The Elegant Corpse

In 1983, Roger Corso worked part-time on a local farm in order to earn college tuition.That year, he found a battered and old copy of "Leather Comrade" magazine in an abandoned barn.

①Leatherman, an out-of-print subculture underground magazine, the theme is gay BDSM.

That memory is still vivid.The smell of ragweed, livestock, and freshly mowed lawn mingled, and sunlight filtered in through the cracks in the roof, cutting through the floating dust he'd kicked up in the dry grass.

At the age of 14, Roger discovered that he was much more attracted to men than to girls.He's not the type to lie—not to himself or to anyone else—but he still can't identify himself with the gay men he's met.Whether it was the men parading in fancy dress on the news, or the young men walking excitedly among the shelves of his father's pharmacy, beckoning to friends in the street with their motherly voices.His confusion caught him off guard.

So at that time, as if guided by a dark force, he discovered that magazine.It's as if it was put there just for him.

The cover image of the magazine was black and white, showing a square-faced man in a police cap and a black vest.His chest was bare and his muscles were so exaggerated that he looked like something out of a comic book.The man looked at Roger with a cigarette in his mouth, as if there was a secret between them.

Roger sat on the haystack and opened the magazine. The pages slid down and spread out in front of his eyes.On the left, a large man in a leather jacket stood holding a leather belt.On the right, at the end of the belt, kneels another man, naked, biting his mouth ball, his hands tied behind his back.

Roger's palms began to sweat, and his whole body tensed up with excitement, almost convulsing from the rapid erection.

He quickly flipped through the remaining pages, his heart beating violently against his chest.The bound man, the man soaked in pain, their burning eyes are full of eagerness and longing.

There are also those men who are excited because of extreme pleasure. Roger just looks at these pictures as if he is there, burning with desire.

He tore open the magazine and stashed the crumpled pieces in various places in the barn.He even thought about burning the magazine directly, but considering that it was too dangerous to light an open fire in such a dry environment, and once a fire broke out, he could only escape through the back door and beware of being seen by others, so Roger dismissed the idea .

Back home that night, Roger deliberately played the American model of a good baby.Help mom hang the laundry, play ball with dad before dinner, watch TV series "The Brady Family".All night, he tried to look like he always did.

Roger had stared into the abyss, only to see that he was already in it.

In 1983, somewhere in Southern California, a young man wearing an elegant Chanel suit was severely hit on the back and legs by unknown people for unknown reasons. He may have died on the spot or died later.

***

"Cause of death?" Marianne frowned. "Battered to death? All the ribs in the back are broken, the coroner is 90.00% sure. The suit has blood on it, but the fibers are too old to tell if he was wearing it when he died."

Roger nodded, as if he shared the same suspicion.

"They can't be sure that there was a sexual assault, although it looks like a sex crime, right? I mean, assuming that the person who eviscerated the victim is the same person who stuffed him with mothballs."

Roger shuddered inside, but on the surface he just nodded calmly in agreement.

"So somebody picks up a girl, turns out she's actually a hooker, and gets mad. Beats him half to death before he realizes what he's done." Marianne thought to herself. speculated.

"The body was then ritually wrapped and buried so that it survives," Roger said. "And the logic?"

"Okay. Or maybe the criminal is a psycho and he knows that 'she' is actually a man. He tails the victim because he's good at...that," she waved helplessly, "and he just buried him like that, Bringing his whole set of fetish fantasies to life."

Roger pressed his fingertips together to his forehead. "And then dig him up 25 years later and throw him in a homicide detective's living room?"

He and Marianne looked at each other, Roger's hazel eyes calm but thoughtful, Marianne's green eyes wide open.

"Several sex offenders have been released recently," she said, grabbing her cell phone, "You have to call..."

Roger was already holding the phone in his hand, "I want to talk to the head of the Hate Crime Section, I remember his name is Stuart Bowski?"

