by Mark Zubro
Fenwick said, “This ‘we’ is not even close to the edge. You don’t want to see over the edge.”
Turner said, “Ian, what have you found out?”
Ian said, “I have uncovered unpleasant things about Bryner. I know what happened in Iowa. It’s very strange.” Ian glanced at his notes. Turner wiped at his forehead. Perspiration flooded from their bodies, leaving damp patches on clothes and any surface they touched.
Ian said, “At a college graduation party fifteen years ago, a young freshman died. Bryner’s boyfriend.”
“He killed his own boyfriend?” Turner asked.
“Nothing was ever proven. Nobody was ever arrested. They were both at the same party, but no evidence existed beyond that simple, ordinary fact. Amazingly, I couldn’t find evidence of any kind about the case. Either the Des Moines police are exceptionally closed mouthed…”
“Or you’re losing your touch,” Fenwick said.
Ian said, “Back off, Elizabeth, there’s a brick in this purse.”
“Or,” Turner said, “there was someone very powerful who got the whole thing buried.”
Ian added, “Or the Des Moines police are totally incompetent and messed things up completely.”
Turner said, “Zuyland said Belger and Callaghan specialized in frightening closeted gay men. Could the two of them have found out about Bryner?”
“In Iowa? I suppose it’s possible, but the problem would have been the same for them as it was for me. For whatever reason, there isn’t anything there to find. Even the small bit of information I’ve told you, came from two people who had been at the same party, but who claimed not to know Bryner.”
“Dead end there,” Fenwick said.
Turner said, “Unless Belger and Callaghan got beyond the cover-up, maybe cop to cop. We could talk to Bryner again.”
Ian said, “Then I checked into the possibility Fenwick mentioned at Dunkin’ Donuts that maybe some other leather people might be trying to wreck this convention out of malice or a desire for vengeance or an attempt to destroy the competition. Nope. My sources say the organizers of the other leather events around the country, and even internationally, informally boycotted this one. Nobody specific was behind it, that I could find. What Bryner told you when you interviewed him the first time seems to be true. Just none of them showed up. And it drove them nuts that thousands came to this thing.”
Turner said, “I got it. The killer is not among the elite leather crowd in this country.”
Ian said, “Right. What happened with Scanlan?”
Turner filled him in.
Ian said, “Bryner for sure didn’t kill Scanlan?”
“The evidence says not.”
Ian said, “Sentence first, trial later said the red queen.”
“Or not at all,” Fenwick said.
Turner said, “Boyle has to be in the thick of covering up Callaghan’s mistake. Has to be. What’s the connection between those two?”
Ian said, “Callaghan must have pictures of Boyle naked at high noon with a prostitute in Daley Center Plaza.”
Fenwick said, “Or a connection that’s at least as possible or plausible.”
“They aren’t relatives,” Ian said.
Turner cocked an eyebrow at him.
Ian said, “I figured Boyle had to be in on this. I checked. It is not familial.”
“They’re both gay?” Turner asked. “They share secret rendezvous? They’re into illegal drugs and guns?”
Fenwick interrupted, “Or they’re fucking morons.”
“Or all of the above,” Ian said.
“Boyle will never talk,” Turner said.
Fenwick said, “Gotta be something or someone who can break through his wall.”
Turner said, “I’m open to suggestions.”
They had none. Ian left to try and scrounge up information on Scanlan’s activities after he’d been released. Turner got back to the tapes, and Fenwick returned to doing paperwork.
A half hour later, Turner said, “What the fuck?”
Fenwick looked up. “What?”
Turner moved the cart so Fenwick could see the television. Turner ran the tape back for a few seconds then ran it forward.
Turner said, “Scanlan was at the booth with Belger.”
They both examined the tape frame by frame. Scanlan had no visible interaction with Belger, but it was definitely the young man.
“What does this mean?” Fenwick said.
“That kid was knee deep in shit. He’s dead because he knew something.”
“Logical conclusion. Doesn’t help. He’s dead.”
