P'town Murders: A Bradford Fairfax Murder Mystery (23 page)

"So," he said. "Who's the lucky recipient?"

"The Boston Zoo. Apparently he's coming back as an orangutan."

There was a notable silence on Brad's end.

"It's a kind of monkey, I think. That's just how it goes if you're a Buddhist," Cinder said. "If you don't live your life doing good deeds, you have to come back as a lesser animal and get kicked around till you realize what it's like to be low species on the totem pole."

"Gee," was all Brad could manage. He tried to imagine Ruby kicking an orangutan.

"Aren't you glad you're not a Buddhist?" Cinder said.

"I guess there's something still to be said for Presbyterianism, even if all you get for Christmas is walnuts and oranges."

"You betcha! On the other hand, those Buddhists get to wear some pretty kitsch outfits!"

Brad interrupted him. "Listen, Cinder. How much do you know about what went on in that house?"

"Well, I'm not a nosey queen for nothing, hon. I've had a good look around that place in my time. And believe me, I've had far better times in far worse places."

Brad reached into the camera case. "What do you know about the cameras?" he asked, holding the tape up in front of the new window-pane.

"The ones over the bathtubs, in the guestrooms, down the polar bear's snout, or behind the aquariums? Or were you referring to the ones in the hallways, perhaps?" Cinder asked.

Brad tucked the cassette into its case and locked it back in the drawer. "Let's start with the bathtubs."

"Well, that Hayden sure was one for kink. But more than that, he had business smarts, too. Remember, he was no Eve Harrington..." Cinder did what amounted to a double-take on the phone. "Or was he? Anyway, he always said if his guesthouse went tits-up he could go into the video business."

"So the cameras were there to help out with that?"

"Hayden kept tapes of all the big-name clients who came to the establishment. And I think he meant what he said. If things went wrong for him, he'd find a way to get money out of some of those guys."

"Blackmail?"

"Sure, why not? Some of those guys are still in the prime of their careers. He could've wrecked more than a few public profiles with his private records. Remember Rob Lowe?"

"He went there?"

"I cannot tell a lie."

Brad rolled his eyes. "Do you think one of the clients found out about it?"

"That's exactly what I think. You sure are a smart little cookie. I think somebody discovered what old Rosetta had up his sleeve. I guess he told the wrong person...."

"Who in the house knew about the tapes?"

"Just about everyone," Cinder said. "There wasn't much that was a secret. When Hayden got drunk he'd go around saying all kinds of things. He just never drank when the clients were there. It was his golden rule."

Which says a lot about the champagne in the bathtub, Brad thought. "So you're saying everybody who worked there had access to the tapes?"

"Oh, no!" Cinder said. "No one knew where they were at, except for one or two of his most trusted staff."

"And who was that?"

"Well, Johnny K. for one—you must've seen him at the funeral yesterday. He's the rough-looking one. Johnny K. was Hayden's chief bodyguard. I never got too close to him. He'd step on a girl's hem as quick as pick it up for her."

"Anything else?"

"I hear he has a legendary cock, but I never laid lips on it myself." "Big?"

"And how! Apparently it was the biggest of the lot in that place."

"Do you know if he has a snake tattoo on his right shoulder blade?"

"Oooh!"
Cinder trilled. "I
love
phallic symbols! I'm sure that boy has tattoos all over his body, but whether one of them is a snake I can't be sure."

"Would he have had any reason to kill Hayden?"

"Johnny K.? Nah—he knew which side his dick was buttered on."

"But if he thought he could get away with it and be better off... ?"

Cinder thought for a moment. "Maybe, but I doubt it. Why bite the hand that feeds you when you can eat out of it?"

"Cinder, do you have any idea who would want to kill Hayden?"

"Maybe Mozart?"

Brad hung up and peeled off his T-shirt. He was checking the outline of his tattoo in the mirror when the phone rang again.

"Bradford? Ruby here."

His ears picked up immediately. "Hi, Ruby."

"Listen, can we get together? I got something to tell you."

Brad sucked in his breath.

"I don't want to say much on the phone, but I think I know something you should know."

