So Weeps the Willow - 21. Discovery 11

Discovery 11

“Meet at Hen House 1 pm for brief,” the text message read. It was from Detective Hammond’s personal phone, not his official cell or his office number. Rush really didn’t want to go. He knew Hammond wanted his help and working for Hammond in the best of times was painful. However, the cop had assisted a bit with the space heater case.

Rush sighed, and that made Ben ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Hammond,” he answered, clearing his screen and popping his phone back into his messenger bag pocket. “He keeps bugging me about this guy they found in the bridge along Minnehaha Parkway.”

“He thinks your gaydar will show you the way to his killer.” Ben laughed, looking around his laptop screen at his partner. “Hammond really doesn’t get it.”

“No.” Rush shook his head, but a bemused grin cracked his face. “He’s not that bad. He does think I have some insight into the gay mind, or something.” The detective made air quotes with his fingers.

Finally, he concluded, “I just don’t like him.”

Rush watched his partner’s reaction. There was a kind of dawning on the other man’s face, a realization.

“Maybe you can help,” Ben said. “I’ve been reading in a couple of local blogs. There are people in the leather community who are scared and anxious. They feel like they’re targets.”

“I think that’s what someone is suggesting.”

Ben didn’t respond. He was keying away at his computer and then said, “Listen to this; ‘the only community more marginalized than the trans community are the leather folk. When violence happens to our people, society thinks we asked for it’.”

Ben paused and added, “They aren’t wrong, not really. That’s what people have always thought about violence in the gay community. They think two guys together are asking for trouble.”

Rush considered Ben’s observation. “Does Hammond really want help?”

Ben continued working at his computer as he said, “I think we need to support where we can. If we want justice, we need the guilty to pay.”

“And the innocent to be exonerated,” added Rush without pause. He was now reading a text from his phone. “Listen to this, Hammond confirms the Hennepin County DA is charging the owner of Sunset Pawn with arson and insurance fraud. Hammond was right. It wasn’t the heater after all.”

Ben stopped and looked up. “So, your friend Hammond is giving you valid information that helps your case. The asshole is a homophobic prick, but he is delivering. I just wish he wasn’t such a hater.”

Rush shook his head. “Hammond is an insensitive prick and the police are like any other bureaucracy; impersonal and distant, but not necessarily apathetic. I think Hammond is really concerned about this poor dead guy shoved onto a cement pillar and left to the birds.”

Rush considered his next words carefully, “He seems to be personally offended by it.”

The younger man shook his head, but then stopped and tilted his head, reflecting for a moment.

The look on the Ben’s face was so special, concentrated, serious, yet almost innocent. The man’s thoughts translated into reflected colors of his skin and tics on his face. His anger showed at bright magenta, and above it was a pink of excitement. Also, his underlying color was a little anemic, gray, for the gravity of the situation. Ben was animated, the corners of his mouth twitching, as he thought. After a few moments, he gave Rush a resigned smile.

“Then you should help him,” Ben said.

“I think something hinky is going on.” Rush said, getting out of the kitchen chair and hefting his bag on his shoulder. “Maybe Hammond will have more to help my case.”

“You scratch his back…”

“Please don’t suggest I touch that guy’s pimply back.”

Ben laughed as his partner headed through the hall to the front door.

***

“So why am I here?” Rush asked, watching Hammond take a bite of his pancakes. A drip of syrup escaped the corner of his mouth and leaked down onto his chin. The man wiped his face with the sleeve of his dark gray suitcoat. Rush shivered in disgust.

“I can’t get my head around this guy’s deal,” Hammond said. Rush noticed the cop hadn’t swallowed his mouthful of food yet and his voice was muffled, accompanied by a spray of moist bits. “Why would he hide in this day and age?”

Rush shuddered, and then answered. “There are still people who aren’t comfortable with gays and other groups of people in the community.”

Hammond swallowed and shook his fork dismissively, nodding in agreement. “I know that. But, it’s not like it’s illegal or anything. If two guys want to use whips and chains on each other, who cares?”

Rush screwed up his face in puzzlement. “What are you talking about?”

“This Steve guy, he was into bondage or something. That’s why he was dressed like he was and, well, other stuff as well.”

“The guy found in the park?” Rush asked, trying to get up to speed. “You mentioned he had some leather community items like the flag and some cards in his wallet, but that doesn’t really make him part of the kink community.