Turner tossed the remote aside and said, “Where’s Fong?” Without waiting for Fenwick to answer, he picked up the phone and dialed the computer guru’s extension. He got someone he didn’t know. “Send him up to the detective squad room when he gets in,” Turner ordered.
“Is there something I can help you with?” The voice sounded to Turner like that of a fifteen year old.
“Can you put what’s on a tape onto a cell phone?” Turner demanded.
“Sure. I’ll be right up.”
Turner gazed at the receiver, then hung up.
“What?” Fenwick asked.
Turner said, “Something in this station works.”
“You can count on Fong.”
“Wasn’t Fong.”
A minute or two later a skinny, red-headed guy who looked like he was still in high school walked up to Turner’s desk. He had a bundle of wires and small plastic gadgets in his hands.
“Who are you?” Turner asked.
“I’m the night shift guy for Mr. Fong. Wendell.”
Turner asked, “You do computer stuff?”
“Yes, sir.”
“As good as Fong?”
“Sure.”
Turner relented. He explained to the young man what he wanted. Wendell thought for thirty seconds after Turner finished. As Turner’s heart sank, Wendell said, “I can do it. No problem.”
Fifteen minutes later, a spaghetti bowl of wires connected the television, a laptop, Turner’s cell phone, and other electronic devices. Five minutes after that the kid said, “All done.” He showed Turner how to work the cell phone to get the video of the portion of Scanlan at the party.
Turner said, “It works.”
Fenwick came over. He clapped Wendell on the shoulder with a big hand. The kid almost fell over. “Nice job,” the detective said.
Wendell beamed. “You let me know if you need anything else.”
“I want to look at that video again of the original incident.”
Fenwick said, “Better than slogging through this crap.”
And so they watched. After the third time through the extended-version six-minute melodrama they had from Zuyland, the reporter, Fenwick said, “What exactly are we looking for?”
“It’s wrong,” Turner said.
“You think somebody edited it to make them look worse? How can they look worse? It accomplished what Zuyland wanted it to accomplish. Callaghan got in a heap of trouble.”
“But the trouble made no difference to him.”
“Well, yeah, not yet, it’s still going through procedures.”
“Look at that damn thing. Any normal guy would be worried about losing his job. Callaghan isn’t.”
Fenwick said, “We’re going to look at it again, aren’t we?”
“Yep.”
Eighteen minutes and three more viewings later, Turner said, “That’s what’s missing.” He rewound the tape. “Look, just before the fight, Belger and Preston the bartender. They’re conferring. Then it looks like Belger started in again on Callaghan. The real fighting started later, but in the very beginning Belger provokes Callaghan.” He hit play then thirty seconds later, he hit pause. “See, it’s staged.”
“I don’t know,” Fenwick said. “Looks pretty real to me.”
“Parts of it. And Belger and Preston didn’t have to do much acting. Belger and Preston were in on it wi
th Dinning, the recorder. And if they were in it with Dinning and Dinning knew Zuyland then Belger and Preston were in it with Zuyland. The whole thing was staged to get Callaghan.”
They got Dinning’s address from their notes. Turner and Fenwick headed up to Belmont Avenue. “If it was a conspiracy,” Fenwick said, “and Belger is dead, why aren’t the others dead?”
“But maybe we’re the only ones who figured out it was a conspiracy. Callaghan might not know. The idiots of the world can show a remarkable amount of cunning and a strong sense of self-preservation. And because they’re idiots, doesn’t mean they aren’t predators, and maybe the danger is more random for the lack of finesse. They just strike out at any random thing. It might not be well planned, but it is still just as deadly.”
“Belger’s death wasn’t random.”
Turner said, “His corpse does kind of complicate things.”
FORTY-ONE
They pulled off Lake Shore Drive. Moments later they were parked illegally in the bus stop on Belmont near Broadway. They walked back to Dinning’s. It was four AM on Sunday. Not the slightest whiff of a breeze interrupted the misery of their damp torsos.
