They entered the gym. At the reception desk, Turner and Fenwick showed their identification to a sweatsuit-clad twenty-year-old. She called the manager who accompanied them as they hunted for Barlow.
The health club was set up on three levels. The ground floor had row after row of exercise machines. The second floor was completely open for large exercise classes. The top floor contained a running track. Inside the oval was gymnastics equipment. Most gyms on the near-north side of the city had a large gay clientele. As far as Turner could see, that was true of this one as well.
They found Francis Barlow using a universal weight machine designed to increase his upper-arm strength. His plain gray T-shirt was cut off to expose his midriff. The cotton was damp down the front and at the armpits. Matted hair peeked out from around the collar of the shirt and glistened around his lower torso. His tight shorts bulged in the front, were damp at the crotch, and ripped up the sides. Turner could see the straps of a jock showing. The skimpy clothes showed off his taut muscled frame. His shoes were pure white, as were his socks. Every strand of his slicked-back hair was still in place. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and his forehead.
They stood directly in front of Barlow who stared at them as he finished his repetitions.
“I can’t stop my workout,” he said.
“Indeed, you can,” Fenwick said.
Barlow tried to stand up. Fenwick placed a large hand on the front of his T-shirt and shoved. Barlow sat back down. He picked up a towel from the floor and mopped at some of his sweat.
People around them were beginning to stare.
“What is it that you want?” Barlow asked.
“You were Mike Meade’s boyfriend,” Turner said.
“If I was, that is not a crime.”
“His death is.”
Barlow looked each of them in the eye. “That’s bullshit. What do you mean he’s dead? I saw him myself last night.”
The three men were silent.
Barlow turned pale. “No, that can’t be true.”
“He died this afternoon.”
“What happened?”
“That’s what we want you to tell us,” Turner said.
“I had nothing to do with his death.”
“We need for you to accompany us down to the station,” Fenwick said.
“Am I under arrest?”
“No.”
“Then why should I go down to the station?”
“We’re making the rules here, Mr. Barlow,” Fenwick said. “Cut the crap.”
Barlow said, “I would like to shower. I would prefer to be talked to in a less public place, but unless I’m under arrest, I don’t believe I have to accompany you anywhere. We can talk here. I need to take a shower first. This is horrible news about Mike. How can he be dead?”
Fenwick said. “We’ll accompany you to your locker.”
“You a closet case?” Barlow asked.
“Not this week,” Fenwick said.
The three men stood at the opening to the shower room as Barlow ran spray over himself. The two cops were not about
to risk another possible witness getting away. The other patrons, seeing three fully clad men watching Barlow, either grinned lasciviously or frowned worriedly and hurried out. Turner didn’t find himself the least excited by what he saw.
Barlow took his time in his ablutions. Turner noted Fenwick getting testy. Fenwick didn’t look like he’d be the slightest bit gentle with this man.
The club permitted them to sit in an unused office to ask their questions. Barlow wore a black Air Apache Flight Suit. He sat rigidly in the office chair and crossed his legs at the ankles just above his black Georgian Logger boots. He rested an elbow on the desk. His hair was now genuinely wet while being slicked back.
Turner sat on the desk near to Barlow. Fenwick and Hume stood against opposite walls.
“Tell me what happened,” Barlow said.
Turner noted that Barlow’s hands trembled slightly. One foot tapped the other regularly. Barlow’s rigid control was cracking.
“When was the last time you saw Mike Meade?”
“He called me last night from his house after you were through with him. I stopped over. I didn’t ring the bell. I waited in my car outside. Reporters were lurking all over the place. When I got there, he ran out and jumped in the car. He was angry about what you had accused him of. The poor guy was a mess. He felt really guilty about his dad.”
“You mean he killed him?” Fenwick asked.
“No, not that. About the things he said to him before he died. He was heartbroken. He really loved his dad. He wanted to talk. We went to his place in Rogers Park. He cried a lot. We spoke until about four this morning. I left. He stayed there.”
“Do you have proof that you went home?”
“I have proof for none of this. At the time I went home, the streets were quite deserted. I saw no one. I slept until nearly one this afternoon. I went out and ate at a health food restaurant
near my home. Then I came here, and I’ve been here ever since.”
“Tell us about your relationship with Mike Meade.”
“We were good friends, but we were never lovers.”
“His sister told us you spent a week with him at their cabin. We found pants in his closet that are likely your size. You were more than friends.”
“I must have left the pants in the cabin by accident.”
“Tell us about you and him,” Turner said.
“First, you tell me what happened to him. You say he’s dead.” Barlow’s voice wavered. Turner saw the pursed lips loosen and tremble. Barlow leaned over, put his elbows on his thighs, and intertwined his fingers. He looked up at Turner. “Please tell me what happened.”
“You wanted to be lovers, but he didn’t,” Turner said.
