One Dead Drag Queen (12 page)

This made sense. Oscar Hills, the guard, accompanied me. In the car I explained about parking at a distance and his following me.

Hills said, “I’m not the one in danger. I know my job and how to keep out of sight. Do you know yours?”

“I’m not sure what my job is. I’m just trying to make some pain go away.”

The scene of the explosion had been converted into orderly chaos. Investigators moved methodically through the ruins near me, and farther away backhoes and cranes rumbled over the mountains of debris. A large parking lot across from the remains of the clinic had hundreds of tagged parts all arranged in a circle. I saw people sifting through debris. Some were carting away large vats filled with rubble. I saw people using rakes to hunt through the mess, looking for the tiniest fragments that would give them clues to how the crime had been done and by whom.

To hunt for Kearn, I walked around the perimeter of the area roped off by the crime-scene tape. Chicago cops stood guard to keep the crowd of onlookers from intruding on the investigation. I forced myself to stop looking around to see where Oscar was.

The day was pleasantly cool with a slight breeze from the north hinting more of winter to come than of summer past. I asked several people if they had seen Kearn, but no one had. No one thrust his curiosity in my face about who I was, either. From under the el across from a burned-out police car, I saw the top of a well-coiffed head, the hair looking
cemented in place. This area was fairly deserted and protected from the eyes of the other workers by a wall of fire-blackened brick. I called Kearn’s name. Along with another man I didn’t know, he scrambled out of the hole he’d been in. They ducked under the crime-scene tape and strode over to me. Kearn said, “Glad you came. This is Jack Wolf. He’s an official investigator for the fire department.”

Wolf was about six foot three with light brown hair. Maybe in his midthirties, freckles in a swath over his nose, and steel-gray eyes.

“I can’t be seen with you two.” Wolf turned to Kearn. “I got you past the police lines. That’s all I can do for now. We’ll have to talk later, if at all.” Wolf hurried off.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“He knows details about the investigation that might be important.”

“Has he told them to you?”

“He’s told me some. I think he wants to tell me more. I mentioned I knew you. I think he wants to give information to you.”

“Why me?”

“I get the impression he’s sympathetic to you as a gay man.”

“He’s gay?”

“He didn’t say so, but I presumed so.”

“What is it you wanted to tell me?” I asked.

“Couple things. First, I heard you hired a private investigating firm.”

“Yeah, I hired Borini and Faslo. I haven’t found out anything from them yet.” I told him about the threat in the hospital.

“They’re supposed to be the best,” Kearn said, “but didn’t I hear a rumor that they were homophobic? Wasn’t
there some kind of lawsuit from a former employee?”

“I never heard about it.” Bitchiness from a dizzy drag queen I could ignore. The same information coming from Kearn made it begin to sound as if I’d made a mistake.

Kearn said, “I’ve found out a few things, some of which relate more to you and your lover than the bombing itself. I’ve been asking a lot of questions.” He glanced around the street. “You didn’t bring anyone with you?”

“You told me not to.”

“Let’s find someplace quiet.”

“I’d rather not go anyplace far with you.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“Is there a rule book on who I should and should not trust?”

“There’s a coffee shop halfway down the next block. We can talk there. It’s open. It’s public.”

I could only be so churlish and suspicious. Besides, I had a tail. It was broad daylight with hundreds of people around.

On our way to the shop, I said, “Why are you doing this for me and why does it have to be so secret?”

“I’m doing it because I feel sorry for you and your lover. Because I think you need to know some of the information. The danger you are in is more pervasive than you can imagine. Plus, if what I know turns out to be accurate, I’d have another big story. As you know, you are news.”

We entered the coffee shop. We wound up in the back booth of a café that Edward Hopper could have used for a model. The waitress filled our coffee cups and took our orders. Kearn wrapped his fingers around the porcelain and murmured, “I think I’ve slept two whole hours since the bombing.” He sipped coffee.

I said, “My nightmares have all been filled with burning bodies running and screaming down the streets of Chicago.
Often they are worse than my waking memories, but not by much.”

Kearn nodded. “I don’t look forward to trying to fall asleep again. Those few hours were bad enough. I keep pushing myself harder and harder. I try not to think. My unrealistic hope is that by the time I’m ready to try to sleep again, I’ll be too tired to remember. Maybe it goes away with time.”

“I sure as hell hope so.”

Kearn’s shoulders slumped. “I’ve been on seven major news shows, given more interviews than I can count, and had some big offers from national news outlets.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure being a hero reporter is worth it.”

“How so?”

“You were at the bomb site. You were helping the injured, like I was. You know what it’s like.”

I didn’t remind him that I was helping long before he was. Recriminations were pointless, and I did know how he felt. “Right after the explosion you were ready to quit. Then you were on the path to fame and fortune. Now you’re into fear and pointing fingers.”

“I’ve got a big ego and a conscience. I’d like to keep both. Maybe I can have my principles and be at the top of my profession. I won’t know until I’m at the top.”

After our food arrived, he said, “Are Faslo and Borini officially investigating the bombing?”

“Not specifically.”

“I can use anything you get from them. While I’m the flavor of the month at the moment, I want more. Most of the rest of the reporters are simply attending official press conferences and asking silly, repetitive questions. You’ll share if they give you anything?”

“Sure.” I was ready to go along for now.

“One of the things I heard was about the head of your
security firm, Ken McCutcheon. Do you know anything about his background?”

“Lots of rumors.” I told him the ones I’d heard.

