Rock & Roll Homicide

by R J McDonnell

  “How many expensive ones were there to choose from?” I asked.

  “There were quite a few, but only three of them claimed to radically reduce outside noise,” she said.

  I spent the next fifteen minutes telling her what led me to the conclusion that Nigel had killed her husband. “If all goes well we should nail him within the week,” I said.

  “Can I tell my attorneys?” she asked.

  “No. They all have their own agendas. Not that I could ever imagine Reginald Rutherford taking advantage of an opportunity to grab a front-page headline,” I said sarcastically.

  “I see your point. Too bad Daddy has to pay him all that money to work on my defense,” she said.

  “Nigel isn’t in custody yet and you’re not off the hook either. Let him do his thing; it could work to our advantage with the DA’s office,” I said.

  “How so?” she asked.

  “After going out on a limb and arresting you they normally wouldn’t want to give up on you as the prime suspect. But the prospects of Reginald Rutherford making them look like fools could help open their eyes to Nigel; especially if we aren’t able to produce the headphones you gave to Terry or get a confession out of one of Nigel’s hooligan friends,” I said.

  “Thanks for agreeing to come back to work for me. I was such a brat. I got so wrapped up in myself I couldn’t see that you were doing everything you could to help me,” she said emotionally.

  “You’ve been through a lot in a short period of time. I’m really glad you hired me back because I just wasn’t able to let it go during my brief period of unemployment,” I said. Chelsea gave me a hug, walked me to the door and said goodbye.

  When I got back to the office I had two messages. The first was from Walter Shamansky and the other was from Nigel. I called Shamansky first. When he came on the line I said, “This is the Rutherford legal team returning your call.”

  “How is your Nigel theory coming?” he asked.

  “It’s getting stronger by the hour. I just came from Chelsea’s house and guess who recommended the brand of headphones?” I asked.

  “He didn’t happen to put it in an email or a note, by chance, did he?” Shamansky asked.

  “No, but I did learn some interesting facts about his hooligan buddies,” I said.

  “Such as?” he asked. I told him what David Cooper had told me without revealing my source. “Let me buy you dinner tonight. I’m in a manpower bind and was hoping we could come up with a plan of attack.”

  “I already have dinner plans, but let me see if I can cut you in. I’ll call you back in ten,” I said and hung up.

  I called my parent’s home and mom answered. “Could you handle another guest for dinner?” I asked.

  “Anybody I know?” she asked.

  “Detective Walter Shamansky,” I replied.

  “I think you better get a green light from your father first,” she said.

  “Good idea. Is he around?” I asked.

  “Hold on,” she replied.

  Two minutes later I put in my request and Dad said, “We’re not exactly on the best of terms.”

  I said, “I was going to ask you to help me by staking out the perp. Shamansky just called to say he agrees with me but is in a tight spot because of arresting Chelsea. He wants to get it right and needs our assistance.”

  “OK, he’s invited to dinner, but tell him not to expect any pigs-in-a-blanket,” he said.

  “Promise me we won’t hear the word Pollack or any other ethnic slur,” I said, and there was a long pause. “Kelly’s very sensitive about that stuff. I don’t think she’d want to come back to your house if you embarrass Shamansky.”

  “You’re worse than your mother. Alright, I’ll treat him like he’s related to the Pope,” he said.

  I called Shamansky back and told him what I had in mind. He was shocked by the invitation, but appreciated the help.

  I decided to avoid Nigel altogether and had Jeannine call and tell him I was going to be tied up with a group of Russians for the rest of the day, but would like to meet with him tomorrow. He agreed to meet me at his home at 10:00 AM.

  As we drove to my parents’ house I told Kelly that Shamansky was joining us, but we would hold the shop-talk until after dinner. “In the meantime, I’d like to hear about your new class.” She spent the rest of the drive telling me all about it. Sometimes people just need to vent. Fortunately, there wasn’t a pop quiz at the end of our trip since my focus frequently drifted to my meeting with Dad and Shamansky.

