Reed Ferguson Mystery Box Set 5

by Renee Pawlish

  “How may I help you?”

  I introduced myself. “I have a ten o’clock meeting with Chase Walker,” I said.

  “If you’ll have a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  I sat down on a white couch that was all hard cushions and uncomfortable angles. I glanced around, noting the modern décor and sterile feel of the room, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it because a man in black slacks and a purple shirt came down a short hall. I recognized him as the man I’d seen at the Rat Tavern.

  “Chase Walker,” he said as he came up to me.

  I shook his hand, and he led me down the hall to his office. Its décor was similar to the foyer, and a large window had a view of the Federal Courthouse. I took a seat in a white chair facing Walker’s metal-and-glass desk. Chase sat down at a black leather chair behind the desk and looked at me.

  “I was sorry to hear about Gabe,” he said as he sat back and put his palms together.

  “Rick Crabtree told you about him?”

  “Yes. You said you had some questions for me? Are you with the police?”

  I shook my head. “I’m private.”

  “I see.”

  I glanced around at several awards and knick-knacks displayed on glass shelves on one wall. A few framed photos showed Walker posing with some local sports figures, including Von Miller. “I understand Gabe was looking for representation,” I began.

  “That’s right. Rick put him in touch with me.”

  “What exactly were you going to help Gabe with?”

  “I was looking to manage him and line up some business opportunities.”

  “What kinds of opportunities?”

  He tapped his fingertips together as he talked. “I was working with some local companies and even a few national companies to see if they wanted to use Gabe to promote their products.”

  “Advertising? I thought Gabe was a musician, mostly techno, and that he was looking for an agent. What kind of advertising would work with that?”

  He shook his head. “I wasn’t going to help him with his music.” I must’ve looked puzzled because he said, “Are you familiar with social media influencers?”

  “I’ve heard the term,” I said, “but do you mean people who help businesses with their social media presence, or people like Logan Paul and King Bach?”

  “Those two,” he said with a smile. “Some of these guys get so many fans, companies are willing to pay big bucks to have social media personalities pimp their products. Logan Paul was recently paid something like three hundred thousand to create a thirty-second video for Dunkin Donuts. Guys like him speak to the millennial generation.”

  I held up a hand. “Wait, Gabe was a social media personality?” That was news to me.

  He hesitated. “Not exactly. Gabe came to me because he said he knew who one of these personalities is, and he wanted me to work with them.”

  “Them?”

  “Gabe and his partner.”

  “Who was his partner?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What personality are we talking about?”

  “Gabe said he knew who Masta Dig is.” He scooted forward in his chair and tapped the table. “See, Masta Dig wears a mask and no one –”

  “Knows who he is,” I interrupted. “But Gabe did?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  He shrugged. “Not at first, but he proved it to me.”

  “How?”

  “He told me about a new Masta Dig video before it was released. When I saw the video, it was exactly how Gabe described it. And he had Masta Dig skype with me.”

  “But Masta Dig wore his mask.”

  He nodded. “I didn’t know who he was.”

  “And they were looking for representation.”

  “Right. They were smart enough to know they had a good thing going, that they had a huge following that was growing every day. There were big bucks to be made if we could strike while the iron was hot.”

  “While they were popular.”

  “Exactly. If you wait too long, someone else might be the big thing.”

  “Did you get to the point of officially representing Gabe and his partner?”

  He shook his head. “No. I told him I couldn’t have any secrets, that I needed to know what was going on, and who his partner was. Gabe said he would talk it over with his partner and get back to me. In the meantime, I started working on some things on my end, setting up exploratory meetings with some companies. I had a company that was willing to pay them two hundred thousand for a thirty-second ad.”

  I whistled. “Not too shabby.”

  “Right.”

  “You were sure Gabe would get his partner to agree to meet with you, without the mask.”

  He nodded. “We’re talking a lot of money for a kid who didn’t appear to have much.”

  “I saw you meet Gabe at the Rat Tavern the night he was murdered.”

