Hislop snapped back, “I don’t need to hear any of that right now! There is something very important that I need to share with you. You and Melendez can handle it however you want, but you need to know about a particular woman. A D.C. lawyer. You need to talk to her. Her name is Br—”
Gantry abruptly cut him off, as all his anger and emotion finally erupted, “Listen you son of a bitch. You bugged my home, deluged me with messages about murders, sent me Janis’s bracelet. Her fucking bracelet! Fuck you and you ‘not wanting to hear any of that right now.’ Fuck you!” yelling into the phone.
“Gantry, I did not mean this to be so personal, but you were the only one I knew would care enough and was smart enough to figure this out. But if I don’t get out of here now, I won’t be able to help you with anything. I’m sorry.”
The line went dead.
“Hislop…Hislop? Gantry asked, “Oh fuck, what did I do?”
He tried to call Hislop back, but of course it was an unknown number.
Gantry sat down and closed his flip phone, then reopened it and called Quantico.
“This is Melendez.”
“Raphael, Hislop just called me.”
“What? What did he say?”
Gantry recounted the short conversation he’d had with Hislop and how it ended.
“You what? Why the hell did you do that for?” an irritated Melendez blurted.
“I was pissed and it just happened,” Gantry said apologizing. “I’m sorry.”
“Did you get a number?”
“I tried calling it but it was an unknown number,” Gantry responded.
“So all you got is a D.C. attorney that starts with a B?” a pissed off Melendez asked.
“Yeah, that’s all,” Gantry answered
“Alright then, call me if he calls you again?” and he hung up.
Melendez called Tanner. “Get the New York agent assigned to Hislop on the line. Gantry got a call from Hislop. He may make a move. And have a search done on any D.C. attorneys whose first or last name begins with B. I’ll explain later. Call me back.”
Within five minutes Tanner called back with rookie agent Stratton on the line.
“Yes sir, his Mercedes has not left the home since we arrived. It’s still parked in the garage.”
“And the housekeeper’s Camry as well?” Melendez asked.
“Sir, only one car is at the home,” Stratton answered.
“There were two when we were there. Go check on Hislop. NOW!” Melendez shouted.
Just then the garage door went up and the silver Mercedes sped off.
“The Mercedes just took off. I’m going to pursue.” Stratton excitedly exclaimed.
He took off in pursuit, following the car for about a quarter mile before pulling it over. As he approached the car, he recognized it was not Hislop driving, but a Hispanic woman. Hislop’s housekeeper.
He jumped back in his car and called Melendez immediately.
“Agent Melendez, the driver of the Mercedes was Hislop’s housekeeper. I am going back to the home now, but if there was a Camry… then Hislop?”
“Goddamn it.” shouted Melendez, “Put out an APB for the Camry. Hislop has a jump on us!”
Elliot Gantry’s Apartment, W23rd Street
Morning
Gantry pulled himself out of bed and stretched his arms over his head to try to relax his tense muscles. He felt like he was coming down with something. But then he felt like that a lot these days. Getting old sucks.
He’d been having vivid dreams again. This time it wasn’t about rock stars, but about Jodi. In his dream he had called Jodi. But when she picked up the phone, she was in London, standing in front of Scotland Yard with her arm around Dennis. She didn’t even like Dennis.
Too many floating loose odds and ends is making me crazy.
Turning on the morning news, he got dressed and sat down to have a coffee.
Raphael told him that he’d already contacted the Los Angeles and San Francisco PDs and initiated similar investigative procedures, as they had with London and Paris. It seemed incredible to Gantry that with all that had transpired, he and Raphael had only been fully engaged in the case for such a brief period of time.
The blinking message light on his recorder caught his eye, so he walked over and pressed play.
“Hello, Gantry. It’s Jodi,” the message began.
The sound of her mellow voice was like a tuning fork that vibrated inside him, and summoned up all the pain he’d felt when she left him.
