“Great. It’s good, the fact you think like a cop.”
“I am one.”
Evie blinked, realized what she’d said, and laughed. “Sorry. I occasionally get you stuck with your ‘Maggie’s boyfriend’ hat on, and it covers up the one that says ‘super cop.’”
“Nice save.”
She grinned. “Yeah. It does mess me up at times, realizing who you are. By the way, what do Maggie’s friends think about her being engaged to someone who’s a long ways away from the music business?”
“They’re puzzled—probably much the same as yours are since you’re considering life with a finance guy of some acclaim.”
“True enough.” Evie forced herself back on topic. “Okay. You’ll get Lynne going on her life story, showing you ticket stubs and photos of Maggie, I’ll take copious notes to back up the recording on my phone. We don’t walk out until we’re convinced Lynne is either our person of interest for at least Jenna or she’s ruled out.”
David grinned at the way she said it. “Okay.” He considered her. “You wearing down from your own adrenaline yet?”
“Sort of. At the margins. Sitting on my hands until noon tomorrow is going to have me climbing the walls.”
“You need to crash the rest of the night. We both sleep in, then we go back to a few of Jenna’s friends, ask a bunch of questions we don’t care about, then casually bring up Lynne and see what they say. We’ll pursue what her credit-card number tells us, look at Jenna’s albums to see if there are any other girls like Lynne who might have been overlooked. Or else you can just hit the gym for a couple-hour workout before lunch.”
“What I really want is to have the case solved before the charity event tomorrow night.”
David visibly jolted. “A fact that just turned on a lightbulb. Lynne’s not going to be at the theater tomorrow night, Evie. Maggie’s in Chicago, Lynne’s going to be there. She’s probably already arranged time off so she can get a good position on the rope line. Or get inside.” He slid around the desk, spun in his chair, shifted the keyboard over. “Okay, the guest list tomorrow night . . .”
Evie watched over his shoulder as he accessed the security list.
“Good,” he said as he scrolled down. “Lynne doesn’t have a ticket to the event—not a surprise given the steep price. Let me confirm she’s not registered at the hotel, hoping to get a closer vantage point from inside the building.” He picked up the phone, made a call, got hotel security on the line. He asked a series of questions and waited. He shook his head.
“So not a hotel guest either,” Evie said.
David hung up. “No. Not under her name, or booked with any credit card that has her mailing address. So, a reasonably confident no. I’ll make sure hotel security and Maggie’s security have current photos of her, know she’s likely to be present.
“I’ll adjust Friday night based on whether Lynne is where I expect her to be. Visible at the rope line and screaming her excitement, waving like mad, that’s fine, expected and good news. Lynne not being there to see Maggie—it’s not that she decided not to come; it’s that she’s found a way to get in even closer. Lynne’s been in dressing rooms for music groups for eleven years, would have collected names of hair and makeup people, publicity types, managers, not to mention musicians and singers. At least a few names in her world have gotten to where they could attend an event like this or open that possibility for Lynne.”
“And now your tension level is up,” Evie said, having seen the shift in David from casual planning to stopping potential trouble for Maggie.
He shook his head. “There are several hundred names on Maggie’s security list that raise my tension level just like Lynne, some of whom I know are trying to figure out how to get as close as possible to Maggie tomorrow night. It’s why we screen her limo’s chauffeur, why we have photo ID badges for those backstage. I do feel it deeply when I’m working security for Maggie, which is one of the reasons I’ve chosen to remain in law enforcement, not do this full time for her. Other people I trust are feeling a similar tension and covering the bases for her. Not just the event tomorrow night, but security for her home, keeping watch on her parents.”
“Tell you what,” Evie said. “If it’s anywhere near doable, why don’t we aim to solve this tomorrow, or at least by Monday? Because if it’s not Lynne, you’ve already convinced me that whoever is picking out women at Triple M concerts is going to be at that rope line to see Maggie at her first event back in Chicago. We’ll be able to move this case tomorrow one way or another.”
David nodded. “I put it at seventy percent that our answer shows up at the rope line. So at least we can go from lots of names to lots of photos.”
“Ooh, how true, and that hurts. But it’s our reality.” She looked once more at the board, then reached for her coat. “Let’s go back to the hotel, David. This is tomorrow’s problem.”
“By the way, did you find something to wear for tomorrow night?”
“I did. Still looking for shoes, though. I’ll have to fit that in tomorrow morning.”
“Maggie likes me in black tie. She says I look dashing.” He pulled on his coat.
“I can imagine you do. Rob, he manages to do it without trying. Just picks a suit out of his closet and fits the part.”
The crisp breeze outside felt refreshing. Evie turned her face up. “Nice—in very small doses.”
David chuckled. “So we’ll dive into it back here in the morning, Evie, but not so early we need a pot of coffee to wake up.”
“No earlier than nine a.m. Deal?”
He nodded and turned toward his car.
It would be hard to sleep past seven a.m., but she’d do her best. “I’ll update Ann tonight,” she called over to David, “and pray the state doesn’t call and step on me.”
“If you do get called, I’m waiting on you for the Lynne interview. You made a good find.”
