The Castro '76 - An Israel Wren Mystery

2

May 13th 1976

Israel Wren’s brown suede flares slapped rhythmically against his ankles as he strutted down the wide street. A pod of muscular, gym-toned bodies in Levi 501s (and not much else) lounged about on the corner of Castro and 18th. One or two heads turned as he passed by.

The bright colours of the advertising on the shopfronts glinted in the spring sunshine. Every now and then he would stare wide-eyed at sequinned jackets, tie-dyed T-shirts, skin-tight jeans, funky moustaches or huge backcomb hairstyles held in place by gallons of hairspray. The place was a wonderland of extravagant colour and movement. No one on the street blinked an eye at the two bare-chested men walking towards him holding each other’s hands. Their ears were full of jewellery, their hips swinging like Zulu matrons. Israel smiled quietly to himself as they walked by.

Israel found Castro Camera on the bottom floor of a quaint clapboard building. Harvey was serving a customer and waved to him from behind the counter with his typical dimpled smile. Israel had met Harvey Milk six months earlier at a club in Soho, London. The pair had struck up a conversation at midnight and by five in the morning they were good friends. After Israel wrote a letter to Harvey telling him he was coming to San Francisco, Harvey wrote back to tell Israel not to book a hotel room.

‘Israel Wren, come and give me a hug, you beautiful man,’ uttered Harvey as he approached the slender, coffee-skinned figure. They embraced briefly, Harvey full of joy and enthusiasm, Israel with his typical formality and reserve.

Harvey held Israel at arms length: ‘So you’re here for some kind of crime conference?’

‘A meeting of the International Criminological Association.’ Israel flashed a shy smile.

‘Didn’t I tell you he was a doll?’ Harvey commented over his shoulder. A man Israel assumed to be Harvey’s partner, Scott, had just stepped out of the darkroom, his sleeves rolled up.

‘Sure. He’s cute as a button,’ replied the fair-headed man, barely bothering to glance up.

Harvey raised his eyebrows, took Israel’s elbow and steered him back out through the glass front door. ‘Don’t worry about him. He’s just grumpy at the moment because of all this.’ He flicked his hand towards the billposters and placards plastered across the shop window. It’s Time for Milk…  Milk for Supervisor.

Israel shrugged and smiled. ‘It is no matter, my friend. I can see you are very busy on the campaign trail. I am more than happy to find accommodation elsewhere.’

‘Don’t be silly, Israel. Don’t be silly. Scott’s just upset because I haven’t found enough time for him lately, we’ve both been working so hard lately trying to balance managing the campaign with running the store.’ An irrepressible grin spread slowly across Harvey’s face. ‘That’s why I’m taking him on vacation.’

‘That’s very nice. When are you planning to go?’

 ‘Now, I’m afraid: Just the two of us on a road trip down to Carmel, starting tonight. I’ve got a great little hideaway booked for a couple of nights and a great bottle of Chianti lined up to go with our home-cooked pasta. So … I’m sorry to abandon you Israel, but I really need to do this.’

‘As I said before, I’m happy to find other accommodation …’

‘Well, Scott and I have talked about it and we’d love it if you could do some flat-sitting for us. It’s a win–win right?’

Israel’s eyes darted towards the pavement.

‘Don’t worry. Come, we’ll get you fixed up for tonight.’ Harvey ushered Israel back inside the front door. ‘Look, if you don’t like it you can go find a hostel or something tomorrow.’ Ignoring Scott’s stares he steered Israel past the big red couch and the barber’s chair in the front room of the camera shop to a section at the rear curtained off by Persian carpets. ‘The stairway to heaven. Come and have a look.’ Harvey pointed out a set of stairs at the back.

The apartment was pokey and dark apart from the big bay window in the lounge room.

‘Harvey, Sammy’s here … He’s got some news.’ Scott’s voice echoed up the stairwell.

Harvey tilted his head back down the stairwell, raised an eyebrow and shrugged. ‘Sorry Israel, it never stops when you’re running for office.’ He stepped closer and spoke sotto voce. ‘I’m gonna grab Scott and slip away by five, so I’ll have to catch up a bit later okay? In the meantime make yourself at home.’ He fished out a battered key ring and tossed it casually to Israel. Then he winked and headed back down the stairs.

Israel crossed the lounge to the bay window and pulled back the sheer day curtain. A vehicle that looked like it required its own postcode rumbled past on the street below. It was a good thing they had such wide streets. He dropped the flimsy material and took a few steps across the room to the threshold the only bedroom. Inside, an enormous bed was the sole piece of furniture, somehow shoehorned into the space by an act of domestic wizardry. Israel’s forehead wrinkled and he sighed as he considered the implications.

After a moment of deliberation he marched to his small suitcase, knelt and pulled out a pair of lightweight Zeiss field glasses and a hat. Closing the case, he hung the binoculars around his neck and carried the bag to the top of the stairs. He planted it by the balustrade before starting to descend, his footfalls quick and light.

The strained tones of anxious debate reached him before his feet found the bottom landing. Three of them huddled together at the back of the curtained-off room. Harvey’s face was grim, his lips pressed white together as he watched a slender man wearing a ridiculous orange jumpsuit wave his hands at him in annoyance. Scott’s face was pale and his eyes darted nervously between the two men. They all looked up as Israel stepped into the room. The conversation ceased.

‘I am sorry to intrude on your conversation, gentlemen. I was just on my way out.’ Israel breezed across the room.

Harvey threw out an arm as he approached. ‘Wait. Have you got everything you need? Sorry to leave you in the lurch. It’s just we had some bad news …’

Israel looked from one solemn face to another. ‘I am sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?’

Harvey shook his head but stepped across, silently guiding Israel into their huddle. ‘There’s been another killing. They’ve found another body.’ His tone was measured; a bald statement of fact that Israel guessed was designed to lower the hysteria.

‘Another victim of the Zodiac Killer?’ Israel hazarded.

‘No, there’s another one out there … One that just goes after us …’ Harvey opened his palms to include the two men beside him. ‘He’s a pick-up killer who’s been operating here in San Francisco for the last couple of years. He cruises the valley, finds a willing partner and then goes off somewhere private and stabs them.’

‘They call him the Doodler,’ added the aggravated stranger in the jumpsuit. ‘People say he sketches guys and then comes on to them. Flatters them with their own picture. Then they go outside for … you know … and then he kills them. Creepy, huh?’

Harvey rolled his eyes towards his companion. ‘The Doodler – I think it’s a horrible name.’

Israel coughed politely. ‘I agree. It is an awkward name for a serial killer. There will be many local policemen at the meeting I will be attending. Perhaps I can ask around about this ‘Doodler’. Maybe I can find out what they are doing about this case, or if they have any leads?’

Harvey’s face twisted into a wry smile. ‘Don’t count on it, Israel. They don’t care about us fags and they’ve got a lot on their hands with all the other crazy things that go on in this city.’

Israel waved the comment away. ‘Nonetheless, I will try to find out as much as I can, I solemnly promise you.’

Harvey touched Israel on the shoulder. ‘That’s sweet of you Israel. I wish you good luck with that… I think you’re going to need it.’

 ‘I, ah … thank you, Harvey … I have left my case at the top of the stairs. I am going out for a walk now to clear my head and give you and Scott some space.’ He noticed Scott nodding at the floor in silent commendation.

‘Can I ask you, is there a big park or open space nearby? Preferably one that is home to a variety of birds?’