by Dorien Grey
“Don’t tell me,” Jared said—it was really good to hear his voice—“you’ve decided you like New York so much you’re going to move there.”
“Uh, not quite,” I said, “although Jonathan did suggest it so he could become a chorus boy.”
Jared laughed. “Hell,” he said, “I’d come to New York to see that! So you’re having a good time, I trust?”
I paused. “Yes and no.”
“Uh-oh…what’s up?”
“Well, I got involved in this case, and…”
“Why am I not surprised?” he asked.
“Yeah, I know, I know. And this one’s driving me nuts. Too complicated to go into detail right now, but I’m pretty sure it involves some Master/slave action and I’m really out of my element trying to figure it out. I know we talked about it once, but I’m afraid it didn’t quite register.”
There was another pause, this time from his end. Finally he said, “Well, I’m not an expert there, you know—though I’ve played around with being a Master with a trick or two who really wanted it, and I do know a couple of guys from the Male Call who are the real thing.”
“Well, let’s say there is this slave who tricks on his Master. Would the Master ever kill the trick over it?”
“Hmm. While I suppose anything is possible, I’d say it would be very unlikely just because of the very nature of the relationship. The whole point in these relationships is that the slave is totally subservient to the Master. For a slave to trick behind his Master’s back would be practically unthinkable. It’s possible that the Master might have the slave have sex with somebody else while he watches, perhaps, but only if the Master gets his kicks that way, or wanted to punish the slave by humiliating him.”
“Okay,” I said, “but what about the other side. The Master makes the slave watch while he has sex with someone else. Couldn’t the slave get jealous enough to kill the guy his Master’s with?”
“Again, almost unthinkable. Whatever the Master does to humiliate the slave, the slave believes he has coming to him. He is there to do whatever his Master wants him to without question.”
What Jared was saying was like the other side of the moon for me. I found it really hard to comprehend a relationship like that. But then I guess that’s why the rainbow flag has all those colors—room in there for everybody.
We talked for several minutes more, Jared asking about Jonathan, Chris, Max, and what we’d seen and done, and filling me in on what was going on with our “gang” back home: Tim, Phil, Bob Allen, Mario, and Jake. We agreed to arrange a get-together as soon as we got back, and I realized I was really looking forward to returning home.
We were about to say our good-byes and hang up when I remembered Jonathan’s request to talk to Jared.
“Hold just a sec, will you, Jared? Jonathan wants to say hi.”
*
After hanging up from Jared, Jonathan asked Chris if he could call his brother Samuel in Wisconsin, to see if Joshua’s birthday gift had arrived, and to wish him a happy birthday. Chris said “sure,” and Jonathan took the phone back into the kitchen. A few minutes later, Chris and I heard him singing “Happy Birthday, Dear Josh-u-ah, Happy Birthday to You.”
He returned to the living room ten minutes later, beaming.
“You should hear how smart he is!” he said happily. “When I left he was talking some, but now it’s like he can say almost anything. Sheryl says she’s read him just about every children’s book in the library, and he almost knows his own books by heart!
“And his present came, and he loves it! He had it with him when I was talking to him and I asked him if he had given it a name yet. ‘His name is Bunny,’ he said. Then he said ‘Thank you, Uncle Jonathan’ and everything! Of course Sheryl coaxed him, but he said it.”
“How’s Samuel?” I asked.
“He’s doing great. He’s the top salesman for our local John Deere distributor, and he says John Deere is having a sales contest for all of Wisconsin and whoever wins gets a trip to Hawaii. He really wants to win it, and I’ll bet he can!”
“That’s great, Babe,” I said as he came to sit down beside me.
“I really wish we could have kids,” he sighed.
“Well,” Chris said, “it’s like that old joke about ‘how do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice.’”
