Picking up on Toby’s thought pattern, Jackson asked, “What just went through your mind, Mr. Bailey?”
“I may be wrong, but I don’t think the painter was gay.” Jackson raised his eyebrows and Toby added, “Now that I think about it, it sounds stupid. But, I think a gay man would’ve used a little more judgement in where he placed the penises.”
Jackson burst out laughing. “Mr. Bailey, I think every man– regardless of his sexual orientation – could occasionally use a little more judgement about where he places his penis.” As Toby grinned, Jackson added, “But I take it that you’re speaking of the artistic placement in this case.” When Toby nodded, he asked, “Isn’t that a tad stereotypical?”
Toby thought over the Detective’s unexpected question. “Maybe, but gay men are all kind of picky about where things are placed.”
When Jackson chuckled again, Toby felt his ears getting hot.
“What are the two of you finding so funny?” Reightman asked as she joined them on the sidewalk.
“Detective Jackson and I were just exchanging our views on artistic placement, Detective Reightman.”
Toby caught Jackson’s eye and had to quickly cover his grin. Reightman looked from one of them to the other, and then shrugged. “If you don’t want to share the joke, that’s fine. It was probably about something I’d find too hard to handle anyway.” Toby thought he heard Jackson stifle a laugh before Reightman added, more seriously, “We stopped by as soon as we could, Toby. I had a message this morning alerting me to the situation, but Detective Jackson and I were both handling something else.”
Toby keyed into something in her tone. “It’s related to Geri’s murder isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mr. Bailey, it is related.” Jackson answered for them both. “This morning Dr. Lieberman was found dead, by apparent suicide.”
When neither of the detectives offered more information, Toby asked, “Is there anything more you can tell me?”
“No, there isn’t. There are a lot of things we’re trying to confirm at this point in the investigation, and we can’t share anything else.”
“Of course you can’t.” Toby eventually replied. “Thank you for coming to tell me.”
“To tell you the truth, we probably shouldn’t have told you that much, but Detective Reightman and I both thought you had the right to hear it from us before it made the news. I don’t know when or if we’ll be able to share more, but this is something.”
Toby looked at the façade of the building, and the reflections cast by the dark windows. He took in the remains of the paint on the brick – paint which had cruelly announced this was where queers died. He contemplated the colored sidewalk, and recalled the words and images he’d seen there this morning. With a flare of blue, he raised his eyes and met each of theirs in turn.
Reightman was struck by the notion his face seemed to have been carved from the light of the afternoon sun, and his pale, unreadable eyes glowed in contrast to the deep shadows cast onto the pavement by the buildings on Capital Street.
“Yes,” Toby Bailey said to Detectives Reightman and Jackson. “It’s something.” He turned without another word, and Sam and Melba watched him as he crossed the street, and vanished up the stairwell hidden, from their sight.
♦♦♦
“Mr. Toby Bailey is an interesting young man,” Sam observed on their way back to the office.
“That’s an unusual thing for you to say.” Melba struggled to adjust her seatbelt, wiggling to find a comfortable position which would afford her a better view of her partner, and provide at least the minimum level of safety that was required when riding anywhere when Sam drove.
After a couple of minutes had passed without a response, Melba considered reaching across and slapping him. “Jackson, would you mind sharing what you mean by that comment?”” When Sam didn’t answer, she estimated her reach. “Before I slap you.”
“I think he’s changed a lot since the murder. He’s waking up, or something, and starting to really see the things around him.”
Melba remembered the look which had kindled in Toby’s eyes earlier. “You may be right, Sam. I’ve noticed he’s been different, but haven’t been able to put my finger on exactly how he’s changed. If he’s waking up, as you put it, it’s a good thing, right?”
Sam turned into the precinct’s parking lot and pulled into the marked space. He pulled his keys from the ignition and turned to her. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on what he sees when he wakes up, and what he decides to do about it.”
They headed down to talk with Tom and Laurie. Tom was just closing the computer found positioned in front of Lieberman that morning, and looked up when Reightman knocked on the dividing partition of his work area. “I thought I would be seeing the two of you about now.”
“Find anything interesting, Tom?”
“Not much beyond what I expected. The computer seems pretty mundane in terms of any additional evidence. All of the prints on it are Lieberman’s, and there doesn’t appear to have been any tampering with the system.”
“Any unusual files or saved images?” Jackson asked, as he pulled out his notebook.
Tom smiled as he took in the sight of Jackson leaning against the partition with his pen poised over a fresh empty page. “Not really, Detective Jackson. It’s the usual stuff you’d expect, along with some pretty explicit man-on-man porn featuring middle-aged men and nubile younger hunks. Mostly, it featured a lot of role playing and light bondage, and one or two scenes where the young handy man or college student ‘accidently’ lost his clothes. Pretty tame stuff by today’s pornography standards.” Tom paused for a moment, looking down at his notes. “The only thing of possible interest is a spreadsheet detailing a number of financial transactions, both credits and debits. It doesn’t have much in the way of identifying markers, just numeric entries.”
“Have you managed to get your hands on his bank records? We might be able to cross reference the entries with the deposits and withdrawals in them with the spreadsheet.” Reightman suggested.
