and had accused him outright of being a homo. Three or four other kids had joined in, taunting and pushing Todd, until Todd had fought them off, punching them all, even giving one kid a gusher of a nosebleed. After that there was never a problem, but ever since Todd had been standing against a wall, guarding his back, fearful of letting people see the other side of him. And fearful of exactly this, that someone would find out that he was a homo and extract the ultimate punishment: death. Is that what had happened to poor Michael?

  Todd muttered, “Why, Janice?”

  “I have no idea why anyone would kill him, but I'm sure the police will do their best to figure it out.”

  “No.” He cleared his throat. “No, I mean why are we queer—you, me, Michael?”

  “Oh, Todd, why's the sky blue?”

  “It's just so much. I mean, who could think that you'd ever choose to be gay? I wouldn't, would you?”

  “The wisest thing my shrink ever said was stay away from rhetorical questions. And that one definitely has no answer, not until they find the gene or something, so I won't touch it with a ten-foot pole.” She quickly added, “My only choice has been whether to be honest or not, and I must say I've been forthright from day two or three.”

  “I admire you for that, believe me.”

  “Well, I'm very happy in my life. Probably much happier than if I were straight, because I haven't been able to walk blindly through life. I've had to confront and accept so much within myself, and because of that I've found some kind of inner peace, which is also my strength.”

  Todd turned away, stared at the wall. “We dated for, what, two or three months? Four? And then you went to Europe for a semester and came back with a girlfriend. It freaked me out, it really did. Have I ever told you that? It freaked me out because I didn't know what it meant about me, if anything.”

  “We were young.”

  “But you were strong, even then. And courageous.” He shook his head. “Oh, Christ, I knew life wasn't going to be easy, I just never expected it would be this hard. I'd just like to get to the point where I walk into a room and I don't worry about … about how people perceive me.”

  “You'll get there, honey. And when you do, you'll realize how wonderful it is because you've earned every blessed step.”

  “And Michael was helping me! He'd been there for years, you know. And for some wonderful reason he was waiting for me, helping me along.”

  “That's because he knew you were worth it.”

  “Shit!”

  Todd made a tight fist, held it to his mouth, and clenched his eyes shut. If only he could block it all out.

  Janice stared at him, knowing Todd was not one to leave stones unturned, and said, “Todd, I have to advise you this is best left to them, to the police. Michael's murder isn't something for you to go poking around in.”

  If he heard what she said it didn't register, and he plugged on, saying, “It's just that I had this wonderful person and this wonderful life, and now it's gone. Vanished. Just like that.”

  “Of course, but don't—”

  “Do you realize, Janice, I didn't even stop to look at how good my life was? I mean, I complicated the hell out of it and my work complicated the hell out of it too, but there was something really wonderful there. In fact, it was almost great. Michael and I were just about to that point too.” He went to a wall, leaned against it. “This is just so fucking unbelievable.”

  “Todd, stay out of it.”

  “What?” he said, looking up.

  “You're already in enough trouble. Let the police take care of it. Just keep clear.”

  “Good God, how am I supposed to do that?”

  “Todd, listen to what I'm saying.” She paused, looked him up and down. “Don't be a pigheaded guy about this. Heed my words, alright, mister?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “I couldn't be more serious. You're in deep enough shit as it is.” She hesitated, then asked, “So, when are you going to … to …”

  “To what?”

  She studied him long and hard. “You know, when are you going to stop being so butch about all this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Jesus Christ, Todd, when are you going to cry?”

  “I don't know.” He turned away, rubbed his face, sensing only this tremendous emptiness. “I was wondering that myself.”

  8

  Detective Steve Rawlins sat at his desk in the bull room, a large space filled with about eight other desks, and stared at an intimidating pile of unfiled papers. He was trying to ascertain just how and where he was supposed to begin filing all this, when suddenly someone pushed the pile to the side. He lunged forward and wrapped his arms around the stack as he tried to keep his precious mess from dumping all over.

  “Hey, watch it,” snapped Rawlins as several pieces of paper slid off his desk and floated down to the linoleum floor. “This is important crap. All my cases for the last month.”

  “We're letting him go.”

  Rawlins reached down, grabbed the papers, and slapped them back on top of the heap, then looked over at Donna Lewis, who'd perched on the corner of his desk. He always had trouble reading her, this woman with the short hair and pale skin. She was just so steady. Or so cold. So Minnesotan. And now as she sat there, rolling a pencil back and forth in her hand, he couldn't read her, couldn't tell exactly what was on her mind. Nor, for that matter, did he have any idea who she was talking about.

  “Who's that?” asked Rawlins, grabbing a file out of the middle of the pile and placing it to the side. “We're a tad buried under these days.”

  “The TV dude, our Mr. Mills.”

  “What?” snapped Rawlins, unable to hide his disbelief.

  Lewis shrugged. “His lawyer was in again this morning. She spent a couple of hours with Mills and then went to see the judge. Apparently she came up with a series of alibis.”

  “Series?” said Rawlins, sliding the entire stack of papers over to the other side of his desk. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means his lawyer couldn't pinpoint any one alibi to cover him for the entire time frame, so instead she patched together two or three.” Lewis shrugged. “And apparently the judge bought it.”

  “Oh, come on, you're shitting me.”

  “Nope,” replied Lewis, jabbing her short, sharp fingernail into the pencil's eraser.

  “That fucker should be locked up.”

  “Sorry, he'll be out within the hour.”

  “That's crap.
You know as well as I do that he's getting off because he's famous.” Rawlins shook his head. “If we're really letting him go, then I'm going to personally check out each and every one of those alibis.”

  With a sly grin Lewis asked, “So what's the matter with you and Todd Mills?”

  “His type bothers me, you know that.” Rawlins leaned back in his chair. “Besides, you heard Mills yourself. Those two guys had a fight and Mills got violent. Real violent. Shit, you saw all that broken crap too. Mills said he didn't hit Carter, but who's to say? We should check with Carter's employer, see if Carter said anything at work. Or maybe someone noticed he was limping or something. Maybe he told a fellow worker he'd been threatened. Who knows? We've got to talk with them. Is the coroner's report in yet?”

  “As of about twenty minutes ago all they could be certain of was that Michael Carter had suffered multiple stab wounds. It appeared that his heart was penetrated by a ten-inch knife.” She added, “The coroner did say that so far there wasn't any trace of semen on or in Carter. No anal penetration either. Carter's pants were down when his body was found, but so far they've detected no sign of any sexual contact or activity.”

  “Well, maybe they'll find something else. Like I said, how do we know Mills didn't take a couple of swipes at Carter before he busted all those fucking dishes?”

  “We don't. Not yet anyway.”

  “Exactly. Trust me, something's wrong here. Among other things, there's still no sign of that Cubs hat.” Rawlins thought for a moment and then added, “But even if Mills didn't do anything the night before last, he could have come back last night. You know, like maybe he was still pissed and so he came back and lit into him. I mean, shit, there wasn't a forced entry at Carter's house—all the windows and doors are still secure—so either it was someone Carter knew or someone who—”

  “Had a key.”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, okay. So we have to find out who has a key besides Todd Mills. Maybe the upstairs tenants. Maybe a neighbor. Speaking of which, be sure and get copies of all of Mills's keys before we let him go.”

  “Already did,” replied Rawlins, searching his desk. “Two sets. They're here somewhere. Yep.” He pulled the shiny keys from beneath a pad of paper. “Oh, and what about family? Doesn't he have a sister here in town? Or what about a cleaning service? They'd probably have a key too.”