Blundlefitz actually paused at this and looked thoughtful.
Turner said, “My question is, why are you sucking up to Zawicki? We heard you got a nice deal on access, but why sell out? He can’t have that much power in Chicago. Why would he even care what kind of access you have? What’s in it for him to have you on his side?”
“You sound as snide as your partner.”
“I’m just asking questions. This doesn’t add up. Only if you’re an egotistical moron who has abandoned all common sense.”
“I want what’s best for the remaining members of the band.”
“Who Zawicki’s people have been unable to protect. It isn’t the fault of the police that there have been two deaths and that one of the remaining members of the band has had a breakdown.”
“Why did Dexter come here in the first place?”
“I suspect he thought he might be safe here. Have you asked yourself the question, why he wouldn’t feel safe with Zawicki’s people? They’ve got security. They’ve got people he’s used to. Why would he come to strangers?”
“The kid’s confused.”
“Give it a little more thought. Don’t you think something is odd here?”
“Yeah. You’re gay and you’ve got these hot young men coming to the house. Maybe you’re trying to get into their pants.”
“I didn’t steal their underwear.”
The doorbell rang. The young man Turner had seen with Blundlefitz and another who could have been his twin flanked Mrs. Talucci. She smiled at Paul and said, “These young men would like to talk to Mr. Randall Blundlefitz.” The three of them entered the house.
Turner smiled. “I’m not sure he’ll want to go with them.”
“They can be very convincing.”
Blundlefitz joined Turner in the entryway. “Hey. What is this?”
“The neighborhood watch,” said the young man who’d brought Blundlefitz to the door. “We need to talk.”
“I’m not going anywhere with them.” Silence from the young men. They might have been itinerant preachers come to the house, except they looked far more muscular than your average doorbell ringer. Turner presumed there were weapons under those heavy coats.
“I’ll call the police,” Blundlefitz said.
“I am the police,” Turner said.
Blundlefitz looked at the four of them. “Is this a joke?” he asked.
“I don’t hear anyone laughing,” Turner said. After letting silence build for a while, Turner said, “I would go with them quietly. You’ll be fine. What harm could come from two such fine young men who arrived here accompanying a sweet little old lady?”
“Have you seen one of those?” Mrs. Talucci asked. She and Paul laughed. Blundlefitz and the young men didn’t seem amused.
“You’ll be safe,” Paul said. “You can talk in the kitchen. If something goes wrong, shout.”
The two men surrounded Blundlefitz and led him into the back of the house.
“How’s the kid?” Paul asked.
“He took a little nap then ate some white chocolate gelato. I’ve got Arabella at the front door with a shotgun. Arabella likes that gun all too much. One of the other girls is at the back door.” She hooked a thumb toward the kitchen. “I didn’t want a hassle from this fool. Hot Trends magazine, ha! What a joke. Blundlefitz hasn’t written a sensible review ever.”
“You read rock reviews in Hot Trends magazine?”
“Of course. Why not?” She gave his arm a grandmotherly pat. “Even you need to be reminded at times that I’m not nearly dead yet.”
Blundlefitz and his escort were gone less than five minutes. When they returned, Blundlefitz said, “Fine. Intimidate the press. Your career is over, Detective Turner.”
He marched out of the house.
The first young man said, “He won’t be back to the neighborhood. I didn’t have instructions about making him leave you alone.”
“It’s fine,” Paul said. “I’ll handle him if I have to.”
The two of them left. Mrs. Talucci said, “You haven’t had enough sleep.”
“No, and I’m not going to for a while. This case has got to get solved.”
“Has to be someone in the entourage or one of the members of the band,” Mrs. Talucci said. “How can it not be?”
Paul agreed with her. Mrs. Talucci left. Paul called Fenwick. Madge said, “He’s been up for half an hour. He’s going in early tonight. Are you and Ben still coming to dinner next Sunday?”
“Yes.”
Fenwick picked up the phone. Turner told him about Blundlefitz’s visit.
