Killer in the Band

by Lauren Carr

  “Gates here.”

  “Detective Gates?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “Karrie. You sent me an e-mail about Vendetta. Your cell phone number was in your signature line and I thought I’d call.”

  “Yes!” Forgetting all about the massage, Cameron rolled off of Joshua’s back and grabbed her bathrobe as if the blogger on the other end of the line could see her nudity.

  Still stretched out on his stomach, Joshua turned his head to peer at her. Obviously, the massage was over. He turned over onto his back, pulled the comforter up to cover himself, closed his eyes, and waited for the pain reliever that he had taken earlier to work.

  “I’m investigating the murder of a young man who we tentatively identified as Dylan Matthews. He had a sister named Wendy,” Cameron said into the phone.

  “Which was Vendetta’s real name,” Karrie said. “Dylan was her brother. Her husband told everyone he had abandoned her to go to Hollywood. What really happened to him?”

  “It looks like he was killed the night he was supposed to leave for California.”

  “Very interesting.” Karrie sounded very intrigued. “Was this after that Fourth of July concert…the one ten years to the day before Vendetta went missing?”

  “Yes. Did you know Vendetta?”

  “We were friends,” Karrie said. “Like I was her only friend. Her weasel husband never let anyone get too close to her.”

  “Silas Starling,” Cameron said. “The police said he reported her missing.”

  “The weasel.” There was a note of anger in the blogger’s tone.

  “Was he abusive to her?”

  “Not really,” Karrie said. “I mean, he never hit her. At least I don’t think he did. He never emotionally abused her or called her names or anything. More…He manipulated her, and Vendetta was so insecure that it didn’t take much to get her to do what he wanted.”

  “How did you know Vendetta?”

  “I was the editor of a punk-rock magazine,” Karrie said. “I saw Vendetta in concert and just fell in love. So I started following her. I guess you could say I was a groupie. She was a tremendous talent. Sang beautiful, haunting songs. She was too dark for mainstream music, which was why she had a cult following.” She paused. “Hey, do you want to see my research about Vendetta’s disappearance?” Karrie asked, her voice almost an octave higher than it had been a moment ago.

  “Research?”

  “I’ve been writing a book about Vendetta and her disappearance,” Karrie said. “I have all kinds of research, like pictures and interviews I did with her. I followed her for almost two years, which was why Silas hated my guts. I even interviewed her the day she disappeared—one hour before she went onstage. I also have a tape of that last performance. I’ll show it all to you if you let me follow you around and if you give me an exclusive when you arrest Silas.”

  “Did you tell the police investigating Vendetta’s disappearance that you thought Silas did something to her?”

  “Yeah,” Karrie said. “They asked what evidence I had, and since I had nothing, they said he didn’t do it. But I know he killed her because she was leaving him.”

  “Are you in the camp that thinks she faked her abduction to get money out of Silas so that she could start a new life?”

  “No, but you’re half-right. You let me in on what you know, and I’ll let you in on what I know.”

  “I don’t work with journalists.”

  “Don’t think of me as a journalist,” Karrie said. “Think of me as a witness who’s going to stick to you like glue until we uncover the truth. When do you want to interrogate me?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Izzy was having the time of her life. Joshua couldn’t understand it. She loved helping Poppy at the farm—she even loved shoveling manure. Donny concluded that she was crazy.

  Within a matter of days, they had settled into a routine. Joshua or Cameron would drop Izzy off in the morning before work. Usually, it was early in the morning, after Poppy and Noah tended to their farm chores. Poppy, Suellen, and J.J. would be on hand to keep an eye on the young teenager. After lunch, which J.J. usually prepared, Poppy would allow Izzy to help her work with Comanche, and then she would give her a riding lesson on Daisy, which would end when Joshua or Cameron arrived to take her home.

  The schedule was a blessing to both Joshua and Cameron because they knew that while they were working, Izzy was in good hands with her big brother.

