Played to Death

by Meg Perry

  When Scott had logged on he searched for @CPercival - and found a post from late last night.

  “Looking to buy original Isaacson cello duet, Andante and Vivace. Anyone interested in parting with one?”

  Scott hesitated, his fingers over the keyboard. Jon nodded encouragingly. “Go ahead.”

  “@CPercival: maybe. How much are you willing to pay?”

  They only had to wait a minute. Percival must have been monitoring the site for a response.

  “@eastman02: $500.”

  Jon said, “Play hard to get.”

  “@CPercival: That’s not enough.”

  “@eastman02: $650.”

  Jon said, “Make a counter-offer.”

  “@CPercival: Make it $800.”

  There was a pause, then, “@eastman02: Deal. IM your phone #.”

  Scott said, “Oh, hell, no. I am not giving my phone number to a murderer.”

  “Of course you’re not.” Jon handed Scott a smart phone that looked like one of the original models. “We use this one for these situations.”

  Scott clicked on Percival’s name, then the IM icon. When the box opened he said, “Percival?”

  “Here.”

  Scott typed in the phone number Jon gave him. Percival responded, “Great. Here’s mine. Can you meet Thursday evening? 8:00.”

  “Yes. Where?”

  “Hotel Bel Air, in the bar.”

  Kevin said, “He must be planning to take the score right to Oliver to get his money.”

  Scott answered, “I’ll be there. How will I know you?”

  A pause then, “I’ll be the one looking for the guy holding a music score.”

  Kevin snorted. “Funny guy.”

  Scott typed, “Ha.”

  “Will text you if plans change.”

  “OK. See you Thursday.”

  “Right.”

  Jon said, “Close the chat box but don’t log off yet. Read some other posts. Don’t act like you were just on here to arrange a deal.”

  “Right.” Scott went back to the message board. “I assume this will work like the last time?”

  Kevin said, “Same plan, different cops. Detective Garcia will still be there, but this time he’ll be with Detective Pinter, also from our division.”

  Scott didn’t care for that. Neither Garcia nor Pinter would have any interest in keeping him safe. He’d like to think that Jon and Kevin would. “Why won’t you two be there?”

  Kevin raised an eyebrow. “That’s the night of Jamie’s wedding rehearsal.”

  Oh. Scott opened his mouth, then closed it.

  Jon stood. “Don’t worry. They’ll have your back.”

  Kevin stood as well. “Detective Garcia will call you Thursday to finalize the details.”

  “Fine.” Scott sighed, then got to his feet. “If this goes to trial, will I have to testify?”

  Jon grinned. “Trials are expensive. We always go for a confession.”

  Jamie

  Mid-morning, I got a text from Scott. “How late are you working this evening?”

  “5:00. Why?”

  “Need to talk to you. Can I come by around 4:00?”

  “Sure. Anything I should know?”

  “No. Just need some answers. See you then.”

  At 3:55, Lance called to let me know that my visitor was here. When Scott appeared at my door, I waved him in. “What’s going on?”

  He got right to the point. “How did Ethan get that scar on his torso?”

  I hadn’t been expecting that. “Um - did you ask Ethan?”

  “Yeah. He wouldn’t talk about it. All he would say is that he made the mistake of getting involved in one of your cases.”

  I had to laugh. Leave it to Ethan to avoid taking responsibility for chasing a stolen manuscript halfway across Europe. “It wasn’t my case, it was Ethan’s. He got me involved, not the other way around, and he’s the one who put himself in danger by doing exactly what the police and I told him not to.”

  “What happened?”

  I gave Scott a synopsis of the Ars Scientiae et Medicinae business and how Ethan had come to be stabbed by Fritz Roewer in the parking lot of a Mexican restaurant in Palo Alto. “We told him not to come to Stanford, and he came anyway. Roewer followed him. When he saw that Ethan had a copy of the Ars, he tried to take him out. If Pete and I had left first, Ethan would be dead.”

  Scott drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. I said, “Why is this important to you?”

