At Headquarters, they put Barlow in one of the conference rooms. They informed Molton of what they had.
The acting commander said, “We have something here?”
“My instinct is against arresting him,” Turner said.
“Let’s keep him talking for a while,” Fenwick said. “He’s a great suspect, but I agree with Paul. We don’t have anything physical to tie him to either killing. Tough to make that stick in court.”
Molton nodded agreement.
By ten o’clock, Turner was sick of going over the same questions with Barlow. The suspect was exhausted and frightened, but showed no signs of knowing more than he said. Turner thought one good thing was that at least the guy had dropped most of his arrogance.
Turner and Fenwick took a break from the conversation. They sat at their desks. Turner called Ben to tell him he would be very late and not to wait up.
After Turner hung up, Fenwick said, “What I really need is chocolate.”
“Fresh out.”
“Never be too far from your nearest supply of chocolate. One of the great truisms of the twentieth century. I want it on my headstone in huge block letters.” Fenwick opened every
drawer of his desk and moved everything around. He came up with nothing.
“Preliminary lab reports on Mike Meade’s apartment are here,” Turner said. He glanced through them.
“Anything?”
Turner read for a few moments. “Nope. No prints on the radiator although a couple of dust smudges could be fresh. A few paint flakes might be newly broken.”
“I can see it now,” Fenwick said. “We line up the suspects and look for microscopic bits.”
“If we find the killer, it could be a damning piece of evidence.”
“The kind of thing that is dear to my heart. Not as dear as chocolate, but right up there.”
Turner asked, “Where are the reports we wrote on our first conversation with Barlow?”
Fenwick pointed to a stack of papers on the floor next to his desk.
Turner grabbed the pile and put it on top of his desk.
“Let’s go over the first stuff he said,” Turner suggested. He found the appropriate pages. He walked down to the second floor, made a copy, and brought them back up.
He and Fenwick read through what they had written.
Turner said, “Only big oddity is that stuff about Wadsworth and Meade having arguments. Absolutely nobody confirmed that.”
“I assumed he was lying.”
“Let’s try it the other way around,” Turner said. “Let’s assume that everything Barlow said was true. Remember he never actually lied to us the first time, he just left stuff out.”
“Lots of important stuff.”
“I agree, but we’re stuck. Let’s try Barlow as personification of truth.”
“You’re cute when you use six syllable words.”
“Why don’t you sit on it and rotate. I’m even cuter when I
solve a murder. From Barlow, we believe that Wadsworth and Meade were mortal enemies.”
“We are not going to be able to pin a murder rap on Judge Wadsworth based on what we’ve got so far.”
“Let’s talk to Barlow some more. If necessary, let’s get Wadsworth down here.”
“Based on this?”
“Hell, you were ready to arrest Judge Wright on little more than this.”
“Yeah, but I get to be the impulsive one in this relationship. That’s my job.”
“Yeah, well, get used to it. Let’s try Barlow again.”
When they entered the room, Barlow was sitting with his elbows on the table, rubbing his eyes with his fists.”
He looked at them. He said, “I’m scared.”
“Of what?” Turner asked.
“That you’re going to try to hang this on me. If nothing else, even if I’m associated with this, my career will be ruined. You guys don’t understand what it’s like being gay and trying to get a job and having to lie.”
“I understand,” Turner said. “I’m gay.”
Barlow searched his eyes. “Are you telling me the truth or is that a lie to get me to have confidence in you?”
“I’m not going to shove my tongue down your throat to prove it. I have a lover named Ben. He is a kind, strong, good man. He is at home right now. I would prefer to be in bed with him than here with you.”
“Okay.”
Fenwick said, “We’ve been going over what you told us the first time. We’re curious about this statement about Judges Wadsworth and Meade arguing.”
“I know what I saw and heard.”
“Was it just that one time? Maybe he’d met someone in the hall on his way back from the meeting.”
“I was in the corridor waiting to meet with him. I heard them and afterward as we walked down the hall Judge Meade
kept muttering under his breath about Judge Wadsworth.”
“What did he say exactly?”
“Just muttered. All I heard were Wadsworth and Malmsted’s names. She and Judge Meade had words earlier that day.”
“Meade and Malmsted fought a lot.”
“Yes. Mostly it was all very civil, at least what I saw. They’d talk to each through gritted teeth. They’d take out their disagreements in court sometimes. If a lawyer was arguing the liberal side of a case, Meade would ask him all kinds of tough, arrogant questions designed more to harass the lawyer than for any judicial purpose. When it was the other side’s turn, Malmsted would start in on that lawyer. It’s all very polite and proper, mostly, but you could tell they were going after each other.”
