Crimes on Latimer: From the Early Cases of Marco Fontana

by DeMarco, Joseph R. G.

  “I’m pulling together the facts of the case, Michael. I’m trying to find out who did this. If it’s Ben, okay. I wanna make sure the evidence backs that up. If Ben did it, he’ll pay. If he didn’t, though, I want the person who did. And I’ll bet you do, too. So, I need information.”

  “What makes you think it wasn’t that guy? The police think he’s the one.”

  “What did Ben have to gain?”

  “Winning the contest. And even if he didn’t win, he didn’t want a straight guy to win. That’s what.”

  “There’d still be you in the contest. You think he’d have killed you both?”

  He seemed not to have considered that thought yet. He looked at me, then away, then back at me. “Well n-no, I guess… Maybe… who knows?” Michael’s voice trailed off.

  “But there must’ve been somebody who had a real motive for killing Wade. Somebody with something to hide, some strong passion, something to gain. That’s what I want to know.”

  Michael wrestled with himself a few moments before he spoke. “Yeah. I saw things that night.”

  “Like what, Michael?”

  “Mike.” He pulled out a chair and sat down across from me. The table was small, and we were virtually nose to nose when he leaned in to talk. Not a bad-looking face, rough-hewn, with several days growth of beard emphasizing his strong jawline. But Michael had an edgy manner, suggesting he wasn’t really comfortable in his own skin. “I saw plenty, and I guess you need to know what I saw. If that guy they’re holding didn’t do it, then it was another one of you.”

  “One of us?”

  “One of you fa—gays. A gay guy killed Wade so he wouldn’t win.”

  “Again, I ask, how come they didn’t include you and eliminate all the straight competition?”

  “I didn’t have a chance at winning. I knew that, and so did everybody else. But Wade, he knew just what to do to make sure he won.”

  “How do you mean that?”

  “He knew what turns you guys on, how to move, what to show, who to look at. He knew a lot about gay guys.”

  “That’s strange for a straight man. I mean, Wade was straight like you, right?”

  “Like me? Wade was straight, sure, but he knew about gays. I don’t.”

  “How did that happen? Him knowing about us, I mean.”

  “He just knew, is all. I don’t know how.”

  “What did you see at the bar that might make a difference?”

  “I saw the guy, the one you said they’re holding.”

  “Ben.”

  “I guess, yeah, Ben. He was backstage, and he was fooling around with the equipment. The night before the competition, Ben got into Wade’s sling and wagged his ass at us. That’s creepy, man. Waved his bare ass at us. Me and Wade. For all I know, he could’ve done something with the ropes while he was there. Wade was really pissed about him doin’ that, too. He hated anyone touchin’ his chains and stuff. Really hated it when that guy, um, Ben, got in the sling. Nearly punched him out.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Early.”

  “And Ben?”

  “He left. Wade left, too, and I hung out a little longer to make sure my weights and stuff were ready. On my way out, I saw other people messin’ around backstage. I don’t know names but I got a good memory for faces. One guy’s been in the papers. I saw him backstage.”

  “In the papers?”

  “Yeah, some kinda city official. He was askin’ for Wade and was kinda curious about the sling and the chains. He…” Michael stopped again, appearing to weigh what he wanted to say.

  When it was clear he wasn’t going to continue, I went on. “Can you tell me what this guy looked like?” I didn’t want to lead him by giving a description.

  “Yeah, maybe. Glasses that looked like somethin’ out of a comic book. Short hair. Kinda geeky.”

  “That would be John Fitzpatrick. Did you see him handle the rigging?”

  Michael hesitated. “I didn’t say that. I don’t remember what he did.”

  “Thing is, Fitzpatrick has already admitted to being there. Got any idea why he was backstage?” I looked into Michael’s eyes and saw pain, confusion.

  “How should I know? He asked for Wade a coupl’a times. Even asked me. But I don’t know what he wanted with him. Wade wasn’t around, so he left.”