***

The national database failed to identify any recently released criminals with a modus operandi that had anything to do with mummification. "Believe it or not," murmured Marianne, and Stuart Bowski's recent cases were, at best, murders or assaults arising from robberies and domestic disputes.

"Unless you count the guy in the taxi who slammed 'Slurpees' on two guys who were just walking down the sidewalk hand in hand."

"Do you think it counts?"

"It doesn't count. But that's it, thank God."

They could have faxed the information, but Marianne had worked in Bowski's precinct before, and Roger figured she might want an excuse to catch up.

"I'll do my rounds in the neighborhood," she said, as Roger parked the car in front of a second-hand clothing store, where a row of ball gowns with feather capes hung from the eaves of the front door.

"Why did you put the dead body in your house?" Marianne was puzzled again. "I mean, how many SM-loving transvestites have you offended, Corso?" They got out of the car and walked into the store.

"Obviously one more than I know of," said Roger.He picked up a red tutu with a bright satin bodice, compared it to his broad frame, and said, "What do you think?"

"They won't have your number," said Marianne, walking through the front door, waving on tiptoe through a rack of corsets. "Hey, Debra!"

"Marian!" A tall, elegant woman with short black hair bent down to blow kisses to Marianne. "It was great meeting you."

"Debra, this is my partner, Roger Corso."

Debra Abramson — aka David Abramson — holds out a carefully groomed hand. "Hello."

Roger shook Debra's hand with his fingertips and said, "Nice to meet you."

"We've got a case in hand," said Marianne. "Shall we go back and talk?"

***

"It's not uncommon," Debra said. "You know, fetishes have their own way."

"But have any of your friends talked about lately about some lunatic, lunatic, or something?"

Debra's laugh was hoarse and wavy. "Always, Marianne."

"You know what she means," said Roger.

Debra winked at Roger with her heavily mascaraed eyes.Roger shook his head, trying not to laugh.Debra is clearly very happy with their little secret.

"This guy is really dangerous," Marianne said. "Tell everyone, too, okay?"

"I will, honey."

Debra gave Marianne and Roger a gentle hug as they left.After letting go of Roger, she gave him a bump with her butt and a flirtatious smile.

"See you later," she said.

"Debra is nice," said Marianne worriedly, "but she always takes risks."

The last time Roger saw Debra was at a drag party in South Hollywood, tied up. "It's a risky lifestyle," he said, repeating to Marianne what he had said to Debra at the time. "Trans men are vulnerable to assault. If they're willing to be tied up, then It’s like playing Russian roulette.”

"I've been telling her that."

They got back in the car and drove around the block.The place where Sean Williams worked happened to be on the street. After his brother's body was dug up and exposed in his own home, Roger wanted to confirm the whereabouts of this young man again.Roger was distracted by Sean's curiosity.

Marianne glanced at him uncomfortably. "Are you OK?"

"Everything is fine," Roger said dryly.

"I mean, the murderer seems to know you."

Roger looked at her in surprise.Marianne knew he liked men.In fact, not many people knew, because he felt that there was no need to make a big fuss.He's not the kind of guy who makes it obvious that he's gay.But the partners should know the general situation of each other, plus Roger is not really hiding in the closet.

He's a cop who just happens to like men.

Marianne's concerned sympathy seemed... odd.

"Transvestites don't necessarily have to be gay."

"Don't give me a lesson, Corso. Tell me why they left a mummified figure in your house?"

"There are many possible reasons, but they don't necessarily have to be related to sexual orientation."

Marianne tugged at her hair, as if subconsciously twirling her fingers around it when she was thinking. "I know." She replied anxiously.

Roger frowned.Whereas his way of thinking is linear, logical, and reasoning, Marianne is more holistic, intuitive, and has ghostly premonitions.The men of her former precinct called her a "witch."

