The first thing Detective Mark “Mac” McParson saw was the faceless naked body lying flat on its back in the doorway to the penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park. Like always he ignored the blood and brain matter that was spread out like artwork across the marble floor only honing in on the body.
“Whatcha got Simpson?” Mac asked as he carefully stepped over the body and walked into the marble entryway, in the background an ornate floor standing grandfather chimed ten pm.
Simpson pulled out his pocket size notepad and started reading his chicken scratched stats.
“Deceased is Loren Blunt, Senior Vice President of Advertising at Wallace, Kennedy and Blunt. Mr. Blunt is, I mean was, thirty-two years old and single. I guess it’s kinda obvious that he sustained a single shotgun blast to the face. Needless to say it appears the killer used both barrels to sustain such a…definitive result. We believe Mr. Blunt must have known who was at the door, since he answered the door…well as you can see, in nothing.”
Simpson stepped over the body and joined Mac. Mac tried his hardest to avert his eyes from the body, but couldn’t and he found himself staring at the perfectly formed, finely chiseled,body that lay before him. The word Adonis came to mind as he scanned his eyes over the lifeless being that lay before him. Mentally he made his notes: Victim took care of himself. His manicured fingers and mark free hands exemplified that he didn’t do hard labor. His overly defined pecks and abs illustrated that he cared about his appearance and made sure he took care of himself. There wasn’t an ounce of excess fat on this body. He also took immense care of his body. The body was hairless other than a quite attractive trail of hair that started just below his belly button and continued downwards to his also completely shaved pubic area. Mac suspected that at the time of death Mr. Blunt was sporting a nice hard-on as his cock, although it wasn’t hard, was still extended. Death had come to Mr. Blunt within the last thirty to sixty minutes.
“No gunshot residue on his hands leads me to believe he never took a defensive stance. Therefore…it goes without saying that he knew whoever was at the door and by of looks of things he was either in the midst of some type of sexual activity or had planned on having sex with whoever was on the other side of the door.” Mac stated bluntly. It was a big ‘duh’ as far as everyone in the room was concerned. There were a couple of low snickers before Mac turned to everyone and put them in their places. “Enough. I’m stating the facts for the record. If any of you have a problem with that you can leave the room. An eerie silence fell over the room, even the coroner stopped what he was doing. “Anyone know if this guy had a steady girlfriend?” The hideous nature of the murder led Mac to believe that a man had committed the crime, women didn’t normally tote around shotguns and blast face off of men they were angry with — they were more into poison or possibly a small caliber hand gun.
“Could have been he was doing someone’s wife and a jealous husband but an end to the affair.”
Mac walked past the group of men that were staring down at the body into the living room. It was an immense room. Standing in it Mac couldn’t help but think that his little pathetic shit-hole apartment he lived in over in Washington Heights wouldn’t even take up a third of this room. In the center of the room was a gigantic dark mahogany fireplace that had a large mantel with two marble sculptures of Greek Gods sitting on opposite ends. In the middle, over the mantel was a huge portrait of probably the most stunning man Mac had ever laid his eyes on and he found he was mesmerized by it. He looked into the arctic blue eyes in the portrait that seemed to stare back at him and for the longest moment Mac couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.
A voice finally broke the spell. Mac turned to see Simpson standing waiting on him.
“Eerie isn’t it?” Simpson said looking at the picture. “I’ve never seen a portrait look so realistic, especially the eyes. They seem to follow you where ever you go in the room.”
“Yeah,” Mac mumbled “is that the deceased?”
“It appears so. There are more pictures of him over here.”
They walked over to the concert grand piano that by its sheer size should have stood out in the room but was in fact dwarfed by the largeness of room. On the piano were several pictures. In all the pictures was a smiling Loren Blunt with the upper crust elite of New York society: Mr. Waldo Liebacker, one of New York’s most prolific newspaper columnists. Mr. Lancaster Dorey, an up-and-coming artist that had just returned from Hollywood after completing portraits of the likes of Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra and Clark Gable.
“This guy sure ran in the right circles.” Mac said.
“Yeah…but I’m sensing a theme building.” Simpson answered back looking over the pictures.
