But how was he going to come at this thing? In many ways Todd had the perfect situation, the best of both worlds. Not only did he have the crime scene footage, which viewers always wanted to see, but he was going to be shooting live from this other location. In other words, he would have something no one else would, not to mention an entirely different angle. But he was going to have to be careful. On the one hand the police hadn't officially released details of Andrew's sexuality, yet on the other Cindy Wilson already knew. And whatever was in her head would come out her mouth, of that Todd was sure.
Fortunately it was only a matter of eight blocks to the live shot, straight out to Lyndale, then directly north to Franklin, and finally a left. Two blocks down, on the same corner where it had stood for nearly sixty years, was Oak Drugs. And above that neighborhood fixture of medications and Hallmark cards was the neighborhood newcomer, the Domain of Queers, which had moved there just over a year ago. To the surprise of many, there had been no resistance to a gay youth center opening in the neighborhood, and the DQ now included a small handful of meeting rooms, a coffee bar, and a large, old ballroom used for Friday night queer teen dances. It was here that Todd and Rawlins had first spoken to a group of young gay people, and it was here that they had first met Andrew.
As Bradley pulled up, Todd looked at the second floor windows draped with rainbow flags, saw the big pink neon triangle framing the initials DQ. Yes, it would provide a great backdrop. And their ENG truck, the mast raised high, the microwave dish aimed toward downtown, was parked exactly opposite the building, just as Todd wanted.
“Perfect,” said Todd as the truck came to an abrupt stop.
“Looks like I lost,” said Bradley with a laugh. “We've got all of about fifty seconds.”
Todd liked to have anywhere from eight minutes to a minimum of thirty seconds, although the latter was cutting it rather tight. And now leaping out of the Cherokee, Todd and Bradley went into armylike action, charging across the street, and then, with the help of Jeff, who emerged from the ENG, setting up. Cables were dragged out from the rear of the truck. Cords were attached. A single light stand thrown up. And then seconds later Todd was standing in front of Bradley's camera, which was now poised atop a tripod. As Jeff hopped back into the ENG and started to adjust the transmission levels, as Bradley placed a small monitor at the base of the tripod, Todd simultaneously grabbed a stick microphone and an earpiece, which he slipped into place. No sooner had he gotten the small plastic thing in his ear than the news director called out.
“Voice check, please.”
Todd lifted up the mike, said, “Good evening, this is Todd Mills reporting live from—”
“Got it.”
The line producer came on next, saying, “What's your roll cue, Todd?”
He glanced at his pad. “Ah… ‘Night of darkness and mystery.’”
“Check: ‘Night of darkness and mystery.’” A moment later he advised, “Ten to the top.”
Todd rolled his neck from side to side, gave it a small crack. Just as he couldn't reveal Andrew's name until the authorities released it, nor could he come right out and say Andrew was gay, at least not at this point. Yet while he didn't know if Andrew's sexuality would ever prove to be relevant to his murder, he couldn't ignore it tonight, not simply because he had to give viewers a reason to watch him, Todd Mills, but because Cindy Wilson and WTCN were already clued in. Which left Todd precious little room in which to maneuver. Therefore, it would be best, not to mention safest from a legal standpoint, to speak from his personal contact with Andrew.
Via IFB transmission, Todd heard the line producer give his final count, “Five to the top.”
Todd adjusted his black leather coat, then glanced down at the monitor that was aimed up at him from the base of the tripod. The screen flashed from an herbicide commercial—after all, this was the Midwest and this was the late news, when every farmer tuned in if not for the news, then certainly the weather—to the 10@10 logo. Next filling the screen was the face of WLAK’s star anchor, an indisputably handsome man with a long face, dark hair gone quite salt and pepper, and an unwieldy ego that was, fortunately for WLAK, invisible on television. Gaining stature as the most valued and watched anchor in the Twin Cities, he'd recently demanded and gotten a new contract paying him just over a million bucks a year. Such was the value of those white teeth, the even cadence of his speech, and the trust that he could, with cool professionalism, turn on in a second.
