Always Kiss the Corpse (10 page)

Kyra said, “Back when she—uh, he—was married too, you figure?”

“Pretty sure. He said about being married, that he used to wish he was the wife and she was the husband. What finally caused the split was sex. It was so no good for either.”

Kyra said, “This verbal he-she stuff is hard to deal with.”

“I know,” said Ursula. “I thought of Sandro as
he
till that line those months ago. When he got to the other side, I could begin to think of Sandra as
she
.”

Noel said, “Do you think, before, with his wife, he felt gay?”

Ursula thought about that. “Not from what he told us. He let himself be picked up a few times at gay bars. This was while he was still married, he figured he had to try. But he said, the way he was, sex with men was no good either. He figured if he and his mom had ever been able to talk about it, they'd have agreed, sex should be between a woman and a man.”

Noel, despite himself, found he was sympathetic to Sandro.

“Which,” Ursula turned to Kyra, “is why I said Sandra wasn't a transvestite. She was in the midst of an SRP, a sexual reassignment procedure.”

“A sex-change operation,” said Kyra. “Wow.”

“A big step,” Ursula agreed. “She'd been thinking about it for years. But there was no way she'd go through all that while her father was still alive. When she took a new step forward, like when she started wearing nylon panties regularly, sometimes she'd say to me or Brady, ‘My dad would kill me.' Sandra'd laugh. But from other things she said, I think she feared her father literally would've killed him. Her.”

“Then when his father died?”

“Right. Then she started acting on what she was feeling, getting information. Thinking about and wanting and needing something doesn't get it for you. An SRP costs. Sure, he was saving a bit from his salary.” She laughed. “He used to say, One day I'll be transgendered into a very old lady. But then last year his grandmother died. She left each of the grandkids about fifty thousand. And Sandro started the process of metamorphosing into Sandra. It was slow. It should be slow.”

“Amazing,” said Kyra.

“Yeah,” said Ursula. “Some people are born different,”

“Why didn't you tell us all this this morning?”

“First of all, there wasn't any time.” Ursula sniffed, and wiped her nose. “And secondly I promised Sandra I'd never talk about any of this, without her permission. Unless it was already public knowledge. So you had to find out differently. I couldn't break my word.”

“Well,” said Noel, “I guess that's it.”

“Pretty much.”

No one spoke.

“You're trying to figure what to say to Sandra's mother.”

“Something like that. Be right back.” Noel got up and headed to the men's room.

Ursula sipped beer in silence, and stared out to sea. At last she said, “I have to go to Sandra's place. To feed the cats. I went Sunday after I identified him, after I spoke to the police. Want to come along?”

Kyra said, “Sure,” before realizing how much she did.

Ursula went to the washroom. When Noel came back Kyra explained about the cats. Noel said, “We have to go?”

“I'd kinda like to see how Sandra lived.”

“This isn't what we were hired for. We've done what Mrs. V. wanted.”

“Sure, but aren't you curious too?”

“Not particularly.”

“Okay, you stay here and drink beer. I'll pick you up on the way back.”

He thought about that. “I guess I am a little curious about the house.” Drinking beer alone wasn't why he'd flown down to Bellingham.

SIX

Philip had called Andrei first thing in the morning. Andrei's secretary told Philip that Mr. Vasiliadis was not available until the end of the afternoon. No, not even for Dr. Deriades. This surprised Philip. He'd been sure Andrei would make time no matter how busy he was. Then Philip guessed Andrei wanted to get a day's work done before hearing the report. Andrei, Philip figured, feared his worst suspicions would be confirmed. Bad news comes easier late in the day, you have a drink or three to numb the pain. And a sleeping pill for overnight.

Just as well to wait. Maybe Herb would report by this
PM
on his examination of Sandro's body.

Philip arrived at the executive offices of Cascade Freightways at four minutes before five, armed with Herb Feverel's analysis. Philip waited only two minutes. Andrei stuck his head out. Philip went in, Andrei closed the door. No, it wasn't too early, he'd take a bourbon. Andrei poured the liquid into two crystal glasses and handed one to Philip. They sat on the deep chairs.