“And Wadsworth and Meade fought at other times?”
“Three times. Twice before the Du Page County decision and once three days before New Year’s Eve. The day before I left for Aspen to meet his son, Judge Meade told me I was supposed to call the judicial misconduct board. He told me to find the number and who you were supposed to talk to. He also wanted me to research something called a ‘good behavior clause.’”
“What’s that?”
“Federal appellate judges are constitutionally protected. They can be impeached, but it’s only happened a few times. I didn’t have time to look up the ‘good behavior’ materials. I presume it has something to do with firing somebody for moral turpitude, although all the judges could get together and recommend another judge be fired. I don’t know how that works.”
“What if it wasn’t Malmsted?” Turner said.
“Huh?” Barlow said.
“Did he actually give you the name of the judge he was talking about?”
“No. I never asked. I found out the information and put it on his desk. It was just a name and phone number.”
Turner motioned to Fenwick. They left the room.
Turner said, “For all his supposed surface politeness, Meade was doing an awful lot behind the scenes. Lots of angry meetings, although we have mostly Barlow’s word for this. Meade’s better at hiding his frustration and anger than the others, but it gets to be too much. He explodes at Wadsworth.”
“Then he shoots Wadsworth, because the judge is evil. Let’s go arrest Meade. He did it.”
“I hate it when you’re sarcastic.”
“The wrong guy’s dead according to your theory. We could shoot Wadsworth and make it even.”
“I wonder if Malmsted knew about fights between Meade and Wadsworth,” Turner said.
“We’ve been leaning on Barlow, we could pressure her a little.”
Turner glanced at his watch. “Little late for calling.”
“Just before midnight on a cold winter’s night, sounds like a great beginning for a poem,” Fenwick said.
“You are not to start quoting poetry,” Turner said.
“Doing my best.” Fenwick reached for the phone. “It’s a murder investigation. I like shaking up suspects.”
While Fenwick talked, Turner read through more lab reports.
After Fenwick hung up he said, “Judge Malmsted is not a happy camper.”
“How to Win Friends and Influence Suspects by Buck Fenwick.”
“Has a nice ring to it,” Fenwick said. “She was up reading. Malmsted said she knew nothing about fights between those two. She did remember one time this week, when she heard Meade telling Wadsworth he needed to talk to him about his kid.”
“He said this in front of her?”
“She remembered it as an off-hand comment, she said Meade sounded almost sarcastic. She passed it off as him being mean or stupid. She couldn’t remember which day this
was. I asked her if she could recall anything else they said to each other that might be significant. That’s all she could come up with.”
“Wadsworth versus Meade,” Turner said. “He told us everybody got along, but they didn’t. He was one of the one’s who hasn’t been honest with us. I want to talk to his eminence.”
“No calls. Let’s go visit him. Maybe we’ll wake him up. I’ve always wanted to wake up a judge. This should be lots of fun. Making judges miserable could become a habit.”
“What do we do with Barlow?”
“Keep him here. I want to know exactly where he is.”
They drove to Judge Wadsworth’s home. Fenwick pulled into the circular drive in front of the fifty-story condominium complex. Flakes of snow drifted in occasionally off the lake. They showed their identification and told the doorman who they wanted to see.
A woman in her early fifties in a drab gray sweatsuit answered the door.
They showed her their identification. She said she was Mrs. Wadsworth.
“We’re looking for your husband,” Turner said.
“He’s not here,” she said.
“Where could we find him?” Turner asked.
She gave them a puzzled look. “What is this about?”
“We’re investigating the murders of Judge Meade and his son,” Fenwick said. “We need to talk to him about where he was early today.”
“He went out this morning for the paper and some groceries.”
“Where was he on New Years Eve?” Fenwick asked.
“I’m sure he told you. We went out to dinner. We came back here and went to bed.”
“He didn’t get up and go anywhere?”
“I wouldn’t know. We have separate bedrooms. He snores. Will you leave us alone?”
“Where is he?”
She hesitated and finally shrugged. “He left for his office half an hour ago.”
They drove to the Kennedy Federal Building. Fenwick has ceased grumbling about the cold. They found Wadsworth standing behind his desk. He was wearing a camel’s-hair coat open over a white sweater and jeans. He did not invite them in or ask them to sit.
“Gentlemen, this better be good. It is the middle of the night. I will be on the phone to your superiors as soon as you leave, no matter what it is you’ve come to speak to me about. Furthermore, I spoke earlier with Judge Wright and Judge Malmsted. They were not positive about either of you. We may be collectively filing a complaint.”
