They met Ian at Cool, the latest trendy restaurant on Michigan Avenue. The place was jammed just before noon on a Saturday. As opposed to dressing in his ever-present untrendy outfit, Ian enjoyed going to and being seen at the latest ‘in’ place: whether it was a restaurant, bar, lounge, or concert.
Ian had a table on the third floor with the best view up and down the street: trees lifeless in the humidity, shoppers trudging through the haze, honking cabs and trucks fighting with pedestrians at traffic signals, stores luring patrons to their mega-priced wares.
Each floor of the restaurant had a bar and a four-tiered dessert case. Fenwick lingered for a moment to visit the chocolate.
The offensively perky waitress gave them menus, returned with coffee, and took their order. Fenwick asked for his dessert to be served before his meal. Neither Turner nor Ian blinked at this. They knew Fenwick’s priorities, and while neither necessarily admired them, they understood them.
After the waitress and her plastered-on smile flounced away, Ian said, “I’ve been busy. Boy, do some members of the Chicago police department hate you guys. I’d watch around every corner.”
Fenwick said, “Bullshit.”
“Have I ever lied to you?” Ian asked.
At Turner’s baleful look, Ian rushed to add, “About cop stuff?” Those many years ago, Ian had cheated on Turner, and had admitted it only after he got caught in their bed with another man.
Fenwick said, “That wasn’t bullshit meaning you’re lying. It means this is a bullshit case, with bullshit suspects, and bullshit warnings, and capped with bullshit fears.”
Ian said, “Perhaps I’m definitionally challenged, but that seems to burden the word bullshit with a lot of baggage. Why not just try a dirty look?”
“Because I’m pissed,” Fenwick said.
Ian said, “I do understand that.”
Turner said, “You’re always pissed. Let’s get on with it.”
Ian said, “You do have lots of friends on the department who are behind you. Unfortunately, there’s lots more against you.”
“What if a cop didn’t do it?” Turner asked.
“You know who everybody thinks did it; Callaghan. As you well know, they’re protecting their own.”
Turner asked, “Have you found out anything?”
“Yes. This was not the first fight these two guys had.”
“We knew they argued.”
“No, I mean, knockdown, drag out, put-each-other-into-the-emergency-room fight.”
“How come nobody else has mentioned this?”
“Because nobody but me knows about it.”
“It’s not in the files,” Fenwick said.
“And that should tell you a great deal.”
“You know,” Turner said, “and your source knows.”
“Yes, I know,” Ian said.
Turner said, “Rotten stuff was in Belger’s file but not in Callaghan’s, but there was nothing in Belger’s file that says the two of them had a fist fight. Even the disagreement in the bar isn’t in there.”
Ian said, “To me that means there’s a lot of powerful interventions going on behind the scenes.”
“We got that part,” Fenwick said. “And the part where we should be very afraid. I will care when I need to.”
Ian said, “The department is going nuts. The way-high-ups want this solved. As you probably imagine, the mayor is going nuts. The rank and file are split. A lot of guys think Callaghan was justified in killing him.”
“They know he did it?” Fenwick asked.
“Everybody thinks so,” Ian said. “Don’t you?”
Fenwick said, “Silly me. I thought I’d wait for the facts.”
Ian said, “Don’t get steamrolled while you’re waiting.”
Fenwick grunted. “Vague warnings aren’t going to solve the case.”
Ian said, “That’s one of the things that’s kind of interesting. My sources are good, but I can’t pin down anything definite about the case, which means either there’s nothing definite to be had about this in the police department, or that you guys are in way over your heads and need to run like hell in the other direction.”
“Are your sources as good as you think they are?” Fenwick asked.
“They’re good. Not infallible.”
“Can we talk to them?” Fenwick asked.
“If they say anything helpful, you know I’ll give it to you.”
Turner said, “Might dry up your sources in the department.”
“Might keep you alive,” Ian said. “The threats about you two are pretty specific. The least nasty I got is that if you don’t do ‘what’s right’ you would never be able to have another kid or sex again.”
Fenwick said, “Very ouch.”
Turner was not about to underestimate Ian’s warnings.
