by Josh Thomas
“It’s going to take me awhile to get used to this. Like a year maybe.”
“You’re just feeling threatened. Nobody here is going to harm you; no one at the post will ever know. You’re on home turf for both the victim and the killer, and you blend right in. Be proud you had the guts to come here and learn something new.”
Kent was silent awhile. He finally said, “Thank you.”
“Takes a stud to catch a killer. Hi, stud.”
Emotions played on Kent’s face. “It sure does.”
“Finally I’m looking at one. I admire you, man. Meanwhile I take it we need proof. We need to make the prosecutor’s case for him.”
“Speaking of which…” Kent interrupted his speech with a last, giant bite of burger, ”I asked what they’d be comfortable taking to the grand jury. It’s not just that the Crum trial turned out the way it did, it’s the likelihood that these cases are related. They agree with you, Crum had a heck of a legal team. Nobody knows who was paying them, but it probably wasn’t the meek little veterinarian. We know how much money he makes from the earlier search warrants. The same lawyers defended Tyson. There was big money changing hands.”
“If there is a conspiracy, why did FBI Quantico tell me there’s no such thing as snuff films? What other explanation is there? Somebody’s financing this stuff. Was that agent lying? Do snuff films exist or not?”
“They definitely exist, but there’s no commercial market for them. Too much risk. Get me the agent’s name, though, I’ll double-check with him.”
Jamie pulled out his notebook. “Kent, put Helmreich on the payroll. He’s my main resource in the serial phenomenon, a street cop who went back for his Ph.D. He’ll keep you from reinventing the wheel. He’s seen the investigative mistakes as well as the successes. A great coach for a great player.”
“Dr. Street Cop, huh? Sounds great. When are we going undercover?”
“You can barely function here and you want to go undercover already?”
“Listen, partner,” Kent said, propping his elbows on the table, leaning forward.“I’m your Commander. I’ll dress up as the Queen of England if I have to to catch these guys. You’re tough, all right, but you ain’t gonna out-commitment me.”
Jamie got lost a little. The brown pools staring at him also contained fire.
“Thank you, Kent. That’s what I want.”
No reply.
Kent loosened his shoulders. “So hey. I might look swell in a tiara.”
“Just think, Commander, you could carry your gun in that little purse. If you didn’t kill ’em with hauteur; that’s how she does it.”
Kent tried looking down his nose at a peasant. “What did you find out about Mr. Ferguson?”
“He was more complex than his up-and-coming sports marketing image. He showed off his body at the bar that night, then put his jersey on later. Nor was that uncommon, he always showed off, especially if he was with Gary. It was one way Glenn controlled him. Gary knew the other guys wanted Glenn. Glenn rubbed his nose in it, ‘See, I don’t have to be with you.’ It made Gary proud and excited that his lover was good-looking, but scared at the same time.”
“Like an exhibitionist?”
“That’s too strong a term. Listen, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. How explicit can I get with you?”
“Feel free. Think I don’t know what a blowjob is?”
Jamie was taken aback. I’m sure you do. “It’s common enough that young Gay men with good bodies don’t wear shirts at the bar. We dance, we sweat, we use looks to attract a friend or a one-night stand. The bar manager, Russ Dixon, was a friend of Glenn’s before he met Gary. Glenn was always a cocktease. When Gary came along, Glenn didn’t change. He used other guys’ attraction to keep Gary in line. Glenn wanted to be waited on, have everything at home just the way he wanted. As long as Gary did that, Glenn was monogamous. Unless he went out of town.”
“Like he dominated the guy?”
“Too strong. We have our own terms for it, tops and bottoms, and bottom men rule. Those are sexual terms, it’s complex. Remember the natural pecking order?”
“Glenn was the man, and Gary played the woman’s role?”
“They were both men, that’s the point of Gay life. If Glenn wanted a blowjob from a woman he’d have gotten a woman. Not that women are any good at it. It takes having a dick to know how to take care of one.”
Kent gulped. “You’re right, it’s complicated. Who did Glenn talk to?”