Turner said, “You were the judge that Meade was going to try and get fired. It wasn’t Malmsted he wanted to haul before a judicial review board. Why was he going to turn you in?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“He was going to turn someone in. Everybody figured it was Malmsted, but it was you.”
“You’ve been talking to Barlow again? He doesn’t know anything.”
Turner said, “We need to go over where you were on New Year’s Eve and where you were all this morning.”
“I was home all day today.”
“Oops, mistake,” Fenwick said, “Your wife said you went out for the paper and some groceries. Where were you this morning, Judge Wadsworth?”
“I got the groceries and came back.”
“We’ll need to see the receipts.”
“This is absurd. This conversation is over. You’re both leaving.”
“No,” Fenwick said. He leaned his bulk casually against the door as if neither he nor it were planning to move before the next ice age rearranged the Midwest.
“You’ll both lose your jobs for this.”
“Is that all you judges ever say?” Fenwick said. “It’s boring.”
“We’re going to talk,” Turner said. “Where were you New Year’s Eve?”
“Home.”
“Why are you here now?” Fenwick asked.
“I had to get some work done.”
“At midnight?” Fenwick asked.
“People work late as your presence here attests.”
“With your coat on?” Fenwick asked.
“You’re being absurd.”
“Speaking of your coat. We may need that,” Fenwick said.
“What on earth for?”
“Microscopic check. The killer banged against something in Mike Meade’s apartment. Traces will be on the killer’s clothing.”
The judge’s right hand began to reach for his coat sleeve, then stopped.
Turner and Fenwick noted the movement.
“We need a search warrant,” Fenwick said, “One of us is staying around until it gets here.”
“You’re not going to find a gun,” Wadsworth said.
Fenwick said, “We’re going to get a microscopist to go over your clothes and your car for traces of Judge Meade’s blood. We’ll check fibers from your coat against those found in Mike Meade’s apartment.”
“This is an outrage.”
“Maybe we don’t need a warrant,” Fenwick said. “We’re already in.”
Turner said, “We’re not screwing this up. We need to call Area Ten and get Molton down here. This is going to be taken care of tonight.”
Fenwick glared at the judge. “Your honor, you need to carefully take your coat off. Don’t try and brush any part of it. Don’t touch anything in this room. If you do either of those
things, I will cuff you immediately and we will continue this discussion down at Area Ten.”
“How dare you.”
“I can pull my gun and make this really dramatic,” Fenwick said, “or you can do as I said very slowly and very carefully.”
The judge complied with ill grace. Turner thought he saw him trying to snatch glimpses of the back and sleeves of the coat.
The standoff continued in the vestibule of the building for the hour it took for the calls to Area Ten, for Wadsworth’s protests to be ignored, and for Molton to show up, search warrant in hand.
“You got it?” Fenwick said.
“I backed you guys as much as I could. Went out on a limb with a judge I know who hates federal judges. I think you might have something.”
Turner and Fenwick hunted carefully through the entire office. At intervals they could hear the judge loudly protesting in the hallway. His calm demeanor was gone. The loudest protests came when his coat was taken away by the lab technicians. At three in the morning Turner began methodically going through the judge’s Rolodex. In it they found several numbers listed under Lance Thrust’s name. Mike was penciled in at the bottom of the entry. They dialed each of them. On one they got the answering machine in Bloomington. Another got them the bar. They got no answer when they called the third. Judge Wadsworth refused to tell them what it was. It took several calls to Headquarters, but the detectives eventually ascertained that it was the number to Mike Meade’s cellular phone.
“Why do you have Mike Meade’s unlisted cellular phone number in your Rolodex?” Turner asked.
“His father gave it to me.”
“He never gave it to his father. His father didn’t know he lived here and not in Bloomington.”
Fenwick asked, “What’s this nine-hundred number with no name next to it?”
“I don’t remember.”
Fenwick tapped in the numbers and listened to the receiver.
A few seconds later he held it out so they could hear. It was a recorded message asking for the caller’s credit card number so they could begin having a party.
“Phone sex,” Fenwick said. He listened another minute. “Male-to-male phone sex.”
Wadsworth slumped onto his chair. He said, “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try us,” Fenwick said.
