The Hired Man (33 page)

I snapped back to reality to find Matt staring at me.

“The nineteenth,” I said. “Anderson was killed on the night of the nineteenth. It was a Sunday, too.”

Matt moved his jaw to one side and furrowed his brow, thinking.

“Sunday the nineteenth? That's a long way back. How the hell am I supposed to remember what I was doing? I was probably at home, alone. I…” He suddenly gave a slight start, and a kaleidoscope of emotions washed over his face, from realization to anger. “The nineteenth! Of course. That's my daughters' birthday! I called them to wish them a happy birthday, and that cunt of a mother of theirs wouldn't let me talk to them! That fucking bitch!”

“What time was that?” I asked.

“I'd had an out-of-town shoot and didn't get back until about nine o'clock. I called as soon as I got home, and that bitch told me they were already in bed and she wouldn't get them up. I was so fucking mad, I couldn't see straight.

“Then Gary called—first time I'd talked to him in a week—to see how I was doing, like he gave a shit. He wanted to come over and look for something he'd left when he moved out. I didn't want to talk to him, so I told him I was beat from the shoot and was just getting ready for bed. But after he hung up, I just sat there getting madder and madder, and I decided to go out to the bars. Getting laid always helps calm me down.

“I was just ready to walk into the Male Call when this guy comes out, and we take one look at one another and…I never made it inside.”

“Did you get the guy's name?” I asked.

He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“No, damn it. I wasn't in any mood for conversation. I don't think we said more than ten words to one another all night.”

“Did you go to his place, or did you bring him here?”

“We came here,” Matt said. “He left about three in the morning.”

“Had you ever seen him before? Did anybody see you together? What did he look like? What kind of car did he drive?”

He shook his head in frustration. “Shit, man! When I set out to get laid, I don't pay all that much attention to detail. Big guy, about my size, maybe bigger, hot as hell. I'm sure I've probably seen him a couple times before in the Male Call, but I can't be sure. I don't go to the bars that often.

“As for being seen, there were all sorts of guys coming and going, so I suppose somebody saw us together, but who the hell'd remember? He followed me home in his car, but I can't remember much about it—two-door, dark…blue, maybe, or black…American make, I think. Like I say, I had my mind on getting laid.”

Great!
I thought. The Male Call has a Sunday night beer blast from nine to eleven, and they always draw a big crowd. How in the hell could I, or anyone, track down one nameless, faceless number in a nondescript car out of the maybe two hundred guys who were there that night?

The thought did occur to me that maybe Matt was just making up a story he hoped I'd buy. But if he was telling the truth, that would mean he couldn't have killed Anderson, which meant…

I had one of my out-of-nowhere thoughts.

“Did Anderson have your phone number?”

He shrugged. “Not that I know of. I'm in the book, if he ever knew my last name. He never called me directly.”

“Okay, look,” I said after a moment of trying to get my thoughts organized. “I'd suggest you go back to the Male Call tonight to see if you can find the guy you were with the night Anderson was killed, or anybody who saw you together. The odds aren't good, but without that alibi, you're in deep shit.”

I remembered that both Aaron and Jared frequented the Male Call, and there was an outside chance…

Of course, if Matt had seen Aaron there, he'd have mentioned it. But I'd give them both a call, just in case.

I realized, too, that Matt would be more or less on his own when it came to the police. Since he was no longer employed by ModelMen, Glen O'Banyon wouldn't automatically be at his ready disposal. I did recommend that, if things got tight during the questioning, he ask to see O'Banyon anyway. It would be worth a shot, and I'd make a call to O'Banyon's office first thing in the morning to alert him.

I left a few minutes later, wishing Matt luck and asking him to call me as soon as he got back from the interview, and headed home. I was about halfway there when I realized I'd been able to spend all that time talking with Matt without thinking about trying to get him into bed again.

Progress, indeed.

*

There was something missing, my gut told me, a very big piece of the puzzle, and I suspected it had something to do with the breakup, and specifically with what Gary wanted Matt to do that gave him the wake-up call. I still couldn't believe that either Matt or Gary could be a killer, probably because I didn't want to believe it. On the one hand, everything pointed to Gary; on the other hand, an equally good case could be made that Matt did it—except Laurie Travers, which could have been a decoy killing.
Shit!

I made a quick swing by the office to check for messages. There weren't any, which I took as a sign of “no news is good news.” By the time I got home, I realized I hadn't taken anything out of the freezer for dinner. I wasn't in much of a cooking mood anyway so decided to give Tim a call to see if he'd like to join me for a quick bite (and, if things worked out, maybe a few other bites).

He answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Tim. Hope I caught you before you started dinner.”

There was a slight pause, then: “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“Just wondered if you'd like to have dinner with me. Maybe try that new Chinese place on McLeod?”

Another pause. “Gee, I'd like to, Dick, but I've got a…I've got plans.”

The
Aha!
response hit me.

“Phil?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact…” Yet another pause, then a hesitant “Would you like to join us?”

I'm dense, but not stupid.

“No, thanks, Tim. Maybe we can all get together another time, with a little more advance notice.”

I'm sure he was mildly relieved when he said, “Sure. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. “Give my best to Phil.” I was sure he would—and
his
best, too.

I next tried Jared, both to see if he might like to join me, and to ask him about the Male Call. He wasn't home, so I left a message on his machine. Same with Aaron.

I opened a can of corned beef hash, covered it with catsup, and put it in the oven. Maybe I could have my own cooking show on TV one day.