“His usual admirers. They were eager to talk to me, his murder is the lead topic of conversation, and everyone knows The Ohio Gay Times.”
“Was Ford there that night?”
“No, but Russ recognized his photo. Right away he said, ‘Schmidgall’s ex-lover.’ He supposedly hasn’t been there in over a year.”
“So Ford’s got a rep. What’s the plan?” Kent gestured for the waiter.
“Hit Chez Nous at 10 o’clock, learn how to handle yourself. We’re not going to be together all the time so I can save you from every guy that happens by. Lord, I’d be doing nothing else.”
“How do I do it, then?”
“Real simple, Nancy Reagan: just say no. Spare yourself these dueling stereotypes—on the one hand we’re all sissified faggots, then magically we turn into brutal rapists. Look around you, these guys are gentle. God, you’d think Gay people just landed here from Mars.”
“Up Uranus.”
Jamie stared, open-mouthed.
Kent grinned, embarrassed. “Sorry, guy, it just slipped out. I had to say something to keep up with you. Man, you’re fast.”
The waiter removed their plates. “What can I offer you? Dessert maybe? Something sweet and creamy?”
Jamie said, “If we wanted sweet and creamy we’d go to Roselyn Bakery. It’d be more expensive than you, Miles, but we’d know the health department inspected it before it shut the place down.”
“Ooh, you’re gorgeous too, even if you are the blond bitch from hell.” Miles flounced away.
Kent grinned, “I need you to be my bodyguard in these places, not my lightning rod.” Jamie weighed 499 replies. They paid and headed for the door. “Why do we have to go to the bar so late?”
“Because, Your Majesty, queens only come out at night.” Then Jamie had to take off to escape the fist flying in his direction.
Kent sniffed, “Should have hit you with my dainty handbag,” since he hadn’t yet mastered hauteur.
28
Fender
Kent had set up an interview with Glenn Ferguson’s boss at her home after dinner. They drove to an address in Broad Ripple, which passed as the artsy section of Indianapolis, Indiana, meaning the last spark of life hadn’t been stomped out of it too.
Parking was at a premium, but Kent found a spot two blocks from the house. He and Jamie started up the busy avenue. A man called out, “Look at that blond! Have you ever seen a prettier ass? Hey, guy, you busy tonight?”
“Ooh, and the stud he’s with,” cried a passenger. He made kissing noises as the driver blared his horn. Blood rushed to Jamie’s ears; he stared straight ahead. “Look out!” yelled the passenger. Tires squealed, Jamie winced and quarter-panels crumpled under the impact.
“What the heck?” said Kent, staring at the collision. A woman driver, trying to pull away from the curb, jumped out and gaped at her sideswiped car. Then she saw Jamie and gaped at him.
Jamie glared ahead, boots chopping concrete.
“Guess I should report the location,” Kent said, fumbling with a cell phone. “This is a new one on me.”
“Let’s interview the witness, Commander.”
“You’re a human traffic hazard.”
“I’m an innocent bystander. He’s a reckless driver.”
“Well, a bystander at least.”
Sharon Sachs came to the door. She was attractive, a little chunky, maybe 37. “Ms. Sachs, I’m Sergeant Kent Kessler of the Indiana State Police. This is my partner Jamie Foster.” Kent s
howed his badge.
“How do you do, officers?” Two handsome men were standing on her porch. She stepped out. “Can we talk here? I don’t want the dog to get loose.”
“That’s fine,” Kent smiled, showing lovely teeth. “We wanted to ask about Mr. Ferguson’s work habits, whether you were happy with his performance.”
“I was ecstatic with him. His sales were up 16% last year, when ticket sales were only up nine. He had great work habits, everyone liked and respected him.”
“We always get good reports on him. But let me ask, did you ever see any behavior out of him that was uncharacteristic? Were there times that his private life had an effect on his job?” Kent rubbed his chest briefly.
“No, he was very disciplined, a real go-getter. Sure, everybody knew he was Gay, but that has nothing to do with selling beer, nachos and programs. He was a whiz at that, sergeant. He managed the staffing and vendor contracts flawlessly. He’d be in line for a major raise when we get the new fieldhouse open.”
