Capital Crimes

by Jonathan Kellerman

  “Mr. Jeffries looked older than you expected.”

  Nod. “And a lot…you know, fatter. We might as well be honest.”

  “But you recognized him.”

  “My mama loved the trio…but her favorite was Jack. He was the star, you know. She has all the old LPs.” Sad smile. “We still got a record player.”

  Baker said, “Who makes the house rules?”

  “The owner. Dr. McAfee. He’s a cosmetic dentist, loves music. He worked on Byron’s mom’s teeth. That’s how Byron got the job.”

  “Dr. McAfee around much?”

  “Almost never,” said Greta. “Bobby Champlain told me he’s too busy doing teeth; Bobby started off working here when it opened, around a year ago. Dr. McAfee worked on his teeth, too. He lives in Brentwood. Dr. McAfee, I mean, not Bobby. Nowadays, he hardly ever makes it over. Last couple of weeks, I been opening and closing, and he’s been paying me a little extra for that.”

  “What time did Mr. Jeffries show up?”

  “I’d have to say around eleven fifteen, thirty. We close at midnight but the music stops at fifteen to. I was just about to start my second set.”

  “Singing old favorites,” said Lamar.

  The girl smiled. Those big eyes were brown and soft. “Singing’s in my blood. It’s my goal.”

  “To get a record deal?”

  “Well, sure, that would be great. But I just love singin’—sharing what I’ve got with other people. My goal is to one day be able to do that as my real job.” Her lips turned down. “Here I am talking about me and it’s so horrible about Jack Jeffries. When I found out, I was so shocked, I can’t tell you. He’s more from my mama’s time but she plays his records all the time and he had a beautiful voice. Just gorgeous. She always said it was a gift from God.” Small fists clenched. “How could anyone do that to him? When I found out this morning, I was horrified. And then I said ohmigod, I need to talk to them—meaning you—the police. I thought of 911 but they say if it’s not a real emergency, don’t use it ’cause it ties up the lines.”

  “Why exactly,” said Baker, “did you think you needed to talk to us?”

  Confusion clouded the brown eyes.

  Lamar added, “Is there something specific you want to tell us?”

  “No, but he was here,” said Gret. “Sat right in that chair and drank two pots of chamomile and ate yellow-raisin scones with oodles of butter and listened to me sing. I couldn’t believe it, Jack Jeffries sitting there listening to me! I was so nervous I thought I’d fall down. Usually when I sing I make eye contact—connect with the audience, you know? Last night, I just stared at the floor like a stupid little kid. When I realized it, I looked up and wouldn’t you know, he was looking back at me and paying attention. Afterward, he applauded. I nearly ran off to the bathroom, but finally I built up my courage and went back out and got him more tea and told him how much I admired his music and that singing was my goal. He told me to follow my dreams…that’s what he did when he was my age. For a long time everyone discouraged him but he stuck it out and stuck with it.”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  “To hear those words from a superstar like that. I can’t tell you what it meant. Then he shook my hand and wished me luck. Left a nice tip, too. I ran out to thank him, but he was already talking to that lady and I didn’t want to disturb his privacy.”

  She reached for a bar napkin, and wiped her eyes.

  Lamar said, “What lady, Gret?”

  “Some older lady. They were talking a little ways up, but not too far from the T. Then he walked her to her car…which was parked even farther up.”

  “How long did they talk?”

  “Don’t know, sir. I didn’t want to stare—didn’t want to be rude—so I went back inside.”

  “But you definitely saw Jeffries talking to this lady.”

  “Yeah, she just walked up to him out of nowhere. Like she’d been waiting for him.”

  “Did Jeffries appear startled?”

  She thought. “No—no, he didn’t look surprised.”

  “Like he knew her.”

  “I guess.”

  “Would you say it was a long conversation or a short one?”

  “I really couldn’t say, sir.”

  “Did either of them look upset?”

  “No one was laughing but it was too far away to see.”

  Baker said, “Why don’t you show us exactly where they were standing.”

  Lamar watched from where Gret said she’d been standing and Baker accompanied the girl as she paced off five yards, stopped and said, “Right around here. I think.”

