by Mel Gough
Carrie contemplated. Was it likely that a suicide from a decade and a half ago was related to the current events? “Put it at the end of your to-do list. We have more current fish to fry.” She made a note to ask someone about it today, just to cover the bases. “What about Cornell?”
“There isn’t much. I’ve located most of his records and accounts—DVLA, electoral roll, Facebook, bank accounts. There were a bunch of large transactions on his expenses account recently. The last one’s from the night he was killed.”
“Was that a payment to the concert arena in Austin?”
Some more tapping of keys. “Yep. Wow, these things aren’t cheap, huh?” The sum he read out made Carrie shiver. “That’s the last online activity I have for him.”
“Thanks, Flick.”
“No idea what happened to his phone either, huh?”
“Unfortunately not. Did you get anything on the triangulation?” He would’ve mentioned it, but she was desperate for any clue.
“It was turned off before he left the hotel. Did he have a second phone?”
“I’ll check.” Carrie scribbled a note on her pad.
“There was one interesting thing, but I’ve not quite unraveled it yet.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“Barry forwarded a couple of his work emails to a different address, one that seems to not exist anymore. I saw the forwarding activity in the logs, but there’s no trace of the emails themselves. I’m liaising with the email host, but nothing so far. They say that deleted inboxes are gone for good. That’s bullshit, but it might take me a while to convince them of that.” He added an explanation Carrie couldn’t follow. Mercifully, Flick at least had rudimentary empathy for those with limited technical abilities and kept the gobbledygook brief.
“Well, it sounds like you’re doing everything you can. Just keep me apprised of any outcomes.” It was better not to ask more questions. Flick had his ways, and as long as she had no clear picture of exactly which lines he toed, Carrie would be grateful for his contributions.
“You’ll know the moment I do, boss. That it for now?”
“Actually, there’s one more thing…can you do a more in-depth background check on Corey Hart?”
“I thought the band is off the hook?” Clearly, Flick had read the interviews compiled by Austin PD. Maybe he had access to her email, too. Carrie would rather not think about that.
She also wished she hadn’t made this particular request, but it was too late. “I’m not ruling anyone out just yet.” She put all her authority in the request. He didn’t need to know she’d fluffed.
“No problem, boss.” He left it at that. For a geek, Flick had a good sense for people’s emotional states. “That all for now?”
“Affirmative. Call me as soon as you make progress on Cornell’s secret mailbox, no matter the time.”
“Roger that.” Flick ended the call.
Carrie dropped the phone on her undisturbed bed and toed off her boots. She regarded the crisp sheets with longing. She didn’t feel tired, exactly, but she’d much rather hide under the covers than face the day ahead.
The band was going to the venue at mid-morning, to set up for the big night and to have a last rehearsal. Phil had told Carrie that there was valet parking, and where to go when she arrived. “Or you can come with us,” he’d added. “We’ve got two cars, we can fit in one more person.”
But Carrie had to drive herself, since she had to go to the police station first for the press conference. She had just buttoned a reasonably clean blouse and was smoothing down her shower-damp hair when there came a knock at the door.
Jay stood in the corridor, a defiant expression on his face. “I’m going with you to speak to the press.” He clenched his jaw, willing her to refuse.
Carrie considered. Actually, it wasn’t a bad idea. “All right.” Maybe if the press got an in-person statement from the band now they’d not get in the way of the investigation later.
Jay’s eyes narrowed. He seemed to have expected resistance. “Great. So, are we going?”
Carrie’s holster was already in place. She shrugged into her jacket, then grabbed her badge, notebook and cell. “Ready when you are.” She hadn’t had time for breakfast and wished she’d at least taken Corey up on his offer of coffee. Jay looked like he’d not gotten a bit down, either.
They made their way downstairs in silence. Even though it had been his idea to come along, he seemed unhappy to be in her company. When they stepped out of the elevator he glanced toward the concierge desk. “They can call us a car.”
Carrie shook her head. “I’ll drive. I might need the car later on.”