Turner asked, “We appreciate the warnings and anything you can do. There’s a couple things you might be able to tell us. You ever heard rumors about gay guys in the city being tasered?” Usually Ian was aware of any shake on the tendrils of any web involving the gay community.
Ian shrugged. “We get complaints at the paper all the time. Usually they’re third- or fourth-hand accounts. The actual victims don’t want to go to court or hire a lawyer.”
Fenwick asked, “Won’t the gay legal organizations hire one for them?”
“Not likely. They won’t give garden variety legal representation. They like to take cases that are going to lead to precedents. They can’t take every case, and the bigger problem here is that victims do not want the hassle. Say some teenager does get convicted or they sue some sixteen-year-old Nazi. What does a complainer get? Kids don’t have cash. It’s not worth it.” He quoted the statistics that Grant and Cotton had given them. Turner realized that anybody who read the Sun-Times editorial on that day would have the statistics from now on.
Turner said, “You get any rumors of tasering by Belger and Callaghan?”
The reporter shoved his slouch fedora back on his head and said, “I have nothing on that. Tasering? That’s something that would make headlines.”
Turner said, “If they could prove it. If they got it on video. Obviously they didn’t. Or somebody’s holding back a recording.”
Fenwick said, “Does anybody hold back anymore? It’s too easy to make yourself famous on the Internet.”
“Or,” Turner said, “It happened to a frightened gay man.”
Ian said, “I’ll check around some more, try to pick up any rumors. For lunch I have for your interrogation pleasure, the guy who made the video in the bar, to be followed by the reporter who broke the story. That man with the cell phone,” he pointed to the bar area, “is Raoul Dinning.” Turner saw a tall, thin Hispanic man in his late twenties. “He is for sure gay. And he was at the Black and Blue party last night.”
Fenwick said, “Ah, I can recognize new information when it bashes me in the head.”
“You’re sure he was at the party?” Turner asked.
“I’m sure,” Ian said. “Plus, and I deserve a drum roll here.”
Fenwick said, “How about a drum stick in your ear?”
Ian said, “Aren’t we testy.”
Fenwick said, “I thought I’d spread the threats around.”
Ian said, “Thanks for sharing. Luckily for you, there’s more. The gay community, specifically the leather mavens, are in an uproar. Calls from my contacts among them have jammed my cell phone.”
Fenwick said, “And I care because?”
“Because rumor has it people in the gay leather community know things that would help in your investigation.”
“Names?” Fenwick asked.
“I don’t have them.”
Fenwick gave him a baleful look.
“Yet. I do have the definite impression that whoever it is they know, must be someone powerful, or it is someone who has friends in very high places.”
Fenwick said, “I hear that’s the new standard in Illinois courtrooms, your definite impressions. I’m ready to make an arrest.”
Ian glared.
Turner said, “I’m tired. I need sleep. This case is fucked. What do you have for sure?”
“Zuyland, the reporter who broke the story, is not gay.”
“Alert the media,” Fenwick said.
Ian said, “However, this next bit might cause a bit of a flurry in the press. They know each other.”
Turner asked, “Dinning and Zuyland?”
Ian said, “You betcha.”
“Huh?” Fenwick said. “Why would that be news?”
Ian said, “Before the video came out.”
“It was a set-up,” Fenwick said.
Ian said, “You betcha.”
Fenwick said, “I don’t like cops being set up.”
Ian said, “Yes, and your point is?”
Fenwick said, “Fuck-a-doodle-do.”
“You’re sure?” Turner asked.
“Ahhh,” Ian said, “the magic question. I have one reliable and one unreliable source.”
“Any background on Dinning?” Turner asked.
Ian said, “He sees me as a concerned representative of the gay press eager to help him tell his story and right injustices around the world.”
“He trusts you?” Fenwick asked.
“He’s had some hassles. I’ve convinced him you are the saints of the department come to liberate him from his trials and tribulations.”
Fenwick said, “Stuff it up your ass.”
“Not right now. Mr. Dinning seems to be a regular guy. I’ve got more notes on Zuyland for when we’re done with Dinning.”
“We got time for this guy before the reporter gets here?” Fenwick asked.
Ian said, “That’s the way I set it up.”
The waitress appeared with their order. Fenwick’s dessert consisted of mounds of ice cream, chocolate, and fudge.
