Aaron's Wait

by Dorien Grey

  “Sorry to hear that,” Elliott said. “It must be rough on him.” He paused long enough to take a swig of his beer, then said, “I was kind of hoping to be able to talk to him a little more about Aaron and Bill.”

  “It’s none of my business, but you didn’t…the other night when you were in…you didn’t actually go home with Irv, did you? I mean…”

  “No! No way. I gave him a ride, that’s all. I wanted to hear what he had to say about Bill.”

  Button gave a sigh of relief, then looked at him in a way Elliott couldn’t interpret. “You’re really hooked on this thing, aren’t you?”

  Mildly embarrassed to be so patently obvious, he shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I am. Paul sort of summed it up when he said it’s like a Greek tragedy. I can’t stop thinking about how and why Bill died. It just doesn’t make much sense. Since Paul knew Bill so well, I really would like to talk to him some more.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what,” Button said, in the tone of a school teacher trying to comfort a third-grader with a skinned knee, “I wouldn’t feel right about giving his phone number to anyone without his permission.” He touched Elliott’s arm again. “No offense, but you understand.”

  Elliott nodded.

  “But if you want to give me your number, I can pass it on to Paul and tell him you’d like to talk to him. Would that be alright?”

  “That’d be fine. I appreciate it.”

  Button signaled the bartender and asked for a pen and piece of paper.

  “Somebody’s getting lucky,” a guy halfway up the bar remarked, his slur indicating he was fairly well drunk.

  Button turned toward the man and gave him a sweet smile. “Eat your heart out, darling!”

  Writing his name and land-line number on the paper, Elliott handed it to Button, who carefully folded it and put it in an inside pocket of his suit coat.

  “I’ll see that Paul gets this,” he said. After making sure the note didn’t make a bulge in his jacket, he sighed again and turned to Elliott. “So, now, why don’t you tell me everything about yourself? Your hopes, your dreams, your shoe size…”

  Elliott laughed. “Not all that much to tell,” he said.

  “I don’t believe that for a minute,” Button responded. “You said you were doing some work on Bill and Aaron’s building. You’re in construction?”

  Elliott nodded. “And you?”

  “I manage a men’s clothing store on Michigan Avenue.”

  “I’m impressed,” Elliott said.

  “Oh, Lord, don’t be! Dealing with piss-elegant snobs with more money than brains all day can be a bitch. It’s just a job, and the only reason I didn’t quit years ago is because I get great discounts on clothes, and I get paid enough so that I can eat out every night after work. I hate to cook.”

  Elliott took his time finishing his beer, enjoying his conversation with Button, but when the bottle was empty, he refused Button’s offer to buy him another.

  “Work tomorrow,” he said.

  “Well, I’ve really enjoyed our little chat,” Button said, and Elliott felt he meant it. He suspected Button was a rather lonely soul.

  They exchanged good-byes, and Elliott left.

  He hadn’t been home twenty minutes when his land-line phone rang.

  “Elliott Smith,” he said after picking up.

  “Elliott, hi. It’s Irv. How’s it going?”

  “Fine, Irv. What’s up?”

  “I hear you were at the Anvil tonight with your buddy Button.”

  “Yeah, I stopped in for a while. Why?” Elliott quickly flashed back to the bar, trying to think of who might have reported him to Irv. There had been hardly anyone there, and he knew Button wouldn’t have done it. The bartender probably.

  “How come you didn’t call to collect on that rain check?”

  Feeling his temper rising, he said, “Look, Irv, I—”

  “How come you left alone? Nobody in there good enough for you?”

  “Look, Irv,” he repeated, but changed what he’d originally intended to say. “I don’t know what your problem is, but I don’t need this shit. So, knock it off.” He hung up.

  Ten seconds later, the phone rang again. Reluctantly, he picked it up.

  “Yeah?” he said.

  “Don’t you ever hang up on me, you prick-teasing sonofabitch ! I—”

  Elliott hung up then unplugged the wall jack. He wished he had opted for Caller ID, but hadn’t thought he’d ever need it.

