Murder in the Rue Ursulines

by Greg Herren

  The trainer’s office was all glass with a door. I could see someone seated at the desk in there, going over some papers. There was a file cabinet in the back corner, and a chair right next to the desk for a client to be seated. I crossed the weight area and knocked on the open door. “Brett? I have an appointment? I’m Chanse MacLeod.”

  “Hi.” Brett closed the file on his desk and stood up. He reached his right hand toward me just as he got a good look at my face. His eyes widened in shock—a reaction I was getting used to.

  I took his big hand and shook it. It was lined with calluses. “Nice to meet you.” I said. “And yes, my face takes some getting used to.”

  “Sorry. Christ, man.” He gripped my hand hard before letting go. He stood a little taller than six feet, I estimated, and had to weigh in excess of two hundred pounds. His blonde hair was buzzed down almost to the scalp. He had vibrant blue eyes. He was wearing a gray Bodytech T-shirt with the sleeves cut off deeply so that it barely covered his chest. The deep cut of the shirt exposed his thick lat muscles. His tan arms were lined with veins. His muscles were thick and deeply defined. He sported a golden tan. He looked to be in his early forties, I judged by the lines from his eyes and mouth. When he smiled again, deep dimples sank into his cheeks. “You know, when I saw your name in the appointment book I wondered if you were really the guy I saw on television this morning.”

  “Well, the odds against there being two Chanse MacLeods in New Orleans are pretty high.” I replied. “Not exactly a common name.”

  “No, it’s not. Have a seat.” he gestured toward the chair. He sat down behind the desk again. “So, what can I do for you?” He narrowed his eyes and scrutinized my body. “You’re pretty solid and in pretty good shape already. What kind of changes are you thinking about making?” He thought for a moment. “I’d recommend trimming down a bit—you’re a big guy. Maybe get a bit leaner? Or do you want to really pack on some muscle size? The shape you’re in, either would be relatively easy to pull off with the right program and diet.”

  “I don’t need a trainer.” I replied. Might as well put my cards on the table, I figured. “I’m here about the Glynis Parrish murder.” I watched his face.

  He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. His face was expression-less. “I kind of figured that’s what this was.” He set his jaw. “I told the police everything I know. And it’s not cool to make an appointment under false pretenses. I’m pretty busy.”

  “That’s smart.” I said. “You should always cooperate with the cops.” I pulled my wallet out and placed it on the desk. “I’m prepared to pay you for your time. I made an appointment for an hour with a trainer.”

  He laughed. “Fifty bucks? That buys you a workout for an hour. Not a conversation about one of my other clients.” He leaned forward and smirked. “I got three tabloids willing to pay me ten grand to tell them everything I know about Glynis. Why should I tell you for fifty bucks?””

  “Okay. Suit yourself.” I put my wallet back in my pocket. “I guess I’ll wait and read what you have to say in line at the grocery store.” I stood up.

  “Wait.”

  I turned and looked at him. He stared at my face. “What you said on TV—about why you got beat up—was that true?”

  I nodded. “As far as I know, yeah.”

  “Do you think—“ he swallowed. “I might be in danger?”

  I managed not to smile in triumph. I sat back down. “That depends on what you know. You sure you don’t want a tabloid payday?” I leaned back in my chair and waited.

  I didn’t have to wait long. He swallowed. “Just because I talk to you doesn’t mean I still can’t sell my story to them.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Well, I don’t really know that much, to tell you the truth. About the murder, I mean.” Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. “I trained Glynis in the mornings, five days a week. On the days when she had an early call, I had to be there at five. The days she didn’t have to be on set, I was there at seven. She always woke up early. She said it was a holdover from the television show—she had to always be up early and her body never adjusted.”

  “Were you there the day she died?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.” He swallowed again, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his neck. “Yeah, I was there that morning.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual about her that day? Did she seem different in any way?”

