 |
| The view which greeted the homicide detectives. |
The body, perfectly proportioned, lay prone before the fireplace, arms akimbo with bruised wrists, palms up, dressed in white shorts, white knee socks and white golf shoes. The shirt was what appeared to have been a beige sport shirt, the top half severely burned, as was the blistered, broad-shouldered flesh beneath it. What was left of the head was practically a skull...laying charred, mouth agape, upon the smoldering ashes in the fireplace. A poker was stuck full in the center of the back between the shoulder blades. A sickening smell, akin to roasting meat, hung in the air.
The chief of the homicide detectives, Robert Wilkes, was kneeling beside the corpse. He glanced at the area from which the poker protruded, shook his head and stood up. His assistant, Lieutenant Ken Lawrence, stood beside him.
"The poker was undoubtedly the murder weapon", Lawrence said. "It appears to have been shoved into the back and through the heart".
"That's what the killer would have us assume, Lieutenant", the chief replied. "But if you'll look closely, you'll notice that there's no blood on the shirt in the area where the victim was stabbed. This man was dead long before the killer even used the poker". Chief Wilkes knelt down once again beside the body, examining the charred skull more closely. "No, Lawrence, this man was murdered...but whoever his killer was forced his head into the fire first".
To prove his point, Chief Wilkes stood up once again, grabbing the poker in his gloved hand and extracting it from the dead man's back. He held it up for Lawrence to see. Sure enough, not one bit of blood stained the iron poker. Nor did any blood exit the wound.
"I guarantee you", Wilkes continued, "that once the coroner performs an autopsy on the lung tissue, he'll find that the insides of both lungs are burned". Wilkes placed the poker within a long plastic evidence bag. "This man was burned to death...forced to breathe in the fire until it killed him. Then, the killer took the poker and rammed it into his back and through the heart, hoping to make us think that it was the poker that killed him. But, he's not as smart as he thought he was".
Chief Wilkes walked around the untouched living room, his eyes coming to rest on a framed photograph of a handsome young man in hiking shorts and a similarly-dressed beauty.
 |
| Chief Wilkes noticed this picture on a table in the living room. |
"That is...was...Bill Forrester", came the answer from behind him. "He was my fiance".
Chief Wilkes turned around. There stood the same beautiful woman from the photograph.
"And you are...?" he asked.
"Robin Maxwell", she replied. "Bill and I are...were both models from the same agency". She looked beyond the chief and lieutenant to see the corpse of her fiance being lifted and gently laid face down onto the low gurney. The coroner held the charred head in his hands, raising it in cadence with the body so as not to separate them. When the young woman saw the true condition of her lover's body, she gasped. "Oh, my God!"
Chief Wilkes embraced the young woman as the morgue attendants strapped the prone body down and draped it, lifted the gurney and moved it quickly towards the door to the coroner's wagon which waited outside.
"Ms. Maxwell, do you feel up to coming down to my office?" Wilkes asked the distraught young woman. "There are quite a few questions I would like to ask you about the deceased".
The young woman nodded. Wilkes, his arm still about the woman's shoulder, led her to the open door. Before leaving, he turned to Lawrence to issue one final order.
"Turn out the lights. Lock and cordon off all doors and windows, as well as the boundary of the property", Wilkes ordered. "This is an active crime scene. I want to make certain that nothing is disturbed until this murder is solved".
"Yes, sir", Lawrence answered, gingerly saluting the Chief as he led the young woman outside.
 |
| The coroner prepared the body for the autopsy. |
It was almost an hour later before the coroner arrived at his "operating" room on the subterranean level of the local hospital. As the morgue attendants rolled the gurney out from the elevator, the coroner, Dr. Philip Jax, switched on the light, illuminating the cave and the hall at the end of which his office and "operating" room were located. The smell of formaldehyde lingered in the cool, damp air...as it always did after the coroner performed an autopsy. As they crossed over the threshold of the room in which the body would be sliced up, the lights came on.
"Thank you, gentlemen", Dr. Jax replied, after the attendants lifted the body off the gurney, putting it on the cold metal slab. "That'll be all for tonight. I'll see you tomorrow morning".
The men nodded, turned and walked out of the room, almost bowling over Dr. Jax's assistant, Jolene FitzSimmons, a beautiful young woman of 27.
"Well, it's about time you got here, Jolene", Jax said. "When I called you from the crime scene, I had hoped you would have been here and gotten at least half the preparations done".
"Sorry", she replied. "I had to wait for my husband to fall asleep".
"He still doesn't approve of you working here?"
"He was hoping that he could brag to his colleagues about being married to a surgeon...not a medical examiner's assistant".
"First things first, Jolene. You must work your way up from here".
Jax stood over the draped corpse, which the attendants placed upon the metal table. When he whipped away the cloth, Jolene practically retched at the sight.
"Oh, come on, Jolene", he said. "You've seen worse".
"I thought I had", she remarked, getting her composure back.
Jax turned on his recorder and brought the microphone closer so he could dictate each step of the procedure.
"The body is that of a male murder victim...name: William Forrester; occupation: male model; height: six feet, two inches; age: between 25 and 30 years old", he began. "At first glance, it is easy to see that the victim's head had been burned down to the bone. Body was physically fit, tanned and well-toned. Victim was found lying face down in his living room, his head and upper quarter of torso in the fireplace. Body was dressed as it arrived here for the autopsy...half-burned beige sport shirt, white golf shorts, knee socks and golf shoes". He took in a deep breath. "Alright, Jolene...let's get to work stripping him down and cutting him open".
The coroner and his assistant cut through the dead man's clothing, pulling away piece after piece, until the body lay naked on the cold metal slab.
