We both heard the moan at the same time. It was faint but clear. Anton looked at me, fear and hope in his eyes.
I pushed and the door flew open. Anton moved in just behind me and together we saw Kyle tied spread-eagle to the bed.
Nude and bloody, his chest moved only slightly as he attempted to breathe. His head was turned toward the wall and his face wasn’t visible. But he moaned faintly again and we rushed to the bed. I thought we’d had everything covered. That we’d kept an eye on him at work, that Kevin saw him home each night. I assumed once he’d reached home, he’d be safe. I was wrong. I wouldn’t let that happen again. If I got another chance.
Anton leaned over Kyle, hesitant to touch him. I moved around to the other side of the bed so I could see Kyle’s face. He needed to know we were there and we’d help.
He’d been bleeding for a while. Blood stained the bed and dripped to the floor. His body was cut and bloody, his hands marked with defensive wounds. He must’ve put up a fight in the living room, been knocked out and dragged to the bed, then tied down. He couldn’t have struggled much after that.
I stared for only a second, then began to move as if by rote.
“Call 911 and get an ambulance, Anton.” I tossed him a look which got him moving. Then I turned my attention to Kyle. “Kyle,” I whispered. “Kyle, we’re here now.” He didn’t respond, though he took a ragged breath.
His face had taken a major beating. It took all I had to look at him closely. His beautiful face was battered and bruised. One eye was swollen shut, with a slash oozing blood just below it. His nose appeared broken and his lips were split, distended, and bleeding. There were other contusions and cuts which looked raw and painful. Kyle was in there somewhere, but this was not his face. His raspy breathing was so faint I was afraid he was slipping away.
I began undoing the restraints, speaking softly to him as I did.
“Kyle, open your eyes. Don’t sleep now.” I wanted to touch him, to caress his face just to let him know we were there. But it looked as if touching him would only increase his pain. “The ambulance is on its way, Kyle. Stay with me.”
I undid the last of the restraints and tried making him comfortable. He moved, but it was a weak tremor.
Anton slipped up next to me, touched my shoulder, and said, “How is he?”
“I undid the restraints. I don’t think it’d be smart to do anything more,” I said. “Might do more damage. And the police are gonna want to see this as it is.”
Anton nodded in agreement then dropped to one knee by the side of the bed, peering at Kyle. Standing behind Anton, I knew there was nothing much we could do until the EMTs arrived. That made me feel helpless and frustrated. Two things I couldn’t afford.
I glanced around, thinking about my next steps. Kyle’s bedroom was strangely comforting. The soft yellow color of the walls magnified the glow from the bedside lamp, making the whole place seem like a gentle sigh. It had a calming effect on me, and I began noticing things. An oak wood frame on the bedside table held a photograph of Kyle and another young guy. Their arms around one another, they wore smiles of such genuine happiness that it almost hurt to look at them in light of the situation. In the photo Kyle looked at the other guy as if nothing else existed. I wondered who he was and if he were still in Kyle’s life. I’d never heard anything about boyfriends from Kyle, not that he told me everything. If this guy was still involved with Kyle, I hoped I could reach him to tell him what’d happened before he heard it some other way.
Still taking note of things in the room, I almost didn’t notice it. When Kyle moaned again, my attention was drawn to him and I saw it. The white satin g-string that had been stolen from him was tucked under the pillow where his head had lain before I released the restraints and moved him. I hadn’t seen it as I rushed to untie him. But there it was. Had his would-be killer had left it as a sign or a warning or was it placed there as a mocking gesture? Whatever it was, it was cruel. When I found the bastard who did it, I’d ask him and not so gently.
Anton tapped me on the shoulder. “I’ll stay with him. When the ambulance gets here, it might be better if you spoke with them.” He was angry and I knew he didn’t trust himself when he was emotionally invested in something like this.
“I’ll take care of it.”
As I walked back into the living room, there was a knock at the door. I opened it expecting to see the EMTs. Instead, Caleb stood there looking lost and scared.