  We arrived fifteen minutes before Shamansky. Dad and Walter were cordial to one another, like the leaders of two warring countries at a peace summit. I could tell both hoped something positive could be accomplished, but both were basically distrustful of the other.

  The dinner conversation centered on Kelly. For me, it was like a chick flick double feature. This time Mom kept jumping in and relating the conversation to when I attended school, so I was forced to pay closer attention. Shamansky chimed in periodically. I had a feeling he would be attentive to Kelly considering his penchant for attractive young women. He also addressed me with a new respect that I could tell came more from the fact that I was dating a looker than out of deference to my parents.

  When dinner was over Dad suggested that the men grab a beer and adjourn to the backyard. When we got out there, Dad said, “Let’s get down to business. I understand you need some help with the case.”

  I gave a ten-minute summary, highlighting new developments and facts that emerged since our last conversation. When I finished the summary I said, “I have a meeting set up with Nigel tomorrow at 10:00 AM. I’m trying to decide whether to confront him with the facts or give him a false sense of security while I continue to build the case.”

  “What would be the advantages of a confrontation?” Shamansky asked.

  “Nigel thinks he’s gotten away with it. He’s proceeding with his plans to replace Terry and hire a top notch agent. I think he’s under a lot of pressure as the businessman of the band. If he finds out we’re on to him he could very well make a mistake.”

  “Like what?” asked Shamansky.

  “I think it’s possible that the headphones Chelsea bought for Terry could still be around. If not, the other two purchased by Billingsly could help build the case if they’re recovered. Nigel or his girlfriend might try to dump them if they’re at his house. Or, he could call the friend in Southeast San Diego to make sure they’re gone,” I said.

  “What would be the advantage of keeping Nigel in the dark a little longer?” Dad asked.

  “I’m almost certain the hooligans are back in Ireland. Nigel just got back from there today. Unless they returned with him we won’t be able to bring them in,” I said.

  Shamansky said, “We’d have a much better chance of breaking this open if we could get Nigel’s posse back in the country and put the four of them in separate interrogation rooms.”

  “So how do we get them back here?” asked Dad.

  “Give me a minute, I’m getting an idea,” I said.

  “How about if I get us another round of beers while you figure it out,” Dad said.

  “Great idea, Jim,” said Shamansky. “Can I give you a hand?”

  “Sure,” Dad said with a quizzical look on his face. I don’t know what they talked about in the five minutes they were gone and, frankly, I didn’t care.

  “So let’s have it,” said Dad when they returned. “What’s your idea?”

  “Shamansky, I suggest you and I pay another visit to Chofsky. You read him the riot act for getting that actor killed at the cemetery and threaten to have him deported. I’ll suggest that if he can help us catch the killer you’ll call it even. We make Chofsky tell Nigel he doesn’t want the band worrying about their safety, especially after Terry and Torhan’s deaths, as well as the shooting at the cemetery. He tells Nigel that he’d be glad to assign one of his security men to each of the band members. Or, as the new leader of the band, he could bring in h
is own men. He goes on to tell Nigel that he prefers men from his own country and, if Nigel would feel more comfortable with Brits, he’d pay them a salary of $40K per year and sponsor them for a work visa. So that it doesn’t seem too staged, he tells him the bodyguards would be expected to perform security duties at his compound once things calm down and the band isn’t touring. But, he wants them in place within the week and he wants to meet them as soon as possible. One bodyguard for each band member,” I said.

  Dad and Shamansky were silent for about a minute, then Shamansky said, “I love it.”

  “Good plan, son,” Dad added. “Where do I come in?”

  “I’d like to get a look inside the house in Southeast San Diego. I need you to stake it out, establish a pattern of comings and goings and be my look-out while I check it for headphones and blasting caps. If we know they’re in there, you can get a search warrant once the boys are back in town and at the house,” I said.

  Shamansky said, “Me and your dad had a hard time hearing that last part, but I like what we’ve heard so far.”

