by Rick Blechta
Shaking his head, Pratt said, “Dig deeper. Come on, it’s right there.”
A couple of minutes passed.
“Lewis’s hand is on the phone?”
“Okay. What does that tell you?”
Frowning, Ellis stared at the photos. The answer that immediately sprang to mind was that Lewis was calling for help. But he knew that wasn’t what his partner had seen.
He slumped.
“I give up.”
“Imagine the scene with me. You’ve had this kid in your face already that day. He was very aggressive too, and had to be pulled away by his band members. Now, the only place the kid could stand in that pigsty of an office is in the doorway. With all that going on, don’t you find it odd Lewis would turn his back to make a phone call—for any reason?”
“So you’re saying—”
“That Lewis had no reason to fear the person in the doorway, the person who would stick a knife in his back a moment later. That doesn’t sound like a description of your brother, does it?”
Chapter Seven
Ellis headed out on another “errand,” but Pratt felt sure his young partner was going to pass news to his mother. He hoped the kid had enough sense not to compromise the case.
His desk was a sea of reports related to the case. It appeared Gordon had decided Pratt should be the one to handle the paperwork. Typical.
Searching his own notes, he found a phone number and dialed. It was time to speak to The Boom Room’s manager again.
Carl Thomson answered his cell on the first ring. From the background noise, he was obviously in a bar.
“Mr. Thomson, Detective Pratt here.”
“What the hell do you want?”
“I’d like to speak with you again. Can you come down to police headquarters?”
Laughter in the background. “When?”
“As soon as possible, actually.”
“Why do you need to speak to me?”
“I can fill you in on that when you get here.”
“Is this necessary? I’m sort of busy right now.”
I’ll bet you are, Pratt thought. “Would you like me to send a cruiser to pick you up?”
“No, no. I can make it there on my own. Is a half hour okay?”
“That should be fine. We’re on the fourth floor. Tell them at the desk. Someone will bring you up.”
Pratt smirked as he hung up. He’d been pretty sure the offer of a pickup would get Thomson to agree to come quickly.
The front-desk officer who escorted Thomson up had a smile on her face.
Pulling Pratt aside, she said, “The cheeky bastard tried to pick me up while we were in the elevator!”
“He does seem to think a lot of himself.”
“Good luck with him,” she said over her shoulder, still chuckling.
“Thank you for coming in so promptly,” Pratt said as he took his seat across the table in an interview room and turned on the tape recorder.
“You’ve caught the murderer, right?”
“Someone is under arrest, yes.”
“Then why do you need to speak to me?”
“We’re just crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s.”
“Can we make this quick then? I had to leave an important meeting.”
Thomson didn’t seem worried as he slouched back in his chair—anything but.
This was a fishing trip. With luck, Pratt might net some interesting info.
“I spoke to Margerie Lewis this morning—”
“Before or after I spoke to her?”
Smooth move. Carl Thomson was obviously not stupid.
“How well do you know her?”
“Not well at all. She didn’t come down to the club more than once or twice. Not her kind of place, if you know what I mean.”
Pratt smiled. “And yet you called her this morning.”
“Did she say that? She called me.”
“Really? Why?”
“She wanted to find out when the club will open. She thought I’d know.”
“Anything else?”
Thomson looked more wary. “I suppose I should have told you last night—”
“Told me what?”
“That I’d offered to buy The Boom Room a month or so ago. Margerie Lewis wanted to know if I’m still interested.”
“I see.”
Pratt let Thomson hang for a bit as he considered whether this was about damage control. Thomson might be worried Margerie had told him about the offer.
The manager added, “But old man Lewis wouldn’t sell. I’ve been looking for another club to invest in ever since.”
“You were disappointed he wouldn’t sell?”
“Of course I was. He didn’t know his ass from his elbow when it came to what the kids want to hear. I do. I’m the one who made the place a success.”
“And last night you found your boss’s body.”
“You’re full of it if you think I had anything to do with it. Ask the head cook. I was downstairs for all of fifteen, maybe twenty seconds. I found him, freaked and ran back upstairs. We went back down together. Ask him!”
“That short a time? Didn’t you check to see if he was dead?”
“He wasn’t moving. I told you all this last night.”
“I think you left out a few important details.”
“Look, I’m not going to say anything more without a lawyer. I didn’t do it! It was that kid in the band. He had a big hate-on for Lewis, and he had a wicked-looking knife he said he would use.”
“Those were Jamie Clark’s exact words?”
“Maybe not exactly, but pretty close. He meant it that way.”
The door of the interview room burst open and Gordon stood there.
He didn’t look happy either. A lot of people seemed to be in a bad mood that day.
Chapter Eight
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, Pratt?” Gordon asked as soon as Carl Thomson had been hustled out the door.
They were still in the interview room. Pratt knew this could get ugly.
“It’s called doing my job. I’m not convinced you’ve got the right person.”
“You’re not convinced? Just who the hell do you think you are?”