“We gotta talk to Zawicki,” Fenwick said. “Let’s get him and his lawyers back down to the commander’s office.”
Turner called Molton and told him about Blundlefitz’s visit and their plan to talk to Zawicki again. Molton said, “I just had a press conference. I’ve got several more meetings, but I agree. Zawicki’s got to answer some questions.”
Paul stopped next door. Jeff was ensconced in front of Mrs. Talucci’s computer along with Ivan Pappas. Jeff was showing him a trick he had learned with a PowerPoint presentation. Paul hugged his son. Made sure Pappas was secure for the moment. He drove to Ben’s garage. The evening customers were in picking up their cars after the day’s work. Ben kissed Paul hello. They didn’t wait to hide their kiss in Ben’s private office. Ben owned the shop. He worked on more exotic cars than anyone in town. His shop had the reputation as the best in the city.
“I’m going in early,” Paul told him.
“I’ll take care of the boys.”
“Thanks. There’s another guest at Mrs. Talucci’s. I think he needs to stay there. She’s got friends keeping watch. I’ve got a patrol car out front.”
“You think he’s a killer?”
“I don’t know. Mrs. Talucci’s got her private army on guard so I’m not worried about her.”
After telling Ben he loved him and Ben repeating the same back to him, he left.
Turner spent the first hour he was at work looking at the video of the concert. He got no indication of a gun being fired or anything being wrong. The members of the band sang, danced, chatted with the audience, and each other. They seemed to be happy and energetic. Certainly no indication of murder was present. No one in the audience had come forth with a tape.
Commander Molton surveyed the large conference room. There were fifteen chairs. Jonathan Zawicki and two lawyers stood at the far end away from the cops.
Molton said, “I like it when we round up all the suspects. I’ve always wanted to dramatically reveal who did it in front of an audience.”
“You never have?” Fenwick asked.
“Nobody else I know outside a Hollywood studio does that very much.”
“I do it all the time,” Fenwick said. “You should stick with me.”
“Glamour and glory, Buck Fenwick’s stock in trade along with stupid jokes.”
“Hey, I’ve been getting better, although what I should do when this whole crowd gets here is tell them the story of Doris and Sam, the two clams.”
“No,” Turner and Molton said simultaneously. Turner continued, “We want them sane. That would be cruel and unusual punishment. I’ve heard you tell it six times.”
“Five.”
“Six. I keep very accurate count. You always leave out the first time.”
The room was now nearly filled. Present were Jordan Pastern, Ralph Eudace, Aaron Davis, Danny Galyak, Ethel Hinkmeyer, Frances Strikal, Murial Arane, and Sherri Haupmin. Blundlefitz had been summoned but had not arrived. A phalanx of cops had helped all of them run the gauntlet of the press crammed into the first floor of the station.
When Dexter entered the room, Turner walked up to him and put his hand on the boy’s elbow. Dexter pulled his arm away as if he’d been scorched. “Get away from me,” he hissed. The lawyers rushed to his side. Turner retreated.
“What the hell was that all about?” Fenwick asked.
“He’s whacked,” Tu
rner said.
Zawicki said, “What are we waiting for? Let’s get started.” Everybody who wasn’t a cop immediately sat down. Zawicki looked at the three police officials. “What?” he demanded.
Molton said, “We were hoping Randall Blundlefitz would join us.”
“Who cares?” Zawicki said. “We have places to be.”
Molton said, “Thank you all for coming. I’ll want my detectives to take over the questioning.”
Zawicki said, “I hope we’re going to get some answers. It’s been nearly forty-eight hours since the first murder. Someone must know something.”
Molton said, “No one’s going to know anything more unless you shut up.”
Turner and Fenwick had seldom heard Molton be this sharp with a member of the public. Molton had long since perfected the administrator’s art of placating civilians without giving out valuable information. Molton said, “Mr. Zawicki, we’re trying to solve the murders. The more speeches you make, the longer we’re going to be here. It would help if you would let the detectives go about their business.”
