Closet

by R. D. Zimmerman

  Todd replied, “Janice, if I didn't know better, I'd say someone was trying to frame me.”

  24

  “Cindy, Cindy, Cindy,” said Locker, beaming. “What can I say? You're doing an excellent job. An incredible one.”

  “Thank you.”

  Still wearing her black leather jacket, having not changed at all since this morning's shoot, Cindy Wilson sat in her boss's office, a proud smile on her face. She knew it too. She was doing fabulously. Upon arriving here at the station she'd watched the entire clip that had run on Sunrise Seven. Not only had her delivery been calm and professional, not only did she look wonderful on screen, but Mark's camera work had been great. It truly looked as if she'd been critical in assisting the police in their search for the body. In other words, her horror at discovering the body hadn't come across. No one had been able to discern her fright, her disgust at spotting the maimed corpse and all that blood. Just thinking about it now—the blatant knife wounds, the pants open, the ghostly white legs—made her tense all over again. No, just push it away, she told herself. You've seen plenty of bodies.

  “And I think you're absolutely right,” continued Locker.

  “Plan B?”

  With a broad grin Locker said, “Hang him.”

  They'd talked about it the other day at the staff meeting, a horrendously long meeting that had focused on how to handle this explosive situation. Just how were they going to treat Todd Mills, both officially and unofficially? How long did they want him associated with Channel 7?

  “Dear Lord, I can't believe how he's screwed every last one of us,” Locker now moaned.

  Cindy said, “Well, we just can't go down with him, can we? I mean, I like Todd, but—”

  “We all liked Todd,” interrupted Locker, completely aware that he was referring to his once star reporter in the past tense. “I mean, he did good work here. He won those Emmys. But you're right, Cindy, that's not the point. The point is that we can't let Channel Seven go down the tubes just because his life is all screwed up. The station has its ratings to bear in mind, we've all got careers, and it's just not right to let one guy come in and ruin the whole thing. Right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “So what choice do we have? The death of Michael Carter was one thing—maybe Todd really didn't do it. But this one is entirely different. No one knows what really happened down at Lake Calhoun early this morning, but rightly or wrongly our viewers are going to see Todd Mills as a gay serial killer. We have no choice but to distance ourselves from him. And who knows, maybe he actually killed his boyfriend and now this other one too. Like I say, who knows. I was grooming Todd. He was doing wonderful things for the station. Hell, we were going to offer him an anchor position.” He shook his head, ran a hand over his bald scalp. “But, good God, maybe he's this pent-up faggot who's gone on a killing rampage.”

  “If that's the case, we've got to find out if he hurt anyone before,” volunteered Cindy. “What if he has a history of violence?”

  “Exactly. And that's the story,” barked Locker from behind his desk. “Did we have a murderer in our midst and not even know it? Had evil crept into this building, into these rooms? We were accepting and loving of Todd. We treated him with care and dignity and respect. He was a member of our family, and, hell, we made him a star. But now? Now?”

  Cindy sat there watching her boss, who was round-faced and bald and hyper, and she knew what Plan B meant, for they'd discussed it at length. Guilty until proven innocent. Or Save-Your-Ass TV. Of course they had to distance themselves from Todd Mills. This station—any station—cultivated and garnered viewers as though nothing else mattered. Ratings were everything, and Channel 7 was undoubtedly the most respected station of the Upper Midwest. The one people had turned to for generations. They couldn't toss it all aside for some reporter who very well might be the poisoned apple in the barrel.

  “So we've got to give him the O.J. treatment,” continued Locker. “And you're the perfect person to do it.”

  Cindy's gut knotted. Perfect because she was a woman or perfect because she'd worked by Todd's side and she was a good reporter?

  “We've got to look like innocents, Cindy. That's the angle I want you to come from. We can't go down with Todd. We've got to rise to the surface and then float like angels up to heaven. And we need to get a call-in number, a special number viewers can call for recorded updates.”

  “Or maybe a couple of numbers. One for updates, another for biographical information on Todd. Maybe a third for a gay crisis line or something.”