“I’m pretty sure Alex relayed that I got your call. I couldn’t call you directly at that time. But you’ll understand, darling. By the way, I did find your stinky old knapsack and will get it to you soon,” she ended with a slight giggle.
Gantry closed his eyes and smiled. She must be involved in the case in some way, he mused.
Gantry took another sip of coffee and felt the April morning sun cracking through the buildings across the street as the next message came up.
“Hey, mate. I just bought us two tickets, first class, to London. I left the departure open for now. I’ll tell you all about it when you call me. She remembers the boxes I told you about and thinks she stored them in her father’s garage. Can’t wait to see what’s in there.”
Gantry was irritated that Dennis seemed to be pressing him to leave after he’d said he needed time to think. There was a lot of work to do before he could realistically consider that. He also needed Raphael’s go ahead.
He spent the morning working up his notes. His cell rang around 11:00 a.m.
“Gantry, this is Tanner. Agent Melendez asked me to get you down to Quantico this afternoon to continue your commonalities effort.”
“Okay, but I need to rent a car. I can’t get there until six o’clock at the earliest, this time of day.”
“No time. Hislop is on the run. We need you here now. Do you know where the South Street Heliport is? South and Broad? Be there by noon. An agent will meet you. You’re taking a chopper.”
Gantry threw some clothes in a bag, grabbed a sport coat, ran out the door, and hailed a cab. The traffic was light, and they made it down to the heliport just outside Wall Street in less than ten minutes. An agent intercepted him at the door, escorted him to a waiting helicopter, and they were airborne in minutes.
Gantry took out his notebook to capture some additional thoughts he had about the Morrison connections. He felt like a young research student at UT again, poring over data for a journalism assignment. He remembered how exhilarating it was to work and brainstorm in tandem with other journalists—digging, corroborating, debating, and verifying everything before putting down a single word.
As the helicopter lifted off, Tanner’s words rang in his ears, “Hislop is on the run. We need you here now.”
The momentum was gathering and he was at the center of it.
FBI, HQ, Quantico, VA
Afternoon
Melendez had Tanner take point in creating the virtual crime scenes for each of the dead rock stars. This new technology was in advanced testing at the Emerging Tech Lab, and even though it was not yet in general application, it was considered a major advance in investigative science. Using it, they could digitally convert crime scene photos and photo forensic insights to three-dimensional life-sized holographic images of the entire crime scene. Investigators could step into the virtual crime scene, walk around it, test optional positions, outcomes, etc. It was the only one of its kind in the world.
“Sir, we have been working over the last twenty-four hours to digitize all available crime scene photos for each of the dead rock stars,” Tanner said. “Ham, Hendrix, and Joplin have been completed, and we should have the others done shortly. The Scotland Yard and Police Nationale investigators left last night for Quantico and should be here soon. Two top investigators from the west coast have also flown in to assist with the California-based cases.
“Detective Randolph with SF forensics is leading her team. She’s already sent us the pic
tures and is bringing all the rest with her, including three original crime scene boxes on McKernan. She can’t ship them, has to carry them, something about their arcane rules out there. Davis, the agent from L.A., is delivering four full boxes from the Wilson and Joplin investigations. That ought to be a gold mine.”
“That’s great, Tanner. Is that Jodi Randolph? ” Melendez asked. “By the way, I haven’t heard from Gantry. How is he making out with the commonalities team?”
“I had to fly him down. He’s been holed up and heads-down for hours on it. Everything is moving along well.”
For the previous four hours, Gantry had been absorbed with the commonalities charts. He was impressed with the additional amount of information, and was feeling very satisfied about his own contributions to it. The application was now populated with far more detail on Morrison, Joplin, McKernan, and Wilson: common friends, doctors, roadies, and engineers were filling in the gaps. The teams in London and Paris, plus the FBI and the West Coast detectives, had added considerable new data and insights. The one thing that really impressed him was the numerous record company, marketing, and management interconnections now fully enhanced. The FBI search engine had been constantly learning, adding and deleting information automatically, as it refined the data.
