The Hired Man (19 page)

As soon as Tim hung up, I dialed the Glicks' home.

“Glick residence,” Johnnie Mae said.

“Mrs. Dabbs,” I said, hoping my voice didn't sound as tense as I felt, “is Mrs. Glick in?”

“Yes, she is, Mr. Hardesty. I'll get her for you.”

I released a huge rush of air from my lungs.
Thank God!

When Mrs. Glick came to the phone, I told her about the third victim—and that it was a woman. She was silent a full minute then said, hesitantly, “I'm afraid I'm rather ashamed of myself, Mr. Hardesty.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Because some poor woman is dead, and my first reaction was one of relief.”

“I understand completely,” I said…and I did. “However, I don't think we should alter our plans for talking with the group…” I don't like being paranoid, but wiretapping was not an unknown practice. “…at dinner this evening. We're not off the hook yet. And if possible, after dinner, I would like to talk with each of them separately, including Phil.”

I specifically included Phil, in part so as not to make him or the other escorts feel I was treating him any differently and in part because we had not really talked much about Billy since his death. There was the outside chance he might remember something he'd not mentioned before.

“Of course,” she said.

“I'm sure you want to contact Mr. Glick, so I'll let you go and will see you around seven.”

“Yes…and thank you, Mr. Hardesty!”

*

I wanted to talk to Richman as soon as I could but knew I'd have to wait until news of the discovery of the latest victim was made public. I couldn't risk putting Tim's job in jeopardy by letting Richman know I had another source of information, and as smart as Richman was, it wouldn't take much for him to connect the dots.

In the meantime, I had to sort carefully through the bits and pieces of facts and conjecture now scattered all over my mental landscape to see which ones I could discard. I found they all tended to go back in pretty much the same order as I'd had them before the discovery of the third victim, and I had an all-too-familiar gut-level sensation that was important.

I really hated the stupid games I played with myself. If I knew something, why the hell didn't I tell me? But that wasn't the way it worked, and I had to live with it.

*

Around 4:00, the phone rang.

“Hardesty Investigations.”

“Hi, Dick…Jared. I was thinking maybe you might want to go out for dinner tonight. Maybe we could call Tim and see if he wants to come along.”

Well, well, Jared, my lad,
I thought.
Tim must really have made an impression.

“I'd like to, Jared,” I said, “but I've got plans…business, unfortunately. But why don't you call Tim? I'm sure he'd like to go.” I suspected Tim would very
much
like to go. Then I remembered Tim's call. “Ah, I forgot. He called at lunch today, and it's possible he may be having one of his late nights. Wouldn't hurt to call and leave a message, though.”

“Yeah, I think I'll do that,” Jared said. “Oh, and I meant to tell you. I stopped over at Aaron's last night to see his new place. You really ought to go—if you think you're up to playing with the big boys.”

“Which means…?” I asked, suspecting I already knew.

“You'll find out,” he said. “But don't worry, he won't go too far.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So,” Jared said, “I'd better get going. Got a few more stops before the shift ends.”

“Do you have Tim's number?”

“Yeah, I do. I'll give him a quick call now. See ya.”

“Later,” I said, and we hung up.

*

I had just enough time to get home, take a quick—for me—shower, put on some clean clothes, and head out for the Glicks'. There were several other cars in the parking area when I arrived at 6:20, and Johnnie Mae greeted me at the door.

“They're all out by the pool, Mr. Hardesty,” she said, “if you'd like to follow me.”

“Don't bother, Mrs. Dabbs,” I said, “I can find my way. I know you're busy.”

She smiled broadly. “Well, yes, I am…but then, I'm always busy.”

She led me across the foyer and pointed down a hallway behind the massive staircase not visible from the front door.

“Right that way, sir,” she said then disappeared in the general direction of the dining room.

I emerged from the house to find myself at one end of the vast swimming pool. At the opposite end, in the space between the pool and the pool house, Mr. Glick stood in the center of a rough circle of pool chairs on which sat four of ModelMen's escorts—Aaron, Phil, and two guys I assumed were Mark and Steve. The doors to the pool house were open wide, and I could hear music coming from inside. As I walked around the pool, Mr. Glick noticed me and waved, as did Aaron and Phil.

I noticed the new fountain was in full operation, with water cascading down from about the roof level of the pool house to splash into matching smaller pools. Inside the pool house, a small bar was set up, behind which stood Gary, who was just handing a drink to Mrs. Glick.

All four men got up as I approached. I shook hands with Mr. Glick, Aaron and Phil then Mr. Glick introduced Mark and Steve, and the handshake round was completed. I took quick stock of Mark and Steve in turn and decided immediately they were definitely ModelMen material.

Mark was the taller of the two, with strawberry-blond hair and a subtle sprinkle of very sexy freckles. He looked to be about thirty, extremely handsome—surprise!—and filled out his form-fitting shirt and tight trousers admirably. His handshake, as with all the other escorts, was very firm, confident, and reassuring.

Steve…

If Phil reminded me of something by Michelangelo, Steve was definitely Botticelli—breathtakingly beautiful without being effeminate—almost androgynous but definitely sexy. His handshake, too, was solid, confident, and masculine.

I thought again of how brilliantly the Glicks had chosen their escorts—Gary and Aaron, definitely butch types; Phil and Mark, every gay man's all-inclusive fantasy; Steve and…and Billy, charm and innocence. I was impressed.

“Why don't you go get a drink,” Mr. Glick asked as his wife came out of the pool house to greet me. “Gary has bartending honors this evening.”