  East of the café. Direct route to the kill-site.

  Baker had her point out where the woman’s car had been parked. Another three, four feet east. He brought her back to the café and the three of them stood out on the sidewalk.

  “So you can’t say how long were they talking,” said Lamar.

  “I really wasn’t staring the whole time.” She blushed. “I mean it’s natural, I’m not going to run away. Big-time superstar just walks in—just walks in by himself and sits down and listens? We never get anyone important, never ever. Not like on Second or Fifth or over at the Songbird. Those places, you hear all kinds of stories about celebrities dropping in at the popular clubs. But we’re away from all that.”

  “Yeah, it is kind of a different location,” said Lamar.

  “Dr. McAfee bought the building cheap. He’s a big real estate investor. I think he’s planning to tear it down eventually and build something else. Meanwhile, we’re doing music and I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

  Big brown eyes. Lamar wondered what they’d look like, chilled by failure.

  Baker said, “Talk to us about this lady, Gret. What did she look like?”

  “That’s a tricky one.”

  The detectives exchanged glances. That’s a tricky one is often code for “I’m lying through my teeth.” Baker said, “Do the best you can.”

  “Well, she was older but not as old as Mr. Jeffries. Maybe forty or fifty. Shoulder-length dark hair…not so tall. Maybe…I dunno. Five four or five five.” She shrugged.

  “What about clothing?”

  “A dark pantsuit…maybe dark blue? But it could’ve been gray. Or black. That’s about all I could tell you. It was dark and like I said, I didn’t want to stare. Now ask me about the car.”

  “What about the car?”

  “Real nice Mercedes-Benz sports car and bright red like a fire truck.”

  “You didn’t happen to catch the license plate?”

  “No, sir, sorry.”

  “Convertible?”

  “No, a coupe. No canvas top.”

  “Red.”

  “Bright red, even at night you could see that. Looked like it had custom shiny wheels. Real shiny. You think she had something to do with it?”

  “It’s too early to think anything, Gret. Anything else you can remember that might help us would sure be appreciated.”

  “Hmm.” She took hold of her hair, bunched it back in a ponytail, let it drop. “That’s really about it.”

  They asked for her full name, address and phone number.

  She said “Greta Lynne Barline.” The brown eyes shot to the sidewalk. “I’m in between phones—looking for a better carrier, you know? I’m staying temporarily at the Happy Night Motel. Just a ways down on Gay Street, so I can walk.”

  The detectives knew the place. One-star joint, not far from their office. It had once been a hotbed of naughtiness before the big vice crackdown. Now the place was trying to grab the tourist trade and an AAA rating. Mostly, it drew truckers and transients.

  Greta added. “I had an apartment with a roommate but she left and the rent was too much. I was thinking the eastside, but it’s still pretty black. Maybe I’ll get a car and live near Opryland.” A big smile. “That way I can visit all the time, watch those tropical fish in that restaurant they have.”

  “Doesn’t sound so bad,” Ba
ker said. “One last question, Greta, and then I think we’re done for now.”

  “Sure…shoot.” Another wide smile. She was enjoying the attention.

  “Mr. Jeffries was here for about a half hour, maybe an hour?”

  “More like a half hour. He left after I stopped singing.”

  “What was Mr. Jeffries’s state of mind when he was here?”

  “You mean his mood?” She brightened. “He was happy, really enjoying the music.”

  7

  The red Mercedes was a good lead. How many of those could there be?

  The major dealer was Mercedes-Benz of Nashville, out in Franklin, but it was way too late to reach anyone.

  “What now, El Bee?” Lamar asked. “Time to pack it in?”

  “Actually, I was thinking of heading out to the Songbird. I hear they’re doing a tribute to Jeffries that’s gonna last pretty late. As long as I’m out, I thought I’d pay my respects.”

  “And check out the crowd while you’re there?”

  “Reckon so. You know I’m a big one for multi-tasking. Why don’t you come with me, Stretch?” A hint of a genuine smile. “Or do I have to twist your arm?”

  Big grin from Lamar. “Buddy, I am so there.”