Turner said, “As far as we can tell so far, many of you had some secrets. Ms. Arane and Mr. Zawicki had sex with each of the members of the band.”
“I’ll have you sued for slander,” Zawicki said. He pointed at Arane. “You’re fired.”
“You need me more than I need you,” Arane snapped.
Turner continued, “Ms. Haupmin was having sex with more than just Roger.”
Haupmin glared at Zawicki. “You can’t fire me.”
Turner said, “Mr. Pastern, did you have any relations with these boys?”
“I did not. Who told you such a thing? I’ve tried to be cooperative. How can you ask such a thing? I’ve got a wife and kids.”
“We check out everything we’re told. We ask,” Turner said. “We got a rumor. I checked with you. The answer is no. I’ve appreciated all your help. We can’t stop asking questions of all the people who are helpful.”
“I don’t like it. I guess.” He subsided.
“Mr. Zawicki,” Turner said. “The main thing I don’t understand about you is why all the lawyers? We’re all trying to solve the murder. You insist on having lawyers present when the police are asking questions, yet you give a reporter from a small local magazine total access. Why?”
Zawicki said, “It’s good to have the press on your side. You’ve just mentioned sex several times. Are you saying that sex is at the heart of solving the mystery? Roger’s murder took place in the locker room, where he was not having sex. Jason was murdered out in the cold where it was unlikely he was having sex.”
“We’re trying to find out the dynamics of all these relationships,” Turner said. “A killer could be trying to murder everyone in the band. The most logical reason would be to get back at you. Kill the band and you lose a source of income, but you’ve already pointed out that you’re going to make millions from these deaths. How does anyone else benefit? Someone with a secret? If so, what secret? What knowledge were these two harboring that led to their demise? Does someone else have the same information? If so, are they in danger?” Turner spoke directly to Pastern. “Mr. Pastern, you knew Ivan wanted to leave. You let him go.”
“I didn’t let him. I told him I’d go with him to the police if he just waited. We figured he went to you, but we couldn’t get an answer at your place. We didn’t leave a message on the machine. We didn’t know where you were. Dexter told us about the neighbor lady, but we got absolutely no information there. Everything I’ve done so far has not worked for protecting these boys. We made it through six months of touring in seventeen different countries and it comes to this. In forty-eight hours, it’s all gone. I will miss those boys.”
Turner asked Zawicki, “When were you going to report to the police the threats these guys received early this morning?”
“I didn’t know about them until Danny told me. I had everybody in. I questioned all of them. Before the notes appeared, I had a lot of people in that suite. People were back and forth through interconnecting doors to my room and half the damn floor for all I know. Once you’re in the suite, things aren’t locked. We didn’t think we had to.”
Turner said, “Either the killer was in the suite with the rest of you, or someone is playing a very sick joke.”
“None of us is a killer,” Zawicki said.
Eudace doing his best as Greek chorus said, “We’re still quite worried about the role of the police in all this.”
Hinkmeyer said, “It’s almost as bad to think one of us is capable of placing such a note in their belongings. None of the guys are going to be safe until this thing is solved. Can’t you do something?”
Turner and Fenwick went through the chart of who was where when. For nearly an hour they checked statements. They got varying degrees of hostility, but no one refused to cooperate. The lawyers offered few objections. When they were finished, everyone present had given some sort of alibi. Some were less perfect than others. The detectives hadn’t pinned down a time for Jason’s murder exactly, but anyone of them could have committed one or the other murders. No one could have done both murders—at least according to the stories they’d told.
As everyone was preparing to leave, Dexter Clendenen stood up. He said, “More people are going to die.” Then he collapsed. Turner rushed to him. The kid was breathing hard. Turner didn’t think the kid had banged his head on the way down. He couldn’t revive him.
21
The crowd had been gone for about an hour. Dex had been taken under police guard to a hospital. Turner and Fenwick had spent most of the time since they’d left catching up on the paperwork involved in the case.
