Sex and Murder.com: A Paul Turner Mystery (2 page)

Girote bulled past the beat cop stationed at the hallway entrance. He attempted the same maneuver on Fenwick.

“Going somewhere?” Fenwick asked. He moved his bulk to block Girote’s progress. Fenwick’s heft was legendary. His ability to pack away food second to none. His ability to devour chocolate unrivaled. His size, as much as his determination, effectively blocked the way.

“I need to see the body,” Girote said. “I’m Vinnie Girote, the mayor’s press secretary.” Turner wished he had a volume control knob so he could bring the guy down several decibels.

“No.” Fenwick’s voice matched Girote’s in volume, but Fenwick’s tone also gave the syllable enough finality to impress a hardened gangbanger. Girote, at the moment immune to Fenwick’s best, tried to push past him again.

“How would you know where the body was?” Turner asked.

Girote ignored him and attempted to surge forward for the third time.

Fenwick put a large fist on the man’s chest. He said, “You are not going to disturb my crime scene. You are not going any farther. You are going to turn around and march out of this house faster than you came in.”

Girote drew in more than his full share of oxygen and resumed shouting, “I told you who I am. You’re only a cop. I represent the most important politician in this city. That makes what I want to know important.” He began rocking from foot to foot, a prize fighter out of his element, or a case of nerves in someone unable to conceal his emotions.

Turner liked it when press people were nearly out of control. They were actually easier to handle at such moments and far more likely to blurt out something indiscreet.

Fenwick laughed. He asked, “Are you the pope or a close relative of his? Wouldn’t matter. He wouldn’t get in there either.”

“Why are you here?” Turner asked. “And why do you need to see the body?”

“The mayor is very concerned.”

Turner said, “How does him being concerned have anything to do with you seeing the body or the crime scene? I see no connection. What is it exactly he is concerned about?”

“I don’t answer to you,” Girote said.

Fenwick gave his lowest grumble, before which crazed, heroin-addicted triple murderers had quailed. He said, “This is a murder investigation. If necessary, you will answer to me.” He took a step forward.

Girote stopped talking and moving. He eyed both detectives carefully.

Turner said, “I asked you once already. How did you know which direction to go in to look for the body?”

“Am I a suspect?” Girote demanded.

“Not if you have a good alibi,” Turner said.

“Would you like to be?” Fenwick asked.

The man continued to breathe heavily. His eyes bugged out like a fish on a cold slab waiting to be grilled. His mouth gaped like a nozzle on a vacuum cleaner hose.

Finally Fenwick said, “I’ll get someone to escort you out.” He took the man’s elbow in one massive paw.

Girote tried to yank his arm away from the grip. “Let me go!”

Turner said, “Buck, wait a second. Mr. Girote, if you give us some useful background about Craig Lenzati, perhaps we can accommodate you in some way.”

“Well, I suppose,” Girote said.

Fenwick let him go. They repaired to the kitchen, out of the way of any technicians. The director of news affairs for the police department followed silently.

Fenwick asked, “Why are the politicians so concerned about this murder?”

“It’s obvious. He’s a prominent citizen. One of the richest in the city. He was thinking of buying a professional sports team and bringing it to Chicago. He’s brought a lot of high tech jobs to this town. His loss will be severely felt. The mayor wanted to make sure the investigation was being pursued with all vigor.”

“Why not just call our boss and apply pressure?” Fenwick asked. “Why send you?”

“Is that really germane to solving the case?” Girote asked. “I think the mayor’s concern is natural.”

Without discounting this explanation, Turner remained highly suspicious of this level of direct personal concern.

“Tell us more about Lenzati,” Turner said. “What’s his background?”

“I thought everyone knew about Craig Lenzati. Don’t you detectives read Kup’s column or the INC column or anything?”

“Humor me,” Turner said.

“Well, he and a friend started one of those Internet businesses in their garage while they were still in college at Northwestern. They were very rich before they were twenty-five. They sold their company for over a billion dollars. Now they have an experimental technology company that’s making even more money. The original company employs several thousand people in this area. The new company is expanding very fast. They are on the cutting edge. It is only a slight exaggeration to say that he and his company were responsible for the technological renaissance in the city. Before them, it was moribund. Forget Motorola. They were pikers compared to these guys. He has also invested heavily in real estate in cities around the world, but nowhere more so than in Chicago.”