Ian pointed at the Cobb salad next to the large dessert and asked, “Why did you bother to order the salad?”
Fenwick said, “Balanced diet.”
Ian left the table, approached Dinning, and returned with him. They sat down, and Ian performed introductions.
Under heavy dark eyebrows, Dinning had large, sad brown eyes that looked a moment or two away from crying. His thick black hair was cut short. His brown muscle T-shirt and tan athletic shorts revealed a wiry frame of taut muscles.
Fenwick and Turner sat on one side of the table. Dinning and Ian on the other.
Dinning asked, “Do I need a lawyer?”
Turner said, “We’re just looking for information. Especially on the background between these two cops. You recorded them on your cell phone. We’d like to make sure we have all the details.”
Dinning rubbed his hand on his lower jaw. He said, “I am so sorry I recorded it. I am so sorry I said anything to anybody. Recording the incident was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I’ve had problems at my job and in my condo ever since.”
Turner said, “On your job?”
“Yep. My boss got anonymous calls about me. They said I was cheating on my accounts. I wasn’t. But an investigation had to be held.”
“Where do you work?”
“The Jeanne D’Amato Accounting Agency. We’re one of the biggest accounting firms in town, and we never take business from the city. My bosses are tough. They don’t trust those politicians. They said they preferred honesty and backing their employees than kowtowing to the city. They said they trusted me. But still, after this, there will always be a shadow or a question about what I do. I’m not sure how long I can hang on.”
“What happened at your condo?” Turner asked.
“I live in a nice place on Belmont just east of Broadway. Last month the electricity was shut off for three days. No explanation. It took hours of phone calls and waiting on hold and listening to crap explanations to straighten it out. After I got that fixed, the gas was turned off. It’s been one hassle after another. If I parked my car on the street, anywhere on a street around my condo, I’d get a ticket. And I’ve got a sticker for the neighborhood. I think I’ve been followed. These guys are relentless.”
For overnight parking in densely populated areas of the city, you needed a sticker on your windshield or you’d be ticketed/and or towed.
“You sure it’s cops?” Fenwick asked.
“Who else could it be? Who else gives tickets? What else have I done?”
“Maybe you’re just unlucky,” Fenwick said.
Dinning gave him a puzzled frown. Turner thought it increased the handsomeness and sorrow at the same time. If he wasn’t happily married, he wouldn’t mind comforting Dinning in any affliction.
The waitress appeared and asked how they were doing. Fenwick mumbled through a mouthful of food that they were fine. He had just finished his dessert and was starting on his salad. To his credit, from long practice, when working, Fenwick could multi-task: focus on a witness and on his food.
Turner said, “We’re sorry for your hassles. We’ll do what we can to help.”
Dinning sat back and looked from cop to cop. “Thanks,” he said. “Those are actually the only non-threatening words I’ve heard from cops.”
Turner said. “We’re not here to pester you. We just need as many details as you can remember about that night.”
“You think that fight was connected to the murder?”
Turner said, “We’re trying to sort things out. What happened that night?”
“Well, I walked in. The bartender was kind of surly, but she’d been that way the first time. I didn’t think much of it. I got my beer and left a big tip, but she didn’t seem to appreciate it. I figured out later that she must have known I wasn’t a cop. I just wanted to relax for a few minutes and watch the game on the television. Callaghan and Belger were playing pool near where I was sitting. They had a lot of empty beer bottles scattered along several tables.”
“They’d been drinking for a while?”
“They sounded drunk, like slurring their words, staggering around. Couple times they sounded like they were angry. Then, and I kind of couldn’t believe this, once when Belger bent over to take a shot, Callaghan, the big hefty asshole, takes the wide end of his pool cue and starts rubbing it up and down the crack of Belger’s ass. That’s when it started. Belger swung his pool cue at Callaghan. The fight didn’t last all that long, but things started getting busted up because of the pool cues. That’s when the bartender got in on it.”
Turner knew that the fight between Belger and Callaghan had not been on the news. Only the attack on the bartender.
“Who else was in the bar?” Turner asked.
“A couple uniformed cops. They just laughed at Callaghan and Belger and got out of the way.”
“Why did you start recording?” Fenwick asked.