  “Because Ethan’s giving me grief about working with Kevin and Jon on Elena’s murder. He doesn’t want me to have anything to do with it.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Being a little bossy, isn’t he, for having dated you - what? Three weeks?”

  “Two weeks, two days.” Scott scowled. “And yes, he’s being bossy.” He threw his hands in the air. “The first week after we met, we saw each other every day. We find out that we have you in common, and I don’t see him for five days. Then he calls, we have dinner, he says he wants to go talk to your dad. Then he starts getting possessive.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “You know, when you two first got together, I figured you’d have the upper hand. But now…”

  Scott scoffed. “That’s a laugh. I’m telling you, Jamie, I don’t need this shit.”

  “Then don’t take it. Tell him to get lost.”

  Scott’s expression was dismal. I said, “Unless… You’ve already fallen for him, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, damn it.” Scott jumped to his feet and started pacing, then turned to me. “You know him better than anyone. What should I do?”

  “Ethan needs to be managed. You don’t have the upper hand? Take it. Manage him. If he doesn’t like it, it’s not too late to say goodbye.”

  Scott took a deep breath. “All right. We’re having dinner tonight. I’ll tell him that I’m working with the police until they don’t need me anymore. Period. If that’s a deal breaker for him, he doesn’t have to stick around.”

  “Excellent. Go get ‘im.”

  “I will. Thanks.” Scott gave me a sharp nod and strode out of the office.

  Oy. I rubbed my temples. No way was I going to continue to hand out relationship advice to either of those two. One thing about it, though - any residual feelings that I might have been harboring in my subconscious for Ethan were well and truly dead.

  Scott deserved better.

  Scott

  Scott pulled into Ethan’s driveway, cut the ignition, and sat there for a minute. He’d never been much of an actor, but he didn’t want to talk about what he had to do on Thursday until dinner was over.

  He’d just have to try hard to keep his face from giving anything away.

  He picked up the gift bag with the wine and stepped out of the car.

  When Ethan opened his front door, the aroma of pasta sauce drifted out. Scott sniffed the air appreciatively. “That smells fantastic.”

  “I haven’t made it before, so I hope it tastes as good as it smells.” Ethan accepted the wine with a smile. “Thanks. Come on in.”

  Scott had thought he might busy himself with helping to set the table, but it was already set, right down to the cloth napkins which were folded into an intricate ruffle on each plate. He said, “Did you fold those napkins?”

  “Yeah.” Ethan blushed a bit. “The cook we had when I was growing up taught me how.”

  Scott trailed after Ethan into the kitchen. “Do you need any help?”

  “No. Now that you’re here I can boil the pasta, and we’re all set.” Ethan tossed a couple of handfuls of angel hair pasta into a boiling pot then lifted the lid from the sauce pot and stirred a couple of times. “What did you do today?”

  Scott tried to keep his tone light. “Ran errands. Thought about what to pack for next week.”

  “Next week?”

  “Ah, I thought I told you. I’m attending a week-long master class in San Francisco, beginning next Monday.”

  “Where are you staying?”
>
  Scott named his hotel; Ethan nodded. “Good choice. I - ah - don’t suppose you’d care for some company, would you? I’ll get my own room.”

  Scott’s heart flipped - then he thought, This doesn’t constitute taking control, Scotty. “I’d like that, but I’m going to be in class six hours a day. You’ll be bored.”

  “Nah. I have textbooks to read and syllabi to write for the fall, and I can look up some old friends.” Ethan gave the angel hair a stir and switched off the heat under the sauce. He uncorked the wine, poured two generous glasses and handed Scott one. “To San Francisco.”

  Scott lifted his glass, then took a long drink. Maybe if he had a slight buzz, his news would be easier to tell.

  They talked of other things during dinner, mostly other cities they’d visited. Ethan, like Scott, had been all over Europe, and they compared notes. Scott had two glasses of wine and was beginning to feel better.

  Maybe Ethan wouldn’t react badly.

