by Dorien Grey
“Yes,” he said. “I gather you’re involved somehow?”
“Unfortunately, yes, I’m afraid so. You’ll probably be getting a call from my friends Jake Jacobson and Jared Martinson.” I then outlined the situation, albeit not mentioning Jake’s AIDS. I knew it was a crucial element to the story, but did not feel it was my place to violate Jake and Jared’s confidence. I was sure they would mention it—though knowing how sharp Glen was, I also knew he undoubtedly had deduced it just from what I’d said.
“Well, I’m just wrapping up a case, but it’s probably going to the jury tomorrow, so I’ll do whatever I can if they decide to call me.”
“I owe you yet again,” I said.
“Nonsense,” he protested. “I’m just doing my job.”
As soon as we’d hung up, I dialed Jake’s number to tell him I’d talked with Glen. I knew I was, as I so often do, inserting myself into other people’s lives and problems without being asked, but this damned protector complex is just part of who I am.
I tried at least a dozen times to get through to Jake but always got a busy signal. I knew he was likely being inundated by calls from the press, who were also undoubtedly banging on his door.
*
Phil had left for his Hawaii photo shoot Thursday, so we took Tim out to dinner on Friday night to a newly opened Red Lobster restaurant—the city’s first. The people at Cap’n Rooney’s Fish Shack, which had something of a lock on local seafood sales and had some clout at City Hall, had fought tooth and nail to keep them out and were, I was sure, far from pleased when their efforts failed.
Joshua was intrigued by the large tank of live lobsters, which he’d never seen before. Luckily, he did not make the connection between the green creatures wandering around the bottom of the tank and the bright red split shells surrounded by parsley and a little cup of drawn butter shown in the menu.
When Jonathan and Joshua returned from church on Sunday, Joshua and I settled down to “read” the paper—primarily the comics section, which I always held off looking at until he got home—while Jonathan called a number he’d found on the church bulletin board to see about auditioning for the Gay Men’s Chorus. This led to his setting up a meeting with the director for Tuesday at seven o’clock, just before the general chorus rehearsal.
Monday evening I got a call from Jared, filling me in on everything that had happened since I dropped Jake off at work the previous Thursday.
“Sorry we didn’t get back to you over the weekend,” he said, “but we went up to the cabin. We just had to step back and calm down for a few days. Besides, there was nothing we could do about anything until we had a chance to see whether Glen O’Banyon would take the case. We met with him this morning.”
“And he’s taking it, I hope.” I said.
“Thank God, yes. Probably thanks to you—he said you’d talked to him, and we really appreciate that. We’d called him first thing Friday morning, but he was in court. His secretary called us back Friday afternoon and said he could see us this morning. I had to cut another day of classes, but it was worth it.”
“Well, I don’t think my call had anything to do with it, but I’m glad, in any event. What did Glen have to say, if I can ask?”
“He said he was sure we could beat it, but that the D.A. has his eye on the governor’s office and is out to add as many scalps to his belt as he can. He’s apparently a real prick and a homophobe. I gather O’Banyon’s had several run-ins with him, and he says St. John’s next step is bound to be to convene a grand jury to give the impression he’s just doing what the public demands.”
“Well, you can be sure Glen won’t let him get away with a witch hunt.”
“We got that,” he said. “He did warn us to be prepared for anything. But we still feel a lot better now that we’ve talked to him.”
“Great,” I said and meant it sincerely. “And please keep me posted and let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“You know we will.”
*
Tuesday passed uneventfully. Knowing Jonathan would be checking out the Gay Men’s Chorus at seven, I left work a little early to take some of the lasagna Tim had given us out of the freezer and thaw it. I had it warming in the oven by the time Jonathan and Joshua got home.
After Jonathan left, Joshua and I did the dishes then spent the rest of the evening “playing cards.” It’s amazing how much fun a five-year-old can have with a deck of playing cards. While regular card games were still a little beyond him, we found a lot of variations that kept us both happy, like my shuffling the deck and having Joshua first put them into the four suits then putting each suit in numerical order after we’d removed the face cards and set them aside. I loved watching him as he gave his full attention to each card and carefully put it in the right place.
Then we played a game of “who wins?” I’d shuffled the cards and had him “deal” them out—one for him, one for me, etc. Then we’d each turn one card over, and whoever had the highest number “won.” The relative values of the face cards took him awhile, but he soon caught on. He wanted to learn how to shuffle, but that pretty much led to the next game being fifty-two pick-up.
I think I enjoyed it every bit as much as he did.
Jonathan got home shortly before ten, obviously on top of the world.
“I gather you’re in?” I said after our hug.
“Yeah!” he said as we walked to the couch and sat down. “One of the members just moved away, so they needed another tenor and I walked in at just the right time. All the guys are friendly, and I recognized a couple of them from church. I really think I’m going to love it.” His expression suddenly changed, as though he felt guilty for being too happy. “How did it go tonight?” he asked. “I’m really sorry to put everything on you two nights in a row—I’d almost forgotten about school tomorrow.”
I put my hand on his leg. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “We manage just fine. I’m just glad that you’re happy.”