He glowered, then shrugged. Carrie gave her token to the valet and they went outside to wait.
Jay paced at the far end of the entrance, smoking. He didn’t look at her, seemingly lost in thought. Carrie kept her distance. She didn’t fancy the secondhand smoke, and now seemed the wrong time to interrogate him.
Instead, she watched him from the corner of her eye. Despite his trendy designer clothes, he seemed out of place at the expensive hotel, dangling that cigarette, shoulders hunched. She wondered what it was like to be this wealthy, yet sticking out like a sore thumb among all the luxury.
When the valet arrived with Carrie’s rental, Jay stubbed out the cigarette and nimbly folded himself into the passenger seat. He wasn’t as ripped as Corey, but muscles still bulged in his bicep as he strapped himself in. These guys clearly took care of themselves. Carrie tried not to stare at his thighs, powerful and muscled in blue denim that likely cost as much as half her wardrobe.
They kept the radio off as they retraced the route Carrie had taken the previous day. It was a drive of hardly more than a mile, but it was rush hour now, and it took them ten minutes just to get out of the hotel’s drive and onto the I35.
“How was the radio interview yesterday?” Carrie had just remembered it. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to ask Corey, but in his presence her brain had seemed to lose some of its usual sharpness.
Jay shrugged, not looking at her. “Real short. They wanted us to talk about Barry, and you’d told us not to. It was awkward.” Was that the reason he was so hostile toward her? And had he decided he wanted to be on the press conference because he’d resented being gagged?
He didn’t want to talk about it, that much was clear. “Why are you on the case, Special Agent McDonald?” he asked before Carrie could probe further. “The FBI doesn’t care about a case like this.” His voice was bitter. “You don’t give a shit about a random murder.”
She took her time in answering and concentrated on finding a parking space near the station. She spotted one a few doors down from the entrance just as another vehicle pulled away.
Carrie tightened the hand brake before throwing him a glance. She’d avoided looking at him so far, his aura of resentment irritating her. His fists lay clenched on the thighs she’d unwillingly admired. The pain in that statement seemed out of proportion, even in his current state.
“I’m doing someone a favor. Austin PD is experiencing a detective shortage, and I was already in the vicinity.” She turned off the engine, and shifted in her seat so she could face Jay. “I want to find Barry’s killer.” She emphasized each word carefully, not letting her anger show. “Someone killed your manager, your friend, and my job is to bring the perp to justice.” The sadness on Corey’s face the previous night flashed before her eyes. “Does it matter how I got to be here?”
Emotion flashed across Jay’s face in quick succession. Mistrust and anger gave way to a deep sadness, softening his customary scowl. His shoulders sagged and he averted his gaze. “Fair enough.” He pushed open the door and got out. When Carrie had locked the car he was already halfway to the station entrance. There he stopped and waited for her to catch up. He glanced at the tall building, apprehension written large on his face.
Carrie sighed. So much for the big, bad rock star and his “I don’t give a fuck” attitude.
>
George came to collect them from the lobby. He raised an eyebrow. Heading him off, Carrie gave a minute shake of the head. “Any news?”
George forced his attention away from Jay, who skulked behind Carrie. His tension vibrated through the air around him.
“What? Oh. No, I’m afraid we’ve made no progress. How about you?”
“I’ll debrief you in a moment.” Before George could ask any questions, she turned to Jay. “Right, shall we get this show on the road?”
They walked past an open door from which the buzz of many voices flooded into the hall. Inside, rows of seats were crammed full of reporters and cameramen, ID tags dangling around their necks. The odd flash of a camera being tested bathed the room in bursts of white.
George led them into a small anteroom. A couple of monitors were set up on a side table, and a guy carrying handfuls of dangling wires approached them. George gave instructions to the technician.
“What’s he doing here?” A large man in an ill-fitting beige suit indicated Jay, who glowered. “This isn’t a fucking GQ interview session.”