The two to three most common links in each category were immediately enlarged in each cell as he scrolled down the categories:
Engineers: Glyn Johns, Owsley Stanley, Bruce Botnick
Managers: Alan Klein, Mike Jeffrey, Bill Siddons
Marketing/PR: Les Perrin, Paul Rothschild, Ed Chaplin
Drug Friends: Jean de Breteuil, Robert Fraser
Accountants: Coopers & Lybrand
Pharmacies: St. Albans and Carlton
Travel agencies: Nevermore and Panarama
Producers: Paul Rothschild, Jimmy Miller, Ed Chaplin
Session musicians: Tommy Tedesco, Earl Palmer, Rick Kemp,
Bobby Graham
The comprehensive list continued for more than a dozen other categories.
Gantry stared intensely at the names on the screen. He remembered these great rock patriots, renaissance men leading a revolution. Armed with exhilarating music, different than any music he’d heard before. It was magic.
Bobby Graham was probably the best rock, pop, and fusion drummer in the world at the time. Gantry could almost hear his snake-like rhythms twisting through the music of the dozens of artists he recorded with. Glyn Johns was a genius engineer way before anyone knew what digital was; when music was truly an art form, not a science project. Viewing all these names was like going through a long-lost family photo album.
He suddenly had an epiphany: he had been a witness to history, an intimate observer of an art form that neither he nor anyone else would ever experience again. That was why Rolling Stone valued him so much—and why he’d hung in there for so long. What he’d done for years, and what he wanted to keep on doing, had become a fundamental part of who he was.
The thought gave him a smooth, warm, delicious feeling inside that also hurt in an odd way.
Sliding his chair back, he slowly pulled himself out of his reverie to refocus on the task at hand.
“Cold cases almost always break on the most insignificant detail,” Tanner had explained. “Every suspect, every lead, is equal. You never know where that small, vital clue will turn up. We’ll need to re-interview each person, talk to the families, speak with each of the remaining band members and backup musicians.”
Now, he looked at Gantry and said, “Can you get the information we need for all that, Mr. Elliot?”
Gantry smiled.
“Yes, and it’s Gantry, not Mr. Elliot.”
Tanner nodded.
Gantry looked down and thought for a minute, “Say, Tanner, what’s your first name? You know, we’ve been working together now for a little while. Don’t you think we can be a little less formal?”
Tanner looked a little surprised. “It’s Elmer.” He smiled crookedly. “That’s why everyone here refers to me as just Tanner.”
Gantry nodded.
“You know, Mr. Elliot—I mean Gantry. Ordinarily we do not allow non-agents to assist in our interviews. But in this case, Agent Melendez and Mr. Bruce believe that your knowledge is invaluable. You have the connections we need to speak to all these people. We don’t. And sometimes that lack of intimacy can make the discovery process in cold cases very difficult.”
“I’d be more than happy to help with any interviews. Just tell me who, where, and when, and I’ll saddle up.”
“Thanks, Gantry, but it’s not quite that easy. There are a few things we’ll have to do before we can have you engage at that level.”
“Okay.”
“Right. First, I need to arrange a crash course on field investigations, so you learn the do’s and don’ts.”
Gantry stared at him. Did Elmer have any idea what a real journalist did?
As if reading his mind, Tanner said, “Believe me, I do know what you guys do, it’s just that here, we do it our way. We’ll get you set up with a field monitoring device so we can record what you uncover.”
“Whoa, partner. No way I’m going to wear a wire! You know what can happen if you’re caught wearing one of those?”
“Gantry, calm down, it’s not a wire. For God’s sake, this is 2016. It’s a remote audio and video device. You won’t even know you’re wearing it. If you’re going to be interviewing people on your own, we need to ensure that we are able to document everything. I know you’re a good investigative reporter, but this is different. Trust me.”
