So Weeps the Willow - 29. Salix Babylonica - 7 - Clouds Gather

Salix Babylonica – Clouds Gather

It is raining DNA outside. On the bank of the Oxford canal at the bottom of my garden is a large willow tree, and it is pumping downy seeds into the air. ... spreading DNA whose coded characters spell out specific instructions for building willow trees that will shed a new generation of downy seeds. ... It is raining instructions out there; it's raining programs; it's raining tree-growing, fluff-spreading, algorithms. That is not a metaphor, it is the plain truth. It couldn't be any plainer if it were raining floppy discs.

Richard Dawkins

As Rush left the house, he was feeling happy. Ben had left really early on some errand. Clay, usually a bundle of nerves and excitable, had been calmly reading a book. When asked if he needed anything from the store, he’d shook his head at him and smiled. It was a content look, and not something the detective expected from the teen. That was, in a way, comforting.

The more he thought about it, the more he thought something had changed with Clay. He didn’t know what, but he should ask. It was something good. That Rush was sure about.

As he drove to the Hennepin County Sheriff’s Department, he collected his thoughts about his recent interviews and review of the case evidence. He now had a connection between Steve Wylie and Jake Ogden. They weren’t merely drinkers in the same bar. They were friends, or at least friendly acquaintances.

Steve’s sister worked there. She knew Jake and his group and Steve. And perhaps other people Steve knew. As far as Rush could ascertain, the police were still following the usual leads and didn’t know any of this. When he last reviewed the case files, investigators had interviewed the parents, the coworkers, and a couple of ex-girlfriends. They’d looked at his rented room and cataloged the contents.

Rush realized he probably knew more about Steve Wylie than anyone involved in the investigation. The Ogden and Wylie matters were two disjointed cousins only glued together by the gay angle. Otherwise, they weren’t related at all.

Until now.

Rush felt a warm wave of satisfaction like he hadn’t felt since the BCA sacked him. He lived for this feeling, a kind of rush of excitement during the hunt, when a clue was found or a lead became significant. The past few months of his work as a private investigator paled in comparison to this surge of adrenaline and good feelings.

Why hadn’t the police come up with these leads? He’d figured out the links between the two men. Why didn’t Hammond find the nexus between Steve and Jake’s worlds? Something was stalling the police’s view of the case that wasn’t stopping him. The difference could be key.

Of course , that was probably why the police had hired him, Rush realized. Hammond knew it wasn’t going anywhere and engaged him to do this legwork. Hammond was an annoying, bigoted, asshole, but he wasn’t stupid. Rush knew the detective was wicked smart and was confident Rush could find the linkages where others would fail.

As he parked, the PI sighed and knew what he must do. Rush needed to thank Hammond for hiring him. He needed to do everything he could to solve this case, because it was the right thing to do, and because Hammond trusted him enough to ask for Rush’s help.

***

“So they did know each other. Had they dated or hooked up or something?” Hammond asked. He was scribbling furiously and glaring at Rush intermittently.

“I don’t get the impression they were intimate,” Rush admitted. “I figured it out while fishing for information at this bar they both go to. It was a place that sent flowers to Ogden’s memorial service. Ogden’s sister, her name is Twyla, told me who had sent condolences at the funeral and at this memorial service a week ago.”

“Good thinking.” Hammond paused and picked up an enormous sandwich. It was wrapped in paper with the word, ‘Torpedo’ on it. The cop took a giant bite out of it and set the thing back down. Sauce, dressing, and shredded lettuce dribbled from his mouth and caught in the scruff of his badly shaven chin. He swallowed and continued, “I’ll send someone to question the sister. She may know more about Steve and Jake’s relationship.”

Rush nodded. “At least, she can define it for us.” He thought for a moment and continued. “Have them ask about Nats and Eddie as well. They were part of this social group and I can’t tell whether they’re involved or not. It sounded like Eddie and Jake weren’t good together. I got the impression they’d argued at the bar, in public. Steve’s sister, the bar manager at Gallivant’s, described them as ‘oil and water’ and not good together, though she said they loved each other.”

“If we want to figure out Eddie’s angle as well, this could be the best way, through witnesses like the sister. Eddie was jealous of his ex and Steve’s fooling around. He decides to off one, then the other. What else do you have?” Hammond asked, picking up his lunch and gnawing a big chunk out of the end.

