Cold Serial Murder

by Abramson, Mark

  “Barely a woman. She was just out of college,” Ruth watched the ferry that would take them back to the city as it pulled into the dock. “I guess I should have seen it coming, the typical male mid-life crisis—a younger woman, new sports car, a fancy bachelor apartment in a new high-rise with a view of all of downtown and the Mississippi River. I didn’t even find out about that place until he’d been renting it for nearly a year. He used to work late so often anyway, and then there were more and more winter nights when the roads were too icy to come home at that hour. I can hardly believe I was so gullible.”

  Tim stroked her hand across the table. “That must have been horrible for you to find out.”

  “It was and it wasn’t. In a way it was almost a relief! We’d only been going through the motions in the years since Dianne left home and got married.” She reached for the check.

  “Hey, I was going to take you to lunch,” Tim protested, but only mildly.

  “It is my great pleasure to treat my favorite nephew to a nice meal now and then—outside of the restaurant where we both work,” Ruth insisted. “I’ll tell you what, dear… I’m going to think seriously about moving here, but I have to be sure, first.”

  They walked past Arts on the way home. A flyer was taped to the glass of the front door listing the line-up of comics for the evening. Tim stopped at Buffalo Whole Foods, the produce market on the corner of 19th and Castro, to pick up the makings for a big salad for dinner. They were still full from lunch.

  Ruth waited outside, looking at all the newspapers in the racks at the curb. She was crouched over, reading the headlines through the plastic panels when someone behind her said, “Excuse me,” and reached for one. Ruth fished for change in her purse and was embarrassed when she realized that most of the papers were free. She grabbed what turned out to be last Wednesday’s Bay Guardian.

  Then it dawned on Ruth that she recognized that voice. The person who’d said “excuse me” was Tim’s upstairs neighbor Malcolm’s sister Marcia.

  “Marcia!” Ruth felt like she had been in a daze all afternoon and had just been jolted wide-awake. “Marcia!” she yelled. Tim came out of the store with a large bag of produce and Ruth yelled, “Marcia was just here. She went that-a-way.”

  “Who?”

  “Marcia! Malcolm’s sister from upstairs! How come I’m the only one who ever sees her?”

  Tim glanced down the sidewalk but there was a crowd of people in front of the plant store and their mysterious neighbor was already out of sight. When they got home to Collingwood Street they arrived at the gate at the same time as Teresa, who was carrying three heavy grocery bags in each hand. “Hey Teresa! Can we help you with those?”

  “You’re an angel, Tim.” Teresa set them all down inside the gate. “My fingers were about to fall right off!”

  Tim set down his own bag just outside his apartment door and picked up three of Teresa’s, dropping a box of Cheerios.

  Ruth picked it up and said, “Here… let me help, too,” while she gathered up the rest of the bags.

  “Thank you both so much.” Teresa arrived at her door empty-handed, slid her purse off her shoulder and searched for her keys, still shaking the stiffness out of her fingers.

  “You should get yourself one of those little two-wheeled carts, Teresa,” Ruth suggested.

  “I had one, but the wheels fell off. It was a cheap piece of junk, anyway. I should spend more than ten bucks on Mission Street and get a good one next time and it might hold up better,” Teresa admitted.

  “Where’s your car?” Tim asked.

  “It’s at the top of the hill and around the corner. I got too good a parking spot to move it.”

  “You could have your groceries delivered, couldn’t you?” Ruth asked. “I saw a truck from Safeway delivering groceries just the other day on our block. Or you should make smaller trips more often?”

  “You know, Ruth, those are all good suggestions, but I’m a creature of habit, I guess,” Teresa said. “Tim, your Aunt Ruth is no slouch, is she?”

  He laughed, “No, she’s no slouch at all.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s really none of my business.” Ruth felt embarrassed, but she was still upset about seeing Marcia when nobody else did. She thought maybe she was just tired from so much sunshine and fresh air on the ferry ride across the bay.

  “Nothing to be sorry about, Ruthie. I like a gal with all the dots on her dice! Why don’t you two come on in and have a cocktail while I put these things away. This time it’s definitely after 5 o’clock.”