“They’ve been requested. I think we should have them in our possession by midday tomorrow.”
Reightman nodded. “What about the other items; the drinking glasses in the sink, and the liquor and juice bottles?”
“We’ve finished with them as well, Detective. Nothing much there either. The one in the sink had been washed so there is nothing there. The bottle of vodka had Lieberman’s prints, as did the glass on the table.” Tom paused a minute thinking through something and then added, “The prints on the glass were pretty smudged, almost like something had been placed on top of them – like they’d been blotted.”
The two Detectives let that run through their minds for a moment or two and then Reightman had a thought. “Could it have been–”
“Hey, Detectives,” interrupted Laurie as she came around the corner and stepped into the space. “I think I’ve found not just one, but two things you need to be aware of.”
Reightman tried to recapture her thought, but finally gave up. “We’re all ears, Laurie. What’ve you found?”
“Well you know those eye glasses Mitchell found?”
“We do indeed, Laurie,” Jackson answered while all three of them remembered the hijinks from the morning. “Did you pick up a print?”
Laurie shook her curly head. “No. Well, there were prints, but they all belonged to the two goobers caught horsing around while not wearing gloves. The thing about the eyeglasses is, they’re not prescription. The lenses are just glass set into the frames.”
“They’re not real eyeglasses?” Tom asked as he stood from his chair.
“Nope. They’re what are referred to as a fashion accessory.”
“Why would anyone wear something like that?” Reightman asked. “And why were they at the scene?”
“People wear them to look smarter or more corporate, or just to go with an outfit, I think. I don’t know why they were at the scene. In fact, based on where Mitch
ell found them, they could’ve been there for some time – maybe since Doctor Lieberman’s mother still lived in the house. Maybe someone just dropped them while visiting.”
“Was there dust on them, Laurie?” Jackson asked, looking up from the notes he was taking.
Laurie considered his question. “No, Detective, they didn’t appear to be dusty. They are a little scrapped up like they have been worn a lot, but no dust. Why’s that important?”
It was Tom who answered. “Laurie, the Detective asked because if they’ve been sitting in the house for several months, they should have some dust on them, even if they were under the sofa all this time.”
Laurie nodded as she considered Tom’s explanation, storing it as a good piece of ad-hoc training. “But nothing in the house was dusty.”
“Maybe Lieberman cleaned,” Reightman suggested. “We did find that rag in the kitchen.”
“That’s the other thing, ma’am. The rag’s actually a t-shirt and it’s a really large one, but what’s really unusual is that it was also knotted up, and….” The young crime tech paused dramatically to make sure she had their attention. “The rag was covered in saliva.”
“Like someone spit on it?”
“No, ma’am, unless someone spit and then just kept spitting. It’s like it’s been in someone’s mouth.”
“Is the saliva Lieberman’s?” Jackson was writing frantically.
“I don’t know, sir. I have taken it down for Doctor Bridges to determine if it’s a match. We’ll see what she has to tell us.”
“Thank you, Laurie. Let us know what she determines.” Jackson turned a page in his notebook and continued writing.
“Tom, why would there be so much saliva on the cloth?”
“Who knows, Detective Reightman?” Tom answered. “It may have had some connection to Lieberman’s little movies. There were a couple of scenes where one man put a handkerchief or cloth into another’s mouth while he then proceeded to ‘ravish’ him. Maybe Lieberman was imagining himself in a starring role.”
“Thanks for the visual.” Reightman tried to erase the image of Lieberman being ravished and focused on his explanation. “I guess it’s possible.” She thought through other scenarios which would explain the wet cloth and offered the only one that made sense. “What if someone came into the house, or was let in by Lieberman? What if they engaged in a little roleplay? “
Jackson looked up from his notes. “Tom, you indicated money was missing from the briefcase in the master bedroom.”
“That’s right, it did appear some amount was missing,” Tom confirmed, “although there’s no way to determine how much was actually in it to start.
“Maybe he hired a hustler,” Reightman suggested as she tied the missing money to her theory of why the rag was wet.
“That sounds almost plausible, Reightman,” her partner said, jotting down the thought. “And if I accept that, the next question is, could their roleplay have gotten out of hand?”
“Are you suggesting Lieberman died while engaging in some fun with a hustler, Detective?”
“I’m not suggesting anything yet. But, now that you mention it, is it so far-fetched?”
Tom leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling while he thought about Jackson’s question. “I can buy the idea he hired someone to tickle his fancy, and maybe I can accept the idea of things getting out of hand. But, I don’t see how an average, garden variety hustler managed to cover up an accidental death and make it look very convincingly like suicide.”
“Stranger things have happened, but I guess I’d have to agree with you right now, Tom,” Then she had another thought. “Lieberman’s private entertainment might explain the glasses. Maybe they belong to the person he hired.”
“Detective Reightman, as tempting as you make it sound, we’ve been over the entire scene very thoroughly. There’s no evidence suggesting anyone was in the house when Lieberman died.”
“Then how do you explain the glasses?”
He shrugged. “There may not be anything to explain. They could have been there for a long time.”