That got Pratt right in Gordon’s face. “Listen here, Flash,” he said, using Gordon’s hated nickname. “Even if it turns out you’re right, don’t you think it makes sense to check out all possible leads? Do you really want to hitch your wagon to only one horse? Are you that stupid?”
The interview-room door opened again. McDonnell glared at them.
Fifteen minutes later, the captain had made it very clear how things stood. If Pratt wanted to dig around, fine, but he had to let Gordon know what he was doing. And McDonnell wanted to know what both of them were up to. Period.
McDonnell turned to Gordon.
“Has the kid confessed?”
Gordon sagged a bit.
“No. His lawyer won’t let him say much.”
“I was looking at Pratt’s breakdown of what happened during those interviews last night. The girlfriend swears the kid was in the bathroom at the time Lewis was stabbed. I’d suggest you talk to her.”
“I was thinking the same thing, boss,” Gordon answered.
Pratt knew he probably wasn’t. He probably hadn’t even looked at Pratt’s notes.
“Let me know what you come up with.” McDonnell looked at each of them. “You two play nice or you may find I’ll buddy you up for keeps. Got it?”
Ellis was sitting impatiently on a bench outside courtroom nineteen. His request for time off had come through. He only had one last item to finish up—testifying at the Dobbin trial (a small-time hood who’d beaten a musician to death). Since his part in the case had been small, he expected to be on the stand for not more than an hour, maybe two.
From his pocket came the theme from Dragnet. He pulled out his phone and said simply, “Ellis.”
The voice at the other end was female. �
�Um, I got your number from your mother.”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Carolyn Tucci, and I’m your brother Jamie’s girlfriend. I live with him.”
Ellis was not happy. He needed to be focused for court.
“And you’re calling me for what reason?”
“I didn’t know who else to turn to. I have some information. It might help Jamie.”
“My partner is working on the case. He can help you. His name is—”
“Detective Pratt. Yes, I’ve met him. I don’t want to talk to some old fa—”
“You need to talk to him,” Ellis broke in. “I can’t have anything to do with this case. I’m a cop. Jamie is my half brother. There’s a conflict.”
“I’m reaching out to you because you are his brother. Please! Will you listen to what I know?”
A guard stuck his head out the door, signaling Ellis that they were ready for him.
“I’m about to go into court. I’ll call you when I’m done. Okay?”
She sighed. “I guess so.”
Chapter Nine
Nearly three hours later, Ellis had to wait while her phone rang four times before she answered.
“Hello?”
“Detective Ellis. Now what do you want to tell me?”
“Oh…damn. I’m in the middle of my shift.”
There was the loud sound of steam in the background. He guessed she worked in a coffee shop.
“Tell me why you called.”
“I can’t talk now, but I’m off in an hour. Can I meet you then?”
“Where are you?”
Her workplace wasn’t too far away and there was an outdoor store nearby. He could waste an hour checking out camping gear.
Ellis stood outside the coffee shop, watching his brother’s girlfriend as she waited on her last two customers. She had a nice smile. Going inside, he waited until she came over.
“I’m David Ellis.”
“I don’t want to talk here. I hope you don’t mind. I haven’t told anyone about Jamie.”
“Not a problem.”
“There’s a burger place that doesn’t stink down the street. I’m starved. Would that be okay?”
Ellis was hungry too, but his wife would be home tonight—and cooking dinner. “Not a problem.”
Beneath the goth “look at me” makeup, Carolyn Tucci seemed like a nice enough kid, probably fresh from the suburbs. She was wearing tight black jeans and a cropped black T-shirt that only emphasized her skinny body. Her mother probably worried about how she was eating. By the way she tucked into her cheeseburger, though, Carolyn probably only needed to grow into her adult body.
While she ate, he could almost see the wheels turning in her head. From the little Pratt had said, he knew that she was smart and quick, but was she honest? He’d never been impressed with Jamie’s friends before. Was she another of those?
“It’s so weird to be talking to you…” she began as she wiped away a blob of ketchup from the corner of her mouth.
“Why?”
“You’re Jamie’s brother, but you’re so different from him.”
“Why? Because I’m a cop?”
“Partly, I suppose. Jamie hates cops.”
“That’s because he hates me.”
She leaned across the table. “You’re just like every other cop. You all think Jamie’s guilty.”
“If I thought that, I wouldn’t have bothered to meet you, would I?”
Carolyn picked up a fry and popped it in her mouth. As she chewed, her gaze was faraway.
“Jamie told me once he doesn’t think anyone in his family really knows who he is. Jamie’s not like other guys. At his core, he’s sensitive and kind—and very talented. You’ve never heard songs like his. I like just reading his lyrics. They’re real poetry.”
Ellis thought of his brother’s music as nothing more than noise. He kept his mouth shut.
She dabbed another fry in the puddle of ketchup on her plate.
“Most guys I know are total dicks. They only look at girls as an easy lay. Jamie’s not like that. I want to help him if I can.”
