Arsonist (10 page)

CHAPTER 21

It had been two days since Stanton left the fire site of the Brichards’ home and he didn’t have anything more than he had when he’d arrived at the scene. He had spoken with a dozen neighbors and none of them had seen or heard anything. No family members could identify any trouble between the couple; no one hinted that it may have been a murder-suicide.

As he got on the freeway, he received a text from Gunn asking if he wanted to hit a couple of the clubs Cisneros had frequented when he had been alive. Spending his night at the city’s gay clubs wasn’t how he expected his Friday night to go, but he agreed.

He picked up Gunn at an apartment complex he hadn’t been to before. He was sitting on the steps, smoking, and he threw his cigarette on the ground when he saw him and then looked up and said something to a woman that was sitting on her balcony on the top floor.

“Who was that?” Stanton asked.

Gunn leaned the seat back and rolled down his window. “Just a piece of ass. I talked to Cisneros’ mom again. She gave me a list of the three clubs he most liked to go to.”

“He told his mom what gay clubs he liked to go to?”

“Hey, some parents are more progressive than others. My old man woulda put my head through a wall. Different strokes for different folks.”

Stanton put the name of the first club, Playland, into his GPS. It was on Fifth Avenue not far from where they were. The building itself looked like a warehouse surrounded by parking lots and Stanton saw the homeless shelter down the block. Though night had fallen, there was a line around the corner, people waiting for any amount of food that had been leftover from the five o’clock dinner. Many of them appeared young, no more than eighteen or nineteen.

“What d’ya think makes these kids wanna live on the streets?” Gunn asked.

“Some of them are drug addicts and it’s easier to live on the street than try
to maintain a job. Some of them are mentally ill and the asylums are full…a lot of ‘em come from abusive homes and they think the streets are better.”

“Fuck, with all the sick fucks we got out here? These kids don’t know what they’re doin’. They need a good kick in the ass is what they need.”

Stanton pulled the car in front of the club and parked. They got out and Stanton had to look for the entrance; it wasn’t obvious exactly how you got into the building. He saw a ramp leading to what looked like an underground garage and they followed it until they got to a large black door. Stanton could hear voices inside and he pounded on it with his palm. After a few seconds, an Asian man in a tight black shirt answered.

“Yeah?”

Stanton flashed his badge. “We need to talk to the manager.”

“Which one?”

“Whoever is here the most and would recognize a regular.”

“I don’t have to let you in without a warrant.”

“Look,” Gunn said, “Slant-eyed Pete, don’t make me bust your fuckin’ head open and come in there. I’m sure I’m gonna find some coke, probably some illegal porn, maybe a gun or two though I know you fags don’t like the feel of a real man’s gun in your hand.”

“Fuck you.”

Before Stanton could stop him, Gunn had grabbed the man by the throat and slammed his head into the door. The man began to fight back and Gunn took out an extendable baton from his belt, opened it, and whacked the guy on the head twice before he grabbed his hand, pressed it on the door, and crushed two of his fingers with the baton. It happened so quickly Stanton couldn’t even respond in time.

The man was screaming as Stanton covered him with his body so Gunn couldn’t strike him again.

“What’s the matter with you?” Stanton shouted, pushing him away.

“Hey,” Gunn yelled, ignoring him, “Tommy Chang, you gonna have to fist your boyfriend with your left hand now.”

A woman stepped out from behind the door. She was wearing a sparkling tank-top and her long blond hair was pulled back. Her eyes went down to the badge clipped to Gunn’s hip. Then she called for someone to help her and they lifted the man off the floor and helped him inside.

“Take him to the emergency room,” she said calmly before stepping outside and shutting the door behind her. “I’m Shannon Gunther, the manager. Can I help you?” she said to Stanton.

“I’m sorry about your employee. We can pay for his ER visit and I’m sure the county can set him up for any lost wages.”

“I know how you cops are. If I were to sue the county next week my club would be raided and drugs would just happen to be found everywhere. So just tell me what the hell you want and be on your way.”

Gunn pulled out a photo of Cisneros. “You know this guy?”

“Yeah, that’s Mikey. I haven’t seen him in a long time
, though.”

“He’s dead,” Gunn said. “His body was found with twenty air holes poked into it.”

Stanton said, “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Two weeks ago maybe. He was here every Friday night. It was hip-hop night and he liked coming then.”

“Did you see him leave with anybody that night?”

“Officer, everyone here leaves with somebody. I don’t keep track. I’m sorry he was killed
. I liked him. But hundreds of people come through here on the weekends. I don’t think I can help you. Try the Trap Door, though. That’s where he was on Saturday nights. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find a bouncer; looks like we’re gonna be one short tonight,” she said, looking at Gunn.

