The Bar Watcher (33 page)

“Where is the gun you used for the two queens and D'Allesandro?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I got rid of it last night after I left Thorson Woods. It was an old hunting rifle I'd brought from home. It could never be traced, and it's somewhere no one will ever find it.”

I took a very deep breath and turned to face him.

“You've got to turn yourself in, Toby.”

“Do you think I'm crazy, Dick?”

I shook my head again.

“No, Toby, I don't think you're crazy. But killing is killing, no matter how solid the motives may be.”

Thinking of him spending the rest of his life in prison tore my heart out, but I knew that was what had to be. Thank God we don't have capital punishment in this state.

“I'll go with you to the police, if you'll let me,” I said.

He smiled again, a really warm smile that only made me feel worse about this whole fucking mess—if that were possible.

“I wish everyone was as nice as you, Dick,” he said. “You know, none of those guys had to die. All they had to do was be nice. Is that so hard?”

He got up from the couch and put the picture of himself and JJ back in the box.

“Do you mind if I finish packing first, Dick?” he asked. “I don't have much, but somebody has to do it.”

“Would you like me to keep it for you?”

“Would you? That would be wonderful. I don't know when I'll be able to have it again, but it would be nice to know it's all safe.”

My God, Hardesty! What in the hell are you doing?
my mind demanded again.
This guy kills people!

“I've just got a few more things to put away,” Toby said, once again the calm, in-control man I'd first met. He went into the bedroom, then to the bathroom, which I could also see from the open bedroom door. I watched him put toilet articles into a dopp kit then return to the bedroom, where he leaned over the bed, doing something with one of the suitcases.

He stood for a moment, not moving. Without turning around, he said, “Dick, did I ever show you a picture of my folks?”

He made no move to turn around, and I assumed he had it in one of the suitcases.

Watch out, you fucking idiot!
my mind screamed.
You can't be dumb enough to go in there.

My mind could scream at me all it wanted to. If I knew anything, I knew Toby could never—would never—hurt me.

I got up from the couch and walked into the bedroom. Toby suddenly stood up straight, spun around and moved toward me. He had a rag in his hand and I smelled…

Wrong, Hardesty
, my mind said calmly.

*

The first thing I realized when I woke up was that I couldn't see, and I couldn't move my hands or feet. Then I realized I was bound and gagged with duct tape and shut inside Toby's closet. I'm not sure how long it took me to extricate myself—maybe half an hour, maybe more. He'd moved the dresser and the bed in front of the door, which took at least another ten minutes to work out of the way enough so I could get out.

The apartment was empty—the boxes gone, the suitcases gone, Toby gone. In the living room, on the coffee table, was a note.

Dick: I'm so very sorry I had to do that. I hope you weren't too uncomfortable. It was just some chloroform I'd taken from the hospital when I worked there. You'll be fine. I'm sorry I couldn't go with you—I have some unfinished business to take care of at home first. I'll never forget you, and I will miss you. Please remember me as I will remember you—as a friend. Toby

I sat on the couch, reading and rereading the note. Finally, I laid it on the coffee table and sat back, my hands over my face.

*

The puzzle was finished, at least insofar as that every piece I had was finally in place. But the picture wasn't complete; there were a couple of large empty spaces. With some it was easy to guess what was missing. The embezzlement issue would somehow be worked out between O'Banyon and Giacomino. Whatever the solution to that one might be was up to them. What O'Banyon would be able to do—or what I might be able to do—about this new, frightening shadow falling over the gay community was a large hole over which hung an ominous question mark. My own future as a private investigator was also in question—when the police learned I'd tried to bring Toby in on my own without calling them immediately, they might well want to yank my license, and I couldn't blame them.

However
, I told myself,
the fact remained there was not one single piece of solid evidence to link Toby to the murders
. Even Toby's chain wouldn't have done it if I'd given it to them—no crime had been committed. Stan was still alive and free to continue being a despicable son of a bitch. He didn't even know he'd been in danger.

No, I imagined they'd probably just be pretty pissed at me for a while.

I had no idea where Toby was heading—he had never said. A small farm community was all I knew, and how many of those are around? And as he had pointed out, his last name is the most common in the US. His accent could have been almost anything, including Canadian. I had no idea even of what kind of car he drove, or where it might be licensed.

But I did know what he was going to do when he got there.

There would be a dramatic drop in the murder rate among the local gay community's asshole population, which part of me still could not see as something less than a pity. But the police would be happy to know that if Toby kept on doing what he had been doing, it would be someone else's problem.

I just hoped that Toby, wherever he ended up, would be able to find some degree of happiness and love.

As for myself, well, I had a really good feeling about Terry. We'd have to see where that led. And if it didn't go anywhere at all, I knew Jared would always be around to offer some occasional kink and comfort.

Finally, I wished there were some way to remind everyone out there in darkened bars everywhere to just be a little more kind to one another. Someone might be watching.

I got up from the couch, left the apartment, and headed for a telephone.