Crimes on Latimer: From the Early Cases of Marco Fontana

by DeMarco, Joseph R. G.

  “Could be but… are you sure you have all the facts?” Liam said. Then he clammed up, which was a sure sign he wanted us to drag the information out of him.

  I took the bait to make him happy. “And you mean by this…?”

  “Well, Bri said a straight guy gets killed and we take the fall.”

  “You see it any different, Liam?” Bri’s deep voice rumbled and his eyes widened, ready for an argument.

  “Possibly,” Liam answered. “I think I just remembered something.”

  “Okay, Liam, out with it. Ben is sitting in a cell wondering what’s going to happen to him. So, if you know something, let’s have it.”

  “It’s just that we don’t know for sure that Wade was straight. There’s been talk and lots of rumors are true. Sometimes. Don’t you think? I mean, who’d come out on that stage naked like he did? In a gay contest with all those queens standing around hooting? Who? Most straight guys I know couldn’t even think about doing that.”

  “All that proves is that Wade had a little more courage than the rest. He was more competitive. He knew what it would take for a straight guy to compete and win in a gay contest.”

  “That doesn’t change the rumors. And Wade is at the heart of them.” Liam padded out of the room and quickly returned with cups and a pot of coffee.

  “What rumors, Liam? I haven’t heard a thing, and I get around more than you do.” Bri looked miffed that he might be out of the loop. The macho muscle-man was a gossip queen at heart.

  “Okay, Liam,” I said. “Cough up the information.”

  “People say that Wade was seen with John Fitzpatrick on more than one occasion.”

  “Seen? What do you mean by seen?” I asked. “I need more than that, Liam. Details. Actual witnesses.”

  “I don’t know details. All I know is they were seen together in places. Places where they thought nobody would catch them, I guess.” Liam poured coffee for each of us and sat on the couch. He stared at me and then at the couch. A silent invitation.

  He was a tempting sight. But I needed to concentrate on the case and Ben and finding the real killer.

  “Think you can find out some of those details?” I sipped my coffee and looked at each of them in turn. “Could save Ben a lot of trouble.”

  “We’ll find out. Whatever you need,” Bri said. “You just ask.”

  We chatted a while longer, but neither of them added anything new. I told them to get in touch as soon as they found out anything.

  ***

  I’d already decided to see John “Fitz” Fitzpatrick at some point. But after what Liam said, I pushed Fitz to the top of the list. A rich entrepreneur, he had political aspirations, which had so far netted him the chairmanship of the GLBT Concerns Committee. But he had his sights set higher, and this murder could get him headlines he didn’t want or need. I figured he’d be crawling the walls by now, wondering what he could do to save his career. From what I’d seen of him, he treated every minor flap as a major crisis. Exactly the kind of personality we need in high office.

  As I left the building, I flipped out my cell phone and dialed Fitz. He answered on the first ring. Like I thought, he was worried.

  “Fitz, this is Marco.”

  “What do you want?” His voice was sharp, angry. But he paused and in an instant made a one-eighty turn around. “What can I do for you, Marco?”

  “I’m trying to get to the bottom of what happened to Wade. I feel some responsibility. And maybe we can help get Ben off the hook. You remember him?”

  “What did you say his name was?”

  “Ben was a contestant. Cute, short, green eyes. ”

  “Nope, sorry. I don’t think I can help anyway. I’ve told the police all I know. Besides, I’ve got no time today.”

  “Sure you do, Fitz. I’m a member of a sexual minority, and you’re head of the GLBT Concerns Committee. How would it look if someone lodged a complaint against the head commissioner, especially if he was already involved in a murder investigation?”

  “Two o’clock. My office. I can give you fifteen minutes.”

  I called Anton to ask if he could interview some of the other contestants. I gave him a brief rundown and a list of names. He’d helped me on cases before and was good at it. I trusted him to ask the right questions.