When she had gone back inside, Stanton turned to Gunn.

“You were out of line. You do that again and I’ll have to go to Childs.”

“Fuck him. My cousin died of AIDS and these queers were the ones that brought it here.”

“That man never did anything to you, and the manager knows more than she’s telling us but doesn’t want to help us now.”

He threw up his hands and turned to walk toward the car. Stanton followed and they drove in silence, heading down University Avenue and to the Trap Door.

The club also had a restaurant that was open until midnight. The restaurant was adjacent and the two shared a wall. Both were designed in blacks and golds. Couches and beds were throughout the space and the front wall was just glass, allowing those walking by to look in on what was happening.

Stanton went inside the restaurant. He looked to Gunn who appeared agitated. He was fidgeting as they sat down in the waiting area near the hostess podium.

“How many?” the hostess said to Stanton without looking up.

“I actually need to talk to the night manager of the restaurant and the manager of the club.”

“Can I ask him what you need?”

Stanton held up his badge. Without a word, the girl walked to the back of the room behind a bar where a man in a turtleneck with wire-frame glasses was doing an inventory of the liquor. He saw Stanton and swore under his breath as he walked over.

“What can I do for you, Officer? I promise our liquor license is in order and there’s no—”

“I’m not from the state.” He pulled out a picture of Cisneros. “Do you recognize this man?”

“No.”

“You didn’t even look at the picture. Please take a look.”

He sighed and then looked at the photo. “No.”

“He was murdered,” Gunn said loudly
. “You sure you don’t recognize him?”

“Don’t recognize him. Sorry. Can I go now?”

Gunn stood up and Stanton stepped in front of him. Their eyes met and for a moment neither one of them said anything.

“Get the fuck outta my way,” Gunn said.

“I can smell the whiskey on your breath. You shouldn’t be on duty.”

“I said, get the fuck outta my way.”

Stanton hesitated, and then stepped to the side. Gunn began walking toward the manager when Stanton said, “If you touch him, you’re under arrest.”

Gunn laughed. He turned to Stanton and the two squared off again. The manager quietly snuck away.

“You don’t have the balls.”

“Go home, Stephen. I’ll cover the rest of the night.”

Gunn lit a cigarette. He took a long puff and then blew smoke in Stanton’s face. “You know what? I’m gonna have dinner here and then I’m callin’ a cab. Why don’t you just go back to your empty apartment and read your damn books? No wonder your wife left you.” Gunn turned toward the waitress. “Party of one.”

Stanton watched as he was seated. He began flirting with a table full of middle-aged women next to him. Stanton left the restaurant. The night air was cool and the moon was a bright crescent in the sky. He pulled out his phone and got the address for Playland again before getting into his car and pulling away, glancing inside the restaurant one more time to see
a waitress place a wine bottle on Gunn’s table.

CHAPTER 22

Stanton drove to Playland with the windows down, enjoying the breeze coming over him. He thought about the charred remains of what had once been a family. They didn’t appear human. It reminded him of the ashen shells he’d seen at Vesuvius when he travelled to Italy as a graduate student for a summer.

He waited in his car a while and read the Brichard file that Gunn had uploaded onto the SDPD server. There were no outstanding debts other than some student loans Jesse Brichard still had with UNLV for his bachelor’s degree. Neither Jesse nor his wife Darlene had a criminal record and neither one had ever called the police on the other.

Stanton flipped through the preliminary report written by the Medical Examiner’s Office. The bodies had been so fragile they crumbled when an attempt was made to move them.
Almost no physical evidence was gathered; everything biological had been burned away in the fire, except their teeth. Stanton regretted that they wouldn’t be able to tell if Darlene had been sexually assaulted; there was a massive difference between the motivations of someone that raped her before her death and someone that just lit them on fire to watch their suffering. He also couldn’t rule out a crime of opportunity: someone breaks in for a routine burglary, discovers the family’s still home, and has to deal with them. Based on that assumption, this would be a person they had to get off the street as quickly as possible.

A slight tinge of resentment tugged at his gut. This is the case he should be working right now, not Cisneros.
He had a feeling that the person that killed Michael Cisneros was not as dangerous as the man who lit this fire. Gunn should’ve been at this club following up.

Stanton closed the file and stepped out of the car. He walked down to the main entrance and the large black door. Half of the door was open. There was a large man with tattoos on his neck and arms standing in front of the door and a line had formed behind a velvet rope in front of him. Another bouncer was sitting on a stool with a list in his hand, letting in the VIPs.