  “I think you do know, Michael.” I hated having to force this out of him. It was obviously something he didn’t want to talk much about. “Fitzpatrick and Wade were pretty close, weren’t they?” Despite Fitzpatrick’s denials, I knew there was something going on between him and Wade. I just needed confirmation.

  “What’re you tryin’ to say? You’re crazy, man. Wade was…”

  “Wade was gay. Isn’t that true?”

  “No!” Michael glared at me.

  “Wade never said anything that made you wonder?”

  “You’re crazy. Wade was confused. That’s all.” Michael pushed back from the table. He glanced around, worried others might’ve heard his outburst. “That guy, that glasses geek, was mixin’ Wade up. He hung around a lot, always talking to Wade. Like he was tryin’ to convince him about something.” Michael kept his voice low but grew more agitated as he spoke.

  “But Wade could have ignored Fitzpatrick, right? Could have stayed away or could’ve told Fitz to stay away. Couldn’t he?”

  “Wade was weak. He built up his body but he had no heart. No…” The edginess dissipated suddenly, and Michael’s voice trailed off.

  “Okay, Wade was weak. But he was smart. Smart enough to scope out the competition. Better than that, he knew his audience and learned everything about them. You said so yourself.”

  “So what? That didn’t make him gay. He might’a been weak, but he liked to win and he did what he hadda do.”

  “If Wade knew so much about gay guys, why didn’t you take some pointers from him? Why didn’t he help you? Maybe you could’a won that competition.”

  “He wanted to help me. He told me what I could do. But I didn’t wanna know, man.” He shut his eyes against things only he could see and shook his head in disgust. “Wade…” He said the name with a mix of anger and deep sadness.

  “What about him, Mike?” I could see he was hurting, and I hated adding to his troubles.

  “He was…” He stopped mid sentence and looked down at the table, wrapping silence around him like a shield.

  “How about some coffee?”

  He nodded, still staring at the table, clenching and unclenching a fist.

  I waved over a waiter, ordered, and turned my attention back to Michael.

  “What were you gonna say about Wade?” I kept my eyes on him. Michael remained silent. The waiter placed a mug of coffee in front of him and gave me a new glass of orange juice. As soon as the waiter left, Michael looked up at me. He appeared confused, sad, filled with regret.

  “Wade was cool, usually. But he had this thing…”

  “What thing?”

  “He had this thing about gays. I don’t know. He couldn’t stop talking about them. As if he…”

  “As if he what?”

  “Forget it, man. He wanted to win the competition. That’s why he was so crazy on the subject of gays. And he kept pushing my buttons about it.”

  “Pushing your buttons?”

  “About gay shit. Kept teasing and playing games. I hated that about him.” He glanced up at me suddenly, a guilty look in his eyes.

  “Did you guys fight…”

  “Don’t start that shit. I didn’t hate him. Don’t try and make it look like we were enemies, ‘cause we weren’t.” He stared down at his coffee. “We were friends. Friends can push your buttons, too. Besides, it was that other guy who filled Wade’s head with all that gay crap.”

  “You mean Fitzpatrick?”

  “Yeah. He latched onto Wade and never let go.”

  That wasn’t the impression Fitzpatrick tried to give me. I knew he’d been lying and hiding something. Now I had
a better idea what that something was. I’d have to corner him and get him to talk.

  “Maybe Fitzpatrick knows more than he’s letting on.”

  “He’s just another fag who was after Wade’s ass. He don’t know nothin’ and that’s all he knows.”

  “Just the same,” I said. Then I noticed Michael staring off at something. I followed the direction of his gaze and caught Howie walking into the apartment building across the street from the café.

  “Know that guy?”

  “That one? The one who just went into the building? I saw him backstage, too.”

  “Sure you saw him. He was one of the judges.”

  “No, man. He was backstage the night before the competition.”

  “Yeah, he admitted that to me. Said he poked his head in, looked around and left early.”

  “Bullshit. He was there late the night before the competition. He was standin’ around as if he was waitin’ for something. Then he left with the other guy.”

  “What other guy? Fitzpatrick?”

