Sassy, the drag queen who occupied the front desk most of the time, wasn’t exactly a Border Patrol Agent. She’d stop you, especially if you were good-looking and she wanted a good look at you, otherwise she’d let you slip into the building pretty easily. If she did happen to stop you, all you needed to do was to appeal to her flirtatious side and she’d let you pass. Sassy was fun. No doubt about it. But she was no defense against intruders.
The lobby was eerily still and empty which was unusual. People were always bustling through the airy entrance. I ignored my sense that something wasn’t right and headed for the elevators. Sammy lived on the third floor. He’d insisted on a low floor when he moved in. “Fire rescue ladders can’t get past the tenth floor,” he’d said. I wasn’t so sure about that, but who am I to argue with people’s fears? I’d known Sammy a long time and had seen him through good times and bad, but after years of friendship, I learned that the most constant thing about him was the fluidity of his life and his ways. That made him both fun and frustrating.
When the elevator opened on the third floor, I took a right and padded down the long, carpeted hall to Sammy’s place.
I rang the bell a couple of times, then pushed open the door. Sammy often left his door unlocked when he expected company. Now that he was temporarily disabled, he left the door unlocked all the time to keep from having to maneuver his wheelchair around to answer the door. This was not the wisest move, but Sammy was Sammy and no one was going to change him. I couldn’t blame him, though. With two broken legs and three surgeries to correct the breaks, he was not in great shape. The unwieldy leg casts made everything difficult. The only time he locked his door was when he wouldn’t be at home.
“Sammy?” I called softly in case he was napping. After the third surgery and lots of rehab, his struggle to recover was exhausting. So, he napped often and the nurse who looked in on him had told me that plenty of sleep was a good thing. I half expected him to be snoozing every time I got to his place.
This time, though, something didn’t feel right. There was a stillness that didn’t say “nap” to me.
I called out, a bit louder, “Sammy?”
There was no answer.
“Hello?” Shutting the door behind me, I moved cautiously into the apartment. The faint fragrance of chili hung in the air and I knew that Bart, Sammy’s ex had recently been there making his famous party chili and looking after Sammy. Bart had never gotten over the breakup and took any opportunity to make Sammy like him again. He was desperate to get Sammy to forget the things he’d done that made Sammy throw him out in the first place. Bart’s efforts worked to a point. They’d become friendly enough for Bart to get an invitation to Sammy’s holiday parties, but Sammy would never forget the betrayal or the hurt he’d felt. No matter how much chili Bart cooked up.
I moved past the kitchen and into the hall leading to Sammy’s bedroom.
“Sammy? You decent? I’m coming in, ready or not.” I called. There was no answer. Moving silently over the carpeted floors, I went past the bathroom and the tiny room he used for TV and video games. The next door was his bedroom, and I dreaded what I might find.
“Hey!” I tried once more and knocked at the door. Nothing.
When I pushed in the bedroom door, I saw him.
It looked as if he were asleep, but blood was spattered everywhere and soaked everything. The wheelchair he used was pushed into a corner where he could never reach it. He wouldn’t have been able to get out of the bed on his own without it.
The closer I got, the more blood I saw. Blood drenched the bed and cast-off blood made an ugly pattern on the wall and ceiling. Head wounds gush lots of blood, but this one looked like more than a simple bump on the head. This was bad.
Placing two fingers to his neck, I felt for a pulse. It was faint but still there. His breathing was shallow. I flipped out my cell phone, called 911, explained the situation, and described the scene. I told them I’d wait for them.
In the meantime, I looked over the scene without touching anything.
It didn’t appear Sammy had put up much of a fight. He couldn’t have in any event, with both legs in casts. His attacker must’ve found Sammy lying in bed and battered him before he had a chance to react. I didn’t see a weapon or anything that looked like it might’ve been used as a weapon. Maybe it’d turn up when the police searched.