  The café and dinner club was located in a strip mall, sharing a common wall with Taylor’s Insurance. It had expanded recently, taking over McNulty’s Travel, which had gone south courtesy of Internet booking. Bad luck for Aaron McNulty, but a bit of good fortune for Jill and Scott Denunzio, the owners. The club was bursting at the seams and even with the extra room, on specialty nights there wasn’t a chair to be had.

  The place was dimly lit with a beer and wine bar opposite the front stage. Large fir planks made up the floor and a half dozen ceiling fans were going full blast. About twenty tables were crammed with teary-eyed fans paying tribute to Jack Jeffries. The crowd looked to be well beyond the club’s 140 capacity, but neither detective was counting. When they walked in, the stage overflowed with some of music’s finest, all of them lifting their voices in unison for a soul-wrenching edition of one of Jeffries, Ziff and Bolt’s signature tunes, “Just Another Heartbreak.”

  Once inside, the detectives leaned against the wall and listened, catching most of the song. Lamar had to remember to blink. Totally entranced by the music. Then thinking yet again about the differences between good, great, and a shot at the gold.

  Each individual up there had righteous pipes worthy of several platinum records, but there was something to that saying about the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. Maybe it was the time and the place, maybe it was the emotion, but even Baker seemed under the spell. When they were done, the room remained silent for a few beats, then erupted into heartfelt applause that lasted a good five minutes. The stage cleared and Jeremy Train took the mike.

  Mega-popular in the seventies, a chick magnet with his laid-back manner and boyish good looks, Jeremy had preserved amazingly well. He was around five ten, trim and muscled, with the famous stick-straight, shoulder-length hair. The locks were still dark, with a few sparkles of gray that twinkled every time Train moved his head. A couple of wrinkles were carved into his face but they made him look manly. He wore jeans, a black tee, boating shoes without socks. Like Greta Barline had done yesterday evening, he tapped the mike several times. Unnecessary, a singer’s tic; he’d just used it for the group number.

  “Yeah, I guess it’s still hot…” A few titters of laughter. “Uh, I want to thank everyone for showing up at this…uh, impromptu gathering that was supposed to be for the First Amendment…” Applause. “Yeah, right on. Instead, we gather for a much sadder reason and…well…You know, Jack’s music really speaks for what he was…more than uh, I can say, you know?”

  Applause from the audience.

  “But someone should say a few words about Jack and I guess I was elected since I knew him well in our…uh, craaazy days.” A smile. “Oh man, Jack was…well, let’s not bullshit around. Jack was one crazy motherfucker.”

  Applause and laughter.

  “Yeah, one crazy motherfucker…but a very sensitive human being underneath all that craziness. He could be a mean son-of-a-bitch and then he could turn around and be the nicest guy in the universe. You know, throwing beer bottles out of the car at a hundred miles an hour, sticking his head out, cussing at the top of his lungs. Streaking naked down Sunset…man, he loved to get attention and that sure got attention.”

  Jeremy Train laughed nervously.

  “Then Jack would turn around and, shit…like once I was admiring a painting he had on his wall and he just took it off the wall and fucking gave it to me. I tried to hey, man, but Jack’s mind was made up and y’all know how stubborn that crazy motherfucker could be.”

  Nods among the performers.

  “Yeah, he was just…no one could outdrink him. Certainly no one could outeat him.”

  Subdued laughter.

  “Yeah, it didn’t end well for Jack and that’s really…” Jeremy’s eyes got moist. “And you know, that’s really a shame because lately he was really getting his act together. A new CD was in the works…he’d got his bad habits under control…except maybe his eating and you know, c’mon, give the guy a break. Things were going better for him personally…so maybe Jack ended on a high note after all.”

  A hard swallow.

  “So thank y’all for comin’ out here for Jack…and let’s not forget Denny and Mark. So this is for the trio…we love you guys. Keep the faith. And I think we’re gonna end on a piece that, hey, Jack, we love you, bro. We’re really gonna miss you.”

  The performers shuffled back on stage, took up their positions and ended with “My Lady Lies Sweetly.” When they had finished, the standing ovation was thunderous and long. Lamar had to shout over the bravos and encores. “Talk to Train?”