"The hole in the direct center of the victim's back was the result of a thrust from an iron fireplace poker", Jax continued. "Wound was post-mortem and therefore not the primary cause of death". Jax grabbed the cold, dead shoulders, looking up at Jolene. "Take hold of the legs and help me turn him over".
Closing her eyes and grabbing the dead man's legs, Jolene helped Jax turn the body over onto its back, dropping it gently back onto the slab.
"Similar hole also caused by iron fireplace poker between left and right breast, slightly off-center", Jax reported. "Undoubtedly, the post-mortem exit wound".
As Jolene placed a towel over the "privates", Jax picked up his scalpel and proceeded to cut the body open...shoulder to shoulder, left hip to right hip, and down the center from the neck to the navel...cutting aside tendons and ligaments to expose the viscera inside. As soon as he had finished, Jax picked up his bone saw and proceeded to cut the dead man's sternum in half. Putting the saw down on the table, he reached into the chest cavity and, deftly, cracked open the rib cage, exposing the internal organs of the thorax.
Picking up his scalpel once again, Jax proceeded with the gruesome task of removing several organs for examining and weighing. First to be removed was the dead man's heart. Jax placed the organ on the scale and balanced the weights until the scale was even.
"Heart is smooth", Jax said, "with no obvious defect, save for two holes caused by the entrance and exit of the poker. Weight: twenty-six grams".
"Are you going to remove the lungs?" Jolene asked.
"Just the outer part of one. Chief Wilkes has reason to believe that the inside was burned. If it was, then his assumption about the victim's head being pushed into the fire was correct. Did you get all that down about the heart?"
"Heart smooth, no defects...two holes caused by poker...weight: twenty-six grams", she read from her notepad.
"Good girl".
Jax then reached inside the chest with his scalpel again, cutting around the perimeter of the lobe of the left lung. This done, he took a foot-long strand of razor-sharp filament and, placing it at the cut he just made in the lobe, moved it back and forth, sawing through the inner tissue until he met the cut at the opposite side. Putting the filament aside, Jax deftly lifted the outer lobe of the lung, exposing blackened and burned bronchial tubes and air sacs.
"Jolene, come over here and tell me what you see", Jax said.
Jolene came over to stand beside her superior and looked into the chest.
"Well, it looks like you can report to Chief Wilkes and tell him he was right", she said.
Then, something else caught the coroner's eye. He moved along the table towards the dead man's legs, bending over to get a better look at the left knee.
"Give me a tweezer", he replied.
Jolene handed Jax a tweezer. He poked at the dead man's knee, extracting a thin fiber.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked, holding the fiber up to the light for the young woman to see.
Jolene nodded as Jax quickly bagged the fiber and, turning, hurried towards the door.
"Well, it's about time you got here, Jolene", Jax said. "When I called you from the crime scene, I had hoped you would have been here and gotten at least half the preparations done".
"Sorry", she replied. "I had to wait for my husband to fall asleep".
"He still doesn't approve of you working here?"
"He was hoping that he could brag to his colleagues about being married to a surgeon...not a medical examiner's assistant".
"First things first, Jolene. You must work your way up from here".
Jax stood over the draped corpse, which the attendants placed upon the metal table. When he whipped away the cloth, Jolene practically retched at the sight.
"Oh, come on, Jolene", he said. "You've seen worse".
"I thought I had", she remarked, getting her composure back.
Jax turned on his recorder and brought the microphone closer so he could dictate each step of the procedure.
"The body is that of a male murder victim...name: William Forrester; occupation: male model; height: six feet, two inches; age: between 25 and 30 years old", he began. "At first glance, it is easy to see that the victim's head had been burned down to the bone. Body was physically fit, tanned and well-toned. Victim was found lying face down in his living room, his head and upper quarter of torso in the fireplace. Body was dressed as it arrived here for the autopsy...half-burned beige sport shirt, white golf shorts, knee socks and golf shoes". He took in a deep breath. "Alright, Jolene...let's get to work stripping him down and cutting him open".
The coroner and his assistant cut through the dead man's clothing, pulling away piece after piece, until the body lay naked on the cold metal slab.
"The hole in the direct center of the victim's back was the result of a thrust from an iron fireplace poker", Jax continued. "Wound was post-mortem and therefore not the primary cause of death". Jax grabbed the cold, dead shoulders, looking up at Jolene. "Take hold of the legs and help me turn him over".
Closing her eyes and grabbing the dead man's legs, Jolene helped Jax turn the body over onto its back, dropping it gently back onto the slab.
"Similar hole also caused by iron fireplace poker between left and right breast, slightly off-center", Jax reported. "Undoubtedly, the post-mortem exit wound".
As Jolene placed a towel over the "privates", Jax picked up his scalpel and proceeded to cut the body open...shoulder to shoulder, left hip to right hip, and down the center from the neck to the navel...cutting aside tendons and ligaments to expose the viscera inside. As soon as he had finished, Jax picked up his bone saw and proceeded to cut the dead man's sternum in half. Putting the saw down on the table, he reached into the chest cavity and, deftly, cracked open the rib cage, exposing the internal organs of the thorax.
Picking up his scalpel once again, Jax proceeded with the gruesome task of removing several organs for examining and weighing. First to be removed was the dead man's heart. Jax placed the organ on the scale and balanced the weights until the scale was even.
"Heart is smooth", Jax said, "with no obvious defect, save for two holes caused by the entrance and exit of the poker. Weight: twenty-six grams".
"Are you going to remove the lungs?" Jolene asked.
"Just the outer part of one. Chief Wilkes has reason to believe that the inside was burned. If it was, then his assumption about the victim's head being pushed into the fire was correct. Did you get all that down about the heart?"