Jamie asked, “What was he like, the last day you saw him?”
She shrugged, “Happy, optimistic, working hard.”
Kent widened his stance. “Did you ever socialize with him away from the job?”
“I’ve often had him and Gary here for dinner, plus the occasional cocktail party for a client.”
“Oh, you live alone?” Kent twitched his eyebrows.
“Yes, sergeant. Except for the dog, quite alone.”
“Do you think Glenn ever used drugs?” He hitched up his jeans, put his thumb in the waistband.
“No. In season the whole staff ’s randomly tested along with the players. I never knew him to use drugs.”
“But it’s possible he could have, in the off-season,” he winked.
“It’s possible, I suppose. But I never saw him under the influence of alcohol, either. So I don’t think so.”
“Straight and narrow, huh?” It took less than a second, but he adjusted himself. “Well, maybe not those words exactly.”
Jamie said stonily, “You’re lying, Ms. Sachs. He smoked marijuana and you knew it. You smoked it with him.”
She looked off to the street. “Not for years. It was years ago. We’re tested, I told you. We always pass.”
Kent glanced at Jamie, a signal to keep going. Jamie growled, “When’s the last time you smoked together?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Please, Ms. Sachs, we don’t care about your behavior, we care about Glenn’s. Can’t you see we need to know the truth? When was the last time you two smoked?”
She stared at the handsome, hard young man. “A week after the playoffs,” she confessed. “Our financial reports came out after the end of the season, our numbers were great, and Glenn wanted to celebrate. He bought a joint off some dealer down by Riley Towers. One little joint, one time a year. We made the playoffs. We made a profit.”
“Thank you. We don’t judge, but we need to know. Lies keep us from finding Glenn’s killer, so don’t ever lie to us again.”
She hung her head, enough to glance at Kent’s thighs. “I’m sorry. The NBA’s a highly-publicized business. I’d hate for one little slip to reflect badly on the organization.”
Kent said, “I respect that. Players are under a microscope. So’s the front office.”
“We sure are. And what kind of company is this organization? One that employs a Gay executive like Glenn, in a management track that doesn’t discriminate, that only cares about performance. A Jewish woman from New Yawk supervised him. I’m proud of that. So was Glenn.”
“So am I,” Jamie said. “Ms. Sachs, how did the NBA lockout affect Glenn’s state of mind the last time you saw him? Was he upset about anything? Depressed, anxious, pressured? What was he feeling?”
“His vendors are directly hurt by any labor action, so he consulted closely, kept them fully informed. They’re anxious, but they appreciated his consideration, and we’re getting through this with a minimum of fuss. He’s loyal to them, they’re loyal to us. We’re all eager to play without bankrupting the teams, and Glenn was holding the vendors. The GM praised him in writing for it, so Glenn was feeling good.”
“When is the last time he fought with Gary?”
“He never fought with Gary. In a conflict he simply told Gary what to do. Gary’s a little pudgy, see? A little feminine. To him Glenn was a masculine athlete with a beautiful body, the man of his dreams. Gary idolized him; Glenn ate that up. Gary made him a wonderful home, the perfect mate, even though Gary’s immature at times. They weren’t quite Ozzie and Harriet maybe; who is? But they were close to it; they got along better than most Straight couples. He was faithful to Gary, in love with him.” She faced Jamie. “Something about playing the point guard?” He nodded. “But no other drugs, never during the season, it would mess up his performance. He knew that. He was committed to success, an athlete himself. One night a year, one lousy joint, isn’t that allowed?”
“Of course,” Kent sympathized.
Jamie said, “Then what else must we understand about Glenn to get inside his head?”
“He was so juiced about the new fieldhouse. We’re going to blow the lid off this town with new amenities, fabulous food. He couldn’t wait.
Young, dynamic and successful, that’s Glenn. We adored him. He could have been a general manager one day. I miss him terribly. It’s so unfair.” She suppressed a sob.
Kent said he was sorry, thanked her. They walked back in silence, frowning over the likelihood that one little weakness for marijuana, once or twice a year, cost a gifted man his life.
