The Hired Man (15 page)

Chairs had been rearranged around the fireplace, three in a small semi-circle. Mrs. Glick motioned me to one, and she and her husband sat next to one another in the other two.

“This has been an incredibly difficult and sad day for us,” Mr. Glick said, reaching out to take his wife's hand. “And we are grateful to you for your kindness to Phil, and for being so considerate as to be the one to break the news to us and prepare us for our meeting with the police.”

“How did the meeting go?” I asked.

He gave a slight shrug.

“About as well as could be expected, I think. There were two detectives…a detective Carpenter and a detective…” He paused, looking to his wife, who shook her head.

“Couch,” I supplied.

“Yes, Couch. Thank you. They had the usual questions, and some not so usual.” He looked again to his wife, who picked up the conversation.

“They asked if we knew Billy and Phil were gay, and if we made it a point to hire gay models. We told them the sex lives of our models was none of our business and mentioned several are, in fact, married.

“We keep portfolios of all our models and the work they've done, and they seemed very interested in Billy's, asking if he had done any work shirtless. He had done some catalog work for shorts and swimwear, which we pointed out. They asked to borrow a couple and wanted to know the name and address of the photographer, apparently so they could go over the contact sheets to look for something.

“At least they were apparently satisfied that Billy was a legitimate photographer's model. They asked what our relationship was with Billy, and we told them honestly that we consider all of our models to be an extended family, and that Billy was a member of that family. When they asked what we knew of Billy's personal life, we were once again able to answer truthfully that we had control over Billy only insofar as his employment with us was concerned, but that the personal lives of our models are their own affair. They seemed satisfied.”

“They did ask,” Mr. Glick said, apparently on reflection, “whether we had ever had any problems with any of our clients. Whether any of the photographers or advertising people who employ our models had ever approached them sexually. We told them we had never had any such complaint. I think the police have a very warped view of models, photographers, and the art world in general.”

“Indeed,” I said, and found myself relaxing considerably. Of course, I probably shouldn't have worried in any case; the Glicks didn't just fall off the turnip truck. They were shrewd business people, or they wouldn't be where they were.

We were all silent for a moment while I thought of a graceful way approach my main reason for wanting the meeting. Finding there was none, I gave a mental shrug and plowed ahead.

“Which brings us,” I said, “to a very sensitive area, and I must once again ask your indulgence if I step over a line or two.”

The Glicks looked at one another, then at me, and nodded in unison.

“Proceed,” Mr. Glick said.

“I'm afraid we have to face the possibility—however unacceptable it may be—that Stuart Anderson's death and Billy's death were more than merely coincidental tragedies. And if they were not coincidences, the finger points directly to a link with ModelMen.”

They sat in complete silence. No protestations, no look of shock. Impassive. I waited for another moment and then continued.

“You mentioned, when you were telling me about having fired Matt Rushmore, that he was apparently pretty heavily into S and M.”

Mr. Glick sat forward in his chair, no longer impassive.

“Surely, you can't be suggesting…?”

“I'm not suggesting anything,” I said. “But both Billy and Stuart Anderson weren't merely murdered. They were brutally butchered. It had to have taken an incredibly sick mind to even conceive of doing something like that. Given the circumstances, Matt Rushmore is the obvious first person to look at.

“Can you tell me anything at all about him? Anything at all you might know from his past?”

The Glicks thought a moment, exchanging glances, and then Mrs. Glick said, “Matt is very ingratiating—that's one of the things we look for in our escorts, of course. We check them out as closely as we can, and we have lengthy interviews before offering them the position. There seemed to be certain areas of his past he was reluctant to go into in detail, but he did say that he had been married and had three children. His wife left him for another man, from what we could gather, when she discovered Matt's bisexual nature.”

“How did Matt come to ModelMen?”

Mr. Glick picked up that one.

“He, like Aaron, was referred to us by Gary. Matt and Gary had been in the Marines together, it seems, and had become quite good friends. They still are, I believe.” He looked to his wife for verification, and she nodded.

“Matt,” he continued, “was having serious financial problems after his wife left him, and had taken to hustling to make ends meet. He and Gary were our first two escorts, as a matter of fact.”

Interesting
.

“Speaking of which,” I said, “I've met four of your escorts—Gary, Aaron, Phil, and…Billy, but I think it might be helpful if I met the other two. Mike and…Steve?”

Mr. Glick nodded.

“Did they both know Matt?”

“Yes,” he said, “and of course you are welcome to meet them. My wife and I were just discussing, before you arrived, that it might be a good idea to get everyone here for one of our group dinners as soon as Phil is up to it. I'm sure they will all want to express their condolences and feelings over Billy's terrible loss. Perhaps you could join us. It would give you a chance to talk to everyone.”

“That's kind of you,” I said. “I appreciate your including me.”

“And on the subject of dinner,” Mrs. Glick said, “would you be able to stay this evening? I know it's short notice, but Phil might feel a bit more comfortable if a friend were here.”

“If it wouldn't be an imposition,” I said.

“Not at all.” Mrs. Glick smiled as she got up from her chair. “I'll just go tell Johnnie Mae.”

*

Dinner was, as I'd expected, difficult. Phil arrived just before 7:00, and we went almost immediately into the formal dining room, which, like the study, was elegant without being overpowering. The table was gigantic and looked as though it could seat forty without even putting in an extra leaf.

One end of the table was set for four and yet managed not to look like everything had just been shoved to one end.