Hammond took a long drink of his coffee, emptying his cup. “We found a couple of rather suggestive items in his apartment as well, but the clincher is the ad.”

Rush shook his head in confusion. “Start at the beginning. I thought this victim was a gay guy with a bit of a kinky side. What are you saying now?”

Hammond cleared his throat, pushed his plate away, and licked his lips. “The deceased’s name is Steve Wylie. He was found on the bridge’s undercarriage dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. He had his wallet and there were business cards from local establishments catering to the kink community like Leather and Latte and a couple of sex toy places.

“That doesn’t mean much, except the woman and kids that found him, did so because a handkerchief identified with the leather scene was doused with his blood. Putting two and two together, we realized this must be a guy with gay fetishes.” Hammond stopped and took another huge bite of pancakes, chewing with an open mouth.

Rush interrupted, “I think you’re jumping to conclusions. I have a card from that same coffee house and Ben has a red handkerchief, but the kinkiest thing we do is watch Jason Strahan action movies after sex.”

Hammond grimaced at the man’s comment, but continued, “The kicker is we found an ad on a website saved to his computer looking for a date to dominate him. It was found on some kink site for gays. It wasn’t hard to find. We didn’t assume because he has a black and blue bandanna, he’s into leather. The ad was pretty clear he was a submissive looking for a master.

“I did some investigation. I talked with witnesses who knew him. The thing is, none of his family, his friends, hell, his roommate, knew anything about that side of him. As far as they knew, he’s a straight guy who’s single and loved the ladies.”

“Perhaps it’s something he’s exploring. Maybe it’s new and something he’s not comfortable with yet.”

Hammond nodded. “But, his roommate is gay. She doesn’t think he ever expressed interest in men. His coworkers were pretty sure Steve Wylie wasn’t into men, but certainly had a ‘healthy’ interest in women. None of his friends ever heard him talk about kink or domination or anything like that.”

“He could be straight and likes being dominated by women,” Rush suggested.

“Do most straight guys have gay porn DVDs and very large sex toys, the kind you stick up your yoohoo?”

Rush admitted he didn’t know about that.

Hammond picked up his fork and drew lines in the maple syrup pooled on his plate. “There is one other thing that makes this case weird. In fact, it’s the main reason I called you.”

Rush nodded to the other man.

“Steve Wylie knew Jake Ogden.”

“What?” Rush asked, leaning forward.

Hammond smiled ruefully. “According to Wylie’s friends, Jake and he were drinking buddies at their usual hangout after work, Gallivant’s. It’s a bar in the neighborhood where both men lived.”

“That’s an unusual coincidence,” Rush said after a long pause.

“It sure is. Apparently, they liked to get drunk together, pretty often. I spoke with the staff at Gallivant’s, and Wylie wasn’t as ‘regular’ as Ogden, but they were frequently seen drinking and chatting together.

“Did they say anything about being more than friends?

“No, but one of the bartenders was under the impression Jake’s ex wasn’t a big fan of Steve’s and vice versa.”

“That’s interesting,” Rush said quietly, thinking and sipping at his own cup of joe. “Did they know anything else about Ogden and Wylie?”

“I was only pursuing Wylie’s back story, and it was only in passing someone mentioned Ogden. There was some kind of altercation involving the two of them. I’m not sure what it was about, but the bartender who usually works nights and the manager were both pretty sure Jake and Steve were just friends.”

“But, it’s possible Wylie was testing the waters.”

“Maybe. Who knows. Apparently, Wylie was quite the ladies’ man, or as the bartender put it, ‘pussy hound’.”

Rush took out a notebook and started writing down notes, questioning the detective further. Hammond made sure his information was off the record.

***

Defense Expert Report in the Matter of Jacob Ogden, Decedent

Clifford J. Tomlinson, CID, CSP, BCEE

As a Certified Industrial Hygienist and Certified Safety Professional, he has conducted thousands of safety surveys of consumer products. He has conducted indoor environmental quality assessments of many commercial buildings, and several thousand air quality and causation assessments of residential buildings.

He has served on the national Board of Directors of the American Industrial Hygiene Association (www.aiha.org), as Chairman of the AIHA Management Committee, and is currently Chair of the AIHA Indoor Environmental Quality …

… examination of the heater and parts showed no deficient components. The carbon monoxide switch was damaged and the result was a heater that wouldn’t turn on. The connections between the electronic ignitor and the burner were incomplete and so without completely replacing the switch, the heater was inoperable. Further examination showed arcing around the site of the switch which may be a missing link or other artificial and external addition.