“Good evening and welcome to Ten at Ten. I'm Tom Rivers, and we have a number of stories tonight, from a problem with the Teacher's Pension Fund to a cancer-fighting enzyme recently discovered at the University of Minnesota. We begin tonight's coverage, however, on a very serious note, that of the murder of a young white male in south Minneapolis. Just over an hour ago Minneapolis police received a call reporting the crime. Here with a live report of this still-developing story is our investigative reporter, Todd Mills.” Tossing it, he said, “Todd?”
Holding the stick microphone in a tight grasp, Todd stared straight into Bradley's camera. Yes, that's how these things went. Anchor toss, reporter in full-on camera, VO, reporter tag, ad lib. All of it back-timed to the second.
Todd forced every thought out of his head, and then let it flow back, evenly and precisely. All you have to do, he told himself, is walk your viewers through this, one steady step at a time.
“Tom, this story is still evolving, very much so, and the police have been reticent to release what little information they may have. What is known at this point, however, is that a young white male, whose name is being withheld pending notification of family has been murdered in his basement apartment in a building at 25th and Bryant Avenue South. I've been told by residents of the building that the victim was recently employed there as a caretaker. And I do believe that that job represented the first major step for a young man embarking on a dream. Unfortunately, it was a dream that has now dissolved into a night of darkness and mystery,” said Todd, giving the roll cue.
The video, which had been edited down from Bradley's footage to precisely thirty-five seconds, began to roll, and Todd's eyes fell to the monitor. Nine times out of ten, he helped edit such things, and, of course, wrote the script for them, marrying video and sound into a single prerecorded package. Tonight, however, he was simply going to have to watch the monitor, try to read what he had prepared, or, more likely, simply talk to the pictures.
Seeing footage of marked units, flashing lights, and cops in their blues, Todd looked at his notes and said, “After receiving a frantic call from a building resident a little over an hour ago, the Minneapolis police were quick to arrive at a small apartment building at Twenty-fifth and Bryant Avenue South. As you can see, there are a number of police at the scene, along with homicide investigators and the team from the Bureau of Investigation. Both the front and rear entrances to this building have been sealed off, and a barricade has been set up to keep the crowd at a distance. The authorities are now going over the apartment, searching for any evidence that may be relevant, and the medical examiner has yet to remove the body”
The video cut to an image of the rectangular, redbrick structure, and Todd said, “I'm told that the victim only recently moved into this building, a two-and-a-half story walk-up located in a neighborhood known as the Wedge, and that he lived in a small basement apartment at the rear of the building. He was employed here as a caretaker for this and several other apartment buildings on the block.”
His eyes flicking between the monitor and his notes, Todd now saw a crowd of neighbors milling around, gawking and gossiping. Most of them, he knew, were as horrified as they were entertained.
“As you can see, Tom, quite a crowd has gathered here, primarily neighbors who are both upset and worried by the crime. The Wedge has a very strong and active neighborhood organization, and they've spent a considerable amount of time and effort in maintaining the safety of—”
The news director, via the earpiece, said, “Th
ree seconds.”
“—their neighborhood. Naturally, this comes as quite a shock.”
Todd looked up, staring into Bradley's camera, which was now live on him. “As I said, Tom, little information has been released on the victim, but he was known to frequently visit the Domain of Queers, which is a center for gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender teens. I'm currently standing just across the street from this center, which you can see is located on the second floor of that building, just above Oak Drugs. It moved to this location just over a year ago, and has been very successful, serving not only local teens, but a number of runaways as well.”
Tom Rivers cut in, his voice deep and luxuriant, and said, “Todd, was the victim simply employed at this center as well, perhaps as a caretaker or janitor, or was he there as a teenager to use and enjoy the facilities?”
Todd knew damn well, of course. When Rawlins and he had spoken at the DQ, Andrew had not only been in the front row, he'd been sitting there holding hands with some other guy. With a bright, eager grin, he'd asked lots of questions, laughed, and gotten a veritable debate going regarding—what was it?—the feasibility of a gay relationship. Right. And later on, of course, he'd met with Rawlins.
