by Dorien Grey
Yeah, well, thinking about “if only” was a waste of time.
The missing gun, Jared’s past history with Hysong, Hysong’s having given Jake AIDS, Jared’s having been a sniper in the service, and now the gas receipt.
Jeezus!
I put in a call to Marty at the City Annex. I didn’t expect him to be in and he wasn’t, so I left a message asking him to call. Less than ten minutes later, he did.
“Meet me at the fountain in Warman Park around twelve fifteen,” he said. “We can grab something to eat from one of the carts, if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine.” It was obvious from traffic sounds in the background he was calling from a pay phone and that he didn’t have much time to talk.
“See you then,” he said and hung up.
*
I took the bus to Warman Park and got there shortly after noon. It was a nice day, and since school had started, the usual crowd of noisy kids racing around and either splashing around in or trying to climb into the fountain was absent. Just office workers and a few tourists milling about or seated on the benches by the fountain having lunch.
I waited until I saw Marty coming across the street from the direction of the City Annex then vectored in to meet him at one of the vendors’ carts. We each got a Polish dog with the works, a soda, and chips then found our way to an empty bench on one of the side paths.
“Dan had a dentist’s appointment,” he explained as we sat down. “Otherwise, I probably couldn’t have met you.”
“I gather I’ve slipped from grace with the department.”
He took a large bite, chewed and swallowed before answering.
“Not really, no. We all—well, Lieutenant Richman and I especially, since we’ve known you longer—understand your position, but admittedly it does create some problems for us as far as our being able to rely on you for information. I know that sounds harsh, and it is, but that’s just the way it is. It’s awkward for all of us that two friends of yours are involved in a murder investigation.”
I knew he was right.
“Yeah,” I said, “but God knows you shouldn’t have any lack of possible suspects. Every guy who knew what Hysong was doing had a damned good motive.”
“True,” Marty said. “But not all of them owns a commemorative issue Winchester Model 94, which just happens to have been ‘stolen.’ And the only person we’ve heard of to have taken Hysong on—twice—is Martinson. And if either he or Jacobson has AIDS and got it from Hysong, that amps up the motive aspect by a factor of ten. Plus, though they claim not to have been in town when Hysong was shot, we have a time-stamped gas receipt that all but proves they were.”
“No,” I corrected, “it indicates they could have been. Why would they have bothered to give it to you if they thought it would point a finger at them?”
“Good point, I suppose,” Marty agreed, taking a sip from his soda. “Maybe they just hoped we’d buy their story of returning to the cabin after getting the gas. But we have to go on evidence, not on somebody’s word, and unfortunately that’s all we have here. With no solid evidence to back them up…”
I brushed a lapful of potato chip crumbs off my pants before saying, “Yeah, I can understand your position, too. But I couldn’t be more sure that you’re wasting your time with Jake and Jared.”
“Well, we got a search warrant for Martinson’s cabin in Fenton County. If the gun should show up there…”
“It won’t,” I said, taking a bite of my Polish sausage and licking mustard off my thumb.
We sat in relative silence, finishing our lunch. We talked a bit about Marty’s daughter, who had just turned two, and Joshua and the joys and traumas of having a kid around twenty-four hours a day.
“Maybe we can set the two of them up together when they get older,” Marty said, grinning. “Unless Joshua turns out to prefer guys, that is.”
I returned the grin. “Or unless she turns out to prefer girls,” I said. “The odds are just as likely.”
After another couple minutes of talk, Marty looked at his watch. “Ah…time to be getting back.”
We got up, dumped our garbage in a trash barrel and continued to the street, where we shook hands and went our separate ways. I was greatly relieved to know Marty didn’t hold my evasiveness against me.
*
The first thing I did when I returned to the office was to call both Jake’s and Jared’s numbers, though I knew they’d both be at work, leaving a message on both machines. I’d have preferred to call Jared at the college to alert him to the search warrant for his cabin, but I didn’t have a number for him there. I just hoped he’d stop home before he drove down to the city and get the message, in case he wanted to go up and check on it.
I didn’t know if he—or most people, for that matter—were aware that if the occupant of a property wasn’t home when the police came to execute a search warrant, they had the right to enter the premises any way they could, including breaking the door down. And since they are not obligated to lock the place up when they leave, I knew Jared would want to do so before somebody had a chance to walk in and ransack the place.
Chapter 16
Jake called just as we were sitting down to dinner to say he’d gotten home early, received my message and managed to reach Jared before he headed for the city.
“He’s on his way to the cabin now. He asked me to call you to say thanks for letting him know.”
“Well, keep me posted,” I said.
“You know it,” Jake replied.
“I’ve been thinking about the Gay Men’s Chorus,” Jonathan said as I returned to the kitchen and sat back down. “I really would like to try out for it, but with school and everything to do around here and Joshua and…”
“Well, school’s a separate issue, but as far as Joshua and I are concerned, we can manage if you can,” I assured him. “If you’d really like to try out, do. It would be good for you to do something you really enjoy.”
