Vulgar Favours by Maureen Orth

Author:Maureen Orth
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ebury Publishing

21

Minefield

FEAR NOW GRIPPED Lee Miglin’s upscale and eclectic Chicago neighborhood, where socialites from the quiet side streets and bar hoppers on the busy thoroughfares frequently mingled. But the Gold Coast had long been a notorious haunt of master killers. Two days after murdering eight Chicago nurses in 1966, Richard Speck hid out less than a mile away from the Miglins’ at the old Raleigh Hotel on Dearborn Street, now an expensive office space. Six blocks away James Earl Ray, who assassinated Martin Luther King, was arrested for holding up a cab driver at gunpoint at State and Delaware. The Walgreens Drugs, around the corner from the Miglins’ at North and Wells, sold one of the four tampered-with, poisoned-Tylenol bottles that ended up killing seven in 1982. Jeffrey Dahmer picked up one of his seventeen male victims at the gay movie theater, the Bijou, five blocks up Wells from Walgreens. And John Wayne Gacy, responsible for the deaths of thirty-three, helped remodel what was then the Winstons Doughnut House at State and Division, just one block from where the Miglins lived; because the basement where Gacy had labored smelled bad, police dug it up, searching for more buried bodies, but found only rats. Ironically, both Dahmer and Gacy were also gay, and Speck was bisexual—they just weren’t out of the closet the way Andrew was. Apart from the serial-killing notoriety, which was not publicized, and the affluence, which was self-evident, the neighborhood also had a reputation for being closeted.

In Miglin’s case, the police at first had no idea who or what they were looking for. Was it a Mafia hit? Did Lee Miglin have enemies? Did a real-estate deal go wrong? Police quickly learned that $2,000 that Lee Miglin’s secretary had delivered to him on Friday afternoon was gone, as well as several thousand dollars more that he kept in the house. Two leather coats were missing, one of them Duke’s, a couple of suits, along with some insignificant ladies jewelry and a dozen pairs of new Sulka black socks from the bedroom.

In the first few days, no one around the neighborhood reported having seen anything unusual. Marilyn Miglin had last talked to her husband at 2 P.M. on Saturday, when he told her that he was working both inside and outside and was going to get a salad for dinner. The time of death was estimated at between 2 P.M. Saturday and 6 A.M. Sunday.

The crime scene itself was immaculate, with little blood, except where the body lay, and a few spatterings on the wall near the service door. Nevertheless, Lee Miglin’s murder was horrendously brutal—the most vicious of all Andrew Cunanan’s crimes. Lee Miglin was found lying on his back fully clothed, in the tan suede jacket, white shirt, and jeans, with one shoe on and one shoe missing. Once again, the shoe was a Ferragamo, this time black suede. Inexplicably, a small tube of Dermarest hydrocortisone cream was found underneath the body. Gay pornographic magazines had been left not far away.

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