  “No. She was the same as she always was. Wide awake and ready to go. She was a great client that way—she never complained, never cancelled, and was always ready to work hard. She was into her workouts. I commented on it once and she just said, ‘I have to look great if I want to work.’” He smiled. “We had that in common.” He shifted in his chair, and every muscle in his upper body flexed. “My body is my best advertisement. If I don’t look great, who’s going to hire me? She was the same way.”

  “Did she ever talk about anything personal with you?” Allen had once told me that trainers were like therapists in a way. You pay someone for their attention for an hour, and you start telling them things you didn’t even tell your closest friends.

  “Never.” He shook his head. “When we worked out, it was always about exercise, her diet, things like that. I was her trainer, nothing more.”

  “But you were sleeping with her.”

  His eyes bugged out. “What?” His face turned red. “Where on earth did you hear that?” He started laughing. “Dude, I am not into women. I haven’t slept with a woman since high school.” He whistled. “Not even the cops threw that one at me. Seriously. Who told you that?”

  “You’re gay.” I said. As the truth of the matter hit me, I realized I knew why he looked familiar—he was one of the dick dancers at the Pub. I’d seen him there, up on the bar, shaking his ass for dollars. But Rosemary had been very definite that Brett and Glynis were sleeping together. I remembered the look of distaste on her face when she’d told me.

  “Yes, I’m gay.” He spread his arms apologetically—still managing to flex every muscle as he did so. I was beginning to see what Davina had meant.

  “Rosemary said—“

  “That one?” He interrupted me, making a face. “Please. You can’t believe anything that crazy bitch says.” He spat the words out.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, she’s a freak, man.” He shrugged. “She was always coming in during our sessions, for one thing. It drove me crazy, her always interrupting like that.” He laughed. “Even if I was straight, there was no way I could have been fucking Glynis during our sessions. Rosemary never left us alone long enough for that, you know what I mean? We would have had to do it in like five minutes or less.” He grinned at me. “And I take longer than five minutes.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Arrogant was putting it mildly.

  He went on, “And she was overly friendly—even though I made it clear to her that I was gay from the very beginning. You know how some women never seem to get the message?”

  “What do you mean by overly friendly?”

  He sighed. “You know what I mean—I’m sure you get it too. You know, straight women who always talk about your muscles, how hot you are, wanting me to flex for her…I mean, at first it was flattering, I can’t say that it’s not. I kind of felt sorry for her—Glynis seemed to really keep her hopping. She told me she was relatively new in town, didn’t know anyone, so I kind of always tried to be nice to her. But it was like she took my being nice the wrong way. She started buying me presents. At first, it was just kind of sweet, you know what I mean? Nothing inappropriate, just really nice stuff, like she always had the kind of protein bars I liked. She would have a protein shake ready for me when Glynis and I were finished. She would call me all the time—on the stupidest pretext, like always to verify my appointment times and stuff like that, which didn’t make a lot of sense, because I always did that with Glynis every day before I left. I’m a professional, you know? But at first, it was kind of sweet. I figured s
he was just lonely and wanted someone to talk to. Then it started getting really weird.” He hesitated. “She bought me underwear—which was weird enough—and then would say something like, ‘would love to see you in it’…you know that kind of thing. Would I pose nude for her?” He shook his head. “It started really creeping me out. I let it go as long as I could. Finally this week I told her she had to stop buying me things and calling me all the time. And then she turned on me. She told Glynis I’d said some inappropriate things to her.”

  “Inappropriate how?”

  “She claimed I was always, oh, I don’t know, saying suggestive things to her? Commenting on her figure and so forth, and it was making her uncomfortable and nervous to be around me, the lying bitch. She was the one sexually harassing ME.” He sighed. “I mean, I should be used to it by now—being sexually harassed, I mean. Just because I have this body doesn’t mean its okay to hit on me, you know.”

  I bit my tongue. “Did you confront her about it?”

  “No.” He wrinkled his forehead. “Glynis told me about it that morning. Man, I was pissed.”