He put his hand over mine and smiled. “I really am lucky,” he said. “I have you and Joshua and our friends and school and now the chorus. What more could I ask?”
“How about a game of ‘The Very Lucky Guy and His Horny Partner?’” I asked.
He immediately got up from the couch, pulling me up with him.
“Let the games begin,” he said with a grin, leading me toward the bedroom.
Chapter 17
Wednesday morning I got a call from Glen asking if I’d like to join him for lunch at Etheridge’s, directly across the street from the City Building. Etheridge’s—and occasionally Hughie’s—was our non-office meeting place just as Sandler’s was for my meetings with Mark Richman, and an invitation from either of them was almost never just for the purpose of socializing.
I arrived exactly at noon and was shown to what I came to think of as “O’Banyon’s booth,” since it always seemed to be reserved for him. Glen wasn’t there yet, but I was pleased to see that Alex was still working as a waiter. I’d hit on Alex one time before I’d met Jonathan and always appreciated his diplomatic way of informing me that, while he appreciated the offer, he was afraid his partner wouldn’t approve. Graceful let-downs are becoming a lost art.
I was about halfway through my first cup of coffee and had already looked at the menu when Glen slid into the booth opposite me.
“Glad you could make it,” he said as we reached across the table to shake hands. “I wan—” He stopped as Alex appeared to pour his coffee.
“Would you like a few minutes?” Alex asked.
“Just a B.L.T. for me,” Glen said. “I’ve got to get back to court.”
“Make it two,” I said, and Alex nodded and moved off.
“I wanted to talk to you about this Hysong murder case,” Glen said.
“I was hoping you would. And I wanted to thank you for taking Jake and Jared on as clients. Is there anything I can do?”
He took a sip of his coffee before answering. “Well, as you—an
d everybody else in the county who reads a newspaper or watches television or listens to the radio—know, Mr. St. John has anointed himself defender of small children, Mom, apple pie, and the American flag. There’s nothing he loves better than a juicy high-profile case, and this one is right up his alley. It has all the elements for high drama and maximum pontificating, especially considering the background of the case.
“He’s empaneling a grand jury to give him at least the appearance of having a stronger case than he actually does. Prosecutors love grand juries because they very seldom refuse to find there is not enough evidence to bring a case to trial.”
“But does he sincerely think he can win? The evidence is totally circumstantial unless they have something up their sleeve.”
Glen grinned. “St. John always has something up his sleeve. When he first got out of law school, he was a junior assistant counsel to Senator Joseph McCarthy—remember him? St. John learned from the master when it comes to convincing juries that circumstantial evidence is indisputable fact.”
“Jeezus!” I said. “What are you going to do?”
Alex brought our food and refilled our coffee then left.
“Well,” Glen continued, “since we know Jake didn’t do it—and I truly believe that—we have to figure out a way to find out who did. Which is one of the reasons we’re here. Jake and Jared have asked me to hire you.”
I’m sure my puzzlement showed on my face. “They asked you to hire me? Why in the hell didn’t they just ask me themselves? They’re my friends—nobody has to hire me to help them.”
Glen raised his hand to cut me off. “Yes, that’s precisely the point. They knew if they asked, you wouldn’t hesitate and that you wouldn’t charge them. We all know you have a penchant for taking on cases you don’t get paid for, and they didn’t want that. This way, it’s strictly a business transaction. I’ve hired you before. I’m simply hiring you again.”
I thought that over for a moment and realized that while he was, of course, correct, the prospect made me uncomfortable somehow. When I figured out what it was that bothered me, I voiced it.
“Yeah, you’ve hired me before, but never on a case involving my friends. I’ve got my own way of working on things, my own patterns and methods. I really don’t know if I can put up with being told what to do next.”
He smiled. “I don’t have any intention of telling you how to do your job. I can’t see much change in anything. You’ve worked on murder cases before, and you’ve done various other kinds of work for me before. We’ll just be combining the two, albeit staying more closely in contact than usual.”
We sat in silence while he took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, swallowed, and washed it down with a sip of coffee. When he set his cup down he looked at me.
“Deal?”
I still had reservations, but…
“Deal,” I said.
“Good. Now, whatever you need from me, just let me know.”
I took a bite of my sandwich. “What do you know about how the cops found the gun?”
He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin before saying, “I don’t have all the details yet, but apparently some kids found it in a clump of bushes in Barnes Park. Jake’s prints were on it.”
“Well, of course they’d be on it,” I said. “It’s his gun.” I wondered, though, how they could have known the fingerprints were Jake’s, and then I remembered Jared saying they’d both been printed when the police came to Jake’s apartment. I had thought that was very strange at the time, and I still did.
“Anybody else’s prints on it?” I asked.
Glen shook his head. “Apparently not. Whoever took it and used it probably wore gloves.”
“Were Jake’s prints on the trigger?” I asked.
He raised an eyebrow. “We think alike,” he said. “I didn’t see any specifics on where the prints were, but I’ve asked for them.”
His glance at his watch told me it was time to wrap it up. We finished our coffee and Alex brought the check, which I grabbed.
“You’ll be paying for it indirectly,” I said, and Glen grinned.
