Played to Death

by Meg Perry

  On the way over, I considered whether or not I could trust Mark. I thought I could. He had to know about the theft and that the cops had been asking questions. He may have already been questioned. I wasn’t sure my visit would do any good, but at least it would familiarize me with the security system in the music library.

  The library was on the first floor of the Schoenberg Building, right inside the main entrance. When I went through the library doors, I could feel the tension in the air. The student at the front desk scowled at me. “Can I help you?”

  Good thing I wasn’t a “secret shopper” testing this girl on her customer service skills. I showed her my BruinCard, on its lanyard around my neck. “I’m Jamie Brodie from YRL. I’m here to see Mark Gladwell.”

  “Fine.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “First door in the back right corner.”

  I went to the door she indicated and stuck my head in. “Mark?”

  He looked up and smiled widely. “Jamie! What brings you here?”

  “Do you have a minute?”

  “Absolutely. Come in.”

  I went in and closed the door behind me. “How have you been?”

  His smile faded a bit when I closed the door. “Fine. Busy. How about you?”

  “The same.” I smiled at him, hoping to put him at ease. “I’m here about the theft.”

  “Oh.” Mark’s face cleared, then he looked puzzled. “What does it have to do with you? The police have already been here. Twice.”

  “I know. I’ve - um - helped the cops out a couple of times, and they asked me if I’d do a little ear-to-the-ground investigating for them.”

  “Ah.” Mark leaned back and grinned. “The insider’s perspective. I got the distinct impression from the LAPD cop that she thought it was an inside job.”

  “So did I. Do you think it could be?”

  He shook his head emphatically. “No. Not counting the work-study students, there are only five of us in this library. We all know each other well. I’d be shocked if anyone here was involved. Besides - if one of us was going to take something, it would be worth taking.”

  “More valuable.”

  “Right. That missing piece is pretty rare, but the composer is obscure, and it’s only 28 years old.”

  I asked, “The value would go up in time, wouldn’t it?”

  “It might, but not much. The composer was young when he died. He’s never going to be famous.”

  “I was talking to a friend of mine who’s a cellist with the Philharmonic, and he said there might be a collector who’s interested in that particular composer.”

  Mark nodded. “Yes. That’s what I told the police. If a collector wanted a complete set of the composer’s work, for his or her own reasons, they wouldn’t care if it wasn’t that valuable on the open market. It’s valuable to them.”

  “Right. Do you know anyone like that?”

  “No. The only collectors I know of are the ones who leave their collections to us when they die.”

  I laughed. “Is that how you all came to own this piece?”

  “I’m not sure. Do you want me to find out?”

  “Nah. I’m sure the cops have asked that question.” I’d check with Aguilar. “Are your scores tagged?”

  “Yes, on the cover. And this one was in the reference collection, not circulation.”

  “Do you allow reference materials into other parts of the building?”

  “Only to faculty, and we keep their BruinCard until they bring it back. That wasn’t the case here.”

  “Are people from the community allowed to use the reference collection?”

  “They are.” Mark’s face clouded. “I hope that doesn’t change because of this.”

  “It might have been one of our own students.”

  “I hate to think that. But it’s probably true. Or, if it was someone from the outside, they had a student’s help.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  Mark said, “The only way to defeat the security gate is to carry something out holding it over your head. Out of the reach of the scanner. The only way that could go unnoticed is if the person at circ was distracted.”

  “Hm. Or maybe the person just waited until a natural distraction happened, then went. Do you all get pretty busy?”

  “Yeah. There can be two or three people waiting at circ sometimes.”

  I couldn’t think of anything else to ask. “Mark, I really appreciate your help. If you hear anything that you think might be useful, will you let me know?”

  “Sure. Will you do me a favor?”

  “Of course.”

  “Try to convince the cops that it wasn’t an inside job.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Oh - you all have security cameras, right?”

  “Yeah. The cops are supposedly checking the recordings for unusual activity.”

  “Great. Thanks again, Mark.”

  “You’re welcome.” He grinned at me. “Don’t be a stranger.”

  After my reference shift, I went back to my office and called Aguilar. She answered promptly. “Jamie, I’m on campus. Can I come to your office in about thirty minutes?”

  “Sure.”

  Aguilar showed up right on time and knocked on my door frame. I stood. “Come in, Detective.”

  “Please, call me Donna. How’s it going on your end?”

  I told her everything I’d learned from Scott and Mark. “Did you ask the music library how they’d come to own the piece?”

  “I did. They said the composer’s family had donated it. Does that happen often?”

  “It does.”

  Donna looked around my office. “What’s your doctorate in?”

  “History. Do you have a degree in art?”

  “Art education. I taught for three years and decided it wasn’t for me. I had cops in the family, so…” She spread her hands.

  “You must have one of the most interesting gigs in LAPD.”

  She grinned. “I like it. Anyway, I talked to the cello instructor here. He also suggested that the thief might have been a collector.”

  I said, “Surely a collector wouldn’t have stolen the score himself. Or herself.”

