Empty Promises (25 page)

The detectives then verified Gareth's story further by checking the records of the Yellow Cab Company. Their trip records showed one call to Duerksen's apartment complex on December 14. "Our cab number 45 went out there in the morning at ten A.M. He took the fare on a round-trip to the Central Loan pawnshop," the cab manager reported. "The guy went in and came back a few minutes later. He was driven back to his home address. He tipped five dollars on a ten-dollar fare."
The physical description of the taxi passenger matched Gareth Leifbach. Leifbach had already admitted that he purchased the gun, but he hadn't mentioned that he picked it up only nine hours before Larry Duerksen was shot. He had told the University of Washington police that he and Larry had the gun for three days before they decided to get rid of it on the afternoon of December 14. It was a small variation on the truth. Was it significant? Minor inconsistencies in recollection don't matter much in ordinary life, but they can be crucial in a murder investigation.
Detectives Homan and Tando drove to the dead man's apartment and picked up Gareth Leifbach for a trip to Homicide for an interview. After reading and signing his rights admonishment, Gareth again launched into a strange monologue about his homosex
uality, his fight with the army, and the huge lawsuit he had filed against the army.
His attitude seemed inappropriate. The only way to describe his attitude was grandiose; the grief he'd shown right after his roommate was shot was no longer evident, and the change was startling. "I'm into a heavy schedule of appearances and speeches for my cause," he said proudly. "I've had a lot of publicity. You've probably seen me on television."
Homan nodded noncommittally. He had heard the guy was pretty full of himself, but he had never seen him on television. The tall, easygoing detective asked Gareth about his life, and how he and Larry had met.
Gareth said he was born in Battle Creek, Michigan, on June 9, 1958, and joined the U.S. Army on August 7, 1977. He was honorably discharged on November 2, 1979. He had met Larry Duerksen for the first time the month before his discharge. "He wrote to me and I wrote back, and we began to talk on the phone," he said.
He told Homan that Larry proved to be a really loyal friend who readily threw in his lot with Gareth. He said they'd planned to tour for gay rights together. Gareth Leifbach was affable during the interview, bristling only once when Detective Mike Tando asked him to define his relationship with Larry. "That's too personal to discuss," he said imperiously.
If he expected the detectives to voice any opinion one way or the other about his lifestyle, he was disappointed; they didn't care. They wanted only to solve his roommate's murder, and in that sense, it might matter whether the men were lovers as well as friends.
Once more, Gareth repeated his version of the events of Friday, December 14. He was precise in his recall of the phone calls from the stranger— the man
who had called Larry and him faggots on December 12 and again on December 14. And this time, he included in the day's events his trip to pick up the gun. Yes, now he recalled that he'd bought it the day Larry died.
Gareth told about his lunch at the pizza place and recalled that it was raining so hard, his jacket had been soaked through and didn't dry until the next day. It was almost as if he had noted the investigators' doubting expressions during his first interview. Now his version dovetailed smoothly with the facts as Homan and Tando knew them. "I showed the gun to Larry when he got home around one-thirty, and he loaded it," he said. "He stepped out to empty the trash, and when he came back he said 'Gareth, we shouldn't have gotten a gun. If someone wants to get us, they will anyway.' So Larry suggested we throw it off the bridge. I called a yellow cab and we took the gun, without the ammo, and threw it off the Aurora Bridge."
But they already knew that the cab company had no record of a second call to the victim's address on December 14. Gareth insisted that he and Larry had thrown the gun away. He even described the cabbie who'd driven them to the bridge: "A bald guy with a big mustache. Didn't say much."
Gareth insisted that he had no idea whom Larry planned to meet "to discuss business" with on the campus at six o'clock that evening. All he knew was that Larry had promised to return within an hour.
There is one axiom that detectives count on: If none of the facts match, be careful. But if a witness or suspect remembers details
too
precisely, be very, very careful. Gareth Leifbach remembered the day his
friend (and probable lover) was murdered as if he had a photographic memory.
"After he left," Gareth continued. "I watched Walter Cronkite and then
All in the Family.
Tami Scott called about eight o'clock, and we discussed a party we were going to go to on Saturday. Right after that, the hospital called and said Larry had been shot and that he'd 'expired.' " Gareth said he was so distraught that he'd called Tami back at once and asked her to come over. Then the police from the University of Washington arrived to question him. The story Gareth was telling Homan and Tando made a weird kind of sense. The victim had talked of threats, even though his stories were so bizarre that his friends doubted them. Maybe Larry hadn't been crying wolf after all. He had walked away from the apartment to meet someone, still unidentified, and he had been shot to death. Maybe there was some wacko out there who hated "faggots" so much that he would actually murder a campaigner for gay rights. If that was true, then Gareth Leifbach was probably even more of a target than Larry Duerksen had been.