Stanton flashed his badge and they let him through without a word. The interior of the club was beautifully decorated in silvers and reds and blacks. The dance floor wasn’t far from the entrance and though it wasn’t yet late, it was packed with drunks and those on ecstasy and other stimulants. Many of them would be dancing until five or six in the morning when they would go home to sleep, wake up in the evening, and head out to the clubs again for Saturday night.

He saw Shannon behind the bar and he pushed his way through the crowd to get there. One man whispered something in his ear and wrapped his arm around his waist and Stanton removed it and kept walking.

“Back for more?” Shannon said when she saw him. “I can’t spare any other employees to the hospital.”

“I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.”

“He’s got a fractured skull. He’s thinking about suing the County.”

“He should.”

“Do you really think he should?”

“No.”

“I knew I liked you,” she said. “Vice would be in here every night looking for any excuse to close me down, wouldn’t they?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head. “I gotta give it to you cops. You’re one hell of an organized gang.”

“We’re just a reflection of the society we live in. Live with sin,” he said, looking around, “and sin will enter your life.”

She took a shot of tequila that was offered to her by a woman on the other side of the bar. “So what can I do for you…is it Detective?”

“Just call me Jon.”

“What is it you need?”

“I want to talk
to you about Michael Cisneros.”

“I already told you everything I know.”

“We both know that’s a lie.”

She looked at him, a slight smile parting her lips as she reached under the bar and came up with a slice of lime. She gently sucked on it before throwing it in a nearby trash bin. “Follow me.”

She walked around the bar to the dance floor and Stanton followed. As they approached the bodies that were packed tightly together, the smell of marijuana and cologne hit him like an invisible wall. The music was too loud to speak over so Stanton just stayed close to Shannon as she slid her way in between the moving bodies like a snake.

They came to the far side of the dance floor
to a padded door with a bouncer in front; he opened the door for them and they stepped through.

The room was sound proof and the only thing you could hear from outside was a low thud from the bass. The room was entirely decorated in crimson; all the chairs, couches and even the bar. Several people were scattered throughout the space and two women were making out on one of the couches. Shannon grabbed two drinks from the bar with one hand and sat down next to them, running her other hand over one of their thighs.

“This is Donna. She’s my partner. Have a seat.”

Stanton sat next to her. “You knew Mike better than you let on.”

She tried to hand one of the drinks to Stanton and he turned it down. “Suit yourself.” She guzzled one and then leaned back on the couch, sipping the other. “He would house sit for me whenever I left town. Sometimes I’d hire him to tend bar when he was broke and needed cash. He was a good kid. His mother’s ill and he stayed home to take care of her rather than get his own place.”

“The last time you saw him, or even before, was he with anyone that hasn’t been back since?”

“Yeah, there’s someone.” She lifted the other drink. “But first you gotta take a drink,” she said, with a mischievous smile.

Stanton pulled out his handcuffs and placed them on her wrist.
Standing her up, he said, “Shannon Gunther, you are under arrest for obstruction of justice in the homicide investigation of Michael Cisneros. You have the right to remain silent. Should you choose to waive that right, anything you say can and will—”

“Easy, easy, I was just playing. I’ll help you.”

Stanton removed the cuffs. “No games. I want a name right now.”

“We called him Big Harry. His first name was Henry
. I don’t know what his last name was. Honestly, I don’t.”

“Would you recognize him in a photo
line-up?”

“Yes.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s a meal ticket.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s an older guy that buys things for his younger lovers. Takes care of them. He bought Mikey a new watch last month.”

“Do you have any information about where he lives or what he does?”

“We don’t scan IDs
in the VIP section, not yet anyway. But I think Mikey mentioned once that he was a pharmacist.”

“What else do you know about him?”

“That’s it. Other than he likes younger men.”

Stanton glanced around and noticed that the room was
filling up now. Various couples were making out on couches and the two canopied beds that took up the corner. Drinks were served to them on side tables along with small white pills that he guessed were ecstasy. This was an orgy room.

“I may need you to identify him later in a photo or live
line-up.”

“Sure,” she said, taking a drink. “Why don’t you stay the night here
, though? I think you’ll have a life altering experience.” She reached over to one of the women and pinched her nipple. “My girlfriend and I could show you things you couldn’t even dream of.”

Stanton
smiled. “Make sure to answer my call. If I have to come back down here you’re leaving in a police car.”

As he turned to walk away she shouted, “Detective, life is too short to be so restrictive. I think you’ll find that in your last days you’ll wish you joined us.”

“It’s not this life I’m worried about. Just make sure to answer your phone when I call.”