Rock & Roll Homicide

by R J McDonnell

  “To keep the momentum going?” I asked.

  “Exactly,” he said. “I’m sure Terry was hoping the second CD would take off, but there are never any guarantees. Doberman made the right choice of being warm-up at stadium concerts featuring mainstream artists that would pack the house. This would ensure that they hit their performance goals with Cerise Records and, at the same time, give them a chance to expand their demographics.”

  “But this meant less money,” I said.

  “In the short term,” Calvin agreed. “But long term, it was a great strategy. The increase in downloads and CD sales for both CDs went way up, and they positioned themselves for a feature tour.”

  “Let’s get back to my original question. Why go back to the studio for a third CD when they could have gotten booked on the stadium circuit now?” I asked.

  “Stardom is usually like a big monster. If you don’t feed the monster it will go someplace else to get fed,” he said. “This is especially true when you get into the teenage audience. They buy the most downloads and they are by far the most demanding when it comes to new material. Remember when I said they got big with women 15 to 35?”

  “Yeah,” I replied.

  “The 15 to 25 year olds bought 80% of the music. The Beatles got huge because of their talent, but they sustained that incredibly intense level of popularity by being prolific songwriters who knew how to evolve and set trends,” he said.

  I switched gears a bit. “What are the chances Doberman’s Stub can survive without Terry Tucker?” I asked.

  “The general feeling in the industry is that the Doberman got castrated, but I think they still have a chance,” he said. “I’m sure you know that Terry split songwriting credits with Nigel and that each wrote his own songs; no collaborations.”

  “It was sort of a separate but equal arrangement from what I could see,” I said.

  “Right. Terry’s songs got the most airplay. They were metal anthems. Technically, they’re terrific,” he said. “But I always got the feeling that Terry was shooting for the Top 10 with every one of his songs.”

  I asked, “How about Nigel’s compositions?”

  “Frankly, I relate better to Nigel’s stuff, especially his lyrics,” Calvin said. “His songs are more emo, so I’m sure he’s scoring big with the women.”

  “Are we still talking demographics?” I asked.

  “As a concert promoter, my thing is demographics. I need to know who’s hot and who’s going to be hot six months from now. One of the nightmares of my profession is when a band breaks up just before the show I’ve been paying to advertise for a month,” he said. “I need to know those kinds of things about bands I’m considering, and Doberman’s Stub was at the top of my list when Terry died.”

  “So, what about Nigel?” I asked again.

  “Nigel Choate fancies himself a ladies man,” he said. “In order for Doberman’s Stub to succeed without Terry a few important things need to happen. First, they need a big name to replace Terry as lead singer; maybe add a rhythm guitarist if their singer doesn’t play. Second, they need to fire their current management and hire someone with a proven track record of taking a band to the top. Third, they need to shit or get off the pot on their drummer situation.”

  “Ian’s drinking?” I asked.

  “Drinking, coke, ecstasy, acid, you name it. They have to give him the rehab or unemployment ultimatum as soon as the CD wraps,” he said.

  “Do you think Terry was on Ian to clean up?” I asked.

  Calvin replied, “Terry wouldn’t tolerate anything that messed with his sound. I saw them onstage in San Francisco a couple of months before Terry died. Ian was definitely high and out of synch with everybody else. At one point Terry stood on the drum riser with his back to the audience and, from backstage, I could see he was screaming. If looks could kill Ian would have preceded Terry to the Pearly Gates.”

  “What’s your take on Jack Pascal?” I asked.

  “I like Jack a lot. Every successful band needs a steadying influence and Jack is their guy. He’ll never show up on anybody’s list for best metal bassist, but he is solid as a rock. I met him a couple of times at backstage parties and he strikes me as one of those rare musicians who will be the same guy no matter how popular or unpopular the band. He’s in it for the music, not the lifestyle” he said.

  “How would a guy like that respond to Ian messing with the sound?” I asked.

  He replied, “My guess is he would look for Terry to fix it, like a kid turning to a parent to deal with a sibling problem.”

  “Do you think, if Terry hadn’t died, that Ian would soon be fired?” I asked.

  He replied, “I was amazed he took Ian into the studio for the third CD. Something else besides Terry’s desire to succeed and Ian’s lifestyle was playing a role in that decision. Maybe it was the contract negotiation, maybe not. But my guess is that it was more a question of when and not if Terry would give Ian the ax.”

  I could have asked Calvin twenty more questions, but the sound of Steve Poltz came drifting our way, so we rejoined Justin. “Did you go back to Jake’s for dessert?” he asked.

  “Has it been that long?” I replied. The show was excellent. A couple of Steve’s old band mates from The Rugburns showed up to help out on the final set.

  I woke up around 11:00 AM on Sunday morning. There was a message on my answering machine from Nigel asking me to call him when I got in. I called right away and the phone was answered by a sexy voice that was definitely not the lovely who flashed me earlier in the week. “Jason, thanks for getting back to me,” said Nigel.

  “What can I do for you Nigel?” I asked.

  “Actually, there are two matters I’d like to discuss with you, but I’m a little indisposed at the moment. It’s urgent that I talk with you soon. Do you think I might come round in the morning?” he asked.

