“How far back do these demos go?”
“I dunno. I haven’t gotten to them yet.”
“Are you going to chuck them?”
“I’ll go through them to see if any of them have promise. What I should do is box them all up and take them to my place. The lease here is up in a couple of weeks and I’m not going to renew it. I can work from home. All I need is a CD player and a good set of ears.”
“How long do you think it’ll take you to box them up?”
“I dunno. It took me a long time to sort through his paperwork. Gawd, it was tedious.” A flick of the ashes in the can. “You didn’t come here to listen to my woes. What do you need?”
“Well, for one thing, I’d like to go through those CDs.”
“What are you looking for?”
“For anything by a rap artist named Rated-X, Travis-X, X Marks the Spot, or just plain X. Anything of those names sound familiar?”
“Primo didn’t do a lot of rap.”
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t get rap demos.”
“That’s true, but the guy doesn’t sound like a client.” She knitted her brow. “But the name isn’t foreign. Should I know this guy?”
“Travis Martel used those names when he rapped.”
“Travis Martel?” Marilyn took a deep drag on her cigarette. “The guy who’s in jail?
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re kidding! You think this punk and Primo worked together?” Another puff. “C’mon. While I don’t know all of Primo’s clients, I’d know if that fucking murderer worked with him.”
Decker was quiet. His silence made Marilyn turn red with fury.
“Why would Primo work with a punk like that?”
Decker pointed to the CDs. “All sorts of people sent him demos.”
“And with all those demos, how many do you think Primo actually contacted?”
“I don’t know. Maybe twenty.”
“How about three?”
“So maybe that’s the issue, Ms. Eustis. Maybe Travis Martel sent in a demo and when Primo didn’t get back to him, Travis got pissed.”
“How do you even know if Travis went beyond taking a rap name? A lot of these assholes who call themselves aspiring rappers don’t even rap. They just like the titles and the idea of rapping.”
“Travis posted his music on his MySpace.”
“Him and every other loser.”
“In one of his pieces, there’s a line that refers to ‘the music and the crime—the shit of B and E.’ That could be a reference to the crime of breaking and entering, but it also could be Banks and Ekerling.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “What does Rudy Banks have to do with any of this?”
“This is just conjecture, but what if Primo turned Travis down, Travis went to Rudy Banks. Maybe Rudy promised Travis a recording contract if he’d murder Ekerling.”
Marilyn’s eyes got wide. “That’s incredible.”
“It’s possible that Banks had done something like it before—hiring punks to knock off his enemies.” Decker liked his theory, but Marilyn’s expression was highly skeptical.
“You’re telling me that somehow Rudy found out that Travis Martel had been turned down by Primo. So he hired the punk to kill Primo?”
“Maybe he didn’t even need to hire him. Maybe all he needed to do was encourage Travis. Being the punk that he is, he then acted on his own. What intrigues me is now Rudy Banks is missing. I’m wondering why.”
“Missing?” She smiled warmly. “With any luck, he’ll show up dead!”
“Ouch!”
Marilyn dragged on her smoke again. “Okay. Maybe that was harsh. All I’m saying is, it would be a lot easier on the two remaining guys of the Sluts if he was.”
“Liam O’Dell and Ryan Goldberg.”
She nodded.
“I’ve talked to Liam a couple of times. He said he initiated the lawsuit for Ryan’s sake.”
“First of all, it was Primo who initiated the lawsuit.”
“With Liam’s blessing.”
“Of course. Maybe there is some altruism in Mad Irish, but he’s also doing it for himself. The guy’s a washout.”
“He seems at peace with himself.”
“Yeah, and I’m going to be a famous actress!” She puffed mightily on her smoke. “Let me tell you something. Once you’ve been infected by the fame bug, the germ is like herpes, always there lurking in your system, waiting for that chance.”
“After a while I would think that you get realistic.”