The space under the passenger glove box is very small, but Marianne still crosses her legs.She moved her shoulders uncomfortably, put her legs down, and raised her legs in the other direction.Then lay down again, crossing his ankles, curling his hair the whole time, exactly like a cat twitching its whiskers.

Roger felt as if he had hidden a mouse in his coat pocket without telling the cat in front of him.

"There it is," Marianne said, pointing to the location Sean had given them earlier.

The Pink Flamingo is a nightclub that has been around since Roger moved to Los Angeles.At that time, he was still a rookie in the Los Angeles Police Department. He did not come out for various reasons, so he never dared to frequent these nightclubs.Now that he walked in, he felt more like a tourist, and Roger looked around in a daze.

Black wallpaper covers the walls and ceiling, and beers on tap are displayed behind a mirrored bar.There are no widescreen TVs showing sports, but high chairs by the narrow railing allow guests to sit and enjoy the Santa Monica Boulevard parade with a drink.

There was no one in the bar.Usually when Roger and Marianne walk into a place full of men, all eyes are on Marianne.This time, they were thrown at Roger behind Marianne, and all of them lifted their butts an inch from their chairs.

Sean stood behind the bar, stood upside down the wine glass, picked up various wine bottles and poured it in, and then put cherries, olives and small umbrellas on it, all in one go.

"Hey! Inspector Corso!" he yelled, and the men who were approaching the handsome, dark-skinned stranger immediately returned to their seats.

"I was just about to call you guys. The people who took my stuff said I'd have to go to the police to get it back."

"Yes, I'm afraid that's the way it is," said Roger.

"That's not right, after all, after all, it's mine."

"There are signs that someone has been in that warehouse recently, Mr. Williams. Don't you want to know what's going on?" Marianne asked.

He was silent for a moment, then said, "Think about it, all right. But listen, can I go online and get the paperwork done?"

That's an interesting idea, thought Roger. "I'm afraid not."

The other party sighed and said, "But I still have a performance in the afternoon, so time is tight."

"show?"

"I'm a poet, and there will be an art performance. Hey, if you stay, welcome to my work."

Roger ignored the strange invitation. "If you give me a fax number, I can fax you the forms. Then you hand them in before work starts."

"Okay, great, thank you." A waiter came to the bar, and Sean had to deal with him for a while about drinks and money. "Simply, these fags are really stingy about tips," he muttered, putting the change into the jar. "Oh, by the way, what do you think of the case, Inspector? Because I have some ideas..."

"My partner and I are here to investigate," Roger said. "That's what we're talking about, Mr. Williams."

"Is that so?"

"We'd like to check with your boss on your work schedule for the past week."

Sean's hand stirring things gradually stopped, and then he put the glass down and looked up at Roger. "Of course, he'll be here in half an hour."

Roger found it hard to tear himself away from Sean's gaze, which was so full of accusation that it almost hurt.For a moment, Roger really felt the need to explain, but he looked back without flinching, his jaw set.

"Confirming the whereabouts of all family members is a required procedure," Marianne said, "It may not be because of suspicion, but you need to issue us a clear..."

"Sure," Sean said, giving Roger that look for a moment, then looking away. "I said, Bob will be here soon, you can ask him."

***

The atmosphere of this working meal is very strange.On this side, Marianne didn't seem to notice that she was the only woman present, and she went outside to make a phone call as if she had nothing to do.

On the other side, Sean completely ignored the others since he locked on Roger.Now he came over and wiped the inside of the glass with a towel, but Roger thought the towel looked rather unhygienic. "She knows you're gay?" Sean asked.

"I don't like that word, but yes, she does."

"Ha." Sean put down the glass in his hand and picked up another. "So you have a husband or something?"

Roger frowned, but didn't answer.He thought he heard Sean mumbling something, and then the kid went back to the other side of the bar and got busy on his own.Then a large, smiling man in a blue shirt and black tie came in, greeted Marianne and Roger, and called himself "Bob."