Kerosene heaters of this type with a ‘fail-safe’ switch, shouldn’t operate if the mechanism didn’t perform properly. The switch worked perfectly by not allowing a flow of fuel to reach the burner. There was no flow of electricity to allow operation of the heater. The arcing soot source isn’t clear. There was probably tampering of the switch which allowed the heater to run in a dangerous manner. The safety device operated as designed.

Plaintiff Expert Report

The Estate of Jacob Ogden and Special Administrator, Twyla Smith v. Bailey Safety Systems, et al.

Janet C. Bloomington, Ph.D, Consumer Product Safety Analyst

… present during the destructive testing of the space heater responsible for the death of the Jacob Ogden.

While the kerosene heater wouldn’t operate at the beginning of the testing, it was clear the product had operated recently. There were soot marks showing poor fuel oxidation and burned wires. In addition, the safety switch was broken with the dial and the connections severed. This shows the device was inoperable.

As the product was subsequently tested, it was obvious there was some kind of alteration done at some point, because the heater wouldn’t fire until the switch was replaced. This could be as a result of a few things.

1. The faulty switch failed to stop the electronic connection between the ignitor and the burner. The new switch operated as it should.

2. This connection was somehow either removed or fell off during preservation of the product at the scene.

3. The connection was removed or fell off after the preservation of the product during transport to the testing facility.

4. There was tampering of the equipment by the operator, who then was poisoned by the heater. This tampering should have been prevented by the safety switch, but because of inadequate design, allowed operation when damaged.

5. There was something about the safety device that allowed the operation of the heater, but after being turned off, was no longer connected.

…in conclusion, the safety switch failed to stop the heater from operating in a dangerous manner with a clogged intake vent. The safety device design was inadequate to sense and stop the flow of fuel to the burner causing excess amount of carbon monoxide to be produced which poisoned the decedent.

***

Twyla looked at the poster board sitting on a tripod at the front of the chapel and mused. It looked sad, with the pictures of Jake plastered all over it. There were water stains evident on the dark blue background and her mother had placed glittery dollar store stickers all over it. Jake’s handsome smiling face was surrounded by tacky rainbows and tawdry sports symbols. Neither of which reflected any sense of her brother’s character.

Behind this bizarre remembrance of her brother were flowers. There was an impressive spray of gladiolas from his employers at Fisherman’s Wake. There was another from his ex, an urn of red and white carnations. Someone whose name she didn’t recognize had sent a pot of rust-colored mums. There was the white bouquet of roses from her family and next to it was a vase filled with drooping, wilted lilies which had started to shed petals. That was from his friends at the bar, Gallivant’s.

It was a depressing scene and she wasn’t sure why they’d even held it.

Jake’s funeral had been a private affair, just their immediate family. Her mother had wanted it that way. So, they’d kept it small and intimate.

Then Winnie got a notion that her beautiful baby boy should have a memorial service for all his near and dear. She had pestered Twyla for weeks after Jake’s funeral to put together this assemblage. Jake had died almost six months ago, and yet here they were. Again.

There weren’t many people here at all. Perhaps thirty had come and she didn’t really know many of them.

Twyla had met a couple of his coworkers and his manager who showed up and introduced himself.

One of his professors from the university came, telling her how Jake had so much promise and it was tragic he was taken so young.

Of course, Eddie, his ex, had shown up. He was dressed in black jeans and a blue button-down shirt and white tennis shoes, which seemed to gleam brightly even in the quiet, subdued light of the chapel. Eddie looked down and depressed, barely speaking a word to them, though he had embraced Winnie upon entering.

Nats came, dressed in a black dress with sensible black shoes. She fidgeted pensively in the back row of the white-painted wooden folding chairs. Twyla knew Jake and Nats had a falling out before he’d died, but Jake had never said why. Apparently, the roots of their friendship had run deep enough she showed up to pay her last respects.

Twyla noticed her father was standing to the side, looking out of the leaded glass windows. He was probably watching the rapidly melting snow and thinking about his son under the earth. She’d think the same thing, considering her husband’s situation.

Winnie was at the front entrance, greeting each person who arrived. Twyla had been surprised at how sober and awake her mother was.