"Heart smooth, no defects...two holes caused by poker...weight: twenty-six grams", she read from her notepad.
"Good girl".
Jax then reached inside the chest with his scalpel again, cutting around the perimeter of the lobe of the left lung. This done, he took a foot-long strand of razor-sharp filament and, placing it at the cut he just made in the lobe, moved it back and forth, sawing through the inner tissue until he met the cut at the opposite side. Putting the filament aside, Jax deftly lifted the outer lobe of the lung, exposing blackened and burned bronchial tubes and air sacs.
"Jolene, come over here and tell me what you see", Jax said.
Jolene came over to stand beside her superior and looked into the chest.
"Well, it looks like you can report to Chief Wilkes and tell him he was right", she said.
Then, something else caught the coroner's eye. He moved along the table towards the dead man's legs, bending over to get a better look at the left knee.
"Give me a tweezer", he replied.
Jolene handed Jax a tweezer. He poked at the dead man's knee, extracting a thin fiber.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked, holding the fiber up to the light for the young woman to see.
Jolene nodded as Jax quickly bagged the fiber and, turning, hurried towards the door.
 |
| Wilkes started questioning Robin about her fiance. |
III
Chief Wilkes sat at his desk at headquarters. Robin Maxwell, the fiancee of the deceased man, sat across from him. Wilkes held out a box of tissues to the distraught young woman. A young man was dead, his head forced into a blazing hearth, his body left prone before it...and an iron poker stabbed into his back. Wilkes wanted to get to the bottom of this...and he wanted to do it quickly.
"Now, Ms. Maxwell, how long were you and the deceased engaged?" he asked.
"We were supposed to get married next month", the woman said.
"I didn't ask you that, Ms. Maxwell. I asked how long you were engaged. A year? Two years? Five? Ten?"
"Two years...almost three". She took another tissue and wiped her eyes. "The modeling agency was going to arrange everything. The flowers...the honeymoon...everything".
Wilkes rose from his chair, walked to the window and looked out.
"Do you know if Mr. Forrester had any enemies at the agency who probably wanted him dead?"
"Enemies? My Bill?" Ms. Maxwell asked, horrified. "Chief Wilkes, Bill was the most-liked man in the entire agency! Photographers gathered at his feet, begging him to pose for them. Begging him...not the other way around! How could you ever ask such a question?"
"I didn't mean any insult, Ms. Maxwell". Wilkes returned to his chair and sat down again. "Still, Mr. Forrester made somebody mad...somebody who hated him enough to force his head into a fireplace blaze, and then tried to cover it up by shoving an iron poker into his back".
Wilkes paused as he took out a cigarette from the pack of Winston on his desk, put it between his lips and lit it. After taking a deep drag, he looked at the distraught woman once more.
"Now, it didn't have to be anybody at the agency", he continued. "Do you know of anybody outside the agency that may have held a grudge against him?"
"No", she replied. "Nobody".
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
"Come in!" Wilkes called out.
Jax opened the door and entered the office.
"What did you find, Phil?" Wilkes asked.
"Just what you surmised", Jax replied. "Forrester was forced into that fire".
"Are you absolutely sure?"
"I found this embedded in the skin of the front of his left knee". Jax tossed the small bag to Wilkes. "It's a carpet fiber...from the same carpet in Forrester's living room. And, there's another thing..."
"Yes?"
"Those bruises that were on Forrester's wrists? There were also bruises on his back...as if somebody was straddled on him as he was on his knees, forcing his head into the flames".
Meanwhile, the young woman's face brightened.
"Good work, Phil. Thanks".
"If you need me, I'll be back in the examining room", Jax said, turning and walking towards the door. In a moment, he was gone.
Wilkes turned and looked at the young woman.
"Is there something wrong, Ms. Maxwell?" he asked.
"I just remembered something", she said. "About a week and a half ago...Bill had an argument with a repairman".
"A repairman?"
"Bill's BMW was giving him some problems, so he brought it into this repair shop. The shop owner quoted a price of $1,000 plus labor. Bill told him to go ahead with it...and rented a car for three days. When he went back to get his car, the shop owner showed him a bill for $10,000. Bill couldn't believe his eyes. He started shouting at the man and said he wouldn't pay anything more than what was quoted. When the man refused to give him his car keys, Bill stormed out of the shop. Later that night, he returned with his spare key, climbed the fence and took the car. But, he put an envelope through the mail slot".
"What was in the envelope?"
"$2,500. Apparently, Bill didn't want any more trouble. He felt the shop owner would be satisfied with the additional money".
"Well, it looks like he wasn't". Wilkes grabbed a pencil and a piece of paper. "Do you remember the name of the shop?"
"Barton's Garage...on Olive...in Burbank".
Wilkes rose from his chair.
"Lawrence!"
Almost on cue, Lieutenant Lawrence opened the door.
"Yes, sir?" Lawrence asked.
"Get the address of Barton's Garage on Olive in Burbank".
"Yes, sir".
"I believe we may have just found the proper motive for murder".
 |
| Barton was hard at work in his shop in the morning. |
IV
Chief Wilkes and Lieutenant Lawrence visited the repair shop first thing the following morning. From what Robin Maxwell told him, the shop owner appeared to have reasonable cause for killing Bill Forrester.
"I'm looking for Mr. Barton", he said to the first mechanic he came across.
"He's in his office, paying some bill", replied the soft, feminine voice. "And, he usually doesn't like to be disturbed. But, maybe I can help you. I'm Maggie Barton...his daughter".