“Yeah, keçiören escort I noticed that too. Mr. Blunt seems to enjoy keeping company with men more so than women –or at least he liked to take pictures with men.”
“It also appears that Mr. Blunt spent a lot of time with these two gentlemen as they appear in many of the shots with him.” Simpson held up two head shots. One was of Waldo Liebacker and another an unknown handsome man, but someone Mac had seen repeatedly in the society pages of the newspaper.
“I’ll start with Liebacker. You work on getting me a name of the other one. Do we know if the victim had any family we should notify? Call Greta over at the Post. Tell her you’ll give her the scoop if she’ll answer your questions, just don’t give her any details other than he is dead and it’s a suspected murder. She’ll know everything about Blunt and can get you all the names you need. I want a cop posted at the front door until I get back. No one and I mean no one comes in here unless I’m here. See if you can find me a key, I’ll come back here later and start sorting through everything, after they’ve taken the body and cleaned the place up some. I want this place cleared out now. You stay until the coroner leaves and lock it down.”
“Yes Sir. I’ll see you at the station later.”
“No…after you’ve notified whatever family you can find and get the name of that guy call it a night Simpson… that wife of yours has it out for me already…leave me a detailed report at the station, I’ll call in later. The guy is still going to be dead in the morning and nothing is going to happen tonight.”
Waldo Liebacker lived in an even larger Penthouse apartment four blocks from Loren Blunt. Mac had jotted the address in his little notepad after he got the address from the station. He noticed that Liebacker lived relatively close to the deceased and decided to walk to his apartment to see how long it took. At a comfortable pace Mac made it to the front door of the high rise building in exactly five minutes.
A bored doorman, in full regalia, stepped from the shadows to open the door for Mac. “Is Mr. Liebacker at home?” Mac asked pulling his badge from his pocket and flashing it.
“Yes Sir, been home all night.” He said like he was reading the line from a script. Mac made the entry in his notepad next to Liebackers’ name: ALIBI SET BY DOORMAN. “I’d prefer you not announce me.”
“I’m not standing in your way Detective.” The doorman answered. Although he wasn’t intimidated by Mac he knew better than to mess with the police. “Just press ‘PH’ when you enter the elevator. It will let you out at Mr. Liebacker’s door.”
“Thanks.” Mac muttered sarcastically walking past him into the elaborately decorated lobby. The rich sure knew how to live.
It was 10:35 pm when Mac rang the doorbell. Mac looked at his watch, timing how long it took for someone to answer. If it took under a minute than the doorman forewarned him, over a minute the element of surprise was still intact.
Thirty-three seconds later the door and the fully dressed butler escorted Mac into the apartment. Mac didn’t even have to flash his badge.
“Mr. Liebacker will be with you shortly sir. May I offer you something to drink?”
“No thanks.” Mac said looking around the apartment. As he stepped into the living room he just shook his head again, this wasn’t a living room it was a fucking museum. Between the artwork that adorned every wall to the glass and brass cases filled with pottery and sculptures and busts scattered around the room it made the too large room seem cluttered and small. Mac walked over to the wall of windows and starred out onto the New York City skyline. Lucky bastard had a view of the best city in the world. Turning back to the apartment he noted that Liebacker’s apartment was similar to Blunt’s and wondered if Blunt used the same decorator. It was apparent these two men were close. In the background Mac heard the single chime of another grandfather clock and let his eyes drift around the room until he saw it sitting in the corner. It was an exact match to the one in Loren Blunt’s apartment. Another mental note made.
“Detective?” A proper British voice brought Mac out of this thoughts and he turned to see Mr. Waldo Liebacker standing by the bar. He was dressed in navy blue silk pajama bottoms with a matching silk robe over his shirtless top. Mr. Liebacker wanted Mac to known that he had been in bed.
“Mr. Liebacker, please excuse the late hour, but I…well there is not easy way to say this…but I’ve just come from Mr. Blunt’s apartment and I’m sorry to inform you that he’s dead.”
Liebacker went sheet white and almost collapsed in a heap had it not been for a chair at the bar he was able to grab onto. Mac rushed to his side and helped him to one of the chairs. From the bar he poured a generous amount of Brandy in a snifter and handed it to etlik escort Liebacker. Mac caught the sweet smell of the fine Brandy and decided to help himself to a small one while Liebacker gathered himself back together again.