  * * *

  Now, there is one sick puppy.

  Tell me.

  So, do you think he might be capable of violence?

  What do you mean do I think? You’re the non-corporeal one who can go anywhere he wants and get in people’s heads.

  Uh, it’s not that simple. There has to be some sort of—call it a door—I can use to get in. And even then, the door is often locked from the inside, of course. Steve is the only one I’ve come across other than you who has a door he keeps open, and then it’s not open as wide as yours. So again, most of what I know I get from you. So…do you think he could have killed Bill?

  From his little show tonight, I’d say it certainly sounds possible, but…

  But?

  If this is standard operating procedure for him, God knows how many times he’s pulled this with other guys. He certainly couldn’t go around killing everyone who pisses him off. So why should Bill have been the exception?

  Good point. But that’s the thing with these rubber-band people—they’re stretched so tight who knows when they’ll snap. Maybe some combination of things we can’t even imagine set him off. Who knows?

  Well, that was helpful. But not much.

  Sorry.

  No, not your fault. I just don’t have any idea of what to do next. Maybe I can check with Brad to see if he might have a record of violence. In the meantime, I’ll just stay out of his way, which shouldn’t be too hard if I avoid the Anvil.

  * * *

  Thursday passed so quickly Elliott was barely aware of it. Once he arrived at work, he didn’t give a single thought to Wilson’s call, or to Aaron, or anything other than the job at hand.

  Carpeting of the stairs and foyers was completed, and work was progressing on Mrs. Reinerio’s former apartment. He began thinking about calling Larry Fingerhood early the following week to let him know he was ready to start looking for another property. He had, as always, kept careful tabs on his expenses and arrived at a prospective asking price. He would ask Larry, who would handle the listing, to do a walk-through to get verification of its value. Larry’s independent assessment was almost always very close to his own, but it was part of his routine. After Larry’s walk-through, he’d arrange for Thad Baxter to come and do a video.

  With no disturbance from Aaron during the day, Elliott was feeling upbeat as he headed home. He was confident enough he might have a free night that he reconnected his land-line phone.

  A call from Cessy as he was having a predinner drink filled him in on all the family’s activities since their last conversation. Dinner, a call to Steve to confirm getting together Friday, and a little TV rounded off his evening. The ten o’clock news was just starting when the phone rang again.

  Hoping that it wasn’t Irv Wilson, he picked it up.

  “Elliott Smith.”

  “Elliott, hello! This is Paul Foster. Button gave me your number and said you’d like to talk to me. I hope I’m not calling too late in the evening.”

  “Not at all, Paul. And thanks for calling, I really appreciate it. I’m afraid I’ve become a little obsessive about Aaron and Bill’s story, and I’d really like to figure out what happened to Bill and why. There’s a lot I don’t know, and since you knew both of them, I figured you might be able to help me.”

  “Are you a private detective?” Paul asked. “I thought you were in construction.”

  Elliott laughed. “No and yes. I’m not a private detective, and I am in construction. But when something grabs my attention, I’m li
ke a dog with a bone.”

  “l understand. So, what can I tell you?”

  “Did you by chance know Bill’s business partner, Jim Babcock?”

  “No, I never met him, and Bill didn’t really like to talk much about his business, especially not to Aaron. He didn’t want to drag Aaron into his problems. But he’d talk to me occasionally. I know he was increasingly unhappy with Babcock, and the week before he disappeared, I met him for lunch, and he told me he was thinking of dissolving the partnership. The idea really tore him up—he’d worked so hard to develop the business.”

  “Did he say what the problem was?”

  “He and Jim weren’t exactly a match made in heaven from the beginning. Jim was a real go-getter as a salesman, but money was just green paper as far as he was concerned. It got to the point where Bill insisted on handling the finances, just as he was already doing most of the actual work. Like I say, Jim was a really aggressive salesman, but not so hot when it came to follow-up.