*
Chris and Jonathan’s search through the TV guide earlier had revealed a rerun of one of the first—and one of the best—gay-themed TV movies, That Certain Summer, starring Hal Holbrook and Martin Sheen. Made in 1972, it was really a breakthrough, though it strongly mirrored the status of gays at the time. Jonathan had never seen it, so Chris made a huge batch of popcorn, which he poured into three paper bags, got himself and me a beer and Jonathan a Coke, and we all settled back to watch.
Well, maybe not “we all.”
So Tait, as a Master…if he is a Master, which you don’t know for positive…was very unlikely to have killed Rod for having had sex with Keith…if he did have sex with Keith…and Keith, as the assumed-to-be slave, would not dare to have killed Rod for having sex with Tait…if Rod did have sex with Tait…and if Rod even ever had sex with either one of them, which you also don’t know—just where does this leave us?
Up Shit Creek without a paddle, obviously.
“I’ll make some more popcorn,” Chris said, and I realized it was a commercial break and I was sitting there with an empty paper bag and a lap full of popcorn crumbs. “Another beer, Dick?”
Jonathan got up to follow Chris. “I’ll get it,” he said, then, looking at my lap and grinning, added, “and the vacuum cleaner. Let us know when the movie comes back on.”
In order to shut my mind up and let me enjoy the movie, I determined to call Tait at the next set of commercials. We had three more days in New York, as of tomorrow, and the only thing I could think of to do was to just come out with full sails and cannons blazing. Tait Duncan was the last key I had to try in the lock. If it fit, it fit. If it didn’t…well….
*
“Tait residence,” Keith’s voice said. “I’m sorry but no one is available to take your call. If you will leave your name and number, your call will be returned as soon as possible. Thank you.”
I left a message asking Tait to call me if he got home before midnight or first thing in the morning. I hoped the tone of my voice might convey the fact that it was important.
Max came in about half an hour after the end of the movie.
“Standing room only,” he said happily. “Second night this week!”
Broadway, here we come! I thought.
“Were Tait and Gene there tonight?” I asked.
“Yeah; but only for the first act. I think they had some sort of meeting they had to go to.”
“And Keith?”
“Yeah, he was going to drive them.”
“I wonder what he does while they’re at the meeting?”
“No idea. Depends on how long the meeting is, I suppose. Probably just sits and waits.”
“That sucks,” Jonathan volunteered.
Max shrugged. “Well, like I say, I’ve never heard him complain.”
“He should!” Jonathan said.
He wouldn’t, I thought.
We decided to call it a night at around 11:45, and I both assumed and hoped Tait wouldn’t be calling before morning. We’d just closed our bedroom door and begun to undress when the phone rang.
Damn! Well, at least no one was asleep yet.
“Dick,” Max called, “it’s Tait.”
I pulled my pants back up and hurried to take the phone from Max, who was in his shorts.
Chris done good, my crotch-voice whispered appreciatively.
“Tait. Thanks for calling.”
“I was going to wait until morning, but you’d said you’d be up till midnight, and you sounded as though it was important.”
“It is,” I said. “Very. When can we meet?”
“How about in the morni
ng…ten o’clock, at the theater?”
“That’ll be fine. Thanks. I’ll see you there.”
We exchanged “good nights” and hung up.
When I returned to the bedroom, I found Jonathan spread-eagle on the bed, stark naked.
“Hi, Master,” he said with a grin. “Got a minute?”
As a matter of fact, I did.
*
I apologized, yet again, over our morning coffee for letting the case get in the way of another day. I guess they were all used to it by now, since they took it in stride. We decided we’d go to breakfast somewhere near the theater, and then, after my meeting with Tait, head for Rockefeller Center and catch the 2:30 show at the Radio City Music Hall. The show was called Dance, Dance, Dance, and featured Sandy Duncan. The only thing about her that stood out in my mind was seeing a picture with her and her spectacular hunk of a husband/boyfriend who had been in A Chorus Line, though I couldn’t remember his name. But with a face and a body like that, who needed a name?