“What kind of guy was he?”

“Great. Smart, a genius. A big tipper. A big contributor to charitable causes. He always had a big smile for everyone, but shy. A computer nerd, after all. Socially okay, in a if-I-don’t-make-a-move-I-won’t-make-a-faux-pas kind of way.”

“Did he live alone?” Turner asked.

“As far as I know, he did. He came to many functions with eligible young women. One more beautiful than the last. I don’t know if he was serious about any of them.”

Fenwick said, “I hate it when they have mostly frivolous relationships with women.”

Girote gave him a puzzled look.

“Gritty cop humor,” Fenwick said. “Not important to solving the case.”

“Do you think you should be approaching this with a flippant attitude? Maybe the mayor should get someone else on this case.”

Fenwick said, “You’re the one who wants to look at a dead body for no discernible reason, unless you’ve got a corpse fetish.”

They glared at each other.

“Who’s his partner?” Turner asked.

“You really don’t know?”

Turner said, “If I know the answer to a question, I promise not to ask it.”

“Brooks Werberg.”

“You know these guys personally?” Turner asked.

“Yes, I’ve met them on numerous occasions.”

“Have you ever been invited to their homes for dinner?” Turner asked.

“I’ve attended many events.”

Fenwick asked, “You’ve never gone over to watch a football game, just the two or three of you, or had them over for dinner at your house?”

“Well, no.”

Turner asked, “Do you have any names of people he was close to?”

“No.”

Turner asked, “How did Werberg and Lenzati get along?”

“Great. They’ve been best friends since they were kids. They lived together in college.”

“Where can we find Werberg?” Turner asked.

“I can give you his business and home addresses and phone numbers, but I don’t know where he is.”

“Has he been told about his friend’s death?”

“I’m not sure. Someone else was trying to contact him.”

Turner said, “We were told the superintendent himself called in the report. Who called him? Or was the mayor’s office called first? We need the sequence of the calls and who made them. The name of the original caller is the most important.”

“I don’t know who called.”

“Who would know?” Turner asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“We’re going to know that for sure before we’re done,” Fenwick said.

“Is that a threat?”

“I hope you take it as one,” Fenwick said.

“I don’t know who called.”

“We’ll have to ask the mayor,” Fenwick said.

“He can’t be involved in a murder investigation,” Girote insisted.

Fenwick asked, “Why? Doesn’t he have a get-out-of-jail-free card?”

“You can’t run around asking him questions. You can’t come to the fifth floor of city hall and accost the mayor.”

“Bull pizzle,” Fenwick stated.

“Fine,” Turner said. “All you have to do is show up with the information on who called the mayor, and we don’t bother him.”

Girote looked shocked. “Are you trying to bully me?”

Turner said, “You can call it a threat, bullying, blackmail, or making a deal, the life blood of politics anywhere. We need that name. We may need more information than that. You are going to provide it for us.” Turner doubted if the mayor had committed murder, but he also knew he and Fenwick would follow any clues no matter where or to whom they led. If they pointed to the mayor, the problems for the case and their careers would be more than monumental.

Girote said, “I’ll have to talk to some people, including your bosses.”

“I smell a deal,” Fenwick said. “Either that or we’re going to be tattled on.”

“Again?” Turner asked, then said, “Tell us more about Werberg.”

“The two of them are the toast of the town. They go to all the openings. They give a lot of money to a lot of politicians. They could buy and sell the state legislature several times over.”

Fenwick said, “I hear bribing all the legislators and the Chicago City Council wouldn’t take much. Aren’t half of the former aldermen in prison for over-feeding at the public trough?”

“Not that many,” Girote said.

“Close enough,” Fenwick said.

Turner said, “Lenzati and Werberg had significant political connections. I got that part. Were they smooth operators? Did they know the ropes? Did people like them?”

“They were a trifle naive early in their careers.”