Rush thought about Hammond’s supposition. “I’m not sure Ogden and Wylie were involved like that. The sister didn’t make it sound like Jake and Steve were together or that Eddie was pissed at either one of them. She said to me that Jake and Eddie weren’t good together, that’s true. However, she didn’t suggest that there was a love triangle going on between the three men.”

Hammond chewed thoughtfully and then gestured with the sandwich. “Maybe they were in one of those threesome thingies.” He arched his eyebrows and said with a smile, “I’m also looking into different relationship arrangements, quite carefully. Rush, I’m not as clueless as you think. What’s your take?”

“Maybe they had a threesome going on, but I don’t see any evidence of that,” Rush responded quickly. He was surprised by Hammond’s effort. The private investigator continued, “Heather said something about a fight between two guys and girl, not three guys. Nats was part of this thing somehow.”

“Ogden was jealous about a hookup between Wylie and Nats?” Hammond asked.

“I just don’t know enough yet,” Rush admitted. “I was fishing for information, so I wasn’t formally interviewing the manager or the bartender.” Rush paused. “The bartender did say something about them being in love though.”

“That’s why these arrangements are so volatile,” Hammond said, grunting. “All these ménage a trois things and strange relationship combos are like powder kegs. Relationships like this are set up to explode.”

Rush didn’t respond, relying on the warm feelings he’d had earlier for Hammond. Instead, Rush said, “What if Wylie isn’t gay? What if this isn’t a case of Ogden and Wylie being together at all?”

Hammond nodded and bit into his sub. He got a glazed look in his eyes and then after a few moments, he said, “Why was Wylie dressed in that outfit, and why were there gay things all over his apartment?”

“Weren’t the things only in his room?” Rush said quickly, mentioning something he’d noticed in the police search report of Wylie’s apartment. “There wasn’t a single thing suggesting the guy was gay in his work locker, his car, or the rest of his apartment. Those things were only in his bedroom.”

“The roommate was absolutely shocked by the idea Wylie was gay or questioning. Is that strange with someone who’s bisexual or just figuring out they’re gay?”

Rush considered the question. “People in the closet do keep things hidden.” He considered what the report said, “but according to the police search report, Wylie had things on top of his dresser and sitting on his bedside table. I remember being surprised a certain sexual aid was sitting right in plain sight.”

“The sex toy?” Hammond asked, nodding. “It surprised me too, considering how nobody had a clue the guy was into other guys.”

“I’m not sure he was,” Rush said after a moment. “It doesn’t fit together. Actually, none of these facts fits together neatly or clearly from what we know now.”

“I’ll get people questioning the sister and the staff at that bar, Gallivant’s right?”

“Okay,” Rush said. “That sounds like a plan.”

“I have something for you as well,” Hammond said, finally wiping his chin with a crumpled napkin. He bent down and came back with a folder. He thrust it at Rush and nodded. “Read this. It jives with your impressions.”

Rush opened the report and read it. This was the lab report on fingerprints found in Wylie’s room. There were prints that matched Wylie and the roommate, but no others. That seemed odd, but the report showed several instances of degraded fingerprints, which was interesting.

It showed the apartment hadn’t been cleaned or ‘wiped’ of evidence. Occasionally, they’d find a place were a body was found that had some fingerprint evidence in odd places, but not on the usual surfaces like light switches and bathroom doors. They would find fingerprints on walls or next to the toilet where no one thought to wipe away the evidence. It was rare to find a place without any fingerprint evidence, because there would be old ones, degraded and faint, but they were still there.

Yet, this apartment seemed to be undisturbed, at least according to forensic standards. As he continued reading the report, he noted some even more interesting facts.

There were some hairs found in Wylie’s bed and a couple of other specimens of DNA evidence. They appear to be skin cells and the like. Traces of blood were found in the bathroom. Wylie probably cut a finger or had a shaving mishap. Rush could guess what those probably were. But the hairs were different and unexplainable.

The hairs had DNA evidence that didn’t match Wylie’s. There were also two different sets from two different people. Neither matched the roommate.

Rush looked at the second report, and it showed there was no evidence at all in the shared artist space. That was a dead end.

Rush finished reading and said to Hammond, “I need to talk with Wylie’s roommate and see what she has to say.”

“I think that’s a good plan.”

***

Jeannie Sprocket was not what Rush expected. She’d happily opened the door and let him into the apartment where she and Wylie had shared space. After getting him a can of pop, she’d sat in a kitchen chair and listened to his spiel.