"Maybe you can help me, Ms. Barton. I'm Detective Chief Robert Wilkes...and this is Lieutenant Ken Lawrence. We're investigating the death of one of your shop's customers...William Forrester".
"He's dead?"
"Murdered...last night".
"Well, I hate to speak ill of the dead...but good riddance to bad rubbish!"
"I take it you had something against him?"
"I sure did! He conned my father out of $7,500!"
"From what we heard, Ms. Barton, is that your father overcharged Mr. Forrester by $9,000", Lawrence remarked.
"My father did nothing of the kind, Lieutenant! He gave Mr. Forrester a flat rate of $1,000 for a problem he had with his BMW. However, my father found other related problems that needed to be repaired before he could get to the initial problem. If he just repaired the one problem without repairing the others...well, it would have been work done for nothing. So, my father went ahead with the other repairs. That, plus the labor that was put into the work, is what really cost $10,000".
"Couldn't your father get in touch with Mr. Forrester to tell him about the other problems beforehand?" Wilkes asked.
"Believe me...he tried. We both did! But, from sunrise to well past midnight that line was constantly busy. We tried for three whole days and nights...to no avail". Maggie walked over to the sink and proceeded to wash her hands. "Then, he came here on the day my father promised him the car would be ready...and he practically raised the roof when he was told of the price increase. My father and I told him that we tried to contact him...but couldn't get through".
"Your father refused to give him the key?"
"You're damn right he did! My father wasn't about to give over a car that had $10,000 worth of work put into it for $1,000". Maggie wiped her hands on her towel, then turned to face Wilkes. "The next day...we found the gate busted open, the BMW gone and a sealed envelope with $2,500 on the floor inside the door just below the mail slot".
"Tell me something, Ms. Barton...would your father kill for money?"
"Look, Chief...my father didn't like the way Forrester conned him. But, that doesn't mean he would kill to get his money".
Just then, the shop owner came out of his office and approached his daughter and the two detectives.
"What's going on here?" he asked.
"Mr. Barton?" Wilkes asked.
"Yeah, I'm Sam Barton. Who wants to know?"
"I'm Detective Chief Robert Wilkes...homicide division. We're investigating the death of one of your customers".
"Oh? Which one?"
"William Forrester. I understand the two of you had a falling-out last week".
"That's right. That young snot conned me out of $7,500 worth of repair work, busted my gate and stole his car from my yard". Barton looked at Wilkes, then Lawrence...then Wilkes once again. "When did he die?"
"Last night. He was found face down before his living room fireplace, with his head charred and a poker in his back".
Barton smirked.
"Well, I can't say he didn't have it coming...because he did!"
Wilkes looked at Lawrence for a moment. Did he sense something more than hostility?
"Mr. Barton, where were you last night at about 7:30?" Wilkes asked.
"That's easy", Barton answered. "I was at home, having dinner".
"Can you verify that?"
"I can", Maggie said. "I was having dinner with him at the time".
"Anybody else see you?"
"Look, Chief...if my daughter's word isn't good enough for you, then I don't know what is. But, yes...a neighbor saw me get home at 7:15". Barton looked at his daughter, then at the two men once again. "Look, if you're accusing me of murdering the bastard, then you're barking up the wrong tree! I would never kill somebody who owed me money. I'm not some racketeering loan shark. Now, if you men don't mind...we've got a business to run".
"Alright, Mr. Barton", Wilkes said. "But, don't leave town. And make yourself available in case I need to talk to you again".
Without another word, Wilkes and Lawrence turned and left the shop, heading for their car at the curb. Did Robin Maxwell give them a red herring? If Barton had nothing to do with the murder of William Forrester...then who did?
"Well, Chief...where's our next stop?" Lawrence asked.
"The modeling agency", Wilkes replied. "I want to see for myself whether or not Forrester had any in-shop enemies".
Wilkes and Lawrence climbed into the car and drove away.
"Giorgio D'Allesandro claims that he would have wanted to kill Bill Forrester", Wilkes said. "But, he has a witness as to his whereabouts at the time of the murder...Daniela Rubosi. Ms. Rubosi feels that Robin Maxwell, with whom Forrester broke off their engagement, would have wanted to kill him. Two palpable suspects...two people who had good reason to kill the same man...and yet, neither of them did it".
"So, where does that leave us?" asked Lawrence, fumbling with a slip of paper in his hand.
"Where do you think? Back at the beginning...with a dead man in the morgue and no killer behind bars!" Wilkes looked up to see Lawrence glancing at the paper in his hand. "What do you have there?"
"Oh, just an address and telephone number". Wilkes's eyebrow arched as Lawrence continued, "I made a date with one of the models in the outer office".
Wilkes sat at his desk, flabbergasted.
"Here we are, in the middle of a murder investigation...and you made a date with one of the models at the agency?" Wilkes asked.
"Well, what else could I do, Chief?" Lawrence retorted. "You told me to wait in the outer office!"
"Oh, forget it!"
Wilkes pushed himself away from his desk, stood up, turned and approached the window. He looked down at the street below. He stood there, astonished. The answer was right there in front of his eyes.
"Of course, it would lead us back to the agency. But, to whom,?"
"If the photographer didn't do it...and the fiancee didn't do it...then that means..."
The bulb of reality finally began to glow above Lawrence's head.
"There had to have been another person who could have killed him", Wilkes said. "A person who loved him enough to make certain that if he couldn't have him, no one could".
"Aw, come on, Chief!" Lawrence exclaimed. "Are you going to stand there and tell me that Forrester was a fag?"
"Why not?" The pair was silent for a moment. "What's the matter, Lawrence? Fags kill their lovers, too...just like anybody else".
"But...!"
"All the facts point to that conclusion".