In the report from the evidence techs they saw that there were no fingerprints on the gun in the locker room. The underwear from Blundlefitz had cum stains presumably produced by the original owner. The pills were for pain. Turner called Pastern. The security man told them that Roger had twisted his ankle and gone to the doctor. He only took a few of the pills, felt better, didn’t take the rest, and just never got rid of any extras. Turner confirmed that one prescription was for thirty pills and there were twenty-seven left in the container. The other was for twenty-five with ten left. “Why’d he have two prescriptions?” Turner asked.
“The first one didn’t have much of an effect.”
A quick perusal of the rest of the reports showed no further help from the evidence techs. They had Devane’s phone records. He’d called his parents the night of the murder and no one else.
The photos from Blundlefitz’s one-time-use camera had been developed. They showed the bed in each room. All completely made. The suitcases, bed stands, and closets were featured in others. Nothing struck Turner as a clue.
Hinkmeyer had sent over a list of stalkers and crazed fans. None were known to reside in the Chicago area. There was no evidence that any of them had been in town.
They had the lab results from the water bottles. The one with the incorrect label had a small quantity of bleach in it and no fingerprints on the outside.
Turner called the lab. “Would the amount of bleach in it have been enough to kill someone?”
“It wasn’t much. I’d want to get the victim medical attention, but they probably wouldn’t die.”
“How about a delayed reaction that would make him suicidal?”
“Never heard of bleach causing that.”
“How about something else in it that could cause that?”
“Haven’t found anything. Don’t think there was. I’ll perform a few more tests to be sure.”
The report on the currents in Monroe harbor confirmed his supposition. The wind had been blowing so strong that it was the likely reason that the body had shown up on the east shore of the lake. The currents in the harbor were minimal because it was sheltered.
Another report from the beat cops who worked the pier said no one on the boats or the pier reported seeing anything suspicious. With the cold there hadn’t been a lot of people o
ut strolling.
Turner called the ME who said, “Gunshot killed him. Dead before he was in the water. At the most fifteen minutes between when he got hit and when he was dumped in the lake. Your boy was also anally penetrated within an hour of his death. Got no semen, but a violated rectum.”
“You got an approximate time of death?”
“Anywhere from six to nine hours before you found him.”
Turner gave Fenwick the news then called his friend Ian. The reporter said, “I cannot get a lick of information. The recording industry is not my milieu. I talked to Mickey Pendyce again. He can’t get anybody to talk. Your buddy Zawicki has true power and these people are afraid.”
Molton arrived at their desks. He said, “These people are going to have to be allowed to leave town eventually. We cannot hold them here forever.”
“One of them is a killer,” Fenwick said.
“You’re sure?” Molton asked.
“We got no indication that it’s somebody outside the entourage.”
“Any luck on the gun?” Molton asked.
Fenwick pointed to a stack of reports. “The bullets came from the same gun. There are several zillion of the same caliber in the metropolitan area. Not much help there yet.”
Dan O’Leary called from downstairs. “You’d better hurry. You’ve got another dead one at the All-Chicago Sports Arena.”
“Another band member?” Turner asked.
“Nope, that reporter with the stupid name, Blundlefitz.”
Turner and Fenwick rushed over. Beat cops met them at the main entrance. The cold held strong as did the vigil outside. The television crews trained their cameras on Turner and Fenwick. Most reporters now recognized them instantly. Fame peripheral to the rich and famous.
“Are there developments in the case?” several of them called from out in the cold. Turner and Fenwick hurried past them without making any comments.
McWilliams led them inside and through the concrete entryway to the center of the arena. The vast interior felt colder than before. All the abilities of man gathered together to make a modern cavern that provided little warmth without forty thousand people in it. All the lights had been turned on. The elaborate set remained in place. Blundlefitz knelt in the center of the stage. A rope tied around his waist led to the highest platform. Turner and Fenwick approached carefully and walked around the body. A small pool of blood surrounded Blundlefitz. His winter coat, which was still buttoned all the way up the front, had dark stains on the back. His head bent forward at the neck. The rope held him up. There was a bullet hole in the back of his head.
Dead Egotistical Morons Page 20