  “Thanks, Teresa, but I’ve got groceries to put away, too,” Tim said. “Rain check?”

  “You bet, honey… any time. My door is always open!”

  “By the way, Teresa,” Ruth said. “Have you seen Malcolm’s sister Marcia today? I’m sure I just saw her on the corner a few minutes ago.”

  “I’ve never even met her,” Teresa answered. “I heard Malcolm downstairs this morning, though. He was getting his mail and talking to someone on the sidewalk. I had my front windows wide open for a change, after so much fog lately.”

  As Tim unlocked his front door he heard the answering machine click off. There were two messages—one from Arturo and another from some lawyer he didn’t know. They both said the same thing. Tim was to be at an office on Montgomery Street tomorrow morning at precisely 10 o’clock for the reading of Jason’s last will and testament. This was surprising news to Tim and he hoped it might be good news for a change.

  Chapter 13

  Arturo, Artie and Tim arranged to meet Ruth for lunch at Harvey’s on the corner of 18th and Castro after the reading of Jason’s will. She was nursing a tall glass of iced tea at the bar when they returned from downtown. The men ordered drinks and each gave Ruth a hug. She was about to scream with pent-up curiosity, but tried to stay calm and not let it show. The place wasn’t busy yet, so they were able to score the prized window table in the front corner facing Castro Street.

  They settled in, but didn’t touch their menus. “Here’s to Jason!” Arturo said and they all raised their glasses.

  “Here’s to all of us,” Tim added.

  “What happened?” Ruth couldn’t take the suspense any longer. “What was in Jason’s will?”

  “Well…” Artie started in slowly, pretended to have a coughing spell and took a sip of his water before he set that glass down and had another slug of his drink. Ruth was sure he was only trying to be dramatic. ”Everyone… especially Jason’s mother, as you might well imagine… assumed that she would be the main beneficiary of Jason’s estate.”

  “And?” Ruth asked.

  “Ruth, dear, you didn’t even know Jason, did you?” Artie asked. “Well, he did love surprises.”

  “So what does that mean? What surprises?”

  “You are looking at the proud new owner of an honest-to-God parcel of San Francisco real estate!” Tim stomped a foot on the tiled floor. “He left me the Thunderbird, too, which I never even dreamed of. He knew how much I loved that old car. But the main thing is that he left me the house on Hancock Street and everything in it. He left it all to me!”

  “That’s wonderful.” Ruth squeezed her nephew’s hand. “But what about Jason’s mother? How did she take it? She must have been terribly upset if she thought she was going to inherit everything. What did she say?”

  “We all thought she was going to inherit everything,” Tim said. “I didn’t know why they even called me down there unless he wanted to leave me his porn collection. He had a great sound system that he spent a fortune on, but it was all built in, so I didn’t think…”

  “What did his mother say?” Ruth asked again. As a mother herself, she tried to imagine what the woman must have thought. Even though Jason’s mother didn’t sound like a sympathetic character, Ruth felt some empathy for her.

  “Did you ever see Mommie Dearest?” Tim asked. “Jason’s mother was just like Joan Crawford. Or I should say…she was just like Faye Dunaway playing Joan Crawford.”


  “I might have seen it when it came out, but that was years ago.”

  “Next time it plays at the Castro Theatre, you should go. It’s almost as good as The Women with an all-gay audience screaming Joan Crawford’s best lines back at the screen! Don’t you remember that scene when she was in front of the board of directors of the Pepsi-Cola company?” Tim asked.

  Artie laughed and boomed, “Don’t fuck with me, fellas!” doing his best Faye Dunaway—as Joan Crawford—imitation from the movie.

  Arturo said, “She threw a perfect fit! She called our sweet Tim every name in the book and threatened to hire a dozen lawyers to have the will contested. Then she picked up her hat and her purse and she stormed out the door!”

  “You could tell she was miserable to be in the same room with a bunch of queers in the first place,” Tim said. “She arrived nearly fifteen minutes late as it was, all dressed in black, as if she was really in mourning. I don’t think she’d even spoken to Jason or had anything to do with him in years!”

  Arturo said, “She was careful not to touch anything. She wouldn’t shake anyone’s hand, not even the lawyers’. She never even took off her gloves or her sunglasses the whole time.”