  With a case file in her hand, Cameron drove her cruiser up the then-familiar long driveway to the front of Suellen’s home. As soon as Cameron hit the driveway, Captain Blackbeard charged from one corner of his pasture and galloped along the fence. Even with the fence between them, the black stallion’s snorting and bucking sent a shiver up her spine.

  Don’t like that horse at all—even if he is worth six figures.

  As she pulled up in front of the house, the sight that met her prompted her to hit the brake and stare.

  In the middle of the front yard was a boulder. She figured that it’d been too big to blast away when the house had been constructed, or maybe Suellen had thought it would be an interesting yard ornament for some reason. The first time that Cameron had visited the farm, she’d noticed that a path encircled the boulder but hadn’t thought anything of it.

  But when she pulled up in front of the house, she saw the source of that path.

  One of the dogs in the pack, a bull-terrier mix named Gary, was trotting around the boulder with Charley not far behind him. After each lap around the boulder, Gary would stop and turn around. When he saw Charley closing in on him, Gary would pick up his pace in an attempt to outrun the rooster, who was determined to catch him.

  Round and round they went until Charley got tired of the chase and decided to turn around and head in the other direction, which prompted Gary to jump and spin around and then resume the chase around the boulder in the other direction.

  “Okay,” Cameron said with a sigh. “Never seen anything like that before.”

  After tucking the case file under her arm, Cameron walked beyond the barn and up the dirt road that led to the outdoor arena at the top of the hill, which was where Izzy had been taking her riding lessons. As had become his custom, J.J. was watching from outside the arena with his arms folded over the top rail. Several members of the dog pack had taken up positions around the arena and were alternating between romping with one another and watching Izzy, whom they all adored.

  Dressed in her riding pants, boots, and helmet, Izzy was all smiles as Poppy gave her instructions from the center of the arena.

  Another unusual sight met Cameron’s eyes: Daisy’s colt, who was grazing in the grass outside of the arena without a tether. While Cameron was not a farm girl, she did know that horses shouldn’t be running loose.

  The culprit who had set the colt loose was standing directly behind J.J. and nuzzling his long hair, his right shoulder, and his right ear. Focused on Izzy and Poppy, J.J. swatted at the mischievous horse as though he were a fly that refused to go away.

  “I see you have a friend,” Cameron said with a grin as she approached J.J.

  “Huh?” J.J. said with genuine puzzlement as he swatted Gulliver’s snout. When Cameron nodded her head toward the horse, he chuckled. “At least when he’s chewing on my ear, I know he’s not tearing up the feed room.”

  Cameron gestured to the colt grazing next to the fence. “Or letting out the other horses.”

  “Poppy put Daisy’s colt in the stall, and Gulliver decided to bring him up here so that he could be with his momma. He is definitely a momma’s boy.”

  Hearing his name, Gulliver rested his head on J.J.’s shoulder. J.J. stroked the horse’s muzzle. Gulliver responded by twitching his ears.

  “He let the colt out of his stall?” Cameron asked.

  “Yeah,” J.J. sai
d with a sigh of disgust. “Gulliver lets himself out every night. He lets all of the other horses out, too—except Captain Blackbeard. He won’t let Captain out.”

  Cameron laughed. “How does Captain feel about that?”

  “He doesn’t like it,” J.J. said. “Not at all. Then after they get out, Gulliver goes back into the feed room and breaks out the food, and they all have a nice party. After their midnight snack, Gulliver opens up the barn door, and they go out into the pasture, which is where Poppy and Noah find them in the morning.”

  “But Captain Blackbeard is still in his stall.” Cameron was amused by the exclusion of the big proud stallion. “And Noah is there first thing every morning?”

  “Noah is one of the farm’s most dependable and hardworking employees,” J.J. said. “Poppy has requested that he be transferred from the orchards to the horse farm. All of the animals love him—even Charley, and Charley doesn’t like anyone else but Izzy and Poppy.”

  “Who brings Noah out to the farm?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “He starts work before I get up in the morning.”