  They cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher; Ethan refilled their glasses and gestured with his toward the back door. “Come on. Let’s sit outside and you can tell me what’s been bothering you ever since you got here.”

  And he thought he’d been doing so well. Scott grimaced. “It’s not exactly bothering me. It’s just that I have to take a rain check for Thursday evening, and I don’t think you’re going to be happy about the reason.”

  Ethan’s expression grew somber. “Why?”

  Scott took another gulp of wine and a deep breath and plunged in. “I’m going to meet with the dealer of the stolen Isaacson solo.”

  Ethan’s expression didn’t change. He said slowly, “Tell me you are kidding.”

  “No. It has to be me. I’m the only one that can talk to the guy without him catching on to what we’re doing.”

  Ethan sucked in a noisy breath through his nostrils and studied his wine. “Did Jamie talk you into this?”

  “What? No. Jamie has nothing to do with this. Kevin’s supervisor and another detective are going to be backing me up.”

  Ethan’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing. “Backing you up? You’re not a fucking cop.”

  “Believe me, I’m well aware of that. It’s not going to be dangerous. The guy’s just a dealer.”

  “I was nearly killed by a medieval German scholar.” Ethan thumped his wine glass onto the side table and yanked his polo shirt up, displaying his scar. “This is what happened to me.”

  Scott thumped his glass down, too. “That is what happened to you when you went haring off by yourself. I am not going to be by myself. There will be cops all over the place. It’s just one night, for God’s sake. You’d think I’d cancelled next week the way you’re behaving.”

  Ethan’s jaw tightened. “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”

  Scott was dumbfounded. “Seriously? I break one date and you want to break up?”

  “It’s not about the fucking date!” Ethan leaped to his feet. “Is that what you really think? That I’d be in a snit because you cancelled a date? Is that all you think I’m concerned about?”

  Scott stood too. His stomach was roiling, and he was afraid that if he didn’t get out of there he was either going to pass out or throw up. He said tightly, “I have no idea what concerns you, Ethan. We have a great night, then you pull away. You throw hints around about the future, then you say you’re not sure. You drag me down to Oceanside, you keep going back to see Jamie - I have no fucking idea what concerns you and what doesn’t. I’m not at all sure that you know. I think maybe you need to figure that out.” He picked up his wine glass, walked into the house and set the glass in the sink.

  Ethan was right behind him. “So that’s it? You’re just walking out?”

  Scott picked up his car keys from the kitchen counter where he’d laid them and turned to face Ethan. “A young girl is dead. She wasn’t necessarily a wonderful person, but she had a family that loved her. People are grieving because she’s gone. Someone is responsible for that. If the police think that I can help bring that person to justice, then that is what I’m going to do, and I don’t particularly care whether you approve or not. If you don’t, I have to ask myself what kind of person you truly are.”

  He walked to the front door and opened it. Ethan followed him, silently. Scott turned in the doorway. “Thank you for dinner.”

  Ethan shook his head slowly. Scott walked to the driveway, got in his car and drove away.

  He wasn’t sure how he got home. By the time he pulled into his own garage, he was shaking so badly from anger and frustration that he could barely turn off the ignition. He sat for a minute, gripping the steering wheel, then took several deep breaths and got out of the car.

  Wednesday, July 1

  Jamie

  When I got to work the next morning, Ethan was leaning against the wall next to my office door.

  I stopped in front of Liz’s door, which was closed. “What the fuck now?”

  “Scott’s meeting with the Isaacson dealer tomorrow tonight.”

  I failed to see a problem. “And?”

  “And I don’t want him to go.”

  I unlocked my office door with a sigh. “You’ve known him for two and a half weeks. I hardly think you’re in a position to be telling him what to do.”

  “All I know is what happened to me when I got involved in one of your cases. I don’t want that to happen to him.”

  I turned on my computer and remained standing, arms crossed. “You involved yourself in that case. You were just lucky that Pete saved your ass. Scott’s going into a controlled situation with the police right beside him.”