  Howie, next on my list, was easy to track. His flower shop, Petals Boutique, was a busy place and he spent most of his time there. I wanted to get him to explain his case of nerves the night of the murder. Maybe he was just edgy that night because he was intimidated by the police. On the other hand, maybe good old Howie had something to hide. If so, I wanted to know what that was and if it was connected to the case.

  I walked back to the gayborhod via Walnut Street. The city touted Walnut as one of the finest shopping streets in Center City. They were right, even if there were still a few sore spots here and there.

  When I got to Thirteenth, I headed for Spruce, two blocks away, where Howie’s Petal Boutique was located. It was easy to spot the gigantic sculptural flowers he’d had placed strategically around the exterior of his corner shop. They were visible for blocks in all kinds of weather.

  I entered the shop, and an electric chime sounded. The cloying smell of fresh flowers wrapped itself around me. Howie was behind the counter, back toward me, pulling together an enormous, elaborate arrangement. A mix of exotic blooms, dried vines and lots of ribbons, this one would probably cost a good chunk of money. Not bad for the time it took to throw it together. He glanced at me over his shoulder, then tucked his head back down immediately as if he were too engrossed in his work to be bothered. Too bad. I’d be bothering him whether he liked it or not.

  “Howie, that’s beautiful. What’s it for? A wedding?”

  “The Wilde Inn, that new B& B over on Camac. They decided to dress up their lobby.” He wasn’t unfriendly exactly, but he wasn’t warm and fuzzy either. “Why? You looking to get married, Fontana?”

  “If I ever fall in love I’ll know where to come for a seduction bouquet.” I moved closer to the counter which let him know I wasn’t going away.

  He turned around and gave me the fisheye. He didn’t want to deal with me, but he knew he had no choice. He pressed a button on an intercom.

  “Timmy, come on out and finish up this arrangement. I’ve got some business with Mr. Fontana.”

  Out came an awkward, twenty-something kid with dark-dark curly hair and violet eyes. His quirky face was innocent and charming. He wasn’t beautiful, but quirky is sometimes even better.

  “C’mon back here, Marco. It’s more private. I assume you want to talk about the… incident. I’m not sure I can help, though. I don’t know much.”

  “You never know. Sometimes it’s the silly little things we remember that mean the most.” I knew Howie was as observant as a crow and was also good at keeping a secret. He knew something.

  “So I’ve already told the police I was at the bar early the night before the contest. Even went backstage, where a couple of the guys saw me. But I left early, and there were still lots of people around. I don’t know what was done or who did it, but I couldn’t have done it. I had, um, a meeting all set and I hadda get going.” He paused and frowned. “But the shit stood me up. Nothing I could do about it. Something else fell my way later on, and I spent the rest of the night with him.”

  “Who was it, Howie? Will they corroborate your story?”

  “I can’t say who. They’d be put into a compromising position and I really don’t want to do that. For that matter, my own reputation would suffer as well.”

  “That’s it?” He’d probably been dicking somebody’s boyfriend and didn’t want to open up that can of worms in public. Howie might’ve had a business to worry about, but a sex scandal in a flower shop wouldn’t matter to anyone. He wasn’t being totally honest. I could tell. “Think about it, Howie. Ben is sitting in a cell. You remember him, right? The green-eyed contestant that I caught you ogling last night. If you can help alibi Ben,
now’s the time. Who were you with? Come on, Howie.”

  “Can’t say I remember the boy. No. All those muscle bunnies look alike to me.” Howie fidgeted in place and shifted his feet a few times. “I don’t find that type attractive, anyway. Too hard in the wrong places.”

  “Too bad for Ben, I guess. That’s he’s not your type, I mean. He’s a lot like you. Won’t tell anyone who his alibi is. He’s sittin’ down at the precinct, stuffed in a cell with who knows what for company, and he won’t say a thing. I gotta wonder who he’s protecting. And I also gotta think that it’s one lucky bastard. To have somebody like Ben keeping secrets.”

  “It’s not me, if that’s what you’re implying,” Howie picked up a stem that’d been left on a table and twirled it between his fingers.