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it? When you didn’t come back right away, I was afraid. Where’s Kyle? What’s happened?” He tried pushing past me, but, small as he was, it was easy to keep him back.
“Hold on. You’ve got to calm down before anything else.” I felt the tension in his body as I continued holding him. Gradually he relaxed and when I sensed he was calm enough, I explained what we’d found, which set him off again. He struggled trying to get out of my grasp.
“Promise me you won’t make a scene, Caleb. Kyle doesn’t need that.” I gripped him tighter and he looked at me, his eyes wild as he twisted to get away. “I’ll let you see him, just remember it’s not pretty in there. Kyle is unresponsive, and I’m not sure what all of his injuries are.” That seemed to sober Caleb in a hurry. He stopped struggling and stared at me.
“Is he— will he live?”
“Just let him know you’re there. Don’t touch him, don’t make a fuss. Just be with him.” I called for Anton to come and help. He was fond of Caleb and the kid responded well to him.
Anton took him aside and whispered something to him. Then, an arm around his shoulder, he walked Caleb into the bedroom. Caleb gasped and I could hear Anton murmuring something to him.
I turned back to waiting for the EMTs. Something had caught my eye in the living room just before Caleb arrived, and I wanted to check it out. A tiny red light blinked in the center of an answering device designed to hold a cordless phone. The phone was missing. I decided listening to the messages was worth the risk of spoiling the crime scene. I pushed the button.
The machine announced each message and the time of the call. The first message was Caleb’s, asking when he could see Kyle. The poor kid sounded so alone it hurt to hear his voice. The second message was from someone who didn’t identify himself. He asked if they were still meeting that evening. I wondered if it was the kid in the picture and if he was still waiting for Kyle to show up. Another guy, who also failed to identify himself, said he’d be early and that Kyle should have what they’d agreed on. There was no explicit threat but the message didn’t sound good.
One more message announcement appeared, dated the previous morning. “Kyle. If you’re there, Kyle, pick up right now. It’s Emily, and we need your answer. We’ve got a lawyer all set to go. Trent has agreed to manage the trust, so all we need is your agreement. You promised you’d think about it. Grandfather is getting old, Kyle, and he makes more mistakes every day. Do you really want him managing all that money? Call me, Kyle. Don’t let us down.”
Kyle said his family was unhappy with him, but the caller seemed more frustrated than unhappy or hateful. Of course, she was trying to get Kyle to do something, so she’d make sure she didn’t sound like a raving homophobe. Looking into Kyle’s family wouldn’t be easy or pleasant, if Kyle had told the truth about them. This call gave me something to start with.
I wanted to listen to the messages again, but just then the EMTs arrived.
***
The drive out to Gladwyne to meet Kyle’s family, the next morning, took me through most of Philadelphia’s Main Line – old money enclaves. There are some mansions in those burbs that look the part: forbidding stone structures defending their owners and their secrets from the world. If you’re not part of the charmed circle of money and breeding, you’d know, just by looking at the façades, that you don’t belong. It’s another world, a foreign place where you would be adrift and unable to decipher language or meaning. Breeding counted even more than filthy lucre in some places. You could ha
ve your stone pile and not much else, but you were a member of the club by birth and breeding. The ones with money might despise you, might talk about you behind your penniless back, but they’d never turn against you. In public.
I drove past rows of trees strategically placed so you could only see the dim outlines of an imposing structure situated somewhere far from the road and nestled among even more trees. None of the important homes could be seen from the road. Even the less important ones, the ones of which only a partial view was possible, were impressive in design and size.
Finding a sidewalk in this part of the world was difficult. No one out here was eager to have the hoi polloi able to walk freely around the community, much less have easy access to a front door. Everyone here desired lives of privacy and privilege, free from prying, sometimes critical, eyes.
