by Dorien Grey
He answered on the second ring.
“Hi, Tim. Hope I caught you before you started dinner.”
There was a slight pause, then: “Uh, yeah. Why?”
“Just wondered if you’d like to have dinner with me. Maybe try that new Chinese place on McLeod?”
Another pause. “Gee, I’d like to, Dick, but I’ve got a…I’ve got plans.”
The Aha! response hit me.
“Phil?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact…” Yet another pause, then a hesitant “Would you like to join us?”
I’m dense, but not stupid.
“No, thanks, Tim. Maybe we can all get together another time, with a little more advance notice.”
I’m sure he was mildly relieved when he said, “Sure. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” I said. “Give my best to Phil.” I was sure he would—and his best, too.
I next tried Jared, both to see if he might like to join me, and to ask him about the Male Call. He wasn’t home, so I left a message on his machine. Same with Aaron.
I opened a can of corned beef hash, covered it with catsup, and put it in the oven. Maybe I could have my own cooking show on TV one day.
At 9:30, the phone rang. I assumed it was Jared or Aaron returning my call. I was wrong.
“Dick, this is Gary,” a very unhappy-sounding voice announced. “The police just left; they showed up with a search warrant and practically ransacked the place.”
“What were they looking for?”
“The warrant was for my bedroom, for chrissakes!” he said. “I guess they just wanted to snoop around. They were mostly interested in my pillows! Even after they took the damned pillows off the bed they wanted to know if I had any others around. Yeah, like I collect pillows! I told them no, but they weren’t satisfied until they’d torn the place apart. I don’t know what the hell they thought they were doing, but it doesn’t look good. I just wanted to let you know. You think I should call O’Banyon?”
“Definitely,” I said. “Try to stay calm, and wait to see what O’Banyon has to say. They probably just wanted to rattle your cage. Obviously, they didn’t find anything incriminating enough to arrest you on the spot.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Some consolation.”
“Well, like I say, try to relax. I’ll talk with you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” he said, and hung up.
Pillows?
*
I got to the office early Tuesday morning and tried to hold off thinking any more than I already had about the police search of Gary’s apartment. I forced myself to take plenty of time to drink my coffee, read the paper—the sanitation workers strike was apparently about to be settled to the workers’ satisfaction, the mountains of garbage piled up all over the city undoubtedly a factor—and do the crossword puzzle before calling Glen O’Banyon’s office and leaving a message for him to call me at his earliest convenience.
Although it was still early, I took a chance and called Gary to see how he was doing. He hadn’t had much sleep but seemed in much better spirits than he’d been in the night before. He did say he missed his pillows, although he didn’t seem concerned as to why they had been taken.
I then called the Glicks to check in and see if they’d encountered any surprises during their interview. I found it very interesting that Mrs. Glick didn’t mention the searching of Gary’s apartment and I could only assume Gary hadn’t told her, for one reason or another, so of course, neither did I.
As to the interview, Mrs. Glick assured me it had gone very well, and she was favorably impressed by Lt. Richman. She suspected even Captain Offermann might have been just a little intimidated by Glen O’Banyon’s presence. The questioning had been courteous and didn’t get into areas they weren’t comfortable discussing. Offermann did bring up the subject of ModelMen’s client list but dropped it when O’Banyon reminded him of the condition the Glicks had placed on their cooperation.
The phone calls took up all of about forty-five minutes, leaving me with little to do but sit back and wait to hear from Matt to get some idea as to where the police might be going with the case. I toyed briefly with the idea of calling Lt. Richman but decided against it. I didn’t want to get too chummy with the police, nor did I want to give Richman the idea I was pressing him.
Have I ever mentioned that patience is not one of my greater virtues? Just sitting around waiting for something drives me to distraction, but I didn’t have much choice. I didn’t want to try to call Aaron this early, in case he’d been up late the night before. Jared was at work, as was Tim, unless he was still in bed with Phil.
I tried sitting back and thinking about the case—what I knew for sure, what I didn’t know, what I suspected, what I still had to find out. I went trolling for those elusive hunches that kept darting around the periphery of my mental vision, as usual without success. About the only thing I accomplished was to become more frustrated.
O’Banyon called around 11:00, and I told him of my conversation with Matt without going too deeply into detail and asked if Matt might be considered under the umbrella of O’Banyon’s availability to ModelMen escorts. He said he’d of course respond if Matt called on him, and we could work out the fine points with the Glicks later if necessary.
*
Around noon, I went downstairs to the coffee shop and was surprised not to see either Eudora and Evolla working the counter; it was the first time I could ever remember their not being there. I asked the harried waitress what had happened to them and was told Eudora had had a mild stroke, and Evolla was at home taking care of her. I felt oddly sad. Although I had never exchanged a single non-order-related word with them in all the years I’d been coming into the diner, they had become a block in the foundation of my daily life.
Somehow, the day passed. Matt’s interview had been scheduled for 2:30, and I had heard nothing from him by 4:30. I resisted the urge to call him and was just getting ready to leave for home when the phone finally rang. I practically snatched it off the cradle.
