A Simple Suburban Murder (10 page)

"She loves you, Phil," I said.

He sat up, took out a hanky, and blew his nose. He looked like the bewildered and frightened human being he was.

"You're going to be okay, Phil," I said.

"Yeah." He sniffed heroically. Tears stained the sleeves of his suit coat. "I'm a mess." His handsome grin flashed briefly.

Minutes later I judged him sufficiently pulled together to answer a few questions.

"Where are you staying, Phil?" I asked.

"With a friend. He takes good care of me."

"I really wish you'd consider coming back with us. Life at home could be worked out."

He shook his head. "No way."

"If we needed to talk to you it might help if we knew where to find you."

He wiped his nose, shook his head. "I can't tell you who I'm staying with. He told me not to tell anyone. He doesn't even know I'm meeting you. If you need to see me, check with Daphne. She'll know where to call."

"All right," I agreed reluctantly. "Phil, I'd like to check a couple things about your dad's murder. Scott and I want to find out who killed him. Since the body was in my classroom I'm a suspect. As you might guess, the police have been trying to find you. Because you disappeared, I imagine they think you had something to do with it."

"I was at Daphne's that night."

The answer was too quick, too pat.

He continued. "It was a slow night. I didn't turn a trick. I was 'against the wall' most of the night."

I thought of a dozen moral, psychic, and physical warnings that I didn't think he would listen to.

He added, "Daphne's my witness."

I was sure she would be. I asked, "Daphne's not worried about under-age prostitution and drinking?"

He shrugged. "I've been going there for a year. I get no hassles. She says I'm good for business."

I let the subject drop. "What time did you go home?"

"After closing, around four-thirty. I stayed to help them clean up."

"Were you out late often on nights you had school the next day?"

"Sometimes, not a lot. Depended on what mood I was in."

"Your parents never said anything when you came in that late?" I asked.

"They gave up waiting up for me years ago. My hours are never i mentioned."

"Isn't it dangerous being a hustler nowadays?" Scott asked.

"No, I'm real careful. If a customer won't use a rubber, then it's no sale."

I resumed my questioning. "When you got home did you notice anything unusual?"

"Nope, as far as I knew everybody was in bed where they belonged."

"Wouldn't your mother have been worried if your dad wasn't home?"

"Maybe, but he kept odd hours a lot."

"Do you know where he went those odd hours?"

"No. He did it fairly often. Maybe once or twice a week. Nothing was ever said about it when I was around."

"Do you know of any connection between your dad and the Adonis-at-Large escort service?"

He looked surprised for a moment but all he said was no. I wondered what was behind the surprise. His no sounded wrong to me. I moved on to my next question. "Do you think your mom killed him?"

He contemplated this seriously. "I'd say no. She was too scared of him."

"Outside the family, who hated him enough to kill him?"

"Anybody who knew him" was his instant response.

I tried again. "Was there somebody with an extra-special grudge, or who had a recent fight with him, especially at work? Think first before you answer."

"No—" he started to answer quickly, then hesitated. "Well, wait, a couple times he talked about Mr. Vance, the head of the department. He thought Mr. Vance was incredibly stupid. He used to make lots of calls trying to get people to support him against Vance at department meetings. I remember the second Wednesday of every month he shouted on the phone for hours. The meetings were always the next day. I tried to be out those nights."

"But other than Vance, there was nobody in particular who stands out in your mind, maybe even a friend in the department?"

"Nobody, he had no friends."

"This is a tough question, Phil, but I need to ask. I've heard rumors since the murder that your dad had sex with some girls in his classes in exchange for better grades."

"It's not a rumor," Phil said. "It's true."

— 4 —

H
is instant confirmation surprised me.

Scott asked, "Didn't it bother you?"

"No, by the time I found out, I already knew he was slime."

"How did you find out?" I asked.

"Greg told me."

"Greg?" was my one-word question.

