The Hired Man (38 page)

“Do you have any proof?” I asked. “Other than the pillow exchange?”

Matt reached again for his cigarettes, apparently thought better of it, then changed his mind and fished the pack out of his pocket, removing a cigarette, replacing the pack, and lighting up.

“I've got to stop this damned habit,” he said. “It's going to kill me.” He blew out a long stream of smoke and waited a few seconds before answering my question. “I didn't—until after the hooker got killed.”

“How's that?”

“I was looking for something and checked my footlocker in the closet. Haven't opened it in months. But when I did, there on top was a red leather case I'd never seen before. I opened it up, and there were six velvet-lined compartments with five really expensive-looking knives.

“When I saw that, and that one was missing, I knew. I remembered Anderson had a bunch of stores that sold kitchen stuff, and I knew that Gary liked expensive things. He'd taken it, used one of the knives to kill the hooker, and then planted the box where he didn't think I'd ever look but knew the cops would if they searched my place.”

We were both quiet for a minute, my mind like a backed-up sink slowly letting all this information drain into my memory. Something…
something
…wasn't right.

Matt was watching me, waiting for my reaction, but I was too busy at the moment trying to absorb it all and figure out what that
something
was.

“When I found the knife set,” he said, “I knew what he was up to. If I refused to go along with killing Arnold and Iris, he could use the knife set―I still didn't know about the pillows, of course, stupid jerk that I am―to frame me for murders I didn't commit. So, I wiped the case off after I picked it up, to get rid of my fingerprints―I knew they couldn't be on the knives―then waited until that night and put the case in the Dumpster behind Gary's building.

“Then I stopped at the hardware store and bought a new set of locks for the door. That sonofabitch thinks he's getting in here again to plant some more shit on me, he's got another thought coming!”

*

Feeling a little bit like a punch-drunk fighter who's just gone fifteen rounds, I left Matt's apartment shortly thereafter, managing to persuade him not to do anything foolish and to just wait to see what the examination of the pillows showed, although we both knew damned well what that would be. I was pretty sure he'd calmed down enough by the time I left I didn't have to worry about him going after Gary right then.

I assured him I would do whatever I could to try to find his alibi trick, although I realized that would be next to impossible even if I had been convinced there
was
an alibi trick, which I wasn't, totally.

I felt like my head was carrying around a ton of rocks.

Did
I believe him? It made sense. I could, with relatively little effort, see Gary as the master manipulator Matt painted him as being. The plan to kill the Glicks was a shocker, but…

Yet just as likely, I knew, was that Matt was doing the manipulating, that he was the one out to get even with Gary for having dumped him. Hell hath no fury like a lover scorned, etc.

What about the pillows? Gary could have taken the old set of pillows when he moved from Matt's apartment and Matt bought the eider down ones as replacements, especially if Gary, who'd been the leader throughout their relationship, had, indeed, liked hard pillows. Matt probably would have gone along with hard pillows.

But Gary hadn't appeared to be the least concerned when the police took the pillows off his bed. Maybe because he knew they weren't the right ones? Chalk one up in Matt's column.

Matt admitted he had been thinking about calling Billy. What if he had?

Shit!

It was just after 3:30, and although it was a little early for happy hour at Ramón's, I decided my need for a happy hour made it worth jumping the gun a little. Jared had said he'd call me when he got off work. I wasn't sure of his schedule, but I knew Ramón's was often his last stop of the day so thought I'd take a gamble.

Sure enough, as I pulled up in front of the bar, I saw his truck just turning into the alley leading to the back door. I hurried inside, waved to Jimmy, who was waiting on a customer near the front door, and hurried to the back, where Jared was rolling in a dolly stacked with beer cases. He seemed surprised to see me.

“Dick, hi. I was going to call you as soon as I got home. Glad to see you couldn't wait to see me, though.”

We exchanged grins.

“Right as always,” I said. “But I have a question that sort of can't wait.”

“Oh?” He stepped around from behind the dolly. “What's that?”

I quickly outlined the situation of Matt's having picked up a trick at the Male Call the night Anderson was killed but not having gotten the guy's name and asked if Jared might have any idea how I could track him down.

He shook his head.

“Didn't get the guy's name, huh?” he asked. “Gee, I'll bet that's the first time
that's
ever happened at a gay bar. I did it myself a couple weeks ago. I was just coming out of the place and ran into this—”

“Whoa, there!” I'm afraid I practically yelled. “What night? What time? What did the guy look like?”

Jared stared at me as though I were more than a little demented.

“Don't remember exactly when it was,” he said. “A Sunday, I think. Maybe around ten…eleven…thereabouts. We went to his place over off of Brookhaven. Real hot number, butch as they come—and did he ever! Can't describe what he looked like from the neck up in all that much detail. I remember he had a big USMC tattoo on his left bicep. I did my best to lick it off. That help?”

Oh, Hardesty
, my mind sighed,
somebody up there
really
likes you!

“Jared, if you only knew!” I said. “I owe you, big time! You want anything, you got it!”

“How about a couple hours in the sling for starters?” he asked with a wicked grin.

I didn't know if he meant him or me, but at that point, it didn't matter.

“Like I say, you got it!” Part of me hoped he'd say “tonight,” because I really, really needed a break, but I knew full well that, while my crotch might be into it, I wouldn't be. Those damned rocks in my head.

“I've got a date tonight,” he said, to my relief, “but how about Saturday?”

“Great!” With luck, this case would be over by then. “Your place or mine?”

He looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

“You got a sling?” he asked.

“Uh, no…” I said, knowing he knew full well I didn't.