“Hardesty Investigations.”
“Mr. Hardesty, this is Arnold Glick. I thought you should know Gary has been arrested for the murders of Stuart Anderson, Billy, and that…woman.”
Chapter 14
Although Gary’s being arrested was hardly unanticipated, it still came as something of a shock.
“Mr. O’Banyon suggested I call and let you know,” Glick continued. “My wife and I are on the way to police headquarters to meet him now. We hope to have Gary released on bail.”
I wasn’t sure what I could or should do at this juncture, so I settled for “Thank you for calling, Mr. Glick, and please let me know what I can do to help. You have my home phone number, and I’ll be there in about an hour. Please convey my concern to Mrs. Glick. I’m sure Mr. O’Banyon will do whatever he can.”
I’d no sooner hung up when the phone rang again.
“Hardesty Investigations.”
“Dick, this is Mark Richman. I’m really going out on a limb here, but I think we should talk. Privately.”
“Of course, Lieutenant,” I said, hearing my voice floating like a cork on a mental sea of confusion. “I understand you’ve arrested Gary Bancroft.”
“Word travels fast. And of course, that’s what I want to talk with you about. But not over the phone.”
“Well,” I said, “I promised the Glicks I’d be at home shortly. Would it be possible for you to come to my place? I gather you weren’t thinking of meeting at headquarters.”
I readily admit that, from time to time since I’d met Lt. Richman, I’d entertained several erotic fantasies of luring him over to my apartment and vigorously demonstrating that heterosexuality was not the only game in town. The current scenario wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind, however.
“Your place is fine. I can meet you there in half an hour.”
“Fine,” I said and heard him hang up before I could give him my address.
Like you think for
one minute he doesn’t know it? my mind asked, and I realized that of course he did. Richman was no dummy. I wondered what else he knew about me I didn’t know he knew.
*
Traffic was a bitch, and I’d barely gotten into my apartment when the buzzer rang—the good lieutenant, I guessed…rightly.
I’d been very curious ever since he’d called as to why he’d called. Obviously, he wanted something from me…but what? Whether he was here on his own or as some sort of envoy for Captain Offermann, I wasn’t sure, although I had my suspicions.
Well, I’d soon find out.
A glance at the answering machine showed I had messages, but I didn’t have a chance to check them before there was a knock on my door. Seeing Richman standing there in all his civvied glory set off a little flash-powder poof! of erotic fantasy, but even I knew this wasn’t the time for it.
We did our customary handshake, and closing the door behind him, I gestured him to a seat.
“Are you officially on duty,” I asked, “or can I offer you a drink?”
He shook his head as he settled into my favorite chair. He sure looked like he belonged there, and I had to shut the door tight on the my-little-fantasies toy box.
“I’m just on my way home,” he said, “so while I’m not officially on duty, I’d better not. Maybe next time.”
Next time! I could almost hear the fantasies beating on the lid of the box, wanting to get out.
I sat on the sofa facing him, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, my hands folded.
“So, what can I do for you?”
He was silent for a moment, staring at me as he always did. I assumed he probably did that with everyone.
“We did arrest Gary Bancroft,” he said, “but I’ll wager we won’t be able to hold him long with Glen O’Banyon on the case.”
“Then why did you arrest him?” I asked. “Obviously, you have more than…” I almost said “than the fact he drives a silver Porsche” but caught myself in time. I didn’t want to remind Richman I’d never told him Gary drove a silver sports car. “…circumstantial evidence.”
He suppressed a very slight smile, and his eyes never left my face.
“Okay, Dick,” he said, “I’m not sure when we’re going to stop playing these little games with one another. I know you knew about Bancroft’s car, and I’m not particularly happy that you didn’t tell me, but the fact is we need your input on this whole mess. You know Bancroft, you know O’Banyon, you’re a friend of Stark’s, you’re working for the Glicks, and you knew Anderson and Steiner. You know just about everybody involved in this case, you know them a hell of a lot better than we do, and this whole thing is interwoven within the gay community—not to mention the bisexual community, if there is such a thing. We’re like Alice at the tea party here, and you’re the White Rabbit.”
“Nice analogy,” I said, and we exchanged a quick smile.
“Well, you know what I mean,” he said. “And our problem is what it has always been. The police department is simply not as qualified as it needs to be for dealing with the gay community. You aren’t a member of the force, but you’re our closest link with the community. So—and this goes no further than the two of us, understood?”
I nodded.
“I’ve been authorized to let you in on certain facts in exchange for your honest input.”
I sat back on the sofa and crossed my legs, my right ankle on my left knee.
“Go ahead.”
Richman took a deep breath.
“I suspect you already know a lot of this, but we’ll go through it from the top so as not to miss anything.
“Gary Bancroft knew Stuart Anderson and had…spent time with him. A set of very expensive knives was given to Stuart Anderson by a supplier the night he died but was missing from his room when his body was found.