“It does feel like that.” Evie unlocked her car and lifted a hand. “Thanks, David. Good night.”
“Night, Evie.”
It really felt like she had a probable answer. Sometimes great pitches still fouled off or became less than the home run she was after. But it will come. If not tomorrow, in the next few days, she told herself as she drove to the hotel. Lynne Benoit . . . It was rare the first name that surfaced was the right one, but female, local, Jenna’s friend of sorts—it was all clicking in the ways a murder often happened. Just add the discovery of a well-hid body, and Evie had the Jenna Greenhill case resolved.
She could let the FBI figure out the three other victims in Indiana and Ohio, give Milwaukee PD some new ideas on Tammy’s disappearance. As the outcome for her first task-force assignment, she could live with that. Actually, it was her second assignment if she counted the practice run in Carin County. But solving the case was what mattered, getting answers for Jenna. She was tired but hopeful, and that was a good way to end the workday.
Nineteen
Evie clicked her seat belt into place. “That filled up an interesting hour. Thanks.” They had been running down leads on both Saul and Jenna, filling in the hours until they could go interview Lynne. Talking to one of the gamblers identified in Saul’s last photos had been a useful interview.
“A fascinating man,” David said, “one whose gambling addiction has been dominating his life for twenty years. The names he provided will be helpful.” He glanced at the time, started the car. “Let’s go find your shoes for tonight—by then it will be time to drive over and see our Lynne.”
“That’s very much a yes,” she replied.
David nodded, backed out into the street. Evie found the name of a nearby mall, keyed in directions, then went online for shoe stores closest to which entrance. “I assume you’re coming in while I shop?”
“If they’ve got a bookstore, that’s where I’ll be. Find me when you’re done.”
She smiled. “I can do that.”
Evie had known David had done it on purpose—the break at the
mall and something else to think about before Lynne’s big interview. It had helped. She followed him up to the Benoit home, let him ring the doorbell just minutes after noon. She hoped what followed would go as well as their timing.
The woman who came to the door was Lynne’s mother, and her DMV photo hadn’t done her justice. She looked younger than her years. “May I help you?”
David already had his badge and credentials out, showed them casually as he smiled. “Mrs. Benoit—Nancy, if you don’t mind—I’m David Marshal, and this is my partner, Evie Blackwell. We’re working on an old case of a missing college student, Jenna Greenhill. We’re in the area for interviews this afternoon, and we had a question come up regarding the Music Hall that Lynne might be able to quickly answer. Would she happen to be home?”
“Of course. Please, come in out of the cold. It’s never going to thaw, the way the weather is this year.” She turned to the stairs and called, “Lynne, would you come down please? We have guests.”
Nancy motioned them toward the front room where a fire cheerfully blazed. She had apparently been watching a Jeopardy! episode she’d recorded, as it was now on pause. She studied David with interest. “You’re Maggie’s boyfriend, aren’t you? I’m not so behind on the times I didn’t hear you were in town—that skeleton they found, your name in the news. Lynne will be overjoyed. You’re helping out with Jenna now, are you? It’s sad, what happened with her, just so very sad.”
“Yes, it is, Mrs. Benoit. You remember the case?”
“No one talked of much else for several months. It was the lack of any clues that was so puzzling. When you live in a neighborhood for thirty years, crimes like that leave a large hole in your sense of safety. Thankfully, it’s been the only crime of its nature in those thirty years. I’m not saying the college doesn’t breed some trouble, and girls certainly have to show common sense at night, but most of the families around here are smart enough to know the college crowd comes and goes as a constant refrain. They don’t bother us, for the most part, and we let them be.”
“Who is it, Mom—?” Lynne mostly swallowed the last words as she took the final two steps into the front room. “Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my . . . !”
“Take a breath, child,” Nancy said kindly but firmly, and Lynne swiveled her head quickly between David and her mom.
“Oh, hi. Wow!”
David smiled, and Lynne flushed scarlet.
“Hi back to you, Lynne. I hear you’re a fan of Maggie’s,” David said.
“Only absolutely forever! I’ve got her first recording from Chester Hill, the one she did with Steve Ross at the Cup and Bell, and I just acquired a copy of Marissa’s wedding program with the original lyrics Maggie wrote. Oh, my goodness, why are you here? I mean here here? Did I, like, win the ticket? The actual ticket to a table at the charity event tonight? I know just what I’ll wear—”
“I haven’t heard yet, Lynne,” David interjected. “The mayor’s office is the one doing the drawing.”
“I’ve already got the night off to go into Chicago. Just being there is important. There’s going to be so many celebrities coming to hear Maggie sing, but to be inside would be incredible.”
David smiled. “Then I hope your name gets drawn so you can have that experience.”
Lynne looked from David to Evie, over to her mom, then back to David, her expression full of delight and also questions.
“They need some information about the Music Hall, Lynne. Related to Jenna,” her mom filled in.
“Sure. I talked to someone last week asking questions about the Music Hall and Jenna. It was a Triple M concert the night she disappeared. Maggie was incredible, her singing that night. She brought the house down.”
