He grinned at me and pulled me a chair to his side. We both sat down.
“I don’t have a permanent office here, I grab what I can get. Since you left, we left Parker Center.”
“I know. I’ve seen the new building. Fancy pants. So, when I leave, the department starts finding all sorts of money.”
“What can I say. You were too expensive for us to funnel funds anywhere else.”
“Right, when I left, Captains didn’t get more than a hundred and twenty k a year. Max. That’s not enough to make a man rich.”
“Well, we do a bit better than that now. I think it maxes at 180, but I haven’t got there yet.”
“That’s all right, but you’ve put in how many years? Twenty?”
“Twenty five next year.”
“Twenty five years to make what a lawyer in this city makes after his first couple of years. And you have just as much of an education.”
John grinned at me and shook his head.
“Why do you carry such a hard on still for the department. You and I both came in to serve and protect. It was never about the money.”
“You know why, John. I ended up being the patsy. The fall guy. It still poisons my blood.”
“I get it, Anthony, I do. But man, that was ten years ago, now. Things have changed in the department. Brass is much better.”
“Thirteen years ago now.”
“Still, you’ve gotta let it go. It’s gonna eat you up, man.”
“You’re right.”
“And seriously, I’ve spoken to folks at head office, they’d take you back in a heartbeat.”
“What, so I can start as a cadet again, at my age. I don’t think so.”
“Nah, they’d fast track you. After your eighteen months probationary they’d put you up to detective with a quick route to lieutenant.”
I shook my head sadly. I had ten years on the job. If they counted that, I’d need to work a minimum ten years more. Most likely as a detective or lieutenant. It’s hard to slide back down the hill you just struggled climbing up for years.
“I’ll ponder it. Thanks for looking out for me. You’ve been a good pal, John. Anyway, what do we have here with the homicide in the park?”
John turned on the computer at the desk and we waited while it booted up and he signed on.
“The computer techs have found a ton of info on Ray the philanderer. He’s been active in a gay forum for some time where he’s been meeting some men. Let me just get the information up here so I don’t mess it up.”
I waited and watched as the computer came to life. John opened up his mail and then an email from one of the computer techs.
“Yeah, here it is. Says Ray was a long time visitor to a site called ‘gay for a day dot com’. Let’s check it out.”
“I’d rather not.”
“It’s not gay porn, Anthony, it’s a membership site where guys can meet discreetly.”
“What, you a member?”
“Fuck off. But I’m not as homophobic as you are.”
“I’m not homophobic.”
“Then relax about it and stop getting your boxers in a pinch.”
“I don’t care what other people do with who they do it to, I just don’t wanna be involved.”
“Geez, Anthony, seriously, it’s not a bug you can catch. Ah, here it is.”
The gay for a day site came up. It was very well designed. Not a smack right in the chops, but you definitely knew just by the homepage why you were here. It advertised totally anonymous, discreet hookups for men who had ‘other’ commitments.
“Do you want to take a tour?”
“No.”
John slapped me on the side of the shoulder.
“Just teasing with you, pal. But here’s where it gets interesting. When Ray first got on the site he met up with a few guys, but for the last six months, from what we can tell he’s been exclusive.”
“Is that what we call it now, dickering around behind your wife’s back is being exclusive.”
John ignored my snarky comments. He was good that way.
“Just listen. This is where it gets interesting. He’s been seeing one guy exclusively for about six months now. Okay, cheating on his wife with just this one guy. Happy?”
“I’d be happier if you told me who it was.”
John had turned to face me. He looked over his left shoulder back at the computer screen.
“A neighbor. You might have met his wife earlier. The guy is John Antonucci.”
I frowned.
“You’re shitting me.”
John shook his head.
“No, and the kicker is, they had an arrangement to meet at De Neve at midnight last night. I really want to talk to him.”
“So do I. When do we leave?”
“Right now if you want.”
I nodded.
“I’m still waiting to hear back from Crime Scenes about the shoe impressions they took and to see if they can get any DNA from the rock. They should have something to me by the end of the day.”
John logged out of the computer and stood up with me. I pushed the chair back to the far corner of his office. And when I say far, I’m talking a few feet. I walked out of the office after him. We headed out into the parking lot and got into John’s unmarked police car.
“Where does Antonucci work?” I asked.
“He works on the fifty third floor of the US Bank Tower. He’s a partner at a hedge fund called Night’s Son.”
John started up the car and we headed out onto Burbank Boulevard. Traffic was getting heavy. John decided on the scenic route which was the 134 East to the I-5 South and then back into downtown on the 110 South. It was forty minutes before we were getting anywhere near the place.
“What do you think about this guy, Anthony?”
“I think he’s an asshole. Why these guys can’t just own who they are and live honestly is beyond me.”
“That’s not what I’m asking, smart ass.”