  We went back inside and spent another hour drinking beer and talking with the women. I wondered if Dad realized he was enjoying the company of a non-Irishman.

  Chapter 26

  I met Dad at 5:00 AM a half-block from Desmond Thompson’s house in Southeast San Diego. I wanted to get a look at the layout to figure out how and when I would do my locksmith thing. Dad was surprised to learn I acquired that skill at UCSD. When he questioned my ability to do it under pressure I told him about my experience in Tecate, and he was genuinely amused when I told him about inadvertently cracking the boss in the package with a hockey stick.

  At 5:45 AM a guy in his mid-twenties emerged from the house and got into a gray, late-nineties Toyota pick-up and pulled away. I gave it a few minutes before getting out of the car, then I walked around the block and was pleasantly surprised to learn an alley ran behind the property. It was bordered by an old six foot redwood fence, but had a chainlink gate that gave me an excellent view of the rear of the house and a detached garage that sat within the perimeter fencing.

  After I left Dad, I drove to the Denny’s where Terry Tucker ate his last meal. I told the hostess, “I’m very particular about the service I receive. Would you be sure to seat me in Cassie’s section?”

  “You’ll probably have to wait longer,” she replied.

  “I don’t mind,” I said, then walked outside and fed quarters to a newspaper dispenser.

  Twenty-five minutes later I was seated in Cassie’s section and reviewed the menu while waiting for her. “I remember you,” she said as she appeared at my table. “I saw you at the Dali Lama a couple of weeks ago and I told my boyfriend, ‘He sat at my station and asked a bunch of questions about Doberman’s Stub and now he’s playing with their band,’ it was pretty cool,” she said.

  “And here I am again,” I said.

  “What can I get you today?” she asked.

  “How about a Grand Slam with orange juice,” I said. “And I have one more question.”

  “What do you want to know?” she asked.

  “Last time I was here you said that Nigel, the English guy, went to the bathroom while Terry, the guy who was killed, left the restaurant,” I said.

  “Yeah. That’s what happened,” she said.

  “Do you remember if Nigel was in the bathroom long or just in and out?” I asked.

  “In and out. I remember saying to myself, ‘Jeez, I thought the British always washed their hands.’ I even mentioned it to my boyfriend when we saw him at the Dali Lama,” Cassie said.

  “How long would you say it was from the time Terry left and when Nigel left?” I asked.

  “Just a few seconds. Terry paid the bill while pee-pee hands was making the pit stop,” she said.

  “Pick-up Cassie,” I heard from behind.

  “I’ll be back,” she said and deftly snagged three plates from the counter and delivered them to a family of six, then returned for three more. She took care of a few more people and returned with my breakfast.

  “Did you happen to notice either of them out in the parking lot?” I asked.

  “I sure did. Both of them had really hot cars. The British guy left us some rubber as he pulled out of the lot,” she said.

  “So it looked like he was in a big hurry?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah. It looked like he was trying to catch up to his buddy,” she said, then responded to a request for more coffee.

  It took five minutes to get from Denny’s to the 7/Eleven. As I pulled into the parking lot I saw what I was hoping to see. The reason I almost never lock my car door at convenience stores is because they usually have huge plate glass windows looking out at the parking lot, so the shoppers can keep an eye on their cars and the police can watch out for robbers. But, some stores get carried away with putting big promotional posters in their windows to drum up business, and this is definitely one of those stores. There was enough space in between posters where someone could see in or out of the store if they focused their attention at one of the narrow slots. But there was not enough space for a person getting an iced tea to notice someone in the parking lot out of his peripheral vision. Nigel could have easily made the switch without being seen.

  I walked over to the fountain drinks area and checked out the sight lines to the parking lot. Unless Terry was parked in one of two particular slots, there was no chance he could have spotted Nigel in the lot.

  At 10:15 AM I found myself listening to Nigel’s doorbell and hoping, for once, that a real butler would answer the door. Instead I got Victoria with a mean expression. “Are you gonna tell him?” she asked.

