Beer Money (A Burr Ashland Mystery) (2 page)

The doorbell rang while I was shampooing my hair. I got out of the shower, toweled off, threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and answered the door.

Oh no.

The woman facing me was Detective Gabby Engle. She was a homicide cop with the Milwaukee Police Department. We had crossed paths several times on other cases, and the experience had always been pretty unpleasant. Don’t get me wrong, she was wonderful to look at. She was into marathons and triathalons and all that crap, a total hardbody. And her face had the kind of chiseled beauty that wouldn’t fade, but I wasn’t exactly a charter member of the Gabby fan club. Because she was a hardass, both literally and figuratively.

“Hello Mr. Ashland,” she said.

I could see something in her face. And suddenly, I knew she was here about Tim.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Tim Bantien’s been murdered," she said.

"How?" I managed to ask. I felt dizzy, like I’d entered some kind of alternate reality.

She flipped open her notebook. "Well, it appears that he was beaten first, then thrown out of a three-story window," she said. "It's hard to tell, though, because he’d been worked over pretty thoroughly. Plus, the glass cut him up real bad.”

It was hard to imagine. I felt dizzy, the struggle to picture one of my best friends dead.

"And then it looked like he was shot," Gabby continued. "Although, the coroner says so many of his bones were broken that there was a chance he was already dead.” She flipped her notebook closed. Watched me.

"You were listed at the university as the person to contact in case of an emergency,” she said, her voice sounding even, but somehow accusing.

“Suspects?” I said, forcing myself to stay calm.

Gabby shook her head. “Do you have any idea why someone would've wanted to kill him?"

“Are you fucking kidding me? Tim is-“ my voice caught - " an overgrown Boy Scout. He doesn't have a mean bone in his body."

"You have no idea what your friend would have been doing around midnight in an abandoned building near the Third Ward?" Her voice sounded almost skeptical.

“No.”

"Relax, Mr. Ashland,” she said. “I’m not here for you. I’m just trying to find out what happened to your friend. I'm not even going to ask you where you were the night Bantien was murdered."

She looked at me. I didn't respond.

"Was anything going on in his personal life that you knew about?” Gabby said. “Major upheavals?"

"Tim got divorced a year and a half ago,” I said.

"Anyone new in his life?"

"Not that I know of."

"Was he under any kind of financial strain?'

"I don’t think so."

She put her notebook away.

"Then I guess that's it for now, Mr. Ashland,” she said. “I may have some more questions for you later. Are you planning on leaving town during the holidays?"

"No."

"You know, my chief is a stickler for details. I probably should ask you where you were last night. Sometime between eleven and one in the morning."

"I was here. At home."

"Any witnesses who can verify that?"

"No."

She waited.

"People," she said finally. "They're never around when you need 'em."

Four

Hoopin' Productions, Fred's company, was in an 1850 Italianate on Jefferson, across from the foul Ed Debevic's that filled the air with the smell of overpriced and undercooked hamburger.

There was a law firm on the first floor, and a special effects company on the second floor. I took the elevator up to the third floor.

The doors opened onto Fred's lobby, which stood in stark contrast to the one downstairs. Modern sculptures on white pedestals held prominent positions throughout the lobby. The sculptures were busts. Distorted faces with bright colors and warped images.

It being Saturday, the place was empty. I turned to the left, went through a doorway, then down another long hallway to the kitchen.

A second hallway branched off from the kitchen to the main editing suite. All of the offices were empty and dark.

My footsteps echoed in the empty space. I got to the last door in the hallway. Through the smoked glass door, I could see that a light was on inside, so I opened the door and stepped in.

The room was large. A bank of monitors and editing equipment took up one wall. Facing it was a long, irregularly shaped desk. Panels overlapped at strange angles. A Cubist desk.

A single chair sat empty in front of the main controls. A four-foot section of desk jutted out from the main console, where two chairs were placed side-by-side, for Fred's clients. On the desk was a pad of paper and a pen, as well as a telephone.

The light in the tape room was on. It was a small room just off the editing suite.

I could hear someone moving around, flipping switches and closing plastic cases.

A moment later, Fred emerged from the room and closed the door behind him. He had on blue jeans, snowmobile boots and a thick, gray sweater. His skin was pale, his face pinched and drawn. His light brown hair was pressed down as always, and his eyes peeked out from behind his big, thick black glasses.

Today there were dark circles under his eyes. The same kind that were under mine. We had already talked and I’d told him about my visit from the Gabby Engel.

"This is awful, Burr," he said.

I sat down in a chair across from his editing console. "The only way it can get worse," I said, "is if we can't nail the bastard who did this." I was thirsting not for vengeance, but simply to figure out what had happened. Once I had a name, the vengeance part might come into play, but I needed to focus on first things first.

"The cops..." Fred said.

"...are going to get some help," I said. " Whether or not Gabby likes it, she’s got two new partners. Three heads are better than one.”

“But-“ Fred started.

“The fact that she was asking me questions, asking me where I was when Tim was murdered? That tells me she doesn’t have a fucking clue who did this. Now, she’s not the kind of cop who’s going to ask for help. So I’m going to take the initiative and provide it to her, free of charge.”