“So,” said Andrei. “Tell me.”

Like Andrei, Philip Deriades preferred to keep blemishes incurred by members of the community within the community, or better, within a tiny part of the community. But he couldn't guarantee certain information could be contained. It took a man like Andrei to arrange for that restraint. For this Andrei needed all surrounding information. Therefore Philip set out most of what he'd learned: the body at the viewing was Sandro; Sandro died of a heroin overdose; still unclear if Sandro was a long-term and regular user or if he'd overdosed early in his drug life; equally unclear if this was an accident or if Sandro had intended to kill himself.

“I see,” said Andrei. “Go on.”

Philip took a deep breath. “I consulted with a colleague, an endocrinologist at Virginia Mason. He likes to say, Dead men tell no lies. He diagnosed with some certainty what was going on with Sandro. He judges Sandro's body was in chronic sexual imbalance, just in what way not even Sandro could have told us, and he—”

“Wait a minute.” Andrei sipped his bourbon. “Sexual imbalance. I don't want to guess what that means. Medically.”

“Medically we can reconstruct a situation. But not psychologically. Medically it means there were some elements, genetic materials, hormones, that were more female than male in Sandro.”

“You mean, Sandro was part woman?”

“Something like that.”

“So he was a faggot.” Andrei spoke with contempt.

“We have no evidence of that.”

“Then I don't get it.”

“You've seen versions of things like this.” Philip spoke slowly. “You know how some men, at least on the outside, are heavily masculine, muscles, hairy, tough, aggressive. And some guys aren't, they're gentle or sentimental, pussy-whipped or whatever. And some women are strong and tough, some are feminine and compliant—”

Andrei glared at Philip. “Is that what they teach you in industrial medicine?”

“Medical school. And that's what a different medical school taught my endocrinologist friend.” Philip looked at his empty glass. “I'd like another drink.”

Andrei waved his hand in the direction of the liquor shelf.

Philip took Andrei's glass, filled both to half, and brought them back. “There's lots of forms of sexual distribution. We're pretty certain that Sandro was getting some heavy hormone treatments.”

“Hormones? To make himself more of a man?”

“We don't think so.” Philip took a swallow of bourbon.

Andrei whispered, “More of a woman?”

Philip nodded. “Yes.”

“Oh my god!”

“We think he was having himself transgendered. That's the word these days.”

Andrei focused on the table. Both hands rose to his face and he rubbed it, up and down. “Oh, Philip . . .”

“I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have told you—”

Andrei dropped his hands, his mouth a straight line. “You had to. What else?”

“That's about it.” Tell Andrei who might have been doing the work on Sandro? He'd find this out whatever Philip said now. “There are five major clinics in the northwest that do this kind of work. And two in British Columbia. The closest is on Whidbey Island. It's the logical place Sandro would have gone to.”

Andrei stood. “I'll be right back.” He walked slowly to an unobtrusive door, opened, stepped inside, and closed it.

Philip took his glass, got up, strolled to the window. Outside, lights bristled in the dulling distance. All kinds of homes, all kinds of people. All those different sexualities. Poor Andrei. He took too many responsibilities onto himself. Philip sipped. Sandro would have been in desperate straits to inject enough heroin to kill himself. Poor son of a bitch. Maybe, if Philip had known and been able to talk to Sandro, he could've done something.

The door opened. Andrei reappeared. A major transformation: a beaten man had gone into the bathroom, a superman had come out. Andrei looked a foot taller and fifteen years younger. “I need your ongoing help.”

“Of course.”

“Learn for me all you can about this clinic on Whidbey.”

“I'll get on it right away.”

“With discretion. I don't want anyone to know what you're doing. The sooner we know more, the better. And this is between you and me. The present level of disgrace is plenty.”

“I agree.”

“Also, it mustn't be suicide. He'd be buried in unhallowed ground. Everyone would know. The most important person to not hear of this is Maria.”

“Of course. But she'll want to know why Sandro didn't look like Sandro.”

“Blame it on the heroin. Something that sounds good medically. You'll make her miserable. But not as miserable as the truth. Let her remember her son as her son. Not her daughter.”

