Extreme Justice: A Ben Kincaid Novel of Suspense bk-7

by William Bernhardt

  He rang the doorbell. The response was a nine-note chime.

  Ben smiled. He recognized the familiar opening riff from Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. This must be the right place.

  He heard some shuffling on the other side of the door. He knew someone was there, but it was taking him an eternity to answer.

  A few moments later, Scat opened the door. “Ah, Ben, my man. You’re early.”

  Ben nodded. “I found your place sooner than I expected. Following directions normally isn’t my strong suit. Is this all right?”

  “Sure, sure.” He was trying to seem relaxed and at ease—trying a bit too hard, Ben thought. “Come on in.”

  Ben entered the condo. The interior did not disappoint; it was every bit as impressive as the exterior had suggested. The furniture was all top quality, if ordinary. Two plush sofas flanked the living room. There was no coffee table, though Ben saw small round indentations in the carpet that suggested there had been one in the past. The kitchen was modern, lots of open spaces and white, and equipped with many snazzy appliances, including a cappuccino maker.

  And there was a porch with a panoramic view of the city. “Do you mind?” Ben asked.

  Scat shook his head. “Please do.”

  Ben opened the sliding door and stepped out. He hadn’t noticed coming in, but the condos were constructed on the edge of Shadow Mountain. From this perspective, the whole city seemed to be at his fingertips.

  “That’s spectacular,” Ben said.

  “You should see it at sunset,” Scat replied. “It’ll stop your heart.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Some of the best music I’ve ever played came out right here on this porch, drinking in the sweet sights and sounds and smells of the city.” He turned toward Ben. “Would you like to stay out here?”

  “Sure.”

  Scat pulled over two deck chairs and gestured for Ben to sit.

  “Now,” Scat said, “what’s so important it couldn’t wait till we all get back together in the club tonight?”

  “It’s about the murder,” Ben said. “Murders, actually.”

  “Murders? There’s been another one?”

  “A long time ago. Twenty-two years to be exact.”

  “Oh.” Scat’s face became grave. “You’re talking about Professor Hoodoo.”

  “I’m told you knew Earl and the Professor—George Armstrong.”

  “ ’Course I did. I played with both those boys. We were considered the best blowers in the business. Some said the best on all of God’s green earth. They even compared us to Charlie Parker.”

  “And you were still around when the Professor was killed.”

  Scat lowered his head. “That’s true. I was there.”

  “And you knew Lily Campbell?”

  “Oh, yes.” A soft smile played on his lips. “Everyone knew the Cajun Lily. And everyone loved her. She could do things to a song no one else ever even thought about doin’. Ever dreamed about doin’.” He looked up. “We were all four in Oklahoma City, as I recall, playing the Double-Deuce Festival, when the trouble came down.”

  “I’ve been told Lily and the Professor were … dating?”

  “I probably wouldn’ta used that word, son, but you’ve got the right idea. They were definitely together.”

  “But Earl also had a thing for Lily.”

  “Like I said, everyone loved Lily.”

  “I heard there was some … unpleasantness between them.”

  “There was always unpleasantness between Earl and the Professor. That was just the way it was. They were both so good, so strong. Music lived and breathed in their souls. There were bound to be complications. Hell, they never hammered out a number together but what they didn’t end up screamin’ and shoutin’ at each other. And if it wasn’t the music, it was women. And if it wasn’t women, it was booze.” He paused, drew in his breath. “And if it wasn’t booze, it was junk.”

  Ben listened intently. This was quite a different account of the two men’s relationship than the one he’d gotten from Earl. “Junk?”

  “Drugs, son. Sweet white snow.”

  “Apparently the Professor had a drug problem.”

  “I suppose that’s what you’d call it today. Nobody saw it like that back then, though. We just thought it was a way for the Professor to escape. Maybe the only one he had.”

  “Escape what?”