At 9:30, the phone rang. I assumed it was Jared or Aaron returning my call. I was wrong.

“Dick, this is Gary,” a very unhappy-sounding voice announced. “The police just left; they showed up with a search warrant and practically ransacked the place.”

“What were they looking for?”

“The warrant was for my bedroom, for chrissakes!” he said. “I guess they just wanted to snoop around. They were mostly interested in my pillows! Even after they took the damned pillows off the bed they wanted to know if I had any others around. Yeah, like I collect pillows! I told them no, but they weren't satisfied until they'd torn the place apart. I don't know what the hell they thought they were doing, but it doesn't look good. I just wanted to let you know. You think I should call O'Banyon?”

“Definitely,” I said. “Try to stay calm, and wait to see what O'Banyon has to say. They probably just wanted to rattle your cage. Obviously, they didn't find anything incriminating enough to arrest you on the spot.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Some consolation.”

“Well, like I say, try to relax. I'll talk with you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he said, and hung up.

Pillows?

*

I got to the office early Tuesday morning and tried to hold off thinking any more than I already had about the police search of Gary's apartment. I forced myself to take plenty of time to drink my coffee, read the paper—the sanitation workers strike was apparently about to be settled to the workers' satisfaction, the mountains of garbage piled up all over the city undoubtedly a factor—and do the crossword puzzle before calling Glen O'Banyon's office and leaving a message for him to call me at his earliest convenience.

Although it was still early, I took a chance and called Gary to see how he was doing. He hadn't had much sleep but seemed in much better spirits than he'd been in the night before. He did say he missed his pillows, although he didn't seem concerned as to why they had been taken.

I then called the Glicks to check in and see if they'd encountered any surprises during their interview. I found it very interesting that Mrs. Glick didn't mention the searching of Gary's apartment and I could only assume Gary hadn't told her, for one reason or another, so of course, neither did I.

As to the interview, Mrs. Glick assured me it had gone very well, and she was favorably impressed by Lt. Richman. She suspected even Captain Offermann might have been just a little intimidated by Glen O'Banyon's presence. The questioning had been courteous and didn't get into areas they weren't comfortable discussing. Offermann did bring up the subject of ModelMen's client list but dropped it when O'Banyon reminded him of the condition the Glicks had placed on their cooperation.

The phone calls took up all of about forty-five minutes, leaving me with little to do but sit back and wait to hear from Matt to get some idea as to where the police might be going with the case. I toyed briefly with the idea of calling Lt. Richman but decided against it. I didn't want to get too chummy with the police, nor did I want to give Richman the idea I was pressing him.

Have I ever mentioned that patience is not one of my greater virtues? Just sitting around waiting for something drives me to distraction, but I didn't have much choice. I didn't want to try to call Aaron this early, in case he'd been up late the night before. Jared was at work, as was Tim, unless he was still in bed with Phil.

I tried sitting back and thinking about the case—what I knew for sure, what I didn't know, what I suspected, what I still had to find out. I went trolling for those elusive hunches that kept darting around the periphery of my mental vision, as usual without success. About the only thing I accomplished was to become more frustrated.

O'Banyon called around 11:00, and I told him of my conversation with Matt without going too deeply into detail and asked if Matt might be considered under the umbrella of O'Banyon's availability to ModelMen escorts. He said he'd of course respond if Matt called on him, and we could work out the fine points with the Glicks later if necessary.

*

Around noon, I went downstairs to the coffee shop and was surprised not to see either Eudora and Evolla working the counter; it was the first time I could ever remember their not being there. I asked the harried waitress what had happened to them and was told Eudora had had a mild stroke, and Evolla was at home taking care of her. I felt oddly sad. Although I had never exchanged a single non-order-related word with them in all the years I'd been coming into the diner, they had become a block in the foundation of my daily life.

Somehow, the day passed. Matt's interview had been scheduled for 2:30, and I had heard nothing from him by 4:30. I resisted the urge to call him and was just getting ready to leave for home when the phone finally rang. I practically snatched it off the cradle.

“Hardesty Investigations.”

“Mr. Hardesty, this is Arnold Glick. I thought you should know Gary has been arrested for the murders of Stuart Anderson, Billy, and that…woman.”

Chapter 14

Although Gary's being arrested was hardly unanticipated, it still came as something of a shock.

“Mr. O'Banyon suggested I call and let you know,” Glick continued. “My wife and I are on the way to police headquarters to meet him now. We hope to have Gary released on bail.”

I wasn't sure what I could or should do at this juncture, so I settled for “Thank you for calling, Mr. Glick, and please let me know what I can do to help. You have my home phone number, and I'll be there in about an hour. Please convey my concern to Mrs. Glick. I'm sure Mr. O'Banyon will do whatever he can.”

I'd no sooner hung up when the phone rang again.

“Hardesty Investigations.”

“Dick, this is Mark Richman. I'm really going out on a limb here, but I think we should talk. Privately.”

“Of course, Lieutenant,” I said, hearing my voice floating like a cork on a mental sea of confusion. “I understand you've arrested Gary Bancroft.”

“Word travels fast. And of course, that's what I want to talk with you about. But not over the phone.”

“Well,” I said, “I promised the Glicks I'd be at home shortly. Would it be possible for you to come to my place? I gather you weren't thinking of meeting at headquarters.”

I readily admit that, from time to time since I'd met Lt. Richman, I'd entertained several erotic fantasies of luring him over to my apartment and vigorously demonstrating that heterosexuality was not the only game in town. The current scenario wasn't exactly what I'd had in mind, however.