  “What did Glynis say about it?”

  “Well, Glynis thought the whole thing was ridiculous. She said she hired me specifically because I was gay—she’d had a bad experience with a straight trainer once, and said she would only hire gay ones from then on. She said she was telling me about it, not because she was mad, or anything, but she thought I should know. She said she would have a talk with Rosemary about it. She told me she would make sure from there on out that Rosemary wouldn’t be there when I came by.”

  “How did Rosemary act toward you that morning?”

  “She ignored me—the way she had ever since I asked her to stop.” He rubbed his eyes. “She would open the front door and just walk away, not even acknowledge me, which you know, was fine with me, the crazy bitch. Chanse, it was fucking freaky the way that woman acted. It may not seem weird to you, but she gave me the creeps. It’s nothing I can put my hand on—but…”

  I steered the conversation back where I wanted it to go. “Glynis never said anything about Freddy Bliss to you?”

  “No. I told you, we never talked about her private life. I tried once to get her to open up about stuff—personal trainers are kind of like therapists. You get to know your clients and their business really well, if you know what I mean. So, I thought it was kind of odd that Glynis never really talked, you know? But she shut me down completely. In a way, it was kind of insulting—you know, made it very clear to me that I was staff, not a friend.” He laughed. “In a way it was cool, though. I do get tired of listening to all that boring shit from clients. But you know, she was a star. She knew famous people. I wouldn’t have minding getting gossip from her.” He snapped his fingers. “I remember what it was. I asked her if Jared Heath”—one of her co-stars from Sportsdesk—“ was as big of a tool as he seemed. She just gave me a look and said, ‘I pay you to train me, not to gossip with.’ I was like, ‘Okay then, let’s do crunches.’”

  I took a business card out of my wallet and handed it over. “If you can think of anything else, give me a call.”

  “You sure you don’t want a trainer?” He asked, smiling at me. Brett looked me up and down again. “We can turn you into a god in no time.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, adding to myself, you cocky, arrogant asshole. I shrugged. “If I do, I’ll give you a call.”

  I walked out of the gym, my mind racing ahead. Davina had been right—I couldn’t remember the last time I’d met such an arrogant peacock. It was entirely possible Rosemary was just being friendly. He, of course, expected everyone he met to want to sleep with him, and would always misinterpret friendliness.

  But why had she lied about him sleeping with Glynis? Revenge, because he’d asked her to stop buying him things?

  That didn’t make a lot of sense. Maybe she had thought he was sleeping with Glynis.

  I was in the neighborhood, so I headed over to Jephtha’s. It was early for him—since Abby worked late nights he kept the same hours. I parked in front of his house and knocked on the door. The dogs started barking. I was just starting to think I should have called first when I heard the deadbolt turn. The door swung open, and Jephtha grinned at me. “Dude, I’d hate to see the other guy.” He yawned. His hair was standing up in every direction. He was wearing Saints sweats.

  “He looks fine now, but that’s because I didn’t have a fair shot at him The next time, he’s losing his teeth.” I walked past him into the house. “Did I wake you?”

  “Shhh, keep it down, Abby’s still asleep.” He yawned again. “You want some coffee?”

  “No thanks.” I shook my head. “Sorry to get you up.”

  “I haven’t been to bed yet.” He led me back into the computer room. He handed me a folder full of paper. “You know me, once I got started digging, I couldn’t sleep until I got everything you wanted.” He yawned and stretched again. “The bed’s going to feel pretty good. Oh, yeah!” He rolled his eyes at me. “You know, it would have saved me a lot of time if you’d told me Freddy’s real name.”

  “Huh?” I kicked myself. Some investigator you are.

  “Freddy Bliss is his professional name. So, when I first, um, gained access to the Emporia State records, I couldn’t find any record of him—because Freddy Bliss didn’t exist back then.” He grinned at me. “So, I had to do some more hunting. I found an interview he did where he talked about going to Emporia State, so then I had to find his birth name.” He winked. “Frederick Bliss Osborne, of Newton, Kansas, enrolled at Emporia State thirteen years ago.”