Bob confirmed Sean's whereabouts last week, and included a lot of praise, praising Sean's character and how trustworthy he is, his character is reliable and noble, he is simply an "active Eagle Scout".While Bob was adding all sorts of compliments to him, Sean dragged the microphone from behind the curtain onto the small stage.

"Oh man, you should hear this," said Bob excitedly, patting Roger on the arm. "He's pretty sloppy."

Mary watched him gloatingly, and Roger realized that they probably couldn't get out, and if they wanted to get out, they had to pass through the spotlight area between the audience and the stage. "I'm really looking forward to it," said Roger dryly.

"Well, I read about a page last week," Sean said into the microphone, and the thing started screaming, and it took him a while to get it right. "Who was there at the time?" He made a gesture of putting up an awning with his hands, looking around like a patrolling soldier.

"Well, no one admits it, and I don't blame you." Sean grinned, and he took out a crumpled piece of paper like a folding fan from his hip pocket. "Last week's work," he said. "We in poet circles call this format an 'elegant corpse,' see? Each group of verses is derived from the previous line, but There's no particular connection, yet the whole chapter has an eerie vibe to it. Alright, want to know what I ended up writing from the inspiration I got from you bastards?"

②Also known as "Exquisitecorpse" (Exquisitecorpse), it is a form of joke poetry that emerged from France in modern times.

To Roger's surprise, there was a tepid response from the audience: a few "think" and some sporadic applause.

Bob grinned and patted Roger on the arm again. "They all love him," he said under his breath.

Roger looked around the venue, seeing the so-called "love" expressions on the faces of the audience, but he would rather call it lewd, obscene, and lustful. "I found out," he said.

On stage, Sean laughed, sitting on the edge of a stool he had dragged onto the stage.Just as he was about to speak into the microphone, those nervous little movements, hesitant looks, and insecure expressions seemed to suddenly disappear from this handsome guy.Simply stepping up to the microphone seemed to fill Sean with a burst of confidence.

"Okay, let's go.' I want to touch you, right there, the shirt around your chest; sweat-dried, salt-stained, and your annoying workshop with sissy bastards; , holding the crotch, like a whore showing glory to you; your flaws, opening your eyes, you can almost taste my lips kissing the sweat glands on your neck; smiling bitterly, like your dick, sucking and devouring to please us corner of my mouth; or you touch me, like I want to.'”

Sean laughed as the vulgar men whistled as they slapped tables and cabinets.

"Take it off!" one of them yelled, quite bluntly, and Sean - under Roger's shocked gaze - actually lifted the tight white T-shirt up, exposing one nipple.

"Is this what you want to see?" Sean asked with a cool smile, scanning the audience calmly, and then suddenly met Roger's gaze.His expression froze for a moment, and then he put down his T-shirt, causing boos from the audience.

"No, what you want is more poetry." Sean said, his smile was still frivolous, but a little more restrained than before.He looked away from Roger, and then he pulled out a second sheet of paper. "I call this one 'Gary'."

"He told me you like rough, hard, quick burns. He told me he never knew there was a child deep in that black hole. I called him... I..." Sean's voice grew louder. Getting weaker and stuttering, for a moment, he lost his composure and turned to frowning at the piece of paper. "Hey," he said, quickly regaining consciousness and returning to a glib tone, "I haven't finished this one yet, how about another one?"

He started describing a tattooed penis again, inch by inch.More boos, wolves howling, and shouts of "get off" followed one after another.

"Wow!" said Marianne, turning her head so that no one but Roger could hear her. "I'm kind of wondering what the odds of this kid getting fucked every time he does a show like this."

Roger is now thinking about how to avoid this from happening. "I don't know." He said, and immediately got up and walked towards the stage.

"Hey, Inspector," Sean said triumphantly, his cheeks flushed with excitement, "how do you feel?"

"I'm not a literary critic," Roger growled lowly, "but I know you were having phone sex with a room full of men."