Wilkes rushed for the door, picking up his keys along the way.
"Come on", he said. "We're heading back to the agency!"
Wilkes and Lawrence broke all existing speed records just to make it back to the modeling agency.
"Chief, you don't mean to tell me that Forrester was a fag!" Lawrence exclaimed.
"Maybe not him", Wilkes replied. "But, what if one of the other male models at the agency was?"
Wilkes brought his car to a stop at the curb in front of the modeling agency. Not wanting a second go-round with the Chief of the Homicide Division, the agency's security guard allowed the men to enter the building. Without so much as a knock, Wilkes entered the agency. There was Daniela Rubosi, scanning through some proofs with Giorgio.
"We need to talk in private", he said.
Ms. Rubosi handed the proofs back to Giorgio.
"Take some more, dear", she said. "I've seen all these poses before".
"My father did nothing of the kind, Lieutenant! He gave Mr. Forrester a flat rate of $1,000 for a problem he had with his BMW. However, my father found other related problems that needed to be repaired before he could get to the initial problem. If he just repaired the one problem without repairing the others...well, it would have been work done for nothing. So, my father went ahead with the other repairs. That, plus the labor that was put into the work, is what really cost $10,000".
"Couldn't your father get in touch with Mr. Forrester to tell him about the other problems beforehand?" Wilkes asked.
"Believe me...he tried. We both did! But, from sunrise to well past midnight that line was constantly busy. We tried for three whole days and nights...to no avail". Maggie walked over to the sink and proceeded to wash her hands. "Then, he came here on the day my father promised him the car would be ready...and he practically raised the roof when he was told of the price increase. My father and I told him that we tried to contact him...but couldn't get through".
"Your father refused to give him the key?"
"You're damn right he did! My father wasn't about to give over a car that had $10,000 worth of work put into it for $1,000". Maggie wiped her hands on her towel, then turned to face Wilkes. "The next day...we found the gate busted open, the BMW gone and a sealed envelope with $2,500 on the floor inside the door just below the mail slot".
"Tell me something, Ms. Barton...would your father kill for money?"
"Look, Chief...my father didn't like the way Forrester conned him. But, that doesn't mean he would kill to get his money".
Just then, the shop owner came out of his office and approached his daughter and the two detectives.
"What's going on here?" he asked.
"Mr. Barton?" Wilkes asked.
"Yeah, I'm Sam Barton. Who wants to know?"
"I'm Detective Chief Robert Wilkes...homicide division. We're investigating the death of one of your customers".
"Oh? Which one?"
"William Forrester. I understand the two of you had a falling-out last week".
"That's right. That young snot conned me out of $7,500 worth of repair work, busted my gate and stole his car from my yard". Barton looked at Wilkes, then Lawrence...then Wilkes once again. "When did he die?"
"Last night. He was found face down before his living room fireplace, with his head charred and a poker in his back".
Barton smirked.
"Well, I can't say he didn't have it coming...because he did!"
Wilkes looked at Lawrence for a moment. Did he sense something more than hostility?
"Mr. Barton, where were you last night at about 7:30?" Wilkes asked.
"That's easy", Barton answered. "I was at home, having dinner".
"Can you verify that?"
"I can", Maggie said. "I was having dinner with him at the time".
"Anybody else see you?"
"Look, Chief...if my daughter's word isn't good enough for you, then I don't know what is. But, yes...a neighbor saw me get home at 7:15". Barton looked at his daughter, then at the two men once again. "Look, if you're accusing me of murdering the bastard, then you're barking up the wrong tree! I would never kill somebody who owed me money. I'm not some racketeering loan shark. Now, if you men don't mind...we've got a business to run".
"Alright, Mr. Barton", Wilkes said. "But, don't leave town. And make yourself available in case I need to talk to you again".
Without another word, Wilkes and Lawrence turned and left the shop, heading for their car at the curb. Did Robin Maxwell give them a red herring? If Barton had nothing to do with the murder of William Forrester...then who did?
"Well, Chief...where's our next stop?" Lawrence asked.
"The modeling agency", Wilkes replied. "I want to see for myself whether or not Forrester had any in-shop enemies".
Wilkes and Lawrence climbed into the car and drove away.
 |
| One of the male models from the agency where the deceased worked |
V
Chief Wilkes and Lieutenant Lawrence made the ten mile trip from Barton's Garage in Burbank to the Elite Models agency in record time. As they left the car, the building security guard walked over to them.
"I'm sorry, gentlemen. That's a 'no parking' area", he said.
"I'm Chief Robert Wilkes, Homicide Division", Wilkes said, holding up his I.D. "We're investigating the murder of one of the agency's models. I believe my being able to park there would be what you call 'carte blanche'".
That said, Wilkes and Lawrence entered the building. The two men approached the only door inside the lobby and, opening it, went inside. Lawrence's eyes practically popped out from his head. There, standing before the two officers, were about twenty beautiful young women...and fourteen extremely handsome young men.
"Put your eyes back inside your head, Lawrence", Wilkes remarked.
"Yes, sir".
The two men approached the receptionist's desk. There, seated behind the desk, was an equally lovely young woman. Definitely model material herself. She looked up from her typewriter.
"May I help you, gentlemen?" she asked.
"Yes", Wilkes answered. "I'm Chief Robert Wilkes..."
"You must be here about Billy", came a voice from the couch where the twenty young women sat. Wilkes turned, looking for the source of the voice. One of the women raised her hand. "Over here".
"Are you one of the models here?"
"I'm the owner of the agency, Chief Wilkes", she answered. "Daniela Rubosi, at your service".
"Is there someplace private where we can speak, Ms. Rubosi?"