Bingo!
he thought. "I'll be right over."

"No," she said. "Meet me on Bradford Street, all right? You walk toward me and I'll walk toward you and we'll meet somewhere in the middle."

"Give me five minutes."

"Fine, but I'm leaving now. It gives me goose bumps to stay here knowing what I think I know."

Brad grabbed his socks and shoes. He was back out on the street in under a minute. All along he'd had the feeling that Big Ruby might lead him to the killer, and at last it seemed to be happening.

29

Bradford passed the bicycle rental shop and the cheery cafe where he sometimes stopped for breakfast before the rest of the world came to life. Both were dark and empty now. He'd gone only three blocks when the car came racing toward him down the hill. With its headlights off, it was a mere shadow moving at lethal speed.

Without thinking, he flipped himself over a hedge as the car went careening by at breakneck speed. As he lay there in the dirt he remembered his dream about the Porsche. It'd happened so fast he hadn't even had time to notice what type of car it was.

Whew!
I sure as hell don't want to end up dead on Bradford Street, he thought, remembering Ruby's words the night they met. He picked himself up and dusted off his clothes. Then he felt the twinge in his ankle. He tried out a few careful steps—it was painful, but he could walk.

He looked down the street as far as he could see. No Ruby. An awful thought occurred. Suddenly he began to run, oblivious to the pain. As he rounded the hilltop he saw the crowd gathered by the side of the road near the bottom. He ran till he reached them, pushing bystanders aside until he stood over the crumpled body lying half-on and half-off the sidewalk.

Oh, God!
he thought.
Please don't let it be!

But by the murmuring of the people gathered around, he knew Ruby was dead.

"It was a terrible accident," he heard one man say. "The car didn't even stop!"

Accident?
Bradford thought. This woman knew about safety on the streets!

He stood and walked on in the direction Ruby had come. He passed several houses before he saw something glittering in the dirt at the side of the road more than a hundred feet from the body. He picked it up, turning it in his hands. This was no accident, he thought. She was running for her life!

He looked back at the crowd. He could be of no use to Ruby now. Nor she to him, sadly. Whatever she had to tell him, she'd taken with her to the bardo.

Brad couldn't face going back home and he didn't see any point in returning to Coffee Joe's. No doubt the news of Ruby's death would get around town within hours. And he certainly didn't want to be the one to tell Halle, despite what he suspected about her.

He wandered down to the harbor where the shushing of waves reached his ears. He crossed the darkened beach to the remains of an old pier that hadn't been used in years. The rickety structure extended forty feet into the ocean before collapsing in a heap of disuse and broken boards.

With his arms outstretched for balance, Brad stepped onto the pier. He walked out as far as he safely could, leaving the outermost end to the pelicans and seagulls perched there watching him with curiosity.

With his legs dangling over the edge, he sat and stared across the harbor. The lights of town surrounded him from behind, gleaming over his shoulders like a glittering cape. He was very close to where Hayden's body had been fished from the harbor two days earlier. Would he ever discover who had killed Rosengarten and Ross and now Ruby?

Beneath him the water slapped at the barnacle-covered pillars and withdrew again. A thought came to him:
The sea giveth and the sea taketh away again. These two things are both the way of life.
His eyes followed the darkened outline of the Cape out where it disappeared under twinkling stars. Somewhere beyond this bare reef of sand lay the outer world. From where he sat it all looked so simple and uncomplicated, as if nothing could ever change or challenge him. But in truth it had been years since his life had been simple. Loneliness only looked easy to the untrained eye.

The tower bell struck eleven. The ringing tones brought back the bells of his childhood. Whatever sense of belonging he'd known then had been ripped from him with the deaths of first his mother and then his father. So what did it mean for him to have no allegiance to anything other than truth? That's what Grace had asked when she'd interviewed—no,
interrogated
—him for the position. Could he offer that kind of allegiance to her organization? Yes, he'd told her. He could do that and more. But what had he meant?

