Last Call by Elon Green

Author:Elon Green [Green, Elon]
Language: eng
Format: epub

* * *

As the detectives awaited the personnel records and work schedules for the eleven St. Vincent’s nurses named Mark and John, they tried to place Holland in the Five Oaks on the morning of July 30. They had no luck. But maybe they could put him outside the bar? A search of motor vehicle summonses, warnings, and traffic stops during the week following July 29 was performed. (It was never far from anyone’s mind that David Berkowitz, the Son of Sam, had been nailed by a parking ticket.) The results of the inquiry were negative.

In the end, Holland denied murdering the men. There was little to suggest otherwise: no criminal record, his fingerprints didn’t match those on the bags that held Anthony’s body parts, his friends and associates weren’t suspicious, and he didn’t own a car. There was nothing probative in his credit history or telephone records. Colantonio got a hold of Holland’s dental X-rays and compared his bite impression with the one on Tom Mulcahy’s neck—no match there, either. Eugene Williams, the panhandler in front of the Five Oaks, picked Holland out of a photo array, but Lisa Hall did not. She said there were a few headshots that were close, but no one who lined up with her memory of the man Michael left the bar with that night. “We did everything we could to eliminate [Holland],” said Matthew Kuehn, years later.

In mid-August, investigators met Tony Plaza. The task force notes describe him as “Sakara’s last known lover,” but that isn’t quite right. Plaza, in his twenties and slight, worked at the Metropolitan Opera and drank at the Five Oaks after work. He loved watching Marie Blake and was exploring life as a quite-possibly-gay man. “It was a weird time in my life,” he recalled. “I was in and out of the closet.” He was just starting to realize he liked big, bearded men.

When Plaza first met Michael, he was so skittish that he introduced himself as John Díaz. He’d been going to the bar for several months. A mutual attraction had quickly been established. Long hugs, nudge-nudge, wink-wink. Never so much as a kiss. But eventually Plaza decided to tell Michael who he really was. I’ve got to be honest with who I am, he thought.

One night, the bar was almost empty, so they could have one-on-one time. Plaza sat down with Michael and said he had something to say.

He put his wallet on the bar and said, “Look at the ID.”

“You’re not one of those assholes who lies about his name…”

“I am one of those assholes!”

Michael opened the wallet. “Tony,” he said. “Oh! That’s better.”

Michael laughed. He understood Plaza hadn’t been ready, but now he was. They went back to the West End Avenue apartment and cuddled, Plaza in his underwear and Michael in nothing. Plaza likened the pairing to the Hanna-Barbera creations Yogi and Boo-Boo.

They had only one night together. The next Friday, Plaza didn’t show up at the Five Oaks. He’d had a busy week.

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