  “I’m going to be in my office at 9:00 AM. Can you make it at 10:00?” I asked.

  “That will be fine,” he replied. I gave him directions and hoped I would remember to send Delbert Henson out for donuts at 9:50.

  Chapter 10

  Monday morning I picked Jeannine up at 8:45 and found Delbert standing guard at the front door. He had forgotten to shave, but did manage to get the front of his shirttail tucked in. When he saw us he shoved something into his pants pocket, which appeared to already be quite full. Jeannine said hello and when he replied it became apparent that his pocket was full of Oreo cookies. I would have to come up with a way, other than a donut shop run, of keeping Delbert away from the office since he would already be stuffed full of confection and pocket lint.

  I downloaded the folder from Yuliya onto Jeannine’s computer and told her to review all of the pictures carefully for anything unusual. I told Delbert I thought somebody might try to mess with my car, and walked him to a stakeout position where he could watch it without being spotted by Nigel or anyone else who might call the cops on a suspicious ogre.

  Just after 10:00 Jeannine showed Nigel into my office.

  “Nigel, what’s on your mind,” I said.

  “Like I said on the phone, I have two separate matters to discuss with you,” he said. “First, I want to hire you to do background checks on prospective replacements for Terry. It’s important that we choose carefully. The last thing we need is to announce a new front-man only to find out he has a heroin habit or that he’s a convicted pedophile.”

  “Speaking of replacements, did Ian know he was about to get the boot?” I asked.

  “There was a fair amount of open hostility between Terry and Ian. Terry threatened to make Ian bugger-off at least once a week,” he said.

  “How did Ian feel about that?” I inquired.

  “Ian loves being a rock star. When we formed the band he was the only one of us who was an unknown. He was broke, hungry and had tremendous talent. Nobody knew he’d go nuts once he started earning those big checks,” he said.

  “Do you think Ian would kill Terry to kee
p the good times rolling?” I asked.

  “My God! I certainly hope not. You think you know somebody, but I guess you never really do,” he said with a lot of emotion. “I vouched for Ian. I thought you suspected the record company.”

  “I do. How soon do you need the reports?” I asked.

  “We’re actively seeking right now. Ideally, I was hoping you could jump on them as soon as possible,” he said.

  “I won’t be able to give them my full attention until I finish up working for Chelsea. Is that going to be a problem for you?” I asked.

  “It actually ties in with the second thing I’m here to talk with you about,” he said. “We’re going to be finishing the last song on the CD by Wednesday. After we laid down the tracks on each of our first two CD’s, Terry got us a low profile gig at a local club. We played the new material in front of live audiences to see what they liked and what should be tweaked before we wrapped the session.”

  “What would you like me to do?” I asked.

  “Jack told me you played the local club scene before you became a detective. Do you know any club owners who could set this up without causing a mob scene?” Nigel asked.

  “I know just the guy to handle it. His club would be perfect,” I said.

  “Is this a place where your old band used to play?” he inquired.

  “It was my favorite place to play,” I said.

  “What if we advertised the show as a reunion of your old group? Is your old lead singer still in the area?” he asked.

  “I was our lead singer,” I said cautiously.

  “Excellent!” he exclaimed. “Can you sing in Terry’s range?” he asked.

  “You guys were just getting started the year I hung it up. But my shower version of Clepto Lover rocks the house,” I said with a smile.

  “Perfect! If I get you the sheet music and demo’s of our new songs, could you put it together for next weekend?” he asked.

  “Let me make sure I’ve got this right. After a three year layoff from playing professionally, you want me to set up a gig in less than one week; learn the rhythm guitar and lead vocals on a CD full of songs I’ve never heard before; deal with a hundred old friends calling about the reunion show; and solve Terry’s murder all at the same time. Oh, and do a couple of bio investigations on the side. Is that about it?” I asked.

  “It’s not all that,” Nigel said. “There’s only 12 songs on the CD and you already know one of them. If you don’t have time to learn the songs we can dub Terry in over the PA. Do your best Milli Vanilli impression and Doberman’s Stub fans everywhere will be eternally grateful.”

  “What about all those old loyal fans who will be crushed when they find out Tsunami Rush isn’t in the house?” I asked with tongue firmly implanted in cheek.

  “Good point,” Nigel said seriously. “We only want to do one set. Could you get your old band to cover the other sets?”

  “We do a little garage jamming once every month or two. I don’t think we could possibly be ready that soon,” I said.

  “It’s like riding a bike, lad,” he said.

  “When I was seven I fell off my bike and broke my arm,” I said.

  “No worries, I heard you play in the studio. You’ll do great,” he said.

  “I have so much going on right now, Nigel. I don’t think it would be possible,” I said.

  “Too bad. It’s going to be a huge plug for whatever club owner we drop in on,” he said.

  “Why does it have to be this weekend?” I asked.

  “We have a lot of issues with Cerise Records and with our own management now that Terry’s gone. We all want to wrap the CD and get the hell out of that damned studio as soon as possible. If Cerise Records was involved in Terry’s death you shouldn’t expect us to hang out any longer than is absolutely necessary. Right?” he asked.