  “No, you wouldn’t think so. But anything’s possible at this point.” She rubbed her neck. “I’ve just come from watching several hours of security footage from the camera that shows the music library entrance. So far no one’s walked out holding anything over their heads. But there are several more hours to see.”

  “That’s tedious.”

  She smiled tiredly. “You must know from your brother, a lot of police work is tedious.”

  “Are you going to contact local cellists? See if any of them know of an Isaacson collector?”

  “The ones I can find. I understand the Philharmonic is on break.”

  “They are, until mid-July. Some of them might be around, though.”

  “Like your friend.”

  “And there are other cello and strings instructors at other colleges in town.”

  “Right. I’ve got someone working on a list.” She stood. “Thanks for your help. Let me know if you come across anything else.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Wednesday, June 10

  Jamie

  The next morning, I’d been at work around a half hour when Kristen Beach came to my door. “I saw your brother at the North Pool this morning.”

  “Oh. I thought you had a pool at home.”

  “I do, but it’s not a lap pool. I’ve decided to get serious about swimming this summer. For that I need a lap pool. And Kevin was there this morning.”

  “Yeah, he’s moved back to Westwood. He said he was going to start swimming again.”

  Kristen raised an eyebrow. “He told me he’s moved back. Alone.”

  “Abby broke up with him about a month ago. He bought a condo on Beverly Glen, across the street from Liz.” I leaned back and crossed my arms. “Ms. Beach. Are you interested in my brother?”

  She g
rinned. “Maybe.”

  “He’s not your type, you know. He’s three years younger than you.” Both Kristen’s ex-husband and most recent boyfriend had been considerably older.

  Kristen dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “I’m beginning to think I need a new type.”

  “So does Kevin. His ex-wife and Abby were both redheads who left him with big debts.”

  “He didn’t seem to be in mourning.”

  I considered that. “It fell apart gradually. Abby had been keeping secrets for over a year. And he’s been working all the time, and he’s moved twice in the past few weeks - I don’t know if he’s had much time to grieve.”

  “I gave him my number.”

  That stunned me to silence for a minute. “Um - did he ask for it?”

  She grinned. “No, but he wanted it. He just hadn’t thought of asking. And he gave me his back. But I wanted to find out what his situation was from you before I called him.”

  “Right now he’s tied up with the murder that happened at Graham’s wedding. But he might ask you to go hiking or take you up on the offer of a drink. I don’t think he’ll be making any long-term arrangements for a while.”

  “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

  “Just don’t ask him to go to the movies.”

  She chuckled. “I’ll keep you informed.”

  As soon as she left the office, I texted Kevin. Kristen Beach?

  He texted back almost immediately. Why not?

  Why not, indeed. I texted, We will discuss this.

  His response was LOL.

  Liz and I were at the research desk when my phone buzzed with a call. I glanced at the ID; it was Donna Aguilar. I said, “I’d better get this.”

  Liz shooed me away. “Go.”

  I answered as I pushed through the door to the outside. “This is Jamie.”

  “Hi, Jamie, it’s Donna Aguilar. I’m at the UCLA PD. Are you able to come down here for a few minutes?”

  “Um - sure. I’m on my way.” I went back inside to let Liz know where I was going, then hurried to the campus police department.

  When I got there, I was pointed down the hall to a cramped conference room. Donna Aguilar, Dr. Fleming from the music library, and a UCLA police detective were gathered. Donna said, “Ah, Jamie, good. This is Detective Sharmaine Poston from Property Crimes.”

  “Detective Poston.” I shook her hand. “What’s going on?”

  Donna said, “We have something we’d like you to see.”

  “Is this the footage from the music library security camera?”

  Dr. Fleming said, “Yes. It’s from last Friday, at ten ‘til five. Right before closing.”

  “Okay.” I wasn’t sure what I’d be able to add to the conversation, but I watched. Detective Poston cued up the recording. There were three patrons at circulation, all apparently returning reserve items and getting IDs back. So the person at circ didn’t see the young woman who strolled to the door, yawning, and stretched her arms over her head as she walked through the security gates, her bag gripped firmly in her hand rather than hung over her shoulder.

  There was something about the bag… I said, “Is there a way to make that clearer?”

  “No, but you can see the original.” Detective Poston turned her laptop toward me. I squinted at the screen and saw a dark-haired young woman whose face was mostly obscured - but I had no trouble identifying the distinctive pattern on the bag.

  I said, “Oh, my God,” just as Dr. Fleming said, “Is that Hello Kitty?”

  Donna stared at me. “Do you know who that is?”

  I said, “West LA Homicide is working a murder that happened at a wedding in Holmby Hills this past Saturday. The victim was a young woman with dark hair who was a member of the string quartet that played at the wedding. She’d arrived with a big Hello Kitty tote bag and took it on break with her. After the break, her body was found by a caterer. Her bag was missing.”

  Now all three women were staring at me. Donna said, “Do you know her name?”

  “No. But I know she was a student at Pasadena City College. My brother Kevin and his partner caught the case.”

  “Let me have his phone number.”

  I gave Donna both Kevin’s and Jon’s numbers, and she entered them into her own phone. “Okay, thanks. I’m going to call them right now.” She left the conference room.