“You would think and you’d be wrong, Lieutenant. That’s what happens in the thrilling journey of ninety-nine percent of rock stars: from fame to obscurity before they’re thirty. A few talented souls are able to tread water by doing something else in the industry, but the rest drown. It’s brutal, but in a youth profession, you can’t be onstage for all your life. Primo knew it, so did Rudy.”
She paused to smoke. “Where do you think he is? Rudy, I mean.”
“I don’t know. I was going to ask you the very same question.”
“I don’t know anything about his personal life. When I met Primo, he and Rudy had already been involved in a number of lawsuits, mostly for money that Rudy owed Primo when they produced together.”
“How did they meet?”
“They were in the L.A. music scene together. Two rebel guys just hanging and doing a lot of drugs. Then they met Ryan and Liam. The personalities meshed and the band clicked—meteoric rise, meteoric fall. Ryan freaked, Liam faded into obscurity, and Rudy and Primo tried to parlay their fame into something a little longer lasting.”
“They worked together on a couple of projects before the partnership went south,” Decker said. “What happened?”
“Rudy’s a psycho, that’s what happened.” She shrugged. “A band is one thing. Business partnerships are quite another. See, what I don’t understand is why would Rudy suddenly kill Primo if they’ve been involved in lawsuits for years?”
“Maybe the opportunity? In the form of Travis Martel?” Decker smiled. “I’ve got a dandy supposition but nothing to back it up. That’s why I wanted to look through Primo’s papers and find out if he ever produced the kid. But it looks like you threw away most of Primo’s old papers.”
“I shredded them to little strips. About a quarter of the pieces are in my mulch pile at home. You’re welcome to dig through it, but I must warn you it’s a bit stinky and about four feet high.”
“A mulch pile.” Decker chuckled. “My wife has one. She’s into gardening in a big way.”
“Flowers?”
“Everything.”
“Tell her they have a new variety of tea rose: lemon kiss. It’s bright yellow and has a pungent citrus smell. It’s gorgeous.”
“I’ll pass it on to her. And, no, I don’t want to dig through your mulch pile. But if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to go through the demo CDs and old tapes just to see if I can find something by Travis Martel.”
“Be my guest. Lots of them have photo pictures on the covers so that may help.”
“Thank you very much for being so cooperative.” Decker gave her a closed-mouth smile. “It’ll probably take me a while. Is that going to be a problem?”
“Nah, just close the door when you leave.” She stubbed out her cigarette. “Why don’t I do this? I’ll bring out some boxes. After you’re finished with the cases that you don’t need, instead of putting them back on the shelves, just pack them up. As long as I’m being so cooperative, you might as well help me clean up.”
CHAPTER 32
BY THE TIME Decker arrived home, Rina was dressed in flannel pajamas and in bed, the duvet’s pattern obscured by dozens of brochures and travel books. She looked up from her makeshift desk and smiled. “Don’t mind me. I’m just having a fantasy.”
“A fantasy without me?” Decker said.
“Not that kind of fantasy, although I suppose that in my fantasy I c
an include that kind of fantasy.”
Decker laughed. “I found a turkey sandwich with coleslaw and potato salad on a plate wrapped with Saran in the refrigerator. Is that for me?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I am starving. I’m also dirty. Do I shower first or do I eat?”
“You shower, I’ll set your dinner up on a tray and you can eat it in bed while I read and pretend.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Twenty minutes later, the bed had been cleared, the books and brochures stacked on Rina’s nightstand. A tray held his dinner and two cans of diet root beer. Decker bit into the juiciest turkey sandwich he had ever tasted. The rye bread was very fresh and Rina had slathered it with mustard and mayo. She also added some cranberry sauce. He was in heaven.
Rina gave him a few minutes of peace to eat his dinner. Then she said, “Good day?”
“Long day?”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“You’re right. It was a long day and a pretty good day. It ended better than it started.”
Rina brightened. “You found Rudy Banks?”