Looking around, I realized the room had already been thoroughly searched. With Sammy lying there, I hadn’t noticed the disorder. The closet door was open, and everything in it had been thrown out onto the floor. The dresser drawers were emptied, and piles of clothing littered the floor around it. Sammy’s desk was a wreck. Drawers pulled out and emptied, papers scattered, everything in disarray. It appeared that his computer was missing. I had to assume Sammy’s TV room and maybe even the living room had also been tossed by whoever had done this.
I turned, ready to check out the other rooms, and came face to face with Dan standing in the bedroom doorway. Eyes wide, a hand to his mouth, he stared at Sammy then at me.
“What’ve you done!” A little strangled scream escaped him. He rushed over to the bed, where he knelt by Sammy’s side and wailed.
Instead of answering his question, which would’ve been useless anyway, I kept quiet and wondered if Dan had been in the apartment all along. Maybe he’d hidden when he heard me enter. Could be that he was the one who knocked Sammy senseless. I looked over at him, still crying up a storm, and figured his tears seemed real enough. So I stood back and gauged his actions while waiting for him to get the drama out of his system and maybe give me a hand. That didn’t look like it’d happen any time soon.
Dan was a once-cute, now pudgy, former boyfriend of Sammy’s. His high-pitched, gravelly voice was incongruous in his paunchy body, but it was his mark of distinction and he never failed to make an impression with it. If Dan’s screeching didn’t bring Sammy to his senses, my old friend was in real trouble.
Eventually, Dan’s caterwauling wound down, and he got to his feet as if struggling under the great weight of grief. Finally standing again, he pressed his hands to the sides of his head, closed his eyes, and took deep breaths. It was hard to keep from laughing.
“Who did this?” Dan demanded as he emerged from his trance and struck a pose in front of me. His blond hair looked tarnished, and his blue eyes had not seen enough sleep. “Why would anyone do this to Sammy? He’s a sweet guy and totally harmless.”
“Harmless maybe, but Sammy likes playing with fire and sometimes a person gets burned doing that.” I paced as I spoke. “Look at him. Two broken legs and those other injuries. All because of some crazy stunt.”
Sammy had been staying at his brother’s Ocean City house and trying to relive his glory days as a college frat boy. He’d gotten it into his head that he wanted to repeat a water skiing stunt that had gone over well when he was nineteen. Nearing fifty now, Sammy had tried balancing two hunks on his shoulders while flying over the waves on water skis. There were other details but that was the main act. It wasn’t a hit.
It took his brother a long while and a lot of nursing care to get Sammy well enough to travel back to Philly. Sammy still needed major help after his return and remained largely housebound. The only plus was that he’d survived.
“So, it’s true, then, about the stunt?”
“All true. Sammy’s no kid anymore, but he thinks he is.”
Dan screwed up his face, peered over at Sammy then glared at me. “All right, so he’s too stupid to know he’s old, but what’s that stunt got to do with this beating?”
“Probably nothing. But I’ve known the guy a lot longer than you and finding him this way is not entirely a surprise.” What happened to Sammy made all kinds of sense when you thought more deeply about the kinds of things Sammy got himself into. Even Dan should have known that much after having lived with the man for two years. But Dan wasn’t thinking. Of course, that was Dan’s major problem and that was why he was no longer Sammy’s live-in
partner.
“How can you be so cold?”
“Stop and think, Dan. Think about the things Sammy got himself into when you lived with him.”
Dan stood looking from side to side, wavering like a flame as he thought. His face displayed a range of emotions and feelings.
“Who could’ve done this, Marco?”
“Right now that’s wide open. I was supposed to meet him to discuss some article he wants to write for some gay scandal blog or a newspaper or something. He wasn’t clear about that part. When I got here, the door was open. I found him this way.”
“What article? He never told me about any article. He usually likes to get my advice.” Dan scowled at Sammy, as if he’d been betrayed. If Sammy ever consulted Dan about anything, it certainly wasn’t about his work. Sammy had stopped communicating with Dan in that way a long time ago.
“It was some piece about the secrets and scandals of powerful players in the community. Sammy mentioned something about having lots of dirt on certain people. He said the article was sort of a trial balloon for the book he wants to write exposing the inner workings of the city’s movers and shakers.”