John had both hands on the steering wheel. His eyes were front, but he had a grin on his face. I used to love being on patrol with him. We had great times, bantering back and forth.
“I don’t think he’ll be good for it, John.”
John looked over at me for a brief moment before looking back out ahead at the traffic.
“Really? You haven’t even met the guy.”
“I’m not saying he couldn’t do it. Hell, I might give you that he did do it. I’m just thinking he didn’t.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, I met the grieving widow earlier. Well, she was actually a little upset, I’ll give her that. I think somewhere deep in her heart she still held a flame for Ray. But I happened to meet the son, too. Real wound up type. Tighter than Mayweather’s cross. He’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of Nebraska and the temperament to lose his cool in a flash.”
“Yeah, but you haven’t met Antonucci yet.”
“True, so we’ll see how it goes. But why kill your lover you’ve been involved with for the last six months. Unless there were some arguments that you haven’t told me about, yet?”
I looked over at John.
“You holding out on me?”
“No. Didn’t see anything in their conversations that would indicate animosity. But they were also pretty cagey in messaging back and forth. Just kept it to the basics of when and where. They didn’t personally email each other either, so the only interesting conversations probably happened in person or maybe over the phone. Neither of which are recorded.”
“Well, let’s see how our meeting goes then with Antonucci. But I gotta tell you John, I’m liking this kid for it.”
“He’s that young?”
John pulled up into a parking spot on West 5th Street, and turned off the ignition.
“I’d say he’s about twenty, twenty one, somewhere in there. About six two or thereabouts. Lanky with it. How tall was the vic?”
“Around five ten I think the coroner said.”
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“So this kid, Curtis is his name, is more than capable. I’d guess, if he did it, it went something like this. He went to confront his father in the park. He’d probably had enough of it. Seen how it had affected his mother and he wanted to get his old man to do the right thing. But he sees his father with another man, maybe it sets him off and he waits until the other man has left and then he just bashes his father’s head in.”
John nodded his head from side to side.
“You spin a good yarn,” he said.
“Could happen.”
“Sure it could. But so could Antonucci have done it. Let’s go and see what he has to say.”
We got out of the car and jogged across the street to the main entrance of the Bank Tower. We took an elevator to the fifty-third floor. It opened up to a large reception area. A pretty blonde was sitting behind a high desk. She smiled a bright smile, as white as paint chips.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said.
I already felt appreciated. A gentleman in a fedora. Not sure about John though. John pulled out his badge and opened it up for her to see. Her smile didn’t waver.
“Captain Roberts with Homicide,” he said, all business voice. “I’d like to see John Antonucci.”
She spoke to him through a smile.
“I’m afraid Mr. Antonucci is in a very important meeting. If you leave your card, I’ll be sure he gets it.”
John looked at me and it was my turn to grin.
“Listen, doll,” I said. “You look like you’re trying to do the right thing. But believe me, you know how many blonde bombshells have tried to keep the gate closed to me? Lots, and none of them have been successful. I look at dead people for a living and we’d like to speak with Mr. Antonucci. We can do it one of two ways. You can take the better road and call him out of his meeting, real discreet-like. He’ll thank you for that once we’re gone. Or, behind door number two, me and my pal here, and he’s the bad cop, are gonna go walking all around here, with loud noises and badges flashing looking for Mr. Atonucci ourselves. And when we find him, we’re gonna haul him out by his ear. So which door are you gonna choose, darling?”
She pinched her lips and took her eyes off me. Her smile was long gone, mine was just growing. She picked up the phone and tapped at some numbers.
“There are two homicide detectives here to see you, Mr. Antonucci. They say it’s very important.”
She listened for a bit and then put the receiver down.
“He’ll be right out.”
“You did the right thing,” I said to her.
John and I stood leaning on her desk, while she tried her best to ignore us and get back to her typing. She answered the phone once, too, while we waited. After a minute or two an impeccably dressed man walked into the reception area through frosted glass doors. He looked around quickly, but there was no one else in the reception area except us and the receptionist. He came up to us.
“Mr. Antonucci?” asked John.
He nodded.
“I’m in a very important meeting, I would have preferred to see you later.”
“And we’d prefer people didn’t go around killing each other,” I said.
“You can make this quick and easy if you’d like, or slow and painful,” said John.
Antonucci was of average height, slim but with a small soft belly under his tailor-made navy pinstriped suit. He wore a red tie over a white shirt and his arms were crossed over his chest. He wasn’t much to look at. You’d probably not notice him in a crowd. To me he looked like a less handsome Patrick Stewart with the same hairstyle. He was clean shaven.
“Okay,” he said. “Come with me.”
We followed him through the frosted glass doors and turned right down the hallway. We traveled to the far corner of the floor where he led us into his office. His office was the size of my apartment. So it seemed. It looked west out over Maguire Gardens. He closed the solid wooden door behind us and came and sat down behind his dark wooden desk.
