The Role Players (29 page)

“Pull over when you have a chance, Keith,” I said. “I'd feel more comfortable riding up front, if that's okay with you.”

He nodded and a moment or two later we saw flashing lights ahead and traffic slowed to a stop. I took advantage of it by quickly transferring from back seat to front. As we moved slowly ahead we could see a police car at the scene of what appeared to be a minor fender-bender. As soon as we passed it, traffic resumed its normal pace. Keith kept his eyes on the road and did not so much as glance at me.

After a good two minutes of silence, I could tell he wasn't about to speak until spoken to, so I stepped right in.

“I do have some questions you could help me with,” I said, “and I give you my word that I will not repeat anything you say to Tait.”

He gave me a quick, sidelong glance, but remained silent.

“This is probably a truly stupid question,” I continued, “but since Master/slave relationships are totally foreign to me, I'm curious as to why any guy would want to be a slave.”

He glanced at me again, longer this time, and he smiled slightly as his eyes returned to the road.

“I really don't know how to answer that question,” he said after a moment's thought. “Some things just are. What we are and how we got to be who we are is the result of our cumulative life experiences. Why is a drag queen a drag queen? Why is a leatherman a leatherman?”

He had a good point.

He glanced at me. “Sorry I don't have a more concrete answer.” He was quiet a moment, then continued. “I'm too close to my own life to really describe how I got to be a slave—it's just something that is a part of me. I can see Mr. Duncan's evolution more clearly than I can see my own.”

“And that would be…?” I asked.

“Mr. Duncan was an only child. His mother died in childbirth, and his father treated him very much the same way as he treats me—right down to the sex. On Mr. Duncan's—
my
Mr. Duncan's—sixteenth birthday, his dad took him to a high-class brothel and selected a girl for him. Mr. Duncan went with her to her room, but refused to have sex with her. When she told the old man, he was furious, so he took them both back to the room and
he
had sex with her and made Tai…” he caught himself just in time…“my Mr. Duncan watch so he could learn how ‘real Duncan men' were expected to behave. He never got over it.”

While it was a real struggle to keep all the “Mr. Duncans” straight—no pun intended—I think I got the picture.

“Their relationship deteriorated to the point where his father had his lawyer draw up a new will, cutting my Mr. Duncan out entirely, but died suddenly before he could sign it, and the family fortune passed from father to son.”

Wow! That was some story,
I thought.
I wonder how much of it is true?

“How did his father die, do you know?” I asked.

Keith shook his head. “I don't know. I don't think Mr. Duncan ever said.”

“So that explains Tait being a Master,” I said. “It doesn't explain why you take it from him, and why you don't leave him.”

He looked at me again. “You love Jonathan, right?” he asked.

“Very much,” I said.

“And you'd do anything for him?”

I knew where
that
was going. “Almost,” I said. “But there are lines that can't be crossed, no matter how much you love someone.”

Keith shrugged. “Different people draw different lines.”

“And it doesn't bother you to watch Tait having sex with other guys?”

He gave a shrug. “It doesn't happen that often, and if it pleases him to have me watch, I watch.”

I'm sorry, but I was really having trouble going along with what he was saying.

“But how do
you
feel about it?” I pressed.

He gave me a look that told me clearly I didn't have a clue, and he was right.

“If Mr. Duncan is happy, then I'm happy.”

“Did you watch Tait and Rod having sex more than once?”

“No. Just that first time when he came to visit.”

“And you weren't the least bit jealous of Rod?”

He shook his head. “No. Why? You think
I
could have killed Rod?”

“Did you?”

He looked directly at me, his eyes and face serious. “Of course not.”

Give it up, Hardesty,
I thought.
You're in a different universe here.

I suddenly remembered something Joe Kenyon had told me about past incidents at the Whitman.

“What do you know about…”
damn! What was the kid's name?
Oh, yeah,
“…Michael Greene? He had the lead in
Triangle
and killed himself not long afterwards.”

I saw his hands unconsciously tighten on the steering wheel. “I'm not supposed to talk about that.”

“Tait told you you could answer any questions I had,” I pointed out, “and I promise I won't let him know you told me.”

“Michael was a very disturbed individual,” he said. “Mr. Duncan thought he was just a seriously repressed slave. So the night after the show closed, Mr. Duncan had sex with him, as a Master. Well, if Michael was a repressed slave, maybe he couldn't handle the realization. A couple of days later he killed himself. It really shook Mr. Duncan, and he's never tried that tactic again.”

“And what about Ted Marx, the stage manager a couple of years back? He apparently just disappeared between rehearsals.”

Keith smiled as if to himself. “Ted was a friend of one of Mr. Duncan's business associates, who referred Ted. Ted was a real con artist and he somehow convinced Mr. Duncan he knew a lot more about stage-managing than he actually did, so he hired him. When Mr. Duncan realized it, he called Ted in and told him he'd have to let him go. But it seems Ted had seen Mr. Duncan at an S&M bar in full Master gear and threatened to spread the word among Mr. Duncan's straight friends and business associates. He said he'd leave if Mr. Duncan gave him a $10,000 ‘Termination of Contract' fee. Mr. Duncan agreed and told him to come back the next afternoon. When he did, Mr. Duncan had set up a hidden tape recorder and, as he handed over the money, I stepped into the room and took a photo of it. Ted didn't know what had hit him, but Mr. Duncan took back the money and told Ted that if he ever saw him again, he'd turn the photo and the tape over to the police. Ted got the message.”

I'd been impressed not only by Keith's calm demeanor throughout what Jonathan would certainly have called “the interrogation,” but by how effortlessly he maneuvered through the congested streets without constantly having to slam on the brakes to avoid pedestrians, cabs, police cars with wailing sirens and flashing lights, and other distractions. An unflappable guy. And for some reason I couldn't explain, that thought really bugged me.