Philip placed his glass on the table. “Right.”

Andrei strode to his desk and sat down. “The information on that clinic as soon as you can. Who the doctors are, just exactly what they do. I'll make sure they keep their mouths shut.”

“I'll call you.”

“Thanks.”

Andrei watched Philip leave. The protection of respectability was essential. He now had to talk to two people. The protopresbyter, Father Peter, his church's spiritual leader, who would not be told the full truth. And Andrei's nephew, Vasily. Vasily the troubleshooter. Andrei needed some troubles shot away.

≈  ≈  ≈

Noel, Ursula and Kyra sat in the Tracker outside the sheriff's office waiting for Brady to emerge. She finished work at four. Noel added his notes onto his laptop.

He twisted to face the back seat. “Where was Sandro supposed to have the surgery?”

Ursula squinted in thought. “Her doctors were all at WISDOM. That's the Whidbey Island Sexual Definition Management clinic. But he never actually said if—” She thought some more. “You know, I don't remember Sandra talking about surgery.” Another thought. “Mostly she seemed content moving ahead slowly.”

“You have to have surgery, don't you?” Kyra asked. “Lop off the penis and all that?”

Noel shrivelled a little.

“As far as I know,” Ursula agreed. “But surgery usually comes well after the hormones.”

“Where's this clinic?”

“Oh right here in town. Just up the hill, in fact.” She spotted Brady. “Over here!”

Brady crossed Sixth with a puzzled expression.

“Get in.” Ursula opened the door. “We're going to feed Sandra's cats.”

“Hi,” Kyra said. “We met this morning.”

“Oh?” Sudden recognition. “Right.” She grinned. “Hi.”

“My partner, Noel Franklin.” Check out this WISDOM clinic? In fact, no need. As Noel had noted, they'd done their job.

“Hi.” Noel smiled.

Brady smiled in return, climbed in beside Ursula and closed the door. “A drive in the country, how nice.” Brady and Ursula kissed hello.

Noel, noting the kiss, felt a chill loneliness shake him. It passed.

Kyra headed out toward highway 20.

“We're going down the Island nearly to Clinton,” Ursula, head navigator, said. “How was work, lovey?” This to Brady.

“Another day, another dollar.”

“Is the sheriff always that cranky?” Kyra asked.

“You should see him when he really gets a bee in his bonnet.”

Does Brady need to talk in clichés? Noel unfolded the map of Whidbey Island.

After a few miles—God, how Noel hated miles, they were so much longer than kilometers—highway 20 morphed into 525. It was a pretty island, gently rolling land cleared for farming. Many fields were muddy, as suited March; some were bright green, also appropriate for March. Kyra asked the two women how they liked Whidbey.

“A lot,” said Ursula. “Every time we go away we can't wait to get back.”

“Do you usually take the ferry off?”

“Depends where we're going,” Brady said. “If it's Seattle we take the ferry, if it's north we take the bridge.”

Impeccable logic, thought Noel.

“What's best about the island?” Kyra continued.

“Well, the size,” Ursula replied. “It's big enough so we can get most of what we need, and small enough to be laid back and friendly and still sort of countrified.”

“How'd you get here?” Kyra asked.

Ursula grew up in Seattle, really liked it. “But it just got too frantic, and the prices?”

“The Microsoft effect?” posited Noel.

“Boeing, Microsoft, all of them.”

“And me,” Brady chipped in, “I met Ursula at a friend's party and it was love at first sight. Head over heels. We moved here quick as a flash.”

“We concentrate our investigations on islands,” Kyra offered as explanation for her questions. “How would you compare Whidbey to the other San Juans?”

“No idea,” said Brady, and simultaneously, “Don't know,” from Ursula.

“We've never lived on another island,” Brady added.

“And we're really not curious, 'cause Whidbey is wonderful,” Ursula finished.

“Feels like a big island.” Noel glanced from the map to his watch. “We've been driving for twenty minutes. Why did Sandro live so far away? Working at the hospital, courses in Oak Harbor?”