"Yeah, let me tell you what happened. One night when we were sophomores, we were on our way to a basketball game. Greg forgot his letterman's jacket or some stupid thing. So we went back to his house. I waited in the car while he ran in. He was gone a long time. Finally he came back without the jacket. He was real pale. All night he was real quiet. I teased him about it. He told me to lay off. I was supposed to sleep over at his house that night. When we got back after the game he stopped me outside on the lawn. He took a long time about it, but he finally told.

"Greg found his older sister and my dad in her bedroom. Greg went in there thinking she ripped off his jacket. She did that to annoy him sometimes. According to Greg, they were going at it hot and heavy. That's why they didn't hear him. His sister begged him not to tell. Later she told him about the deal for better grades. She was a senior and needed to graduate. She gets mostly D's and F's like Greg and me.

"My dad threatened him, said he knew the computer access codes, and he could lower Greg's grades if he said anything. For whatever reason, Greg agreed to keep his mouth shut. I was glad he told me. I couldn't tell anyone because of my promise. Besides, his sister was always good to me. She and I even did it once when I was in the seventh grade and she was a freshman. Anyway, I guess it doesn't hurt to break my promise because now my dad's dead."

Scott said, "You and your dad made it with the same girl?"

Phil looked at him in total innocence. "She and I were little kids. It was no big deal."

I put my hand on Scott's arm to forestall another comment.

I asked, "Was Greg angry at your dad?"

"He was real mad that night. Kind of stunned and shocked too. It took him awhile, but he got over it. Now he and his sister are real good friends. Besides, Greg learned stuff pretty early. His mom and dad divorced years ago. Greg had sex for the first time in sixth grade. I know it's true because I had sex with the same girl in eighth grade and asked her."

"I can't believe kids have sex in sixth grade," Scott said.

"Mr. Carpenter, most adults wouldn't believe the amount of stuff we do. They're all working, and we have plenty of time after school to do whatever we want. Guys like me and Greg get lots of offers."

Scott raised a doubting eyebrow.

"Things have changed since you were a kid," Phil said.

"I was terminally shy at that age," Scott remarked.

I asked, "Do you know for sure if your dad did this with other girls?"

"Not for sure, but my guess is that he did. He was scum."

"I'll need to talk to Greg again," I said. "Can I tell him you told me all this?"

He thought about this a long time. Finally he said, "Sure, go ahead. Tell him I told you. He'll understand."

I wasn't sure there was anything more to ask. "How about in general?" I asked. "Was there anything else about your father recently that was out of the ordinary?"

"Jeez, it's hard to say. I haven't been around that much. I've been into hustling pretty heavy."

"Anything at all, any changes?"

"No," he said slowly, concentrating, then his face brightened. "He did seem stuck for money lately."

"How do you mean stuck?"

"Broke. There were times when he had tons of money. Lately he'd been screaming at the kids a lot. That's how I knew he was down on money."

"Do you know why he was broke?"

"Nope, can't help you there."

I'd asked all I could think of. I said, "Keith misses you a lot."

"He's a great kid. He's the only one I miss. I hated leaving him, but with Dad gone he'll be okay. I promised I'd get back to him. That's one reason I wanted to see you. Could you take him a message for me?" He took a long white envelope from inside his suit coat and handed it to me. It had Keith's name printed in block letters over the sealed flap.

"I'll deliver it, I promise," I said.

"Thanks." He hesitated, looked toward Daphne. "I should be going. We're going to a concert tonight. That's why I'm dressed up."

"Wait, Phil, there's one more thing I don't understand.

Why did you leave home? With your father dead wouldn't life there be easier?"

"It's time for me to make a break, Mr. Mason. I got a solid offer from somebody I trust. I hate that house and all my memories from it."

"What about graduating?"

"I'll handle that later. School's not important." He pointed at himself. "I've got my most marketable asset with me at all times, and I intend to make the most of it while I can." When we didn't say anything to this he said, "Look, I appreciate you looking for me and all, but I'm okay, really."

I wished I could believe him. I was afraid what he was into was way over his head.