  “Oh, God, our viewers are going to eat this up.”

  “And I'll focus on how we were betrayed,” said Cindy.

  “Exactly.”

  “And how we were deceived.”

  “Perfect.”

  “It's actually a pretty good story,” mused Cindy, her mind clicking along, formulating the steps she'd take.

  “Of course it is.”

  “Here's this guy, this hunk, who's approaching the pinnacle of his career. He's won these Emmys, everything looks perfect from the outside. But then his life is shattered when the world finds out who the real Todd is.”

  “That's it. We're all tempted by evil. Or tainted by it.”

  “And our golden boy, it turns out, is no different.”

  “Right,” said Locker with a laugh. “Let's get someone working on a couple of side pieces. You know, the pressures of being homosexual, not being out at work. Being married and gay. That kind of thing.”

  “So I have to find out what happened to Todd. When he crossed over the line into darkness.”

  “Oh, I like this.”

  “I have to focus on the bad side of him. And these days and in this liberal state it's got to be more than his sexuality. Specifically, I have to keep murder always in the forefront.”

  “Absolutely. A killer always fascinates viewers.” Locker leaned forward, a sly grin on his face, and said, “But don't forget to keep sex and sexuality right up there too. Everyone finds that interesting. Particularly famous queers who've buried themselves deep in the closet. You know, like Rock Hudson, Malcolm Forbes, and Calvin Klein.”

  “Patricia Ireland of N.O.W. too.”

  “Right. People are gossipy by nature, and there's no better way to hook 'em than talk of who's doing what to whom. But you're right. In the South you could get more mileage out of homosexuality, but not necessarily up here. On the other hand … on the other hand AIDS has everyone afraid of homos, and a murdering fag is an entirely different beast.”

  Cindy nodded and looked down at her long red nails. “I'm going to have to do some research, see what I can dig up. Can I get some help? Obviously there's a part of Todd that he kept hidden.”

  “Cindy, my dear, you can have anything you want. Channel Seven is at your disposal.”

  She liked this, for it was already perfectly clear what Todd Mills and his predicament were doing for her career. When she'd first been hired at Channel 7 they'd treated her like this nice little girl. She was pretty. She had nice white teeth and bright blond hair. She looked good on TV. But Todd and Channel 7 had kept her in the wings at best until suddenly, almost overnight, things had changed. Now there was respect. Seated across from Locker, she could see how he no longer viewed her as someone to be merely tolerated, nor even as a magnet to draw female viewership. Hell, no. Now Locker understood she was a key player who could deliver something he needed. She liked this. She was vital. He needed her.

  “He was married before, wasn't he?” asked Cindy.

  “Sure.”

  “Maybe we can find his ex-wife.”

  “I hear she's beautiful. And way up there. Someone important. A lawyer maybe. Or a doctor. I don't know,” said Locker with a wave of his hand. “But that's a great idea. You should find her and see if she knows her ex was a homo. Maybe that's what caused the divorce. Hell, maybe she caught him in bed with some guy. And maybe she knows if Todd has a history of violence. When you do talk with her, see what y
ou can learn about their sex life. Find out if they had one at all. And if he was violent with her.”

  “Or better yet, I should find her divorce lawyer.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “I should check that other station too, the one in central Illinois. Todd was there for five years, wasn't he?”

  “Something like that. Just check everywhere. Dig up as much dirt as you can. Who knows, maybe something like this happened before.”

  “Right,” replied Cindy, nodding.

  “His father was an alcoholic, wasn't he?”

  “I don't know.”

  “I'm pretty sure that was the case. And I know for a fact that Todd saw a shrink up here.” Locker paused for a moment and grinned. “God, I wonder how we can find out if Todd's been on medication. And don't forget to check the gay bars. Do a lot of snooping at the Gay Times in particular. Maybe Todd was down there all the time.” Locker paused, surprised by his own chain of thought. “Good God, maybe Todd was a regular at those anonymous sex places. Isn't there another over by the Mississippi? Shit, maybe Todd even has AIDS. Has he been sick—a cold or anything—lately? Christ, I wonder if we all shouldn't get blood tests. Maybe you better. I mean, you've been working side by side.”