  “Can she contest the will?” Ruth asked.

  Arturo said, “I don’t think so. It’s all pretty cut and dried. Jason left her $1,000, not a penny more or a penny less. Whatever liquid assets and investments he had in various stocks and bonds will be split among his favorite charities.”

  “And what about you two?” Ruth let go of Tim’s arm and turned toward Artie and Arturo. “Didn’t Jason remember you two in his will? Not that it’s any of my business, but…”

  “Well, that story is somewhat longer. It goes back to Karl.” Arturo picked up his menu. “Maybe we should order lunch. Where did that waiter go?”

  “Good idea. Being a land baron sure makes me hungry all of a sudden,” Tim said. “The best part is that it’s a duplex, so if I wanted to live in one unit I could use the rent from the other one to pay the property taxes. I don’t know anything about how all that stuff works, but I guess I’ll learn.”

  Artie said, “I don’t either, but Arturo knows all about it. He’ll help you figure it out.”

  “I’ll take all the help I can get. It’s probably a good thing Jason didn’t leave me a lot of cash to go with the house and car. If I were rich I’d have to change my voter registration to Republican! I think I can afford another round of drinks, though. How about it?” Tim tried to wave down their waiter, but it took quite a while, even though the place still wasn’t busy. When he finally came over he had a lot of trouble getting their drink order straightened out, as simple as it was.

  Artie said, “He’s cute, but I’m sorry… cute only goes so far. This place was named for Harvey Milk, whose killer got off on the ‘Twinkie’ defense and nowadays they hire a bunch of Twinkies to work here!?”

  “It’s even worse up the street,” Tim said. “They can’t open a beer bottle and chew gum at the same time. Talk about casting-couch hiring! All they have to be is pretty. If I were that slow at work at Arts, the customers would have a fit.”

  “Whose killer, Artie? What do you mean about Twinkies?” Ruth demanded, ignoring Tim. “Don’t tell me there’s been another murder!”

  “No, Aunt Ruth,” Tim said. “Harvey Milk was killed a long time ago.”

  “Dan White shot him and the mayor, George Moscone,” Arturo explained. “Dan White was on the board of supervisors with Harvey Milk.”

  “The school down the street from the apartment,” Ruth said, “the one where you told me Teresa is a teacher… that’s the Harvey Milk Civil Rights Academy, right?”

  “The same,” Artie said. “This all happened back when Dianne Feinstein was president of the board, long before she was a Senator. Dan White shot Harvey Milk and Mayor Moscone in their offices in City Hall.”

  “I do remember hearing about that, now that you mention it,” Ruth said. “There’s a new movie out—”

  “Yes, that’s right. Sean Penn plays him. Gus Van Sant directed. They were all here filming in the pouring rain this past winter, just up the street from Arts. Anyway…” Artie got back to the story, “This place was called the Elephant Walk then, after that old Liz Taylor movie, you know, but later on it was renamed for Harvey Milk. He was the first openly gay politician ever elected in San Francisco, maybe even in the whole country... I’m not sure. It’s all there in the history books.”

  “Nowadays it seems like politicians almost have to be gay,” Tim said, “or at least gay-friendly. Dan White got away with murdering two men because his lawyers claimed he had a sugar imbalance or some such thing. I’ve read all about it since then, but you’ve got to see the movie, Aunt Ruth. Arturo and Artie were already living here, weren’t you guys?”

  Artie said, “You bet! The night of the riots we were sitting right over there on those two bar stools when the cops came in and smashed up this place.”

  Ruth stared at the bar in the direction Artie pointed. Tim tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Aunt Ruth… I’m sure they’ve replaced the bar stools since the seventies.”

  “The cops wanted revenge for the gays torching police cars and breaking the windows trying to bust into City Hall. What a bloody mess!” Artie said. “Dianne Feinstein automatically became the mayor when Moscone was killed. The night of the riots she was shocked, but what the hell did she expect? Harvey Milk was ours and Dan White was some homophobic, red-neck, ex-cop from the Excelsior district.”

  “To this day, we don’t always necessarily agree with Dianne, but we always end up voting for her,” Arturo said.

