The Role Players (24 page)

“Do you still have the kroppkakor?” Jonathan asked, apparently fearing they might have sold out already.

“Of course,” she said, smiling. “Would you like to see a menu?”

“I don't need one!” Jonathan said. Chris, Max, and I looked at one another.

“Are you game?” I asked them.

“Sure,” Chris said. “Why not?”

Max nodded.

We ordered coffee while we waited, which turned out to be not long.

You're making wild guesses, Hardesty. You don't know that any of what Chuck said is true, and you don't know enough about Master/slave relationships to even know if it's logical.

The waitress returned first with a loaf of hot, fresh bread on a wooden tray, butter, and a knife. She went into the kitchen only to reappear with four large plates on which were what looked like two large, dirty snowballs each, surrounded by several vegetables and a scoop of what looked to be cooked cranberries.

“Lingonberries, too!” Jonathan exclaimed with delight as he quickly tasted them.

“Enjoy your dinner,” the waitress said with another smile, and left.

Obviously, you have to check to see if there is a mirror, if it's a two-way, and what's on the other side. Great idea! Now all you have to figure out is how to find out.

The vegetables were perfect, as was the bread. The kroppkakor proved to be something of an acquired taste. I'd never seen potato dumplings this large. They looked to be quite heavy and, being served by themselves rather than in a soup, appeared almost pasty on the outside. But when you took a small bit of the cran—excuse me, the lingonberries (I couldn't tell much difference)—with it, it had a rather nice flavor. And the meat filling—salt pork and beef, Jonathan informed us—was very good. It was a chore to finish both of them.

“And you can't go swimming for two days,” Jonathan advised. “You'd sink right to the bottom.”

But we all complimented him on his choice, which obviously pleased him.

*

On the way back to the apartment, we passed a neighborhood movie theater, obviously an art house, showing two classic Russian silent films,
Battleship Potemkin
and
Ivan the Terrible
—incredible films. I commented to Jonathan and Max that Chris and I had seen them shortly after we'd gotten together.

“As first runs?” Max asked, and Chris gave him the finger.

It almost seemed like that now.

We got back to the apartment in time to have a cup of coffee and relax for a few minutes before Max left for the Whitman. I was very tempted to call Tait and set up another meeting, but realized I really should think it out a little before doing so. For one thing, I wanted to have a better idea of the layout of his apartment, specifically, what rooms were adjacent to Tait's bedroom. I knew the dining room was adjacent to the living room, and the patio where we had lunch was just off the dining room. There was a hallway on the other side of the dining room, which led to the library to the left, and the conservatory was just off the library. What lay to the right of the hallway I didn't know.

Chris had said he and Max had been to a party at Tait's right after casting was finalized. I asked him if he knew where Tait's bedroom was.

“Yeah,” he said. “It's at the opposite end of the living room from the dining room. There's a short hall with a guest bath at the end of it, and right next to it is Tait's bedroom. I snuck a peek at it on my way back from the bathroom. It's huge!”

Hmm. That sure doesn't sound like the room Chuck described
, I thought.

Gee
, my voice-in-charge-of-sarcasm chimed in,
d' you 'spose maybe there's more than one bedroom in the place?

“What's next to the library, do you know?” I asked. “On the side away from the conservatory.”

“A guest bedroom, I think,” he said. “It must be at least a four-bedroom apartment.”

I tried picturing the library again. No mirror.

Well there wouldn't be, Sherlock,
the same mind-voice said.
You'd be able to look right into the bedroom.

Right. So no mirror. But there
was
a large portrait on the adjoining wall, as I remembered—another thing to check out.

A wave of total frustration swept over me.

Two-way mirrors. Masters and slaves. Fascinating. And just what in
hell
did they have to do with Rod Pearce's death?

*

With a very great deal of effort I managed to get my mind-voices to shut up—or at least tone it down—so I could pull myself back to Jonathan and Chris, both of whom, I realized, were very much aware that I'd been mentally absent from the room.

“Get it solved?” Jonathan asked with a smile.

“No,” I sighed.

“You will,” Chris said reassuringly.

We concentrated on what if anything we might want to do for the evening, and Chris suggested Jonathan might enjoy seeing
Battleship Potemkin
if I wouldn't mind seeing it again.

“Good idea,” I said, contemplating drowning my sorrows in a jumbo box of popcorn and a giant soda. “Would you like to see it?” I asked Jonathan.

“Sure.”

“I'll call the theater to see when the next show starts,” Chris said, getting up and moving to the phone book.

He returned a minute or two later. “Twenty minutes,” he said. “But
Ivan the Terrible
is first. Do we want to see them both?”

“Sure!” Jonathan repeated.

Not being sure how long each film was, Chris wrote a note for Max to let him know where we were in case he got home first, and we left.

*

The movie was exactly what I needed. We all three sat there, shoveling popcorn into our faces and slurping soda, totally transfixed.
Battleship Potemkin
was made in 1925 and showed its age in the sometimes-grainy images. But Sergei Eisenstein, the legendary director, was an unchallenged master storyteller. The scene of the Tsar's troops slaughtering civilians on the Odessa steps, with the single image of an unattended baby carriage bouncing down the steps, is probably one of the most famous film scenes of all time.

“That really happened?” Jonathan asked as we left the theater. When we assured him it had, he shook his head. “Wow,” he said, “I've got to read up on that!”

We got home about ten minutes after Max did and sat around talking for about half an hour or so. Jonathan was uncharacteristically quiet—apparently the films had really gotten to him.

“I'm going to ask Jared all about Russian history when we get home,” he said as we climbed into bed and assumed our customary “spoon” position. “I mean, I knew there was the revolution and all that, but I really didn't know the people had had such a rough time for all those years. I feel so bad for them.”