John and I sat down across from him. The view was terrific. The day was warm and bright.
“Okay,” he said. “How can I help you detectives?”
“It’s Captain,” said John.
“Captain,” said Antonucci, tightly.
“You know why we’re here,” said Roberts.
“Actually, Captain, I have no idea why you’re here, other than I find the intrusion of the LAPD to be rude and impudent.”
Antonucci was leaning in on his desk, looking at each of us in turn. I thought he was playing it straight.
“Let’s start off with a soft ball,” I said. “Where were you between midnight and two a.m. last night?”
He leaned back into his chair, and looked away from me before replying.
“I was at home in bed with my wife.”
“You really want to play it slow and painful, Mr. Antonucci?” I asked. “I met with your wife this morning. She had some different things to say.”
He started to look hot under the collar. He swallowed and breathed deeply.
“For god's sake, just tell me what this is about?”
“It’s about Ray Hope,” said John.
“Jesus, is he okay?”
Antonucci gritted his teeth and looked at me.
“No, he’s not okay, that’s why homicide is visiting you.”
“Fuck.”
He said it under his breath and then sighed before combing his hands through his hair which only covered the sides of his head.
“Listen, I’m going to make it easier for you,” said John. “We know about gay for a day, but what we want is some honesty. Where were you between midnight and two a.m.?”
Antonucci swivelled his soft leather chair to the side and stared out the window. Maybe he was looking towards De Neve, but he didn’t have a good view of it from his office.
“I loved him,” he said, soft as a mouse running across carpet. “I guess it doesn’t matter, anymore.”
He turned back around and reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He dabbed at his eyes, which had misted up.
“I see the way you look at me. But I don’t care. We had something special.”
“The world could use a little more love, but lies and deceit. Well, that’s a dog’s breakfast,” I said.
He nodded his head.
“I couldn’t come out. The firm would be ruined. The kind of people I deal with, everything's got to be just so. It’s all about image and power and façade, Detective.”
“Anthony Carrick. You can call me Anthony.”
“So yeah, Anthony, it’s easy to judge, it’s a lot harder to live by ironclad rules of honesty. Maybe in your world.”
“Mr. Antonucci, we’re not here to judge morality, as much as my friend might like to. But we need to know where you were last night between midnight and two a.m.”
He sighed again, looked down at his desk before looking back up at John.
“I guess it’s time to start being honest. I was with Ray at De Neve Park. I met him at midnight and I was back home again by 12:45. He was alive when I left. He said he wanted to enjoy the lingering feeling of our time together, under God’s night sky. Those were his exact words. His last words to me.”
“Can anyone else verify that?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Nobody except Ray. I slipped out of bed and back in while my wife slept.”
Antonucci looked over at John. His eyes still watery, his face the color of spoiled milk.
“What happened to him?”
“He was murdered. Bashed over the head with a blunt, heavy object.”
“Oh, God.”
Antonucci’s lower lip trembled like an autumnal leaf in heavy wind. He dabbed at his eyes again with his handkerchief.
“Who could have done such a thing?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.” said John.
“Did Ray give you any indication that someone was out to get him?” I asked.
“Nobody that Ray told me about. He was really well liked by the whole community. Most of us had bought cars from him. I got my wife’s Cayenne from Ray and he was a pleasure to do business with. The epitome of professionalism. I think that’s one of the things that made him so successful. Bespoke high end car sales and service.”
“What about his employees?” I asked.
Antonucci looked out the window again, perhaps reminiscing about his last night with his lover over yonder in the square patch of park.
“Not that he ever said anything about any of them. His business was flourishing and because of that, his employees felt secure in their jobs. And anytime I saw any of them interact with him they all seemed really happy. I asked him about it and he said that treating them with respect and paying them decently was all it took to keep them happy.”
“And what about you, Mr. Antonucci?” asked John. “Did you have any reason to be unhappy with Ray?”
Antonucci looked back at John and offered a smile as weak as tea.
“I get it. I do. I’m the number one suspect, but Ray and I never said an angry word to each other in the six months we’ve been together. You probably can’t understand this, but we loved each other. We were even considering coming out, to hell with the consequences. Our last night together, was...well, it was wonderful, and I’m glad for that. I’m glad we parted happily.”
Antonucci looked down at his lap and balled his handkerchief with a clenched fist. Then he folded it into a rectangle and brought it up to his eyes to dry the salty tears.
“You said that you were considering coming out,” I said. “Don’t you think family might have known already?”
Antonucci looked at me through wet, red eyes and offered me the same serving of smile he’d offered just moments before to John. He shrugged.
“Maybe they suspected something. But we were really careful. I imagine the only way you found out about us was through the site we messaged through. We didn’t leave any traces otherwise. No text messages from our phones, no phone calls from home phones and no emails.”
Four Ways To Midnight (An Anthony Carrick Short Story Collection Book 1) Page 6