  He let out a little laugh. “Yes, not the best place to conduct meetings, but that’s where he wanted it, so …” He shrugged. “Who was I to argue? Anyway, he was supposed to bring in his partner, but he didn’t.”

  “Why didn’t the partner come in?”

  He frowned. “They said Masta Dig had to stay secret, that no one knowing who he really was is part of what makes it special. Gabe was almost joking about it, telling me that it wasn’t a big deal, and that he’d handle everything. He was being a bit too cavalier for my taste.”

  “And you got angry.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Oh, you saw that.”

  I nodded. “You weren’t too happy with him.”

  “No, I wasn’t. I’d been working for a while on this, seeing what interest there was in Masta Dig, but I told him there’s no way I was working with them, unless I knew who I was dealing with, and neither were potential advertisers. Gabe said that wasn’t going to happen, and he started telling me how I should run things. He really didn’t understand business, and I felt like he was playing games with me, even though I’d taken him very seriously.”

  “And that made you mad.”

  “You bet it did.”

  “Gabe was the one calling the shots.”

  “Gabe was trying to call the shots. That’s the way it seemed to me. As far as I know, he created the social media accounts and the website.”

  I remembered something else. “You gave him something at the bar.”

  “A USB drive with some videos that they’d created but hadn’t posted yet.”

  He said it so matter-of-factly, I didn’t think he was lying. “What did you do after you left the Rat Tavern?”

  “I met some friends for dinner at Elway’s and then stayed for drinks at the bar,” he said. “I go there a lot, and the staff knows me.”

  Elway’s is a pricey steakhouse that’s owned by former hall-of-fame quarterback, John Elway, one of Denver’s best-known personalities.

  “Any problem if I go there and verify that?” I asked.

  “No problem.” He grabbed a business card from the desk, leaned forward, and handed it to me. “Ask for Sam Ainsley, and tell him to call me if that helps.”

  “Thanks,” I said as I took the card and pocketed it.

  He seemed sure about his alibi and not at all offended that I was asking for one. That either made him really slick, or he was innocent.

  I thought for a second. “There was interest in having Masta Dig promote products?”

  He nodded. “Oh yeah. A lot of companies understand that these personalities can reach the younger generation in a whole new way.”

  I changed topics. “Do you know anything about Gabe’s girlfriend Sally?”

  He pressed his lips together, puzzled. “That name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  I described Sally. “She was at the club the night you met Gabe there.”

  “He had a number of women talking to him that night, but this particular woman …” He shook his head. “I don’t rec
all seeing her.”

  “How often did you meet Gabe?”

  “A handful of times. I saw him that time at Club 77, and he came down here once. Oh, and one other time at the Rat Tavern.”

  “When did you first meet with him?”

  He sighed. “Oh, about a month ago.”

  Rick Crabtree had told me the same thing.

  “And you have no idea who Masta Dig is?” I asked again.

  He shook his head. “I think he was at the club the night I first met Gabe.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes. I told Gabe that I should get to know his partner, and his partner should get to know me. Gabe laughed and said something about his partner was around and not a stranger. I had the feeling the partner was at the club.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now, Masta Dig is gone, now that Gabe is.”

  “Along with the money to be made,” I said, and watched his reaction.

  “Yeah, but that’s not the main thing, is it? A man lost his life.”

  “True.”

  Chase Walker seemed sincere about Gabe. And he’d been very forthcoming. He could’ve been doing that to throw me off, but my gut said that wasn’t the case. I couldn’t see any motive that he’d have for murdering Gabe. If Chase’s alibi checked out, I’d likely cross him off my suspect list.

  I stood up. “I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.”

  “No problem.”

  He got up and walked me back to the main office. “If you have any other questions, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled as he held the door open for me.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I mulled over my conversation with Chase Walker as I strolled to my car. Gabe Culpepper knew Masta Dig. But did that have anything to do with Gabe’s death? That seemed crazy to me. Another thought kept coming to me. What did Sally know about all this, if anything? Had she helped Gabe in creating Masta Dig videos? Then, when things went bad between them, had she murdered him? That seemed crazy as well, but then, stranger things have happened. And who was Masta Dig? That man might be able to shed some light on Gabe’s murder. But how to find him?