  “I'll get someone to pull his medical files.”

  There was a whole laundry list of things to check, thought Cindy. And it would take a team of researchers to pull together a story like this. But the challenge was irresistible. A version of the story started to appear in her mind's eye: Todd as a strapping kid who pulled himself from an abusive, dysfunctional family—maybe he'd been beaten by his drunk father, perhaps even sexually abused—and then struggled to fame and wealth, only to be toppled by sex and murder. Everyone would want to watch that, for it was the stuff that miniseries were made of. Only this one was real, which made it all the more compelling. In fact, there was so much information and this was such a captivating and shocking story— who hadn't trusted Todd, either at the station or on the screen?—that Cindy could easily imagine a number of segments. Which meant a lot of exposure for her. She'd have to keep it personal too. That would be the best. She'd emphasize how she and Todd had worked so closely. How he'd been her mentor and how they'd become such good friends.

  And Cindy sensed that she should even bring in some personal elements of her own life, like how she'd been mugged and nearly raped in college, and especially the story of her cousin Sandi, who was both a lesbian and a police officer in Chicago. That would soften Cindy's coverage, keep it from seeming overtly homophobic. The last thing she wanted was something like a backlash from the gay community.

  “There's a whole lot of stuff spinning in this head of mine,” said Cindy, unable to hide her excitement. “There's so much material. So much potential. This is going to be a great story.”

  “I know. And it's all yours. I'm sure we can get the nationals to pick this up too. I'm sure they'll want a few spots. You do realize, don't you, that this is the kind of stuff that Emmys are made of?”

  Despite mention of such a golden carrot, Cindy maintained her trademark composure, saying, “Well, I'll get someone started on Todd's personal history and all. But … I've got to stick with the story of the day, namely the murder down at Lake Calhoun. Can I do an update on the evening news?”

  “Absolutely. In fact, I'll make you our lead.” Locker ran his hand over his smooth, bald head. “You're the perfect person for this, Cindy. There's no one better. You worked right by Todd's side. You know him better than almost anyone. So you've got to show the world how you were deceived. How all of us were deceived. This is your baby, Cindy. Go get him.”

  Good God, she thought. For a brief moment she couldn't move. This was unbelievable. Locker was talking to her as if he were a football coach and she were his star player. It was too good to be true. Finally, her big story.

  She rose and extended her hand, saying, “Thank you, Mr. Locker. I won't let you down.”

  “Of course you won't.”

  She couldn't quite comprehend it. Who could have imagined she'd be given Todd Mills to crucify? Certainly not she. So what if he was innocent? This was power. Big power. And she was going to use it to blast her all the way to the top.

  25

  Todd was speechless when Janice told him. They sat in her twelfth-floor office downtown, and he stared out the window at the grassy plaza on the south end of Government Center. It seemed to Todd that his stomach had fallen away. He could barely breathe, let alone move. The day, like his life, was careening out of control.

  “Todd, you do understand how serious this is, don't you?”

  Slowly turning toward her, Todd tried to say something, couldn't, and when he finally managed a few words his voice was small, almost childlike. “Janice, that's impossible.”

  “Not according to the lab tests.”

  “But …”

  “Todd, listen to me,” she implored. “Just a few minutes ago, just before you walked in, I called Detective Rawlins at the police department. They've gotten the initial results back from the lab. The hairs match.”

  Deep inside he was shaking. This couldn't be happening. They'd analyzed the hairs from the Cubs cap and found them to match the samples plucked from his own scalp. How was it possible? Suddenly this spacious modern office felt like a prison. No, a trap. He'd come down here and now he was caught.

  “Janice, that can't be my hat,” he said desperately. “I'm sure the last time I saw it was at Michael's. Like I told the cops, I threw it on the floor. You've got to believe me. I haven't been over on that side of Lake Calhoun in weeks. And I certainly wasn't down there last night.”