“Shut up, Frank,” George growled. “Mr. Davis is here to make a statement to the press, so help him prepare.” He stared down the man, who looked daggers at him. George won the staring contest. The other man looked away. He motioned to Jay, who threw Carrie an uncertain look. She gave him an encouraging smile, and he went with the detective and the technician off to one side.
“Asshole.” George clenched his jaw, glowering after them . “Detective Henke’s been parachuted in from San Antonio to help us coordinate the case.” He shook his head in disgust. “Wish they hadn’t bothered. The guy can’t find his rear end with both hands and a flashlight.” He waved Carrie to follow him over to the monitors. “I see why you brought him.” He motioned to Jay, who stood stiffly, holding up his leather jacket so the technician could secure the power pack and microphone. “Upstairs might not like it, but I think giving the press some words directly from the band to take apart for a few days might keep them off our backs.”
“That was my thought.” Carrie glanced at the connecting door, behind which the journalists were waiting, then at Jay. “I actually wanted to run something by you. Now that Jay is here, I don’t think I should step out there today. I hadn’t thought about this before, but maybe it’s better they don’t know the FBI is involved. It might scare off our unsub.”
George gave her a tired grin. “I’ve been thinking along the same lines.” He lowered his voice further. “And I’ve been wondering. Have you done a lot of undercover work, Carrie?”
She raised an eyebrow. “A little.” Her hands started to sweat. She guessed what he was implying.
George seemed to pick up on her hesitation. “I’m not talking deep immersion or anything. But how about you keep your identity a secret from anyone who doesn’t already know? Just for a while. You might overhear something the crew wouldn’t share with the FBI.”
Carrie considered. “It’s not a bad idea. We’ve gotten exactly nowhere with our approach so far.” And they didn’t have a lot of time. She rubbed her neck. “But what do I tell them?”
George grinned. “You’ll think of something. I hear you G-men are resourceful.”
She rolled her eyes but let it go. Possible cover stories were already forming at the back of her mind, despite that squirming feeling in her gut. She glanced at Jay, who was busy scribbling on a piece of paper, and Detective Henke, who tapped his foot with impatience. “I’ve got some news, too. My tech guy has come across a mysterious email account Cornell used on the side. It’s been deleted, but they’re working on bringing it back.”
“You got an analyst involved?” George sounded mildly annoyed.
Carrie held his gaze. “I need my own background checks. Speeds things up.”
“Does he want to touch base with my IT guys?” George looked like the question hurt coming out. “They’re pretty good.”
“Let’s see where he’s at later in the day.” It was unlikely that Austin PD had access to anything that Flick didn’t, but there was no need to share that information. “And I’ll ping you over what he’s sent me so far.”
“Much obliged.” George’s tone was still frosty. Before he could say anything else, however, Henke motioned to them.
“Let’s roll.” He gave Jay a barely concealed look of disdain, then went through into the press room without waiting for the others.
Jay rubbed his hands on his thighs. He picked up his notes and followed George through the adjoining door into the conference room. When he caught Carrie’s eyes, there was panic in his gaze. Carrie gave him as warm a smile as she could muster. He should be used to stepping in front of an audience, though, in fairness, this wasn’t the same as singing for an arena full of adoring fans.
Carrie turned toward the monitors. George went first. He summarized the investigation to date and brought the reporters up to speed with the few facts they were willing to share. Carrie paid attention to the details, but George added nothing that hadn’t already been in the press release the previous day.
Then the camera switched to Jay. The murmur from the seats grew louder. In the glare of the over-lit room Jay’s face was white as chalk, his jaw set so forcefully it made Carrie’s teeth hurt. He looked younger than usual. She felt for him.
“Two nights ago, one of my best friends was murdered,” he began in a voice that was steadier than his demeanor signaled. Jay Davis was no stranger to public speaking. “Corey, Louis and I have been working on getting this reunion tour on the road for over a year. Barry made it possible.”
He paused, looked up. “We wouldn’t be where we are without him. He worked harder than anyone to get this show together. I know he’s proud of us, and I know that he’d want us to go ahead. In the name of the entire band, and the crew, I have a favor to ask of all of you.” His eyes found the camera. Carrie crossed her arms. She’d almost reached out to touch his pale face on the monitor. She glanced at the tech guy, but he was busy with his computer.