They were back at square one. For some reason, the lack of dust on the glasses continued to bother her. “Jackson, can you have the Wonder Twins canvas the neighborhood and see if anyone saw somebody new in the area that evening? I want to make sure we’ve covered all the bases on this.”
Jackson looked up from his notes. “I think it’s a longshot, but I’ll have them ask around.”
After Jackson had moved away from the cubicle to carry out her instruction, Reightman moved to the next item on her mental list. “Anything related to the gun?”
“I’ve confirmed the bullet came from the gun found at the scene, Reightman, and prints on the gun match Lieberman’s.”
“So, it appears he pulled the trigger himself, then.” Her theory about an unknown person being present when the doctor died seemed even more remote, but there were still a couple of unanswered questions in her mind. “Tom, did you draw anymore conclusions from the suicide note?”
“Not really, Detective. It appears to be pretty cut and dried.”
“How about the extra letters?”
“You’re referring to the lowercase ‘b’ and ‘j?” he asked before shaking his head. “I really think it was a finger-fumble.”
“It could be a clue Lieberman left about the identity of a killer.”
Tom turned and picked up his printed copy of the note from his desk. “It could be, I guess. It could also be a two letter description of his best gift of the evening, which he received from the mysterious hit-man hustler.” When she raised an eyebrow in his direction, he toned down his sarcasm. “It’s possible, but I think it’s just a case of his fingers hitting the keys inadvertently. By all accounts, he was pretty out of it.”
Jackson returned from making his call and after listening to the last part of Tom’s commentary, added, “Sometimes the simplest possible explanation is the right one. You know that as well as any of us.”
Reightman sighed heavily and rolled her shoulders to loosen the tension. “You’re right, Jackson. I guess I’m not ready to buy Lieberman just upped and offed himself, and I’m sure not ready to accept it as the whole explanation.”
“I think it may be the whole explanation,” Jackson told her firmly. “Lieberman knew we were going to find him sooner or later, and he didn’t have many options. He probably arranged a little evening entertainment for himself and once that was done, he decided he might as well go out with a –”
“Don’t even finish the thought, Jackson,” Reightman said with a grimace. “I get your point. I think we’re done here, so we should head downstairs and see what the coroner has to tell us.”
Dr. Bridges was just coming through the doors from the examination room when Reightman and Jackson walked through the door to the morgue suite. “Detectives, you have perfect timing. Dr. Evans is ready for you. Do you remember the way back to her office?”
“We know the way,” Jackson answered before he and Reightman walked through the door that Bridges held open for them.
Evans’ door was open as they arrived and catching sight of them she waved them in. “Come on in. Let me just finish up with my last few notes.” Reightman and Jackson each took one of the chairs in front of the desk and waited for her to finish. “I’ve just finished up with Lieberman,” she began, looking up from the notes in front of her. “Let me summarize what I have found, and you can ask about anything that comes to mind as we go along.”
Reightman and Jackson signaled their agreement with her approach and waited for Dr. Evans to begin.
“Let me start with the basics. Doctor Lieberman – although grossly overweight – was in fairly good physical condition otherwise, although there was a slight enlargement to his liver. That indicates he probably consumed a lot of alcohol on a regular basis and would’ve eventually suffered from health issues as a result. There were no indications his other organs were anything but healthy.” She looked
up to check that they were following, and then continued. “My examination did find Lieberman had ejaculated a few hours before his death, although there are no other indications of sexual activity.”
Reightman was curious as to how the doctor had come to her conclusion, but decided it wasn’t germane. She didn’t really want to know, anyway.
“Lieberman did have a large quantity of alcohol in his system at the time of death,” Evans noted, “and significant levels of sedative as well. That wasn’t unexpected, but there was one item of interest.”
“What was that, Doctor?” Reightman asked.
“Although there was a lot of alcohol in his system, not all had made its way into his bloodstream. It appears he finished a significant amount only twenty to thirty minutes before his death, and it had not fully metabolized into his bloodstream.”
Jackson looked up from his notetaking. “Why is that of interest, Doctor Evans?”
“Because, given his size, the alcohol in his system was not enough, in my opinion, to account for his presumed lack of motor skills which could explain the state of typing present in the suicide note.”
“You mean, he wasn’t drunk enough to be that inept or clumsy?” Reightman suggested.
“That’s exactly what I mean. There may have been other contributing factors; among them poor typing skills, or perhaps despondency or maybe even fear. Of course, the sedatives he ingested would have contributed as well.”
Reightman could hear Jackson’s pen scratching on paper as she tried to form her next question. “Could he have been afraid of something or someone, Doctor?”
“Perhaps, Detective. I suppose he could have felt fear, regret, apprehension about the means and the process of taking his own life, depressed, or even excitement as he realized the end was near. The options are limited only by his unique and unknowable mental and emotional boundaries. Does that answer your question?”
“Yes, it does.”
“There’s not much more to add. Death did occur from the shot to the head. The entry and exit paths, and the way in which the matter left the side of the head, suggest the gun was placed to his left temple and fired once. The angle of entry suggests Lieberman pulled the trigger himself.”
Done Rubbed Out: Reightman & Bailey Book One Page 35