Kyle’s paternal grandfather lived in a Tudor-style mansion which had its own name and a nearly one hundred year history. It took a while to locate, since suburban signage is not made for the Sunday driver. You have to know where you’re going, and knowing places by sight helps even more. I stumbled onto the estate eventually and started up the long driveway. After driving past a sizeable gatehouse, the mansion seemed to rise up out of the greenery. Grand was the first word that came to mind, after I shoved my working class resentment back down my gullet. The home was palatial. Eventually the driveway took me to what I supposed was the front entrance. It was hard to tell with digs like this. There were lots of ways in and out. I pulled my car onto the beige pebble apron in front of a set of stone steps leading to a wide grassy expanse and a set of massive doors. There were no other cars, and I was certain I’d committed sacrilege leaving my oil-dripping, dented, mess of a vehicle sitting on the pristine pebbles.
According to what Kyle had told me, dealing with this family wouldn’t be a picnic. But I had to start somewhere, and since Emily had made that call, the family seemed like a good place to start. Families are such fertile ground for secrets, hostilities, rivalries, betrayals, and general discord. It’d be a hell of a start.
I approached the door, reviewing what I’d say first. I’d called ahead to set up the appointment, but that didn’t make things easier. I was asking to discuss something they obviously didn’t want to talk about. None of them had been to the hospital to see Kyle. No one had called asking after him. I could at least start with the good news that Kyle was holding his own.
Reaching the tall wooden doors, I was disappointed that there was no huge, lion’s head knocker. Instead, a neat, clean doorbell was all there was. I pushed the bell but couldn’t hear the bell from outside the door. The house was so large that sounds were lost inside, and people’s lives were swallowed along with them.
Before long, a young woman opened the door with some effort. She was clearly of the horsy set but not the horsy type. Coppery red hair, sky-blue eyes, and a body that wore clothes like it was all high fashion, she had a graceful manner. She was no hired help, that was certain. She peered at me as if I were applying for a job, and she didn’t even want my application form.
“I’m Marco Fontana. I called about—”
“Oh. Yes, grandfather said you’d be coming. Go on in.” Her stiff-jawed manner of speech was soft, not exaggerated, and very familiar. “Beck will take care of you.” She indicated the tall, darkly handsome butler who stood at attention in the middle of the piazza-sized foyer. Leaded windows shed an eerie, church-like glow on Beck, and he almost seemed like a cleric who’d lost his way.
I nodded to her then Beck. He stared at me, his eyes burning with some inner turmoil that was eating him alive. But he smiled officiously and bowed curtly in my direction. His was a flawed beauty, as if clumsily assembled, then rejected. His face wasn’t quite right. There was something too big or too lopsided, I couldn’t quite figure what it was. But it made me uneasy.
“Mr. Detwiler is waiting for you in the library.” Beck’s voice was reedy, not what I expected to come out of that tall, stern façade. He didn’t wait for me to respond. Instead he pivoted around and moved quickly down the center hall.
Beck led me down an elegant hall lined with mirrors, old portraits, and windows. He stopped at a door that looked two stories high. After knocking, he waited and when the signal came, we entered.
Detwiler sat at a cherry-wood desk, polished so highly that the light reflected from the windows hurt the eyes. A stiff-backed older man in a blue suit, Detwiler was in his seventies but looked a lot younger. His eyes sparkled and his hair was the kind of white you couldn’t believe was real. He didn’t smile or stand as Beck introduced me. He extended a hand and we shook. Then he gestured toward a chair, indicating I should sit.
The room wasn’t at all what I expected, like the man in it. It was modern. The books lining the floor to ceiling shelves all looked relatively new. Computer monitors sat on a long glass table against one wall, along with a printer, a scanner, and other equipment I didn’t recognize. The flat screen monitors had stock market tickers running across their screens as well as other financial figures moving and glowing. Detwiler was high tech and looked as sharp as his technology. Kyle had never mentioned his grandfather’s business or how he’d made the family fortune, and I’d never asked.
“Mr. Fontana, is it?” Detwiler looked at me questioningly but without a trace of hostility. Surely he knew I was more than just a P.I., that I employed his grandson as a stripper. He was rich enough to know anything.
