“What happened?” Turner asked.
“Danny and I have both been threatened. We got notes. We got phone calls. Nobody is even supposed to know where we are. Nobody is supposed to be able to get through the switchboard, but they did. Danny and I talked about what to do. We couldn’t agree. We’re really scared, and we don’t know who to trust. Danny went to take his note to Zawicki. I don’t trust Zawicki. I don’t know why Danny does.”
Turner asked, “Did Dexter get the same threats?”
“They wouldn’t let us in to see him,” Pappas said. “This whole things makes no sense. We’re in trouble, and the police are the enemy? That’s crazy. This isn’t some silly Hollywood intrigue where everybody but the people in the cast know what’s going on. This isn’t some stupid teenage slasher movie. This is real. I’ve been on a hell of a ride to the top. I guess it’s over. I don’t care about that right now. I don’t know if I ever will again. Roger and Jason are dead, that’s awful. I’ve never felt this bad. It’s like I’m empty. Roger and Jason were the songwriters. I never could write about what I feel, and I sure don’t feel like singing about it.” He paused, then whispered, “Even more, I don’t want to be next. I care what happened to the guys. I really do. But it’s awful to think that I might be next. Does that make me a terrible person?”
“Fear is a normal response,” Turner said. “It’s okay to be concerned for yourself.”
Pappas said, “Zawicki seems to be more concerned with lawyers and cash. Even Jordan is so distraught that he’s hardly any help. We used to be able to talk to him. He was always pretty normal. The rest of this is crazy. They can’t seem to protect us.”
“Did you recognize the voice on the phone?” Turner asked.
“No. It was muffled, distorted. Almost like a computer voice.”
“Could you tell if it was male or female?” Turner asked.
“It was so indistinct.”
“Where did you find the notes?” Turner asked.
“Mine was under the pillow on the bed I was using in our new suite. Danny’s was in his shaving kit. There’s no guard on the door when we aren’t there. Maybe if they can get in to leave those notes, they’d stay in there until we got back then kill us. Maybe we’ve just been lucky. Maybe someone’s trying to kill the whole band. They don’t care who they get first or last.”
“That would explain the sabotage at the concert hall,” Turner said, “if someone wanted you all dead. But who would? Is somebody that angry?”
“We never did anything to anybody. It’s not our fault we’re bigger than the other boy bands. Nobody’s angry. But somebody got in our room. How?”
Good question, Turner thought.
Pappas said, “We’ve dealt with stalkers, and they never get close. This isn’t some teenybopper stalker who wants to squeal and touch us. This is murder. It’s gotta be somebody we know. It’s gotta be somebody who was in that suite. This is not the time to be trusting any of them. Danny is crazy to take this to Zawicki. I don’t want to go back there. It’s dangerous. I don’t think Zawicki would care if we all died.”
Pappas’s insight that the killer was probably someone in their inner circle made sense to Turner. He asked, “Who’s been allowed in the suite?”
“You might as well ask who hasn’t been in. Zawicki hauled everybody over from the Plaza Mart for a meeting. Even though the new suite they’ve got us in was as big as Zawicki’s, it was crowded. He even let Sherri Haupmin in.”
“She a big problem for you?” Turner asked.
“She was a pain in the ass. She wasn’t as good for Roger as she thought. She played around with other guys besides Roger.”
“In the band?” Turner asked.
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
“Me for one. But I meant outside the band. I got no proof, but I think she might have talked to Zawicki on the side.”
“Do you think he did more than talk?” Fenwick asked.
“Yeah, but I wasn’t about to tell Roger that, especially after I boffed his girlfriend.” He glanced at Mrs. Talucci. She had her arms folded on her chest. She gave him a simple nod.
“How’d you wind up having sex with her?” Turner asked.
“She came onto me one night. I guess she thought she needed me for an ally in her campaign to be one of the opening acts. Like I cared.”
“But Roger never found out about the two of you?”
