The Bottle Ghosts (16 page)

Yeah, it was a little illogical, and I did know of at least two other gay psychologists in town. Contacting them to ask if they'd ever treated Whitaker probably wouldn't do any good, since it's unlikely that they'd give out the information even if they had.

Well, it was something to think about.

*

On Tuesday morning I'd gotten a call from Mollie at the Clerk of Courts' office.

“I've got your list done. Want to meet for lunch again? Dutch treat this time.”

“Yes on lunch, but no on the Dutch treat. I really owe you.”

“Well, I thought that first-born idea was a good one.”

“Yeah, we're still working on that one. But twelve-ten at Etheridge's again?”

“Sure. See you there.”

*

“Okay,” Mollie said as soon as the waiter had left with our order. She slid a manila envelope across the table toward me. “An interesting bunch you've got there.”

I opened the envelope and looked quickly through the impressive stack of paper inside.

“Can't remember when I've seen so many DUIs and license suspensions,” she said. “Out of the nineteen names, I'd take a wild guess and say about half of them have a pretty serious drinking problem.”

“You'd be right.” I sketched in just enough of the case to give her an idea of what I was looking for without going into too many details.

I pushed the papers back into the envelope to study when I got back to the office, and concentrated the rest of the lunch on just socializing. I realized how little of that I'd been doing lately.

I found, when I got back to the office and had a chance to go over the papers carefully, that among the alcoholics on the list there were no fewer than ten DUI charges, four license suspensions, and three license revocations. Other than the directly alcohol related charges, there was the outstanding vehicular homicide warrant Marty Gresham had told me was still out for Charles Whitaker; Carl Sweeney had two assault and battery charges (dropped); Andy Phillips, Ted Kemper, Keith Hooper, and Paul Carter all had “lewd and lascivious” charges (all reduced to “disturbing the peace”) dating from the glory days of gay-harassing under Chief Rourke, when entrapment and bar-busting were major sources of income for the city. Nowell Cramer had an arrest four years ago on fourteen outstanding parking tickets for which he received a fine and six-months probation. Other than that, nothing. Well, it was worth a shot.

The next two days evaporated like morning fog on a hot day, and were marked primarily by the fact that Jonathan's ficus was beginning to sprout a few new leaves (fifteen, to be exact; Jonathan counted). I was working on a couple of small research-type cases for attorney Glen O'Banyon, compared to which the appearance of new leaves on the ficus was pretty damned exciting.

Thursday night's session at Qualicare—our second—provided more than enough color to make up for the drabness of the preceding days. We were once again early (surprise) and found the reception room empty. The door to the meeting room was open, and as we came in we saw the receptionist, Nowell, standing by the coffee table, putting out napkins and Styrofoam cups and apparently engaged in conversation with a well dressed businessman-type in his early to mid-forties. Actually, the guy in the suit was doing most of the talking.

When they saw us come in, Nowell just nodded what I assume was a greeting, and went back to what he was doing. The other guy smiled and extended his hand as we came over.

“Hello. I'm Andy.” Obviously, he was one half of the couple who hadn't made it the week before.

Jonathan and I introduced ourselves and shook hands as Nowell finished his business and went back into the reception room. As he passed us, I made note of two things: he was taller than I'd remembered—which was okay—and that he had more than once glanced at Jonathan out of the corner of his eye, which was
not
okay.

Beware, my lord, of jealousy,
my mind recited with Elizabethan flourish:
'Tis the green eyed monster that doth mock…

Yeah, I get it,
I mentally replied.
I wasn't being jealous. Just observant.

Uh huh.

Andy announced that his other half, John, had had to work late and might be a few minutes late getting to the meeting. As he was talking, Keith and Victor arrived, followed by a cute younger guy probably just a little older than Jonathan—John, I gathered, and was confirmed in the exchange of greetings with Keith and Victor. I noticed that when Andy greeted him warmly and gave him a hug, John seemed to break it off rather quickly and back away. He did not seem very happy. More introductions and handshakes and idle small-talk until Brian Oaks entered with Paul and Frank and after everyone had gotten their coffee, we took our seats. Once again, Carl and Jay came in late.

The fireworks started about ten minutes into the session, when John was talking about an Al-Anon meeting he'd attended. (I had automatically assumed that since John was the younger of the two, he was the alcoholic. Wrong again.) Carl jumped in with both feet, once again lambasting Al-Anon as a complete waste of time, and saying that if alcoholics spent more energy in trying to stay sober, there'd be no need for Al-Anon. He was so upset I could actually see the veins standing out on his forehead, and nearly everyone else in the group of course took the other side. I could see what Bradshaw meant when he said the meetings could get a little heated from time to time. Brian kept control, but it was a real effort, and I wondered for a moment why Carl had ever wanted to get into the group at all, or why Brian didn't kick him out. But then I realized Carl and Jay were probably the one couple in the group who needed it most. Eventually things calmed down and the meeting continued.

I kept noticing that through it all, Andy seemed to be paying an inordinate amount of attention to John, putting his hand on John's leg, trying to get him to smile with no success. John was obviously very pissed. Brian noticed it too, and asked John if anything were wrong.

“Andy drove to the meeting tonight,” John said, turning to look directly at Andy. “His license has been suspended and if the police had stopped him for something, he'd have gone to jail.”

“I just didn't want us to have to take the bus home,” Andy said, unconvincingly. “I told you I'd bring the car…”

“Why didn't you drive, John?” Brian asked.