“That’s right.” I didn’t smile. “I want to say how sorry I am, sir. Your grandson is a friend and a good person. He—”
“Don’t be coy, Mr. Fontana. I know who you are and I know that Kyle may be your friend but he is also your employee. What can I do for you?”
“I don’t do coy, Mr. Detwiler. It’s my nature as well as my professional policy to be discreet. But I’m glad you know what’s what, because that will make things easier.”
“How so, Mr. Fontana? What ‘things’ are there to make easy? Kyle is lying unconscious in a hospital. He chose to lead his life by his own lights, and this is what it’s come to. There’s nothing easy about any of it.” There was genuine emotion in his voice which made his words quiver and his voice tighten.
“I’d like to investigate this situation on Kyle’s behalf and with your cooperation. I want to find out who did this.”
“Don’t the police do this kind of thing in Philadelphia? Or, are they too busy with more serious crimes like parking violations?”
“In a way, you could say they don’t care about cases like this one. But I do.”
“They don’t care about attempted murder? Come now, Mr. Fontana.”
“Mr. Detwiler, you said you knew that Kyle works for me. Then you must know all the implications of that work.”
“I’m well aware that my grandson is gay, if that’s what you mean. I still see no reason the police shouldn’t want a full investigation of this incident.”
“The reality is, sir, that the police want closure as quickly as possible on any case. Or, failing that, they’re satisfied to kick some cases under the rug if they think they don’t merit their time and that no one will raise a stink. They leave them open and—”
“Ignore it? Because he’s gay?”
“Not just gay, but a stripper.” I saw Detwiler wince, it was slight, restrained, but it was there. “Not one of the jobs that gets a lot of respect in any circle, let alone among the police.”
“I see.” He lowered his head a moment, and seemed to be thinking. Looking up as if he’d made a decision, he said, “How much?”
“How—?”
“Only a fool works for free. How much are you asking?”
“Kyle is a friend. I want to get to the bottom of this because I care about him. All I’m asking is your cooperation. Money—”
“Is the grease that makes the machine of life work better than it could otherwise. I and my family will cooperate, but only on the condition that you charge your standard fee for a case such as this.”
As if he’d heard my thoughts, Detwiler said, “You took Kyle in and gave him a job. And, if what you say is true, you also gave him your friendship. Quite possibly, if it hadn’t been for you, Kyle might have been dead long ago from his own intemperate actions. I think he might want you to have something in return.”
I objected.
“Not in payment for your friendship but as a way of returning the favor you did him, a gesture of friendship. Kyle is like that. If you’re truly his friend, you’ll know that. Even if he doesn’t care much for his family, he loves his friends, as I recall.”
“I don’t feel comfortable with this.”
“I’m not asking you to. I want you to find out who did this. For Kyle and for me.” He drew a checkbook out of the top drawer of the desk and picked up a silver pen. “How much is your retainer?”
Asking for money in a case like this felt sleazy. But the old man was obstinate. I gave Detwiler a figure and his right eyebrow, as white as the rest of his hair, arched slightly. I didn’t know if he thought it was too low or too high. I didn’t ask.
“When can I question the family?”
“I can have them available any time you wish.”
“Since I’m here, how about if I start with anyone who’s at home?”
“That would be me and my grandson, Hayes, Kyle’s cousin. I’m afraid that my grandson Trent is working on a project and won’t be back for a few days. His wife Emily is here, or rather, she will be as soon as she gets back from the city.”
“I’ll start with Hayes, then. You and I can speak afterward?”
“Certainly. I’ll have Beck take you to Hayes.”
Detwiler pushed a button somewhere under his desk and Beck appeared at the library door. Dour but graceful, Beck led me back down the hall and through to the foyer. I wanted to ask Beck a few questions. He might have something to contribute as an objective observer. He looked disgruntled and might be inclined to give away secrets the others wanted buried. I’d do that after I had more information to work with.
Crimes on Latimer: From the Early Cases of Marco Fontana Page 15
