Desmond by Dietz Ulysses Grant

Author:Dietz, Ulysses Grant [Dietz, Ulysses Grant]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: I978-1-4507-8923-3
Publisher: Lightbane Publicatons
Published: 2012-09-26T00:00:00+00:00

“Gee, thanks for the nice present. So much more thoughtful than flowers or wine.” Bill folded up the Post and threw it dramatically into the trash can in the kitchen.

“Sorry, Bill, we just thought you’d at least want to see it.”

“I appreciate the thought, guys. But I knew all about it already. They found the fourth body early this morning. I’ve interviewed the family and have a piece in tomorrow’s edition. Mind you, not as colorful as that,” he added, gesturing to the trash. “You want drinks?”

They both ordered wine, and followed Bill into the kitchen.

“You interviewed his family?” Tony quizzed.

“Yup.”

“Was he gay?”

“Yup again. What’s more, and worse, really, is that his folks knew about him and were tremendously supportive. The murder has blown them away completely. They’ve done everything to make sure their gay son knows they love him, to make his life as untroubled as being gay can be, and then some psycho stabs him with an ice pick. And twice in the neck, just like the others.”

“That’s horrible.”

“No more, basically, than the other murders. Just a lot sadder,” mused Desmond aloud.

“What about the other families?”

“What about them?” Bill led them into the living room and settled down on one of the sectional leather sofas. The lights of the city blazed beyond the windows.

“The gay angle,” Tony continued. “Have you talked to them again in light of this new focus on the victims all being gay?”

“Yes, but to what advantage I’m not sure. The parents of two of the victims, Michael Bauer and Jesse Hernandez, denied vehemently that their murdered son could have been gay. The third guy, Larry Vitelli, was HIV positive, so his family got the double whammy of that. They did admit to me that they had suspected he was gay. It hadn’t ever been discussed among them, however.”

“Who was the last one?”

“Frank O’Rourke. Beautiful Irish red-head from Queens. Just twenty-one.”

“Do you have a picture?” Tony asked.

“Tony! You're ghoulish!” Desmond chided.

“In fact I do. I’ll get my files.” Bill left the room, and returned from his study with a shabby leather satchel. He had carried the sorry excuse for a briefcase since his twenties, Desmond remembered.

“I’ve got pictures, snapshots really, of all of them.” He pulled out a folder full of color snapshots, of varying shapes and sizes. Each had a small, typed stick-on label with the names on it: O’Rourke, Hernandez, Bauer, Vitelli. “Here’s O’Rourke.”

Tony took the picture and looked at it closely, under the lamp of the sofa. Frank O’Rourke, a full head of carrot-red curly hair, dark eyes, flashing white teeth. He stood with his arms around the shoulders of two older, slightly shorter versions of himself – his mother and father.

“Cute, wasn’t he?” commented Bill, quietly.

“I slept with him once,” said Tony.

“What?” Desmond’s brows arched.

“A couple years ago, right after I got to New York. He was in school, Hunter College, I think. He was fun. Didn’t see him much after that. Now and then in a bar.”

Tony stood up and stared out the windows as the city sparkled wetly beneath in lowering spring sky.

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