CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

 

"Besides, it was only with Jim," Franklin continued. "He was from Monterey. We only met up when he came to the city, and we stayed within the hotel walls. We both knew it wasn't serious; it was just a bit of fun. He made me forget about Ginnie and all of her drama. Plus, he didn't know who I was other than a guy he met in the bar. I was free to be . . . me."

Jack nodded he understood. "Didn't anyone in the hotel recognize you?"

Franklin shrugged. "I'm sure someone must have, but Jim and I never made it obvious we were anything more than friends meeting for drinks."

"You speak in the past tense. How long ago was the affair?"

"Maybe two years ago. It only lasted a few months, certainly less than a year. I was heartbroken, of course, but he introduced me to a whole other world."

"One that included adopting another persona?" Franklin nodded. "When did that happen?"

"Jim wore me down. He didn't understand why I refused to go out on the town with him. Right up to the end, I never told him who I really was. He only knew me as Frank, and I only knew him as Jim. In fact, there's no chance I can look him up if I ever go to Monterey to try finding him. For all I know, he's married with kids."

"What changed?" Jack asked. "What happened that you agreed to go out in public with him?"

"Jim wanted to go clubbing but I always refused. Then Halloween came and dressing up was the best way to hide my identity, so I reluctantly agreed. We went as Bette Davis and Joan Crawford from What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? Jim was scarily perfect for the role of Baby Jane Hudson. He could recite lines from the movie with amazing accuracy, including the timbre of his voice. His attention-seeking allowed me to fade into the shadows where there was little chance I'd be recognized," Franklin explained.

"Then what happened?"

"It wasn't long after that Jim's job changed, and he stopped coming to the city. But that night, putting on that ugly dress . . . I saw another side of myself I wanted to explore. Being with Jim opened the door, and dressing as a woman allowed me to walk through it." Franklin laughed lightly. "I know you won't understand. Guys like you are utterly self-assured about your heterosexuality. I thought I was too. I was raised to be the man my parents expected of me. I'd accepted it for most of my life, learned to work around any self-doubts scratching under the surface. But once through the door, I realized I'd been lying to myself. At first, I only wore women's clothes in the privacy of my own home."

"Ginnie explained it to me the day she hired me. She said when she discovered what you'd been doing, she'd thought you had a woman in your office," Jack said.

"I think she would have been happier if there had been a woman in there with me."

"Do you think Ginnie knew about Jim?"

Franklin shook his head. "If she had, she wouldn't have hired you."

"At what point did she know something was off in her marriage?"

"I can't say for sure, but the day she found me in my office certainly tipped the scales. Her tantrums grew more intense, so I started going out nearly every night. Not just to get away from her, but to see where the new me was leading. Then one night I found the Majestic Lounge."

"Has anyone there recognized you?"

Franklin shook his head. "I don't think so. The drag race has nothing to do with how I present myself at the club; I never go there without Carol. And it's the only place I go now. Places like the Majestic are safe havens for people like me. Even if anyone has recognized me, I'm sure they're keeping it to themselves, as I would their real identity. If anyone had discovered who I am behind the makeup and wig, it certainly would have been splashed all over the tabloids by now."

"How did Ginnie know where you were going?"

"She got in her car and followed me. Like I said, she knew where I was going long before she hired you. She just wanted the photos for the divorce because she couldn't get them herself."

"Is there any reason you wouldn't just grant her a divorce to get her and her drama out of your life?" If Ginnie was that much of a bitch, why stay with her?

Franklin glanced out to sea for a long moment, then settled his gaze back on Jack. "Good question. I've asked myself that same question every time she starts getting wound up over nothing. I have offered to tear up the prenup, but with her assets being much higher than mine, and California being a no-fault divorce state, she'd end up owing me money. She wants it all."

"Wouldn't you just let her have the house so you can get on with your life?"

Franklin shook his head. "It's my name on the deed. She told me she couldn't qualify for some reason. The house is my only real asset anymore."

"And the cars?"

"Leased. I can barely afford the monthly payments. Once the leases are up, they're going back to the dealers. And Ginnie knows it. She's been bleeding me dry, yet she still wants the house."

The more time Jack spent with Ginnie, not that it was a lot, the more he realized she wasn't quite the person she wanted people to see. Early on, she seemed every bit the estranged and hard-put-upon wife she claimed she was. He'd almost felt sorry for her, even if her language was antagonistic and coarse. Then her attitude quickly became more volatile and downright rude when she didn't get her way.

Now, based on Franklin's confessions here on the roof, Jack gave himself a mental pat on the back for still having great spidey senses that something wasn't quite right with the woman. She threw money around like it was confetti, even to the point of buying him off when her purse pooch pissed on his crappy old carpet.

