“I was just going to call you. I checked the reports on the three cases before Shea, and didn’t find a specific name of a therapist. One of ’em, DeCarlo, was apparently in some sort of a group.”
Clang! Clang!
“And Martinez?”
“Nothing specific. Just a note that he was in therapy.”
“How long ago was Martinez reported missing?” I asked, pretty sure I already knew.
There was a pause. “Let’s see…uh…I’ve got it right here somewhere…uh…here it is…June 23rd…that’d be….”
“Seven weeks,” I finished. Shea had been missing one week: Shea and Bradshaw had been in the Qualicare group for “seven or eight” weeks, and Martinez and his partner had “dropped out” after Shea and Bradshaw’s first week. I strongly suspected that Martinez had disappeared sometime during the week following. The alarm bells were really starting to ring now.
“Yeah, that’s right. Are you on to something?” There more than a trace of suspicion in his voice.
“Way too early to tell,” I said honestly, though my gut told me differently. “But could you do me a favor?”
“What do you need?”
“Could you give me the name and address of Martinez’s partner? His first name is Ted, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Yeah, it is. Ted Kemper. How did you know his first name?”
“Long story.”
“You are on to something, aren’t you?”
“There’s an outside chance. Like I said, it’s way too early to tell. But I promise I’ll keep you posted if you’d like. I won’t try to get you to compromise your position with the department in any way, I promise.”
There was yet another long pause while he thought it over. “Well…I guess it would be okay. I’d have to look up Kemper’s exact address, but I know it’s on Ash and he’s in the book.”
“Thanks. You don’t have to bother looking it up, then. I’ll check it out.”
Actually, I had another favor to ask, but figured I’d better hold off until I had a chance to talk with Ted Kemper first. I didn’t want to put Gresham on any kind of spot, and I didn’t want to get the police any more involved in things than I absolutely had to.
“I really appreciate your help, Marty. And I’ll figure out a way to make it up to you.”
“Oh, no you don’t!” he replied, laughing. “I’ve heard all about you guys.”
“And every word of it true, I’ll bet.” It was good to know he felt comfortable enough with me—and the subject of homosexuality—to joke about it.
“Well, just remember to let me know what’s going on.”
“I will. And thanks again.”
As we hung up, I reached for the phone book.
*
I found Kemper’s number and, while I was sure he’d be at work, I called anyway. There was no answer and no machine, so I hung up and wrote the number on a piece of paper and put it in my shirt pocket for when I got home.
I also decided that, on my way home, I’d swing by Rage and the Six-Ten. I wondered idly whether Troy still worked at Rage. Unlikely, but it would be nice to run into him again.
Yeah, wouldn’t it? my crotch asked innocently.
Troy worked the reception window when I was dropping in at Rage regularly during that case I’d mentioned earlier, and he’d been kind enough to give me several guided tours of a lot more than just the premises. Though I tried not to let my crotch know, I was a little concerned about how it might react if I were to run into Troy again. It had pretty well run my life over the past several years, and getting it to behave itself wasn’t exactly easy.
As if to confirm the existence of E.S.P., the phone rang, and it was Jonathan, who seldom called me at work. I was pleasantly surprised and feeling mildly as though I’d just been caught at something.
“Hi, Tiger. What’s up?”
“I didn’t want to bother you, but I was wondering if you could stop at the store and pick up some milk and Cokes? My boss gave me a really great ficus—you’ll love it, and it’ll go great by the window
Clang! Clang!
“And Martinez?”
“Nothing specific. Just a note that he was in therapy.”
“How long ago was Martinez reported missing?” I asked, pretty sure I already knew.
There was a pause. “Let’s see…uh…I’ve got it right here somewhere…uh…here it is…June 23rd…that’d be….”
“Seven weeks,” I finished. Shea had been missing one week: Shea and Bradshaw had been in the Qualicare group for “seven or eight” weeks, and Martinez and his partner had “dropped out” after Shea and Bradshaw’s first week. I strongly suspected that Martinez had disappeared sometime during the week following. The alarm bells were really starting to ring now.
“Yeah, that’s right. Are you on to something?” There more than a trace of suspicion in his voice.
“Way too early to tell,” I said honestly, though my gut told me differently. “But could you do me a favor?”
“What do you need?”
“Could you give me the name and address of Martinez’s partner? His first name is Ted, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Yeah, it is. Ted Kemper. How did you know his first name?”
“Long story.”
“You are on to something, aren’t you?”
“There’s an outside chance. Like I said, it’s way too early to tell. But I promise I’ll keep you posted if you’d like. I won’t try to get you to compromise your position with the department in any way, I promise.”
There was yet another long pause while he thought it over. “Well…I guess it would be okay. I’d have to look up Kemper’s exact address, but I know it’s on Ash and he’s in the book.”
“Thanks. You don’t have to bother looking it up, then. I’ll check it out.”
Actually, I had another favor to ask, but figured I’d better hold off until I had a chance to talk with Ted Kemper first. I didn’t want to put Gresham on any kind of spot, and I didn’t want to get the police any more involved in things than I absolutely had to.
“I really appreciate your help, Marty. And I’ll figure out a way to make it up to you.”
“Oh, no you don’t!” he replied, laughing. “I’ve heard all about you guys.”
“And every word of it true, I’ll bet.” It was good to know he felt comfortable enough with me—and the subject of homosexuality—to joke about it.
“Well, just remember to let me know what’s going on.”
“I will. And thanks again.”
As we hung up, I reached for the phone book.
*
I found Kemper’s number and, while I was sure he’d be at work, I called anyway. There was no answer and no machine, so I hung up and wrote the number on a piece of paper and put it in my shirt pocket for when I got home.
I also decided that, on my way home, I’d swing by Rage and the Six-Ten. I wondered idly whether Troy still worked at Rage. Unlikely, but it would be nice to run into him again.
Yeah, wouldn’t it? my crotch asked innocently.
Troy worked the reception window when I was dropping in at Rage regularly during that case I’d mentioned earlier, and he’d been kind enough to give me several guided tours of a lot more than just the premises. Though I tried not to let my crotch know, I was a little concerned about how it might react if I were to run into Troy again. It had pretty well run my life over the past several years, and getting it to behave itself wasn’t exactly easy.
As if to confirm the existence of E.S.P., the phone rang, and it was Jonathan, who seldom called me at work. I was pleasantly surprised and feeling mildly as though I’d just been caught at something.
“Hi, Tiger. What’s up?”
“I didn’t want to bother you, but I was wondering if you could stop at the store and pick up some milk and Cokes? My boss gave me a really great ficus—you’ll love it, and it’ll go great by the window
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