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Authors: Richard Stevenson
Tags: gay mystery
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second sweep of the scene late yesterday afternoon looking for prints, and I already have a couple of hits. Yours was one of them. You didn’t mention to me that you were once in Army Intelligence.”
“I’m sworn to secrecy. I can’t talk about that.”
“Bullshit. I’ve seen your military records. You’ve been an intel analyst, and you are also a good marksman. And I’ll bet you anything that you also received training in hand to hand combat, including how to cut a man with a knife and leave him dead.”
“There was something in basic training on that, but I wasn’t paying attention. So, am I now a suspect in the murder of Bryan Kim? You’re informing me in a casual phone call that I might soon be arrested and charged in the case?”
“Of course not. Your story checks out on visiting the Globe offices, and before that your EZ Pass records have you on the Mass Pike from 11:42 am to 1:58 pm yesterday. So you couldn’t have done it. Bryan Kim was killed, we now know, between two and three o’clock, while you were at the Globe offices. But you were in Kim’s apartment at some point—specifically in the kitchen and the bathroom and touching the books on Kim’s book shelves—and I would like you to please tell me exactly when that was and also what the fuck you thought you were doing in there?”
I was still in my hotel room, with a room service muffin and juice and coffee, and I had just finished reading the Monday Globe story on the Kim murder. The paper had no new information on the murder or any possible suspects or motive, just a lot of sad-making information on Kim’s educational and professional background and his family history. Kim’s prominence in the Boston gay community was also gone over again, though no mention was made of Eddie Wenske.
I said, “Aren’t those EZ Pass records supposed to be confidential? It sounds as if all the Big-Brother-is-tracing-your-movements fears some people had about that program have been realized.”
Davis laughed lightly. “Yeah, yeah. So when were you in there? You said you had never met Kim before. So either you lied to me about that—always a bad idea—and you had visited Kim in his nice pad on Tremont Street on some previous occasion. Or—now please listen carefully to this one—you mooched your way in there yesterday morning with Elvis Gummer’s key. So, which is it, Strachey? Think before you answer.”
“How come you didn’t confiscate Gummer’s key when you first interviewed him, anyway?”
“An oversight. I have since taken it away from Gummer, who won’t be needing it. The key is here on my desk.”
“So then I suppose Gummer told you he lent it to me. If you knew that, why are you playing games?”
“Games? Giving you every opportunity to act like the honest man you apparently are not is not playing games. Playing games is conducting your own investigation into a matter the Boston Police Department is handling professionally. Playing games is withholding information relevant to a police investigation. Playing games is fucking me over in a manner that people here in Boston know is a terrible way of trying to get anything done in this city or even of living in it with any degree of safety and comfort. That’s how I define playing games, and my definition is the one you had better consider going with here, if you get my drift.”
I got his drift. “Lieutenant, you said I was withholding information relevant to your investigation. What information are you referring to?”
“Whatever you found in Kim’s apartment of importance. What did you find?”
“Probably nothing you didn’t find. How about the cheesecake recipe?”
“You found it?”
“No. It was the ginger cheesecake recipe that didn’t bark. The killer might have taken it, but I doubt it.”
“I plan on talking to Elvis Gummer about that. He has no fingerprints on record, but he has agreed to be printed. He seems nervous, but I’m not inclined to consider him a
“I’m sworn to secrecy. I can’t talk about that.”
“Bullshit. I’ve seen your military records. You’ve been an intel analyst, and you are also a good marksman. And I’ll bet you anything that you also received training in hand to hand combat, including how to cut a man with a knife and leave him dead.”
“There was something in basic training on that, but I wasn’t paying attention. So, am I now a suspect in the murder of Bryan Kim? You’re informing me in a casual phone call that I might soon be arrested and charged in the case?”
“Of course not. Your story checks out on visiting the Globe offices, and before that your EZ Pass records have you on the Mass Pike from 11:42 am to 1:58 pm yesterday. So you couldn’t have done it. Bryan Kim was killed, we now know, between two and three o’clock, while you were at the Globe offices. But you were in Kim’s apartment at some point—specifically in the kitchen and the bathroom and touching the books on Kim’s book shelves—and I would like you to please tell me exactly when that was and also what the fuck you thought you were doing in there?”
I was still in my hotel room, with a room service muffin and juice and coffee, and I had just finished reading the Monday Globe story on the Kim murder. The paper had no new information on the murder or any possible suspects or motive, just a lot of sad-making information on Kim’s educational and professional background and his family history. Kim’s prominence in the Boston gay community was also gone over again, though no mention was made of Eddie Wenske.
I said, “Aren’t those EZ Pass records supposed to be confidential? It sounds as if all the Big-Brother-is-tracing-your-movements fears some people had about that program have been realized.”
Davis laughed lightly. “Yeah, yeah. So when were you in there? You said you had never met Kim before. So either you lied to me about that—always a bad idea—and you had visited Kim in his nice pad on Tremont Street on some previous occasion. Or—now please listen carefully to this one—you mooched your way in there yesterday morning with Elvis Gummer’s key. So, which is it, Strachey? Think before you answer.”
“How come you didn’t confiscate Gummer’s key when you first interviewed him, anyway?”
“An oversight. I have since taken it away from Gummer, who won’t be needing it. The key is here on my desk.”
“So then I suppose Gummer told you he lent it to me. If you knew that, why are you playing games?”
“Games? Giving you every opportunity to act like the honest man you apparently are not is not playing games. Playing games is conducting your own investigation into a matter the Boston Police Department is handling professionally. Playing games is withholding information relevant to a police investigation. Playing games is fucking me over in a manner that people here in Boston know is a terrible way of trying to get anything done in this city or even of living in it with any degree of safety and comfort. That’s how I define playing games, and my definition is the one you had better consider going with here, if you get my drift.”
I got his drift. “Lieutenant, you said I was withholding information relevant to your investigation. What information are you referring to?”
“Whatever you found in Kim’s apartment of importance. What did you find?”
“Probably nothing you didn’t find. How about the cheesecake recipe?”
“You found it?”
“No. It was the ginger cheesecake recipe that didn’t bark. The killer might have taken it, but I doubt it.”
“I plan on talking to Elvis Gummer about that. He has no fingerprints on record, but he has agreed to be printed. He seems nervous, but I’m not inclined to consider him a
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