“No…that’s not possible…Loren went away for the weekend…he left for his weekend home in Connecticut early this afternoon.” Liebacker cried sipping the Brandy trying to reason what was being told to him.
“Well apparently he didn’t go. When we arrived at this place he was lying dead in the entryway to his apartment.”
“He was shot…once…” Mac kept the intimate details of the shooting to himself. “If I may ask…what was your relationship with Mr. Blunt?” Mac finally asked. Better to get it over with quickly while the man was still in shock, maybe he would talk more.
“We were lovers…once…but it’s been over for a few years now…now we are friends.” Liebacker stared into Mac’s eyes. He had recovered from the shock of hearing about Loren’s death and knew he would need to answer all of the detective’s questions. “I’m sorry, did I shock you?” Mr. Liebacker had pulled himself together and was once again fully composed making it difficult for Mac to read.
“No sir. Although to be honest, most people aren’t as forthcoming about things like that.”
“If Loren had been Laura and I had told you we had been lovers it wouldn’t have shocked you. But because we are two men it’s forbidden to talk about?”
“No sir, most people wouldn’t start out a conversation talking about their sexual relationship. They would say they were friends, relatives or business acquaintances and wait until they were asked if you were lovers or not.”
“I’m a man that knows the value of words. I’ve learned how to get right to the point detective.”
“Then I will get right to the point. Where were you this evening Mr. Liebacker?”
“Why would you even ask me a question like that?” He spoke in a tone that let Mac know he was indignant that anyone would speak to him like that. “I was in love with Loren, I would never want to see any harm come to him.”
“I understand that sir, but the investigation is still in the early stages. The evidence at the scene has led us to believe that his was a crime of passion and I have to interview the people that knew him best, since chances are it was one of them that most likely took his life.”
“In that case you should march right over to Sam Sedwick’s house and arrest Shelby Cantrell, he’s the only one that could have done something like this.” Mac was taking notes and not looking at Liebacker. It was one of his interviewing tactics — be quiet, pretend to be taking notes on every word they say, it always works to make the person talk on and on and on. “But to put your mind at ease, I was right here in my apartment…with a sexy young man I picked up earlier in the day. Palo. He’s still in my bed if you’d like to check my…how do you say it? Alibi. But I hope you speak Italian, because he doesn’t speak a word of English.” Liebacker waited for Mac to look up at him and then simply stared intently into Mac’s eyes showing not one bit of emotion whatsoever.
“Then how do you communicate with him?”
“It doesn’t take words to fuck someone detective.”
Mr. Liebacker’s honesty was chilling to Mac. He knew the rich ran to a different beat, but still. This man was so sure of himself. He’d not dealt with a lot of British men before but had heard that they were extremely self-contained and emotionless. Liebacker definitely fit that bill. He had a way of telling the things the way they were and didn’t care if people knew what his preferences in life were. Unlike Mac who admitted it to no one, especially the people closest in his life.
“I’ve shocked you again detective?” Liebacker asked. His eyes scanned over Mac and felt like Liebacker could see right through him. “You really are a fine piece of man Detective, better than I was led to believe. I like my men tall with an air of mystery about them. I bet underneath that cheap suit and that gruff-cop exterior is a man in need … I would be more than happy to have Palo vacate my bed and take care of your needs instead.” Liebacker licked his tongue over his lower lip at the same time he let his robe partially fall open. Mac could see the outline of Liebacker’s erection as it was hardening.
“Thanks, but no thanks. You aren’t my type.”
“Oh?” Liebacker said. Liebacker was touching himself through the fabric of his pajamas letting Mac see the more pronounced outline of his cock. “I’m usually every man’s type.”
“Mr. Liebacker if you don’t mind I would appreciate you answering my questions so I can get on with my investigation…and you can back to your…um…bed…” Liebacker made an exaggerated box with his fingers and said, “I am put in my place. Please ask me anything.” Again he licked his tongue over his lips letting his eyes continually drift over Mac’s body but rus escort mostly settling on his crotch. Detective McParson was just the type of man he liked in his bed, quiet on the outside but animalistic on the inside.
