The Elegant Corpse

I know what your previous rent was, but..."

"Yeah, that's the problem. Danny took me in exchange for me to paint his house. But, fuck it." A big grin broke out on Sean's morose face. "I hate painting houses. I'm sick of it."

Roger sighed, "What rent price can you afford?"

Sean told him, and Roger's heart sank.Well, he is well connected.He might be able to find some decently priced accommodation.In the meantime, he might have to talk to Marianne, ask her to charge Sean as much as she can afford, and take him in for a few more days.

"Are these rooms nice?" he asked.

"Yeah. Really good." Sean looked around. "And a desk to write on. It's like the Ritz."

"By the way, I just remembered that you are a poet."

"It's just that you don't make much money, but it's also a serious job." Sean replied sharply.

"Of course. I didn't mean that at all."

"It's okay." Sean began to rub his forehead again.

"Head still hurts?" said Roger.And then he does something super stupid, completely out of character: He walks over to the bed, kneels behind Sean, and puts his hands at the sides of his head. "Relax as much as you can, and I'll rub it for you," he said.

Sean sat with his legs spread out on the mattress, and Roger felt his entire upper body tremble under his hands.Sean's skin was cool, and his hair was too limp for a grown man.Roger massaged in circular motions starting from the top of Sean's head, watching the goosebumps on his neck slowly spread down like water droplets.

The skin on his temples was smooth, and his slightly longer sideburns looked like a young man's first beard.When Roger's hands slipped over Sean's shoulders, he felt the muscles under them tremble and moved them away.

"Okay." Roger's tone was a little unsteady.

"Very useful." Sean said softly.

"That's good," said Roger, feeling bewildered for the hundredth time.He was still kneeling there, looking down at Sean's snow-white nape.

Sean broke the wicked silence and stood up, and Roger got up from the bed. "It's time for me to let you rest." Roger said, walking towards the door, and then stood by the door.

"Well," Sean followed Roger to the door and leaned against the door frame.He looked up at Roger.

"Good night." Roger didn't know why he was embarrassed.

Sean looked him over, then stepped forward, hooked his fingers around Roger's neck, tiptoed, and gave Roger a brief peck on his defenseless lips.

"Ann," he said, before closing the bedroom door.

***

Marianne was drinking and watching the evening news in the living room.

"I hate Katie Couric," she said when he came closer.

"I didn't know you'd seen her," said Roger.

Marianne twisted from the huge leather seat to look at Roger. "Have you tucked him in?"

Roger sat down unceremoniously in another upholstered leather chair, as if he would collapse if he took another step.

"He's lovely," Marianne said. "If you like the kind of money that you can see at a glance."

"Forgive me, Marianne."

She giggled.Roger noticed a few things: one, a large stack of blue folders on Marianne's dining table; two, dinner bags and five-inch strappy sandals lying on the coffee table.

"Are you out?" he asked.

"Come back and go out again,"—Marianne circled the air with her finger—"running around town."

Roger tried unsuccessfully to recall the name of the CST technician. "Did he..."

"Billy," said Marianne, "yes. Several times, thanks."

"Oh."

The bottle has bottomed out.Although Marianne was a little drunk, she still poured the last bit into the glass with precision.

Roger knew he should ask her if she wanted to talk about it, but he was afraid that if he did she would really want him to be honest.

"You've started studying the case file." He turned to observe.

"Yes. I'm already watching." Marianne got up limply and stumbled into the restaurant. "I've seen all the murders from that period with similar victims. Since you said you thought Williams' death might have been self-inflicted, I've had some ideas. I told you that hypothesis just drove me nuts ,remember?"

"remember."

"Well. There were a bunch of suicides. The manner of suicide was suspicious, but there was no evidence to overturn the conclusion. Many of them were young gay men. The problem is that I can't find any clues to tie them together."

Roger picked up a folder. "You are truly incomparable."

"Yeah. Billy said the same thing."

Roger shook his head with a smile, then frowned at the file.

Marianne sighed and knelt on the dining chair with one leg, her arms crossed on the back of the chair to support her chin.

"What's wrong?" she said. "You look confused, Corso. You never do."

"You're drunk joking, Marianne," said Roger, frowning deeply. "I don't think I've seen that name before." He put down the folder and picked up another.That vague impression made him uneasy.He changed another file.

There was the creaking of oak floorboards overhead.Marianne and Roger exchanged glances, both wondering if they were speaking too loudly.

"Honey, are you looking for a bathroom?" Marianne called in the direction of the hall stairs.

There was a silence at first. "Yes. I forgot where you said earlier." Sean responded loudly.

Marianne gave Roger a meaningful look and called, "On the other side, at the end of the corridor."

Sean thanked him loudly, and they retreated down the corridor, listening to his socked feet on the upstairs carpet.

"He's eavesdropping," said Marianne. "Roger, how much have you told him?"