Barlow looked at the ground. Turner saw Barlow nod his head as he whispered, “Yes.” Turner saw a tear fall to the ground. Turner and Fenwick were masters at waiting for a suspect to speak. After a few minutes Barlow wiped his nose on his expensive sleeve and began. “We met at the bar Au Naturel. I knew who he was, though. I’d seen him from a distance at the office once. At the bar it was his night off, and he was by himself having a beer. I introduced myself to him, mentioned I saw him at the office. He became quite concerned. I assured him my interest was in him and how good-looking I thought he was, not in any connection with his dad. That was true. I didn’t date him because it could help my career. How could it? I liked him because he lived a looser, unstructured life. Mine is pretty rigid.”
“Did he talk to you about coming out to his parents?”
“He was never out to his dad or mom. As far as I knew, he’d told only his sister.”
“Does your family know about you?” Turner asked.
“That I’m gay? No. That’s why I took the job here. If I’d have gotten an offer from the West Coast, I’d have taken it. I needed
to have some space. Mike and I shared that in common. It was good to have somebody to talk to who wasn’t judgmental. Guys I’d date a few times were always asking about why I didn’t come out to my parents. One guy wanted me to go with him to a party with his co-workers on that National Coming Out Day last October. I broke up with him because of that. I’ll come out in my own good time.”
“What happened with you and Mike?”
“We began dating. It was amusing in the office. The judge would be bragging about his kid, but I was the one who knew the true story.”
“When did you meet?”
“Last spring.”
“And you were dating until now?”
“No. We dated for about three months, but he had odd hours and I have a great deal of work I bring home. We couldn’t see each other that often. I wasn’t about to go to the bar to get a feel, not when I’d been with him in bed.”
“You broke up.”
“I wouldn’t put it like that. I told him I loved him. He said he wanted to just be friends, and we were good friends still. We could open up with each other without the demands of a lover’s relationship. You probably wouldn’t understand, but we were an outlet for each other.”
“Fuck buddies,” Fenwick said.
“Crudely put, yes, but not so much recently.”
“But you each saw other people?” Turner asked.
“He did. I was too busy. Sometimes we’d get together and talk about who he was dating.”
“That must have been difficult for you.”
“Why?”
“Guy you loved telling about his dates.”
“Hold it, you’re getting this wrong. This isn’t some jealous lover’s murder here. If it was, why would I murder Judge Meade? I’d have been angry at Mike. We didn’t have an angry
breakup. That vacation last summer was the best time I’ve ever had.”
“You knew he hustled?”
“Of course.”
“That didn’t bother you?”
“If we’d become lovers, it would have, but we weren’t.”
“Did you go skiing with him in Aspen this past week?” Turner asked.
Barlow hesitated.
“He told us he was with a wealthy client and then later with a friend. We can check the airlines. They’ll have records. We can check your credit card company.”
“I know that. We agreed to meet in Aspen after he was done with the client. I went with him to St. Louis. At each stop, he insisted that we stay in a room with two beds. He told me I could meet him as long as we got separate beds. We couldn’t afford separate rooms. I admit, I would still have been happy to make love to him. What he didn’t know about what I caressed while he slept wasn’t going to hurt him.”
“What did you do in St. Louis?”
“Tourist stuff. Went to the Arch, the train station, had dinner at Tony’s restaurant.”
“Fabulous place,” Ian said.
“Yes, it is. Refined, elegant, and very expensive. As you know, the flight back to Chicago was delayed.”
“What happened when you got here?”
“They gave us free drinks on the plane while it was delayed. We were feeling no pain. We walked off the plane arm in arm. His dad must have seen us. Mike gave me his baggage claim ticket so I could pick up his luggage and bring it to his place later. Mike was afraid he was going to be late for work, plus he said he had to meet somebody at the airport.”
“Do you know who?”
“No.”
“A client?”
“When he didn’t give me a name or tell me it was a friend, I assumed it was a client. He never said.”
“Then what happened?”
“He said he would find his friend and get a ride with him or take a cab with him. I wanted to go straight home. I had to get moving. I was supposed to meet my friend from New York for dinner, and I was very late myself. We said good-bye on the lower concourse. We were still pretty intoxicated, laughing and giggling. I teased him about the sugar daddy he was probably meeting. We were feeling really giddy. I grabbed him and kissed him good-bye. I figured, who would know me at the airport?”
“The judge saw you?” Turner asked.
“He came running up to us. He started berating Mike, calling him names, making cracks about him being a faggot, how dare he make a public display of affection—that kind of thing. I felt bad because it was my fault we kissed. I was feeling affectionate and New-Year’s-party-happy. All the time he was castigating Mike, Judge Meade never raised his voice. Nobody around noticed us. Mike was really pale. Trembling. His dad looked like he was ready to hit him. I tried to get in between them. The judge turned on me. He told me he’d be sure I was fired as soon as he got back from Montreal. He said ordinance or no ordinance in the city of Chicago, he was going to find a way to fire me. He said that it applied only to city workers, not to federal employees.”