"Certainly", Ms. Rubosi replied, standing up from the couch. "We can go in my office. If you'll follow me".
Ms. Rubosi walked towards her office door and went inside. Wilkes glanced at Lawrence over his shoulder.
"Lawrence, you can wait out here", he said.
"Yes, sir!" Lawrence replied, a smile forming on his face.
Wilkes went into Ms. Rubosi's office, closing the door behind him. He walked over to the desk and sat down opposite the agency owner, who had lit a cigarette and was taking a long drag.
"Ms. Rubosi, I'm just going to ask you one question: Did William Forrester have any enemies in the agency that you know of? Especially anybody who would have wanted nothing better than to see him dead?"
"In the agency, among the models, among the photographers", Ms. Rubosi replied. "Oh, sure...Billy had his share of enemies...including some who would gladly have killed him".
"Then, why would Ms. Maxwell tell me that Mr. Forrester didn't have any enemies?"
"There's something you have to understand about Robin Maxwell, Chief Wilkes. Have you ever heard of the old saying "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned"?"
"Yes".
"Well, there you are. Robin Maxwell was a woman scorned...scorned by the very man she loved".
"Ms. Rubosi, Ms. Maxwell said that she and the deceased were supposed to be married next month".
"And, they would have been...if Billy hadn't called the whole thing off".
"Come again?"
"Billy felt as if he was being smothered. Robin was hanging all over him...staying at his house from time to time, being with him 24/7. He had no privacy. She was always checking his mail for him, answering his phone...hanging up on people that he probably wanted to speak to. Did you know that he had a twin sister?"
"No, I didn't".
"Billy and his sister were the first twin models this agency had...until Robin came along. She almost broke them up. Instead, he came right out and told her that they were finished...that they were never going to be married. Why, I was almost relieved when he came in earlier this week to tell me that".
"Was he working yesterday morning?"
"He certainly was. Giorgio...the head photographer...asked him to come dressed in some sport clothes. He wanted to shoot some pictures on location at the golf course. Then, of course, there were moments when Billy started acting haughty-taughty...making faces at the camera...flirting with any rich girl at the club. I mean, whenever Giorgio wanted to get some serious pictures taken, Billy was always screwing around!"
"He wasn't wearing a beige sport shirt, white shorts, knee socks and golf shoes by any chance...was he?"
"Yes, he was". Ms. Rubosi had a puzzled look on her face. "How did you know that?"
"That's the same clothing he was wearing when he was murdered at his house. Tell me...did he come back with...?"
"Giorgio? No, he didn't". Ms. Rubosi smushed out the cigarette in the marble ashtray on her desk. "It was about 6:30, 6:45 when Giorgio got back here to the agency to develop his film. Let me tell you...he was royally pissed! He kept yelling the same thing, over and over again".
"What did he say?"
"Something like 'One of dese days, Ima gonna kill dat mamafangula!'"
Wilkes looked Ms. Rubosi squarely in the eye.
"Then, Robin Maxwell wasn't the only person who was scorned".
"There's quite a big difference between a scorned woman and a pissed-off photographer, Chief Wilkes".
"But, either one could still be angry enough to push a man's head into a fire". He rose to his feet, turned and started for the door. "Are Ms. Maxwell and Giorgio on the premises?"
"Of course. They're in the studio".
"Thank you". Then, remembering that he was but a visitor and had no idea where the studio was, he turned to Ms. Rubosi. "After you?"
Ms. Rubosi rose from her desk and went through the door, with Wilkes in tow.
"In the agency, among the models, among the photographers", Ms. Rubosi replied. "Oh, sure...Billy had his share of enemies...including some who would gladly have killed him".
"Then, why would Ms. Maxwell tell me that Mr. Forrester didn't have any enemies?"
"There's something you have to understand about Robin Maxwell, Chief Wilkes. Have you ever heard of the old saying "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned"?"
"Yes".
"Well, there you are. Robin Maxwell was a woman scorned...scorned by the very man she loved".
"Ms. Rubosi, Ms. Maxwell said that she and the deceased were supposed to be married next month".
"And, they would have been...if Billy hadn't called the whole thing off".
"Come again?"
"Billy felt as if he was being smothered. Robin was hanging all over him...staying at his house from time to time, being with him 24/7. He had no privacy. She was always checking his mail for him, answering his phone...hanging up on people that he probably wanted to speak to. Did you know that he had a twin sister?"
"No, I didn't".
"Billy and his sister were the first twin models this agency had...until Robin came along. She almost broke them up. Instead, he came right out and told her that they were finished...that they were never going to be married. Why, I was almost relieved when he came in earlier this week to tell me that".
"Was he working yesterday morning?"
"He certainly was. Giorgio...the head photographer...asked him to come dressed in some sport clothes. He wanted to shoot some pictures on location at the golf course. Then, of course, there were moments when Billy started acting haughty-taughty...making faces at the camera...flirting with any rich girl at the club. I mean, whenever Giorgio wanted to get some serious pictures taken, Billy was always screwing around!"
"He wasn't wearing a beige sport shirt, white shorts, knee socks and golf shoes by any chance...was he?"
"Yes, he was". Ms. Rubosi had a puzzled look on her face. "How did you know that?"
"That's the same clothing he was wearing when he was murdered at his house. Tell me...did he come back with...?"
"Giorgio? No, he didn't". Ms. Rubosi smushed out the cigarette in the marble ashtray on her desk. "It was about 6:30, 6:45 when Giorgio got back here to the agency to develop his film. Let me tell you...he was royally pissed! He kept yelling the same thing, over and over again".
"What did he say?"
"Something like 'One of dese days, Ima gonna kill dat mamafangula!'"