“Ann was doing interviews with me last week, and you spoke with her,” Evie said, and Lynne’s attention turned to her. “You were helpful, Lynne. Your job in the dressing room gives you insight on the bands no one else has, and the fact you’ve worked there for so many years is also invaluable.”
“It’s a great job. They pay me to do a job I’d do for free, given how many musicians and singers I get to meet.” Her attention shifted back quickly to David. “Maggie was absolutely the best of all of them, ever. She gave me songwriting tips, autographed my program, and I’ve got a photo with her playing the guitar in the dressing room. She even asked my opinion on a song she was putting together. I wasn’t bugging her,” Lynne hurried to add. “I was just there if she needed something—it’s my job. But there was a lull with the sound check, and she had twenty minutes to fill. She wanted to talk, asked about how the crowds were when the Music Hall was full and what I thought of the acoustics, did I have any tips about the stage or lighting. I was so nervous I would say something wrong, but I could tell she was nervous too—can you imagine it? Margaret May McDonald nervous about singing! I would have never thought it. She laughed and said I was the best for helping settle her nerves. She sang wonderful that night. I’d heard her several times before, and I knew she was going to be spectacular. She absolutely was. I thought it was the best concert ever.”
“Maggie did sing wonderfully that night,” David agreed. “She was trying out some new songs, which always makes her nerves particularly acute. I’d say she was right, if she said you were helping her calm down.”
Lynne beamed. “I told you, Mom.”
“Yes, you did, Lynne. But there are other things to talk about now.” She looked to Evie, then David. “You came with a question about the Music Hall?”
“Your daughter has worked there for a long time,” David began. “And I was there that night when Maggie sang, with her onstage briefly at the end of the performance. It struck me that the Music Hall’s pretty expansive the way it’s laid out. I’m curious, Lynne, if there’s been any remodeling done, like new exits added as the fire codes changed, more office space, or new configuration to handle updated electronics to enhance the concert experience—that kind of thing.”
“Why ask Lynne rather than the building owner or manager?” Nancy interjected.
“Mom . . .” Lynne protested.
“We’re not implying anything or suspecting anyone, Mrs. Benoit. It’s simply easier to ask questions about the Music Hall when we’re not actually standing in it. Working backstage like she does, Lynne would have seen the changes as they happened.”
“There used to be a stage trapdoor—you mean things like that?” Lynne asked.
“Yes, just like that.”
“They had to board it over for a few years because it opened to a ladder underneath the stage. Then they took that whole section of the stage out and put in a motorized lift. Now the entire section of floor can be raised or lowered by four feet. And they took out offices rather than add them, so the Hall could have an official standing-room-only section.” Lynne gazed at the floor for a moment, thinking, then looked up in relief. “They put in more restrooms. And the place used to have pretty uncomfortable seats, but they’ve replaced them all, twice now since I’ve worked there. Not that anyone sits once a concert is under way, but you do notice before things start that it’s more comfortable than before.”
She glanced between them. “It’s not a complex building—just the entrance halls with concessions for intermission and restrooms, the backstage area for performers, and offices upstairs for security and management. The sound and lighting guys have lots of storage rooms tucked around all over the building, and the janitors need big equipment to work on the floors and carpets to keep them clean. But they mostly rip out the carpet every couple years and repaint everything. Rather routine, you know, how stuff is done. Does that help?”
“It sure does,” David replied.
Evie, busily taking notes, nodded her agreement. That hall was a labyrinth for people who knew it well. If Jenna had gone back to meet someone, there were ways around getting noticed. Something bad happened with the manager, just schedule the carpet to get ripped out since it was getting worn, put a repaint job on the schedule, and watch the crime
scene disappear.
“You’ve noticed a lot of bands come and go, the equipment they bring in, how they like to configure things, practice,” David commented.
“Sure. Sometimes I go in early so I can watch the stage configuration. Mike—he’s the electrician there—sometimes he’ll see me in the seats watching and send me for the cables he needs, or call out the connections he wants made, because I know where everything’s stored. I keep the dressing rooms neat and everything arranged in its place, but it’s nothing compared to Mike and his cables and cords. It’s everything put back where it belongs, and everything checked to be there, before you leave wrap-up. Sometimes it’s two a.m. before he’ll release the crew. He’s a good teacher. I can put the dressing room back in shape and have its inventory checked in under an hour now, when it used to take me almost two.”
“You stay after the concerts to straighten up, put things in order—it’s not a job for the next morning?”
She shrugged. “You wait until morning, then the next band comes in early, and they suffer in the chaos because you weren’t ready for them. The Music Hall has a reputation for taking care of its performers, and it would be bad if I was the reason for something less. Every band deserves an excellent dressing-room experience.”
“My daughter takes her job very seriously,” Nancy said with a smile.
Lynne shot an embarrassed look across the room. “Mom wants me to be a bank teller or work for an insurance broker, because I’m careful with the details. But the Music Hall is better than any other job around. There are great perks besides just getting to meet great people and hear all the concerts. They constantly have new posters going up and others coming down. I’ve got dozens and dozens of band posters in my collection, and some are worth serious money as collectibles.”
Threads of Suspicion Page 27