Something niggled at Tando and Homan: Leifbach's bravado, his love of publicity, and the fact that his story continued to change, however imperceptibly, troubled them.
"Was Larry nervous that night?" Tando asked, suddenly. "Did he act frightened about his meeting?"
"Yeah… yeah, he did seem kind of nervous," Gareth agreed.
Duane Homan and Mike Tando obtained a search warrant for Larry Duerksen's apartment. Although Gareth had given permission for a first, more casual, search, they now looked in every drawer, every corner.
When they were finished, they were convinced there was no gun there.
Gareth Leifbach showed the detectives his few belongings. And again, he couldn't resist bragging about his fame. He opened his attaché case and pulled out a handful of articles written about him.
The detectives swabbed Leifbach's left hand, telling him this was routine, that a neutron activation analysis test would show if he had fired a gun recently. At this point, it was a "psychological swabbing" rather than one that might detect gun debris. Leifbach had probably washed his hands dozens of times since Larry's death.
But Gareth appeared apprehensive about the test. "Maybe it would show positive," he offered, "because I handled the gun before I threw it away."
"No," they said. "Only if you fired it."
"Well, I haven't fired any gun, especially that Beretta."
His vehemence about this made the detectives hold their breath. They half-expected him to say more, but he didn't. The neutron test surprised him and, for the first time, seemed to throw him off stride. In moments, however, Gareth Leifbach was his old confident self.
Detective George Marberg, working the third watch, found himself in the Homicide offices at 3:40 A.M., taking a phone call from Larry Duerksen's father, who was calling from Nebraska. Still reeling from the shock of learning that his son was gay, he now had to deal with the fact that Larry had been murdered. He promised to help detectives in any way he could. "I talked to Gareth the night Larry died," the elder Duerksen said. "He said something about Larry having insurance policies and that Larry had made him the beneficiary of those policies."
Larry's father said the only policy he knew about
was one for $10,000 that was part of the benefits package provided by his employment at the University of Washington. He said he himself was listed as the beneficiary of that policy. He was surprised to hear that there had been other policies. It didn't make sense, not for a single man with no dependents. Marberg said he would check further on this new information.
"Larry told me he was homosexual about six months ago," the elder Duerksen said. "I don't know anything about his life in Seattle, though."
University of Washington investigators advised that they had talked with Larry Duerksen's supervisor at the library. "The witness reports she had lunch with Larry on the fourteenth," the follow-up read. "He told her that he and Gareth were supposed to meet with a man from the Dorian Society [a gay support group in Seattle] at the base of the George Washington statue that night to discuss publicity for Gareth Leifbach's case."
Homan and Tando shook their heads. Why on earth would they meet outside in the dark in a driving rainstorm when they could have met with the Dorian representative in their apartment? To back up their growing suspicions, the detectives checked with the Dorian Society to see if anyone there knew of such a meeting. Nobody did.
If he and Larry had planned to meet the activist, why hadn't Gareth mentioned it to Tando and Homan? He had repeatedly assured them that he didn't know where Larry was going that night. The investigators approached the problem from another angle, brainstorming possible scenarios. "Okay," Tando began. "The witness said she saw two men— who seemed to be very close companions— sharing an umbrella. Is it possible that Gareth led Larry out into the dark campus on the pretext of some secret meeting, which never existed?"
"Possible, sure— but why?" Homan asked. "What would Gareth Leifbach hope to gain if Larry died? He had a lot more to gain by keeping him as his strongest supporter if he wanted to continue to gain publicity. Larry apparently idolized him."
"Larry was afraid of something," Tando said, repeating what they already knew. "All those people he worked with at the library verify that. They're telling us he was obsessed with the idea that someone was going to kill him. He was really scared. This wasn't his usual tall tale."

* * *

The investigation became increasingly puzzling. Sergeant Don Cameron received a frantic phone call from Gareth Leifbach. "About thirty minutes ago," he said, his voice trembling, "I got another of those calls! The guy said, 'I got Larry and I'll get you if it takes a year!' "
"Why did you wait a half hour to report this?" Cameron asked.
"I don't know," Leifbach answered. "I think I'm just going to stay in my apartment. I'm very frightened."
No sooner had Cameron hung up— after promising to see about putting a tap on Leifbach's phone— than he received a phone call from the Seattle Police Department's communications center. "A guy just called— sounded young, probably Caucasian," the officer reported. "He said, 'Tell Sergeant Cameron I killed Larry Duerksen and I will kill Gareth Leifbach… or whatever his bastard name is.' "
The caller had, of course, refused to give his name. Either there was an assassin out there stalking gay activists, or someone wanted the homicide detectives to believe there was. Unfortunately, the anonymous call had come in on a business line and was not recorded, as a 911 call would have been.