  Janice rose from her large wooden desk, and as she started to pace she said, “Oh, my God, why did I ever quit smoking?” She shook her head, shrugged, and muttered, “Todd, this is bad, real bad.”

  “Are they going to charge me with killing that guy?”

  “I get two cigarettes a week,” she said, pulling open a drawer. “And just watch, I'm going to smoke them both right now.”

  “Janice, are they going to charge me with anything?”

  “I don't know. Nothing's been really proved. I mean, you can't kill a guy with a baseball cap. Still, this looks bad. It really does. This could be enough to put you on trial.”

  “But … but …”

  “Todd, you can say whatever you like, but they found your goddamn Cubs hat by that body. Of course, if they charge you with murder, I'll insist they do a DNA test on the hairs. That could take a month or so, but maybe that'll clear you. Maybe, somehow, they'll find that the hairs don't match after all. But if they can somehow prove that's your cap and that's his blood on the visor—”

  “But I wasn't down there! I wasn't down at the lake last night!” Todd looked up at her and begged, “Janice, you've got to believe me. I didn't kill this guy, whoever he was!”

  “His name was Brian Fisher.”

  “I've never even heard of a Brian Fisher!”

  “Oh, God, Todd …” Janice stopped, struck a match, and lit her cigarette. “I shouldn't be representing you. This is too hard.”

  “Janice, no. Don't talk like that.”

  “But— ”

  “You can't leave me.”

  “I know you too well, Todd. Maybe one of my partners should be handling this.”

  “I don't want another lawyer.”

  “I think it's a conflict of interest, Todd. I don't think I'm the right person for you.” The cigarette shaking in her lips, Janice took a puff, then shook her head and started pacing again. “I'm just not sure you wouldn't be better off with someone else.”

  “Jesus Christ, Janice,” Todd shouted, coming to his feet and moving toward her. “You're talking like I did it, like I killed this guy!”

  “Todd, I just—”

  “Janice, please don't say this.”

  “I'm just not so sure you don't need someone with a little more distance, someone with a better perspective. You're one of my closest friends, Todd. We
've known each other for over twenty years. I mean, we even dated in college. And I loved Michael. He was my friend too.” She shook her head hopelessly and said, “I'm afraid I'm too involved to be impartial.”

  “I have to have somebody gay.”

  “Well, we're one in ten, so there are a whole lot of queer lawyers. I can rattle off a dozen names of gay and lesbian lawyers who'd jump at the chance to represent you. This is a hot one. Unfortunately, I'm just too close to the fire.”

  “Don't do this to me.”

  He went to the door of her small office and leaned against it, his forehead touching the cool wood. Could he actually be charged with murder? Only a month ago he was being lauded with praise, wined and dined, and awarded with Emmys. How quickly things had changed. And if they were going to charge him with killing a man he'd never even laid eyes on, did that mean they'd charge him for the murder of Michael as well? Good God. His career and a good part of his life were now ruined, and if Janice left him there was no way he'd ever get through this. Hell no, he couldn't imagine working with another lawyer. The mere idea of trying to get a new attorney to understand the complexities of his life was just too daunting.

  “How many times did we go out?” he asked, turning away from her, pacing a few steps to the other side of the small chamber.

  “What?”

  “How long did we date in college?”

  “I don't know. Two months. What in the hell are you getting at?”

  “More like three, I think. Anyway, I fell in love with you.”

  “Oh, Jesus, Todd. Don't.” She snuffed out her cigarette and dropped herself into a chair. “We can't get into all that now. You're in much too much trouble.”

  “Okay, you're right. I didn't fall in love with you,” said Todd, going over to the window and staring out again. “But ever since then I've loved you.”

  “Stop it, Todd!”

  “I mean it.”

  “You're going to make me cry,” warned Janice. “And I'm telling you, I might look like a nice lipstick lezzie in this business suit, but if I start bawling I'm going to lose it. This is way too hard. I'm going to start crying, my makeup's going to run, and I'm going to walk out of here looking like some wimpy suburban housewife.”