  “Jim always liked to live high on the hog, and a couple of times after Bill took over the finances, Jim somehow tapped into company funds without Bill knowing about it. Bill warned him, and Jim backed off for a while, then it apparently happened again. I gathered that last time we spoke that Jim had really screwed up, and that Bill had finally had enough. He felt he had only two options—eat the misappropriated money and dissolve the business, or turn Jim in for embezzlement. He really didn’t want to do that, but…”

  “Did you tell anybody about this when he disappeared, or when his body was found?”

  “No. I probably should have, in retrospect, but so much was going on. The last time I talked to Bill, the day before he disappeared, he sounded really down. He told me about the run-in with Irv Wilson. When Aaron called me that Tuesday night to say Bill hadn’t come home, I really didn’t know what to think. When someone tells you his lover hasn’t come home, the last thing in your mind is that somebody’s killed him. I thought perhaps he and Aaron had had a fight, and he was just cooling off somewhere. But Aaron said they hadn’t argued, and that there was no reason for Bill to stay away.

  “I told him to check with the hospitals and then to check with the police to see if Bill might have been arrested, though if he had, he surely would have called. Aaron said he’d already done all that, and again I didn’t know what to tell him. He wanted to go down to file a missing persons report that same night, but I told him to give it some time. I knew he couldn’t file a police report until Bill had been gone three days, and I couldn’t imagine that he would be. I told him I’d check with everyone I knew who knew Bill to see if they might have heard anything, which I did. And of course, they hadn’t. Aaron had already checked with most of them.

  “I talked to Aaron every day, and went over to see him a couple of times, but there wasn’t anything I could do, of course. He was totally beside himself to the point I began to worry about him, too. I kept telling him the fact that Bill’s car hadn’t been found was a good sign. I did my best to assure him that everything would be all right, and that Bill would come back and explain everything. In my heart, I think I knew he was dead, but I kept thinking that if he was dead, someone would have found him.

  “And then the night before Aaron died, he called me in tears. He said he had called his brother out of desperation, as the only family he had. I knew they had never gotten along, but instead of showing any sympathy whatsoever Bruce laid into him for being gay. He said that Bill was just like every other faggot and had probably gotten himself a new toy. How in hell he could have been so incredibly cruel, I don’t know. Aaron had almost never talked about Bruce, and I can see why. Bruce hated gays, and had nothing but contempt for Aaron, who had done everything in the world for him. Calling that creature pond scum would be an insult to pond scum.

  “When I didn’t hear from Aaron the next night, I’m ashamed to say I didn’t call him, but I was just worn out. I hoped maybe Bill had come back, and I was really relieved and didn’t want to intrude. But when I tried calling him the next day and the next and couldn’t reach him, the worry returned. The third day I tried to call him at least a dozen times and only got his answering machine. Finally, I drove over to check on him and found Bruce and his wife loading things into a U-Haul van. That’s how I found out that Aaron had died. I tried to talk to Bruce, to ask what had happened, but he told me to mind my own business and not to bother him.

  “I really wasn’t thinking straight for quite a while. Aaron’s death sort of pushed what might have happened to Bill to the background. And then, I read in the paper that Bill had been found dead. The paper indicated it was a suicide and didn’t say exactly when he’d died. The thought flashed through my mind that, somehow, he had found out about Aaron’s death and killed himself, but I immediately dismissed the idea. It was only later I learned he’d been dead a long time before they found his body. I still couldn’t imagine him killing himself, but it’s always a more natural assumption than murder.”

  There was a long pause before he continued. “I still don’t like to think of it,” he said. “It’s just so terribly sad. I knew Bill wouldn’t have just left Aaron. And I’ll bet anything that he died the day he disappeared. If they’d found him before Aaron died…well, Aaron still may well have died, too, but at least he’d have known that Bill didn’t leave because he didn’t love him.”

  “So, do you think Bill killed himself?” Elliott asked. He became aware as he spoke that John was nearby, with no idea how long he had been there.

