"What for?"
Blair took another bite of the hot dog so he wouldn't have to answer right away. He shrugged, wincing from the motion, and chewed slowly. The hot dog tasted wonderful, which proved he must have been hungry.
"Did Hang Dog go?" he asked, as soon as he swallowed.
"Said he was leaving soon. Has classes tomorrow or something. He's down by the creek with Nash at the moment."
"What for?" Blair accepted a second hot dog.
"Looking at the murder sites. Three murders a few days apart at the same music concert. Serial killer at work."
"All strangulations?"
Joe looked at him strangely. "Yes. Why?"
"Just wondering. I heard one of them was. Do you think it was the same person?"
"Same m.o. Could be. The area is roped off and a few forensic officers are down there now. They're worried that the child who is missing might also have been killed."
No, just aged. Blair put the rest of the hot dog down, unable to eat any more. "Where's Naomi, the child's mother?"
"Sitting in the food tent, higher than a kite."
"I think I'll go check on her."
"We've got a female officer with her now. She'll be okay. She just got too upset and only knew one way to get calm again."
Eating the hot dog had probably not been a great idea.
Joe shielded his eyes to look across the hill at the crowd. "Wish I knew if the murderer was still out there. He could have left after the last murder, before we got here."
"What about the first murder? Weren't you called for that?"
"It happened the evening before the festival began. According to the concert promoters, Green Isle Productions, the crew found her when they were setting up the stage."
No, not a good idea about the hot dog.
"How long had she been dead?"
"Not long. Maybe half an hour."
"So maybe someone on the crew was responsible? Who was she?"
"Local girl from Meadow Park, the town about a mile down the road. Her sister said she had met some of the crew at a restaurant she works at part-time and had been hired by someone to sell tickets at the concert. She left with them and died later that night."
Blair swallowed several times, willing his body to hold it all together. Or at least keep it down. When he thought he could risk speaking, he asked, "Who are the concert promoters?"
"Green Isle Productions? They're with Nash right now. Phil Proddirt and Andy Stibbs."
Stibbs? Here? Blair's mouth dropped open.
* * * * *
Baby crouched to look at the designs in the marble entranceway. His bottom lip stuck out angrily as he chattered at the green tile.
Ellison peered through the glass doors, and banged loudly on them again. A young cleaning woman ventured into the foyer nervously, and Ellison slapped his badge against the window, calling through the crack that he'd like to speak with the owner. She nodded and disappeared.
His cellphone rang. "Ellison."
"Jim, it's Serena. Something just came in from the autopsy for Marie Smythe, the third murder victim. She was four months pregnant. We're taking DNA samples now to determine the father."
"Make sure Captain Banks knows. We may need to see about getting DNA from Andrew Stibbs, since he recently broke up with her."
"I'll send the report to his office right away."
Ellison put his phone away and turned around, his eyes sweeping the area. He bent to retrieve Baby. "Come on."
"Bad Olli," Baby said, looking down at the stylized dragon. "Bad, bad Olli."
Ellison shook his head and scooped up the child as his cellphone rang again. "Ellison."
"Jim, it's Rafe. We've interviewed Marsha Martin's mother, Donna Martin. You might be interested to hear that Marsha's father was Andrew Stibbs. Mother met him at a university dance in 1973 while in San Francisco visiting her cousin. She returned to Cascade and found out later she was pregnant. She had the child and put Stibbs' name on the birth certificate, although she never was able to find him to tell him. Henri says to let you know that we're heading over to City Records now to confirm Stibbs as the man checking the birth certificate records. We have his photo from the pictures taken at the murder scene."
"Thanks. Keep me informed." Ellison disconnected the call, then dialed dispatch and requested backup units to the Emerald Theater. He flipped his phone shut as the door opened behind him.
The cleaning woman was gesturing for him to come in. "He say go to his office upstair."
Ellison paused. If Stibbs was the murderer, should he be taking Baby in with him?
The toddler leaned towards him, banging his forehead with great force onto the detective's forehead, then pointed to the door.
That would be a 'yes', then. "Be good," he whispered, walking into the building, the child on his left hip, his right hand free to draw his gun.
* * * * *
The air knocked out of him, Blair sat down heavily on the picnic table bench. "Andrew Stibbs?"
Joe Dominguez looked up from squeezing mustard on his hot dog. "Yeah. You know him?"
"I've heard the name. I didn't realize he was here, though."
"He's one of the concert promoters."
"That's interesting . . ." Blair mused, his rebelling stomach momentarily forgotten.
"Why?" Joe asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Hmm?" Blair looked up. "Uh, I just was wondering about him. How old is he?"
"Late twenties, I figure. I'm sure it's written down here somewhere."