Decker gave a sad smile. “See, that’s why I said it was a pretty good day. Finding Rudy would be a very good day.” He polished off one can of soda and opened the other. “No, I didn’t find Rudy, but I found a connection, albeit a weak one, between Primo Ekerling and his alleged murderer, Travis Martel.”
“That’s good.” Rina paused. “What’s the link?”
“Martel had sent several demos to Primo Ekerling. One actually included a note that said: ‘Yo. Here’s more. Let me know when it’s happening.’”
“What’s happening? A record deal?”
“That’s what I took out of it.” After finishing his sandwich, he methodically devoured the potato salad, washing it down with the second soda. “Primo dated every song demo he got.”
“Compulsive guy.”
“Thank goodness. The date on this particular jewel box was over a year ago. I don’t think a record deal ever happened.”
“So you think Travis Martel murdered Primo because he couldn’t get a record deal?”
“Maybe. Or maybe somebody put him up to murder. Somebody who didn’t like Primo anyway and took advantage of Travis’s own anger at Ekerling.”
“Rudy Banks hired Travis Martel to murder Primo Ekerling?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you have a link between Travis Martel and Rudy Banks?”
Decker took another swig of root beer. “No. My next step is to talk to Martel. See if I can squeeze something out of him…if Hollywood will even let me near him.”
“Didn’t you initially have your doubts that Travis did the murder?”
“I did. I thought that Martel and Diaz just boosted the car not knowing that Ekerling was in the trunk. Because who would drive around the city in a stolen Mercedes with a body in the car? Only somebody very stupid, right?”
“Right.”
“Now I’m thinking it might have been a murder for hire. It’s possible that Hollywood has the right kids sitting in jail. So if I’m now on the same page as Garrett and Diaz, maybe they’ll give me a chance with Martel.” He finished the coleslaw and his root beer. “Enough about me. What did you do today besides conspire with my elder daughter about how to spend our money?”
“No conspiracy, we just talked.” She handed Decker a brochure. “I normally wouldn’t have thought of a cruise…especially one that isn’t kosher specifically, but I talked to the office directly. They’ve made accommodations for kosher clients umpteen times before.”
“Where does the number umpteen fall in the ordinal scale?”
Rina ignored him. “Food is not going to be a problem. Even if we had to eat cold, there’s plenty of cottage cheese, lox, tuna salad, and egg salad for protein and a vast cornucopia of fruits and veggies. I could always bring some cold cuts for those needing a meat fix.”
“Sign me up for the turkey. The sandwich was delicious.”
“I suppose I could cook a turkey, freeze it, then have the kitchen warm it up in tinfoil.”
“We’re not going to schlep a turkey on vacation. That’s ridiculous.”
Rina smiled. “Anyway, even if we don’t feel comfortable with their food, we can always catch our own. One of the side excursions is salmon fishing.”
“Call me Papa Hemingway.” Decker wiped his mouth. “All teasing aside, I think it might be fun, albeit expensive.”
“What else is money for?”
“Food, clothes, education, car insurance, house insurance, property tax, health coverage—”
She hit him. “When was the last time we actually took a real vacation, not a trip back east to see the boys?”
“The last time was maybe…very long ago.”
“Or maybe never.”
“We went to Hawaii.”
“That was before Hannah was born.”
Gads, had it been that long? Decker told her, “Call up Cindy, call up the boys, arrange everything, do all the packing, and don’t tell me how much it cost. Just put me on the boat, and I promise I won’t jump off.”
“You also have to promise that you won’t say a word about money, not even a hint of a word. We can afford this, Peter, without breaking the bank. That’s all you need to know.”
“Fair enough. You arrange everything—the food, the transportation, the side excursions—and I’ll show up and won’t complain the entire trip. Just point me in the right direction.”
“I’ll lead you in the right direction,” Rina told him. “I’ll even hold your hand.”
EACH CD WAS encased in its own plastic bag, both of them sitting on top of Decker’s desk with the same photo of Martel’s sneering visage gracing the front of the jewel boxes. Marge picked one up by the corner and read the name. “You get these from Marilyn Eustis?”