Wilkes looked Ms. Rubosi squarely in the eye.
"Then, Robin Maxwell wasn't the only person who was scorned".
"There's quite a big difference between a scorned woman and a pissed-off photographer, Chief Wilkes".
"But, either one could still be angry enough to push a man's head into a fire". He rose to his feet, turned and started for the door. "Are Ms. Maxwell and Giorgio on the premises?"
"Of course. They're in the studio".
"Thank you". Then, remembering that he was but a visitor and had no idea where the studio was, he turned to Ms. Rubosi. "After you?"
Ms. Rubosi rose from her desk and went through the door, with Wilkes in tow.
 |
| The studio where Giorgio took pictures of the agency's models. |
VI
Chief Wilkes and Lieutenant Lawrence went back to the station. They now had a new puzzle to solve.
Giorgio D'Allesandro was in the studio, snapping away at models that were dressed in swimsuits...Robin Maxwell among them...when Wilkes and Ms. Rubosi entered.
"Perfecto!" he exclaimed, snapping photo after photo. "Bella! Molto bella!"
"Giorgio!" Ms. Rubosi shouted, trying to be heard over the ear-splitting music.
"Not now! Go 'way!"
"I'm sorry, darling", she continued, apologizing at having to disturb him. "But, this is very important".
Flustered, Giorgio lowered his camera and looked at the ceiling. Then, he turned his attention to the scantily-clad models.
"Take five, signorinas", he said.
As he turned, smiling, Wilkes could immediately see that Giorgio was entirely Mediterranean...tanned and handsome, with dark, wavy hair and green eyes. Definitely model material himself. He approached Ms. Rubosi and started to kiss her on the cheek.
"Darling, this is Chief Wilkes of the Police Department", Ms. Rubosi said.
Giorgio looked up at Wilkes.
"I hope this has nothing to do with my not paying my last traffic ticket", he quipped.
"Hardly", Wilkes said. "I'm with the Homicide Division. I'm investigating the murder of Bill Forrester".
"He's dead?" Giorgio snapped his fingers. "Fangulame...somebody beat me to it!"
"You want to run that by me again?"
"Giorgio was just kidding, Chief Wilkes!" Ms. Rubosi exclaimed. "He really meant nothing by it".
"The hell I didn't!" Giorgio shouted, turning to look at her. "I wish I had been the one to snuff his light out!"
"Did you?" Wilkes asked.
"I wish I was...but no", Giorgio said, turning back to Wilkes. "But, I'd like to congratulate the person who did". He walked over to his station behind the curtain, pointing out rolls of film and vats of chemicals. "You see all this? This costs money...and when some asshole starts screwing around instead of doing what I tell him to do, that is money wasted. My money! That bastardo got paid whether he worked or not!" He pulled the curtain aside, cutting off the station from view. "To tell the truth, signore...I'm glad he's dead. If you ever find the one who did it...you should pin a medal on him and not put him away behind bars!"
"Him...or her, Mr. D'Allesandro". Wilkes looked up to see Robin Maxwell returning to the faux beach. "Ms. Maxwell!"
Robin turned to face Wilkes, who was approaching her.
"Why did you lie to me last night?" he asked.
"I didn't lie to you", she answered.
"You lied when you said that you and the deceased were going to be married next month. But, you neglected to tell me that Mr. Forrester broke off the engagement after some confrontation you had with his sister. Why?"
Robin's face blanched.
"She never liked me", she replied. "She kept telling Bill lies about me".
"Are you sure it wasn't the other way around? I've heard that you kept hanging around his home, opening his mail, answering his phone calls. I would call that invasion of privacy, Ms. Maxwell. Just opening his mail alone is a misdemeanor. Did you know that?"
The air was so thick, one would have been able to cut it with a knife. Everybody was looking at Robin Maxwell. Did she have just cause to kill the man she claimed to have loved?
"Did you?" Wilkes repeated.
Robin lowered her eyes to the floor. Soon, her body was wracked with sobs.
"I loved him, Chief Wilkes", she replied. "All I ever wanted was to be loved".
"And, he did love you", Ms. Rubosi said. "So, why did you kill him?"
Robin looked up at Ms. Rubosi, a look of bewilderment on her face.
"Me?" she asked. "What ever gave you that idea?"
Now, Wilkes was at a loss for words. If neither Robin or Giorgio killed Bill Forrester...who did?
"Perfecto!" he exclaimed, snapping photo after photo. "Bella! Molto bella!"
"Giorgio!" Ms. Rubosi shouted, trying to be heard over the ear-splitting music.
"Not now! Go 'way!"
"I'm sorry, darling", she continued, apologizing at having to disturb him. "But, this is very important".
Flustered, Giorgio lowered his camera and looked at the ceiling. Then, he turned his attention to the scantily-clad models.
"Take five, signorinas", he said.
As he turned, smiling, Wilkes could immediately see that Giorgio was entirely Mediterranean...tanned and handsome, with dark, wavy hair and green eyes. Definitely model material himself. He approached Ms. Rubosi and started to kiss her on the cheek.
"Darling, this is Chief Wilkes of the Police Department", Ms. Rubosi said.
Giorgio looked up at Wilkes.
"I hope this has nothing to do with my not paying my last traffic ticket", he quipped.
"Hardly", Wilkes said. "I'm with the Homicide Division. I'm investigating the murder of Bill Forrester".
"He's dead?" Giorgio snapped his fingers. "Fangulame...somebody beat me to it!"
"You want to run that by me again?"
"Giorgio was just kidding, Chief Wilkes!" Ms. Rubosi exclaimed. "He really meant nothing by it".
