Helen wanted to grab his jacket collar and shake him. “I could care less what you do for money, but you tell me this, Mr. North. What’s a male prostitute doing at the home of the Deputy Medical Examiner for the State of Wisconsin?”
“Hey, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” North claimed, not too convincingly. “It was a bum call or something, or a wrong address.”
“Bullshit!” Helen simmered as she glared at him. Arresting him would be weak in court—she couldn’t swear under oath that she’d heard a proposition—and she didn’t have time to take him to Headquarters. Grilling Tom was more important.
“Listen to me,” she asserted, pointing into his face. “You’re going straight back to your apartment, and later on I’m coming by and we’re going to have a long talk. And you better be there, Mr. North, because if you’re not I’m going to have a statewide dragnet out on you, and you think I’m bluffing… Try me!”
“I’ll be there, I’ll be there,” North sluffed, then slouched for his car.
Helen’s fists clenched till her fingernails were nearly cutting her palms. She trod back toward the apartment steps, where Tom stared at her.
“Helen, what in God’s name—”
“You got a lot of gall, Tom,” she spat. “Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you’re in?”
“What? That guy? I never saw him before in my life. We were just…chatting.”
“Then why don’t you tell me what you were chatting about?”
Tom brushed his hair back. “Jeeze, this does look bad doesn’t it? All right, look, the guy rang my buzzer, so I answered the door. Said he was from some ‘service.’ I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about, and, honestly, Helen, I’ve never seen him before.”
“Honestly?” Helen huffed. “That’s great coming from a guy who lied to me, who cheated on me for over a year!”
Tom glanced down at the pavement. “We’ve already been through all that, Helen. And like I said, that guy—”
“Why are you sweating, Tom?” she cut in. “It’s cold out here, but you’re sweating. Is there something you’re nervous about?”
Tom hesitated, scratched his nose. “I’m on duty tonight; I just got out of the shower, and my hair’s still wet.”
“Uh-huh. Bad job lying, Tom. You better tell me everything right now, otherwise it’ll be a lot worst later.”
Tom shook his head. “Helen, this is getting out of—”
“Jesus Christ!” She couldn’t believe his stupidity, either that or his stubbornness. “Don’t you know that you’re under investigation for conspiracy and accessory to murder, and maybe a hell of a lot more!”
Tom’s facial reaction shrunk. “This is uncalled for, Helen, and you know it. This is a disgrace. Like a lot of prejudiced people, you can’t handle the fact that I’m bisexual. You’re just like Limbaugh and Gingrich and all these other radicals who want too dissolve the constitutional rights of people who are different. I’m under investigation for accessory murder? Why? Because I’ve had gay affairs? This is the end of the line, Helen.” Tom turned briskly, walked for the front door. “If you harass me one more time, I’m going to sue you.”
The apartment’s entry door, then, slammed so hard in her face that the glass panes popped out and shattered.
««—»»
So you’re going to sue me, huh?
Well, maybe he would. But Helen thought it only fitting that she give him more fuel for the cause.
She knew she was washed up. With all this publicity, and the case going to hell in a handbasket? Even her own boss had no more faith in her. I’ll never make deputy chief, she realized, unless I solve this case. She stared hard at the inside of her windshield. And even if I do, I don’t give a damn.
For a woman whose ideals were more soundly rooted in ethics than anyone she knew, she figured it was time for a little of the reverse. Tom, she thought. If you think I’ve violated your constitutional rights, you ain’t seen nothing yet.
She had to know, she had to know for sure, and there was no legal way to do what she knew she needed to do.
Tom had said he had duty tonight. All she had to do was wait.
And it wasn’t a long one. Less than an hour after their blowup out front, Tom trudged down the steps and out the entrance door. Stomped to his car. Drove off.
Helen stared at dark bushes and nightscape for ten more minutes, then she got out.
She still had her keys—her key to the front door and her key to Tom’s apartment.
She could get fired for what she was about to do, and she knew it. She could be criminally charged and prosecuted. Unlawful entry. Burglary. A search without a warrant.
To hell with it, she thought.
She walked in and up the stairs like she owned the place, opened Tom’s apartment door without a pause. Cool darkness greeted her. She closed the door behind her and locked the deadbolt.
She didn’t even bother putting on gloves when she commenced. First she checked the bedroom, the dressers, the nightstand, then the bathroom, the little den. Was she really looking for more evidence of men in his life? Why should I care now? she asked herself. All I’m looking for is evidence. My former personal life doesn’t mean anything here anymore.
Then she checked the kitchen, the dining room, every cabinet and closet.
Nothing.
And then she checked—
Her stare froze when she gingerly rooted through the metal drawers of his computer desk. Buried beneath file folders was a video tape—Room for Two, it was titled. The glossy cover bragged: Starring Jeff Starker, Miles, Long, and Matt North!And there he was, grinning in a sailors outfit right there on the cover. Matthew North.
But was this enough?
She didn’t really know, but it didn’t really matter, because next she checked the storage box for his computer floppy disks. At the very back, hidden under a stack of angled 3M disks, was this.
A vial. A tiny glass vial
She held the vial up to the light to read its label.
SCHILLER INC. U.S. PATENT #4,315,926/EXP. 3/97
0.4 MGS, IM OR ORAL, KEEP AWAY FROM HEAT AND DIRECT SUNLIGHT
CAUTION: HIGHLY TOXIC
SUCCINICHOLINE SULPHATE
— | — | —
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Helen drove in a daze, to the nearest QWIK-STOP. On the news rack, three different pictures of Dahmer’s face peered at her from three different tabloids. Mindless, Helen didn’t even bother reading the headlines. Instead, she bought a pack of Virginia Slims Menthol, lit one, and inhaled deep. The coughing fit which followed she almost welcomed. Three or four more inhalations and it was as though she’d never quit.
She sat in the car, in gritty sodium light, and let her mind try to assimilate.
Olsher was right. She was right. But what probable cause did she have to garner a search warrant to find what she already knew was there?
None, she realized.
She lit another cigarette, contemplated walking two storefronts down to the liquor store and buying a half-pint of Dewar’s or Johnny Black, something with some bite.
Forget it, she told herself. You have to be sober tonight. You can’t interview North with booze on your breath.