  “Did you?” I asked and she shook her head. “Then mum’s the word,” I said and followed her to Nigel’s office where he was seated behind his desk.

  “Jason, how was your long weekend?” Nigel asked.

  “It was fine. I heard you got out of town,” I replied.

  “I flew across the pond and checked in with the relatives. “Any new developments?” he asked.

  I replied, “I hate to say it because I know he’s trying to work a deal with you, but Koflanovich is still looking pretty bad. While you were gone I talked to Jack and Ian again and they told me about how he tried getting you guys to pressure Terry to settle for less than you’re worth.”

  “He is on a bit of a power trip,” he said. “But, I’m not so sure it wasn’t that big blond gonstermonker that did in poor Terry.”

  “You mean Vlad Torhan, the guy who got shot?” I asked.

  “If you ask me, the Russian Mafia knew he was behind it and punched his ticket because he was out of control,” Nigel said.

  “That’s a possibility,” I said, “but, if I were you, I still wouldn’t do anything to piss off Koflanovich until this thing is sorted out.”

  “Blimey!” he responded.

  “Anyway, I just wanted to find out if Koflanovich said anything to you that was different than what he told the other guys,” I said.

  “I think Ian got called first, then Jack. Ian called me right afterwards, so I was prepared when I got my call,” he said.

  “From what they told me it sounded like the usual contract posturing to try to get an edge during the negotiations; lawsuit threats and worst case scenarios,” I said.

  “Exactly,” Nigel said.

  “They also told me about the clause in the contract where Terry could fire one of the band members. Ian was pretty upset. Do you think it was just Terry’s way of telling him to shape up or ship out?” I asked.

  “Something like that. Terry was a perfectionist. He was mad at Ian, but I really don’t think he would have thrown him out. It was probably just a scare tactic to get him into rehab,” Nigel said.

  “That’s all I’ve got for you today, Nigel. I’ll let you get back to work,” I said as I kept my eyes off of the hooligan pictures. “I’ll keep you posted if there are any new developments.”

  Nigel stood up when I did and stuck
out his hand, “I appreciate that, Jason. Be sure to tell Chelsea we all know she didn’t do it.” Victoria magically appeared as I was walking toward the door. I had no doubt she had been eavesdropping on the entire conversation.

  When we got to the door she gave me an insincere smile and said, “Don’t hurry back,” then shut the door without waiting for a reply.

  I checked in with Jeannine and was told that Shamansky set up a meet with Chofsky at 1:00 PM. I skipped lunch and arrived about 15 minutes early. This meant I got to spend quality time with Mikhail and Rovi, both of whom appeared to be failing their ESL classes. We bonded when Mikhail pointed his AK-47 at my steering wheel and demanded to see my gun. The Badinov Brothers played with it like a new toy for about five minutes before returning it to me.

  When Shamansky arrived we were escorted to Chofsky’s office once again by poor Ivana’s prison matron, Svetlana.

  “Sit down gentlemen, I’m afraid I don’t have much time for you today,” he said.

  “You’re gonna have to make time unless you want to spend the next 72 hours at police headquarters,” said Shamansky in a ‘bad cop’ voice that startled me.

  “What’s this about?” demanded Chofsky trying to meet force with force.

  “It’s about an underpaid actor laying on a slab in the morgue because you chose to use him as an expendable pawn in your war with the Russian Mafia. It’s about deciding whether you should be deported. Are you getting my message?” asked Shamansky.

  “It is most unfortunate that the poor man was shot. But I’m not the one who pulled the trigger,” he replied.

  “Then I suggest you study up on the laws regarding employers putting their employees in highly dangerous situations that result in their death. You’re going to find case after case of the employers doing prison time,” Shamansky pontificated.

  “Have I not been completely cooperative with you?” he asked.

  “He has been cooperative,” I said hoping my good cop role would not be too transparent. How many cop TV shows could this guy have watched? He probably lives for the Minsk farm report on satellite.