by Louise Clark
Awesome. Damn, but Sledge gives a good party. I can't believe some of the people who are here.
Frank was right. Half of Vancouver's music scene was here tonight. They'd drift in, jam with Sledge and Hammer, then drift out again. Or maybe they'd just disappeared into one of the bedrooms. Trevor had told him that the end of tour party was a tradition for SledgeHammer. A time for the road crew, the band, the backup singers, and everyone else involved—including their accountant—to get together to mourn the end of the tour and celebrate its success.
The murder after the last concert had put a crimp into tradition, though. No one wanted to plan a celebration when a girl had died, so they'd compromised and made the party in honor of Homeless Help, Syd Haynes's charity. Everyone had been asked to donate. Sledge had announced earlier, just before Syd left, that they'd raised nearly a hundred thousand dollars.
Trevor needs to lay off my aunt.
That roused Roy out of his happy stupor. "What are you talking about?"
They're out on the deck. Huddled together. It's creepy.
There was something surreal about the way Stormy purred and kneaded lazily while Frank bitched about Ellen's behavior. If he hadn't already been aware of it, this alone would have told him that there were two different creatures living in the cat's body. "Are they necking?" He didn't want to think that Trevor and Ellen might be waiting for a spot in one of the bedrooms. Best not to go there.
They're talking! Get your mind out of the gutter, Armstrong.
Roy resisted the urge to point out that he wasn't the one who had brought up the subject. Instead, he took another puff and hoped the residual smoke would turn Frank's thoughts elsewhere and stop him ruining the vibe with his disapproval.
"Go to hell, Vince!" The angry voice belonged to Hammer and from the expression on his face as he stomped through the glass doors that opened onto the deck, he was furious. Stormy stopped purring and kneading, then hopped off Roy's chest to perch on the back of the sofa for a view of the action.
"Be realistic, Hammer. He's a liability."
That was Vince as he trailed into the great room behind the angry Hammer. Roy noticed that Sledge was just behind, a frown on his forehead.
"He's my brother, damn it! I'm not going to dump him so I can give the band better optics."
The conversation in the great room died off as the angry voice of Hammer and the milder, but still loud, one belonging to Vince, dominated.
"He's got a record, Hammer. Mitch told me his company is going to—"
"Mitch Crosier doesn't care about anyone but himself," Sledge said. His tone was even, carefully controlled, but Roy thought he could hear anger simmering below the surface. "The band sticks together."
"Since the media got hold of the info that Kyle was a suspect in the murder of a decent kid from a good family—and that he has a history of violence against women—our record sales have tanked! Do you know what that means?"
"I don't give a f—"
"I won't be a billionaire before I'm forty?" Sledge asked, raising an eyebrow. His tone was ironic, his expression amused as he broke in on Hammer. If he was trying to defuse the situation, though, it wasn't working.
"Get serious!" Vince said, his tone scathing. "It means no radio play. And no radio play means no sales. And no sales means no recording contract. And no recording contract means no tour. And no touring means no SledgeHammer!"
"I don't give a sweet fu—" Hammer said again. He'd been drinking steadily and had gone out onto the deck to look for Jahlina, who had disappeared about a half an hour before. His brother Kyle was on the deck as well. Clearly something had happened out there to trigger this very public argument.
Vince rounded on Hammer, furious. "You should! SledgeHammer is at the top of the heap right now, but there are plenty who want to take your place and they'll do whatever they need to get there. If the gossip media links you to Kyle, SledgeHammer is done!"
Hammer curled his lips into a sneer and said, "My name is already linked to Kyle's. We share the same surname, in case you don't remember."
"Sure, make fun of me. Go ahead. You were in the arena that night, just like Kyle was. If a rumor starts that you came on to the girl, or that you disappeared for ten minutes at one point, it won't matter that you have fifty people who will say that you were in a room with them the whole time. You'll be condemned and if you try to defend yourself, it will only make it worse." Vince stopped, drew a deep breath. "Cut him."
