05.2 Nicotine Overdose

She called the property owner of 338 Chambers Street where Savon Martin was found dead on November 10^th 1983. Livian Maier said, “I can show you the house if you come. It is still there with his wagon and surfboards. Nobody used that place.”

Natalia took a cab to Murray Hill. Met this young woman at a café called Blondie. Livian drove to Chambers Street. Houses looked shabby and crumbled in this area of Riverwest; cited as a dangerous neighbourhood.

Natalia photographed the scenes and the shed. “Savon Martin rented a shed on short term and extended twice,” she spoke into a mini tape recorder in her hand.

Livian said, “He carried a lot of surfboards. Here he could stack them in the sheds for little rent.”

“The shed is in ruins, windows shattered, moss grown on the roof and poor shambles. There are dustbins everywhere in front of the houses,” Natalia continued on recording. “How would you describe Savon Martin?” she asked tossing the device towards Livian.

“An okay guy,” replied Livian, “he pays, ragged in his dressing manner. Eccentric in appearance. I had not seen much of him. He spent on the beach teaching surf lessons. A tall guy and looked older than his age.”

“Savon Martin was dating a girl by the name of Heidelinde Klutz that the police questioned. Do you know her?”

“Linda!” she called, “I saw her a couple of times. I never thought she was his girlfriend. Maybe they dated but for a short time. She’s not a windsurfer.”

She called her Linda and the bell sounded like a gong. “Linda? Is that how you call?”

“Yes. What was the other name…I never heard it before!” frowned Livian.

“How does she look?” interview continued.

“She’s blonde, skinny, deep eyes and a bandana on her hair.”

Savon drove a Renault ‘Le Car’ that reached the US through a linkup with AMC. It was left outside to rust and dry leaves fallen on its top. His surfboards were stolen. Agents from the law office took everything else.

Inside the shed, it smelt horrible. “It stinks from fibreglass resin hung in air. There are containers in every corner. A couple of surfboards hanging on the roof. Half emptied and evaporated liquor bottles. And signboards on the walls…”

She looked into a closet to find few clothes and a woman’s underwear. Nothing to pick. Dinnerware and utensils were still there.

“Do you mind if I keep these?” she was holding the piece of lace.

“Oh sure! Take them!” Livian chuckled jokingly, “I hope it helps your pursuit! There’s a viscose-polyamide jacket. For gents. I guess you’d rather keep those ladies’ panties!”

Natalia reassured gaily, “I don’t need his DNA.” She hoped one day her Teep Lab could do DNA tests. “I’m keen to find about this woman, Linda or Heidelinde. May I take some of these utensils as well?”

“Sure. Take whatever you like.”

 

Before leaving Milwaukee, she made calls to the interviewed folks and got connected to four at least. She arranged to meet them at four different locations at four different times.

In the outcome of these meetings, they told the same story about Savon Martin; a jerk and a freak, kooky schizoid. There wasn’t a thing in the world to bother him. They too referred to Heidelinde as Linda.

She sat on a high stool in a bar, wearing a brown short frock, notebook and pen before her, recording on the mini device.

One of them, Peter McKenzie, passed a couple of photographs of Savon and Linda playing beach volley and three Betamax tapes of Linda’s pornography bits and full movie in two tapes called ‘Termagant’. In the photos he appeared wearing a printed jumper – a stereotype.

“How did you get these?” asked Natalia.

“These items were in his surf bag at the shed on the beach,” said this tall Peter McKenzie with black hair.

“Do you know Linda?”

“I do but not too well. She is not a friendly type. Savon told me few things about her. We are windsurfers, Savon and I.”

“Where can I find her?”

“She’s in Chicago. She’s a model.”

“How does Savon manage his finance?”

“I heard his mother supports him.”

“Do you know his mother?”

“No.”

“How long have you known him?”

“We worked together for three or four years,” he replied.

“What do you think? Was it suicide?”

“I was shocked. He didn’t show up that day. I got news he killed himself. When I went there, police already wrapped him in a body bag. Yellow tape around the shed. He is a physically tough healthy guy with a huge stamina. One man cannot supress him. You’d need four grown-up men to put a needle in his arm. He once told me that he didn’t like tattoos. He doesn’t smoke. He loves his natural self. I can’t believe he’d hurt himself.”

“Did you read the article on Virago?”

“I read it,” said Peter McKenzie, “Everyone has a family. His family is bigger than mine. I read for the first time that his father was an extremely rich guy. See, that told me it wasn’t suicide but murder. This ‘Termagant’ is connected to Virago. That much I know. Someone’s trying to swindle his inheritance.”

“Peter! You’ve been of good help,” said Natalia, “here’s my card. If you remember something more to add, do not stop from calling me.”

“I will gladly do.”

 

Heidelinde Klutz was born on 1^st of June 1961 in Bonn, Germany. Her family migrated to the United States in the sixties when she was seven years old. She wanted to become an actress. A film producer in Chicago, also a columnist at Virago, embittered her by doing a porn in combination with the movie. Jeff Lonnell was his name and he was the author of the article ‘Nicotine Overdose’ in the Virago of November ’85.

Natalia took the June ’80 edition of Virago from the camera case and turned the page 25. There was a full-page image of the model; Heidelinde Klutz. In the other magazine, Vixen, her image appeared on the front cover in a different name; Linda Linz. The same person.

Since Linda’s address was in Cedarburg, Natalia tried to contact her on the phone. She couldn’t reach anyone who knew Heidelinde or Linda. She gave up. She even parted the idea of driving some thirty miles to Cedarburg to find her home. Linda was in Chicago.

Then she looked for a Betamax player. None was in the hotel. Even Peter McKenzie didn’t have one. Nearby video shops used VHS. Finally, Livian said her brother-in-law had one in his room.

She drove to Blondie café and inside a bedroom, three sat down to watch the tapes. Livian’s brother-in-law was away. Twin sisters, Lilian and Livian, warned that he won’t like it and it should end before he comes.

The movie ‘Termagant’ was one and half hours long. It told a story about a Middle Eastern woman who disciplined young girls in concubinage inside a harem. In this film, Linda was nineteen years old and the same age she appeared in Virago. In some nude scenes, it exposed her vital areas to a disturbing level in the movements of poses although in long shot. This movie was released in 1980 in Chicago. Perhaps, it could be the reason why she felt cheated.

They switched to the porn tape. Linda was taped in hardcore sex in extreme close-ups and unpleasant acts. Suddenly, the lights went out and the screen switched off inwards – a premature collapse. A power failure.

The two sisters grew extremely nervous because they could not pull out the video tape. It was stuck inside the Betamax. Time was running out.

“He’ll be coming home any moment now!” Lilian cried worriedly, “If he finds us watching sex tapes, we are in for big…big trouble!”

“There is a workshop by the corner,” prompted Livian.

Natalia carried the Betamax machine and ran to the workshop to eject the video tape by electric power. It was close to sunset.