Blair tried to picture Stibbs as younger. When he had met him a few days before, after one of the murders, Stibbs had been a broad-shouldered, pale man with the beginnings of a beer-belly, bald, a small scar on his chin and several chunky gold rings on his hand, one with a large emerald. Green Isle Productions. Emerald Theater.
"Joe, I'd like to meet Stibbs, if possible. Could you point him out?"
Joe glanced at the hot dogs left on the tray, then over to two approaching police officers who were also eyeing them, and sighed. "Sure. Come on. Maybe we can see if Hang Dog has any food left in the big tent."
* * * * *
Stibbs looked up as Ellison entered his office. He stood and gestured to a seat. "That your little one?"
"Yes. Do you mind?"
"Makes no never mind to me."
"You have kids?"
Stibbs shook his head, appearing somewhat reflective. "No. Wish I'd had some. It's a little late now, though."
Ellison studied him as Stibbs seemed lost in thought for a moment, then he cleared his throat. "I have a few questions for you. First--"
"Olli," Baby piped up, pointing to a painting on the wall.
Stibbs seemed surprised. "What'd he say?"
"Olli," Baby repeated, twisting on Jim's lap to look up at him. "Dere's Olli."
Ellison glanced at the air-brushed fantasy artwork of a huge dragon, breathing fire. "That's Olli?"
"Ollipeist, actually. The name of a mythological Celtic dragon." Stibbs frowned at the child, surprised. "How on earth would he know that?"
Ellison shrugged, trying to come up with a reasonable excuse. "He watches this kids' show all the time, Fu-Fu Bunny. I think Olli is the name of the friendly dragon who's also on the show."
Stibbs laughed. "Well, I wouldn't know about that. Like I said, I've never had any kids."
"What about Marsha Martin? Doesn't she qualify?"
Stibbs stopped laughing. "What the hell are you talking about?"
* * * * *
Blair left Joe checking out the food tent and headed down to the murder scene by the creek. He could see Nash Bridges with another uniformed police officer -- and Icy. Great.
Icy glared at him as he approached. "What the fuck you doing here?"
"Nothing to do with you, Chomski. Back off." Blair came up to the group, glancing to Nash. "Could I speak with you for a moment?"
"Watch out for this guy," Icy warned Nash. "He's trying to sleep with my girlfriend. H
e's probably the guy you're looking for."
"Believe me, there's no way in God's green earth that I'd want to sleep with your girlfriend, Chomski."
"Don't you dare trash her, you creep!" Icy yelled.
Blair was taken aback by the fierce response. "I didn't trash her. I'd never do that."
"Stay away from her!" Icy seemed almost beside himself in anger, and Blair moved towards Nash, ensuring that the police officer was between them.
"Back down, Chomski," Nash warned, then drew Blair aside. "Is there a problem?"
"Uh, yeah. Your partner, Joe, said that Andrew Stibbs was here. I was wondering if you could point him out to me, without being obvious about it."
Nash nodded. "I could. He's just gone to get a copy of the site contract. Are you going somewhere with this, or is this just idle curiosity?"
"I'm just hoping it might jog my memory."
"That's fine. Do me a favor, though, and sit down. You look like you're going to pass out or throw up any second."
Blair felt his knees give out, and a moment later found himself sitting on the ground, being steadied by Nash. "I'm okay. Just a little woozy."
"When we're done here, I'm taking you in to the Meadow Park clinic. It's only four o'clock; I'm sure they're still open. No arguments."
His eyes closed, Blair nodded, not trusting his voice as he concentrated on not throwing up. He risked a quick look when he heard new voices talking. Nash was speaking with a long-haired blond man who was showing him the contract. Icy was talking to his husky, broad-shouldered drummer, the man with the green dragon tattooed on his chest. Every so often, they would glance over at him and, if looks could kill, Blair knew he'd be dead and gone.
Carefully getting to his feet, Blair stumbled over to Nash and the blond man. "Are you Andrew Stibbs?" he asked, staring at the gold rings on the man's hands.
"No, I'm Phil Proddirt. Who are you?" Proddirt looked from Blair to Nash Bridges, his brow furrowed.
"Bl-- uh, Jim Ellison."
Nash said softly, "Andrew Stibbs is talking with Icy."
Blair looked back at the two men, both standing with arms crossed, staring in his direction. "The drummer is Andrew Stibbs?"
Proddirt nodded. "Olli and Icy are cousins."
* * * * *
"What the hell are you talking about?" Stibbs asked again.
"According to Marsha Martin's mother, your name is on her daughter's birth certificate."
"That's ridiculous. I don't have a daughter."
"Donna said she met you in 1973 at a university dance. She was from Cascade--"
"Donna?" Stibbs was very still suddenly. "The mother's name was Donna?"
"Donna Martin."
"Donna . . ." Stibbs looked up at him. "Donna was here in Cascade all this time? With a child?"