John sighed, looking away from Andy for the first time. “Parking's next to impossible where I work, so I never drive to work: I take the bus.” He shot a quick look at Andy, then continued. “On meeting nights, I take the bus home and then drive us to the meeting. But tonight I had to work late, so I called Andy to let him know. He said he'd bring the car to the meeting so we wouldn't have to try to catch a bus home, and I told him definitely not to, but when I got off the bus and walked past the parking lot, there was the car.”

“That was really dumb, Andy,” Keith said, rather surprising me, since Keith almost never said anything. “I don't even have a license. Never got one.”

“I'm like Keith,” Paul said, “only I never even learned how to drive. Where I grew up, in New York City, nobody had a car. But I know what can happen when somebody drives drunk.”

“I wasn't driving drunk!” Andy said, defensively.

“Not this time, maybe,” John said.

*

John and Andy were not at our third session, and Carl grudgingly apologized for his performance at the previous meeting. While I really wasn't finding out all that much that I could apply to Jerry Shea's or Benicio Martinez's (or anyone else's) disappearance, the group itself was growing on me, and I could see its value to the members. I was particularly interested, during our third session—which focused on what it was that had drawn the various partners together in the first place—when Jonathan volunteered the story of his relationship to his brother Samuel, and how he had found in me some of what he considered Samuel's stronger qualities, and Jonathan's subsequent attraction to men somewhat older than himself. And I, when it was my turn, said—and perhaps really realized for the first time—that I'd always been attracted to guys I felt I could help and protect. Jonathan and I had never really talked about these things between ourselves, so I found it really something of a revelation.

*

As I was making a pot of coffee at the office Friday morning, I was mulling over just how long I should spend on this particular trail, and whether it might ever produce anything that I could use to find what had happened to the missing men. That issue was pretty well resolved for me when the phone rang and I answered to hear Marty Gresham's voice.

“Hi, Marty. What's up?”

“Another Category Twelve just came in,” he said. “A guy named Andy Phillips. Sound familiar?”

Andy. Of Qualicare's John and Andy!

Chapter 7

Gresham, at my request, patched me through to Lieutenant Richman.

“Hello, Dick.” Richman's voice told me he was expecting my call.

“I gather you've already spoken with Officer Gresham?”

“Yes, he called me as soon as he saw the report. It seems we have a definite problem on our hands. The question now is what, exactly, to do about it.”

“Well,” I said, “I've got a couple ideas on that score, if you'd be willing to hear them.”

Richman sighed. “Sure. Do you want to come down here, or meet me at Sandler's for lunch?”

I still felt uncomfortable about being seen too often at police headquarters.

“Sandler's would be fine,” I said. “Noon?”

“Make it twelve-fifteen. I'll see you there.”

*

My mind slipped into its “tumble dry” mode, and I sat there, figuratively watching as ideas rolled around in my brain, appearing only long enough to catch a glimpse of before being replaced by another, then reappearing and vanishing again.

What was clear from all of it was that things were accelerating. But why? Was whoever was behind it just getting cocky? Andy Phillip's disappearance removed any doubt whatsoever that the Qualicare group was directly involved. But could whoever was responsible really be that stupid? Surely he had to know somebody would catch on eventually.

Well,
my mind voice pointed out,
nobody had so far.
And if it weren't for Marty Gresham, there was the outside chance no one might ever have.

And my mind kept returning to the same frustrating question:
And if they are dead, why haven't any of the bodies been found?

The group's very set-up provided pretty good cover for the guy: the membership had a relatively high turnover—couples joined and left regularly. Members didn't know each others' last names and were encouraged not to socialize outside the meetings. Still…

I definitely would be contacting John Bradshaw and Ted Kemper again. Now that I'd been to a couple meetings, I was getting a better feel for the dynamics of the group and the people involved, and I had a better idea of what questions to ask.

*

“So,” Richman asked as the waiter left with our order, “what exactly did you have in mind?”

I took a long sip of coffee before answering. “Well,” I put my cup back on its saucer, “first let me ask you what options the police have, given the overall circumstances?”

Richman echoed my coffee-sipping, then said: “We're in a very grey area, here…as it seems we so often are when you're involved in the situation. I wonder why that is?” He gave a small smile, then continued. “All we have is circumstantial evidence. Gresham told me about Charles Whitaker, by the way, though whether or not his disappearance is tied in to the rest of this is a little iffy in my opinion. So we have five…six?…missing men, five of whom have definite links to Qualicare's alcohol counseling program. That's justification enough to launch a full investigation, I think. Though exactly what we'd be able to prove without a single body or a shred of evidence that any crime has been committed is moot. I gather you've found out nothing concrete on your own?”

I shook my head, and Richman shrugged.

“Anybody you consider a likely candidate?”

It was my turn to shrug.

“Several ‘maybe's, but not enough to point to one more than the others. What I might suggest is that we send whoever is responsible a message that maybe he's been pushing his luck, and he should think twice about doing whatever it is he's been doing. If there could be just enough of a police intervention to let everyone associated with the group know that they're looking into Phillips' disappearance, without giving any indication that they're aware of the others, that might shake the…what to call him?…technically we can't call him ‘the killer' without definite proof anybody's actually dead…. Anyway, I'd like to shake his tree without spooking him completely. With luck, that will buy us more time to find out exactly what's going on.”

The waiter brought our lunch, and we ate in silence for several minutes until Richman said: “Let me work on it. Even though we don't have proof of homicide at the moment, I definitely should talk with Captain Offermann to get his okay as head of the Homicide Division.”