Those instincts also told Jack he didn't think Franklin had anything to do with Landon's murder, and probably not the others either. But what did Ginnie have to do with it all? He was sure it had been her car Dewayne had seen parked in front of his house. Had she followed Franklin to Landon's house? Or had Franklin been driving his wife's car that night, and if so, why?

Jack was fuming because now that they were here to print the Beamer, the car was gone. He cursed the judge for leaving his cell in his jacket pocket. It was his fault they might be wasting this warrant, and all of their time.

"I have to ask. Do you ever drive Ginnie's car?"

Franklin shook his head, his eyes widened. "Absolutely not. She won't even let me in it long enough to pull it out of the garage so I can detail it for her. That's why it was so dirty yesterday when you were here. Come to think of it, maybe she's taken it out to have it cleaned. She does that, but she never lets me touch it."

"On a Sunday?"

"We're a twenty-four-hour, seven-day-a-week society these days. Even car washes." Franklin shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not even sure she was here when I got home last night. Come to think of it, I don't remember seeing her car in the garage."

In most any other situation, Jack knew there were questions one didn't ask just anyone, especially if they were suspects. But Franklin had been blatantly candid with him. He didn't get any sense that the man was deflecting or hiding anything, so he chanced his arm. "What do you know about the suicides tied to the club?"

Franklin glanced up at him again for a long moment. "Am I a suspect in those too?"

"In a spate of suicides? Why would you be?" Jack asked.

Franklin gestured his chin toward the house. "That’s a pretty sizable warrant just to search my car, don't you think?"

Nodding, Jack asked, "Did you know any of the victims?"

"I know a lot of people from the club."

"What about these people specifically?"

He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "Is any of this on the record?"

"We're just talking here. I'm not a cop . . . not anymore. Just a private investigator with a huge chip on his shoulder and barely making ends meet. I have a vested interest in the suicides because of my job at the club. And I'd like to find some closure for Chad," Jack said.

Franklin nodded. "I'd been with most of them the nights they died."

Jack hoped his surprise didn't show itself on his face. "Do the police know about that?"

"I don't think so. I've never been questioned."

"What can you tell me about those nights?" Jack asked. "Do you mind if I record this?"

"What for? I thought you said we were just talking."

"We are, but I forgot my notebook." He hoped Franklin would work with him. "I've been off the force for too long and old habits are starting to slip." When Franklin nodded his agreement, Jack felt a pressure ease off his chest. He switched on the phone's record app and held the device in his hand. "Let's start with the first victim, Sai Joshi. I understand he and Chad were seeing each other. Do you know if they had any problems or disputes?"

"You mean, was there anything that would make Sai put a gun to his head? No. That night, he'd come to me for advice on what to get Chad for their two-year anniversary. We left the club and went to his place. We had some wine, talked about some gift ideas, then I left. He was happy. Even excited. He was looking forward to their anniversary. The next day, I heard he'd put a bullet in his head. To say I was shocked is putting it lightly."

"What about Sanjay Bajwa?"

"Coming to terms with this new lifestyle hasn't been easy. You don't wake up one morning and suddenly know what you're going to do, or how to incorporate yourself into the community," Franklin said.

"You mean being gay?" Jack asked.

Franklin shook his head. "I don't know if I'm gay or bi or whatever. Being with Jim was an eye-opening experience and I enjoyed my time with him. But am I gay? I don't know. I do still like women, so maybe I'm bi. But honestly, I'm taking my time trying to figure it all out. And Sai and Sanjay and the others were helping me. I'm not looking for partners, even if my wife has turned against me. Jim was the only person outside my marriage I've been with."

"If you weren't sleeping with Bajwa, what was your relationship?"

"Makeup. Like I said—"

"You don't just wake up one morning and know what you're doing." Franklin nodded. "And Bajwa was teaching you how to apply makeup?"

"Yes. When I left his place, I felt I had a better handle on something I'd been struggling with."

"And Dinish Ranganathan?"

"Hair." Jack chuckled. "What's so funny?"

"Do you remember the night a couple weeks ago when you argued with Chad in the club about performing?" Jack asked.

"Wait. That was you!" Franklin's eyes widened with surprise. "I'd forgotten about that night. But yeah, I remember. What about it?"

"Your hair wasn't exactly screaming high society."

Smiling, Franklin said, "I don't suppose it did. I'd just had a huge fight with Ginnie. As I was leaving, she grabbed at my wig and tried pulling it off. It was pinned to my own hair. While it stayed put, it was a little worse for wear by the time I got out of the house. I must have looked a fright on the receiving end."

Franklin wasn't wrong. "More wine and conversation there too? With Ranganathan, I mean."

Franklin shook his head. "No. It was a relatively quick visit. He said he had a date afterward."

"That late at night?"

Nodding, Franklin said, "People like us often socialize at night. Clubs are open late, and when you're jazzed up after closing time, it's not uncommon to keep the party going at home."