“Then mine.” He reached out to punch me quickly on the arm. “Seven-thirty? I'll order in a pizza.”

I had a quick drink after he left, talked with Jimmy for a few minutes, asking how Bob and Mario were doing, and tried to make small talk, but I just wasn't in the mood.

Matt had his alibi, and Gary Bancroft—Gary of the sea-green eyes, Gary of the great sex—had killed three people and had designs on at least two more—his mother and unacknowledged stepfather. I'd had sex with him on the very same bed where Billy died, although my head hadn't been resting on the same pillow. I didn't like that thought one bit.

All
your
fault,
my head scolded my crotch, which pretended it didn't hear.

I would call Lt. Richman first thing in the morning. He'd been right that it wasn't my place or authority to actually arrest Gary, and I certainly wasn't about to go over and confront him. I'd done that once before in an earlier case and was damned lucky I didn't end up dead. Nope. No confrontations.

I felt very sorry for the Glicks, but no more sorry for them than I felt for Stuart Anderson or Billy or even Laurie Travers, although I'd never met her.

But still,
something
wasn't right. There—that little flash of movement in the shadows in the back of my mind. What was it?

*

I wasn't really hungry, but I knew I had to eat something, so I went through the drive-through of a fried chicken place and got two breasts extra crispy, a cup of mashed potatoes with extra gravy, and a side of coleslaw. When the smell of it, all the rest of the way home, still didn't make me hungry, I knew I was in trouble.

What the hell
was
it?

I ate dinner, looked at the television for a couple hours (I can't say I actually watched anything), and went to bed.

Why would Gary do it? I could see him killing Stuart Anderson—he choked the guy to death during sex. He obviously didn't like the guy very much to begin with, but hired men don't have much of a say whom they go to bed with. The client pays, the escort obliges. And Gary didn't strike me as the kind of guy to turn down money if it was offered. Whether Anderson had asked him over or Gary had suggested it didn't matter.

Anderson almost definitely had told Gary, as he told anybody else who would listen, that he was sending his kid away, in effect abandoning him. He'd have had no idea that wasn't the thing to tell a guy whose mother had dumped him when he was even younger than Anderson's kid.

From what everyone said, Anderson was strictly vanilla when it came to sex. He didn't suck cock. I could see where, if Gary mentioned it and Anderson said no, Gary might have gotten pissed, leading to the bruise marks on his inner arms. Maybe Gary was trying to “teach him a lesson” and got carried away.

And Matt was probably right. With Anderson dead, Gary had decided to frame him for having had the balls to refuse to go along with the plan to get the Glicks' fortune. The wedding ring that had been shoved up Anderson's ass? Gary knew Matt had pretty strong feelings about bisexuals he didn't feel had the courage to at least admit what they were. And he stole the knife set because he knew that fit Matt's pattern. He might well have intended to keep it and say Matt had given it to him, but after Billy's death he decided to plant it and the pillows in Matt's apartment. It made sense.

There it is again! That damned glimmer-thought. Come on out, you bastard!

It darted back into the shadows.

Billy. Poor, sweet Billy. Why in the hell kill Billy?
Gary knew Matt had the hots for Billy; all the other escorts knew it, too, except maybe Phil. Matt had told Gary he was going to try to get together with him. It could have been Gary Billy had the date with but didn't want to tell Phil because he thought Phil didn't approve of escorts dating one another.

Gary was a big guy, probably pretty damned strong, too. Caught up in the heat of sex, pushing down on Billy's shoulders at the base of his neck, if Billy had a sudden asthma attack, he might not have been able to let Gary know. Billy was pretty vocal during sex, I remembered. Maybe Gary just didn't know what was really happening. Exchanging pillows with Matt and planting the knife set guaranteed tying Matt directly to all three deaths.

Yeah, but Billy wouldn't get fucked without a condom
.
Gary knew Matt refused to wear a condom. Maybe it came off, or it broke, or he took it off halfway through the sex, and Billy wasn't aware of it?

No! No! Think!

Laurie Travers. Why would Gary kill Laurie Travers at all, let alone use a knife he'd stolen from Anderson? It didn't make any sense. None.

I sat bolt upright in bed.

That's it!

I looked at the clock. It was nearly 7:00 a.m. I hadn't even been aware I'd fallen asleep. It was early, but I couldn't wait. There was one other thing I had to know.

I dialed Gary's number and prayed he'd be home. Just before the answering machine kicked in, I heard his sleepy voice.

“Hello?”

“Gary, it's Dick. I'm sorry to get you out of bed, but I…uh…I wondered how things were going, and if you've heard any more from the police.”

“Not a word,” he said. “I just want this damned thing over and done with. This waiting around for a knock on the door's a pretty shitty way to live.”

It had never happened to me, thank God, but I could certainly empathize with him.

“Well, you can be sure if they thought they had enough to re-arrest you, they would. So, it's again a matter of no news being good news.”

“Let's hope,” he said.

I decided now was the time to ask my question.

“There's something I wanted to ask you,” I said. “You still have the keys to Matt's apartment, right?”

There was a very slight pause, then: “No. I did have, but he changed the locks on me.”

“Exactly when was that? Do you remember?”

Another pause. “Not too long after Billy died.”

Bingo!

“Okay,” I said. “Thanks. I was just curious. I'll let you go, then. Take care, and we'll talk later.”

“Sure,” he replied. “See ya.”

We hung up.

I knew.

The question was: Now that I knew, what was I going to do about it? What solid proof did I have? None. What solid proof did the police have? They had evidence, but proof?