At the beginning.

After setting up the easel with the photos of Jake, her mother had grabbed her purse and fled to the restroom. Every fifteen or so minutes, Winnie would disappear and return with a hint of whiskey clinging to her. Her sobriety had eroded away as the afternoon unfolded. Now, the woman practically teetered on her low heels. Twyla couldn’t stand watching her unravel as the event unfurled.

“Are you doing okay?” Steve asked, taking her hand.

Twyla squeezed his hand and smiled thinly at him. His face was wan and gaunt, with deep, dark circles under his baby blue eyes. Atop his head was a stocking cap she’d knitted for him. His hair had fallen out and not grown back yet. Steve was still weak from his surgery, but he’d insisted on coming. His cane was next to his chair, announcing his infirmity to the world.

“I’m fine,” Twyla answered. “I wish we hadn’t done this.”

“It’s for your mother and father. And Jake’s friends too,” he added.

Twyla pointedly looked at the score and a few more of mourners and then back at her husband. “Not much of a turnout.”

“He was buried months ago. It’s unusual to have a memorial this long after the death,” Steve answered. “I’m glad we didn’t bring the kids though. It’s more sad than mournful.”

Twyla nodded. “Are you doing okay? Should I take you home? I can come back and—”

“No, I’m fine,” her husband assured her, tapping her arm. “There’s the minister.”

Twyla watched as a somber looking man greeted Winnie. He had a black shirt, dark suitcoat, and white collar, and he was taking her hand in both of his. At first, he appeared to be consoling her, and Winnie was nodding. Then her mother opened her mouth.

Twyla giggled to herself as the minister recoiled while her mother spoke to him. No doubt, he’d gotten a smell of her whiskey breath. Winnie was suddenly a mess. She was now crying on his shoulder and he was gently patting her on the back.

A woman came up beside the minister, and she was wearing a hat, a rather large one, black with a black crepe band on it. She was wearing black lace gloves and talking with Winnie. The woman also leaned away from Winnie as she turned and spoke animatedly. Her mother’s presence was a powerful force, apparently.

The woman whispered to the minister and then walked over to the piano situated below the leaded windows next to the flowers and easel with Jake’s photos. With a flourish, she took off her gloves, opened up the instrument, and began playing Amazing Grace, with a great deal of panache. The piano sang in mournful tones and chords.

Twyla shook her head again at the absurdity of it all.

“What’s the matter?” Steve whispered.

“Why did my mother choose spiritual hymns for Jake’s service. He was about the least religious person I’ve ever known.”

“They aren’t about Jake. They are about the bereaved,” Steve whispered back.

“If it was for my mother, it shouldn’t be Amazing Grace. It should be, There’s a Tear in my Beer,” Twyla snorted derisively.

Steve snorted back, holding his hand to his mouth to mask his laughter. Twyla leaned over and placed her face on his chest. It rumbled with his wheezing breath.

She looked at him as he put his arm around her, pulling her closer. She now knew how bad it really was.

***

Ben watched as the older, well-dressed man shrugged off his coat and hung it on the rack next to the door. He was proud of their new office, a place that was only for work, away from the house.

Finally. They’d rented this space just a couple of months back, now that they had law firms and clients and the money was flowing in steadily. Ben had painted and decorated the place himself.

The entryway to Rush’s tiny office space was tight; two chairs opposite each other in front of a short, squat desk behind which the paralegal was seated. He’d volunteered to man the “reception area” for his partner today. Basically, it was a hallway from the door to Rush’s small inner office. They wanted it to seem so much more.

“Mr. Bailey?” He stood and offered the man his hand. The client smiled broadly and grasped Ben’s hand firmly, pumping it eagerly.

“Yes. And you must be Romer’s husband? Boyfriend?” he asked looking Ben up and down.

“We’re partners,” Ben clarified. “In life and work.”

“That’s great. Will you be joining us in this impromptu meeting?”

Ben blinked. “I wasn’t planning on it, but sure. If you’d like.”

“The more the merrier,” Bailey said. “Rush says you’re his researcher and sounding board. I’d like any insights you may have as well.”

Ben agreed and coming around the desk, he knocked on the door.

“Come on in,” Rush responded.

Ben opened it and the client followed him inside.