  Ethan scowled. “It’s not necessary.”

  “It is necessary. The police don’t have the requisite knowledge to talk to this guy. In case you don’t realize, this is a murder investigation. Someone strangled a girl to death with his bare hands and is running around out there freely. It’s a hell of a lot bigger than what you do or don’t want.”

  “I don’t want him to get hurt.”

  “Neither do I. Neither do the police. They’re not going to let anything happen to him.”

  Ethan started pacing. “We fought about it last night.”

  “I’m not surprised, with your attitude.”

  He whirled, practically snarling at me. “Why are you taking his side?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. I’m not taking anyone’s side. I’m being reasonable. You’re not.” I took a couple of books out of my computer bag and thumped them onto the desk. “I have work to do. If you want to pout, you’re going to have to do it someplace else.”

  “Fine. Thanks for nothing.” Ethan stalked out.

  I took a couple of calming breaths and logged into my computer.

  Scott

  When he’d gotten home the previous evening, Scott had spent an hour in the fitness room, running hard on the treadmill, trying to burn off his anger. When his legs were too rubbery to continue, he slowed to a walk and walked for another half-hour, looking out at the lights of the city below and trying to clear his mind. He’d finally been too exhausted to continue, but his emotions were still wound up.

  He’d played for a couple of hours and finally fallen asleep on the sofa in his loft. He woke up with a stiff neck and sore calves. He glanced at the clock and realized he had forty-five minutes to get to the West LA police station.

  He wolfed down a bagel, showered and dressed, and made it to Butler Avenue with a minute to spare. Walking into the police station was an odd feeling - he’d never been in one before. He checked in at the desk and was given a visitor badge. He was trying to decide whether he should sit or stand when Jon Eckhoff appeared.

  Jon grinned at him. “Welcome to the shop. Come on back.”

  Scott trailed after Jon down a hallway into a large room filled with cubicles. Kevin was parked in one at the rear corner, typing information into a form of some sort. Scott noticed pictures of the Brodie family thumbtacked to the walls.

  Kevin glanced
up. “Hey, Scott. Have a seat.”

  Jon pulled over a rolling chair, and Scott sat uneasily. The room smelled of burned coffee, cheap cologne, and testosterone.

  He was going to be so glad when this was over.

  Kevin opened an IM screen and typed a message, then turned to Scott. “Pinter and Garcia will be here in a minute. They’ll give you the details about tomorrow night.”

  “Okay.” Scott smiled wryly. “I never thought I’d say this, but I wish you were going to be there.”

  Kevin grinned. “Don’t worry. Tim Garcia is the guy who trained me. You’re in good hands.”

  Detective Garcia arrived first and shook Scott’s hand. “Mr. Deering, thanks again for your cooperation.”

  Scott shrugged. “I just want this over with.”

  Garcia nodded. “So do we.”

  Elias Pinter was of medium height, built like an ex-athlete going to seed, with a slight pot belly and thinning brown hair. He shook Scott’s hand as well.

  Garcia asked, “Any questions about the procedure? It’s the same as before. We’ll meet you at the Bel Air; pick a table next to an empty one and we’ll be close enough to hear your conversation.”

  Scott nodded. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Nothing particular. Just sell the guy your piece of music. Once the transaction is done, we’ll take care of the rest.”

  Pinter said, “There is one thing. If this guy is a member of the cello community, he might be someone you already know.”

  Scott swallowed hard. “Surely not.”

  “Probably not, but we can’t take that chance. We don’t want to alert anyone beforehand that they’re meeting with you, so we want you to drive a different car.”

  Garcia added, “In case the dealer is someone who knows you well enough to know what your car looks like.”

  “Oh. Um - okay.” Scott didn’t know whose car he could borrow. Maybe Verna’s. He’d worry about that this evening.

  Garcia said, “We’re going to have Tristan Oliver standing by to identify the guy as the one who sold him the stolen solo. Once we snatch the dealer up, you’ll be free to go.”