  “Maybe you do,” Artie challenged him.

  “Artie, I thought you were a lifelong Democrat!”

  “I used to think Feinstein was, too, but I’m not so sure anymore,” Artie said. “If she came from anyplace else besides San Francisco, she’d be on the other side of the aisle.”

  The somewhat longer story Arturo promised came together over lunch, mostly from Artie. “We were all in the army together… Karl, Arturo, and me… Vietnam. Arturo saved Karl’s life over there and by some miracle we all made it back home safely to the states. I was released first and I moved up here to check out San Francisco… or was Karl discharged first? I can’t remember now. It doesn’t matter. Anyway… Arturo still had a few months to serve out at Fort Ord and he nearly got caught up in a bar raid in Monterey. ”

  “Nobody was out of the closet in those days,” Arturo shook his head. “Bars were being raided all the time, even here in San Francisco.”

  “How awful,” Ruth said.

  “Well, we’d been hoping and planning all along to open some kind of business and it was always a dream of ours to own our own restaurant. Arturo finally moved up here and worked as a cook in some of the old places - the Fickle Fox and Jackson’s - and I tended bar on and off while I was getting my act together for Finocchios.”

  “Artie’s act was a huge hit, but he was thinking about hanging up his dresses when Finocchios closed and it was about the same time that the place on Castro Street went on the market. We didn’t have that kind of money, but Karl did,” Arturo explained. “He put up the money to open Arts or we’d have never gotten off the ground.”

  “But where does Jason fit into this story?” Ruth asked. “Did you hire him as part of the deal?”

  “No, Ruth,” Artie answered. “They didn’t even know each other before. We hired Jason as a bartender. He’d worked all over town, but never on Castro Street. He and Karl met at Arts. Karl was several years older than Jason, but something just clicked. They moved into the house on Hancock after Karl’s parents died. Then Karl got sick with AIDS and… well…”

  Arturo picked up the story, “Karl was a silent partner in our business. When he died he left everything to Jason, so Jason became the third owner, although nobody knew that except the three of us. He didn’t want anything to do with management. He was having too much fun just working for
us as a bartender. It was always like being on stage for him and he had such a loyal following of fans.”

  “So the point is…” Artie went on, “in his will, Jason left his share of the business to us, so now we own it free and clear.”

  “Oh my!” Ruth said. “Poor, dear Jason thought of everything, didn’t he?”

  “Well, he got tested for HIV when Karl got sick,” Artie continued. “He knew he was positive, but he was responding to all the medications. He should have gone on to live a long and productive life.”

  “What a shame,” Ruth said. “But isn’t it wonderful that he thought so much of all of you to see that things worked out this way. Otherwise, his mother might have inherited the house and she would have been your silent partner in the restaurant.”

  “I’d have set fire to the place and watched it burn to the ground before I let that happen!” Artie said.

  Tim said, “I guess we didn’t need to go over there to smuggle out Jason’s porn collection that night after all, Aunt Ruth.”

  “But that was when I found the knife,” she reminded him, “so maybe it was meant to be.”

  “Now I could hang his sling back up in the basement playroom. I’d been trying to imagine what Jason’s mother would think about those four hooks in the ceiling. It’s not as if he could grow hanging plants in the dark. As it turns out, I didn’t need to move a thing.” Tim slumped in his chair. “Who am I kidding? I could never live in that place after finding Jason there bleeding to death!”

  Ruth patted his hand. “You don’t have to make any decisions right away, dear. Take some time. This has all happened so fast. It must come as quite a shock.”

  As they were leaving Harvey’s, Arturo said, “I need to stop at the restaurant on the way home and do a little paperwork.”

  “We can walk that way with you,” Tim said and the four of them crossed Castro Street at 18th. Ruth saw someone who looked familiar using an ATM outside the Bank of America. She touched Tim’s and Artie’s shoulders to slow them.

  “Hello! Marcia! It’s me—Ruth Taylor, Tim’s aunt from downstairs. We met the other morning when you were coming in the gate, remember?” Ruth felt vindicated that at last, she wasn’t the only one to see Marcia. “Is Malcolm out of town again?”