Jay’s voice shook. “Please, if you know anything about what happened to Barry, get in touch with the police.” A tremor wobbled through the last words. Jay looked down at the paper. His hand trembled as he quickly swiped it across his eyes.
Without ceremony, George ended the press conference. “We won’t be answering any questions at this point, thank you.” With brisk efficiency, he shepherded Jay out of the frame.
Even if she wouldn’t have admitted it, Carrie had understood Henke’s misgivings about giving Jay this platform, and subjecting him to attention from a press that would want to stretch out every sensational factoid. But he’d done a great job conveying just how hard the loss of their manager had hit the band. The attention might even deliver them a vital clue. The public would fall over themselves to help in this high profile investigation. The room full of reporters was silent for just a heartbeat, then the clamoring began again, even though George and the others had already stepped away from the microphones.
They filed back into the anteroom. While the tech guy unclipped his wires and the detectives talked in low voices, Jay stood with a vacant expression, his face gray. Carrie touched his arm. “Are you okay? Do you want to sit down, drink a glass of water or something?”
He shook his head. “Let’s get out of here.”
Carrie turned to George. “Listen, we have to head to the venue.”
He threw Jay a look. “Sure.” Glancing at Detective Henke who was observing them with dour eyes, he led them to the door. “We’ll talk later. Remember to think of a cover story.”
They left the station. People bustled around them, heading in and out of the door. Jay stopped right outside and turned his face up into the sun, squinting. People jostled him, but he seemed not to notice.
“Let’s grab some coffee.” Carrie looked around. “There’s a Starbucks over there.”
Jay’s shoulders sagged. He staggered. “I think I better wait in the car.”
“Ag
reed.” Carrie took him by the elbow, ignoring his surprised look. She led him to her rental. “You look like you’re about to pass out.” She unlocked the car. “Sit. What do you want to drink?”
Reluctantly he said, “Double Americano, one sugar, half and half.”
Carrie hurried to get their drinks. She made them large, pouring a good amount of half and half into Jay’s.
He accepted the paper cup without a word and took his first gulp like a man dying of thirst. After a couple more sips he leaned his head back with a sigh. “That was a lot worse than I expected.”
Carrie put her cup in the holder and started the car. “A police press conference isn’t exactly like being interviewed by MTV.”
Jay snorted and gave her the first proper look since they’d left the station. “Nobody gets interviewed by MTV anymore.”
“Unfortunately I don’t have time to keep up with the music business.” Carrie bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to sound so waspish. He faced the front and said nothing.
They drove in silence for a few minutes. Carrie took advantage of the busy roads and took sips from her coffee whenever they had to stop at a traffic light.
“Do you think you’ll catch the killer?” This time, Jay watched her carefully, as if scanning her face for signs that she was telling a lie. Carrie held his gaze. He still looked pale, and his eyes were haunted with the ghosts of many painful memories.
Until now, she hadn’t noticed his eyes. They were a dark, metallic shade of gray. Had Thistle Hearts selected its members for the beauty of their irises?
“I’ll do whatever is in my power to find Barry’s killer.” Again, she had the distinct feeling that Jay held something back. She decided to temper down her interrogation. His armor had barely begun to thaw toward her, and she would need his cooperation over the next few days.
“Speaking of doing whatever’s necessary…” Carrie made a left turn as the arena came into view. “Since we’re not making much progress, I’ll try something new. From now on, I won’t disclose my identity to anyone else. Instead, I’ll join the tour as an additional pair of hands. I’ll talk it through with Phil, but I was thinking that I could be his new assistant, since he’s now got his hands full managing the whole thing himself. I’ve not met anyone on the crew yet, so now is a good time to go undercover.” She glanced at Jay. “What do you think?” She hadn’t been aware that she’d wanted his approval, but somehow, as she explained her plan, it felt important that he was on board.