Jack had asked the question because he knew there'd been a second wine glass on the counter, but that it hadn't been touched yet. Perhaps it was for Ranganathan's date. He wondered who it was. "Do you know who his date was?"

"No. It was none of my business. He didn't volunteer the information and I didn't ask."

"Fair enough. What about Patel and Naidu, the brothers?"

"It took a lot of convincing. Even though they were twins, they didn't like spending much time together outside their dance group. But they agreed to help me with costume and a dance routine. That night you found me arguing with Marilyn . . . Chad," Jack nodded he understood, "I tried telling her that I'd been working really hard on my persona. Sure, it would have been fun to perform, but it's all been finding myself, and finding my place in the community. I wanted to participate. Somehow."

"You worked on your makeup and hair, got a new wardrobe, and learned how to dance in an effort to fit in." It made sense to Jack.

"Correct. Hearing they'd shot themselves . . . well, I didn't think they hated each other that much, but you never know."

"What can you tell me about Michael Smith? He was the out-of-town contestant, wasn't he?" Jack asked.

"No, that was Robert Johnson. I didn't really know him, but we'd had a couple drinks and talked. He'd come out recently, so we talked about that. He seemed nice. He even hugged me and kissed me on the cheek and thanked me for listening to him. When he said he was feeling apprehensive about getting back to his hotel on his own—country mouse in the big city sort of thing—I offered him a lift. I told him I'd meet him on the street when he’d said his goodbyes, but when he didn't come out I figured he got a better offer, so I went home. I can't tell you how upset I was hearing he'd been shot in the driveway. If we'd walked out together, I could have been shot too." He noticeably shivered.

"And Michael Smith?"

"I'm ashamed to admit this, but since this is technically off the record—" Jack nodded it was. "Ginnie and I have enjoyed our share of coke over the years. It had been a while. I guess once I was getting recognized as a club regular, Mike approached me one night and asked if I wanted to do some lines. I agreed."

"Were you doing them in the club?" Rod told Jack he thought it was Chad dealing in the club, but maybe it was Smith who Rod was looking for. He'd be shocked to find his main suspect was already dead.

Franklin shook his head again. "Once, but I didn't want to get Chad in trouble. We went back to Mike's place to do it."

"Just the once?"

"A couple times. I stopped going when he made it clear he wanted sex."

"Understood. Do you think Mike is dealing in the club?"

"No, I don't think so. If he was Isaac wouldn't have let it last very long."

"Why would he? Isaac is head of security. It's his job to keep drugs out of the club," Jack said.

"Isaac protects his own interests. He might be tucked away in his office most of the night, but he has a couple guys that circulate on busy nights. If you're looking for drugs, everyone knows you talk to Isaac, or one of his boys."

Isaac. It made sense. Who better to control the drug trade in the club than the head of security? Sitting in his office monitoring entrances meant he could dump any stash he had on him once he saw officers approaching and tip off his guys on the floor to do the same. As much as he hated to think about it, he was going to have to find Rod.

"The last night I saw him alive, I'd let him know I appreciated his offer of drugs and sex and would keep him in mind. The truth of it is, I have enough on my plate with everything else. I didn't want to develop a habit like that as a coping mechanism."

"That's commendable. You left on good terms?" Jack asked.

"Absolutely." Franklin cocked his head. "You know, it's hard trying not to take any of this personally. We all know each other at the club. I've been going long enough that I feel like others are starting to trust me. But knowing that so many people I've turned to to help me transition have died . . . killed themselves . . . well, I'm sure I don't need to tell you what an emotional blow this has been for me."

Jack saw Franklin's hands noticeably shake. "I get it."

Franklin looked Jack squarely in the eye. "Do you really? I'm starting to feel like anyone I get friendly with ends up dead. That's pretty hard to accept."

"I do get it. Four years ago, I lost my family—" Jack's throat swelled, cutting off his air. He gazed over the outer bay and took deep breaths to calm the rising panic. He rarely used the loss of his family as a way to connect with suspects, so it surprised him that he'd blurt it out now.

Jack felt Franklin's hand on his shoulder and gazed over. The man just looked at him for a long moment, then said, "I'm sorry." His earnestness poured out in two simple words, making Jack's throat swell again.

He swallowed hard and looked toward the water, but he didn’t pull away. "I am too." He forced himself to compartmentalize his emotions then stiffened his back and stepped away slightly, letting Franklin's hand fall away from his shoulder. "What else can you tell me about your wife before you married? Other than her being a model?"

"Honestly, only what she's told me, which hasn't been much. I know she's from back east and doesn't have any family. She told me her life was the quintessential rags to riches story, having been discovered by chance and all that, but even those details are scarce. It's a pretty sad state when a husband has to resort to the internet to find out more about his own wife. Ginnie's always been a bit of a mystery, which I think also appealed to me. I've always been in the news, no thanks to the paparazzi, even when I'm not doing anything, simply because of my name. But I've always relished the thought of being a nobody. Even for just a day. Now, Carol gives me that anonymity."