The food was delicious, but no one was really very hungry. Phil was still in something of a state of…well, withdrawal, although he tried valiantly to pretend this was just a social gathering. The Glicks were marvelously kind—solicitous without being overly attentive. Mr. Glick in particular, I noticed, subtly kept a close eye on Phil's every response and reaction.

What talk there was, was as light as could be managed under the circumstances. Mrs. Glick asked how Phil and I had met, not knowing it was related to an earlier case involving murder. I rather hoped Phil might not remember that aspect, but of course, he did.

Johnnie Mae had made an angel food cake with whipped cream, which she knew Phil loved, and after dinner, we sat around over coffee and Cointreau until I sensed it was time for me to leave. As we all rose from the table, Mr. Glick turned to me and said, “Would you mind helping Phil get settled in?” Which was, I knew, his subtle way of giving Phil and I a moment or two alone together.

“Sure,” I said.

“Turn left at the top of the stairs,” Mrs. Glick said, “and it's the third door on the right—the one with the small balcony overlooking the pool.” She turned to Phil and hugged him. “Goodnight, dear,” she said and kissed him on the cheek.

Mr. Glick moved forward to shake his hand.

“We'll see you in the morning, then.”

Phil nodded and tried to smile.

“Thank you both,” he said.

I followed him up the stairs and down the hall to his room. Johnnie Mae had turned the bed down and opened the sliding glass doors to the balcony, which overlooked not only the pool but the golf course beyond. Phil's small overnight bag was at the foot of the bed. We stood there a moment; then, not knowing what else to do, I gave in to the urge to hug him.

“Hang in there, kid,” I said.

“I will.”

I stayed with him while he got undressed and got into bed—nude. It was the first time I'd ever seen him nude that my crotch didn't automatically spring into “ready” stage, but I guess even it knew there is a time and a place for everything…and this was neither.

“I'll talk with you tomorrow,” I said as he pulled the sheets up around him. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

I closed the door behind me and went back downstairs.

The Glicks were in the study, and I stopped at the door to say my thanks and goodnights, and to ask for Matt Rushmore's home phone number.

*

When I got home, just before 10:00 I found messages from Tim and Jared. Tim's said he had nothing new to report but wanted to see how I was doing, and how Phil was holding up. Jared's simply said he'd heard about Billy—probably from Tim—and for me to give him a call when I could. Both sounded sincerely concerned, and I reflected again on how much easier life is when you're lucky enough to have good friends—and how important they are.

I wasn't sure how much either Tim or Jared knew about ModelMen's escort service branch—it was hardly a secret in the gay community, but it wasn't a topic of general conversation, either. Those who knew about it just considered it another gay business like the stores, bars, and restaurants along Beech or Arnwood.

So, when I returned their calls, despite the hour, I just filled them in on the general details of the day—the police's visit to Phil, that he was staying with the Glicks for a few days, our dinner…that sort of thing. Not trying to hide anything but thinking it wasn't necessary to spell everything out at this point. It probably wouldn't take much for them to connect the dots.

*

The morning paper carried a small article on page two to the effect that the body found in the Dumpster had not yet been positively identified. No mention of the missing head and hands.

Although the Glicks had given me Matt Rushmore's home phone number, I made a quick check of the phone book to see if he might be listed. He was, which would eliminate the necessity of my explaining how I'd gotten it. I didn't want to put the Glicks in an awkward position if I could help it.

I forced myself to finish reading the paper and tried to do the crossword puzzle, but my mind just wouldn't cooperate. So, even though I'd wanted to wait until I was sure Rushmore would be either at work or out of bed, I gave up and dialed his number.

A very masculine voice said, “Hi, this is Matt,” and I was just about to say something when it continued, “I'll be glad to return your call if you'll leave your number.”

I identified myself and left both my work and home numbers. I don't usually like to give out my home phone but very much wanted to talk to him as soon as possible.

I next called the Glicks to see how Phil was doing; Johnnie Mae answered. I had found out, I can't recall how, that her last name was Dabbs, and I made a point of addressing her as “Mrs. Dabbs” rather than “Johnnie Mae.”

Before asking to speak to Phil, I complimented her on her cooking and on her consideration for him. She seemed truly pleased, and when I asked to speak with him, she said he was in the pool but she would go tell him I was on the line. I had a momentary vision of Phil padding wetly across the marble foyer, leaving a long trail of water from the pool to the phone, before I realized the Glicks just might have one out by the pool.

A moment later, I heard Phil's voice.

“Hi, Dick.” He sounded almost like the old Phil.

“Just thought I'd check to see how you're doing.”

“That's really nice of you,” he said. “I'm just taking a dip—Gary came by and insisted I get in the pool with him. I'm glad he did; I feel a lot better…physically, anyway.”

“Well, I'm glad. I just wanted to say hi, and now I'll let you get back to Gary.”

“No,” Phil said, “I'm glad you called. I was going to call you. I've been thinking about Billy and trying to remember anything at all that might help find out who…who did this to him.”

My alert level went up a couple of notches.

“And did you?”

Phil lowered his voice noticeably, and I wondered how close Gary might be to the phone.

“I told you Billy didn't tell me who he had the date with,” Phil said. “That was unusual, but I didn't think that much about it. Then I thought about it and remembered that he'd only not told me who he was going out with twice before, and both those times it was because he was going out with somebody he knew I didn't like for one reason or another. One was a guy I tricked with who I suspect stole some money from my wallet, the other guy was a really sleazy druggie who I was afraid might try to pull something on Billy—you know, slip him something without his knowing it.”