“Not that he ever told me. There was never any big confrontation. Haupmin got to be the opening act. Maybe she thought I helped. I didn’t. I didn’t try and stop her, either.”
“Maybe that was enough,” Turner said.
“She make it with all the guys?” Fenwick asked.
“I don’t know.”
Fenwick said, “What I don’t get, if Zawicki was screwing you, why not do something about it? You’re rich. Break it off. Sue him.”
Pappas looked flabbergasted. “I wouldn’t dare. You don’t know the power he has. It only happened to me once. I could handle once. I didn’t know what he was doing to the other guys. I didn’t want to know.”
“Was anyone not connected to the band in the suite?” Turner asked.
“That reporter, Blundlefitz. He’s creepy. He’s got all-access all the time. He’s been around constantly. He asks us questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Sick shit, like, when do we masturbate and stuff. He says he’s trying to help solve the murder, but I just think he’s a perv.”
“Do you have the note?” Turner asked.
Pappas reached in his winter coat which was hanging on his chair and took out a plain white sheet of paper which had been folded in four.
Turner said, “Was it folded and wrinkled when you found it?”
“No, I just stuck it in my coat.”
“Did you show it to anybody?”
“Only Danny. Then I took off.”
“Who did you tell where you were going?”
“Danny. I told Jordan I planned to go to the police, but I didn’t say specifically here.
“How did you get away?” Fenwick asked.
“Jordan offered to go with me if I’d wait. I was afraid he was going to tell Zawicki. Jordan’s a good guy. But I’m not sure who to trust anymore. I decided not to wait.”
“That was stupid,” Fenwick said.
“What? I came here.”
Turner said, “You don’t know who the killer is. You don’t know if the killer is after the rest of you. Whoever sent the note probably knows your movements. It makes sense to conclude that someone you know is threatening you. It could be the killer or it could be someone trying to take advantage and scare you.”
“That’s sick.”
“Right now,” Turner said, “I think you’re right not to trust anyone.”
“But Jordan’s our guard.”
“He shouldn’t have let you out of his sight,” Fenwick said.
“It wasn’t his fault. I snuck out when the room-service guys were setting up. Zawicki was having another big meeting. People were in and out. I was careful.”
“What about the cop in the corridor?” Fenwick asked.
“He was an older guy. I don’t think he knew who I was. Aren’t they there to keep people away from us? Are they supposed to follow us around?”
“You weren’t supposed to leave,” Fenwick said.
Turner used the tips of his fingers to hold the paper. He doubted if they’d find any useful prints, but he didn’t want to ruin whatever minuscule chance there might still be. In the middle of the paper were the words, “Die, you sick fag.”
“When did you find this?” Turner asked.
“Everybody was up late. Danny and I were in with Hinkmeyer and Jordan until almost seven in the morning.”
“Why?” Fenwick asked.
“Why? We just wanted to talk. They’re as close to normal people as we know in that crowd.”
“Are your parents coming to town?” Turner asked. He
thought of normal, and he thought of family connections.
“Mine aren’t. They just want me to get home. They’ll go to the funerals and stuff out in California. Danny and I are really scared. Why would somebody want to kill any of us or all of us? What did we ever do but sing and dance and entertain people? We’re not trying to hurt anybody.”
Turner didn’t have an answer to these questions yet.
“Have you talked to Dexter at all?” Turner asked.
“For a few seconds at the press conference. He’s gone nuts. He hates his parents, and they showed up. Nobody gets to see Dexter in the suite. I think Zawicki had some quack doctor in. They’ve got Dexter on all kinds of drugs.”
“Has Dexter been doing drugs and booze?” Turner asked.
“We’re not a heavy metal act. Nobody’s an addict. Sure, we all drink, but we’re of age. We like to party.”
“What does ‘like to party’ mean?” Fenwick asked. “You mean you like naked orgies with cheerleading squads from several universities and everybody there ingests enough drugs to start a pharmacy, or does it mean you like to go to parties, the way I mean it?”