“Judging from his car and where he lives, Bancroft obviously has pretty expensive tastes. He was seen picking up Laurie Travers the night she was killed. One of the hookers who had seen Laurie get into the car thought she remembered two numbers from the license plate. Two random numbers out of seven didn’t do us much good, but when we finally found out yesterday afternoon, no thanks to you, I might add, that Bancroft had a silver Porsche, those two numbers just happened to match two of the numbers on his plates.
“Travers was stabbed with a very expensive knife from the same manufacturer of the set taken from Anderson’s room, which was conveniently left near her body. There were no prints on the knife, of course, which made us wonder why the killer would bother to wipe the murder weapon clean and then leave it where it could be found.” He paused. “Following me so far?”
“Every step of the way,” I said, uncrossing my legs.
“Good. Based on the identification of Bancroft’s car, we got a search warrant for his apartment yesterday afternoon, as you undoubtedly know. However, what you probably don’t know is that we were able to search the Dumpsters behind Bancroft’s building. Thanks to the sanitation workers’ strike, they hadn’t been emptied since the morning after Laurie Travers was found.”
He looked at me with another slight smile. “Would you care to guess what we found in one of them?”
I hoped I looked appropriately puzzled, largely because I fairly well was.
“A red leather case designed for a set of six Antonio Vivace knives. There were only five knives in the case.”
I’ve got to hand it to you, Richman, I thought. You sure do know how to work a crowd.
“So, you arrested Gary.” I could hear the cell doors slamming shut behind him.
“It seemed like the logical thing to do,” he said dryly. “As I say, O’Banyon will probably have him out in a matter of hours. But if, as we suspect, his pillows turn out to be eiderdown…”
“What does eiderdown have to do with it?” I asked, thoroughly puzzled.
“A piece of eiderdown was found in Billy Steiner’s mouth.”
He sighed again and shifted his position in the chair.
“However,” he continued, “the knife case had no fingerprints on it, which strikes me as more than just a little odd. We’re doing further testing now, of course, but if, indeed, there are no prints, O’Banyon will be able to get Bancroft released just on that. Especially now with this new element.”
“And that element is?” I felt rather like one of Socrates’ students, prompting the master along. (“Tell us, Socrates…”)
“Matt Rushmore,” he said. “There’s an outside chance arresting Bancroft might have been a little premature. I’ve got a very strong feeling about this Rushmore guy, and from what Bancroft said and what little we picked up from the Glicks and the others we’ve interviewed…” He paused and looked at me.
“You know him, too, and I was curious why you’ve never mentioned him?”
I felt a mixture of embarrassment and defensiveness, but we were doing one of our eye locks, and I didn’t want to be the one to break it.
“Mainly because…” I hesitated, looking for a diplomatic way to put it. “…I am not, as you’ve pointed out, a member of the police force, and I don’t feel it’s my place to go around pointing fingers at anyone until I’m pretty damned sure I’m right. My main concern was and is my clients—the Glicks, ModelMen, and their current escorts. But believe me, Lieutenant, if I’d had solid evidence against Matt—or Gary, for that matter—I’d have come to you.”
I had no idea whether or not he was convinced; his expression never changed, but he did break off the stare as his eyes moved to the flashing red light on the answering machine. He looked at it just long enough for me to know he was looking at it then brought his eyes back to mine.
“So, now that we’re aware of Rushmore,” he continued, “I suspect we’ve…I’m talking about the police here…run head-on into that damned gay/straight brick wall. As far as the old school in the department is concerned, you’re gay or you’re straight. Guys who go both ways throw them for a loop.
“Bancroft was
hard enough for them to figure out, but as far as they’re concerned, I think, he’s straight. He looks straight, he acts straight, he has sex with women, therefore, he is straight.” He heaved a quick sigh. “But when Rushmore, who looks and acts like a football player and has two kids, says he’s strictly gay, that’s pretty much beyond their comprehension, and they wonder what he’s trying to pull.”
We were both quiet a moment, and Richman’s expression reflected his concern.
“So, I need your help,” he said finally. “I don’t have a problem grasping the concept of being bi…” Fantasy time! “…but there’s a hell of a lot I don’t understand. Bancroft is doing his level best to pin the murders on Rushmore; Rushmore’s claiming Bancroft is setting him up. And it’s pretty obvious, to me at least, that something’s going on between the two of them neither one will talk about.
“Bancroft claims he was having dinner with Mrs. Glick on the night Anderson was killed, and she verifies that he didn’t leave until nearly midnight. Anderson and his killer entered the Montero’s garage at eleven-fifteen. Rushmore says he picked up a trick that night outside the Male Call, but he can’t prove it, which puts the ball in his court. Neither one can come up with a solid alibi for Steiner, but we have plenty of evidence to nail Bancroft to Laurie Travers.”
He shook his head slowly.
“There are too many holes,” he said. “Too many little things we can’t even guess at. I really need your help here.”
The case had reached the stage where I didn’t have much to lose by telling him everything I knew. I could readily see that so much of what was going on was, in truth, a “gay thing” the police had no idea how to deal with, let alone understand. And I felt I could trust him not to take unfair advantage of anything I said.
“Everything off the record?” I asked. “Strictly between you and me?”
He nodded. “Agreed.”
I settled back on the couch.
