The Role Players (5 page)

Again, I remained silent, sensing he was getting close to his point.

He looked at me steadily and said, “I was hoping you might be willing to indulge my intuition. I am not a man who goes around looking for boogeymen under the bed, but if for no other reason than my peace of mind, I really need to be sure that none of my people were in any way the cause of Rod's death. It has cast a deep shadow over everything and everyone, and I can't be content until I know for sure that what happened to him cannot be traced directly to the Whitman.”

“Well, if you'll excuse me,” I said, “New York has to have more than enough private investigators, straight and gay, to be able to look into it for you. And Jonathan and I are on our first real vacation; we have to be back home in two weeks. While I of course appreciate your concern and am flattered that you'd want me to help you, the fact is that you don't really know me from Adam.”

He smiled. “Not quite true. I have business interests in cities all over the country—one of them yours—and when I called the attorney who handles my legal matters there…”
Let me guess: Glen O'Banyon,
a mind-voice said.
Can we say “small world,” boys and girls?
“it seems he'd not only heard of you, but has worked with you on a fairly regular basis. He speaks very highly of you.”

He repeated his smile. “I must say anyone who can bring down the police chief of a city that size deserves my attention.”

Leaning forward in his chair, hands loosely clasped and elbows on the arms of the chair, he continued. “New York is one of the largest cities in the world, and yet gossip and rumor spread as fast as in any small town. If anyone here were to have the slightest idea that I suspect any sort of link between Rod's death and the Whitman…. I can't risk having a shadow hanging over me or The Whitman Theater Group. If my intuition is wrong, it's wrong, but I won't be satisfied until I know.”

Unclasping his hands, he sat back in his chair. “I realize what an inconvenience this is for you and Jonathan. But consider this: I'm willing to reimburse you for your airfare and pay double your normal hourly rare to indulge me, and I only expect you to do as much as you can in the time you'll be here. You can set the money aside for a second visit…a
real
vacation…as soon as you can fit it in.”

Damn!
“I'll have to talk it over with Jonathan. Can I call you tonight with my answer?”

“Of course.”

We sat in silence for a moment until Tait suddenly got up from his chair and said, “Well, shall we go see how the others are doing?”

“Sure,” I said, rising to follow him.

*

The conservatory was at one end of the large combination library and study, divided from it by a glass wall, apparently for temperature control. I had to admit that even I was pretty much awed by what seemed to be hundreds of exotic orchids. When Tait suggested we go back to the living room, I had to practically drag Jonathan out of the conservatory.

As we passed through the library, I noticed a large portrait of a distinguished, white-haired gentleman, apparently, from the style of his clothes, Tait's father, or more likely, his grandfather. I gathered from that that Tait's wealth had not been a recent development.

We left Tait's apartment at about 1:45, and the minute we entered the elevator, Jonathan slipped into his talk-a-thon mode…the one in which his enthusiasm bubbles over into Guinness World Record Length Run-On Sentences, unhindered by punctuation of any kind. But considering his love of plants, I could hardly blame him. Chris just looked at me and grinned.

He was still talking as we got off the elevator, let the building, and crossed over to Battery Park. That he hadn't even asked for the camera was, I thought, a pretty good indication of his distraction. But by the time we reached the booth selling tickets for the ferry to the island, he'd pretty much shifted his focus to the Statue. We were soon swallowed up in what seemed like thousands of people waiting to board the ferries. There were people of every race and every nationality, speaking in more languages than most people ever hear in a lifetime.

Jonathan leaned toward Chis in order to be heard over the din. “Can we climb up to the torch?” he asked.

“Afraid not,” Chris responded. “They used to let you climb as high as her head…see her crown? Those spaces are little observation windows. But they won't let you up there now. The whole statue's due for a major renovation in a couple of years. It's been here a long time, after all.

Jonathan, though obviously disappointed, nodded.

A ferry pulled up to the dock and began disgorging passengers. When it was empty, the waiting crowd was allowed on board.

“Wow,” Jonathan said as we boarded. “I haven't been on a boat this big since my folks took us on the ferry across Lake Michigan to see the tulip festival in Holland, Michigan, when I was a little kid!”

He paused. “You know, I'll bet that's when I first fell in love with plants. I'll never forget how beautiful those tulips were.”

When the boat was loaded to capacity…we were among the last to be let on…it moved away from the dock and headed for the Statue. The weather couldn't have been more perfect; bright sun, brisk wind. We found a spot along the port railing, and as the city receded behind us, Chris pointed out several landmarks.

The boat made a partial turn away from Liberty Island to circle the closed and sadly neglected Ellis Island. The noise level from the crowd dropped off considerably as we moved past the docks and grand old turreted buildings over which American flags still fluttered, and through which so many soon-to-be-Americans passed over so many years.

Jonathan, of course, ran out of film about halfway between Ellis and Liberty Islands.

*

As soon as we landed on Liberty Island, Jonathan made a frantic search for film, which luckily wasn't hard to find. He bought three rolls, two of which I insisted on holding for him lest he go through them in ten seconds flat. The instant he had the film loaded, he asked Chris to take our picture, one arm around the other's waist. Then we each took a picture of the other with Chris.

Chris had been to the Statue numerous times, and I'd been there once on a visit during a college break, so while we were both patriotic enough to be impressed by gazing up at the symbol of what America was all about, Jonathan was practically awestruck.

*

We spent about an hour and a half on the island, looking at all the exhibits, reading all the markers, going into the base of the Statue, and then wandering around the island itself, finding an empty bench in a relatively quiet spot at the back of the Statue. Chris went off to get us something to drink, and I took the opportunity to tell Jonathan about Tait's offer and ask what he thought.