“Is that true?” Fenwick asked.
“I think so,” Ian said.
“I was willing to stay, but Mike said I better go. His dad told me to get the hell out. I began walking away. Mike ran up to me a minute later and said everything would be all right. He’d take care of my job and not to worry about his dad. From all I knew of Judge Meade, I didn’t have much faith in Mike’s reassurance. I assumed my job was gone. I got in the cab and went to meet my friend. We went out to dinner as I stated earlier.”
“We haven’t been able to get hold of your friend.”
“Barry has trouble with the phone company periodically. You’ll get hold of him. He’ll back up what I say.”
“Why didn’t you tell us about you and Mike Meade when we talked to you earlier?”
“You didn’t ask. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to Mike. Since I knew he’d seen his dad, I didn’t want to implicate him.”
“Or yourself,” Turner said.
“I didn’t find out about the murder until that Friday morning when I came in to work. New Year’s Day I was skiing just over the border in Wisconsin. I don’t listen to the news.”
They left Barlow in the room and met outside.
Fenwick said, “Jealous old lover, about to lose his job. He has all the makings of a fine suspect.”
“Sort of fits,” Turner said, “I’m just not sure, although he’s going to have to come down to the station. We’ll have to question him again.”
“Who could Mike Meade have been going to meet that night?” Ian asked.
“If he was really meeting someone,” Fenwick said. “Making that up would be something good to add if Barlow needed an out.”
Turner said, “Why would Mike or Judge Meade need to go to the Federal Building? What makes that place so important?”
“I hate coincidences,” Fenwick said.
“So it’s important?”
Fenwick shrugged. “Apparently so.”
Turner continued, “If what Schurz told us is true, both of them went there. Mike didn’t have to meet his dad. He was already with his dad. If he left his dad, how did the judge know to go to the bar. Did the kid leave and Judge Meade begins to follow his kid all over town? Is this making sense?”
“We weren’t there,” Fenwick said. “We don’t know what was going on.”
“Got to be a logical progression,” Turner said. “The judge
and the kid are at the curb at the airport fighting. Kid claimed his dad must have followed him secretly.”
“Mike Meade said they didn’t meet, but that his dad followed him at a distance,” Fenwick said.
Ian said, “He lied.”
“We have corroboration from Barlow about the fact that dad and son met,” Turner said. “I just can’t get them from the airport to Au Naturel.”
“How long is it between sets at the bar?” Fenwick said.
“Forty-five minutes to an hour,” Ian answered.
Fenwick said, “That’s plenty of time to leave, commit murder, and get back. Maybe he met his dad afterward. What if Schurz got the times confused and saw him much later than he said? Maybe the conversation didn’t end in the bar. Schurz could remember things backward. Maybe he wanted to impress you.”
“The kid was whacked,” Turner said, “but I don’t think he’d get it that wrong. He was a needy, frightened teenager, but he wasn’t stupid.”
Ian said, “He had a little bit of information and to get closer to you, maybe trying to impress you, he gave you more than he had. He wanted to be important. He wanted to be needed. If he knew something important, then he was important.”
“We’re getting awfully speculative here,” Fenwick said. “I like the idea that Mike Meade left the bar between sets.”
“For an assignation in the Federal Building?” Ian asked.
“We have no corroboration that he was there,” Turner said.
“Discount all of what Schurz had and what do we have?” Ian asked.
“Barlow and the mysterious stranger Mike Meade was meeting at the airport,” Fenwick replied.
“Which at least helps Barlow,” Turner said. “We still haven’t talked to his alibi. And he could have gone out afterward. Killed the judge. His lover is in pain. Hell, he and Mike Meade could have killed his dad, and Mike Meade feels such guilt that he’s going to turn them both in.”
“The son has to die to ensure silence?” Fenwick asked.
The door to the office opened.
“Can I leave?” Barlow asked.
“We need to bring you down to the station,” Turner said. “We’re going to have to do more checking.”
Barlow nodded. “Let me get my stuff.”
Fenwick accompanied him to the locker room.
Ian said, “I don’t trust Barlow.”
“We don’t have any physical evidence that he is the killer. I don’t like it that the only people who can contradict his story are dead.”
Ian said, “I’m going back to the office. I’m going to try squeezing my sources some more. Barlow must have friends in the gay community. I’m going to find them. And you don’t have to remind me. None of this is publishable. But I expect a complete, utter, and entire exclusive on this.”
“Would you settle for a hot date with an NFL quarterback?”
“As long as he’s under thirty, sure.”
Ian left.
As Turner and Fenwick took Barlow back to the station, light snow drifted in a diminishing wind. As they crossed the Chicago River on Lake Shore Drive, Turner looked west to the towers of light shrouded in cold. The snow made them even more stark and beautiful than usual.