“Maybe somewhere in between, but definitely no hard drugs. No heroin or cocaine. I haven’t seen anybody using anything. We’ve talked about what we did in the past. Most of us did a little dope in high school and that was it.”
Fenwick asked, “What’s the deal with all of you denying you had sex with Zawicki after we know all about it?”
“Man, he threatened us. He’s got power. He can talk anybody in the industry into anything. He got to Dexter first. Dexter is scared of his own shadow half the time. Whatever they’ve got him doped up on is powerful. The guy was zonked when he was at that press conference. We were told to just keep our mouths shut. Zawicki can be intimidating. We’ve got contracts and all, and I think I understand them, but hey, this is like crazy. I don’t have some economics degree. Danny’s not really much help. He’s as scared as I am. I got undressed for bed and pulled the covers back. I kind of fluffed the pillow. I felt this note. Who’s trying to kill us? Why do the lawyers say it’s important for us not to talk to the police without them present?”
“But you’re here,” Turner said.
“Yeah.”
Turner said, “Murial Arane claimed all of the guys in the band had sex with her.”
“All of us?”
“Yes.”
“I knew about Roger and myself, of course. Everybody?”
“Yeah.”
“Murial was mostly okay. She made us look good. We had strengths and weaknesses. Dancing, I mean. She helped us with them. The sex with her just kind of happened one night after practice about three years ago. She’s hot. She’s got this tight pink outfit that shows her…Well, anyway. We did it. I was in love for a couple weeks. She was real nice. She let me down easy. She’s ten years older than I. She taught me some stuff. I was a little naïve.”
“Any of the guys get jealous about the others having relations with her?”
“Not that I know about. One time somehow Roger and I got around to talking about having sex with her. You know how guys are. We were commenting on how fine she looked. She’s got a great ass.” He glanced at Mrs. Talucci. “Sorry.”
Mrs. Talucci said, “It’s okay. I might be old, but I still appreciate a good ass myself. If I dropped seventy years, and I thought skinny runts were nice looking, your butt wouldn’t be half bad.” She gave him a slight smile. Ivan managed a weak grimace.
He turned back to the cops. “Roger and I were talking guy stuff, you know. And Roger said it was a great ass to touch, and I agreed and we talked about it.”
“But not with any of the other guys?” Turner asked.
“No.”
“Nobody was smitten with her?” Turner asked.
“We didn’t get smitten a lot. We had a lot of choices of girls. Murial was good to us, not a lover.”
“Do you remember Jeremiah Boissec?”
“Sure. Jerry was pretty okay. He was the one who finally put us all together as a group. He believed in us before anybody else. He’d come to our gigs before we were under contract. When no one else would come, he’d be there. Danny and I sang in a bar in Temecula, California one night. Three people showed up, and Jerry. That was about the lowest. He was loyal from the first. He worked hard to get us bookings. One time we played some bar in Blythe, California for a week. We filled the place. It was our first success. He was there every night. He got canned. He still around?”
Fenwick said, “He said he thought maybe Jordan Pastern was getting it on with guys in the group.”
“Jordan? Nah. He never came on to me. Nobody ever said anything about him doing it with them. He’s got a wife and a couple kids. They live in the Valley. He’s always been good to us.”
“None of you discussed doing it with Mr. Zawicki,” Turner pointed out.
“Yeah, but that was perverted. Jordan was just a nice guy. Even when one of us got a little out of line, he was always nice. He never yelled. He never tried to hurt anybody.”
“Did someone else try to hurt you?”
“No, I guess I meant he didn’t try to be mean. He didn’t have a big ego like the rest of us. I don’t think he’d hurt me, but I don’t trust any of them anymore. Where am I going to stay?”
“Galyak might have told and Pastern might have guessed.”
“I told Jordan I was going to the police, but not here.”
“They’re not stupid. They know Dexter came to my house.”