I wrapped my arm around him tighter and kissed him on the back of the neck. “You're a good man, Jonathan Quinlan,” I said.

“Thanks.”

Within five minutes, his breathing told me he was asleep.

*

Call Gene Morrison
.

Now?

When you wake up.

Why?

To see if Gene knows whether Rod Pearce might have been into S&M in any way.
Jeezus!
Enough already with the S&M/Master/slave crap!

You're the one who's been dwelling on it. There must be a reason.

If there is, I don't have a clue what it might be.

Just an intuition, huh?

Well…no. Maybe…Shit, I don't know.

But there's something.

Okay, something.

*

Tuesday. Four more days!
Move, Hardesty, move!

“Max,” I said as we sat having our morning coffee—Chris was in the shower—“What do you know about Rod's sex life? I mean, considering all the guys he bedded just from the Whitman, I'd have thought you might have heard something from some of them.”

Max grinned. “Yeah, I heard a couple of stories, some direct, some through the grapevine. A versatile guy, Rod, from what I gather.”

“How so?”

“Well, take Russ, the prop man,” Max said. “He's a real sweetheart, which is why what Rod did to him was really shitty.”

“What did he do to him?” Jonathan asked, a concerned look on his face. I immediately felt a pang because it was likely that Jonathan was remembering something from his hustler past that he didn't want to remember.

Max quickly corrected himself. “No, no, he didn't
do
anything to him other than to break the poor kid's heart. You can ask Chris. Russ sort of cried on his shoulder after Rod dumped him. Rod really led him on. Russ kept telling Chris how gentle Rod was, and how considerate. He brought him flowers, played him like a violin until Russ gave in—which of course took about two days. Then it was ‘It's been fun… See ya around.'

“Owen Smith, the redhead who plays one of the Board and Mr. Ashton in the
Titanic
section, he's a wild man from what I understand. Anything goes and the more the merrier. Apparently Rod, Owen, Owen's roommate, and the roommate's boyfriend had a great time together, I was told—by Owen. Rod didn't have to try to land Owen. Owen threw himself into the boat, as did a couple of the other guys. But Rod seemed to go out of his way with guys like Russ and Joe.”

I looked at him. “So you think Rod might have gone along for a little innocent S&M?”

Max moved his head back quickly and knit his brows. “What do you mean? You think Rod and Tait had…? No way! Tait and Gene are too good friends for that!”

“Then maybe Rod and Keith?”

Now it was Jonathan's turn to look surprised. “Oh, gosh, Dick, I can't imagine that,” he said. “I mean, I don't know Keith hardly at all, but I really think he does love Tait, and…”

“Not everybody is monogamous, Jonathan,” Max said.

“Well, they should be!” Jonathan replied firmly.

So. Rod has sex with Keith, Tait finds out about it, and…voila! The connection!

I realized I was neatly placing the cart about half a mile in front of the horse, but it was something to think about. Like I needed something else to think about?

“I want to give Gene a call, if you don't mind,” I said.

“Feel free,” Chris said.

I got the phone, excused myself, and carried it into the kitchen, which is about as far as the cord would reach. I dialed Morrison's number, and he picked up on the third ring.

“Gene Morrison.”

“Gene, it's Dick. Do you have a moment?”

“Well, Dick, I was just about to call a cab. I'm meeting Tait for breakfast.”

“Ah, well, then, I won't keep you,” I said.

“No, that's fine. I can spare a few minutes. I assume it is important.”

“It is. I have a couple of rather personal questions I really hope you don't mind me asking.”

“Go ahead. If I don't want to answer, I won't.”

Okay. Here we go.

“Was Rod ever into any…uh…bondage and discipline or S&M that you know of?”

“Certainly not with me,” he replied calmly, “though I knew his ‘interests' were wide-ranging, from what he'd told me of his earlier life and from what I heard rumored. I understand he was willing to go along with whatever his…partner…might want.”

I'll take that as a “yes
.”

“Thank you. This next question may be even more awkward, but I have a reason for asking. I know you and Tait don't discuss the intimate details of your private lives, but what do you know about his sexual preferences?”

There was a very slight pause. “Other than men, you mean? I honestly don't know. He keeps that part of his life
very
private. He…” a much longer pause “…what are you implying, Dick? That Tait might…that Rod might…that's ridiculous! Totally out of the question! Tait is one of my closest friends. He would never betray our friendship like that!”

Obviously I'd struck a very raw nerve.

“I'm sorry, Gene, but I really had to ask.”

The tension and anger were clear in his voice. “Why?”

“I'm afraid I can't say right now, but believe me, I would not have asked without good reason.”

“Tait hired you!” he said. “I'm frankly surprised and disappointed that you could even consider that he might be involved in Rod's death, or that he and Rod…”

I didn't know if I could say anything at this point to calm him down.

“I'm not turning on Tait, I assure you,” I said, hoping I sounded more definite than I felt, “but I would not be doing my job if I didn't explore every possible angle of the case.”

He sighed and when he spoke his voice was calmer, but still a bit cool. “Well, if you'll excuse me, I really must call a cab. I understand your position, of course, and out of respect for you and for Tait I will not tell him of our conversation.”

“I very much appreciate that, Gene. Thank you.”

Goodbye, Suspect #1 Gene, Hello Suspect #1 Tait!

Get serious!
several of my mind-voices snorted in unison.
Can you seriously believe that Tait would be stupid enough to kill Rod and then hire you to narrow it down to him? Forget that other bullshit you gave yourself a while back about him just wanting to be sure he'd gotten away with it. Nobody is that dumb.