“I do believe, Tom, that the victim came here for the center's services. As a matter of fact, I first encountered the victim two months ago when I was here giving a talk to gay youth.”
“Does that mean for a fact he was gay?”
Rawlins was going to give him shit for this, but Todd had no choice, and he said, “Well, the Domain of Queers, or the DQ as it's commonly called, is a center to serve gay teens. Whether the victim was indeed gay and/or possibly a runaway will soon, I'm sure, be officially known.”
Even though Todd always tried to focus every bit of his energy and attention on the camera, out of the corner of his eye he saw a tall figure come hurrying around the corner. It was a young man, his head bent, his long, silky hair bouncing with each of his long, awkward strides, and Todd recognized him immediately. And the kid, seeing the camera and the lights, looked up, his eyes red, his cheeks still wet with tears, and froze in surprise. An odd, almost fearful look washed over him, and then he turned and quickly hurried off.
Into the earpiece lodged in Todd's right ear, Tom Rivers said, “Thank you very much, Todd, and we look forward to any other information you might have on this sad story. In other news…”
Todd glanced down, saw the image of Tom Rivers fill the monitor. Then he looked up, saw Bradley still hunched behind the camera. The next second, Bradley raised his head.
“Clear.”
Ripping away the earpiece and stuffing that and the stick mike into Bradley's hands, Todd said, “I'll be right back!”
Spinning around, he saw the kid scurrying across the street not toward Oak Drugs of course, but toward the DQ. Sure, scared and upset, horrified and confused, he'd walked here from the murder scene and was now fleeing to the one safe isle he'd ever found, that refuge of his peers. Which is exactly where Todd had seen him before. He didn't know the kid's name, but Todd was sure of it, this young man with the long, silky hair was a friend of Andrew. Or was he more? Had he been the one sitting there holding hands with Andrew during Todd and Rawlins's talk? If so, what did that imply, that they'd simply been queer friends, or that they'd perhaps been sweethearts?
A boxy truck with a smiling cow on the side rolled past, next a blue van and two cars, and then Todd darted into the road. His eyes fixed on the tall young man, he watched as the kid hurried up the sidewalk and reached the double doors that led to the Domain of Queers.
“Hey!” called Todd from the middle of the street.
Spinning around, the kid brushed his hair back and glanced toward Todd, his eyes now smoldering with what, anger? Recognition? The young guy hesitated for a second, then lunged for the glass door and swung it open.
Every bit of his reporterly instincts was piqued, and Todd wasted no time, breaking into a quick jog, charging up the sidewalk and past the display windows of Oak Drugs that were already filled with Halloween costumes. This kid, Todd was sure, wasn't just upset, he knew something. Throwing open the door and hurrying into the building, Todd looked up the broad staircase that was easily six feet wide and lit by row after row of fluorescent lights. The walls were painted a bland white, and Todd saw him just past the mid-point landing, climbing two steps at a time.
“Wait a minute!” When the kid didn't stop, Todd called, “I need to talk to you, just wait a—”
Without turning around, without stopping, he screamed, “Fuck off!”
More than a little surprised by this opening salvo, Todd hesitated, even slowed. Okay, what was going on here? Was Todd merely being an asshole of a reporter by treading into tender territory? Or was Todd right in chasing after this kid, sensing he might know something about Andrew's tragic end? There was, for sure, only one way to find out.
Todd didn't remember the rules, couldn't remember if uninvited adults were even allowed in the DQ, particularly at this time of night, but he plunged on, unable to stop himself. Grabbing the railing, he started up the wide stairs. He was about to call out again when the kid reached the top and disappeared from sight.
Todd continued up, and when he reached the top, huffing for air, he was immediately greeted by a young African-American girl, perhaps no more than sixteen or seventeen and wearing a plain white T-shirt and blue jean overalls. Her face round and cute, she wore glasses and had her hair pulled back in pigtails.
“Can I help you?” she said, from behind a reception desk.
“I'm looking for the guy who just came in here. I need to talk to him.”