  “Naw, not him. But the two’a them did talk, though. That night. Except, this Howie dude was waitin’ around for somebody else. It was the guy they arrested. Ben. It was them there that night. That dude, Howie, and Ben. Together. They pretended like they weren’t together. But I saw ‘em.”

  “I thought you told me Ben left early.” I said.

  “He did. But he must’a come back, ‘cause I saw him again. Came back to meet this guy, I guess.”

  “They were together? You’re sure?” I thought about what Howie had told me. A total pack of lies, including saying that Ben wasn’t his type. The look in his eye when he’d said that put the lie to his words. Some judge he’d have been. Howie had a lot of explaining to do. For that matter, so did Ben.

  “See. What’d I tell you? One of you did it. Maybe two. They must’ve planned it together. They talked like they didn’t know each other. But they did.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Ben pulled that guy Howie into a corner where they thought nobody could see. I could, though. I looked down, and they were gettin’ real cozy in a corner.”

  “Cozy?”

  “Cozy – you know – they were kissing. That’s somethin’ I don’t forget seeing.”

  “Kiss— they were kissing?” Suddenly I understood a few things. “Then what happened?”

  “Whaddayou take me for? I didn’t keep watching. I don’t wanna see that shit. Makes me wanna puke.”

  “Did you see Howie leave the bar? The guy you saw across the street?”

  “Yeah, but he didn’t leave alone. Ben was with him. He followed a couple seconds after Howie, so it looked like they left separate. But they was together.”

  “I’ll check this out, Mike. You may have helped Ben.”

  “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “Howie is probably Ben’s alibi.” Not probably but definitely, if Michael was telling the truth. I didn’t think Michael was lying. On the other hand, Howie had been lying through his little teeth.

  “They killed Wade together. Don’t you see? So it figures they’ll alibi each other.”

  “I’m not ready to say that, Mike. Something’s goin’ on between them, but I’m not so sure they had anything to do with Wade’s death.”

  “You just don’t wanna see.”

  “What I want is the truth, Mike. Isn’t that what you’d like?” I felt sorry for him. He seemed adrift and without any idea how to steady himself. “I know you want to find Wade’s killer. So help me out. Did you tell me everything you know?”

  “I—I told you what I saw. That’s what I know,” Michael said and I knew that meant he’d left something out. Not a lie, just not the whole truth.

  I decided it might be time stir the pot, as they say. Michael had had a strong reaction to Fitzpatrick, and when we talked about him, Michael seemed to be concealing something. If I let Michael know I’d be talking to Fitz again, I might get a rise out of him. It was worth a shot.

  “I’m gonna head over to Fitzpatrick’s house after he gets home from work. I wanna make sure what he says jibes with what you told me. Then I think we can get Ben out of jail and concentrate on the real killer. Assuming Fitzpatrick tells me the truth.” I looked over at Michael and saw the gears turning. “What do you think, Mike?”

  “Fitzpatrick’s a dead end, man. You got your killers.”

  “I think Fitzpatrick knows more than he’s admitting. But you don’t have to worry about that. You’ve been a real help, Mike. Thanks,” I said. Even if I hadn’t gotten anything further out of him, it was clearer now that Michael had information about Fitz he didn’t want to share with me.

  I put some cash on the table, told Mike to take his time finishing his coffee, and left. I glanced back over my shoulder when I was a block away and saw that Michael was still at the table. He looked lost, and I felt for the guy. He was lost in a lot of ways. He probably even needed to find his way back to who he really was. But that would take a lot of time.

  I called Ransom on my cell phone. “Ask Ben if his alibi is Howie Sider. And can you arrange for me to talk to Ben?” Howie and Ben had both lied to me. Obviously, Howie had also been violating his promise to be impartial. And Ben seemed equally at fault, appearing to be trading sexual favors for votes in the competition. Looked like Fitzpatrick wasn’t the only unethical judge. I wondered how many other judges had been seduced or had done seducing of their own. Backstage was busier than I’d imagined. If I kept digging, I’d probably find that all the contestants were playing all the judges. Well, all of them except Rosa.