“The way that Mr. Blunt was killed, it was very savage. It would help if I could get an idea of who Mr. Blunt was. The things he enjoyed, the people he knew. I was hoping you could help me build a picture of him.”
“I think I know Loren better than anyone on this earth. He is perfection personified. We met eight years ago when he had first started as a junior art director at Wallace and Kennedy. He approached my table at the Savoy where I was eating my lunch….” For the next hour Waldo told Detective McParson all about Loren, leaving out the juicy sexual tidbits, those were to remain forever in Waldo’s mind as his alone.
Waldo’s Story — Part One
I, Waldo Liebacker, didn’t like interruptions while I ate my lunch. I think that is one of the reasons I always chose to eat lunch alone. It wasn’t because I lacked friends. In fact I had more friends than I could ever wish for. My social calendar, like my bed, was always full. Only lately I found myself uninterested with both. The people I had chosen to be around were stuffy and quite boring and the men that came to my bed only satisfied my superficial sexual needs. More specifically the requirement every man had – to bury their cock in a deep dark hole and ejaculate. These men didn’t fill the deeper wants within me. I had finally come to conclusion that you could only fuck so many men before they seemed to all be the same. They moaned as if on cue, they came when I told them to and they lacked imagination to make the sexual experience memorable. At forty-five years old I was bored with life, a more than sad commentary that was becoming my existence.
I was sitting at my usual table at the Savoy, eating my usual lunch of roast beef, mashed potatoes and carrots and drinking my usual glass of wine when my eyes gazed across the room and saw him. He was sitting at a table with three other men. They were having an animated conversation that would draw their attention to my table and then back to them again and something led me to believe whatever it was it centered on me. His face kept turning bright red as he continually said no but finally, after a few more tries from his table-mates he stood and started walking across the room towards me. I looked down at my food and back at this extraordinary hunk of perfection that was walking towards me desperately trying in vain to decide how to act when he finally stood in front of me. I couldn’t remember being this excited in a long long time.
“Excuse me Sir…I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch…” He said in a timid voice that I could barely hear. He was as sure a bottom as I was top, appreciatively I was able to check that box off. I looked up from my food and let my eyes look intently into his for a heartbeat before I returned my attentions to my food. “My name is Loren Blunt…I work at Wallace and Kennedy…”
“Boy…” I said stopping him from speaking. I decided that intimidation was in order. Let him know who was in control and who made the ultimate decisions. “I do not enjoy having my lunch interrupted. If you have something you want to ask me you may call my secretary and make an appointment.”
“I have Sir…and you haven’t returned my calls. If I may please speak with you for just a moment, I promise I won’t take up too much of your time…”
“I’m sure whatever you have to say to me isn’t nearly as important as this lunch I am eating. Now if you will please leave my table as this conversation is now over.” I knew I was rude enough to warrant an acceptable apology that I would graciously make later that afternoon. In the short span of less than forty-five seconds I had calculated every move I would take to make this beautiful man mine. Dejected he turned to leave but before he took a step he turned back to me again, hoping that I would change my mind. I didn’t bother looking at him as he walked away.
I waited until four that afternoon before I walked in Wallace and Kennedy. I announced myself to the inept bitch at the front desk who attempted to bar me from entering the offices. But in my usual Waldo Liebacker — you don’t tell me what to do – style I just walked past the reception area to the back in search of Loren’s office.
“I am embarrassed by my bad manners I displayed at lunch today and have come to beg your forgiveness.” I said entering his office. His lovely mouth gaped open in shock allowing me the briefest moment to visualize it wrapped around my cock. I could see the embarrassment on his face from the attention he was garnering from the other people around him about the very fact that Waldo Liebacker was in his office as they crowded around the doorway to listen to our conversation.
“There is no excuse for bad manners and I cannot forgive someone that displays them, it would allow them to continue in their dreadful ways.” He said gathering himself back up again letting me know in his big-boy way that he wasn’t going to be intimidated by me. My insides were leaping for joy – this is a man that wasn’t afraid to stand up to me.