“You don’t know what it is like being married and being gay. For years I kept myself under control. Relations with my wife were never great, but they were something. As we got older, they tapered off. We got separate rooms, which was good for both of us. I wasn’t that interested any more. I began to go to a few bars. Then I went to that bar Au Naturel. I found one of the dancers attractive. I brought him to a hotel once in a while. I used a fake name. I had met Judge Meade’s wife on occasion, but never his kids. I had my own courtroom. The picture of them on his desk is from when they were little. I found myself falling in love with Lance Thrust. To my surprise he returned my affection. I saw him at least once a week. I no longer had to go to the bar. I teased him about his name a lot. He wouldn’t tell me his real name.”
“Did he know who you were?”
“I don’t think he did. Not until the last couple days for sure.”
“How’d you find out his real name?”
“Late this summer, out of idle curiosity when he was in the shower, I looked in his wallet. I was stunned to realize it was Mike Meade. I did not confront him. I didn’t know what to do. Al Meade was so smug about his antigay decisions. He made me furious, but I couldn’t say much or he might become suspicious of my sexuality. He was trying to deny gay people their
rights, when I was a better judge than he was, smarter, wrote better decisions, was more well-connected. I could barely contain myself. By early December I was convinced that I was in love with Mike Meade. Maybe he really was returning my affection, or maybe I’d deluded myself. I wouldn’t be the first person on the planet to fall hopelessly in love with a whore. I didn’t tell him what I knew. I kept the relationship going. I tried to do everything I could to make him love me back. Maybe partly it was for revenge on his dad, but I also really loved him.”
Fenwick said, “He was an expensive whore. He wasn’t in love with you. He certainly wasn’t being faithful.”
“I knew he went with other men, but I blotted that out of my mind. Love and revenge got mixed up. Meade kept pushing his homophobic views, and then with the Du Page County decision, I lost it. A couple days before New Year’s, I blurted out that his son was gay.
“He wanted to know how I knew. On that day, I refused to tell him. I tried to get hold of Mike, but I couldn’t. I don’t think Judge Meade could either. Al Meade and I had an angry meeting first thing in the morning on New Year’s Eve. God forgive me, I told him everything. He was furious. He said he was going to bring me up in front of the judicial commission. I found that amusing. His son was certainly of age.”
“What happened later?”
“I was supposed to meet Mike at the airport. We planned this long before he left. We did talk briefly early that afternoon on the phone. I didn’t want to tell him what I’d done until I saw him in person. I had to talk to him before his dad got to him. I offered to pick him up at the airport. I was going to tell him everything. We could talk at the Federal Building. I know ways to circumvent the security system. I felt terrible about not telling him about my fight with his dad, but I figured I’d be seeing him in a couple of hours. I came home with my wife and retired. As you know, we have separate rooms. This condominium is huge. It wasn’t difficult to leave without her knowing.
“Mike told me later that his dad had seen him with his friend at the airport. He accused his son of being gay. Mike denied it and said he didn’t know why I would say such things.
“They’d just separated when I found him. I gave Mike a big hug. His dad saw us together. For some reason he didn’t confront us there, but he followed us to the Federal Building. We used the reserved entrance. Later, I would have to make sure the camera wasn’t working, but it malfunctioned without my intervention.
“Mike and his dad were both like maniacs. Mike spilled out everything. About the sex we’d been having, about dancing in the bar.”
Turner said, “Mike told us that his father didn’t approach him at the airport.”
“He was trying to protect me. He didn’t know I killed his dad.
“Father and son were screaming and ranting at each other. Then Mike ran off. Al turned on me. I thought he would have a stroke on the spot. He made all kinds of threats. He was going to reveal my sexuality. He had to be stopped. He told me he was going to drag his son out of that bar and then finish with me. He claimed that my career was over. He left. I went home and brooded for several hours. I knew what I had to do. Al Meade needed to be stopped. I didn’t know if he’d gone home so I decided to try the bar first. I went there and found him. We went into the alley, but it was too cold to stay outside. We talked in the Federal Building. The security system for the judges is a joke. I shot him when he went to the john. The tile was easy enough to clean. I wrapped the body up and took it downstairs in our private elevator. I thought I’d try and make it look like he was the closet case, so I tried to get the body into the dumpster behind Au Naturel. I was in a hurry and petrified about being caught. When the blood started to drip while I was carrying him, I stuck him in the next dumpster I came to.”
“You knew Mike danced there,” Turner said, “didn’t you think the body being there would implicate him?”
Wadsworth shrugged then asked, “How did you find out he danced there?”
“He’d taken one of the guys to his place in Rogers Park to trick with him.”
“Only the one?”
Turner nodded.
“Then, if not for that odd chance that the guy he went home with still worked there, you’d have never found out he was a dancer.”
“Maybe not.”
Fenwick said, “What happened with Mike?”