Sean's smile just disappeared. "It's all metaphors, Inspector. Listen, can you stay a little longer? I want to talk to you. Just, I remembered something about the Gary case."

***

Marianne is a wicked woman, thought Roger, not for the first time in their partnership.Sean was leaning on the bar stool when she was getting ready for her next shift.

"So, all the sexual descriptions in your work mean something else?"

"Mostly," Sean said.He glanced at Roger beside him as he answered Marianne's question. "Political wrestling is quite sexual. Fighting for dominance, wanting to be fulfilled and being fulfilled, 'Make a deal.'" he quotes himself.

"Ha," said the wicked witch, Marianne, "what do you mean 'I wish you were older than me'?"

"It's still about power," Sean said, looking straight at Roger. "Some people like to be dominated."

"But I hear you say it's about politics?"

"What is Borski going to do?" Roger interrupted Marianne suddenly.

Marianne had a sly smile on her face. "He's putting up signs all over the city, spreading the word in all the places of entertainment. I think Debbie will spread the word faster than him."

Sean's eyes flicked back and forth between them. "About the murderer who killed Gary?"

"We should go," Roger said, getting up from his seat, without answering Sean's question at all, "Thank you, Mr. Williams."

They stepped out the door and Roger glanced back to see Sean glaring at him.

***

One might think that a serial killer in Los Angeles and targeting the gay community would spur the LAPD's Violent Crimes Unit to speed up their cases, but sadly, all the detectives have done their best. Despite the best efforts, the case went nowhere.

Roger prodded the CSI about the Sean Williams warehouse investigation, and they've sorted out two huge musty-smelling cardboard boxes full of Gary Williams Souvenirs from his boyhood.

Along with a sad stack of high school yearbooks, childhood photos and band trophies, Roger finds a bunch of keys.One of them was obviously the key to the house, but the others were not difficult to guess.

Roger delivered the box to the Evidence Section, but the registry took the keys.When he returned to his desk, he saw Sean Williams sprawled in his chair, and Roger was startled and annoyed.Already the second time!

"Gary didn't go to college," Sean was babbling to Marianne, "so it's a big deal for the family that I go to college."

Marianne glanced at Roger, then back to Sean.

"The report says your brother works for a construction company?" she asked.

Sean nodded. "Hey, it's kind of funny combining what we know now, isn't it?"

"What do we know now, Mr. Williams?" Roger asked.

"Very 80s, right? Gay builder?"

"Do you think now that your brother may be gay?"

"But, you said..."

Roger wants to make another gender identity statement about transvestism, but is interrupted by Marianne. "Want some coffee, Mr. Williams?"

Thankfully, she led him away, and Roger sat down at the desk, fiddling with the bunch of keys.

One of them looks like a bank safe key and the other looks like a cabinet key.Roger made a wild guess, called the YMCA in Hollywood, and found out that the locker had been in place since 1983.There is a string of numbers on the key of the bank safe. If he calls an acquaintance from the escort company, he may be able to find some clues.

③ Abbreviated as YMCA, a youth club originally established in England in the 19th century, aimed at protecting vulnerable youth groups in cities, and later became a gathering place for gay youths in the United States.

"Hey, you type so fast." Roger's fingers rested on the keyboard, and Sean sat on his desk for some reason.Roger looked at him.

He thought the man had left. "What are you doing?"

"You never told me where you found Gary."

"Mr. Williams, we are doing our best to investigate, and if we know anything, we will call you as soon as possible." Roger turned his attention back to the computer after issuing the eviction order.

"Yeah," Sean said, "that's what they told my parents 25 years ago. I don't know how to put it, but it feels like there's less urgency for the family."

Roger wanted to call for help, but it looked like Marianne had already gone to the bathroom, usually not coming back within half an hour.

Sean bit his thumb, his eyes swept back and forth in the police station, and those annoying fingers tapped on Roger's desk indiscriminately.

"Enough." Roger suddenly shouted.