It took five minutes for Dinning to answer Fenwick’s pounding. Anxiety and fear filled Dinning’s eyes as he opened the door to them. Besides a frown that deepened the sadness of his brown eyes, he wore only a pair of tight, white athletic shorts that emphasized the slimness of his hips. Moments later they heard a voice ask, “Raoul, who is it?” Ralph Zuyland entered the room in a yellow T-shirt, maroon shorts, and flip flops.
“Getting an exclusive?” Fenwick asked.
“This isn’t what you think,” Zuyland said.
Dinning’s hurt tones thrummed as he said, “You told me there wouldn’t be any more lies.”
Turner said, “I think it’s exactly what I think it is. We’re going to talk.”
Zuyland and Dinning sat on opposite ends of a leather couch. Turner and Fenwick faced them in armless easy chairs, the kind Turner hated.
Fenwick asked Zuyland, “Are you gay?”
“What difference does it make?”
“What were you doing in that washroom when you got tasered?” Fenwick asked.
“Nothing. Using the washroom. Because I’m gay in a washroom doesn’t mean I’m preying on random straight people.”
Fenwick said, “They just happened to trap you.”
Zuyland said, “Yes.”
Turner said, “But the incident in the bar didn’t just happen. It was a total set up.”
Zuyland said, “I told you it was.”
Turner said, “Preston and Belger were in it with you.”
Zuyland said, “You can’t prove that. They haven’t said anything.”
“You just did,” Turner said. “Belger can’t, but Preston will. It’ll all unravel.”
Dinning said, “I can’t take this. Yes, yes, it was all a set up.”
Zuyland gaped.
Dinning turned his sorrowful eyes on him. “You may be used to this, but this is it. I was made a fool of. I won’t be used anymore.”
Zuyland had the grace not to plead some flimsy excuse.
Turner asked, “Why did Belger and Preston go along with the conspiracy?”
Zuyland said, “I told you. I’m a good investigative reporter. They had grievances. They had problems. Belger hated his partner. He hated Boyle. Hell, as far as I could tell he hated everyone including himself.”
“But weren’t you angry at him as well?” Turner asked.
Zuyland smirked. “One at a time. One at a time.”
“Did you know the bartender had sex with both of them?” Fenwick asked.
The smirk disappeared in a jaw-dropping gape. “She told me she didn’t like them. She told me she needed money. I gave her a great deal. Belger helped to convince her.”
“Why did Belger go along?”
“I convinced him that I could prove his partner was setting him up. Belger was paranoid anyway. I just fed his fear. And he wasn’t the brightest bulb.”
“And was Callaghan setting him up?” Turner asked.
Fenwick added, “With the Feds? You have an ‘in’ to the Feds?”
Zuyland said, “I have an ‘in’ everywhere. And I’m willing to use any edge I can. And if I don’t have it, I’m willing to make it up. I’m used to investigating. Don’t get all high and mighty with me. You cops make it up as well. Usually I’m believed. I have kept my job all these years based on my reputation for getting it right. And Belger was a worrier. He’s the one who worried about them being caught.” He thumped his chest. “I told him only he had complaints in his file, not Callaghan. He figured he was going to be put out as the fall guy. I helped that notion, along with stories I told him that intimated that I had an inside track on the latest Federal investigation of Chicago police. All I did was stoke his own paranoia.”
“Maybe it got him killed,” Turner said. “If it did, you’re an accessory to murder.”
Zuyland said, “I didn’t kill anybody.”
Fenwick said, “You were challenging cops. You may or may not have known how dangerous that was, but you involved innocent people in your anger and your conspiracy.”
“We were all angry. We’d all been fucked over by the cops. We knew what we were doing.”
“How’d you know about their files?” Turner asked.
“Friends and sources and people on the side of decent people who wanted these guys to go down. To bring them down in any way it could happen; through the law, through screaming headlines, through news video, whatever it took. Callaghan first. Then Belger.”
Turner said, “You’re also responsible for Callaghan turning on Belger. You gave Callaghan false information as well.”