“Oh.” Dan looked confused. “Sure, the power—uh—brokers. Yeah, I knew about that.” His tone suggested he knew nothing of the sort. “Somebody’d do this over some article?”
“Can’t say for sure, Dan. But it’s hard to imagine somebody would get this crazy over some kiss and tell article.” I glanced at Sammy, wondering when the damned EMTs would get to the apartment. “This looks more like the result of pure rage. Whoever did this was ferocious. Really wanted to make Sammy pay. This is not blowback from some stupid article hardly anyone knows about and that he hasn’t even written yet.”
“Maybe… maybe it was his job? He came in contact with a lotta strange people at city hall. Maybe one of them…” Dan trailed off, lost in his thoughts.
“Could be,” I said. “He always had mysterious things going on at his job. He knew plenty of shady types. And he made all of them angry one time or another.”
“He had enemies? Not Sammy. He didn’t have enemies.” Dan seemed surprised. “When I lived here all kinds of people came in and out of the apartment. But none of them looked dangerous.”
“Well, Sammy had a lot more going on outside of work,” I said.
“Tell me about it,” Dan spat out the words. “Like all those telephone hook-up lines he used or the online sex sites. He let them all into this place. People he didn’t know. He did whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Even when I was livin’ with him. This could’ve been done by some stranger that Sammy let in and— this is so horrible.”
“This might have been done by someone he knew, too. Could’ve been anyone. Even old boyfriends…” I let that hang in the air to see if Dan reacted. He was as good a suspect as anyone else as far as I was concerned.
“Old boyfriends! Are you… are you sayin’ that…” Dan’s train of thought got derailed as something else popped into his head. “That reminds me, did you see Bart? Wasn’t he here? Didn’t you see him? Where is that creep? When you said old boyfriends, you reminded me that I…” Dan didn’t continue. Instead he cast a sideways glance at Sammy. Dan either didn’t take the hint that I might’ve meant him when I’d said “old boyfriends” or he was trying to throw the blame on someone else.
“I reminded you of what, Dan?” I asked. He was maddening at times. Leaving things half said or not said at all. “And what do you mean about Bart?”
“Nothing.” He licked his lips, shifted from one foot to the other as if he had to use the bathroom. “When you said ‘old boyfriends’ you reminded me that Bart is one of Sammy’s old flames. Not that I think Bart did this, but he and Sammy lived together after I was outta the picture.”
“A moment ago, you asked did I see him. How could I see him? What’re you not telling me?”
“Well… I was just—”
“Spit it out, Dan.”
“I don’t want to get anybody in trouble, y’know?” Dan shifted his weight again. “Bart could’ve had a good reason. For bein’ here, I mean.” He paused and looked at his feet. “Bart was right behind me when I came in here.” Dan moved tentatively toward the bedroom door and peeked out into the hall as if expecting Bart to jump him for ratting on him. “I don’t know where he went. He’s not here now. He’s gone. But he was behind me when I came in just now. I saw him clear as I see you.” Dan turned back to face me.
“You came here together?” That was strange. Dan and Bart hated each other with a passion only my relatives could understand. Bart was Dan’s successor in Sammy’s bed. Once Bart took up residence, he’d never allowed Dan any privileges in the apartment. Even if Sammy didn’t agree, he always let Bart have his way. Dan never forgot the treatment he’d received from Bart, and he could never forgive his young replacement. I was sure Dan even resented Sammy for agreeing with Bart.
“Together? Us? Together? Are you smoking inferior product? I wouldn’t walk with Bart to his execution, if that was his last wish.” Dan fumed. He glared at me. “That turd snuck up behind me when I was waiting for an elevator. He whined about needing to see Sammy. I couldn’t stop him from getting on the elevator. It’s a free country. So, we rode up together.” He made a sound of disgust. “Of course, he never looked at me. Not once the whole way up. He followed me off the elevator and was right behind me when I saw Sammy’s door was open. I walked in and saw you and poor Sammy. And all I remember is screaming.”
“Bart, huh?” Though he worked hard at keeping Sammy’s friendship, I knew that he hardly ever stopped by on a whim. He always called ahead for Sammy’s permission. “Bart never said what he wanted with Sammy?”