I exchanged greetings with Mrs. Glick as I moved past her. Gary grinned as I approached.

“Well,” he said, “aren't you going to ask?”

“I'm sorry?” I said. “Ask what?”

“Who does a fella have to fuck to get a drink around here? I've got a great answer.”

“I'll just bet you do,” I said, and we laughed.

When everyone had drinks, Gary came out from behind the bar and joined the group. We small-talked for about half an hour, and I was very much aware that, while the conversation covered a wide range of topics from politics to arts and literature, two subjects were never mentioned—sex or Billy. I had the definite impression, by observing how Mrs. Glick's attention was focused on whoever was speaking at the moment, that these little dinners served as training exercises to hone the social skills of the escorts and that each of the escorts was subtly being graded. Interesting, to say the least.

At almost exactly 7:00, Mr. Glick rose from his chair and, nodding to Johnnie Mae, who stood in the doorway of the main house, hands folded in front of her crisp white apron, announced, “I believe dinner is ready,” then led the group into the house. Fascinating.

We sat again around one end of the enormous dining table but took up considerably more of it with eight present rather than four. Our wine had already been poured, and Mr. Glick rose from his chair at the head of the table and lifted his glass. It was then I noticed a ninth place had been set, the chair pulled back as though someone were sitting there.

Everyone rose and lifted their glass as he motioned toward the empty chair.

“To absent friends,” he said.

I got an instant lump in my throat, and Phil's eyes filled with tears, one of which ran down slowly down his cheek. He ignored it, and his face remained impassive. Mrs. Glick took a quick wipe of her eyes with her free hand. It was an awkward moment, and painful, and very nice.

After Johnnie Mae had removed the dishes and served coffee and a marvelous peach cobbler—how in the world she managed to do it all and with such quiet efficiency amazed me—Mr. Glick said, “The purpose of tonight's dinner was, as you know, to quietly honor Billy's memory. I say ‘quietly' because I don't think words can ever accurately express the sorrow I know we are all feeling.

“But we must now address the inevitable consequences of the terrible circumstances surrounding Billy's death and, as you know, the earlier death of one of ModelMen's clients.” He motioned to me with one hand. “Mr. Hardesty will explain the situation.”

I decided it would probably be better if I stood, so I did. I outlined the similarities of the two murders without going into too many specifics. The fact of Anderson's having been dismembered and the perversity involving his wedding ring, and the fact Billy's head and hands were cut off, had never officially been made public record, and I didn't see any point of going into them now..

The police, I explained, were putting two and two together, and with ModelMen the only obvious link between the two deaths, it was almost inevitable everyone at the table would be contacted and questioned thoroughly. I cautioned them that, while the police would have legitimate grounds to ask questions about Stuart Anderson, the names of ModelMen's other clients were irrelevant. If asked to supply any clients' names, they should respectfully decline to answer without the presence of the Glicks'—and by extension, their—lawyer, Glen O'Banyon. In fact, I stressed, if any questions touched on areas they felt uncomfortable discussing, they should ask to have O'Banyon present before answering.

I ended by urging them strongly to go back over everything they knew or could think of about Billy or Stuart Anderson to see if there was anything at all—however insignificant it might seem—that could help find the killer. I did not mention the latest murder, nor the implication, however remote, that the killer might be one of them.

I sat down amidst a silence so deep I could hear the tick of the grandfather's clock in the foyer.

After a moment, Mr. Glick broke the silence.

“Mr. Hardesty would like to have a short talk with each of you individually in the study, if you don't mind. Aaron might like to go first, since he has an appointment with a client at nine. This whole thing is very hard on all of us, I know, and Mrs. Glick and I want to thank you all for your cooperation.”

Aaron and I got up and left the dining room.

*

As I'd more or less expected, my individual talks with the escorts didn't produce much of substance. Phil's impression that Billy didn't fool around with the other escorts notwithstanding, there had apparently been a little fraternization with most of them. I suspected that might be the case with all or most of them with one another. He had no enemies, never had a run-in with any of the other escorts, had no apparent personal or family problems, no addictions, hadn't been depressed or worried or distracted prior to his death.

As for Anderson, no one other than Phil and Aaron had ever spent time with him other than at the “introduction dinner.”

Aaron's accounting of their one get-together pretty much backed up Phil's assessment that Anderson was pretty vanilla in his sexual preferences and not at all into anything that might smack of “kink.” Aaron had suggested a little mild bondage, even offering to let Anderson be the leader thinking he might be willing to broaden his horizons a bit. Anderson had been reluctant to even consider it, so Aaron dropped the subject.

I encouraged each of them to keep thinking and to contact me or the Glicks if they came up with anything at all.

*

Saturday morning's paper, which I got up early to go out and buy, carried the story of the discovery of a mutilated woman's body in a Dumpster in an area known to be frequented by prostitutes. No reference was made to her being headless and without hands; the victim was simply listed as “unidentified.”

I had realized about halfway to the newsstand that, it being Saturday, Richman probably wouldn't be at work. I held out the hope he might contact me but also realized that, since the victim had not been male, the focus of the police investigation had undoubtedly shifted gears. My value to it had been moved aside.

Nonetheless, I wanted to find out anything I could that might help me figure out where to go next.

I stopped at the local deli for a bagel and coffee, read the paper—saving the crossword puzzle for later—and returned home. I figured by that time Tim might be up and would have something else he could tell me.

I dialed his number and heard the phone picked up, followed by Jared's voice.

“Hello?”