  Dr. Fleming ran her hands through her hair. “At least it wasn’t one of our students.”

  Detective Poston said, “It could be unrelated.” But she didn’t sound convinced.

  I wasn’t convinced either.

  As I was walking to Bunche Hall to teach my history class, I texted Scott. Dark-haired girl with Hello Kitty tote likely stole Isaacson solo. Seen on security cameras leaving library.

  He answered almost immediately. WTF??

  Right? Theft tied to murder.

  Shit. Guess I’ll be seeing Kevin again.

  Very likely. Sorry.

  I didn’t get a response to that.

  When I got out of class and turned on my phone, I had a text from Pete. Kevin coming to dinner.

  I called him as I was walking back to the library. “Hey, did he tell you about Kristen Beach?”

  “No, what about her?”

  I told Pete about my conversation with Kristen that morning. By the time I ended, Pete was laughing. “Well, she’s different from his usual, that’s for sure.”

  “This all feels kind of incestuous. You and me, Jon and Liz, now Kevin and Kristen?”

  “Don’t get excited yet. They’ve only exchanged numbers. I don’t think he’ll be moving very fast.”

  I got off the bus and turned right onto 17th Street just as Kevin’s car turned left from Wilshire onto 17th. He had to park a couple of blocks away, and we met at our front gate. I said, “Did Donna Aguilar call you?”

  “Yeah. We’re meeting with her tomorrow morning to see the video.”

  “I told Scott the cases were connected. He said he guessed he’d be seeing you again.”

  “Probably. We need to talk to the girl’s family first.”

  “I’m going to see if I can find any chat rooms or discussion boards about this composer. If so, it might be possible to find out who collects his music.”

  When we went inside, the house smelled like soup. Pete greeted us from the kitchen. “Hope you’re hungry.”

  I said, “Ravenous. What is that?”

  “Leek and potato soup.”

  When we sat down to eat, Pete said to Kevin, “So. Kristen Beach?”

  Kevin raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”

  Pete laughed. “No reason I can think of. You don’t think you’re moving too fast, though?”

  “I’m not moving fast. I might invite her to go hiking. That’s it.”

  I said, “From what she said, I don’t think she’s looking for serious either.”

  “Good. For now, it’ll just be nice to talk to an attractive woman who’s actually read a book in the past five years.”

  “Kristen’s smart and well-educated. You won’t have any problems there.”

  Kevin said, “The coroner autopsied Elena Morales today.”

  Pete asked, “Anything useful?”

  “Yeah.” Kevin ate a spoonful of soup. “The coroner was able to measure the size of the hands of the murderer, from the bruises on her neck. It won’t help us a lot in identifying the killer, but it might help us rule people out. And another thing.” Kevin waved his spoon. “Elena was pregnant. About eight weeks.”

  Pete whistled. I said, “Whoa.”

  “Yeah. Now we’ve got to break that news to the parents.”

  “Have any of her friends told you anything about a boyfriend?”

  “No. So far we haven’t found anyone she confided in.”

  I said, “Maybe she kept it secret because she was dating a minor. Brian.”

  “That’s occurred to us.” Kevin frowned at his soup. “We have to get Brian to talk somehow.”


  Thursday, June 11

  Jamie

  I spent the morning grading papers. The graduate history course I’d been teaching as an adjunct had met for the final time yesterday afternoon, and I had to turn in grades by the end of the day tomorrow when the spring quarter ended.

  It was the last time I’d have to teach as an adjunct. The first thing I’d decided to do after receiving the inheritance last month was to quit teaching these extra classes. I’d been doing it to close the salary gap between Pete and me, which had been around $16,000.

  Not a problem now with $38 million in the bank.

  I was nearly finished when Liz stuck her head in my door. “Jon and Kevin are on campus. Want to meet them for lunch?”

  “Sure.”

  At noon, we walked over to the North Campus Student Center, where Jon and Kevin were seated at an outdoor table, digging into large salads. I’d brought red curry with vegetables from home, and Liz had pho. Kevin sniffed at our meals. “Smells good.”

  Liz pointed her spoon at the salads. “You guys are eating healthy.”

  Jon said, “It’s our summer resolution. If we have to eat out all the time, we’re at least going to eat healthy.”

  I said, “I’m glad to hear that.”

  Kevin gave me a meaningful glance. “I’m getting rid of all my bad habits.”

  Including Abby, I supposed. “Have you been to the music library?”

  “Yeah. We spent all morning there. At least we’ve figured out how Elena Morales got access to the stolen music.”

  Jon said, “The reference section isn’t open to the general public, but students from other colleges can show their ID and go back there. They do have a record of Elena’s student ID number from PCC and her signature on the day she was there.”

  I said, “That was dumb, signing her own name.”

  “She had to show her ID. That would have been harder to fake.”

  Liz said, “They don’t have to sign out?”

  “No.”

  I said, “They need a system like we have for special collections. You have to swipe your BruinCard to get in and to get out.”

  Kevin said, “We asked them about that. They said the cost of a system like that was prohibitive. And this is the first time they’ve ever had anything stolen from reference.”