Ellis tried to keep the surprise he felt at her words out of his voice.
“Do you have something that will help him?”
“Jamie was in the can the entire time between the first and second sets last night. I know. I was out in the hall waiting for him. He couldn’t have knifed Lewis.”
“You told my partner that last night. I’m sorry, but it’s not something that will stand up in court unless you have another witness.”
“But it’s the truth!”
Ellis shrugged, feeling this was all a waste of time. “You’re his girlfriend. They would expect you to say that. Anything else?”
Carolyn leaned forward again.
“You might want to check out Mike Master.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s mega strange.”
“That’s not a lot to go on.”
“Since he joined the band, he’s said a lot of things about where he came from, things he did. I looked it up on the Internet this morning. It was complete BS. There’s no record of him anywhere I could find. Not in the town he claims to come from, not in the county, not anywhere.”
“So you’re an expert at using the Internet to find people?”
“I know my way around. Want me to prove it? Maybe I’ll look you up.”
“I didn’t mean that as an insult. That’s a skill set most people don’t have.”
“Well, I do!” She picked up a fry and used it as emphasis. “Either Mike’s lying about his name or lying about where he’s from. That’s suspicious. And like I told you, he’s a mega-strange dude. You need to check him out.”
Chapter Ten
Pratt thought there was nothing of the budding rock star as Jamie Clark was led into the interview room at the city jail. Dressed in an orange jumpsuit, he just looked like what he was. A scared twenty-two-year-old.
“Who are you?”
“Detective Pratt. I’m one of the people investigating the murder of Joseph Lewis.”
“Shouldn’t I have my lawyer here?”
“You can, of course. But then my questions will have to wait until at least tomorrow. You’re in a deep hole, and right about now they’re starting to fill it in. Tell you what. If I ask a question you don’t want to answer, just tell me to piss off, okay?”
Under the desk, Pratt crossed his fingers. Did he have the kid pegged right?
Clark slouched back in his chair. His shoulders rose and fell once.
Pratt nodded, then pulled out his notebook and pen.
“I know what you said in your statement, so we don’t need to cover that. But I have a few questions about what happened earlier in the day. Take this missing knife of yours. Can you tell me positively the last time you had it?”
Jamie pursed his lips. “I used it to cut some pieces of gaffer’s tape when we were setting up our gear.”
“What time was that?”
“Sometime after five. That’s when load-in is.”
“What happened to the knife after you used it?”
“I put it back in my pocket.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m very careful with that knife.”
Pratt didn’t bother to mention that having it was completely illegal.
“You don’t remember having it any time after that?”
“No.”
“When did you discover it was missing?”
“When we were getting changed in the dressing room. Look, most of this is in my statement.”
“I know. I’m just trying to get more details about that knife.” Pratt looked down at his notebook, even though he was making this up as he went along. “What did you say when you discovered it was missing?”
“I asked the rest of the band, didn’t I? Look, I wasn’t in the best of moods. Lewis was being a prick about money. And then he wouldn’t let us do a soundcheck.”
; “Who was in the club at the time you last saw the knife?”
“The band, Carolyn and a friend of hers. There were two guys stocking the bar. Carl the manager. Lewis. There might have been some people in the kitchen.”
“When you used the knife to cut the”— Pratt glanced down at his notebook—“gaffer’s tape, who might have seen it?”
“Anyone in the band, I suppose. Carl was hanging around, talking to us. He’s been angling to manage the band. Thinks he’s an operator.” Jamie leaned forward suddenly. “Why are you asking me all these questions about the knife? What gives?”
“I’m just trying to account for its whereabouts during the time you were in the club.”
“Does this mean I’m not completely screwed? I got the feeling you cops have it in for me. I know all about cops. I have a half brother who’s one.”
“I wouldn’t talk about that if I were you.”
“In here? Are you kidding? Do you think I’m that stupid?”
“No. I’m talking about saying it anywhere. If I were you, I wouldn’t tell anyone. It won’t help you.”
“I know he’ll think I’m guilty.”
Pratt shook his head. “No, he doesn’t think that at all.”
“Bullshit.”
“Believe it or not, I’m telling you the truth.” Pratt leaned forward. “But getting back to your earlier question, son, you will get buried if you murdered Joseph Lewis. I’m just trying to make sure we have the truth.”
Chapter Eleven
On opposite sides of the city in the early hours of the morning, Detectives Pratt and Ellis pushed their chairs away from their computers and rubbed tired eyes.
Pratt was in the squad room, having thoroughly checked out Margerie Lewis, her husband and the club’s manager, Carl Thomson. Searching police records had uncovered a few interesting tidbits. Thomson had once been arrested for domestic violence, but charges were later dropped. He’d also once been linked to a biker gang. Joseph Lewis had been investigated for fraud a number of years back. But the case had never made it to court. Margerie Lewis at first appeared to be an upstanding member of the community. But then he’d found her named in a divorce suit six years ago. She had been married to Lewis at the time.