  “We did get fingerprints off of some of the water bottles.” Cameron took out her tablet and brought up a picture on it. As she’d expected she would, she saw that J.J. recognized the person in the picture. “Noah Dickens—sixteen years old. Ran away from a group foster home down in Atlanta almost two years ago.”

  “I’m sure he had a driver’s license—”

  “I’m sure he did,” Cameron said.

  “Has he ever been in trouble with the law before?” J.J. asked.

  “According to Sawyer, who talked to the police in Atlanta, all Noah does is run away,” Cameron said. “His mother was a prostitute and a drug addict who kept having babies, and they were all taken away from her. He kept ending up in group homes where he’d get bullied by the more violent boys, so he runs away.”

  She saw a hint of fear in J.J.’s eyes. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m giving you a heads-up,” Cameron said. “Curt is talking to your father. Children’s services is going to petition to have him extradited back to Georgia because he’s a ward of the state there. As for my case—well, he’s a homeless kid who’s sleeping in a barn. He’s got long hair like the man Clyde described—”

  “According to Clyde’s description, the perp had blond hair,” J.J. said. “Noah has dark hair.”

  “It was nighttime and dark,” she said. “Noah’s homeless. Alone. Desperate. Maybe he broke into their home because he thought it’d be easy to steal things from two old folks, and Monica caught him.”

  “Oh, you changed your mind pretty fast there, Cam! In your mind, the kid who’s never been in real trouble is a killer now!” J.J. folded his arms across his chest. “Clyde sees that kid on a daily basis. If Noah killed his wife, don’t you think he would have said something by now?”

  “I’m not saying he did it, but we do have to question him!”

  “What are you two fighting about?” Izzy asked.

  The riding lesson was over, and Izzy and Poppy had made their way up to the fence. Izzy was still sitting on top of Daisy, whose colt had scampered into the arena to nuzzle his mother.

  “Poppy,” J.J. said to the trainer while keeping his eyes on Cameron, “didn’t we give Noah permission to sleep in our hayloft?”

  “I like Noah,” Izzy said with a wide grin. “He’s cute. He showed me how to braid Comanche’s mane.”

  Poppy nodded her head. “Very nice young man and a quick learner.” She directed her gaze toward Cameron. “That’s why we gave him permission to sleep in the loft. Is there a problem with that?”

  “You were the one who told us that someone was sneaking in and sleeping there,” Cameron said.

  “I forgot that I’d given him permission to sleep up there.”

  “You’re a rotten liar,” Cameron said.

  “Are you going to arrest Noah?” Izzy asked.

  “No,” J.J. said. “He’s been here for a year. He shows up for work every day. He’s never in trouble—”

  “That we know of,” Cameron said. “I need to question him about Monica Brady’s murder.”

  “Not without a lawyer present,” J.J. said.

  “You haven’t passed the bar yet, J.J.”

  “But I can still advise him,” J.J. said. “And until Sheriff Sawyer shows up here with a court order and takes him into custody, no one’s taking him anywhere.”

  “Want me to go fetch Noah for you?” Poppy whispered to J.J.

  Seeing him nod his head, Poppy jumped up onto Gulliver’s back. Without using reins, a bridle, or a saddle, she urged the horse to gallop along the road and up over the hill toward the orchard.

  “I’m not the enemy, J.J.,” Cameron said. “If I was, I wouldn’t have said anything. I would’ve just allowed the sheriff to show up and take him.”

  J.J. avoided her gaze.

  “If you want to help this kid, you need to talk to your father,” she said.

  “I’ll do that.”

  Upon hearing the loud rattle of Clyde Brady’s worn pickup truck, both Cameron and J.J. peered up the dirt road. The old farm truck bumped and rattled down the hill and around the arena before coming to an abrupt stop in front of them, which created a dust cloud. Cameron waved her hand and squinted to keep the dirt out of her eyes.

  “Hey, Josh,” Clyde yelled to J.J. through the open passenger’s side window. “Your horses are running loose!” He pointed a gnarled finger at the colt standing behind J.J.