As we got up from the booth and headed for the door, Glen said, “So, what’s your first step?”
“I’ll be calling Jake and Jared for the names of everybody who was at that meeting of guys from the Male Call.” I paused. “They did tell you about that, didn’t they?”
He nodded.
“Chances are it was one of them who stole the gun,” I continued. “And whoever stole it probably is the one who used it.”
I paid the bill, and we left the restaurant, exchanged a quick handshake on the sidewalk in front and went on our separate ways.
*
It being Jonathan’s class night, we decided to grab dinner out, and Joshua announced he wanted to go to “see the fish.” So, even though we’d just had seafood the Friday before, we headed to our local Cap’n Rooney’s Fish Shack, where Joshua endeared himself to the management by asking loudly, “Where’s the lobsters?”
As usual when we went out for dinner on a class night, we brought both cars, and after Jonathan left for class, it was still sufficiently light for Joshua and I to go to a nearby kids’ park for a while. Watching him racing from the swings to the slide to the teeter-totter to the monkey bars made me wish I were five again.
As soon as we got home, I called Jake. Jared got on the other line as I asked for the names, addresses, and phone numbers of the Male Call regulars who had come over to talk about Hysong before Jake realized his gun was missing. I figured, again, that they were the most likely suspects.
None of us mentioned Glen’s having hired me. It was just mutually understood, and spared me from going into the issue of me being paid for something I would gladly have done for nothing. I knew they knew that. It was just easier for all of us not to even mention it.
There had been six guys there other than Jared and Jake, none of whom I knew—Don Gleason, Chuck Fells, Steve Morse, Butch Reed, Tom Spinoza, and Art Manners. Apparently, only Jared, Art Manners, and Don Gleason had not had sex with Hysong. The rest—with, I hated to think, perhaps the exception of Jake—showed no visible signs of infection.
Gleason had lost a younger brother to AIDS after the brother had had sex with Hysong, one of Manners’s close friends had just died, and Morse and Fells had friends who were currently in and out of the hospital. They all knew at least some of the Male Call’s dead.
“And they never zeroed in on Hysong as the source?” I asked.
“Not really,” Jake said. “Most of the guys who go to the Male Call are pretty active and don’t keep track of who they sleep with and when. So, when AIDS really started sweeping through the community, no one was sure where they got it. Then the rumors started concentrating on Cal, and Carl eighty-sixed him, and everybody started putting two and two together.”
“Can you tell me anything at all about any of them that might make them stand out in any way as a possible suspect?”
I heard a sigh, then Jake’s voice, “Look, Dick, we really don’t feel comfortable pointing the finger at any of these guys and—”
I interrupted to say, “I understand. But somebody killed Hysong, and if anyone is going to go to trial for it, I’d just as soon it not be you. We’ve got to take a close look at everybody, like it or not.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Jared agreed. “But the fact is, we’re really not all that close with any of these guys. Our contacts have been almost exclusively limited to talking with them at the Male Call or running into them somewhere else and having been to a couple of parties with some of them. As to their personal lives, I don’t think we know anything at all except the basics. Right, Jake?”
“Right,” Jake verified.
“But you do have their phone numbers, right?” I asked.
“Phone numbers, yeah,” Jake said. “Hold on a second while I get them for you.”
I heard the sound of one of the receivers being set down. Neither Jared nor I sai
d anything in the interim and a minute later, Jake was back.
“Got a pencil?” he asked.
When I said yes, he read off the names of the six guys and their numbers.
“Many thanks,” I said. “So, given that all of them had reason to hate Hysong, did any one of them feel particularly strong about it?”
There was a moment of silence while they thought, then Jake said, “I can’t imagine anyone could have a stronger reason to hate Cal than Don Gleason. His brother’s death really devastated him. As a matter of fact, Don didn’t even show up at the Male Call for at least three months after his brother died. He started coming back just about the time the rumors about Cal started circulating.”
“Did he ever confront Cal about it?”
“No. Nobody ever confronted Cal about anything, except my boy, here, of course. Don just kept it all inside, but I could tell from the way he looked at Cal that he wanted to.”
“He wasn’t the only one,” Jared added. “Art Manners did confront Cal once a couple years ago. Art likes to think of himself as a tough guy—and he is—but the one time he tried standing up to Cal, Cal beat the crap out of him. Art never tried it again. He never forgot it, though, and he’s been bad-mouthing Cal behind his back ever since.”
“Well,” I said, “I’ll have a talk with him…with all of them. Do you know if any of these guys might be home during the day?”
“Butch Reed’s a fireman,” Jared said. “He works three on and one off, but I don’t know his exact schedule. And Don Gleason is an artist—metal sculptures. I think he has a studio in his home. I’m not sure about the rest of them. You, Jake?”
“No. Just nine-to-fives, I think.”
“I’ll just try calling until I get them,” I said. “Thanks for your help. And if you think of anything at all, please let me know right away.”
“You know we will,” Jake said. “So, give Joshua a hug from both of us and give Jonathan a nice slow grope and tell him it’s from me.”
“He’ll love that,” I said, grinning. “I can just see him blushing now. We’ll talk again soon. Take care.”