***
Jamie shook his head as apartment buildings glided by. “What from here?”
“Shoe leather. That’s what solves cases 95% of the time. Like you said, re-interview the bartenders, chat up the regulars, what was Glenn wearing, did you see who he talked to? Show the photos. Police work’s real glamourous. On TV.”
“This is depressing. He had everything going for him.”
“Don’t get down. You did great back there.”
“Me? You turn it on and off like a spigot.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sex appeal. I figured I’d walk the dog while the two of you fucked on the floor.”
Kent grinned. “You’re seeing things.”
“You have the subtlety of a commercial for used cars. You all but groped yourself like a centerfielder.”
“I would have, if need be. To see what someone’s thinking, watch their eyes. She undressed you, too, don’t think I didn’t notice. But she was on cruise control till you broke her down. For a bad cop, you’re pretty darn good.”
“Just get me to the hotel, okay?” Without any more demonstrations of your heterosexuality.
“Lighten up. I didn’t cause any fender benders.”
“We’re in Broad Ripple. In Speedway you’d have caused a ten-car pileup, they’d have had to stop the race.”
“You’re the walking yellow flag. You ought to get liability insurance on that hair.”
Jamie flipped his liable hair and his middle finger. They both competed, both smiled, both liked to be teased.
But Jamie had a reason to hurt. One of his own was killed, a talented young man with a devoted lover.
And Jamie had a reason to let go; he was friends with a caring, handsome, Straight police officer who knew all about blowjobs. Jamie couldn’t sort it out, and stopped trying.
29
Centerfielder
Kent hadn’t rented them two rooms, just one. “Why not?” Jamie asked.
“Why waste the money? It’s got two big beds. You can run your laptop on the table.”
“But I’m on an expense account.”
“I’d share with any other guy, Jamie. Or did you want to…?”
“No, I’m not that way.”
“We’ve gone camping together, we can sure as heck share a whole room. It makes up for the night I should have come after your Mom died.”
> That silenced Jamie. He fired up his laptop while Kent took a shower. At 9:45,he appeared in the doorway in his BVDs. “What should I wear?”
Jamie’s sweat popped out.
He was shocked to see Kent in the flesh. At only 225 pounds he was-n’t a stereotypical bodybuilder, he was just all muscle, like an athlete. His pecs and shoulders were big, his abs perfectly defined. His nipples were the size of half dollars. His arms belonged on a giant, his quads bulged. But his skin was the revelation, thin, taut, dark, flawless. Jamie was very proud of his own body, but this man made him feel like a skeleton—a short one at that. He forced his eyes to return to the screen
and stay there. “So that’s what a home run hitter looks like.”
“Well, uh, yeah.” Kent scratched his chest hair.
“A sweatshirt will be best. Long sleeves will cover your arms, and you want to fit in, not stand out. Don’t draw attention to yourself. You’re there to look. Wear a baseball cap. It will hide your face and eyes, so you can observe others more easily. Wear sunglasses too, people will think you’re acting cool, but meanwhile you’re observing.”
“Okay.” Kent turned away. Jamie’s eyes feasted on ass, narrow, high, round and built for love. ***
They headed through the lobby toward a cab when Kent stopped in his tracks, grabbed Jamie and pulled him over to a TV. Onscreen, Jamie was mouthing words while a reporter did a voiceover. Superimposed on Jamie’s chest were the words, “Quincy County, Ohio, 1994.”
They listened. “…broke the story four years ago when he linked the murder of Aaron Haney, a Richmond, Indiana native living in Indianapolis, to three others here in Quincy County during the 1990’s. And now, police confirm, the killer has struck again.” Jamie recognized the voice.
“What is this?” Kent asked.
The picture changed to a map of northwest Indiana, showing Willow Slough, then footage of Haney’s crime scene, the bridge over Sevenmile Creek. Jamie turned away. But Kent caught his arm again, made him watch. The clip ended with the woman in front of the Quincy County Courthouse and the words, “still at large. Darla Collins for ABC News, Cavendish, Ohio.”