"Oh, this is bad," Roy said, to himself and to Frank. The mellowness of a few minutes ago had disappeared. He was glad to see that Trevor and Ellen had come in from the deck. As they edged around the two combatants, he made space for them on the sofa.
Hammer's eyes glittered as he stared at Vince, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. Tension stiffened his shoulders and his chin jutted dangerously. "I'll cut you first."
"This isn't about me," Vince said impatiently.
"I don't think we want to go where this is headed," Sledge said. His eyes were watchful and his voice had that same level tone, but his expression was hard. The argument was way past the flippant diversion stage.
"It's not?" Hammer said, ignoring Sledge. "I think it is. You've done this before. Remember Syd? Remember back then? We cut him, because you said he was a liability. Well, maybe we were wrong to do it then. And we'd be wrong to cut Kyle now."
Vince swore under his breath, then he turned to Sledge. "I'm not suggesting forever. This is a short-term fix until Kyle is cleared and the killer is found. Once that happens it won't matter that Kyle has a record."
"He's my brother!" Hammer bellowed. Rage glittered in his eyes as he turned to Sledge. Pointing at Vince he said, "He goes or I go. Your choice." He stomped up the stairs from the great room to the gallery, his footsteps echoing in the sudden quiet. Moments later, the sound of the front door slamming was loud in the shocked silence.
"I'll go talk to him," Vince said.
Sledge shook his head. "Let him cool off." He shot Vince a hard look. "Then go and apologize. And make it good. Otherwise, SledgeHammer will be looking for a new manager." He turned away and deliberately went over to talk to the lead singer of a popular local band. Vince was left standing alone in the center of the room.
Hammer's brother won't be cleared, because there's a good chance that he was the guy who did it. Looks like Vince is out of a job.
"Hey," Roy said. "I don't believe that."
Everything points to Kyle Gowdy. Stormy hopped off the couch and onto the floor. The cat wants to pee. Can somebody let him outside?
Roy did the honors, opening the front door Hammer had so recently used. There was no sign of the man in the front yard, so Roy figured Hammer was walking off his temper. Back downstairs, he slumped down onto the couch. "What happened out on the deck?" he asked, looking from Trevor to Ellen.
"I didn't notice anything at first," Ellen said. Roy thought he detected a blush on her cheeks.
"Kyle was on the deck when we first went out," Trevor said. "He was talking to Syd Haynes. After Syd left, Kyle stood for a long time, leaning against the railing and staring out over the water."
"He looked very isolated," Ellen said, nodding.
Kyle had come alone to the party, leaving his wife at home, and he'd spent most of it out on the deck, lingering in the shadows. Roy had thought it unwise of him to attend, but Trevor told him that Hammer had pressed him to show up.
"Hammer went over to Kyle and told him he should come inside and join in," Trevor said. "Kyle was reluctant. They had a bit of an argument, which Kyle ended by saying he wished he hadn't come."
"Then Vince joined the conversation. He agreed with Kyle. He even suggested Kyle leave by the deck and not go back into the house." Ellen shook her head. "Voices were raised. People started to stare."
"Hammer was furious," Trevor said. "Not surprising, I suppose. Sledge heard the commotion and came outside. He urged both inside. I think he had an idea that they could find a more priva
te space to finish the argument. They didn't stop, though." He shrugged. "Well, you saw the result."
Ellen said, "Kyle looked more and more miserable as the fight went on, poor man. I think he would have been happy to take Vince up on his suggestion and slip away."
Roy looked from Trevor to Ellen. "What do you think? Was Vince out of line?"
"Reputation is important," Trevor said. "Social media opens doors, but it also closes them." His forehead wrinkled. "I don't think several hours into a party where everyone is drinking or taking one form of drug or another is the best time to broach the subject, though."
Since Trevor had offered himself up as designated driver, he'd be aware of the level of intoxication in the people around him. "Was Vince drunk, then?" Roy asked.
Trevor nodded. "He holds it well, but yeah, he's loaded."