“I don’t know. I guess I just did.”
Fenwick said, “You were upset enough to start recording, but you weren’t upset enough to call the police? You weren’t upset enough to leave the bar, but happy to make a movie? Bullshit.”
“Hey,” Dinning said. “I’m trying to help.”
Dinning’s failure to take alternate actions disturbed Turner as well.
“What the hell else was I supposed to do? There’s a huge fight, and I don’t know they’re cops. They weren’t in uniform. I didn’t even know it was a so-called cop bar. The cops in uniform who were there weren’t trying to get them apart.”
Fenwick said, “You mentioned being in the bar for a ‘first time’. And our understanding is that you knew the reporter Zuyland before that evening.”
“What? Who told you that?”
“He did,” Fenwick lied. He caught the man’s eyes and held them. “He told us on deep background. We’re not supposed to tell, but he trusted us.” He’d finished his salad.
Turner presumed Fenwick was extrapolating from what Ian had mentioned earlier. Or this was one of the bigger whoppers Fenwick had let out in the past few months. It was a risk. If Fenwick’s intuition was wrong, they could lose this guy.
Dinning hesitated. The three of them waited. Finally, Dinning muttered, “Some of us stopped in one time after a Cubs game. One of the guys was a rookie cop, and he took us there. I guess he knew about it. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to go in there without a cop escort. I didn’t know it was an exclusive cop bar. I felt safe with the cops in uniforms. The city can be dangerous. It was nice to have them around.” By the end of this statement, Dinning’s head was down, and he was mumbling into the table top.
Turner said, “Mr. Dinning, we’re not out to hurt you. We understand being harassed. But you’ve got to be honest with us.”
“How far has honesty gotten me so far?”
Turner said, “We will do what we can.” He caught Dinning’s eye and patted his arm.
Dinning looked near tears. He said, “You can’t trust anybody. Zuyland told me he wouldn’t tell.”
“We know,” Fenwick said.
Despite the coolness in the restaurant, Dinning broke out in a sweat. He did the hand across his jaw several times.
Turner asked, “How come none of the fight earlier was given to the media?”
“I gave it all to the reporter. I guess he used what he wanted to.” He shook his head. “I should never have agreed to do it.”
“It was a set up? You planned to be there?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t just happen to start recording?”
“No.”
“No earlier visit with a cop escort?”
“No.”
“Why did you call the cops that night?” Turner asked.
“Huh?” Dinning said.
“If you were there to trap Belger and Callaghan—and that’s what you were doing. That’s the proof you were getting—why’d you call the cops?”
“I didn’t,” Dinning said. “All of a sudden a bunch of them showed up.”
Fenwick and Turner glanced at each other. “Did the bartender call the cops?”
“I don’t think so. She was in a bad way. Someone else must have.”
Turner knew they’d have to find out who that person was.
Fenwick asked, “So how the hell did you just happen to be there?”
“Zuyland, the reporter, talked to me.”
“How did he know you?” Fenwick asked.
“He was doing a bit on the news about gay people being mugged.”
“You’ve been mugged?” Turner asked.
“I was walking down Clark Street one night with my boyfriend. These kids walked up behind us and began screaming faggot. We started to run, but they were too quick. Zuyland was real nice.”
“Is he gay?” Ian asked.
“I don’t know. I never tried to find out. You’ve seen him on the news. He’s not very attractive, but he’s kind of a bulldog reporter. He’s won all those awards, hasn’t he?”
The detectives shrugged. Ian said, “I know he’s gotten several.”
Turner rarely watched the network on which Zuyland did his newscasts. He’d caught several glimpses, thought the guy was more toad-like than bulldog, especially for the pretty-boy media age, but the man had won awards.
Turner asked, “So how’d you get to know him?”
“We met a couple times for coffee. He was real helpful. The cops who responded to the call when I got mugged were Belger and Callaghan.”
Turner knew plot thickener when he heard it.
“How did they handle your complaint?”
“Well, my boyfriend and I were both bloody and pretty shook up. The cops sneered at us. It was like they were in sympathy with those kids. We were furious.”
“How did Zuyland get you to go along with his scheme?”