“Are you saying Callaghan killed Belger?” Zuyland asked.
Fenwick said, “This isn’t a scoop, and if I were you, I’d worry more about being a suspect than a reporter at this moment.”
“Did you kill Belger?” Turner asked.
“Don’t be absurd.”
Fenwick said, “But you betrayed Belger.”
Zuyland said, “I’d have betrayed anybody.”
Dinning gasped. “Including me?”
The ill-clad Zuyland gaped at his barely-clad overnight host.
Turner asked, “Do you guys know Delmar Cotton and Bill Grant?”
They spoke simultaneously. “Yes,” Dinning said.
“No,” Zuyland said.
“Well, well, well,” Fenwick said. “You were all in on it. I guess we’ll have to talk to Cotton and Grant again.”
Zuyland said, “They were just among the guys who had grievances.”
Dinning said, “Don’t lie. They were part of the planning.”
“Fine,” Zuyland said. “They helped us plan the bar incident. That’s all. We didn’t, and they didn’t have anything to do with the murder.”
Dinning said, “I never heard anybody plan murder. Ever.”
“What about the cops who helped you that night?” Fenwick asked.
Dinning said, “You told me they just showed up.”
Zuyland blushed. “I didn’t mean to lie. They have nothing to do with this. Nothing. And I won’t give you their names. I won’t. They’re not gay. They weren’t at the Black and Blue party. I just won’t. Arrest me if you need to, but I won’t.”
Fenwick and Turner let a silence build. Dinning refused to look at Zuyland. Turner didn’t hold out much hope for wedding cake and a commitment ceremony. He asked, “When did you guys start your relationship?”
“This afternoon after you talked to us,” Dinning said.
“Newlyweds,” Fenwick said.
The detectives left.
Fenwick asked, “Zuyland is gay? And all of our guys left something out. I hate that.”
“I’m going to have to have my gaydar chip examined. It was never very good in the first place. I just hope they don’t take the toaster back.”
“Toaster?” Fenwick asked.
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br /> “The one we get when we sign up for being gay.”
“Attempts at humor at this hour of the morning are a Class A felony.”
Turner yawned then said, “If you arrest me, will I be able to get some sleep?”
“Not unless I get some, too.”
Turner said, “We gotta go back round and round again, but I dunno. I don’t picture those guys being able to plan murder. Grant, Cotton, and Dinning are ordinary guys who would be showing some level of upset at committing murder.”
“Zuyland?” Fenwick asked.
“I think he’d run over his grandmother with a bus if he needed it for a story or to get even.”
In the car Fenwick said, “Dinning is hot. Zuyland is not. Explain them being together.”
“I don’t have a clue. Ask the goddess. Or ask Madge why she stays married to you.”
“Zing.”
Turner said, “Grant and Cotton lied to us.”
“They all lied to us. They were all in on the conspiracy.”
“Organized by Zuyland.”
“They kill Belger?” Fenwick asked.
“He was part of the conspiracy.”
“Maybe some of the planners weren’t telling the whole truth to the rest of the planners.”
Turner said, “It was a dual conspiracy.”
“Huh?”
Turner said, “Boyle et al were out to get Belger. Zuyland et al were out to get Belger and Callaghan. Their paths crossed. Their conspiracies crossed.”
“They were all in on it?”
“All of them were mucking around. Some in over their heads like Dinning or maybe he was just on the periphery, maybe the same for Cotton and Grant. That doesn’t account for Callaghan’s clean file and who is protecting him and why.”
Fenwick said, “We can’t prove any of that.”
“We’ll use your method,” Turner said. “We’ll shoot them all.”
Fenwick said, “Finally, a convert.”
Turner said, “Grant and Cotton first.” It was five in the morning but the two men weren’t home. Turner checked his notes and found Grant’s cell phone number. The two men were still at the Black and Blue party. He ordered them to wait there for them.
This time the detectives simply bulled past the door wards. Turner’s exhaustion was as palpable as the humidity. They took Sanchez and Deveneaux with them.