Rush’s desk was covered in papers, as usual. His laptop was situated in the center of piles of folders, notebooks, and a couple of racks of magazines spilling over the wired sides. Ben could never understand how Rush could think in such a messy space. He certainly wasn’t that untidy at home.

Bailey sat in a folding chair close to the door. Ben picked up a pile of red-roped files, tied tightly up with string and set them next to the armchair. He was about to offer the client the better seat when Rush spoke up.

“I’m glad you could come so quickly. We have a lot to discuss since we received the final reports from the experts. Also, there’s a new development I want to share with you.”

Bailey said, “Did their expert admit my switch worked?” His tone was sarcastic and bitter.

“Not exactly,” Rush said, picking up a bound sheath of pages. “She admits there is something missing from the heater and basically claims the police screwed up preserving the evidence.”

“Did they?” Bailey asked quickly, leaning forward.

“Not that I can see. Our expert reports the heater was complete and there are some problems with the evidence, but not with the forensic team or the custody of the evidence.”

“Can I see them?” Bailey said, reaching out toward the pages. “I’ve read our expert, Tomlinson’s findings, but not the other side’s final writeup.”

Rush handed over the hefty softbound collection. Bailey took it and immediately started reading.

Ben smiled at Rush. The detective grinned back and gestured to him. Ben stood and scooted over to his partner’s side. Rush whispered something to him. The paralegal nodded and then returned to his seat.

Bailey read silently turning the pages quickly until he finally grunted. “What does this ‘destructive testing’ mean? Why would they destroy the heater?”

Ben replied smoothly. “Experts in civil matters sometimes need to take things apart to see what went wrong. In order to do so and preserve the original evidence, they work in tandem in a lab space recording what they’re finding. It’s not destruction of the heater, but destruction of the original state of the evidence.”

“Oh. So, their expert and our expert are both present when the thing is taken apart. That way no one can claim the other did something tricky.”

“Yes,” Ben said. “That’s true. Both reports contain identical photos and descriptions of the heater in question.”

“How can they come up with such different results?” Bailey asked gruffly. “Basically, the plaintiff’s expert is claiming missing evidence or a magical missing wire has vanished.”

“That’s the gist of it. Neither expert understands how your switch failed to stop the heater or prevent it from turning on in the first place. They tried all sorts of ways to turn the heater on and it wouldn’t. Your expert says the switch isn’t to blame and doesn’t know what happened. Their expert also doesn’t know what happened, so she blames the switch, but doesn’t know why.”

Bailey handed the report back to Rush. “A jury is going to be as confused as I am.”

“Maybe not,” Rush said. “Plaintiff has the burden of proof showing the switch caused the accident. Their own expert doesn’t know how and that is huge.”

“Why is it huge?” Bailey asked. “The guy died and the jury will want someone to blame.”

“True,” Ben said. “However, the expert findings are both rather conclusive. Both say the heater shouldn’t have worked and something extraordinary must have made it run.”

“We have something else too,” Rush said. He looked at Ben. Ben nodded.

The detective continued. “We have reason to believe something strange is going on.”

The businessman looked startled. “What’s happened?”

Rush continued. “My contacts in the police are looking into this case because of another matter. There was the murder of a guy in south Minneapolis who was friends or at least an acquaintance of Jake Ogden’s. The cop I spoke with thinks these two deaths may be related.”

“Are you serious?” Bailey said incredulously. Quickly, he said, “They think it’s murder?”

“They aren’t jumping to that conclusion quite yet. It could be a case of suicide or it could be foul play. The police are very quietly checking into this, and I’ve supplied them with copies of the expert reports. These suggest perhaps someone did something to the heater causing it to poison Ogden.” Rush said.

“When I read it in the reports, I thought that sounded kind of far-fetched. I mean, wouldn’t someone need to be an engineer or mechanic of some type to do this?”

“We don’t know anything yet, and don’t get your hopes up,” Ben added, “However, if this is a criminal case, it means your switch wasn’t the culprit. It means someone probably killed Jake Ogden by tampering with the heater.”

Bailey leaned back. The look on his face was shock, bordering on thrilled. “This is the best news.”

“The police are looking into it, but they are skeptical,” Rush said.

“Two people are dead,” Ben added.

“Of course, it’s terrible. I hate to think someone killed those young men, but it is good news for me.” Bailey said in a kind of dazed state.

“Yes,” Rush and Ben said together. They were both still a little shell-shocked as well.