“I’ve told this all to the other police guys,” she said, smiling, but her green eyes were wary.

“I realize that, but I’m a consultant trying to figure out the connections between your roommate and another guy,” Rush said. He appraised her silently.

Jeannie was a pert, slim young woman in her late twenties, athletically built and dressed in a neat and newish track suit. Her long hair was pulled back tightly into a ponytail. Her face was pink and fresh from a shower. The detective could smell her shampoo and a faint whiff of a fresh scent that could be deodorant.

Sprocket’s eyes narrowed, and she said, “If there is a connection between Steve and this Ogden guy.”

“You know about Ogden?” Rush asked, mildly surprised.

“Just what the police said. I don’t remember Steve ever mentioning this other guy. Are you sure he knew him?”

“Yeah, we’re sure. There is a connection,” Rush said. “They both frequented the same bar.”

The woman snorted. “He did like his beer. I never met any of his friends though. He moved in about a year ago, and for the most part, we rarely saw each other, but when we did, we talked.”

“Is that why you never reported his disappearance to the police?” Rush asked, flipping open his notebook and placing his recorder on the table.

“I didn’t know he was missing,” she said softly. “I kind of feel bad about it, but we weren’t friends or anything. I’m a private person and made that very plain from the beginning.”

“You must have noticed his absence.”

She shook her head slowly. “No, not really. Steve slept here, but he would be away for days at a time so I never thought anything of it.”

“He was gone for a month,” Rush said. “Didn’t any of his friends try contacting him or stop by or something?”

She sighed, and said, “I told the police this already. When people contact me about renting the room, I tell them no parties, no visitors, no overnight guests. I don’t want people traipsing in and out of here. I’m a very private person,” she said again. “He wanted to bring some girl over and I told him he couldn’t. He seemed pissed, but I made it clear he agreed to that from the get-go.”

“A girl?” Rush asked.

“Yes. That’s what I told the others too. He didn’t seem to be gay, and he was into this one chick he called Ella. I never met her, didn’t want to, and so I don’t know who she is either.”

Rush scribbled another note and queried, “So Steve talked about a girlfriend.”

“I don’t think she was a girlfriend. She was some chick he was seeing, sleeping with, who knows. All I can remember is at the beginning of August, he asked if he could bring her here to spend the night and I told him no. He didn’t come home after that, not that I ever saw.”

Rush finished writing and looked back at her, “When the police found those toys and the DVDs, were they things you’d never seen before?”

“I don’t snoop,” she said quickly. “I never went into his room and I don’t know what he was into. Let’s just say it surprised me though.”

“Why?” Rush asked. Her eyes wouldn’t meet his.

“He didn’t seem gay or bi or anything like that.” She was now shifting, fidgeting in her chair.

“This is a murder investigation Ms. Sprocket. When Wylie didn’t come home for a month, what did you think happened?”

She looked the detective in the eye and said, “I figured he was staying with this Ella person. Either that or he was staying at his space over on University.”

“His space over on University?” Rush asked, realizing this was more than it had first appeared.

“Yeah,” the young woman said shrugging. “It’s some kind of place that rents spaces to artists, you know, like musicians and people who paint and stuff.”

“Your roommate had another place he stayed?” Rush asked, flipping through his notes. Maybe this artist studio wasn’t just a shared room like he’d thought.

“It’s not an apartment or anything. The way Steve described it was a place for artists to get away from life and work on their art. He would stay a couple of nights every couple of weeks or so.”

“Do you have an address for this place?” Rush asked, but he was thinking this was so much more. If Wylie had another address where he stayed or frequented, it was another place to explore. The report indicated it was basically empty, but Sprocket thought it was much, much more than that. Maybe even a place to stash a body.

Sprocket shook her head. “No, but it’s called The Warren and it’s right on University Avenue by the U of M near St. Paul.”

Rush finished up the interview. Wylie appeared to have another life, and until now, Hammond hadn’t expressed to him the significance of it. Perhaps this would lead to more answers than questions. For once.

***

“Thanks for meeting with me,” Ben said, settling down at the kitchen table. Flecks’ apartment was sunny, clean, and not far from their house. She lived in south Minneapolis as well, explaining over the phone her job with the Ham Lake blog was to cover things happening in Minneapolis and St. Paul. It answered a couple of Ben’s questions, but he had many more. For example, exactly what ‘things’ did she cover for the paper?