“I’ll try out, too,” Joshua volunteered.
Jonathan reached out and tousled his hair. “Maybe in a couple years,” he said then turned back to me. “It would be fun,” he said. “But we’ll see.”
*
When I didn’t hear from Jared Tuesday night, I assumed everything had gone without incident at the cabin. I hoped I was putting way too much emphasis on the whole thing, but experience has taught me that anything is possible and it is better to consider everything than be caught by surprise.
I was tempted to call Jake and Jared but thought better of it. The poor guys had enough to deal with—I didn’t want to keep reminding them of the cloud of suspicion they were under.
When the phone rang shortly after I walked into the office Thursday morning I was surprised to hear the voice of Lt. Mark Richman.
“Are you free for lunch today?” he asked without preliminaries.
“Uh, yeah,” I replied, both puzzled and just a bit suspicious. “When and where?”
“The usual?”
By “the usual” I knew he meant twelve fifteen at Sandler’s Cafe, a restaurant several blocks from the City Annex where we had met for lunch several times, though not in a long while, when I was working on various cases with the department.
“Okay. See you there.”
I knew full well it had something to do with Jake and Jared and Hysong’s murder and that whatever he had to say I probably wasn’t going to like.
*
As I said, I’d not been to Sandler’s in a while, but it hadn’t changed much. A waiter I hadn’t seen before met me at the “Please Wait to be Seated” podium. I’d already looked around the room and not seen the good lieutenant so asked for a table for two. The place was full, but the waiter found a small table near the rear.
I’d no sooner been seated and ordered coffee when I saw Richman enter. He was, somewhat surprisingly, not in uniform, but he still cut an exceptionally attractive figure. Spotting me, he came directly over without waiting to be shown.
> We shook hands, and he took the seat opposite me. The waiter brought my coffee and two menus then left to get another cup of coffee for the lieutenant. The fact that I was thinking of him as “the lieutanant” instead of “Mark” reaffirmed my premonition this wasn’t a social get-together.
Never one to waste words, he headed directly toward the point, though from a slightly oblique angle.
“I wanted to thank you and Jonathan for everything you’ve done for Craig. He really looks up to you both, and of course, he’s crazy about Joshua. I couldn’t have asked for better gay role models for my son and I really appreciate it.
“And you know I appreciate all your help to the department over the years. But this current situation with your friends Martinson and Jacobson is putting us all on thin ice. Strictly between you and me, our new DA is a real throwback to the bad old days. He’s charted out his political course, and he sees convictions as the surest way to win the upcoming election. He’s been riding the force hard to get them. He also is not particularly fond of gays, which makes this Hysong case particularly touchy. He wants to nail someone for this without ‘wasting a lot of time and taxpayers’ money.’”
We paused to order when the waiter returned. When he’d gone, I noticed Richman staring at me. I raised an eyebrow in question.
“Were you aware that Jared Martinson was a sniper in Army Special Forces?” he asked.
I knew he was referring to the question in his office as to whether or not I knew anything about Jake or Jared the police should know.
I was also well aware he was trying to tell me something but couldn’t say it directly.
“I assume they’re in trouble,” I said.
He just looked at me. “How’s Glen O’Banyon doing these days?”
*
As soon as I returned to the office, I called both Jake’s and Jared’s numbers and left messages for them to call me as soon as they could. I was sorely tempted to call Glen, too, but thought better of it. I wanted to advise Jared and Jake to talk to a lawyer and would certainly recommend Glen strongly as the best criminal lawyer in the city, but I didn’t want to give anyone the impression I was trying to run things. I’d never heard Jake or Jared mention having a lawyer, but they might. And aside from the fact that hiring a top criminal lawyer at this stage might be overkill, Glen’s services did not come cheap.
I simply could not believe, even with all the fingers pointing toward Jake and Jared, that they had to worry about being arrested and formally charged. No matter how gung-ho the new DA was, there simply was no concrete evidence on which to build a case, and any defense lawyer worth his salt could blow him out of the water. He would never be dumb enough to try it.
Then the phone rang. It was Jake.
“They found my gun,” he said. “I’ve been arrested.”
“Arrested?” I couldn’t believe it.
“Yeah. Suspicion of murder.”
My mind was working fast. “Have you been arraigned?”
“Not yet, but they’re taking me down shortly. I wondered if you knew of a good bail bondsman.”
“Of course. Where’s Jared?”
“He’s at Mountjoy. That’s why I called you. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind? I’d have minded if you hadn’t called me. Let me give the bail bondsman a call, and I’ll come down to the court and give you a ride home.”
“So, you think they’ll set bail?” he asked.
“I’ll bet on it. I’ll be down as soon as I can, and in the meantime, just hang in there.”
“I have a choice?” he asked. “And thanks!”
When we hung up, I hurriedly called a bail bondsman I’d dealt with in the past who had an office directly across the street from the City Annex. He told me to call him as soon as bail was set and he’d come right over. I managed to make it there in record time.