“I didn’t see him until two nights later. He was impossible to get to talk to. Finally I got through. He agreed to meet at his place in Rogers Park. I didn’t even know about it. When I went to get groceries this morning, I stopped in. I made a mistake. I thought he’d be happy that his dad was dead. Mike said he was going to go public about his sexuality. He said that his dad hurt lots of people and the only way he could see to make peace with himself was to tell all. He had already set up an interview with one of the national gay magazines. I was worried that any revelation on his part would reflect on me. He got angry at that. He said it was the closet and secrets that hurt. I told him I had freed us, and there was no need for public disclosure. I overestimated his affection for me.
“When I confessed what I had done, he was already overwhelmed by guilt. He told me he was going to tell the whole truth. He said hate and lying were what killed people. He was determined to stop this closeted crap, that this hiding in the closet had cost too much. He said he was never going to hide in the closet again. I couldn’t let him get away with that. My life would be in ashes. You were never going to solve Judge Meade’s murder. You all came to the conclusion that he was a closet case. You were wrong, of course, but it fit my purposes. None of this could come out. So I killed him.”
“How’d you happen to have your gun with you when you went to see Mike?”
“Mike was the only one who knew I’d seen the judge the night before. On the phone, he’d mentioned going public with his life. This might have meant ruin to me. Certainly it would have ended our relationship. I wanted to convince him it wasn’t that bad to hide, that we could have our lives together. I’d done it all these years and that, now that his dad was out of the way, things could go back to the way they were. He said he was going to tell. I had no choice. When he saw the gun, he tried to get away. I was between him and the door to the apartment. I guess he wanted to lock himself in the bathroom. I burst in before he even got the door closed. He shoved me and I fired. That’s when I must have fallen. I bumped the radiator didn’t I?” He looked at them. Their faces remained impassive. Wadsworth shrugged. “I shot him. I came here tonight because I realized the rolodex here was incriminating. I was too late.”
“Premeditated murder, your honor,” Fenwick said. “You were protecting your own butt.”
“You don’t understand.”
“More than you imagine,” Turner said.
An hour or so later two uniformed cops took the judge away. Turner and Fenwick stood in the hallway of the judge’s home.
“You okay?” Fenwick asked.
“I don’t like arresting people when I understand all too well what they’ve gone through.”
“When you were coming out, you didn’t murder anybody.”
“Sometimes in high school I thought about killing myself.”
Fenwick looked at him very carefully. “Being a gay kid can be tough. You’ve told me.”
“I know. I think back on then, and wonder how I ever could have thought about it. I’ve got Jeff, and Brian, and Ben. Good friends, Mrs. Talucci, you, Ian. Back then there were times when it wasn’t so good.”
“Didn’t your buddy Ian say that the vast majority of gay people thought about suicide at some time?”
“Yeah. I guess. I don’t know if he’s right or not. All I know is about me and how much it hurt being a frightened gay kid. And I know now, more than ever, that closets can kill. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Paul didn’t get home until six the next morning. Jeff was still asleep. Ben was at the kitchen table drinking coffee. He wore only his pajama bottoms. Paul admired his well-muscled and hirsute chest.
“You up all night?” Paul asked.
“No. I woke up early and you weren’t here. I couldn’t find anything else in the house to read so I picked up one of Jeff’s books.” He held up Freddy and the Men from Mars. “Mostly, I was practicing not worrying. After Jeff woke up, I was going to go over and see Rose Talucci.”
Turner got a container of orange juice out of the refrigerator and poured himself a glass. He sat across from Ben.
“You okay?” Ben asked.
Turner told him what happened.
“That’s tough on you,” Ben said when he finished.
“None of those killings should have happened,” Paul said.
“They were gay and they were frightened, and now people are dead because of it. That’s all it is.”
They met Brian’s plane at the airport late Sunday evening. He was beautifully tanned and nauseatingly cheerful. Brian put down his heaps of packages, shook Ben’s hand, hugged his little brother, and wrapped an arm around his dad’s shoulder. He grabbed several of his bundles. He passed one to Jeff who put it in his lap in the wheelchair and tore off the cover. It was a football signed by all the members of the Miami Dolphins.
“How’d you get this?” Jeff asked.
“I paid for it like anybody else. I got you guys something too,” he said. He grinned at his dad and Ben. He held out two bulky packages to them. “I was thinking of getting you matching
rhinestone-studded leather jockstraps from Key West, but I got you these instead.” Turner looked inside the large bags. Two pink flamingoes.
Jeff tugged at the bags. “Lemme see.”
Paul handed the birds to Jeff, then hugged his older son.