“It wasn’t hard. I was still mad. He said he was investigating homophobic cops. He said he had some evidence that these guys had been rotten to gay guys. He claimed they’d tasered some gay guy in a washroom in a phony public-sex sting.”
“What did he tell you about that?”
“He wasn’t real clear on the details. He’d been on these guys’ tails for a while, I think. Months at least. I’m not much of an activist. He said this would be simple. He had one of these ultra-cool cell phones that record beautifully. We set it up.”
“How could Zuyland be sure they were going to fight that night?”
“I don’t know. The more I think about it, the whole thing was a set-up, me included. After I did it, he dropped me. Didn’t answer my calls. He’s as much of a shit as those cops were. Zuyland is devious. That’s not the worst.” He gulped. “I haven’t told anyone this. I didn’t know who to tell. Zuyland had abandoned me. The cops were against me.” He gulped again and did the hand/chin thing again. Dinning whispered, “He came to my house after the incident in the bar. He threatened me.”
“He who?” Fenwick asked.
“Callaghan.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“He said he’d get even with me if it was the last thing he did.”
“Was Belger with him?”
“No.”
“I didn’t know what to do. I know I couldn’t go to the cops. Not in this town anyway. I just did nothing. I knew there was nothing I could do.”
“Did you tell your boyfriend?”
“We broke up right after the attack. He couldn’t handle what happened to us. I couldn’t blame him. He was more hurt than I was.”
“When was this?”
“About two months before the incident in the bar. I’ve been a wreck ever since. The police get away with stuff all the time. Look at the headlines.”
Turner said, “Aren’t those usually about people who are caught?”
“After people have had to stick up for themselves and go through hell and file lawsuits and maybe win. And what about all the others that don’t get caught?”
Turner said, “We can’t help that, but we want to help you. We know it’s not easy.”
Turner could understand the fear. Turner could also sympathize with a gay man having been attacked. Fear of the police still had not been completely eradicated from the gay community. In some jurisdictions sting operations still occurred for nonsensical reasons.
Dinning said, “Anything you can do, I’d appreciate. Can you make them stop?”
Turner said, “We’ll do what we can. We’ve got a few more questions though.”
Dinning leaned forward.
Turner said, “We need to know where you were last night?”
Dinning said, “I was at the Black and Blue party.”
“Doing what?” Turner asked.
“Whatever I wanted. I’m into a bunch of different things.”
“Did you see Belger?”
“No. I would have remembered that. Am I in trouble?”
Turner said, “You sure it was just Callaghan who came to threaten you?”
“Yeah. Belger wouldn’t have a reason to. My video backed him up and made Callaghan look like the bad guy.”
They gave him what assurances they could. A few minutes later Dinning and his soulful eyes left.
Turner said, “Hell of a guess on his deliberately being there.”
Fenwick said, “You don’t just happen to walk into a cop bar. If I was right, and I’m never wrong, about there being a connection between him and the reporter, he had to have been there before. The reporter couldn’t guarantee a fight.”
Ian said, “Hardly a stretch. I told Paul about it earlier.”
“Yeah, he told me. Okay, it wasn’t much of a stretch.”
Turner said, “Unless he’s awfully lucky or awfully devious or awfully bright.”
“Or maybe all three,” Ian said. “I want to see the rest of that video.”
Turner said, “It’s more than a little odd the whole thing didn’t get out. A cop fight and then a bartender beaten. Something is not right.”
Ian asked, “I don’t get the pool cue on the ass thing.”
“They were gay?” Fenwick asked.
Turner said, “It started a fight.”
“Belger thought Callaghan was coming on to him?” Fenwick asked.
Turner said, “Or he thought by doing that in public he was revealing something that he wasn’t supposed to reveal.”
“They were both closeted?” Ian asked. “They were both gay?”
Turner said, “Nobody says so. Belger may have liked his ass being played with sexually, but not in a bar by his partner. Does that action tell us who the murderer is?”
“No,” Fenwick said.
“Maybe motive?” Ian asked.
“Far as I can tell these were motiveless pigs,” Turner said.
“Harsh,” Ian said.
“The truth often is,” Fenwick said.
They speculated for several minutes but couldn’t come up with anything concrete about why the reporter would hold back the rest of the video. For a few minutes Ian and Turner concentrated on their food.