Detective Darryl Stuver of the University of Washington police and the three Seattle detectives assigned to the case were working almost full time now, trying to ferret out the truth behind Larry Duerksen's murder. Larry had told almost everyone he knew that he'd been threatened, but no one had believed him. A check with the phone company elicited the information that Duerksen had gone so far as to call a representative on October 8 to report that he had received six threatening calls, but he hadn't requested a tap or any follow-up from Pacific Northwest Bell.
All of the investigators working on his murder had come to have doubts not only about Larry Duerksen's respect for the truth but also about Gareth Leifbach's. The two were so much alike— both given to braggadocio and elaborate exaggeration. Which one had lied? Or had both of them lied? Or neither?
Now Gareth was the only flesh-and-blood suspect they had. But they still had no motive. If it was he who shot Larry Duerksen, they didn't know why. No one who knew them recalled so much as a minor argument between them. They seemed to be genuinely fond of each other and united in their friendship.
Larry's father thought that his son had a $10,000 insurance policy that was connected to his job at the library, but the detectives couldn't find it. The only insurance policy they found was a $10,000 policy on Gareth Leifbach's life. He explained that he had taken that out because of the dangers inherent in activist work. After all, he reminded them, he was the figurehead of gay rights and he was taking on the U.S. Army.
There had to be other insurance policies, if only they could locate them. "Larry told me Gareth suggested that he take out a large policy too," one of his close
friends said, "with each of them— Larry and Gareth— being the beneficiary of the other's policy."
A reporter from the
Seattle Gay News
interviewed the investigators, telling them that he had already interviewed Gareth. "Leifbach told me about the threats Larry Duerksen got," the reporter said. "Leifbach thinks the killer is someone from the library."
"Why?" Duane Homan asked, amazed.
"Because Duerksen's phone number was unlisted," the reporter explained. "No one had his number beyond Leifbach and the people at the library."
The new controversy involving Leifbach was, of course, front-page news for the gay paper. The man was a magnet for trouble and intrigue and he made wonderful copy.
On December 19, Lieutenant Dougherty and Detective Darryl Stuver reported that their department had come upon some startling new information: An insurance policy had been taken out on Larry Duerksen's life. It was written by the Prudential Life Insurance Company, and their records revealed that the payoff on the policy was $500,000.
The beneficiary? Gareth Leifbach. The policy was brand new— in force for only one week at the time of Larry Duerksen's murder. He and Gareth had approached a company representative on December 7 and arranged to insure each other's lives. But Gareth's policy had been written for a fifth of Larry's— only $100,000. He told the Prudential salesman that he would seek an additional $400,000 from another company.
Policies that paid out over $100,000 required that each man take a physical examination, and they had readily agreed to do so. Although Gareth and Larry had
physicals on December 12, the paperwork had not yet been completed at the time of Larry's murder two days later. Because of that, the death of his lover would allow Gareth to collect only 50 percent of the face value of the policy. He would get only a quarter of a million dollars.
And there, finally, was a very good motive for him to kill Larry. The investigators had seen people killed for a lot less than $250,000, but they suspected Leifbach might not have realized he'd jumped the gun, both literally and figuratively, on the night Larry died.
Insurance companies have their own investigators and compile intricate profiles of who buys insurance and why. A representative from Prudential explained to the detectives that it is quite unusual to have someone call to inquire about life insurance. Most calls that came from potential clients were about homeowners' policies or car insurance, she said. Usually, an agent had to approach someone and sell life insurance. People want to be protected in an automobile accident or if a tree fell on their house, but they were reluctant to contemplate their own death.
The whole transaction with Duerksen and Leifbach had been unusual. Red flags went up immediately when they requested such large policies. It is far out of the norm to insure a man with a modest income for half a million dollars. That was the reason the company required an immediate physical and the first year's premiums paid in advance.
"Who called your company first?" Homan asked.
"Mr. Leifbach," replied the insurance representative.
Leifbach had done most of the talking when he and Duerksen came to the office. He explained he was living off savings and contributions from supporters of his
campaign. No mention was made of alleged threats against Duerksen, but Leifbach had admitted that their activist work might be dangerous, and that was why he and Larry wanted insurance. True to form, Leifbach had insisted on showing the agent all his newspaper clippings. "He struck me as being very egotistical."
There was some concern that Larry Duerksen might have been suffering from a fatal but hard-to-detect illness, so his physical exam was very thorough. And he turned out to be in great shape.
"See for yourself," the agent said to Homan, tapping a polished nail on a manila folder. "Larry Duerksen was in perfect health." This was an unusual situation, but the agent said that, in the end, it wasn't her job to refuse insurance just because the insured's best friend had an outsize ego. She went on to say that it was Gareth Leifbach who paid the initial premium of $1,400, and he paid in cash.
The policy was granted.