  Scat drew in his breath. “You gotta understand what it was like, hearing the Professor play. It’s like you’ve lived your whole life thinkin’ you’re just an ordinary mortal, and suddenly, you hear the Professor work his axe and you think—my God! There must be something more! I must be some kinda angel or somethin’, ’cause this is absolutely for goddamn certain the music of the gods I’m hearin’! That’s what the Professor could do for you.”

  “I wish I could’ve heard him,” Ben replied. “Earl said he never made any recordings.”

  “That’s right. Never even had his picture taken, that anyone knows of. Once he was gone, he was all the way gone.”

  “That’s a tragedy.”

  “More than that, son.” Scat sank lower into his chair. “It was the end of an era. Thanks to the Professor, we all had a chance to glimpse somethin’ better than ourselves.” He paused thoughtfully. “But after he was gone, well, so were all those dreams, those possibilities. Without him, we were mere mortals again. Absolutely ordinary, workaday mortals.”

  The porch fell silent. “It must’ve been tough on you,” Ben finally ventured. “When the Professor died.”

  “It was. But that’s not what I was talkin’ about. The Professor was gone a long time before he died.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It was the junk, boy. When he started with it, he thought it would squelch the pain. Let him focus on his music. But it didn’t work that way. All those stories about people creatin’ great art or havin’ brilliant ideas when they’re high—it’s just crap. Ain’t possible. May seem brilliant at the time, but when you’re cold sober, you realize it’s crap. And meanwhile the junk is killin’ your body. Eatin’ away at your soul.”

  “Is that what happened to the Professor?”

  Scat nodded. “ ’Stead of helpin’ him, it hurt him bad. He was losin’ the music ’cause he couldn’t shake the habit. That’s what he and Earl fought about most of the time. It wasn’t Lily, least not till the bitter end. It was the music. Earl tried everythin’. He dried the man out, learned his songs and played them so they wouldn’t be lost. He tried to save the man before he lost his music to the smack. But he couldn’t do it.”

  “They did fight about Lily, though, right? In the end.”

  “They did,” Scat said, nodding gravely. “And that’s where I still hold myself accountable. That’s why I still wake up some nights in a cold sweat.”

  “Why?”

  “ ’Cause I coulda stopped it.”

  “How?”

  “Least I think I coulda. I knew what was happenin’. I knew her better than any of them. Nothin’ good ever come from a woman like that.”

  “You’re talking about Lily? But I thought—”

  “Lily was a beautiful songbird, all right, with a set of cords Ella herself might’ve coveted. But when it came to men, she was bad news with a capital B.”

  “How so?”

  Scat shrugged. “Oh, she was all the time flirtin’, comin’ on to the boys. Leadin’ ’em on. Makin’ ’em think there was some hope. She did it to everyone.”

  “Even you?”

  Scat grinned, but Ben thought there was something awkward and forced about it.

  “I shoulda told Earl to hang it up, told him she was just a flirt and a tease and not to make anything of it. But I didn’t. And as a result, we had a tragedy.”

  “Then you believe Earl killed Professor Hoodoo.”

  “Hell, yes, son. Weren’t no doubt about it then; ain’t no doubt about it now.”

  “Earl says he didn’t do it.”

/>   “What do you expect him to say? He must have some terrible guilt about it. Earl ain’t a violent man. Never was. He just lost his head, that’s all.”

  “It would take more than just losing your head to drive a man to murder.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that, son. A man with a temper is a dangerous thing. Those calm, cool collected types like Earl are sometimes the worst. It may take a lot to push them over the edge, but once they go, they go all the way.”

  “Temporary insanity?”

  “I guess that would be a lawyer’s way of puttin’ it. All I know is that Earl did somethin’ he ordinarily wouldn’t do.”

  Ben wondered if Scat was right. If Earl had been temporarily insane, he might’ve gotten off—if he hadn’t pled guilty. “You’re sure it was Earl?”

  “Ain’t no doubt. I heard them fightin’. I heard Earl threaten him. I saw Earl go to the man’s apartment. And not an hour later, the joint’s on fire, with George inside. I hate to think of it—that poor messed-up man, maybe still alive, burnin’ to death. Now that’s the stuff nightmares are made of.”