*

Keith drove me to Chris and Max's apartment.

I thought about how lonely Keith's life must be—I assumed Tait didn't want him to have friends of his own—so when we reached the apartment, I said, “Would you like to hang out with us for the day? I'm not sure what we'll be doing, but I know you'd be welcome.”

He smiled, but it quickly faded. “Thanks, Mr. Hardesty,” he said. “That's really nice of you, but I really can't. I've got some errands to run for Mr. Duncan, then there's some work I've got to do at home, and he might call needing me to do something.”

“You're sure?”

He smiled again. “I'm sure. But I really appreciate the offer. You and Jonathan make a great team. Be happy.”

We shook hands and I got out of the car and watched as it drove off.

You know, love can really suck sometimes
, I thought.

I climbed the stairs and, not having brought a key, rang the bell to the apartment. The guys were waiting when I entered.

“Sorry,” I said. “Another morning shot to hell.” Jonathan came over to give me a hug, and I followed him to the couch and sat down.

“No problem,” Chris said. He was sitting on the arm of Max's chair, an arm around his shoulders. “You want something for breakfast?”

“Nah,” I replied. “It's almost time for lunch anyway. I assume you've had breakfast, though?”

They nodded in unison, making me feel somewhat better to know they hadn't held off waiting for me to return.

“So, any plans for the rest of the day?” I asked.

“We thought we might run over to Staten Island,” Max said. “Jonathan says he likes riding ferries, right, Jonathan?”

“Well, he'd better not let me catch him!” I said.

Jonathan blushed furiously, then joined our laugh.

*

We decided to have lunch when we got to the island, and left the apartment about ten minutes after I'd gotten back.

Keith
says
he took a bus home that night
, I thought as we walked to the subway,
but you don't know that for sure, and it would probably be nearly impossible to prove one way or the other.

But what about the guy the bartender at The Hole said Rod left with? He said the guy wasn't a regular—“somebody more like him.” Keith sure fit the description: tall, good-looking and in the right age range. He looked a hell of a lot more like Rod than anybody I'd seen at the bar.

When Vince mentioned the cab pulling up and the guy getting out, I got my hopes up. But the only man I knew with both a beard and direct ties to the Whitman is Arthur McHam, the director, and somehow I just can't picture him as a killer. He's in a monogamous relationship and is about three times older than Rod to boot.

Ah, yes...and then there's Gavin Sturgess, the obnoxious director we saw at the opening. He has a full beard and hates Tait and Gene and everyone in general, from what I understand. But I can't see him having the balls to kill anyone.

So it's pretty certain that it was the guy Rod left with who killed him, and the only one to fit Vince's description was Keith!

Jeezus!

CHAPTER 12

I felt a tap on my arm.

“You going to get off with the rest of us,” Chris asked, “or do you just want to ride around back and forth on the subway all day?”

I realized we were at our stop, and I quickly followed the guys out. Damn, I hate it when I do that!

The ferry ride was fun. I always enjoy being on a ship—or, in the case of the ferry, a large boat. Jonathan had of course brought his camera, and insisted we wander around the entire boat, upstairs and down, to get different views of a retreating Manhattan and the Brooklyn and New Jersey shorelines as they passed.

By the time we got off the ferry, I was pretty hungry, so we stopped at a little family-run place not too far from the dock. The food was good and, to Jonathan's delight, plentiful. I actually managed to turn the private investigator part of my mind off for a while so I could enjoy the food and the company. I realized we'd be leaving in two days, and I really wanted to enjoy what was left of our vacation.

Fat chance.

Max had suggested we go to the Staten Island Botanical Gardens and the zoo, which was close by. Flowers and animals are always a winning combination for a relaxing afternoon. We decided to splurge and take a cab. I opted for the zoo first, since I suspected we might have trouble dragging Jonathan away from the Botanical Gardens. The others agreed.

Two choices: either it was Keith or it was some other guy Rod picked up at The Hole. Whether anyone from the Whitman was actually involved in Rod's death has always been a huge question mark—except for the gun. And you're basing everything on the
assumption
—logical as it may be—that it was that gun which killed Rod. What if it wasn't?

Come on, Hardesty…if it's got webbed feet and feathers and walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…

Yeah, yeah.

The thing is, you don't
want
Keith to be the killer.

No, I guess I don't. I feel sorry for the guy.

Oh well, that settles it; he didn't do it. You have a pretty disturbing history of thinking that anybody you like or feel sorry for can't possibly be a killer. Given the number of times you've been wrong, why in hell did you ever become a private investigator?

“Is this the right place?” Jonathan asked as the cab dropped us off in front of the main building. “It looks awfully small.”

“Only about eight acres,” Max said, “but it's rated among the best zoos in the country. It specializes in the smaller species, and is especially known for its reptiles.”

“
Now
you tell me!” I said. Snakes are not my most favorite of God's creatures.

So Keith killed Rod. He had a damned good reason to be jealous of him; Tait had sex with him and had contact with him nearly every day at the theater. Keith spent a lot of time in the box office. He
had
to have known about the gun.

Yeah, but Tait's the real prick responsible for all this. Why didn't Keith shoot
him
, or at the very least walk out on him?

For the same reason Gene Morrison couldn't have killed Rod. He loved him too much.

Oh, Jeezus, Hardesty!

*

“I think I liked the bats most,” Jonathan was saying as I pulled myself back to the moment, grateful I didn't remember much about the Serpentorium, as I think it was called. “The vampire bats were really cool,” Jonathan continued. “I really like bats and hate it when people kill them.” Max had called for a cab to take us to the Botanical Gardens, and we waited on the curb until it arrived.