What he'd meant was that he was alone in the world and had no allegiance to anyone beyond a handful of friends he could easily abandon, if need be. And he'd proved it by abandoning Ross. Or had he? Maybe he'd simply proved he had no allegiance to anything whatsoever. Not even to truth. What good was an agent who functioned perfectly but cared for nothing? Was he that heartless?
No!

Hadn't he come to Provincetown out of allegiance? No—allegiance be damned! It was out of
love!
Ross might have been the only one he'd loved since his father, but Brad knew what love was and what it could make him capable of doing. And that's why it was dangerous. That was why Box 77 had wanted his allegiance to be with them, and them alone, because when you loved someone you would do anything to protect them!

Rope and tackle clanged softly against a metal mast. His gaze wandered out over the water and up to the stars. All he wanted was an answer, something to tell him he was doing the right thing, and that his actions were for a purpose, despite appearances. But there were no answers out there.

Finally, when he'd had enough salt air and remorse, he stood and headed back. Even the impersonal company of a bar would be better than this misery and self-doubt.

Brad found himself sitting in the semidarkness of the Atlantic House. He stared at a photograph of the young Eugene O'Neill hanging over the bar. O'Neill had come to Provincetown to make his name as a dramatist. An unknown when the picture was taken, he eventually became a man of monumental accomplishments. Yet he too would face his share of tragedy.

Brad thought of his first visit to P'Town, when he'd encountered the drunken queen and her entourage. She'd stood three feet away from where he sat now, hands on her hips, accusing him of not knowing the importance of the guesthouses in Provincetown. And, by association, of not knowing what it meant to be gay. She was speaking of self-knowledge. What she'd meant was, he hadn't known who he was. He'd been an unformed lump, an unshaped piece of clay. If he did nothing to shape himself, fate would intervene and do it for him in ways he might not like. But had his experiences in the intervening years made any difference? All he felt was loss and regret.

He steadfastly wished he could go back to those times now, as he downed his third gin and tonic and signaled for another. How many more would it take to forget that Ruby was dead? And how many more to forget that he was the cause? Grace would have his head for disobeying her orders. Now, at last, he could see the consequences of his actions. Why did he never listen? She'd given him a directive and he'd disobeyed. He wouldn't be surprised if he lost his job over it.

My
job!
he thought with scorn. Grace and her shadowy lot could all go fuck themselves! He'd done what he thought was right! There was nothing he could do or say to justify it now. But no one could tell him he was on the wrong track, either, given the awful turn of events. Nor could anyone make him feel good about it.

Brad felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Zach looking down at him.

"I wasn't following you!" Zach exclaimed before he could say anything. "I was passing through and saw you sitting here. You looked so miserable. I just wanted to see if you were all right. If you want me to, I'll leave."

Brad took a deep breath. He recalled his suspicions about Zach's possible involvement in all of this. The idea suddenly evaporated.

"Sit," Bradford said, indicating the stool beside him.

Zach sat and looked into his face. "Why so sad?" he asked.

"Big Ruby died a few hours ago."

Zach's mouth fell open. "What happened?"

"She was run down by a car."

"Was it an accident?"

"It wasn't an accident. Someone chased her and deliberately ran her down. She saw it coming and she was running for her life." He pulled out the rhinestone glasses he'd found lying on the road. "She dropped these about a hundred feet before the car got her."

Zach took the glasses and turned them in his hands. Brad realized the time had come to make a choice. Either he had to trust Zach fully or forget him entirely. He already knew which it would be.

"What I'm going to say is probably the most confidential thing you will ever hear," he said, then stopped, realizing how pompous that sounded.

"Is this what you wouldn't tell me the other day on the salt marsh?"

Brad nodded. "Once I tell you this, there's no going back," he said. "Are you sure you want to hear?"

"I want to hear," Zach said.

Brad had already told Zach he'd come to Provincetown to claim Ross's body. Now he told him the rest of his story. Choosing his words carefully, he explained how he'd discovered the drowned boy and the next day learned that Ross's death was a murder, only to have it followed by Rosengarten's and now Big Ruby's. Then he told Zach how he'd abandoned Ross five years earlier to work for the secretive Box 77. When he finished, Zach sat there watching him.