Fred faced the equipment that represented at least a quarter of a million dollars worth of film editing technology. I could see him hesitate. Noticed the slump in his shoulders like he was already defeated. I thought of pushing him, of lighting a fire under him, but I knew he had to do it himself. Finally, he let out a long sigh, sat up to the console, punched a few buttons and several of the monitors blinked.

“I don’t think it’s such a good idea,” Fred said. His voice was soft, but almost paternal. I realized he needed to say it to satisfy his conscience, that he’d gotten it on the record. It would make him feel better, and that was the important thing.

“Duly noted,” I said.

Some fuzzy gray footage popped onto the main monitor and Fred froze it, then swiveled in his chair to face me.

"This is the film Tim sent to me. Do you have any idea how old it is?" Fred asked.

"None."

"It was probably from one of the first cameras of its kind. Probably around the very early 1900s."

"Do you have any idea where it might have come from?"

Fred shook his head. "I didn't see any labels or anything. Just a plain metal canister and the film inside."

“No note from Tim?” I asked.

Fred shook his head.

“Have you watched it?” I asked.

“I got a sneak preview. I wish I hadn’t.”

"Let's see what we've got," I said. I could feel the adrenaline, after a night of tossing and turning, of feeling nothing but sadness and fatigue, it felt great to be able to do something. To be able to start somewhere.

Fred turned, hit a button, and an image popped onto the screen.

Five

It was in grainy black-and-white, of course, being close to a hundred years old, but I was surprised at the quality of the resolution. It looked a little bit worse than the average old home movies, before videocameras.

There was a big bed with elegantly patterned sheets. An elaborate brass headboard and footboard. A nest of large pillows with elegant lace pillowcases was piled at the head. Crisp white sheets and a lightly patterned blanket covered the bed's length. There was a window that was mostly out of frame, but looked to be extremely tall, with molding that was carved and highly elaborate.

The image was jumpy and sporadic, the film's light inconsistent.

A young woman, very young to my eye, appeared from offscreen. She walked slowly, automatically. As if she were nervous about an upcoming audition.

She sat on the bed. She was completely naked and very thin. Her pelvic bones jutted from pale skin. The harsh light seemed to make her glow like an apparition. Her ribs showed even though she was sitting down. Her long legs extended all the way to the floor, and her elegant hands were clasped oddly in her lap.

She looked at the screen, as if she was listening. Her eyes slid over, to the left of the camera. Listening. Taking direction.

The camera moved slightly. Bumped. And then a man appeared. My first reaction was that he looked like an ape. Short, thick and wide. A human roadblock. He moved slowly, with purpose.

Thick, dark hair covered his broad back, wide shoulders, powerful arms and legs. There was even hair on his ass.

He walked to the bed, stood next to it, stared at the girl. He held out his hand. She took it. He pulled her to her feet.

The man ran a hairy hand down the young girl's hair. He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, trailed it down to her breasts where he cupped each one gently. He continued downward, ran a hand over her flat stomach.

He turned her slightly and slapped her buttock.

"Inspection completed," I said. "It's like he's judging livestock." Fred was slouched in his chair, his hands covering his face. I couldn't tell if he was watching or if he was shielding his vision.

The man on the screen then turned to the camera, displaying a large erection that bobbed gently to the left and to the right, with his movement.

"Dear God," Fred said. I guessed he was watching after all.

The man's face was round, probably florid although on the black-and-white film it was hard to tell. He had a pug nose, heavy jowls and thick eyebrows. His profile did nothing to dissuade me from the ape comparison.

He climbed onto the bed.

The man on the screen said something to the girl who eased back onto the bed. The man climbed on top of her, gave her an obligatory kiss, a quick squeeze of her breasts, then spread her legs. He grabbed each of her legs just beneath the knee. Lifted them up onto his shoulders.

With his right hand, the man guided himself inside the young girl, then leaned over her and started thrusting. His hairy ass moved with a slow, emotionless precision.

The girl looked over at the camera. Her eyes revealed nothing as the back of her head was repeatedly pushed into the pillow. Her feet waved uncontrolled with each of the man's thrust.

"This is disgusting," Fred said, shaking his head.

I tried to get a closer look at the girl.

"How old do you think she is?" I asked.

"Too young for this, that's for sure," Fred said. He pondered for a moment, then said, "My guess would be sixteen. Somewhere around there."

That would have been my guess, too.

"What the fuck was Tim doing with this?" I wondered.

"Do you think..." Fred's question trailed off.

"That Tim was into this kind of stuff? " I finished the thought for him. "Not unless he had multiple personalities."

On screen, the man's thrusting increased speed.

"Where did he get this?" Fred asked.

"That's a good question," I answered. "He was hell on wheels when it came to research. Remember the way you could ask him about a book and he'd give you a call number off the top of his head? Half the time, the librarians asked Tim for help."

Fred nodded and I asked, "Did he say where the film came from?"

Fred shook his head. "No, he mailed them to me. The only message was that I should hold onto it."

We both focused again on the screen where the man was jackhammering, a highly lubricated piston, firing over and over again. His body was shiny beneath the hair as he worked up a sweat.

A few minutes later, he began to climax, and the girl's entire body was like a trampoline, bouncing with every thrust, her feet flopping, her head pinned against the headboard.

At last, the man finished and he lay on top of her. Her hands dropped to the side of the bed.

And then the screen went black.

Fred wheeled his chair over to the monitor's control panels and he hit a button to make the film pause.