“Well, if that’s what it takes, that’s what it takes. Not keen on it, but I get it.”
“Last thing, Agent Melendez is considering temporarily deputizing you. I didn’t want this to be a surprise,” Tanner said.
Gantry was stunned, “What? What’s this all about?”
“Well, there are two very practical reasons. The first is that it will allow you unescorted access to our facilities and systems. That will make working on this program much easier. It will also allow you to request info and data, not just provide it. You’ll also have remote access.
“The second reason is that you’ll need to maintain the cover of a reporter so as not to draw attention to the investigation. You won’t be interviewing under our authority.”
“You mean I’ll be undercover?” Gantry asked.
“Yes.”
“Will I carry a gun?”
Tanner shook his head no.
“I probably need to clear this with Alex Jaeger?”
Tanner nodded.
Gantry thought for a moment, then slammed his hand down on the table. “Fuck it. Let’s do this. By God, my grandfather was a Texas Ranger!”
Tanner smiled, “You ready to get a glimpse of our Virtual Crime Scene Facility, deputy?”
What Tanner hadn’t told Gantry was that he and almost everyone he knew, would all be discreetly investigated. They also did not want it known that they were investigating the pharmacy, travel agent, and record company connections, as well as employees, ownership, tax records, and flow of funds.
The door had no identifying signage, but there were two warning lights above it, one red, the other green, as in a recording studio. The green light was on, so Tanner ushered Gantry inside.
The room was unlike any other in the building. A handful of the most advanced image technologists in the world had worked for the last three years to get it to the point of practical application. The room was circular, the upper part built in the shape of a dome, and covered with recessed digital projectors all aimed inward to the center of the room. The walls were over twenty feet high.
“Mademoiselle Laurent, Mr. Jenkins, and officers Jackson and Randolph,” Melendez said, “this is Agent Tanner and Mr. Elliot. Mr. Elliot is consulting with us on the case. Mr. Jenkins and Mademoiselle Laurent arrived late last night, and I understand that Detective Randolph and Mr. Elliot already know one another. And Detective Jackson from
LAPD. We thank you all for joining us here today on short notice.”
Gantry heard nothing beyond “Detective Randolph” as his eyes adjusted to the room’s soft lighting and he found himself looking at his ex-wife. She was smiling, and gave him a small wave from across the floor. She looked good. He could feel a slight pounding and wondered if machinery was operating somewhere in the building. He realized it was his heart.
The old tapes played in his head. Gantry had been a go-getter, a nonparticipant in the relationship, immersing himself in his work, and eventually Jodi looked elsewhere for comfort and companionship. And found it. Nevertheless, he thought they’d sorted it out—until she had another affair, this time with a cop, and before he could even get angry, she was gone.
And yet, he still missed her.
“To reiterate our purpose, we will be collectively analyzing a set of virtual crime scenes utilizing our test lab holographic technology,” Melendez explained.
The group exchanged handshakes and smiles, but Gantry stood aside.
Then Tanner briefly described the technology. He had set up real-time transmissions back to their country teams so their colleagues could participate remotely, if they wished. All the photos and data that had been provided had been digitized, loaded and interpreted, and all optional scenarios had been simulated.
“Let’s start with Peter Ham,” Tanner said.
The lights dimmed and the room was instantly transformed into a garage with a lifelike holograph of Ham hanging from a crossbeam. The investigators, tech-savvy as they were, still were stunned at the realism. Jenkins instinctively put his hand out to touch the body, and just as in a movie special effect, his hand went through the image. He jerked it back, a little unsettled.
“I cannot believe how real this appears,” Laurent remarked, walking closer. “Absolutely amazing, how do you do it?”
“It would take half the day to explain it all, but essentially all of what you are seeing is derived from photographs from the original investigation,” Melendez said. “The photos were digitized, then a set of algorithms was used to create and fill in the dimensionality, only in this case, the output is a holographic image.”
Bright Midnight Page 17