“Nothing. He said nada. Not one word, the little Irish shit.” Dan rolled his eyes.
“He was standing behind you. On the surface, it looks like you and he arrived together, after Sammy was beaten. Make sense to you?”
“I… I guess,” Dan reluctantly agreed.
“Any number of people could have done this,” I said. Sammy let so many guys into his place it’d be a job just finding out their names. I knew Sammy’s habits would catch up with him one day. I was sorry to see it happen, though.
“So, you’re gonna do nothing about this?” Dan confronted me, hands on hips.
“Not much I can do until the police get here,” I said. It had only been a couple of minutes since I’d called, but Dan made it seem like hours. I wanted him gone so I could talk to the police without him nosing around.
“The police? Why do we need—”
“You’re smarter than that, Dan. Look at this place. It’s a crime scene. The police are gonna be all over this. Anyway, first thing is to make sure Sammy’s all right.”
“There’s a— oh! You think he may not be? It’s that bad?” He spoke as if he’d never considered the possibility that Sammy was in serious condition.
“It doesn’t look good from where I stand.”
As I said that someone pounded at the door.
“Philly PD! Open up,” the voice boomed.
I opened the door and a young officer stepped, in brushing by me. He glanced around suspiciously as he moved through the room.
“EMTs are on their way up. What’ve we got here?”
I explained as I led him into Sammy’s bedroom. The officer subtly recoiled at the sight of all the blood.
“I’ll call my sergeant. He’ll get a detective down here.” He turned to leave the room, then pivoted back. “You two better step out of the room. Crime scene. The EMTs will take care of your friend.” He was almost apologetic.
“Oh, shit,” Dan said looking over at Sammy on the bed. “Shit. Shit. Shit. How’d you get yourself into this, Sammy?”
***
There was something familiar about the detective who came through the apartment door as the EMTs worked on Sammy in the bedroom. He glanced at me and Dan then disappeared into the bedroom. Muffled voices floated out of the room as he spoke with the EMTs.
Then I heard the sound of the gurney being readied. Moments later, the techs rolled Sammy out toward the door.
Dan asked to accompany Sammy to the hospital and the detective assigned a police officer to stay with them both.
“I’ll need to question you later. Don’t go anywhere,” he said after taking Dan’s name.
The detective turned toward me and I realized who he was. A tall black man with snowy white hair rimming his bald pate, the detective had the same determined look as he’d had the first time we’d met. I was in high school and he was assigned to investigate the death of the school disciplinarian. He’d changed quite a bit in the years since we met, but not in the way he approached a crime scene.
Turning, he reentered the bedroom and I stood in the doorway to watch him work.
He gazed intently around the room and I knew he was memorizing every detail. Not noticing me at first, he concentrated on the blood spatter and the ransacked desk. As he finished his mental inventory of the room and allowed one of the CSIs to take some photographs, he turned in my direction.
“And who’re you?” He peered at me as if he thought he should remember who I was but couldn’t.
“Detective Bynum. It’s good to see you again,” I said and stuck out my hand. “Mar—”
“Marco Fontana! I’ll be damned.”
“Maybe you will be, but not because you have a bad memory.”
“Been a long time, young man. Never thought I’d meet up with you again, Fontana. Leastways not mixed up in something like this.” He glanced around the room, then landed his gaze back on me.
I explained how I’d come to be there and that I’d called in the police.
Bynum smiled broadly and shook his head. “Still got your nose where it don’t belong.”
“Not this time, Detective. I’m a P.I. now, and my nose usually leads me into a mess like this.”
“Well, Mr. P.I. Fontana, with you bein’ a friend of the victim, whaddayou think?”
“Truthfully, Detective, I don’t know what to think. Sammy was a nice guy, but he probably had some acquaintances who wouldn’t mind bashing in his head. Ex boyfriends, hook-ups, people he worked with at City Hall. Lots of other things he got himself into which he never told me much about. Except, me being me, I kinda knew when something shady was happening.”
Crimes on Latimer: From the Early Cases of Marco Fontana Page 19