  Ben had to agree. He still had nightmares about the time he and Christina had been trapped in a burning church. Burning had to be a horrible way to go—and burning alive! That was simply too gruesome to imagine.

  “Did you know Lily was meeting Earl at the club last week?”

  “No clue. I could see somethin’ was up, with Earl actin’ like a father whose daughter’s out on her first date. But I never woulda guessed it was Lily. Hadn’t heard nothin’ about Lily for years.”

  “Do you have any idea who might’ve killed her?”

  Scat tilted his head to one side. “You mean besides the obvious?”

  “You don’t think Earl killed her, too!”

  Scat shrugged. “He had good reason, didn’t he? In many ways, it was that woman who ruined his life, ruined his career. Drove him to murder—and still never was his girl.”

  Ben frowned. This interview wasn’t helping a bit. Worst of all, it was raising some very disturbing possibilities in his mind. “Well, if you can think of anyone else who might possibly have a reason to kill her, let me know, okay?”

  “I will,” Scat replied. “But I don’t think that’s likely.”

  “I wish I could’ve heard the Professor play. It’s a shame he died so young.”

  “I don’t know,” Scat said softly. “Sometimes I think that. Other times I think—maybe it’s just as well.”

  “What?”

  “The Professor was a brilliant musician—head and shoulders above the rest of us miserable day players. If he had lived—really, what did he have to look forward to? The Sonny and Cher show? Lollapalooza? Let’s face it, the music industry today is controlled by teenagers and morons who think music is what you see on MTV in three-minute videos. There ain’t no place for a musician like Professor Hoodoo in this world.”

  The man was probably right at that. “You know, there’s just one thing that’s bothering me. If you’re so sure Earl is a murderer, maybe twice over, why do you work for him?”

  Scat spread his arms wide. “Hey, kid—I’m a musician. I go where the music is.”

  “But—I always thought you liked Earl.”

  “Me? Hell, no.”

  “But you play in his club. You play poker—”

  “So what? I don’t like Earl. I didn’t like him twenty-odd years ago. I think he stole the magic from the greatest jazz musician who ever lived in these parts.” His eyes darkened. “Stole a woman he didn’t deserve.”

  “You loved Lily, too,” Ben said quietly.

  Scat shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “ ’Course I did. Everyone did.”

  “There’s something more.” Ben inched forward. “Something you’re not telling me.”

  “Maybe it’s none of your goddamned business.”

  Ben didn’t let up. “Did you want Lily for yourself?”

  “I didn’t have to want nothin’.”

  “Were you sleeping with her?”

  Scat’s teeth ground together. “ ’Course I was sleepin’ with her, you little twerp. I was married to her!”

  Ben fell back in his chair, stunned.

  “How do you think she happened to be at that club? Who do you think introduced her to our little group? She came on my arm, pal. She was my lady.” He wiped a hand across his brow. “I was always loyal to her, too. Always. But she strayed. When she started in with the Professor, that was one thing. They could make music together in a way I could never hope to, could never dream of. The Professor was beyond human rules.” His eyes narrowed. “But Earl was just a gross disgusting pig. A thief, that’s all he was. He stole things that weren’t his. Music. Women. Whatever he could get his hands on.”

  “But if you hate Earl so badly—”

  “A man’s gotta eat, you know what I’m saying? Earl has a nice place, and he’s one of the few around who still knows what a club should be, what music should be. Just between you and me, he’s one of the few in this town who really understands the meaning of jazz.”

  “Earl quizzed me on that subject. I flunked. I don’t suppose you’d like to clue me in?”

  Scat grinned, then spread his arms wide. “It’s like the great Satchmo himself said—”

  Ben nodded. They finished the sentence together. “ ’If you gots to ask, you’ll never know.’ ”

  “Is he gone?”

  As soon as Ben left the condo, the other man stepped out of the shadows of the rear bedroom. He paused just outside the living room, waiting for his answer.

  “I said, Is he gone?”

  Scat plopped himself wearily into a chair. “He’s gone.”