“How so?” Turner asked.

“There’s a correct way to approach a legislator.”

“Bribery etiquette,” Fenwick said, “an area Miss Manners has yet to delve into. Perhaps the selection and use of the proper fork to skewer your opponent could become an art form.”

Girote said, “They learned quickly. That they were rich helped, but people genuinely liked them. In the beginning they were the usual computer nerds, mole-eyed dweebs hunched over machines and screens. But these guys were able to change. They had decent hygiene. They would listen to advice. They learned to socialize. Their businesses were well run. The employees were well taken care of with some of the highest salaries and best benefits in the computer industry. They were extremely popular. Everyone liked them.”

“Everybody but one,” Fenwick said.

Turner asked, “Where were you this morning, Mr. Girote?

“Is that another threat or a very sick joke?”

“It’s an easy question,” Turner responded.

“I was in the press office at City Hall by five. I’ll fax you my schedule and a list of eyewitnesses.”

“Fine,” Turner said.

“Can I see the body now?” Girote asked.

“No,” Fenwick said.

Girote pointed at Turner. “You said I could.”

“He said we’d try to accommodate you somehow,” Fenwick said. “We’re not about to define ‘somehow’ as letting you screw up a crime scene.”

Girote glared at them. “That’s a politician’s way of weaseling out.”

“Then you should be used to it,” Turner said.

Girote huffed and puffed, but it was obvious that the detectives were not going to give in. “I’m going to report this to your superiors,” was Girote’s parting shout as he swept out the door.

Fenwick called after him, “Parting shots are for cowards.”

Yerson stepped forward. The department director of news affairs, he had held back during this discussion. “Do you think you handled him correctly?” he asked.

“You want second guessing, try a Republican who hates Bill Clinton,” Fenwick said. “We’re not wasting our time with you. We’ve got real police work to do. Go away.” He turned his back.

Yerson, who had been chosen more for his telegenic looks than any reportorial skills or press credentials Turner was aware of, said quietly, “Are you really sure this is a good way to deal with the mayor’s and department’s public relations offices?”

Fenwick didn’t skip a beat as he said, “Yes.”

Turner asked, “Do you know anything about Lenzati and Werberg?”

“I was told to come over here. I was working in an office full of people since very early this morning.”

“I didn’t suspect you,” Turner said.

“I don’t know anything more than Girote told you. In fact a great deal less.”

3

At crime scenes I like to watch from the assembled onlookers. The detectives always look so official in sport coats, or sometimes even suits. The techs usually look like they just got done mopping somebody’s floor I’d like to get close to all these cops. I’d like to be able to tell if they wear expensive cologne or cheap deodorant. I want to know them. I want to know them while they don’t know me and don’t know that I’m watching or that I’m learning about them. I like being silent and unseen. If I were invisible, it would be perfect.

The evidence technicians and ME people entered the kitchen. “You guys can go in now,” the ME announced.

“He still dead?” Fenwick asked.

The assistant ME said, “He was when we left him.”

“Any way to tell what happened?” Fenwick asked.

An assistant ME said, “Yeah, he got stabbed a lot of times.”

“I was looking for something a little more specific,” Fenwick said.

The ME said, “This is not a contest for who can say the most cryptic one liners. As far as I can tell at the moment, about half of the stab wounds were inflicted after he was dead. The obvious is true. He was stabbed to death. It probably started in the bathroom, continued across the hall and into the bedroom. I can let you know more later this afternoon, although tomorrow morning you’d get more details and possibly more helpful information. I’m not sure when he died. Certainly within the last couple hours.”

“What was the liquid around his thighs?” Turner asked.

“We’ll know more in the morning. He probably pissed himself as he died,” the ME said. He left.

Examining the corpse, the room it was in, the bathroom, and the hall took less than an hour. Flecks of blood stained bits of the walls and floor in the bathroom and hallway. By far the vast majority of the bleeding had been done in the bedroom. They noted the placement of every object in all three areas. The photographers might catch details, but the detectives were trained to rely on their notes and sketches. After the body was removed, they gravitated to the area of the hall beyond the blood stains.