From Chapter Two

Capital Queers

Capital Queers
An Excerpt from Chapter Two

By Fred Hunter

Peter and I waited alone in an interrogation room at Area Headquarters. It was a drab room, furnished solely with a table and chairs that can best be described as shanty-modern. I could only imagine what the fluorescent lighting was doing to my complexion.

It was Billings's misfortune that we ran into Frank almost the moment we were through the door. Frank is tall and masculine, in his late fifties, and aging just as gracefully as my mother. He's become more rugged-looking as he's gotten older, rather than developing that paunch and hang-dog look so common in middle-aged cops. I mean men.

I'm not sure whether Frank's astonished expression stemmed from our being led into headquarters by one of his men, or the fact that we had that damn dog in tow, since we'd insisted on bringing Muffin with us for fear he'd be lost otherwise. To Billings's obvious dismay, Frank took charge of us and led us to an interrogation room. The one thing he did allow was for Ryan to be separated from us.

"I can't say I think much of the way you guys issue invitations," said Peter hotly.

"I don't think Mother will, either," I added, knowing that it would sting.

Frank remained unfazed and asked us what had happened. We gave him all the details with only slight departures into what we thought of the attitude of Detective Billings.

"Not everyone's as liberal as I am," said Frank.

Peter let out a little snort. It was ill-advised, but I couldn't blame him. We both knew that Frank's liberality stretched only as far as his infatuation with my mother. Fortunately, that was pretty far.

After allowing me to call home and let Mother know what was going on, Frank excused himself, saying he would check on the status of the case with Billings. As we waited for his return, Muffin stood on all fours with his right side pressed against my leg, as if prepared to protect me from something. Peter and I sat in a fuming silence that went unbroken until I said, "I never, ever thought I'd see the day that I'd be glad Frank dated Mother."

"It's not the first time you've been glad you know him, or are you forgetting that unfortunate Russian affair?"

"I stand corrected."

A few minutes later Frank returned, his expression pretty much vacant.

"Well," he said, turning a chair around and straddling it, "it looks like your friend -- "

"Ryan," I interrupted. I was getting a little sick of them referring to him by something other than his name.

Frank paused pregnantly before continuing. "Ryan.... says he came home from work and found his lover dead, that he called the police, then he called you."

"Do you have any reason to think he's lying?" I asked.

"Not yet," said Frank, with a cautionary glance in my direction. "I gather from Billings that even he could tell that the guy'd been dead for more than a little while when they arrived, so it would appear that Ryan's telling the truth."

"Appear," said Peter.

Frank took a deep breath, let it out, and said, "You know, I wish you guys would keep in mind that I'm not the enemy."

After a beat, Peter said, "Sorry. But it's not like we're universally loved here."

"Nobody is," said Frank. "So, along with the length of time he's been dead, there's the method. It doesn't ring right."

"How was he killed?" I asked.

"Ritual-style."

"You mean he was shot in the head?"

Frank shook his head. "Nope. He was eviscerated."

"Eviscerated," said Peter, his brows snaking toward the bridge of his nose.

"Stuck a knife in his stomach, then -- "

"I know what it means," said Peter wryly, "I'm just surprised you do."

Frank shot him an angry glance, but didn't blow up. "It isn't the type of thing you see every day."

"Who would do such a thing?" I asked incredulously.

"Gangs, cults," Frank replied with a shrug. "Somebody trying to prove something or maybe somebody trying to scare somebody." He paused for a moment, then added, "You guys don't happen to know if he was into anything out of the ordinary, do you?" He turned to Peter and added with an air of getting him back, "I realize that's a relative term for the two of you."

Peter disappointed him by answering calmly, "The only thing out of the ordinary that Mason did was collect dolls. And even that's not very odd."

"I guess," said Frank doubtfully.

"And you know.... " I started to say, but stopped short just in time.

"What?" said Frank after a pause.

"Nothing."

Frank looked at me a minute, then shook his head like a father who's just discovered that his son wears panty hose.

"So you have those reasons to believe Ryan isn't the killer," Peter said, in a not-too-subtle attempt to deflect attention from me. "Do you have any reason to believe he is involved?"

Frank gave an abbreviated nod. "Aside from the fact that murder is usually committed by.... " He looked at me, then at Peter. It was a moment before I realized he was trying to think of a word he'd be comfortable using for a homosexual spouse.

"By the husband?" I said flatly.

He cleared his throat. "Domestic homicide is usually committed by someone close."

"That's it?" said Peter.

"No. I started to say that aside from that, there's the dolls. All those dolls -- most of them, at least -- were busted."

"So what?"

"So, that would make it seem somebody was pretty angry. And somebody close to him that got angry would know that breaking those dolls would hurt him, don't you think?"

"Actually.... .yes," I said, unable to resist the truth.

"Does this mean you're going to hold him?" Peter asked.

"We have to at least check on his alibi before letting him go."

"His alibi?" said Peter. Even I was beginning to wish he'd wipe that tone from his voice.

"I mean check to see that he really did stay at work, that he didn't disappear for any length of time. If he has witnesses that he stayed put, it doesn't necessarily clear him, but it would mean we could let him go for the time being."

"That should be easy enough," I said. "He works for the phone company. I'm sure they watch his every move. They can probably give you a tape of it."

Frank rose from his chair, spun it around and pushed it under the table. "You guys going to wait for him? It might take a while."

"I think we'd better," said Peter.

"Whatever you think is best," said Frank evenly, though it was clear that Peter's choice of words hadn't been lost on him. "You can wait in here, if you like, unless we need the room for something else."

"Thanks," I said.

Frank popped the door open, but paused in the opening, his eyes trained on the floor. "By the way, how's Jean doing?"

"She's waiting for us," I replied pointedly.

Frank sighed again and left the room, closing the door behind him.