The guys walked me to the theater after breakfast, and said they were going to go wander around and would, as they’d done the last time, check back every half hour.
The side door was open and I carefully replaced the wedge of wood that kept it from shutting all the way, in case someone else might come in—though I very much hoped they would not.
Tait’s office door was open and I could see him behind his desk. As I approached the door, however, I was surprised to see Keith, his back to Tait, seated at the smaller desk, apparently working on a large stack of papers. Damn!
Seeing me, Tait smiled and said, “Good morning, Dick.”
“‘Morning, Tait.” Keith had not turned around. “‘Morning, Keith,” I said, and Keith turned just enough to smile and say “Good Morning, Mr. Hardesty,” then returned to his work.
“Keith,” Tait said, “why don’t you take your work into the box office while Dick and I talk?”
Without a word, Keith gathered the papers, took a few pencils from the desk, and got up from his chair. He gave me a pleasant smile and a nod as he passed me on his way out the door, closing it behind him.
“Sit, please,” Tait said, and I took the chair closest to his desk. “Now,” he said when I’d been seated, “what did you want to talk about?”
“Did you ever have sex with Rod Pearce?” I asked, expecting some sort of explosion. Instead, there was nothing.
“Between us?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said.
He gave a small sigh. “Yes,” he said, “when he came to New York after his grandfather’s funeral. I had asked Gene before Rod ever arrived if he was serious about Rod, and he said ‘no.’ Gene is one of my best friends. I would never have had sex with Rod had I known Gene’s real feelings.”
“Has Keith ever had sex with him?”
Tait gave me a strange half smile. “Gene or Rod?”
“Rod.”
Still the smile. “No.”
“How can you be sure?”
He looked at me steadily, the smile never changing. “I’m sure,” he said.
“Was Rod into any form of S&M that you know of?” I asked. “Specifically Master/slave?”
The smile flickered for just a moment, but did not go away. There was a slight rising of one eyebrow.
“Rod was very versatile,” he said, which didn’t exactly answer my question, but I let it drop for the moment.
“And you and Keith have such an arrangement,” I said, not bothering to make it a question. I wanted to see his reaction.
“I could be coy and deny it,” he said, “but I am, as you have deduced, not the ‘coy’ type. But my sex life is my private affair and should be of no interest to anyone but me.”
“Except when murder is concerned,” I said calmly.
He nodded. “Point,” he said. “And I assume from the conversation thus far that you assume I killed Rod.”
“I honestly don’t know,” I said, “but I have done as you hired me to do—to eliminate as many people from the Whitman as possible suspects. Unfortunately, that left me with three who may have had logical motives to kill Rod. Gene, you, and…Keith. Equally unfortunately, I have no firm evidence on any of you. If it weren’t for the fact that I am convinced the gun in the Whitman’s box office was the murder weapon, I’d just defer to the police ‘random shooting’ theory.”
Tait had been sitting back in his chair, looking very relaxed and comfortable. It was clear he felt in complete control of the situation.
“Well, then,” he said, “though I am not a detective, it seems to me that most crimes have a motive. The only one of the three of us who could be considered to have a valid motive would be Gene, and I assure you, Gene Morrison is incapable of murder. Period. His love for Rod verged on what I would consider pathetic if I did not know Gene so well. I’ve often thought how strange it is that we ever became friends, given our basic differences. I generally consider romantics such as Gene as being weak, and I view weakness with contempt.
“As for me, other than the fact that had I killed Rod I certainly would never have sought your help, what possible motive might I have had?”
“So that leaves Keith,” I said.
“Just how much do you know about Master/slave relationships?”
“Not very much, obviously.”
“Well, suffice it to say I know considerably more. And I know Keith. Very well. Keith would never do anything without my specific instruction or permission. We have a very symbiotic relationship, basically. I tell him what to do and he does it without question or hesitation. I did not tell him to murder Rod, nor did I give my permission for him to do so…and no, he did not ask for it. Therefore, he didn’t.”