  “Not for a. second,” Paul said. “He was totally devoted to Aaron—they were starting to look for a house. Since Aaron tired easily, Bill was going to check places out first, and if he found one he thought Aaron would like, they’d go look together. Then Bill disappeared.” He sighed. “I just can’t imagine he could have done anything like that. But all I really know about his death is what I saw in the paper.”

  “Did you talk to the police about this?”

  Elliott heard yet another deep sigh, then, “No. I thought about calling, but what could I really tell them? Even though I’m positive Bill would never have deliberately taken his own life, I didn’t—and don’t—know all the circumstances, and don’t have any proof. And just pointing a finger at Jim—or Irv, for that matter—wouldn’t have done any good.”

  “Do you really think either of them would be capable of murder?”

  “I find it hard to believe anyone is capable of murder, though I know, of course, they are. I just can’t imagine anyone I know being a murderer. I know that Irv’s a closet psychopath, and Jim is an oily opportunist who had good reason, but I find it difficult to think of either of them actually committing murder. I mean, how many people do you know who have been murdered?”

  Elliott sensed John’s amusement but said nothing.

  “Button told me you introduced Bill to Irv.”

  “Yes, and I can’t tell you the number of times I apologized to Bill for it. I guess I just wasn’t Irv’s type, for which I shall be eternally grateful. If he doesn’t set out the bear traps for you, he can come across as a really nice guy. I met him one of the first times I went to the Anvil. It was a really slow night, and we got to talking. He seemed very down-to-earth, so the next time I came in, I was with Bill, and I introduced him to Irv. I could just as well have taken Bill to the Lincoln Park Zoo and thrown him into a tiger’s cage.

  “Irv was charm personified when I introduced them. That lasted until the end of their first date, and it was downhill from there, until finally Bill wouldn’t even answer his phone. He stopped coming in to the Anvil, of course, and then he met Aaron and moved in with him shortly thereafter. I was really happy for them both.”

  Elliott almost felt Paul’s sigh coming through the phone, then, “Sometimes, life sucks.”

  “This may be a strange question, but did Bill happen to say anything to you about changing his will?”

  There was a long pause. “Yes, he did,” Paul said, surprise showing in his voice. �
��How could you have known about that? He asked me for the name of my lawyer, of whom I’d spoken highly a couple of times, and later told me he and Aaron had made an appointment with him. But since Bill disappeared shortly after, I don’t know if they ever kept it.”

  “I really appreciate the information, Paul.”

  “Well, I hope it helps. And please feel free to call if there’s anything else I can help you with.”

  “You can count on it. But I don’t have your number, or Button’s.”

  Paul laughed. “Yes, I suppose having the number would help. Let me give you both of them. I’m sure Button won’t mind.”

  “Let me get a pencil,” Elliott said, wishing he’d given Button his cell phone number instead of his land-line, which necessitated his putting down the phone to scramble for a pencil and notepad.

  After getting both numbers, he thanked Paul for his time, and the call ended with mutual expressions of hoping to see one another again soon.

  “Oh,” Paul added just before they hung up, “if you do find out exactly what happened to Bill, would you let me know?”

  “I promise.”

  * * *

  Thinking over the conversation as he sat idly watching TV but not paying much attention to it, Elliott wondered why Bill had asked Paul for a lawyer referral. Why not use the same lawyer who had drawn up his earlier will—Gutierrez?

  Probably, he reasoned, exactly because Gutierrez may well also have drawn up the papers for the business. Bill wouldn’t want to risk Babcock’s somehow finding out what he was planning.

  He again considered the clause in Bill’s original will about the business going to Babcock unless Bill had a designated heir. So, there was not only the matter of the changing of the will but the issue of dissolving the partnership. If Babcock had somehow learned of either the will change or the dissolution, it would ramp up his motive-for-murder factor considerably.

  * * *

  Interesting. It definitely does seem that Babcock had a lot to lose.