  “Me, I’m not implying anything. Just letting you know about Ben. Doesn’t look good for him. I won’t say really bad, not yet, but he’s got to start talking soon. Or somebody does, if you catch my drift.”

  “How can my having or not having an alibi help Ben?”

  “Lemme know who your alibi is and I’ll tell you.” I knew it was a waste of time asking, because he wasn’t ready to spill any information he didn’t need to.

  Howie simply stared at me.

  “Be seein’ you, Howie.” I wasn’t through with him and if things got worse for Ben, I’d be back and Howie wouldn’t like it. I said my good-byes and walked out of the back room.

  On the way out I exchanged glances with Timmy, who looked up from his work and winked at me. The lopsided smile that spread across his face gave him an entirely different look. Actually cute, even if he was quirky. I acknowledged the wink and the smile. He was definitely interested. I filed the information away for later.

  Howie’s shop wasn’t far from City Hall, and it was almost time for my meeting with Fitz. I strolled back over on Thirteenth, past Woody’s and some of the newly developing businesses farther down the block, until I came to Market Street.

  City Hall loomed over everything. I entered through the South Portal, one of four huge vaulted entryways to a confusing labyrinth of offices and meeting rooms. My meeting with Fitzpatrick was scheduled for two, and I liked being early. I just about remembered the way to the office of the GLBT Concerns Committee, which was at the end of a lonely, drab hallway. As head of the Commission, Fitz didn’t have much pull in the city, but the title gave him some small access to the halls of power and even a chance to chat with the Mayor now and again, not that he’d listen. But having the title was worth something at parties and other social functions, especially to people who didn’t know better.

  I knocked at the door and Fitz opened it a crack. He poked out his head. His glasses, perched on his too-large nose, made him look like an exotic bird. Edgy movements, as he looked me up and down, enhanced the illusion. When he ushered me in, I noticed him glance around to see if anybody was watching. There wasn’t a soul in this part of the building so he had nothing to worry about. And nothing to brag about, either.

  “What can I do for you, Fontana?” He sat in a chair behind his desk, fussed with papers, glanced up at me, then away.

  “Like I told you on the phone, I’m investigating the death of Wade Hefflin.”

  “Horrible. It’ll be a long time before I can forget that. It’s all still so vivid.” He paused and swiped a hand over his face. “ I don’t know what I can tell you, Fontana. The police questioned me last night, and I couldn’t say much. I don’t remember anything except that terrible sight.”

  “Ben Tadeo’s been arrested. One of the other contestants. You remember him?”

  “Maybe. There were ten contenders. Remembering them all is a little confusing. Especially after what happened.”

  “Ben’s friends want to make sure he gets a fair deal. The police think they’ve got their man but I’m not so sure and I need to prove that. Which means I’ve gotta know where everyone was the night before the competition.” I watched his face for some sign but Fitz was a cool character.

  He said nothing.

  “You have an alibi for the night in question?”

  “No. I don’t sit around every night thinking I’ll need an alibi. So I don’t have one. I was alone at home.”

  “Alone? But weren’t you down at Bubbles?”

  “Who said that?”

  “A guy like you gets noticed. You’re not just some nobody.” It never hurt to flatter political types. Problem is, he didn’t look like anything special. Tall and slender, light brown hair, tortoise-shell glasses perched on a large nose, and narrow shoulders. Basically nondescript.

  What he looked like and who might have noticed him didn’t matter. Ransom claimed that Fitzpatrick had been a witness, that he’d seen Ben backstage the night before the competition. Fitz had more or less implicated himself.

  “Well…”

  “What’s not to admit about being at Bubbles?”

  “Nothing, I suppose. It’s just that I like keeping my private life private. I shouldn’t have to tell the whole world my movements. Especially as I had nothing to do with this murder.”

  “Detective Ransom said you witnessed Ben backstage that night. You could only do that, if you were there yourself. What exactly were you doing backstage that night?” I waited for him to answer.

  Fitz peered at some spot on his desk.