“I found them on the shelves in Primo Ekerling’s office. Eustis told me I could keep them.”
“Better still. A direct chain between Ekerling and Martel.” She yawned. “You’re having the lab dust them for prints?”
“Yes.”
“Hoping to find Travis’s print so he can’t say that someone else sent them in without his knowing or that you planted the boxes.”
“Exactly.”
“Although even if they had Martel’s prints, he could still say that.”
“Maybe with one jewel box, but it’s harder to explain away two of them. Plus in one of the jewel boxes, there’s a note. I’ve called in a handwriting expert to try and match the note to Martel.”
“Great. Have you informed Hollywood yet?”
“I’d like to pull up a print before I call them.” Decker rolled his shoulders in an attempt to loosen his muscles. “What I really want is a crack at Travis Martel, get him to admit some involvement in Ekerling’s murder.”
“Why would Travis do that?” She yawned again.
“Didn’t get much sleep last night?” Decker smiled.
“None of your beeswax.” Marge pulled up a chair and sat down, crossing her legs at the knees. Her black slacks rode up, exposing her ankles, and to her horror, she noticed one black sock and one navy sock. She quickly uncrossed her legs. “I repeat. Why would Martel implicate himself in a murder if his defense is boosting a car and joyriding?”
“Maybe I can convince him that if he doesn’t tell us the truth, Rudy Banks is more than willing to tell lies about him.” Decker explained his theory about Rudy Banks hiring out thugs to do his dirty work. “Trouble is, we don’t have a link between Banks and Martel other than the lyrics of his rap song saying B and E.” He smiled. “That’s where my smooth lies and my superior interviewing skills might come in handy.”
“And you think Hollywood will let you interview Travis Martel?”
“I think so, especially if I find Martel’s prints on the CD box. Garrett and Diaz will be delighted to have a connection between Travis and Ekerling. It punches a hole in the story that the punks just boosted a ran
dom car and had no idea who Ekerling was and that he was in the trunk.”
“And when are you going to tell them the news?”
“As soon as I have news. I’m waiting for the techs to come and dust the boxes.”
Oliver walked into the office and took a chair. “I tried calling both of you last night…several times. Where were you?”
“I was inside an office building sorting through hundreds of CD demos,” Decker told him. “The reception was bad and by the time I got your message it was past twelve.”
Oliver turned to Marge. “What’s your excuse?” She blushed. “Never mind.”
“You didn’t leave a message,” Decker said. “I figured it wasn’t that important.”
“It’s not the type of thing you leave on voice mail.”
“What’s going on?” Decker asked.
“You first.” After Decker told him about the demo CDs found in Ekerling’s shelves, Oliver straightened his purple tie. It blended perfectly with his matching purple shirt. “It’s nice of you to solve Hollywood’s murder. How’s that going to translate into solving Bennett Little’s murder?”
Marge said, “I can help with that.” She spoke about her conversation with Jervis Wenderhole, aka A-Tack. “We have Wenderhole picking up Leroy Josephson from Clearwater Park. We have Leroy with a wad of cash in his possession. We have Leroy crying and acting upset. Then six months later, Wenderhole gets a call from Ekerling and he records a CD demo with Ekerling.”
“So that ties Ekerling to Wenderhole and possibly to Leroy Josephson,” Oliver said. “This would be great news if we were thinking that Ekerling murdered Little. Are we thinking that?”
“No,” Decker answered. “But I do think Rudy Banks is connected to both Little and Ekerling.”
Marge said, “History repeating itself: Banks hired Josephson to whack Little, and he hired Martel to whack Ekerling. I mean, why else would Martel whack Ekerling?”
“Yeah, about that,” Oliver said. “Why would Banks whack Ekerling? They’ve been in lawsuits for years.”
Decker said, “Like I told Marilyn Eustis, maybe the opportunity finally presented itself in the form of Travis Martel.”
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