“But, jeez, Dick…it's our
vacation
,” he said. “I want us to be together.”

“And that's exactly what I told Tait,” I said. “And I told him I wouldn't do it if you didn't agree.” I then told him what Tait was willing to pay, and that he'd even offered to reimburse our airfare. “So it's like this trip is practically free. We'll set aside the money from the case toward our next trip. You would like to come back, wouldn't you?”

I realized, of course, that I was deliberately manipulating him, and added that to the guilt I already felt for even considering taking the case…if it could be called a case. Rod's death was most likely exactly what it appeared to be, a botched robbery resulting in murder. But I was convinced Tait felt that there was more to it, and as one whose own intuitions are more often right than wrong….

“Of course I want to come back,” Jonathan said.

“And I won't be working twenty-four hours a day
,
” I said, lamely. “We'll still have plenty of time together.”

Oh, sure.

Yeah.

You bet.

Uh huh,
my mind-voices chorused.

“Oh, the hell with it!” I said aloud, startling Jonathan. “Being with you is more important than taking on another case. I'll just call Tait and tell him I can't do it.”

Jonathan looked slightly shocked. “Really?”

I reached over and put my hand on his leg. “Really.”

He leaned over quickly and kissed me on the cheek. “Then take the job,” he said. “I know you better than you think I do, and that you'd be willing to give up a case just for me…well, that means more than you know.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Chris said, and we looked up to see him standing in front of us carrying a cardboard tray with three enormous sodas, three straws, and several napkins, which he distributed, then threw the tray into a trash bin near our bench and sat down himself.

“Dick has a new case,” Jonathan said with a soft smile, then quickly added, “which he'll turn down if it might in any way inconvenience you and Max.” He looked at me and the smile grew. “Right, Dick?”

“Right,” I said, hoping I wasn't blushing too obviously.

“Tait?” Chris asked, then quickly added, “Ah…Rod! What does he expect you to do about it?” He paused. “Unless he thinks someone from…. Does he?”

Chris and I had developed, in our years together as partners, a sort of mental shorthand, and I was pleased to see we still had it.

“He doesn't know,” I said, “but he'd like to find out.”

“Does he have any evidence? Does he suspect someone?”

“No on the first, that I know of, and if he does suspect someone in particular, he didn't let on.”

“Then what…?”

“He's concerned for the Whitman. He just wants to be sure no one there was involved.”

Poor Jonathan just sat there, looking from me to Chris and back again, as if he were watching some sort of vaudeville routine.

“So he wants to hire you not to find out who did it, but to satisfy himself that no one from the Whitman did?” Jonathan asked, head cocked and eyebrow raised.

“Basically.”

“Jeez!” Chris said. “Well, he's got the money to do it, and if he wants to give it away, there's no reason you shouldn't take it.”

We finished our sodas in relative silence, then got up and headed for the boat docks. Jonathan took several more photos of the Statue as the boat pulled away from the island to make up for those he hadn't gotten as we pulled in.

*

In deference to Jonathan, we took the subway back toward the Village. The train wasn't too crowded, but Jonathan insisted on standing. He was intrigued, as was I, by the subway system map near the door. He looked at me and shook his head.

“How can anybody find his way around this thing?” he asked. A good question for which I had no answer.

We got out at Sheridan Square, which I gathered was about as close to Washington Square as the subway came, and took our time walking to Chris and Max's apartment, stopping frequently at stores that caught Jonathan's attention, and using up another roll of film along the way. He insisted on buying us matching tee shirts with Greenwich Village emblazoned across the front. He offered to buy Chris one, too, but he declined with thanks.

“And we've got to get something for Bob and Mario and Tim and Phil and Jared and Jake, and I've got to get something for the guys at work, and….”

“But not right now, I hope,” I interrupted gently.

He gave me a sheepish grin. “No, not right now.”

Chris stopped at a payphone to call the apartment to see if Max might be home yet. He wasn't, so Chis left a message saying we were on our way.

*

Max didn't get home until nearly seven o'clock, looking totally exhausted.

“We
will
make it to opening night,” he muttered to no one in particular. “We
will
make it. We
will
!” I had a mental image of Judy Garland clicking her ruby slippers together and saying, “There's no place like home! There's no place like home!”

He came over and sat town heavily next to Chris, who patted his thigh, then got up to get him a soda.

“So,” Max said, resisting the obvious temptation to lay his head back on the sofa, “how was your afternoon?”

“It would have been even better if you could have been with us,” Jonathan said.

“Well, this is my last stage-managing job. Ever!”

“Uh huh,” Chris said, handing Max his soda and sitting down beside him.

Max shook his head slowly. “No, Babe, I'm serious. Really. It was fun when I was single, and a lot younger, but now that I've got a reason to come home every night, my priorities have changed.” He paused, then repeated his earlier question: “So how was your day?”

“Dick got offered a case,” Chris said.

Max looked at me, only mildly surprised. “So you were right on being suspicious of Tait's motives for having us over? He wants you to look into Rod's death?”

I nodded. “Well, this is a real first for me…actually he doesn't so much want me to find out who might have killed Rod as to reassure him that no one at the Whitman was involved. But I told him I wouldn't take it unless Jonathan, you, and Chris agreed. We came out here to see you guys, after all. I don't want to toss a monkey wrench into the works.”

Max glanced at Chris, who echoed my nod, then said, “Well, Rod's death did that before you even got here, so go for it. But thanks for asking us first. When are you supposed to let him know?”