"Understood." Jack did, too. He'd been a successful homicide detective, which, to a degree, meant he'd been known around the city. It was when he lost his family that he became recognized nearly everywhere he went. His face and story had been plastered in more tabloids and newspapers than he cared to count. Even theorists jumped on the bandwagon. Not just in San Francisco, but across the state. He was the homicide detective who may have killed his own family, and if he had, where had he buried his wife?

The phone, still in his hand, buzzed. He checked the time before answering Ray's call—nearly 1p.m. Had he and Franklin really been on the roof for the last two and a half hours?

"Yeah?"

"Where you at, esé? Did you ever find Ginnie?" Ray asked.

"I'm on the roof with Mr. Whitney-Cummings—"

"Franklin, please."

"With Franklin. Ginnie isn't here and she's not picking up her cell. What's going on down there?" Jack asked.

He heard Ray inhale deeply. "We got very little. That's to say, nothing. No 3D printer, no weapons, and nothing tying Franklin to Landon's murder. His car is spotless, as he said. And with the Beamer still MIA, we can't get prints off the window, which was the main purpose of this exercise. We're ready to wrap things up."

"We'll be down in a minute." Jack disconnected and looked over at Franklin. "They're nearly finished downstairs."

"Did Ray find what he was looking for?"

Jack shook his head. "I'm sorry we've intruded."

"I really do hope you find out who killed Aaron. He was a really sweet kid who didn't deserve how he'd been treated. And he certainly didn't deserve to die like that. That's part of why I helped him get into the apartment. He couldn’t get a job without a fixed address, and he couldn't get a place to live without a job. Classic Catch-22."

"That was generous of you to help him," Jack said.

"What a shit way to go though, just as he was getting his life straightened out.” Franklin stood upright and moved toward the sunroom door, then turned back toward Jack. "Do you know if his family are coming to claim his remains? If not, I'd like to pay for his burial."

"I'll look into it and let you know," Jack said. "And before we head down, I wanted to ask you if you know a woman called Eleanor Mae Hogg."

Franklin looked confused. "I can't say that I do. Why do you ask?"

"Eleanor was from Tennessee where she was raised with three older brothers. She ran away from home after they tried raping her," he said.

"The poor girl, but what does she have to do with me?"

"A lot, as it turns out. She has a rags to riches story. She came to California where she began a modeling career under the name of Jennifer Morgan." Jack let that settle for a moment while Franklin processed the information.

As the reality of what Jack just told him sank in, Franklin's eyes widened, and shock crossed his face. With a raised voice full of incredulity, he said, "Wait. Are you telling me I married a woman called . . . called Eleanor Mae Hogg?" He swayed on his feet before dropping onto a deck chair. "How . . . when . . . What the fuck?" He shot a confused gaze up at Jack.

"It's no secret Ginnie changed her name when you married, but we discovered it's not the first time she's reinvented herself. Jennifer or Ginnie, legally she's still Eleanor Mae Hogg. We have credit card receipts and a Tennessee arrest record under that name that includes her photo. It's her." Jack watched Franklin scrub his fingers through his hair and down his face. He could very nearly hear the wheels grinding in the man's head as he processed the information. It was clear to him Franklin knew nothing about his wife's past. "Yesterday, we ran the plates on all the vehicles in your garage. The BMW isn't exactly a luxury car like the others, which stood out as unusual. It seems strange she wouldn't have registered it as Morgan or Whitney-Cummings, but it did come back to Eleanor Mae Hogg. That makes us wonder what else might be still in her legal name."

"Why wouldn't she have told me? Any of it?"

"I'm sure this has come as a shock, but anything you can tell me will really help. We know she also has property. We ran the plate on the BMW and found it's registered to a place on Grenard Terrace. Do you know anything about that?"

Franklin nodded. "She was living there when we met. She told me she sold it."

"We're heading there once we've finished here," Jack told him. "By the way, I didn't see her little dog when we were here yesterday. Would she have taken it with her this morning?" Jack asked.

"What little dog? We don't have a dog."

It didn't happen often, but just then, Jack felt at a loss for words. He distinctly remembered the dog, and it pissing on his carpet. "Are you sure? She brought it with her whenever she came to my office."

Franklin raised an eyebrow at him. The smirk told Jack that a bit of Carol had surfaced. "I think I'd know if we had a dog. Besides, I'm allergic to them." Franklin stood up and reached for the sunroom door, then turned again. A coy grin crossed his face. "I need to call my lawyer. If she hasn't legally changed her name, her things could be out on the street by sunset." With that, the man flounced—that's the best way Jack could describe it—down the stairs and back into the house.