“Well, I'm afraid you can't. I mean, adults can't come in unless they're invited to speak or do something official. Anyway, from the looks of it, Jordy doesn't want to talk to you or anyone else, for that matter.” She pushed up her glasses and glanced down a hall. “What happened, anyway? He's awfully upset.” She looked Todd up and down. “You're not his dad, are you?”
Gee, thanks, thought Todd with a scowl. But it was true. He was easily old enough. Todd's own son was, in fact, even older than this kid. And, yes, that was his name. Jordan. He'd been the one sitting there, holding hands with Andrew. Todd was sure of it now.
Trying not to sound like a bullying adult, Todd said, “No, I'm not family. My name's Todd Mills, and I'm a television reporter from—”
“Oh, yeah, I remember now,” she said with a bright smile. “You're the gay guy on TV. Didn't you and your lover come in here and speak or something?”
“Right. That was a couple of months ago. But we've got a problem tonight, and I need to speak to Jordy.”
“You know, I really don't think he—”
“I'm sorry, but either I talk to him or I call the police.”
“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” she said, holding up both hands, palms out. “Come on, we don't need any shit like that. Particularly not on my shift, okay? I mean, I'm just supposed to be monitoring the place. I'm just volunteering.”
“I mean it.”
“Oh, man.” She bent her head, rubbed her forehead with one hand, and then, without looking up, pointed down the hall and said, “He's down there, first room on the right. Leave the door open. If I hear him shout or anything, you're gonna have to leave. Clear?”
“Thanks.”
Todd took a deep breath, held it a second, then blasted it out between pursed lips. Feeling oddly like the enemy, he proceeded past the monitoring desk and down a hall with fresh beige carpeting and newly painted walls.
Originally the DQ had been in a dump of a storefront on Lake Street, an idea born of a dream and that functioned on a shoestring. And it had worked, not only proving to be a much-needed haven, but garnering a lot of media attention, gay and straight. The dollars had followed, both from the queer community as well as, surprisingly, the corporate, and the organization had expanded and grown and moved here.
Todd stopped at the first door and looked into a room that
was furnished with two couches, a coffee table, and a couple of standing lamps, one of which now dimly burned. A counseling or conference room, Todd assumed. Jordy was in there, slumped on one of the couches, his long hair swept forward, his body trembling and shaking as he sobbed. He wore old black and white high-top tennis shoes, baggy jeans, and a ratty, old wool coat that he'd either gotten from his grandfather or the Goodwill, probably the latter.
Todd glanced down the hall, saw the girl at the front desk staring after him, then knocked twice on the doorjamb and said, “Can I come in?”
Jordy looked up, and though he'd perhaps reached his full height, his face was still that of a boy, the skin smooth and pure, untouched by either acne or, for that matter, much of a beard. His face was long and thin, his chin narrow, and his eyes—those red, red eyes—were small, etched on top with two heavy eyebrows, the most manly of his features. A kid, that was all he was, frightened and scared to hell. And now witnessing Jordy's grief, the raw pain that was flowing unrestricted out of his soul, Todd knew what this was all about. Not some little tale of intrigue, but the death of a friend. The loss of a loved one.
Todd spotted a box of Kleenex on the coffee table, picked it up, and placed it on the couch next to Jordy. He then sat down opposite him.
“I'm sorry.”
Jordy caught himself, wiped his wet nose with the back of his hand, then tossed his hair back. “Is… is it really… really true? Did someone kill him? Kill Andrew?”
“I'm afraid so.”
“Oh, God!” He grabbed some tissues, blew his nose, started crying all over again. “Andrew wanted me to come over a couple of hours ago. I should've gone. I should've been there. Maybe he'd be okay. Maybe
“It's not your fault.”
“But…” He slammed a fist down on his knee. “Fuck!”
Todd was at a loss. What was he supposed to do? Sit there at a distance and let this kid fall on his own, or take him into his arms and catch him? In a moment of panic, Todd realized he didn't know what to do, how to handle this, in large part because he'd never learned anything like this from his father, who'd been so physically reticent.
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