  Ransom told me to meet him at police headquarters where they were holding Ben. I hailed a cab, and when I got to The Roundhouse, Ben was in a conference room with his lawyer and Ransom. Things were quiet, he was still refusing to speak except to insist that he was innocent. I sat down across from him and stared at him before I spoke.

  “Somebody saw you, Ben. The night before the competition. There’s a witness who knows the person you were with. There’s no use keeping quiet any longer. Your friends don’t want to see you in jail for something you didn’t do. Nobody believes you’re a killer. What the hell was going on?”

  I glanced at Ransom, his face a knot of curiosity. He was deeper in the dark than I was.

  “Somebody says you and Howie were pretty close. Kissing close. Is that true, Ben?” I placed a hand over his hand. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ransom wince.

  “We didn’t do anything wrong, and we didn’t kill anybody.” Ben’s voice was soft and low.

  “So, why not talk now that the secret’s out?”

  “It’s not what you think. There isn’t anything going on between us.”

  “Ben. Somebody—”

  “Yeah, somebody saw me kissing him. So fucking what? I’d have kissed the Pope’s ass, if it meant he’d vote for me and keep a straight guy from winning.”

  “You–you were--” I began.

  “Trying to fix the competition. Ha!” Ransom smiled broadly and gave me a look.

  “I’m not sure you should say anything else, Ben.” His lawyer, a short, stout man, dressed like a million dollars, placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder as if to restrain him.

  “It’s okay, Ross. I don’t care.” Ben slumped in his chair.

  “Not like we’re gonna prosecute him for trying to fix a gay leather contest.” Ransom smirked. “Better for him if he clears the air on this.”

  “I approached Howie a few days before the contest. He finally agreed to meet me the night before the competition, and I just went for it. He was easy. So hungry for it. Like the others. So that’s where I spent the night. When we left Bubbles there were still plenty of people hangin’ around backstage. I never touched Wade’s ropes and chains.”

  “Someone said they saw you in the sling and that Wade was furious with you about that.”

  “Yeah, so? I got into his sling and teased him. I didn’t hurt anything and I didn’t kill him. I guess I can’t prov
e it, except for Howie. Anyway, I wasn’t out to get Wade.”

  “But you didn’t want him to win the contest,” Ransom said. And you’d do whatever you had to, right?”

  “No. I wouldn’t have hurt anybody. I’d do whatever short of that. If I hadda sleep with a couple of the judges, so what? I wanted to get Howie to vote for me. I didn’t need to hurt Wade. I had Howie and a few other judges hooked.”

  ***

  Just because I got Ben to talk didn’t mean he was out of danger as far as Ransom was concerned. He let Ben go home but told him that he was still a suspect. And I couldn’t disagree. He and Howie had a vested interest in giving each other an alibi. I needed to find something more definitive or they’d be right back to accusing Ben.

  I called Fitzpatrick, told him Ben was free. I let him think that the police were hot on another trail, and might eventually take a harder look at him. Of course, the police had said no such thing, but I didn’t think it’d hurt anything to get Fitz into a lather.

  “Why? I didn’t do anything. I wasn’t there,” he whined.

  “I’ll be over in ten and we can talk. Maybe we’ll find a way out for you.” I hung up as he was about to tell me not to bother.

  He lived in the Old City section of Philadelphia. Classic old row houses, some of them historical, sporting plaques boasting who’d lived where during the Colonial or Federalist periods. A few new structures dotted the neighborhood and had been built by the wealthy, who wanted the advantages of city life but with some suburban trappings. Fortunately, most of the new housing respected the surroundings and echoed styles and materials of earlier periods.

  Of course, Fitz lived in one of the newer homes: an architectural achievement that must have cost him a small fortune. Fitzpatrick had money and plenty of it, which was probably why he smiled so much. Never really directed the smile at you, though. It was more a result of self-satisfaction. That, or, he could have been unbalanced.

  He answered the door himself. Neat, preppy-looking, a little overweight and not as stuffy as he’d appeared at City Hall, Fitzpatrick stood in the doorway and didn’t budge. More calm and relaxed now than he’d been earlier, probably because he was on home turf.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”