  “Whoever killed Wade had to tamper with his rigging the night before the competition. Somebody had to have been backstage at Bubbles that night. You placed yourself there by saying you’d seen Ben. If you didn’t have anything to do with Wade’s death, you sure put yourself smack in the middle of opportunity.”

  “I’d never have done anything like that. Never.” His indignation seemed real. His eyes were bright with anger. But then, he was a politician and they do indignation really well.

  “Did you have a problem with Wade? Maybe because he was a straight contender for the title and you didn’t like that?”

  “Of course not! Wade was…Wade was a nice kid.” He slipped a look at me, then stared at his papers again.

  “You knew Wade?”

  “Well, not exactly knew him.”

  “Oh?” What I meant by ‘knew’ and what he meant by ‘knew’ were probably totally different.

  “I used to see him around here and there. Seemed like a nice guy.”

  “Saw him around? I’ve heard there was a bit more to it than that.” I stretched what I’d heard. Truth is, I suspected there was more, because of the way Fitz was acting.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stood up indicating that the interview was over as far as he was concerned. No smile, no frown, just an expressionless, hard-eyed stare.

  “Maybe some publicity with you being connected to this murder in some way will refresh your memory. And then you’ll talk.” I rose from my seat and looked him in the eye. He didn’t budge. He was cold and implacable like an ice sculpture. I’d have to find a way to heat things up. Whatever he knew about Wade might get me that much closer to the killer.

  “You should be more careful about accusing people recklessly, Fontana. I used to like you. But you’ve become smarmy. I’ve told you what I can. I think it’s time for you to leave and get back to puttering around in the gutter.”

  Fitz was hiding something, but it was part of the political persona to keep others in the dark on at least some things. Always keep others guessing, especially your opponents. Fitz was a wannabe politician. He had the personality down and was working on the rest.

  I smiled and winked at him as I left. “See you soon, Fitz. You can count on that.”

  ***

  When I’d called Wade’s pal Michael and asked him to meet me at the Village Brew Café, he balked at first. But his protests didn’t sound real. What it sounded like was Michael needed someone to talk to and was too macho to admit that even to himself. He needed a good excuse to open up. I asked him if Wade would have helped out with an investigation, if things had been reversed. That was all the convinc
ing he required.

  Sitting at one of the café’s sidewalk tables gave me the opportunity to guy watch, which, in the gayborhood, is an enlightening experience. The variety of men who pass by is almost staggering. Not just in shape and size, but in every detail that can be different. Hair, shoes, tattoos, piercings, clothing. You name it. Watching it never gets old.

  I spotted Michael swaggering down the street half a block away. He frowned at every guy he caught looking at him. Which amounted to a lot of frowning. His muscleman walk and shape garnered him lots of attention of the variety he apparently didn’t like. At some point, he saw me and marched over to my table, hostility radiating off his taut body.

  “You got me here. Now what?” He stood, muscles bulging everywhere, and glared at me. I met his stare. That caught him off guard for just a second. Then the wall of hostility went back up. Even so, I could tell he wanted to be right where he was. He was hurting and needed to talk.

  “Have a seat,” I said and nudged a chair with my foot.

  Michael refused.

  “Okay, we’ll do it your way.” I sat back and looked him in the eye. “It’s gotta be difficult for you. I’m guessin’ you and Wade were close.”

  “We were friends, that’s all. Just friends.” He spat out the words.

  “I get the picture,” I said. Obviously, I’d touched a nerve. “I need some information. About the night Wade died. Maybe you can help.”

  Michael’s stare said his help wouldn’t come easy.

  “It’s possible you saw things that night. Or the night before the murder. Things maybe other people didn’t see. You bein’ backstage and in the competition.” I kept my voice calm and even. Michael was the excitable type, and I wanted information, not a beat down.

  Michael shifted on his feet, took a more aggressive stance. “I hear you’re trying to get that guy off the hook. The one who did it.”

  “I’m trying to get at the truth.”

  “Truth is he did it. But you fags stick together, don’t you?”