Mrs. Talucci said, “He can stay here. I’ll call someone and have the house watched. He’ll be perfectly safe. You both need sleep.” Mrs. Talucci’s powers in the neighborhood were legendary. No one ever knew if she had some mob connections from her life back seventy or eighty years ago, or if her husband had been important to the mob, or if she was just a revered old lady, or if there was some other secret to her powers. Turner never asked. Mrs. Talucci never told. For whatever reason, whenever Mrs. Talucci said something would be so, it was so.
“Can I stay here?” Pappas asked.
The boy was still a suspect in a murder investigation. Turner didn’t want to leave him here without guards present. Even with Mrs. Talucci’s grandnieces armed with shotguns and her legendary neighborhood prowess, he wasn’t eager to leave Ivan alone with them.
Mrs. Talucci said, “You think I didn’t check him as thoroughly as I did the Clendenen boy?”
Paul said, “I know you did.”
Turner called the commander and okayed the operation. He arranged to have a patrol car out front. Mrs. Talucci patted his arm when he told her this. “That’s all right, dear. They won’t be in the way. Tell them not to park directly in front of either of our houses. We don’t want them to draw attention to us.”
He knew Mrs. Talucci. She’d be out with little care packages of cookies and cakes and other goodies. At the least hot chocolate or hot coffee in this weather.
Turner trudged home. It was nearly one in the afternoon. He slept.
20
Loud banging on his front door woke Paul out of a deep sleep. He leapt out of bed. He threw on some shoes, jeans, and a sweatshirt and hurried downstairs. Brian would be at practice until six. Jeff had a chess club meeting until five and would, in the normal course of events, stop at Mrs. Talucci’s. Ben would be at his auto shop until after seven. The bitter cold seeped through the storm door. A hatless man in a winter overcoat had Blundlefitz in an arm lock.
The man said, “This guy was lurking outside. He’s not supposed to be.”
“Thanks,” Turner said. “Come in,” he said to Blundlefitz.
“You want me to stay?” the young man asked.
“No.” Paul thought he recognized the man from church. Maybe he read at the lectern once in a while. Did mob thugs go to church? Turner supposed they could if they wanted to. He let Blundlefitz go and the reporter entered.
Blundlefitz was pissed. He stomped his feet on the entry-way rug. “Wha
t is the meaning of this? I am not to be manhandled.” He shrugged his shoulders, pulled on his sleeves, and twisted his neck.
“Neighborhood watch,” Turner said. He shut the door and led the reporter into the living room.
“Neighborhood bullshit. That was some mob hit man. He was strong. He tried to hurt me.”
Turner smiled. He did not offer Blundlefitz a seat. “What do you want?”
“We know one of the guys in the band is here.”
“And what would you like me to do with that piece of information?”
“He needs to be back at the hotel.”
“And they sent you to rescue him?”
“When we found out he was gone, a search was started. I talked to Dexter. I know about you and your neighbor.”
“You took a guess. You in fact don’t know where he is.”
“If he was gone, you’d be out looking for him. A third member of the band missing? You wouldn’t be getting any sleep.”
“What is it with you?” Turner asked. “You’re more a caricature than a person. Why don’t you ask sensible questions? You’re at my house. Why not ask what’s the latest I have on the murders? Why not ask if I know one of the guys in the band is missing? Why be aggressive to start with?”
“You guys fucked with me the other night. You’re the enemy.”
“I always try to get along with the press,” Turner said.
“You’re not going to get a free ride from me.”
“See?” Turner said. “You’re hostile again and you’re resorting to clichés. Do you write the same way?”
“Who are you to criticize?”
“There aren’t good critics and bad critics and standards by which they can be judged?”
“I’m going to solve this murder. You are all going to look like fools.”
“Do you take pointless aggression lessons?” Turner asked.
“If he’s not here, I know he’s next door. If you don’t cooperate with me, I’ll tell the world where he is. I’ll have CNN out front and half the teenagers in the city camped out on the streets around here.”
“And what good will that do?” Turner asked. “How will that help you or the police solve the murder? It might make you feel better to put the boy in danger, but why do that? Who does that help?”
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