Storm of Suspicion - 3. Chapter 3

Early the next morning, Steven was rudely awakened by a beating at his door. “Who the hell is it?”, Steven snapped, forgetting that he was still at work and it may be a customer, even though they had essentially closed down for the winter.

“This is Detective Wallace, I need to ask you some more questions Mr. Haynes”, returned the gruff demanding voice.

“Gimme a damned minute”, Steven barked back as he tried to compose himself. As he opened the door, he stood there rubbing his aching neck. “Yes Sir, what can I do for you?” Steven tried to be as cordial as he could muster, yet he was still obviously irritated by the intrusion.

“Hurry up and get dressed, I need you to come down to the station and meet with a sketch artist to give us an idea of what the guy you claim rented your room to looks like and get some more information,'' the detective ordered.

“I suppose I have no choice,'' Steven snarled back. He was well beyond not liking this detective. “Claimed...” he mumbled to himself. It seemed obvious to him that no matter what he said or what the image the sketch artist came up with was, the detective was not going to believe him and that he was likely just toying with Steven until he could find or create some proof that he had killed the drag queen. “Can I at least take a shower?”

“You have 5 minutes, hurry it up” Wallace declared gruffly. Even though the storm had shut down all the roads and he couldn’t go anywhere, Wallace still didn't trust Steven nor his story. His allegations of renting his own room to an unknown stranger who had paid in cash seemed much too convenient of an alibi and a very unlikely story. Provincetown was a good 3 hour drive off from Interstate 95 back on the mainland and why would anyone take such a long side trip without having planned it out, especially so late in the year. Anyone sensible would had made reservations before making the trip.

Steven went to the door adjoining the rooms and knocked furiously calling out, “Karla…” with no response. “Still sleeping”, he thought as he walked out into the hallway then reached for his master key to let himself in. The bed had already been neatly made and he could see from the doorway that she wasn’t in the bathroom either. As he walked back into the hallway, Steven pulled his cell phone from his pocket and began dialing. “Shit, line is dead. The storm must have knocked out the tower. Wonder where the hell she went…” Steven grumbled as he returned to his own room and quickly dressed, realizing that with the power out there wouldn’t be any hot water either. He then went to the gift shop and grabbed a sweatshirt from behind the counter before continuing to the impatiently waiting detective.

§

Outside, the storm had been replaced by a bitter cold. Winds off the ocean tunneled between the buildings occasionally carrying foam off the surf and onto Commercial Street. Karla cursed the New England weather as she bent further into the wind and pulled her coat up around her ears attempting to stay warm. “I should had known to bring winter clothes, but there really wasn’t any time”, she quickly resolved. As she walked further down the street, Karla wasn’t really certain what she was going to find nor even what she was really looking for but she knew she had to find a way to help Steven. She soon found herself standing near the Griffin bar. The crowds and flashing lights had dispersed and a police “Crime Scene” ribbon was strung around the building like crepe paper decorations at the junior prom with one large strand flapping wildly in the wind as if trying the escape the horrors it had seen. “How gay”, Karla thought. On the light pole had been posted a sign which read, “Crime Scene. Entry Permitted only by Order of Township of Provincetown Police Department”.

§

Thom sat quietly in the dining room at the Admirals Inn. The power was still out in much of Provincetown but Carter had a generator, a wood stove, and could at least serve some food and coffee. Yesterdays morning paper remained neatly folded on the corner of his table. “Just as well,” he grumbled noticing the date. Today’s paper would only say something like, “Drag Queen murdered at leather bar” or something to that effect. As he finished the last sip of his coffee, he reached for his wallet and threw a $20 bill on the table. “Expensive cup of joe”, he thought to himself , “but the staff here takes good care of me”. As he made his way to the entrance, a handsome blond man sitting in the corner caught Thom’s attention. He was sure he had never seen him before yet somehow, he seemed vaguely familiar. Maybe he’d see him again later, no time now. Thom had to get down to the morgue at the police station. As he stepped outside, he quickly realized that he was still dressed in just a vest and jeans. “Damned it got cold out!”, Thom exclaimed deciding to stop by the bar to grab some extra clothes he kept in the office.