  J.J. took his time and then turned around to where the colt was hiding behind Daisy. Feigning shock, he said, “Where did you come from?”

  “Leave it to a lawyer!” Clyde said. “You can’t let the livestock run loose, or they’re gonna get into the orchards and make a mess of things. I told Suellen that leaving these horses to the care of a gentleman farmer would be a mistake.”

  Stroking Daisy’s snout, J.J. said, “They’re not going up into the orchard. They always stick close to Poppy.”

  While Clyde grumbled, Cameron stepped up to the lowered window to defuse the situation. “Hey, Clyde, I’ve got a question for you about a possible suspect in Monica’s murder.”

  The old man’s eyes brightened. “You got a suspect!”

  “Maybe,” she said. “When was the last time you saw Vinnie?”

  “Vinnie? You mean my nephew?”

  “Yes. Some—”

  “Nah, it couldn’t have been Vinnie,” Clyde said with a firm shake of his head. “He’s just a little kid. I admit that he’s kind of rambunctious and unruly and that he tends to get into some mischief, but he’d never hurt anyone.”

  “When was the last time you saw your nephew?” Cameron asked.

  Squinting in deep thought, Clyde was silent for a long moment.

  “Clyde?” she asked.

  The old man jumped in his seat.

  “When was the last time you saw Vinnie, Clyde?”

  “I think it was last year,” he said slowly. “Winter, maybe.” Suddenly seeing J.J. and remembering why he had stopped, he pointed through the window. “Josh, you need to get those horses back into their pastures before they get into trouble. I thought they taught you young fellers about responsibility in that fancy school you went to!”

  He hit the gas pedal and almost hit Cameron as he sped down the road.

  “Fancy school?” She turned to J.J. “He called you Josh. Did he think you were your father?”

  J.J. shook his head. “Some people call me Josh.”

  “Fancy school? Was he talking about the academy?”

  “He was talking about law school,” J.J. said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Which case is that?” He gestured to the folder under her arm. “The Dylan Matthews murder or the Monica Brady murder?”

  “Dylan Matthews,” Camero
n said. “I’ve tracked down all of the members of the Reading Railroad Band except Keith Black.” She opened up the file. “Figures. A black bass guitar identical to the one that he was holding in their publicity stills was found with the body.” She showed J.J. the picture of the bass player holding the guitar that had been found with Dylan’s body.

  “And the group only had one bass player.” J.J. peered closely at the publicity photo. “Dylan’s holding a red electric guitar in this picture.” He pointed to the guitar that the musician was holding. “Was that found at the scene?” He then looked at the guitar that had been found at the murder scene.

  Cameron hesitated. One part of her wanted to confide in him and share the case with him in the same way that she confided in Joshua. But then she remembered that he was involved with Suellen, whom she still considered a suspect. Everyone would be a suspect until the killer was captured. “No. Victim’s guitar, identification, and van were never found. He had said he was leaving the area and driving to California that night.”

  “Everything could have been stolen,” J.J. said with a shrug of his shoulders. “That’s a nice guitar. Would’ve been worth a lot of money. Van would’ve been worth some bucks, too.”

  His tone of voice and movement reminded Cameron of Joshua, which brought a smile to her lips.

  “Depending on when these pictures were taken. Maybe the bass guitarist gave that instrument to the other guitarist, who did get into an altercation with the victim on the night he disappeared. I mean, maybe the electric guitarist played both bass and electric,” Cameron said.

  “I can play both.”

  “Plus the violin and the piano.”

  “And the banjo,” he added with a grin.

  “Really getting into this country lifestyle, huh?”

  Noticing the smile on his face, she realized that, for the first time, J.J. seemed to be at ease with her. Maybe there was hope that the wall between them would eventually crumble.

  “Some guitarists can play both bass and electric guitar,” Suellen said. “But Harrison Calhoun couldn’t. I’m sorry to say that this bass guitar was Keith’s.” With a sigh, she added, “But I can’t imagine that he killed Dylan. He was just too laid back to get upset enough about the band’s breaking up to kill Dylan.”