  “Reckon he’d be the one.”

  They wound their way through the crowd until they found Jeremy talking earnestly to a bevy of nubile teenage girls, each one looking profoundly sad as Jeremy dispensed his words of wisdom.

  “Yeah, that was Jack. Just a crazy guy.”

  Baker stepped toward him, badge in hand. “Mr. Train, I’m Detective Southerby and this is Detective Van Gundy. Could we have a word with you in private?”

  Jeremy’s eyes darted from side to side. The dilated pupils could have been from the dark, or from something that would make him nervous to be around the police. Baker interjected, “It’s about Jack Jeffries.”

  Looking a little relieved, Jeremy Train nodded. “Sure…uh, wanna step outside so I can take a smoke?”

  “That would work,” Baker said.

  Once outside, Jeremy lit up and offered the detectives a Marlboro. Both declined with a shake of the head. “Bad habit,” he said.

  “Just think of it as helping the southern economy,” Baker said. “I liked what you had to say about Jack.”

  “It sucked, man…” He shook his head in disgust. “I can’t talk in public. It’s weird, I can write good songs—”

  “Great songs,” Lamar interrupted.

  “Yeah?” A smile. “Thanks. I can sing…I dunno, I’m kinda shy in public.”

  “Not like Jack from what I hear,” Lamar said.

  “No, Jack wasn’t shy about anything. He was just…you know, out there. Damn shame.” He looked up from his smoke. “You’re the detectives who’re investigating his murder?”

  “We are,” Baker said. “Anything about him you can tell us would be helpful.”

  “The truth is that Jack and I hadn’t been in touch like for…sheez…ten years. You could call him one day and he’d be like real cheerful, then ten minutes later, he’d be cussing you out and hanging up on you…the guy was as unpredictable as the weather.”

  “Yeah, that was his rep,” Lamar said. “In your talk on stage, you mentioned that there was a new CD and some personal relationships. What can you tell me about that?”

  “The CD was going real well. Actually, he e-mailed me and asked
me if I wanted to participate.”

  “What’d you tell him?” Baker asked.

  “I said hell yeah, if the timing works out. He e-mailed me back telling me we’d talk about it at the benefit in Nashville. I was pretty surprised he was comin’ out. We all knew he had a fear of flying.”

  “I’m interested in the personal relationships,” Lamar said. “What about those?”

  “I think I meant more like his personal life. From what I understand, he was getting his addictions under control…alcohol in particular. He was a mean drunk, so that was good.”

  Baker said, “What about that kid he fathered with that lesbian couple?”

  “Melinda Raven…yeah, I met her, I think…yeah, gay…been a lot of women in my life.” Jeremy said that without braggadocio, just a statement of fact. “We all thought Jack was a little weird for volunteering, but in retrospect, who knows? For as much as I see my oldest daughter, she could have been put up for adoption. Her old lady likes me to keep my distance except when it comes to child support. If the checks aren’t there by the first of the month, she sure doesn’t mind calling me up. So maybe Jack had the right idea. Have fun and let someone else take care of the kid.” Talking about his ex had hardened his face. “I really don’t know if Jack had contact with the kid or not. Like I told you, we’ve basically been out of contact for ten years. I was surprised by his e-mail, his contacting me after all these years.”

  Lamar said, “And you told him you’d work with him on his CD?”

  “Not work with him…just participate, like cut a background track, I coulda used Pro Tools, e-mailed it to him. I was happy he called me, but there was this part of me that was a little…uh, hesitant. I mean the guy was a real asshole even though he was blessed with the voice of an angel.” A chuckle. “We’re in the Bible Belt so I guess I can say that God really does work in funny ways.”

  8

  The next morning, Lamar was on the phone with the Mercedes dealer’s sales manager, a voluble guy named Ralph Siemens. Siemens gave up a name instantaneously.

  “That’s got to be Mrs. Poulson. She bought a fire-engine SLK350 two months ago. I only sold two red ones in a long while, everyone wants white or black. The other was to Butch Smiley but he got an SUV.”