Roy nodded. He suspected Vince was soberer now. If the fight had blown away the mellowness Roy had been feeling, Vince must have been blindsided. He was about to say as much when he realized that Frank was talking to Stormy. The conversation was one sided, but he gathered that Stormy was on the prowl and the object of his desires was a sleek Siamese. Frank wanted Stormy to come inside. Stormy was having none of it.
Roy looked over at Trevor. His color was rather high, so Roy figured he wasn't imagining the situation. When Sledge broke off his conversation with the other singer and came over, Roy's assumption was confirmed.
"That's Mrs. Tam's Siamese. She'll never speak to me again if he gets her pregnant," Sledge said. He looked at his father as he spoke.
Ellen stared at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted.
"What do you expect me to do about it?" Trevor said.
Sledge looked at Roy.
"I could go and get him," Roy said.
"Please." He turned, about to move away.
Kim Crosier appeared at his shoulder. She beamed at all of them. "So cute. The kitty's in love."
Ellen looked at Trevor, then Roy. "What is going on here?"
Inside his mind Roy heard a groan, then a sigh. Kim put her hand over her mouth and giggled. Trevor blushed. "Okay," Roy said, wanting to get away before Trevor tried to explain the situation to Ellen. "I'm gone." He stood.
"I thought this night couldn't get any worse," Sledge said. He looked and sounded gloomy.
Roy decided that he'd go find the cat anyway. He was halfway up the stairs when panic struck.
Help! I need help! Stop that! Stop now. You bastard! NOOOO!
Roy ran up the rest of the stairs two at a time. He was at the front door and was about to wrench it open when he heard the howl. It wasn't in his mind, but was the anguished sound of a tormented cat. He wrenched the door open and dove outside.
The front yard was a mosaic of light and shadows. Roy paused to get his bearings. Sledge had spotlights strategically located around the house to provide security against marauders, but outside of their range, shadows lurked. The eerie sound a keening cat was coming from the shadows to the west of the drive.
"There," Sledge said behind him. "Toward Mrs. Tam's house."
Roy looked over his shoulder and realized that not only was Sledge behind him, but also Trevor, Ellen, and Kim Crosier. They followed Sledge's directions and the mournful howl grew louder. The little group had almost reached the sound, when he noticed that Hammer was beside Sledge.
Odd. He thought Hammer had left the house. When had he joined the group? Roy shrugged and went on. His gut was telling him that something bad had happened and he had an urgent desire to find the cat. After that desperate cry for help, Frank had fallen silent, and Roy was very much afraid that something had happened to both Stormy and Frank.
When he saw Stormy crouched over a mound, his green eyes glittering in the dark, he heaved a sigh of relief. He slowed down, not wanting to startle the already agitated cat. That was all that kept him from falling over the little heap where Stormy crouched. "Hey cat," he said. "What's the problem?"
Stormy put his head back and yowled again, more loudly this time. The sound had adrenaline pumping through Roy, clearing away the last fumes of his earlier indulgence. He bent to look more closely at what the cat guarded.
"Oh, my God," he said, shocked to his core.
Behind him, he heard Trevor say, "Ellen, don't look. Go back to the house and call the police. There's been a murder."
Chapter 18
Detective Szostalo of the West Vancouver Police Department was a large man. Despite the lateness of the hour, he was neatly dressed in a well-cut dark suit, a white shirt, and a sober, navy blue tie. After viewing the crime scene and discovering the basics of what had happened, he corralled everyone in the great room and told them he would have to interview each of them before they could leave. As the party had been going strong when Vince's murder happened, there were at least three dozen people crowded into the space and the great room didn't look so large anymore. There were protests, groans, and not a few rude comments about Fascist police tactics. Szostalo paid no attention and had his constables get on with compiling names and personal details while he set about finding a suitable space for an interview room.
As Sledge's house was designed on an open concept layout, there weren't many non-bedroom spaces that were closed and private, so his options were limited. He finally settled on Sledge's music room.