  “Let me see what I can put together,” I said. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”

  “Thanks Jason, I have every confidence in you. In fact, if you can pull this off I’ll use your rhythm track on the CD and give you a credit. Your name will be on a couple million CD's. I need you on this one,” he said as he exited.

  My next project was to track down GI Jo-Jo’s girlfriend. I figured with a name like Delitah she had to be either a hooker or an exotic dancer. I decided an exotic dancer would be easier to find. I called a guy I knew at UCSD, Tony Bascinelli, who was a connoisseur of San Diego erotica. I had no trouble locating him through the insurance company calendar he sends to me every year. “Tony, its Jason Duffy. How the hell are you?” I asked.

  “I knew you’d eventually come to realize the value of a whole life policy, Jason. You’re the third guy from UCSD who’s called me this year. Let’s set up a time to get together with the Mrs.,” he said.

  “There is no Mrs. Duffy. I’m trying to find an exotic dancer who doubles as a metal groupie,” I said.

  “I have just the girl for you. She digs your kind of music and she’ll go ape-shit when she finds out you were the lead singer in Tsunami Rush. They’ll be pealing you off her ceiling mirror,” he said in a locker room tone.

  “I’m looking for a particular girl. Her name is Delitah,” I said.

  “What do you want with her?” he asked.

  “I just need to ask a few questions about her boyfriend. No hassles, no cops, just a few questions,” I said.

  “She’s working first shift at Bottoms Up. She ought to be getting started about now,” he said.

  “Thanks for the info Tony. I’ll call when I’m ready for that policy,” I said. With the Russians chasing me it might not be a bad idea.

  I had to pay a $10 cover charge for the privilege of hanging with a swell bunch of guys. As I walked in I spotted a large bulletin board with pictures of the day’s featured dancers. Delitah had a big yellow star made of construction paper outlining her image. Her name was written on one of the star points.

  Delitah had recently finished her set when I arrived. I took a seat at one of the back tables, knowing that she’d work her way from the stage toward the door. She appeared to be wearing a fake fur jacket over a G-string and encouraged patrons to tuck dead presidents into the waistband. When she arrived at my table she asked, “Did you like my show?”

  I replied, “Unfortunately, I just missed it, but I did come here to see you. My name’s Jason Duffy and I need to talk with you about Terry Tucker.”

  “Are you a cop?” she asked.

  “No. I’m a private investigator, hired to find out who killed Terry,” I said.

  “Then I don’t have to talk to you,” she said.

  “I thought you were a big fan of Terry’s,” I said.

  “I was. But now he’s dead and there’s no chance of hooking up with him anymore,” she replied.

  “Wouldn’t you like to see whoever killed him get caught?” I asked.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with it and I don’t know who did,” she said.

  “Nobody thinks you had anything to do with it,” I said. “Did you notice anything unusual going on in the last few weeks before Terry died?”

  Delitah sat down at my cocktail table and leaned forward, “Everybody was pretty uptight about recording the new CD. Terry was born a perfectionist. The other guys in the band just don’t understand that when you’re a genius you do what it takes to achieve your vision.”

  “Did you see much of the band in the last few weeks?” I asked.

  “I rode on the bus for the last mini-tour through the West Coast just before they went into the studio. But, once they started recording, some asshole Russian Nazi wouldn’t let me in to see the sessions,” she said.

  “The big blond guy?” I asked.

  “Yeah, that’s him,” she replied.

  “Do you think it’s possible he had anything to do with Terry’s murder?” I inquired.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. He hated Terry,” she said.

  “How do you know he hated him if he didn’t let you inside?” I aske
d.

  “First of all, I have a very good friend who works for the band,” she said.

  “Would that be GI Jo-Jo?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Jo-Jo told me Terry thought he was a useless piece of shit and was always giving him a hard time,” she said. “Plus, I saw him do something to Terry’s car once.”

  “What did you see?” I asked.

  “I was supposed to meet Jo-Jo in front of the recording studio at around six o’clock about a week before Terry died. The band was running late and I was just sitting in my car waiting. Then I saw that big asshole walk out of the studio and head straight for Terry’s Ferrari. Then he whipped it out and pissed all over the hood of that beautiful car,” she said.

  “Did you say anything to him?” I asked.

  “Hell no. I didn’t want him waving that thing at me,” she said. “Besides, he probably would have run me out of the lot and I wouldn’t have been able to hook up with Jo-Jo.”

  “I’m not real clear on something,” I said. “Were you dating Terry or were you dating Jo-Jo?”

  “Well, Jo-Jo is my friend, sometimes a really close friend. But he knew from the start that I’m cosmically linked to Terry,” she said.

  “Did Terry know about this cosmic linkage?” I asked with a straight face.

  “I tried telling him about it a couple of times, but Terry had a lot on his mind,” she said.

  “What about his wife, Chelsea?” I asked.

  “That bitch!” she cried. “She was never right for Terry. It was just a matter of time before he realized it.”

  “What did she do that made you dislike her?” I asked.

  “She doesn’t have to do anything to piss me off. Just hearing her name is enough to fuck me up just like that!” she exclaimed, snapping her fingers.