Just as Thom approached the corner in front of the Griffin, he noticed a woman standing next to the sign for the Crown and Anchor, which shared the same courtyard as the bar. “Strange to see anyone out in this weather”, he thought. Typically once the tourist season ends, P-town pretty much rolls up the streets. Speculating that it might be a reporter, Thom quickly darted down the back alley so he could enter the bar through a side entrance without being seen. He made his way to the office and instinctively reached for the light switch. Nothing. “Damned power still out”, he mumbled as he removed his vest tossing it on a chair and began to light the oil lamp on his desk. As he was adjusting the wick, he pulled a cigarette from the top drawer and lit it with the lamp flame before replacing the globe. As Thom stood there trying to organize his thoughts, a loud steady pounding on the door broke the silence. Surely the reporter hadn’t followed him in, he cursed, snuffing out the cigarette. He swiftly threw open the door with the intention of sending whoever it was away. He had no time nor the patience to deal with reporters at this moment or likely at all.

Standing in the doorway was the figure of a woman about 5’8”, dressed in a thin long black overcoat with the collar pulled up tight around her neck. Her short tasseled auburn hair swayed in the wind. In an instant, her blue eyes opened wide like a baby doll as she was washed with shock over seeing Thom standing there before her.

“Thom?”, Karla began, not completely believing her eyes. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing Karla, been a long time…”, Thom stammered. “Come in, come in. Sorry where are my manners. Been crazy here. You must be frozen.” Thom escorted Karla to the office. “Can I take your coat? Have a seat, get comfortable.” As she removed her coat, Thom noticed her shadow cast against the wall from the oil lamp. “Flawless”, Thom thought, “curves all in the right places”. Being around drag queens and dykes all the time he’d forgotten what a real woman looked like. She was dressed simply in a men’s white cotton dress shirt, a pair of jeans, and conservative 2” heels. It was Thom’s favorite look on both men and women and Karla wore it especially well. As he took her coat, he recognized the smell of white lavender. “So what brings you to P-town this time of the year? I know it wasn’t to see me… “ Thom commented with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Well, actually I did; I mean, sort of. I was looking for someone who works here at the Griffin”, Karla stuttered.

“I run this Gin joint, so what can I do for you?”, Thom replied.

“I understand there was a murder here….”, Karla began.

“Um, yeah”, Thom sighed with a heavy sadness, glancing down at the photograph on his desk and his face losing all expression. “But what does that have to do with you?”, looking back at Karla with a puzzled look on his face.

“They seem to think Steven did it”, Karla explained. “He called me to try help clearing him.”

“I heard something about it being someone from The Pilgrims Landing but I would never…. I mean Steven wouldn’t hurt anybody, well except breaking a few hearts”. Thom reached for another cigarette and offered Karla one, for which she declined. He placed the cigarette pack back on the desk with the lose one he’d removed for himself. “He wasn’t even here last night, in fact he would never come here”. Thom again reached for the cigarette, this time lighting it. As he took a long drag, he recalled to Karla the one time that Steven had come into the Griffin. Thom had just reopened the bar under the new management and ownership, and Steven had just returned from Germany where he’d been stationed at the military hospital. Years of seeing too many of life’s cruelties had jaded him against the whole medical field. When Thom learned that Steven was looking for a change, he had invited him to come to P-town for the summer and give it a shot. The night of the bars reopening, Thom happened to have introduced him to the owner of the Pilgrims Landing and he’d been there ever since.

“He always was the social butterfly”, Karla commented with a wispy grin. “And he wouldn’t kill anyone without a reason!” she exclaimed. “Seems to me that all the police have on him is the room key and a friggin shoe!”.

“Oh...police…. that reminds me, I’ve got to get down to the morgue to identify the body,'' Thom indicated looking quickly at his watch. “I was on my way there when I decided to stop here to grab some warmer clothes and then you happened by.”

“Yeah I kinda wondered if you always run around shirtless”, Karla winked. “Not that you couldn’t...er, wouldn’t that is”.

“Meet up with you for lunch at Daddy Jack’s? It’s about a two minute walk from here”, Thom asked. “We can fill each other in then.”