Sean was taken aback. "What?"

Roger told himself to be patient, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Bitting your damn fingers all the time is unhygienic and unsightly."

Sean put his hand down and looked at it like he never noticed it. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding annoyed.He clenched his fingers on his lap and said, "I don't think you have any bad habits?"

Roger raised his eyebrows and continued typing without answering him.

Sean chuckled softly. "Of course not. You are probably the kind of person who has a high degree of self-discipline, eats healthy, oh yes, and also works out. Such a figure cannot be easily obtained. You may go to bed at a fixed time and get up on time, not Drunk and not on drugs."

"Nothing is easy in this world, Mr. Williams, as you say," said Roger, "but no one has any reason to lose control of his body."

Sean blinked at him, and then the dark eyebrows were drawn together over the nose, and the eyes deepened. "Sorry, I can't do it to your level," Sean said.He moved his thumb to his mouth, as if he was about to nibble on it again, but suddenly realized something, and put it back on his lap, with a face full of reluctance.

"Mr. Williams," said Roger with the utmost patience, "you will do our best to assist our investigation by coming home now. If you think of any information that may be useful to us, please feel free to call us."

Sean looked at him annoyed, "You can't do anything."

For some reason, this remark really irritated Roger, who was used to similar complaints from grieving families.

"I'm doing everything I can."

"fart."

"Keep your mouth shut!" Roger said angrily.

Sean blinked again. "What did you just say to me?"

Roger pulled out an IS54 form and slapped it on the table, his hands holding the form trembled imperceptibly.He was taken aback by his own reaction.

"Okay, okay." A miracle happened, Sean got up and took the coat he was wearing before. "I'm going to the bar anyway." After putting on his coat, he turned and left.And just as Roger relaxed his tense body and returned to the monitor, Sean turned back and said to him——

"I say dirty words whenever I feel like it, Mr. Perfect."

"Don't think about it while I'm here," Roger retorted, and then he snapped his mouth shut.

Sean hesitated for a while between going and staying, and finally chose to leave angrily.Roger dropped his hand to watch him.

What the hell is wrong with him?

***

When he got off work, Roger hadn't heard back from the informant from the escort company, but he decided to go to the YMCA himself to make sure that the key to the locker was correct.

"Is there something wrong?" Marianne said, looking at the old facilities, and now they were waiting for the receptionist to check the key for them.

Roger looked around, always feeling a bunch of ghostly eyes falling on him.He could almost hear the clatter of bare feet on the tiles, and the hoarse laughter of the men. "What's so strange?"

"Even if the key is still usable, the cabinet is not empty, and the contents inside are not in a mess..."

"As far as I can see, there is little chance of something strange," Roger replied.Yet the receptionist did return with a yellowed hand-printed card with a locker number on it. "Shall we start?"

They took evidence bags and forensic gloves anyway, just in case, and Roger stood while Marianne took a picture of the locker.

"Wow."

"He must have a place to store these." Across the evidence bag, Roger took out a faded rose-colored suit from under the rotten fabric, and put it carefully into the bag.There are also some dresses and two pairs of high heels in the closet.

A large round silver toiletry bag was also thrown into the evidence pocket.They found an address book in a corner, which nearly fell apart when Roger picked it up carefully.

"Poor child." Marianne said suddenly, and Roger looked at her in surprise. Marianne was not usually so sentimental.Looking up and down the dimly lit corridors of the YMCA, she said, "You know, when you read Ginsburg, you're like, 'Dude, you gotta say it.' But this one, it's..."

④ That is, Allen Ginsberg, an American poet and a representative of the "Beat Generation". The part about homosexuality in his works often conveys the misery of the oppressive social atmosphere at that time.

"Humiliation and cruelty?" Roger carefully closed the locker door.

Marianne glanced at him. "Sorry, Corso. I didn't mean that..."

"No need to apologize," Roger said, "I feel exactly as you do."