  “Good work.” I replied, still pissed at myself. Why hadn’t it occurred to me that Freddy Bliss was a stage name?

  But it hadn’t been mentioned in any of the Internet research I’d done, which was kind of unusual. I opened the file and looked at his transcripts. “He wasn’t much of a student, was he?” He’d barely scraped by—mostly C’s. The few B’s he’d earned were offset by an equal number of D’s. Even in acting classes his grades had been average.

  “Skip that shit—that’s not the good stuff, trust me.”

  I turned a few pages. “What’s this?” I scanned the page. I couldn’t help myself, I smiled. And here it is, Mr. Bliss. The big secret you don’t want anyone to know about.

  “It’s a disciplinary hearing.” Jephtha grinned. “They erased it—afterwards. But nothing ever is truly erased from a computer hard drive unless you scrub it completely—and whoever deleted the file thought it was gone. It was still there, on the hard drive. It took me a few hours, but I was able to reconstruct it.” He preened a little bit. “I kick ass, don’t I?”

  I started reading. Karen Zorn, a sophomore, had gone to the dean and accused Freddy Bliss of raping her at a party at Sigma Alpha Epsilon, where Freddy was a brother. She claimed that Freddy had gotten her drunk—feeding her tequila shots--and when she was so drunk she could barely stand, she’d asked if she could go lie down for a while. Freddy had taken her up to his room, and once they were inside, he locked the door and attacked her. She’d tried to scream but he’d put a sock in her mouth and raped her.

  Freddy denied the rape, and two of his fraternity buddies—Bobby Wallace and Tim Dahlke—had sworn that Karen had been chasing Freddy for weeks. Freddy got drunk at the party and had slept with her, but it was consensual; it was her idea. In the morning, Freddy had buyer’s remorse—and Karen threatened to accuse him of rape. And she had. Based on Bobby and Tim’s testimony, the dean had dropped the whole thing.

  I remembered my experiences at Beta Kappa. Would a fraternity brother lie to get another brother out of trouble?

  Hell, yes. They wouldn’t have had to be asked twice. The fraternity mentality was that all women were pieces of garbage to be used and abused—they weren’t people.

  They were just pieces of ass for the brothers to fuck and toss away.

  Oh, yes, I could even understand why the dean would sweep it all under a rug. No uni
versity wants to deal with a campus rape trial.

  It hadn’t helped Karen much that the rape had occurred at a Friday night party, and she’d done nothing about it until the following Monday. There’d been no rape kit, no trip to the emergency room, no police report.

  Poor thing, I thought, getting a little angry. She should have gone to the police. I’d dealt with a few rape victims when I was on the police force, and I could understand her mentality. She was ashamed, she blamed herself, she didn’t want anyone to know about it…and it had taken her a few days to get herself together and decide to do something about it.

  And when she did, Freddy and his fraternity brothers had lied. The dean was more than willing to believe them.

  I wondered what had happened to her.

  “It gets even better.” Jephtha went on. “I dug up the files on her and the other guys. The girl dropped out, and Freddy dropped out the next semester. Bobby and Tim went on to graduate—with honors. But get this—I was curious by now—so I tried to track them down.” He flushed a bit. “I hope you don’t mind. I know you didn’t ask me to do that, so you don’t have to pay me for that.”

  I flipped the page. The next page was the printout of Wichita Herald newspaper clipping from seven years ago. Bobby Wallace was killed in a car crash when his brakes apparently failed. He’d been driving drunk, on his way home from a bar. He’d slammed into a tree and had been killed instantly. According to investigators, there’d been no brake fluid in his car—but he’d just had his car serviced. The lines hadn’t been cut, but the fluid had drained out somehow. The mechanic swore he’d checked the brake fluid.