"The hell I didn't!" Giorgio shouted, turning to look at her. "I wish I had been the one to snuff his light out!"
"Did you?" Wilkes asked.
"I wish I was...but no", Giorgio said, turning back to Wilkes. "But, I'd like to congratulate the person who did". He walked over to his station behind the curtain, pointing out rolls of film and vats of chemicals. "You see all this? This costs money...and when some asshole starts screwing around instead of doing what I tell him to do, that is money wasted. My money! That bastardo got paid whether he worked or not!" He pulled the curtain aside, cutting off the station from view. "To tell the truth, signore...I'm glad he's dead. If you ever find the one who did it...you should pin a medal on him and not put him away behind bars!"
"Him...or her, Mr. D'Allesandro". Wilkes looked up to see Robin Maxwell returning to the faux beach. "Ms. Maxwell!"
Robin turned to face Wilkes, who was approaching her.
"Why did you lie to me last night?" he asked.
"I didn't lie to you", she answered.
"You lied when you said that you and the deceased were going to be married next month. But, you neglected to tell me that Mr. Forrester broke off the engagement after some confrontation you had with his sister. Why?"
Robin's face blanched.
"She never liked me", she replied. "She kept telling Bill lies about me".
"Are you sure it wasn't the other way around? I've heard that you kept hanging around his home, opening his mail, answering his phone calls. I would call that invasion of privacy, Ms. Maxwell. Just opening his mail alone is a misdemeanor. Did you know that?"
The air was so thick, one would have been able to cut it with a knife. Everybody was looking at Robin Maxwell. Did she have just cause to kill the man she claimed to have loved?
"Did you?" Wilkes repeated.
Robin lowered her eyes to the floor. Soon, her body was wracked with sobs.
"I loved him, Chief Wilkes", she replied. "All I ever wanted was to be loved".
"And, he did love you", Ms. Rubosi said. "So, why did you kill him?"
Robin looked up at Ms. Rubosi, a look of bewilderment on her face.
"Me?" she asked. "What ever gave you that idea?"
Now, Wilkes was at a loss for words. If neither Robin or Giorgio killed Bill Forrester...who did?
 |
| Wilkes and Lawrence returned, perplexed, to the police station.
VII
|
"Giorgio D'Allesandro claims that he would have wanted to kill Bill Forrester", Wilkes said. "But, he has a witness as to his whereabouts at the time of the murder...Daniela Rubosi. Ms. Rubosi feels that Robin Maxwell, with whom Forrester broke off their engagement, would have wanted to kill him. Two palpable suspects...two people who had good reason to kill the same man...and yet, neither of them did it".
"So, where does that leave us?" asked Lawrence, fumbling with a slip of paper in his hand.
"Where do you think? Back at the beginning...with a dead man in the morgue and no killer behind bars!" Wilkes looked up to see Lawrence glancing at the paper in his hand. "What do you have there?"
"Oh, just an address and telephone number". Wilkes's eyebrow arched as Lawrence continued, "I made a date with one of the models in the outer office".
Wilkes sat at his desk, flabbergasted.
"Here we are, in the middle of a murder investigation...and you made a date with one of the models at the agency?" Wilkes asked.
"Well, what else could I do, Chief?" Lawrence retorted. "You told me to wait in the outer office!"
"Oh, forget it!"
Wilkes pushed himself away from his desk, stood up, turned and approached the window. He looked down at the street below. He stood there, astonished. The answer was right there in front of his eyes.
 |
| Wilkes looked out the window to see two young gay men in love. |
"Lawrence, come over here!" he shouted.
"What is it, Chief?" Lawrence asked, rushing over to Wilkes.
"Look down there...and tell me what you see!"
Lawrence looked down at what Wilkes was staring at. There, walking hand in hand, were two handsome young men...obviously lovers.
"It looks like a couple of fags", Lawrence replied.
"How could I be so stupid?" Wilkes asked, obviously angry with himself. He turned and looked at Lawrence. "Giorgio D'Allesandro, an angry photographer, could have done it...but didn't. And Robin Maxwell, a scorned lover, could have done it, too. But she's too petite to overcome a man who stood six feet two inches tall...and obviously outmuscled her by fifty, sixty pounds! So, where would that lead us?"
"Back to the agency?"
"Of course, it would lead us back to the agency. But, to whom,?"
"If the photographer didn't do it...and the fiancee didn't do it...then that means..."
The bulb of reality finally began to glow above Lawrence's head.
"There had to have been another person who could have killed him", Wilkes said. "A person who loved him enough to make certain that if he couldn't have him, no one could".
"Aw, come on, Chief!" Lawrence exclaimed. "Are you going to stand there and tell me that Forrester was a fag?"
"Why not?" The pair was silent for a moment. "What's the matter, Lawrence? Fags kill their lovers, too...just like anybody else".
"But...!"
"All the facts point to that conclusion".
Wilkes rushed for the door, picking up his keys along the way.
"Come on", he said. "We're heading back to the agency!"
 |
| With the new evidence, it was back to the agency. VIII |
"Chief, you don't mean to tell me that Forrester was a fag!" Lawrence exclaimed.
"Maybe not him", Wilkes replied. "But, what if one of the other male models at the agency was?"
Wilkes brought his car to a stop at the curb in front of the modeling agency. Not wanting a second go-round with the Chief of the Homicide Division, the agency's security guard allowed the men to enter the building. Without so much as a knock, Wilkes entered the agency. There was Daniela Rubosi, scanning through some proofs with Giorgio.
"We need to talk in private", he said.
Ms. Rubosi handed the proofs back to Giorgio.
"Take some more, dear", she said. "I've seen all these poses before".