Since the room was where Sledge wrote music and practiced, furniture was limited to the chair he sat on when he played the guitar, a baby grand piano where he wrote his melodies and a couple of easy chairs for people he invited in while he worked. There were a dozen guitars, all carefully placed, but there was no desk for Szostalo to sit behind while he interrogated his suspects. He'd rectified that by bringing in Sledge's kitchen table and several of the wooden chairs that matched it.
Rearranging the furniture to provide for Detective Szostalo's comfort—or perhaps to appease his dignity—turned into a major effort that included moving the baby grand into a corner and stacking the guitars underneath and on top of the piano. When thumps from the room indicated the contents were being rearranged, Sledge protested. He was ignored. As the kitchen table was lugged to the room, Sledge's temper peaked and erupted. The music room was his refuge, the place where his creativity flowed freely, and he didn't want it tainted by the murder. He certainly didn't want his precious instruments shoved around like put-it-together-yourself disposable furniture to make the space fit the table. He shouted at Szostalo and demanded the detective stop. Szostalo simply returned him a flat stare and told him he had no choice in the matter. The muttering in the great room, which had paused during the argument, resumed louder than before.
With his fussy nesting instincts satisfied, Szostalo started interviewing suspects. He began with Sledge. Roy waited for his turn with the rest of the partygoers in the great room. He had resumed his place on the squishy sofa and was patting the still tense Stormy, hoping it would help the cat relax, and trying not to let the angry undercurrents in the room affect him. Ellen, sitting beside him, was as tense as the cat. On Ellen's other side, Trevor was watching the proceedings narrow-eyed. As a potential witness, Trevor couldn't act in a legal sense and Roy figured his defense counsel instincts were giving him grief.
Sledge was still being interviewed when Stormy finally curled into a ball on Roy's lap. Roy looked at him hopefully. Frank hadn't yet said anything and Roy was getting a little anxious. "Feeling better?" he asked the cat, conscious of Ellen sitting beside him.
She looked over at the cat. "Poor creature. I guess even cats are affected by death."
She put a tentative hand on Stormy's back and stroked. The cat looked up at her, unblinking, then put his head down again and closed his eyes. Frank made no comment. Roy began to worry.
His thoughts were interrupted when Sledge, released from the interrogation room, stormed into the great room. On the way, he pushed past the constable stationed at the entrance to the hallway to ensure that no one left the great room who wasn't supposed to. He paused dramatically in the
opening, catching the attention of the crowd in the big space.
"Listen up, Hammer," Sledge said. Loudly. He indicated the music room by pointing over his shoulder with his thumb in a jerky movement. "You're next on Szostalo's hit list. You know why?"
"Sir," said the constable. "Please sit down and refrain from discussing the case with the others."
His temper at full boil, Sledge paid no attention. "I'll tell you why."
"Sir, please!"
Angry, shaken by Vince's death and furious that the sanctity of his house was being violated, Sledge said, "It's because Vince was our manager. In that idiot Szostalo's uninformed opinion, that means Vince ordered us around and we didn't like it. Why did he order us around? Because in Szostalo's ignorant point of view, rock bands are made up of guys who never grew up, and the manager's job is to treat us like naughty teenagers and keep us in line."
Hammer, who was threading his way from the window where he'd been standing beside his brother, stopped a few feet from Sledge. "That's bullshit," he said.
"Move along, sir," said the constable, now tight-lipped and scowling. "The inspector is waiting."
"It gets worse," Sledge snarled, ignoring the cop. Frowning, Hammer didn't budge. "The idiot thinks that because we're drugged up, immature teenagers, we don't know how to discuss our issues, so we're more likely to use our fists—or in this case, a rock—to deal with the problem."
"That's enough!" shouted the constable. He lunged toward Sledge and grabbed his arm.
Trevor sprang to his feet. "Unhand him," he bellowed in his best courtroom voice.
In the commotion that followed Trevor joined the fray, Ellen shrank closer to Roy, and Stormy did his best to depart to other locales. But Frank didn't make a comment, even when the constable threatened to arrest Sledge and Szostalo had to come out to arbitrate.