“Sounds great”, Karla replied, as Thom quickly shuffled her towards the door while he finished dressing. He grabbed a sweater from the drawer of a filing cabinet and a leather jacket from a chair in the corner. He then reached to the desk and turned the wick down in the oil lamp to extinguish it. As they left, neither saw the shadowy figure standing silently in the corner. Outside, Thom locked the door and turned to Karla and gave her a hug. ”It really is good to see you again, even if this isn’t the ideal circumstances”.

Karla stood at the street corner for a moment trying to decide what to do next. She felt a little disappointed that she hadn’t found out anymore about the murder then what she knew before but took relief that she had found an ally, one that she could actually trust. She had known Thom since they had been stationed together in the Army several lifetimes ago. It had even been a company rumor at one point that Thom and Karla were dating. She giggled slightly at the reality of the situation. “If they only knew!”. Feeling weary from the cold and not having had even had breakfast yet, Karla made her way further along Commercial Street in search of any place open that she could grab something to eat to hold her over until lunch.

§

Detective Wallace’s impatience and agitation was growing ever more evident as he paced the lobby waiting for Steven to finish getting ready. As he finally emerged from the office, Wallace sighed heavily as he escorted him outside to an awaiting cruiser. In silence, they made their way to the police station. The detective directed Steven to a small cluttered desk in the corner of the room. “Have a seat Mr. Haynes. Coffee?” he offered.

“No thank you”, Steven replied. He was still groggy from the events of the past 30 or 40 plus hours, and didn’t trust the detective nor his feeble attempts at hospitality. “Can we just get on with this?”.

“Fine”, the detective snapped back. “Hold on while I go see if the artist is ready”. He disappeared through a doorway at the other end of the room for which stairs could be seen, leading to a lower level.

In the room, there were about 3 other desks lined up along the outer walls and 4 more in the middle; all of them as equally cluttered and disorganized appearing as the one Steven was seated at. “No wonder they can never solve a crime around here”, Steven thought to himself. “How could anyone find anything in this mess!”.

A few moments later, Wallace returned, “Mr. Haynes, This is Mr. Sawyer. If you can describe to him every detail you remember about the man you claim you rented your room to, we can try to put together a visual of him”.

“Agh, there he goes with that damned ‘you claimed’ crap again,'' Steven mumbled under his breath. “Fine, now let's see. He was about 6’ tall with blond hair and green eyes”, Steven blurted out. The Detectives accusing tone was putting Steven on edge and it was beginning to be evident to everyone.

“You need to be more specific, Mr. Haynes”, advised the sketch artist.

“Fine”, Steven rolled his eyes and groaned. “Like I said, he was about 6’ tall, maybe a little less. 5’10” I guess. About 185lbs, short blond hair…”

“You’ve told us that already, we need details: approximate age, the shape of his head, face, body type... details, details!”, the detective demanded.

“I was getting there, geez. Early thirties I guess. He had kinda a squared head with strong square jaw bones and high drawn checks. His hair was shaved tight and high, more like a flat-top but not as defined on top. You know, skin tight on the sides but kinda spiked on top. Let’s see, high forehead I guess. A big nose, not really big like Jamie Farr but more like Cher, you know before the surgery”. Steven paused to collect his thoughts while Mr. Sawyer feverishly scribbled on the paper trying to interpret his description. “Full thick lips”, Steven continued. “And really white perfect teeth, kinda like an Osmond but not as big. He looked more European with heavy dark eyebrows. Oh, and one of those hipster kind of beards”. As he stood up to see what the artist had come up with so far, Steven stopped short noticing Thom being escorted to a desk across the room.

“Steven?”, Thom spoke, not having expected to see him at the police station. He knew Steven was the main suspect but assumed he’d already been placed in a jail cell or something. “How are you holding out?”

“You know each other?” Wallace interrupted.

“Yes, Steven and I were in the military together,'' Thom replied as a matter of factly.

“Well, isn't that interesting…”, the detective commented, rubbing his lips like he was having an evil thought. Just then a thunderous explosion shook the building which demanded everyone’s attention. “What the hell?” shouted Wallace as they all ran to the window to try identifying the source of the noise. Moments later the ensuing silence was broken by the squelch of the dispatch radio, “Attention all patrols, Police response requested at 249 Commercial Street; Fire Engines currently en route. Repeat: immediate PD response at 249 Commercial Street…”

“Oh shit”, Thom exclaimed, “That’s the Griffin!”