“I’m always happy to speak with police,” she said, placing a mug of coffee in front of him.

“I’m not with the police, exactly,” Ben said. “Our agency is working with the police as independent contractors. Rush is a private investigator.”

“The more contacts I have the better,” she said smoothly, sitting down across from him. Flecks was an attractive woman with long auburn hair that was tied back in a pony tail. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, little makeup, except some eyeliner and mascara. She was dressed in skinny jeans and a blousy top, cleavage showing. Ben thought she seemed a little over-eager.

“We are working on the Wylie case and a couple of articles you wrote came up,” Ben said.

“That’s great,” she said. “I’m in the bigtime now. The cops are reading my stuff.”

Ben smiled, noting her comment, and continued. “You reported from the scene where Wylie’s body was first found. How did you know about that so quickly?”

“I can’t tell you my sources, but let’s just say I have a friend who works with the first responders and he keeps me abreast with things.” She was trying to be coy, tracing a line in the condensation on the tabletop. Ben was startled because it seemed like she was flirting with him.

“How about you tell me the source and I keep it confidential?”

“How about you ask the next question?” Flecks responded, her voice becoming less friendly.

“A firefighter called you or texted you?”

“Someone on the scene texted me and so I raced over there. The parkway is only a couple miles from here.” Flecks leaned closer and said, “I’m always ready for a good story.”

“Okay,” Ben said, moving on. “In your headline, you report Wylie as gay and a victim of bashing. How could you have known something like that?”

Flecks shrugged. “Someone mentioned the leather community flag, and so I assumed. It made for a great headline and a great story. I made a lot of money on that article.”

Ben pulled out a copy of the second story and pushed it towards her. “But, you seem to know a lot about the victim here. How did you know he hung out at Gallivant’s and how did you know about his dating history?”

The question made the reporter’s eyes go steely. Her jaw was set and her face flashed with annoyance.

“I have sources. I told you that.”

Ben decided to ask the question.

“Did you know Wylie?”

Flecks didn’t answer at first. She took a sip from her mug, looked around the room uncomfortably, and shook her head. “I didn’t know him, not well.”

“I get the feeling you did,” Ben said. “How did you know about Gallivant’s and about Ogden?

“My—”

“Don’t say sources again, because it’s too random. The kind of detail in the story suggest more than connections or sources.” Ben tapped on the table. “Did you know Wylie and Ogden?”

Flecks shook her head again, but this time less convincingly. “Not really. I’d seen them at the bar a couple of times, but I didn’t know them well.”

Ben considered her admission carefully. “Why did you think they were dating? None of Ogden’s family or friends thought so. Did you see something that suggested they were a couple?”

Flecks sighed deeply and folded her arms. “It was a feeling I had, okay?” She whispered something Ben couldn’t catch and added, “Wylie was a charmer, and I thought we had something going on, but it ended up being nothing.”

Ben was shocked and appalled. He weighed her words and felt disgust for her.

“You wrote the guy was gay because he turned you down for a date?”

She shrugged. “I knew something was up with the guy. He was an artist and they’re all a little flaky, you know,” and she shrugged. “It turns out I was right.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Ben said. The bitterness in her tone was veiled, but barely so. Her next words were telling.

“He was wearing leather pants and stuff. It was obvious what happened to the guy. He was coming out of the closet. Even his roommate admitted that must have been it.”

“You spoke with the roommate?”

Flecks nodded. “I needed background. She was very helpful.”

Ben finished up the questioning rather quickly after that.

It was obvious the reporter was full of shit. She happened upon the scene due to a contact. She reported Wylie was found and presumed he was gay. She was reporting innuendo and conjecture masked as facts and evidence.

After finding out who he was, she cobbled together another fairy tale about him. Flecks talked with Wylie’s roommate who then simply agreed with whatever the reporter said.

He left without thanking her and feeling a little nauseated. Everyone seemed to assume so much about this poor guy.

What was the real story behind Wylie? Did Nats know him? Or Eddie? Who else could tell this guy’s story? The only relevant thing to come out of this line of inquiry was independent confirmation Steve Wylie knew Ogden. Perhaps it wasn’t a complete bust.

He’d have to tell Rush about this interview, and he was sure his partner would be pissed. Though maybe something good could come of it.