Criminal court was in the Annex, civil court in the City Building next door. I found the in-session courtroom and got there just as Jake was being brought in. Since he hadn’t had time to arrange for a lawyer, he was represented by a young public defender. I didn’t catch the name of the assistant district attorney who represented the prosecution, but when the issue of bail came up, he requested it be denied.
I have to hand it to the public defender—he still had a lot of his altruism left, and he convinced the judge that Jake was a respected businessman, had never had so much as a parking ticket and was certainly no flight risk. The A.D.A. then asked for a bail amount that had even the judge raising an eyebrow. It was obvious the D.A.’s office was operating on the principle of “a bird in the hand” and was taking full advantage of it to make an example of how tough the new D.A. was on crime.
Finally, the judge set an amount I thought was still exorbitantly high but not totally prohibitive, and I went out into the hall to find a pay phone to call the bail bondsman.
I’ll spare you a step-by-step trek through the wilds of the criminal court system and simply say that Jake was released within the hour.
As I sat there waiting for him, I realized that Lt. Richman had to have known about the gun and the arrest when we had lunch and was preparing me for it as we ate. Of course, he couldn’t have just come out and told me, but I appreciated the telegraphed punch.
Since Jake had been brought in by squad car I’d offered him a ride home when he’d called me. Now he protested he could just as easily take a bus. At last he agreed but asked if I could drop him off at his current construction site instead.
“It’s about the same distance,” he said, as if it would matter if it weren’t.
“You’re going back to work?” I asked.
He grinned. “Well, sure. No point just sitting around the apartment twiddling my thumbs.”
We walked to my car in the Warman Park underground garage without saying much. I asked where the gun had been found and Jake said all he knew was that it had been found—they didn’t tell him anything of the circumstances of finding it.
As we pulled out of the garage, I asked, “What about finding a lawyer?”
“Jared and I had been talking about it,” he said, “but we were really hoping we wouldn’t need one.” He sighed. “I guess we were wrong. From the questions the cops were asking—they’re not very big on subtlety—I suspect the D.A.’s trying to figure out some way to charge Jared with something, too. I’ll talk it over with him when he comes back to the city tonight.”
“But you have one in mind?” I asked.
“Yeah, we were thinking about Glen O’Banyon. We’ve met him and we know how busy he is, but we know he’s the best and I hope he might fit us in.” He was silent for a moment, then said, “I hate to ask you, but I know you’ve worked pretty closely with him in the past and I was wondering if you would mind if we mentioned your name?”
“By all means,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I can put in a call to him, too, if you’d like.”
“I don’t want to drag you any further into this than we already have.”
“You’re not dragging me anywhere. If there’s anything at all I can do to help you get through this mess, you know I will.”
*
Even though it was getting close to quitting time, I returned to the office after dropping Jake. I put in a call to Glen’s office and talked to Donna, his secretary, asking her to have Glen call me either at work or at home as soon as he could.
I was tempted to call the City Annex to try to talk to either Mark Richman or Marty Gresham to see if I could find out anything at all about the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the rifle, but I realized Mark had already gone as far out of his way as he could by letting me know that Jake and Jared might need a lawyer. Marty might be able to give me the information I needed, but I didn’t want Mark to feel I was trying to do an end run around him by immediately going to Marty. I decided it could wait until I found out whether or not Glen would take the case. I knew I’d feel a lot more comfortable if I was sure he would.
*
I was in the bathroom as the evening news came on and I heard Jonathan call out, “Dick! You’d better come see this!”
I got to the set just in time to catch a glimpse of District Attorney St. John at the main entrance of the City Building, announcing that an arrest had been made in the Tower Shooter case, thanks entirely to the diligent efforts of his office to remove criminal elements from decent society, etc. ad nauseam.
He deliberately held off mentioning Jake's name until several reporters fell over themselves asking for it, then revealed that the suspect—and his careful pause before and after the word left little doubt as to what he actually meant—was one “Jacob ‘Jake‘ Jacobson, of this city.” I was rather surprised he didn't give out Jake's address and phone number.
He, of course, added somberly that, under our great system of justice, a man was assumed innocent—though obviously not by St. John—until proven guilty. I knew damned well he only added that last part by way of covering his ass against a false arrest charge further down the line when Jake was proven innocent.
Joshua and I were just finishing doing the dishes while Jonathan studied for his horticulture class when the phone rang. Jonathan got up to answer it as I handed the last plate to Joshua to dry.
“Dick, it’s for you. It’s Mr. O’Banyon.”
I quickly dried my hands and went to the phone.
“Hi, Glen.” I said. “Thanks for returning my call.”
“No problem,” he replied. “And please tell Jonathan it’s perfectly all right for him to call me Glen.”
“I’ve told him that before,” I said, “but I’m afraid he’s still a little bit in awe of you.”
“So, what can I do for you?” he asked.
“You’re familiar with the Tower Shooter case, I assume?”
“Who isn’t?”
“Did you know that Cal Hysong, the guy who got shot, is the one everybody thinks—rightly, I’m convinced—had been going around deliberately spreading AIDS?”