I wondered what Aristotle would have thought of that little bit of logic, but I said nothing.
We were silent a moment, Tait watching me for the next question, like a fox watching a rabbit.
“Do you ever make Keith watch when you’re having sex with someone else?” I asked. I didn’t want to let Tait know I was aware of the two-way mirror.
“Sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes I just send him to his room with the intercom on.”
“And Keith doesn’t mind?”
He gave me a “you-are-really-dumb-aren’t-you?” look. “Keith does what I tell him to do,” he said matter-of-factly, as if that completely answered my question.
“Did Keith either watch or listen while you had sex with Rod?”
“Yes.”
“So Rod was the slave, then,” I ventured.
Tait smiled. “Rod was an actor, and really a damned good one. I could tell he wasn’t really a serious slave—he was much too versatile for that, but he knew that was what I wanted him to be that night, and he did an excellent job of playing the part. It was rather like an audition, and one of the reasons I later gave him the lead.”
“And did you continue to have sex with Rod after he returned to New York with Gene?”
He scowled and his voice reflected his indignation. “Of course not. The moment I realized how Gene felt about him, that was it. And once Rod got the part, he did not pursue the issue either.”
I shook my head and sighed. “I apologize for my lack of knowledge in certain areas. The entire Master/slave thing is totally beyond my experience.”
Tait smiled. “No need to apologize. The scope of human sexuality is far too broad for any one person to be knowledgeable of it all. And to be truthful, it had never occurred to me when I hired you that the Master/slave issue would even be brought up. I still can’t see its having any bearing whatever on Rod’s death.”
“And it’s possible that it doesn’t,” I said. “But it’s my job not to overlook any possibility, however remote.” I wasn’t sure I was lying, but I definitely didn’t feel I was telling the whole truth. It seemed that everybody was playing a role of some sort here.
Tait smiled and leaned forward in his chair. “I appreciate that, and I appreciate the difficulty of dealing with a comple
x situation in such a relatively short time. But I told you when I hired you that I only expected you to find out only as much as you could in the time you were here, and it appears you have done just that. You were able to find the gun, which, if it indeed proves to be the murder weapon, not only proves the involvement of someone at the Whitman, but is the final key to the murderer’s identity. Now we’ll just have to turn it over to the police for their analysis.
“I have meetings most of the afternoon today, and a business meeting in Toronto tomorrow, but I will personally take it to the police on Friday, when I return. Until then, I’ll lock it in the safe before I go home today. I think the risk of tipping off the killer by letting him know we were aware of the gun is past.”
“True,” I said. It had been important, while I was doing my investigating, to leave the gun where it was, but since the investigation had come to a dead end…. I did not tell Tait I’d switched guns, and would deal later with getting the real gun to the police.
“So,” Tait said, “I guess you can consider the case over. You have two more days before you leave on Saturday, and you should be free to enjoy them. Sorry to have taken up so much of your vacation on this. If you’ll prepare a bill for your services, I’ll send a check to your office. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough,” I said. “I’m just sorry I didn’t have more time—though I doubt that it would have mattered. I just don’t like leaving cases unsolved.”
Tait rose from his chair, extending his hand. I got up and took it.
“And please don’t feel bad,” he said. “You unearthed the gun, and that may very well lead to the killer, and I am grateful to you for your efforts.”
He walked with me to the side exit and we again shook hands.
“If I don’t see you again before you leave, have a safe trip home.”
“Thank you,” I said, and left.
There really wasn’t any more to say.
*
That’s it? It’s over?
I felt like one of those little wind-up toys that walks into a wall and stops dead, but its feet keep moving. That wasn’t it! I had two more full days in New York and I may not get any further than I was now, but my feet were going to keep on moving. I wouldn’t be able to charge Tait for it, since I knew a termination when I saw one, but that had never stopped me before.