"Are you saying you didn't know--"
"Of course I didn't know! I only knew she was from Cascade, that's why I came here. But I was never able to locate her. I didn't even know her last name. And I certainly didn't know she was pregnant. I tried to find her, for years, but never could." His voice trailed off. "She had a daughter . . . who's dead!" Stibbs stood up angrily. "Who would kill her? And outside my theater? Who would do that? Who would know of the connection?"
"You dated Marie Smythe. There's another connection. Did you know Marie Smythe was pregnant?"
"What? Marie was pregnant? What are you talking about? She never told--" Stibbs went white and sat down slowly. "She never told me." He stared across the room for a minute, then looked back at Ellison. "Are you saying I'm the reason for these murders? Or the target? And why? Why me?"
Baby squirmed around on Ellison's lap, trying to stand up. Ellison turned him so he was resting on his shoulder, again sucking his thumb, obviously upset by what was happening in the room. "If you are the target, Mr Stibbs, I have some other questions for you. Do you remember Naomi Sandburg?"
Stibbs shook his head. "No, the name doesn't ring a bell."
"Mama," Baby said, taking the thumb from his mouth. "Than-bug."
"What did he say?" Stibbs asked.
"THAN-BUG!" Baby screeched back at him. "OLLI, BAD ICKY! NO! ICKY, NO! BAD."
Stibbs stared at the irate toddler in shock. "What's he talking about?"
"Suppose you tell me, Mr Stibbs." Ellison stood, rocking Baby trying to calm him down. "He called you Olli. Ever go by that name?"
"No. Yes. I went by Ollipeist as a musician -- everyone did it then, had an alias. I even have a tattoo of a dragon on my chest. Got called 'Olli' for short. But how did you know that?"
"I didn't. He did." Ellison succeeded in quieting the toddler, who was back earnestly sucking his thumb.
* * * * *
His head spinning, Blair moved off by himself, watching the two men talking, wondering what they were discussing. His stomach was seriously rebelling now. He knew he had to get away from the murder scene before he contaminated it. Jim would be seriously pissed if that happened.
Icy and Olli.
Chomski and Stibbs.
Cousins.
What could that mean? That they were together on this? They had killed together? Or was one just covering for the other?
One of them, at least, had to be the killer.
Three women murdered -- one before he got there, one around the same time as Blair appeared in this time . . . zone. Whatever. – and one last night.
Had Icy or Olli been responsible for Naomi's young child disappearing from the tent?
And drugs were involved.
And Icy had tried to kill me -- or at least beat me up good. And Olli had helped.
What if someone else was involved? Olli had no rings on his hand. Phil Proddirt did. Andrew Stibbs in 1998 had what Blair was willing to bet were the same huge gold rings on his hand. So what had happened to Phil Proddirt?
* * * * *
Ellison sat down again and continued to rock the toddler as he asked, "Were you at a music festival in 1971 in Meadow Park, California, Mr Stibbs?"
"My partner and I produced maybe thirty or forty festivals in the 70s, one every two weeks in the summer up and down the coast. I can look it up--"
"Your partner?"
"Phillip Proddirt."
"Where is Mr. Proddirt now?"
"He was part owner of this building, but he died suddenly last year."
"From what?"
"A drug overdose," Stibbs said softly. "It was ruled an accident. I . . . miss him. Even if he didn't live around here, he was still a good friend."
"Were the drugs from you?"
Stibbs looked up, startled. "What?"
"We have a warrant to search this building. Are you saying we won't find a nice stash of drugs in the basement?"
Stibbs seemed to deflate then, suddenly looking older and worn out. "No, the drugs he had weren't from me."
"Where did Proddirt live?"
"He was living in Las Vegas at the time of his death."
"What happened to his holdings here?"
"They transferred to me. Our arrangements were such that if one of us died, the other took full ownership."
"Was Ivan Chomski, the current reporter with CJJ, at the 1971 festival you produced, playing in a band called the 'Green Machine'?"
Stibbs remained silent.
"In an earlier statement, Mr Stibbs, you said that you had met Mr Chomski for the first time a few years ago."
Stibbs chewed at his lower lip, obviously reluctant to say anything. Finally he sighed and leaned back in his chair. "He's my cousin. I've known him all my life."
"Then why lie about it?"
"Because he asked me to, Detective Ellison."
"Why?"
"I've no idea. Ask him yourself."
"I will," Ellison said, standing and rubbing Baby's back as the distressed child began to cry. "I'll repeat the question. Was Ivan Chomski at a 1971 festival you produced, playing in a band called the 'Green Machine'?"
"I'm not sure which festival you are referring to,
but our band "Green Machine" played at most of them. Ivan was an aspiring musician."
A Step Backwards Page 14