  The other man entered the room and fingered the back of a linen chair. “What took you so long?”

  “What did you want me to do?” Scat asked. “Push him over the railing?”

  “Wouldn’t be a bad idea,” the man growled. “I’ve had about as much of that little turd as I can take.”

  “Well, you do what you want. But not in my digs. I don’t want anythin’ to do with it. And I don’t want anythin’ to do with you.”

  The man’s eyes lowered. “Bit late for that now, isn’t it?”

  “No, it ain’t. I didn’t know what you were plannin’. I didn’t know you were gonna kill anybody!”

  The man displayed a thin smile. “Be honest, Scat. Weren’t you just a little bit happy when you saw Lily’s dead body on that stage? After all she’d done to you—didn’t that give you just the tiniest bit of pleasure?”

  “No, you sick sucker, it didn’t. Just get the hell out of here and leave me alone.”

  An eerie smile crept across the man’s face. “You know what they say, Scat, old man. In for a penny, in for a pound.”

  “Yeah, well, now I’m out for a ton, you got it?”

  “It’s not that simple.” He lowered himself into the chair opposite Scat, so close their knees brushed together. Much too close for Scat’s liking. “My business isn’t finished.”

  “Is that my fault? Are you blamin’ me because you keep—” He stopped himself just short of the punch, but not so soon his companion couldn’t tell what had been coming.

  “You’re not going to chicken out on me, are you, Scat?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’d hate to see you go chicken. I’d hate to see you become a problem.” He leaned oppressively forward. “Because you see, I’ve got enough problems right now. I don’t need any new ones. I don’t want to have to deal with them.” His eyes hardened. “But if I have to, I will.”

  Scat leaned away, pressing himself against the back of his chair. “Wha—what’re you saying?”

  The other man did not break eye contact. “I think you know, Scat. I think you do.”

  Scat laughed, a nervous, high-pitched titter. “Whoa, now, let’s back off, man. We’re buds, remember? We’re in this together.”

  “Oh, I remember, Scat. I just wanted to make sure you did.�
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  “You don’t have to worry about me.” He stood suddenly, walking away, an unnatural twitch in his step.

  “Good.” The man eased back into the chair, steepling his fingers, peering through the apertures. “The end is near, you know. The fat lady is about to sing.” He allowed himself a small chuckle. “For ol’ Uncle Earl. And his piano-playing pissant friend.”

  Chapter 40

  BEN WAS ALMOST shaved and ready to leave for the club when he heard a furious pounding at his front door. He wrapped his untied tie around his neck, dried his face, and headed for the living room.

  “Jones! What are you doing here?”

  Jones rushed in before Ben had a chance to suggest anything different. He was in a bad way. Although he was decked out in his Sunday duds, he was walking hunched, hands clasped and brow furrowed, more like a man on death row than a man about to go out on a date.

  “I can’t do it,” Jones said. His voice was hoarse and broken.

  “Can’t do what?”

  “This.” He paced around the room in an aimless circle. “This … date thing. With Paula.”

  “Paula? Oh, right. The cybertramp.”

  “She is not a tramp!”

  “ ‘I can feel your strong arms drawing me near. I can feel your strength, your hardness.’ Give me a break.”

  “She’s not a tramp!” Jones’s face was tight as a drum. “She was just trying to … inspire me to agree to a face-to-face.”

  “Well, I think she accomplished that.”

  “I thought so, too. But I was wrong. I can’t do it.” He threw himself down on Ben’s ratty sofa, in a would-be fetal position. “I want to meet her. I’ve been thinking about this date all week. But I can’t do it!”

  “Just as a point of interest,” Ben said, “how can you meet her when you don’t know what she looks like?”

  “She’s going to be at the club tonight at seven-thirty wearing a red carnation.” He shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter. I can’t do it.”

  Ben smothered his smile. It was obvious Jones was truly upset and sick about this. He tried to be sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Jones. I can see this is tearing you apart. What’s causing all this worry? I thought you had no doubts about her. I thought you knew everything about her.”