"If that's all, I've really got to go. I've told you all I know. I hope it helps you find out who did it." He stood up.

"One more thing," I said.

"That's what you said a minute ago." But he smiled as he spoke.

"Do you know where your dad was that night?"

"No, sorry." He began to move away.

I gave it one last try. "Phil, you don't have to go back to where you're living."

He gave us his dazzling smile. "I want to," he said simply. He gave a little wave. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Carpenter. See you, Mr. Mason."

We stood up also. Daphne lumbered over. "You two wait," she ordered. The manager let Phil out the door. Without looking back, the boy crossed Wacker Drive and disappeared around the corner of the Sears Tower.

"He's really not a bad kid," I mused aloud.

Daphne raised an eyebrow at me. "I suppose you're right," she said.

"The man he's staying with, is he trustable? Will Phil be okay?" I asked.

"Yes. Certainly better than he ever was at home," she answered.

Scott moved to confront her. "At least at home they weren't peddling kids."

She shook her finger in his face. "Don't you throw that family bullshit at me."

Scott grabbed her arm. "You're turning kids into whores." His deep voice achieved its angriest rumble.

The manager made a threatening move, but this time Daphne wrenched her arm out of Scott's grip. She didn't retreat though. She thrust her face at his, her nose landing an inch from his chin. She shook all over and bellowed back, "Watch it, asshole. You've touched me for the last time."

Lowering her voice, but with her frame still trembling, she went on. "Let me tell you something, fuck face. I find these kids. I make sure they don't starve. I make sure they have a place to stay. I keep them away from rough customers. I make sure they're taught safe sex."

She backed away from him half an inch. "I care for these kids. That boy needed help. I brought him here tonight because I knew he needed to get some shit out of his system. He wouldn't talk to me. He wouldn't talk to his hustler buddies. There was no one else. He had to talk to somebody. He was completely torn up inside." She whirled away from him and stomped up to me. "And let's not get the idea that I'm a lesbian with a heart of gold. I also keep these boys around because it's good for business, very good indeed. They keep customers coming in the door at an enormous profit a year. Is it wrong?"

She answered her own question. "I suppose it is, but you tell that to some starving, shivering fifteen-year-old with no place to go. Am I supposed to send them home? Most don't have a home to go to, or not one they're welcome in. As you well know, many parents can't handle it if they find out their teenage darling is a cock sucker."

She plunked onto a counter stool, cupped her chin in one hand, and drummed her fingers on the pale-green Formica.

I was curious. I said, "I've been told the other gay bar owners don't like you."

She looked up at me. "That's right."

"Why not?"

"I'm sure you've heard reasons."

"But I haven't heard your side."

She eyed me thoughtfully. She motioned to the manager. "You can go, Derek." He let himself out.

"I own the franchise here," she said. "I've made some good investments. In two years I'll be a millionaire." She got up and began pacing the floor. "First, they don't like me because I'm a woman. Second, they don't like it that my place makes more money than any other gay bar in the city. Third, I don't get caught. I think they hate that most of all."

She stopped pacing, gave me a sly wink. "I have no intention of revealing that secret, now or ever."

She resumed her journey in front of the counter. "They probably told you I double cross them, that I won't go along, that I don't support the community unity. Those hypocritical bastards. They unite when they're scared. They've stabbed each other in the back a thousand times. Then when some straight politician smiles at them, they scramble like mad to do the bidding of their 'friend.'"

The pacing stopped again. "Let me tell you, there is no such thing as a 'friend' of the gay community among straight politicians. We've had so-called
friends
in this city for years. They've taken our support, our money, our votes, and what do we have to show for it?" She gave another bitter laugh. "Look how they've handled the gay rights ordinance."

She grabbed her coat from a nearby booth. As she buttoned it she added in a very quiet voice, "I know I'm exaggerating. They aren't all like that. But I get so sick of the snotty few who think they run this community."

She swept toward the door. "Fuck 'em all," she said as she passed us. "Let's go, boys."