“I think the parts about him being a mercenary in Bosnia and Africa might be true. In Bosnia he was not fighting on the side of truth and light.”

“How do you know?”

“He was on the side that was doing the ethnic cleansing.”

“That’s impossible. He’s so young. He seems so normal.”

“So did the Germans who worked at the concentration camps.”

“Do you have proof of this? Who’s your source?”

“I don’t reveal sources.”

“Don’t give me that. I’m not an investigating government body. I’m also not somebody who is inclined to believe you. I’ve got to have some basis for believing what you tell me.”

“I can tell you this much. It’s another reporter who covered Bosnia for the networks. There are a lot of national news reporters in town to cover this. My source saw him on one of the newscasts of the bombing of your lover’s truck. He called and asked me if I knew who he was.”

“He could have seen him for only a few seconds. Is he sure it’s the same guy?”

“He was reasonably sure. The reporter wanted to know if you guys were connected to right-wing militia groups.”

“That’s ludicrous.”

“We check everything. I told him I didn’t think gay people and right-wing militias resonated. This guy was more interested in seeing if McCutcheon could have been connected to the bombing itself. I’m interested in that, but also in finding out if he’s a danger to you.”

“I don’t want him working for me if he was what you say, but it’s going to take some convincing to prove McCutcheon
is a threat to me. I’m not sure I’m ready to believe the say-so of one reporter who I’ve never met. It’s a stretch from him maybe being in Bosnia to me being worried about him as a danger. Forgetting the international complications for a moment, if he wanted to kill me, he’s had plenty of chances.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to himself, but maybe he’d be willing to let someone else capitalize on the opportunity.”

“Then why hasn’t it happened yet?”

“It’s just something I think you should be aware of. Like the guy who followed us here, who is studiously ignoring us while he sits alone in the front booth. Is it one of your security people?”

I resisted looking over my shoulder. “You exacted a promise of silence that made no sense to me. I still think you could have just come to the hospital and gone off with me quietly. Maybe you’ve seen too many conspiracy movies.”

“Maybe you haven’t seen enough. Maybe I didn’t want to take the time, or I didn’t have the time. Maybe I thought you’d be interested. You should have come alone. You’ve probably compromised me. If it’s not one of your guys, we better wait here until you send for help.”

I glanced around. It was Oscar. “It’s one of mine. How could his presence compromise you?”

“Since he’s from McCutcheon’s firm, he may be a danger to you. If he’s a danger to you, he might become a danger to me.”

“Why? He couldn’t have heard what you said. And how would his knowing you compromise you? For all he knows, maybe we’re meeting to plan a clandestine love affair.”

“Not if you already told McCutcheon you were meeting me. If I’m right, and they have ways of learning things, they would know where you got this information.”

“Look, this is way too Byzantine. The evil guys instantly knowing the good guy’s every movement and every thought until the last ten minutes before the end only happens in the movies. Your source is going to have to do better than vague fears about McCutcheon. Does your guy have pictures of McCutcheon beating up gay people? Or pictures of him standing in front of a prominent Bosnian landmark holding a dead baby? Or a video of him machine-gunning a crowded orphanage? I gotta see proof.”

“My source has started checking into McCutcheon’s firm. So far he’s got a rumor that this ‘security firm’ might be a cover for a mercenary group aligned with right-wing splinter groups.”

“A rumor? That’s a crock. A total, complete, and utter crock! This is too loony. How am I supposed to investigate the head of my own security firm?”

“I just pass on information. What you do with it is your business.”

“I’m not going to begin leading a tabloid life.”

“You already do.”

That stopped me. I sipped coffee. Finally I asked, “You called me to tell me this?”

“Yes. I’m willing to talk to any possible source and check out any possible lead.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Would it help if I was gay?”

“I’m not sure what would help at this point. Tom likes to talk about great flaming dragons coming down from heaven to deliver messages at important moments. He sees more humor in that comment than I do.”

“Great flaming dragons aren’t going to help right now.”

“What other information do you have? Has anybody
talked to the protesters who are always around outside that building? They should be suspects. I saw that Lyle Gibson on a newscast making a statement.”

“I’m working on getting an interview with him.”

“He’d make a great suspect along with all the other regular protesters, and the people who were at that banquet.”

“I assume they are looking at everybody, which must include them. I do know none of the regular protesters were seriously hurt in the explosion.”

“Could they have been warned ahead of time and moved away?”

“Anything is possible.”

“What about terrorists from outside the country?”

“At the moment the police think this is homegrown terrorism, not international.”

“How do they know that?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ve been developing a few other angles. I’m digging into the background information about the director of the clinic I met when I saw you in the hospital that first night.”

“What about her?”

He flipped through a notebook. “Five years ago Gloria Dellios worked at a clinic in Texas where two people were shot. Three years ago she worked at a clinic in New Mexico that was firebombed. Three other places she’s worked at over the years have been targets of sabotage.”

“Can you prove they weren’t all coincidences?”

“The string of them is getting long enough to cause me to check her out more thoroughly.”

“Nobody besides you has noticed this pattern over the years?”

“I don’t know yet. She wasn’t the director of any of those. She started as a nurse practitioner in 1980. About ten years
ago she got into administration and has been working her way up to director.”

“Someone must have noticed.”

“If they have, no one I’ve talked to in a police organization has made the connection. The cop I talked to in Chicago promised to check on it. I called Texas and New Mexico. They report nothing suspicious about her.”