  I didn’t lose any time in calling Sally, so I could ask her those questions. Unfortunately, she didn’t answer her phone. I left a message, asking her to return my call as soon as she got it. I swore at her as I crammed my phone in my pocket, then drove a few blocks to the Ritz-Carlton Hotel on Eighteenth and Curtis. Right next door was Elway’s Restaurant.

  I parked and paid the meter, then crossed Curtis. It wasn’t quite eleven, and Elway’s street entrance was still locked, so I went into the hotel lobby and around to the restaurant. I stepped into a shadowy foyer and looked around. The restaurant was decorated in dark tones, with dark wood-paneled walls and ceiling, and tables with brown leather chairs. Soft music played from hidden speakers. A host in dark slacks and a white shirt saw me and approached.

  “We’re not open just yet,” he said with a reserved smile.

  “Yes, I know,” I said. “I’m looking for Sam Ainsley. He’s the –”

  “Yes, he’s in the back. If you’ll wait here, I’ll get him.”

  I nodded. The host turned and walked through the restaurant while I looked around. I had been to the Elway’s in Cherry Creek, and even though this location was closer to the condo, I hadn’t been here. I was just thinking I should bring Willie to this Elway’s when a man in a dark suit walked up.

  “May I help you?” he asked, his voice buttery smooth.

  “I hope so,” I said. “I was just visiting with Chase Walker, and he said you would be able to verify that he was here on Sunday night.”

  He gave me a funny look. “Well, I … sir, I can’t disclose who our patrons are.”

  “I understand, but he said to give him a call and he’d okay it.” I held out Walker’s business card.

  He hesitated, then took the card, staring at me the whole time. “Your name?”

  “Reed Ferguson.”

  His lips formed a disapproving line as he moved around a small podium and picked up a phone. He glanced at the number on the card, dialed, and asked to speak with Chase Walker. Then he turned his head and murmured into the phone. I heard snippets of the conversation, mostly him describing me. He finally nodded and hung up.

  “Mr. Walker said to answer any questions you have.” He was being polite, but bemusement was etched on his face.

  “Good,” I said. “Chase said you could verify that he was here on Sunday night,” I repeated.

  “That’s correct.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Mr. Walker comes in here most Sunday nights. Sometimes he’s with friends, sometimes he dines alone. He’s a very good customer.”

  “When did he arrive that night?”

  “About nine o’clock. He had a late dinner with friends and then stayed at the bar until after eleven. Would you like to know what he had to eat?”

  I ignored his not-so-subtle sarcasm. “Would anyone else remember Chase being here?”

  “Of course. The bartender and Mr. Walker’s waitress would remember, but they’re not here now.” He raised his eyebrows. “Would you like me to call them?”

  “That’s okay,” I said.

  I thought Ainsley was telling the truth, and I doubted that Chase Walker would’ve been able to get all these people to lie and say that he’d been here the night Gabe Culpepper had been murdered. As far as I was concerned, Chase’s alibi was solid. There was no way he could’ve murdered Gabe at the same time he had been at Elway’s. I thanked the host for his time and left.

  I dashed across Curtis Street and got in the 4-Runner, but before I left, I tried Sally again. No answer. I growled, then pulled into traffic.

  “Where are you, Sally?” I muttered as I turned the corner.

  Since Sally lived close by, I headed there. I found a parking place on the corner of Humboldt, and as I walked down the steps to Kristen Dalrymple’s apartment, rock music came from an open window. I knocked on the door and waited. When no one answered, I banged harder on the door, and it suddenly opened. Kristen looked up at me in surprise.

  “Oh, hey. What’s up?” She looked a little frazzled, her hair askew. The music was even louder now.

  I glanced past her. “Is Sally around?”

  She shook her head, then held up a hand. She darted into the living room and turned off the music. “I don’t know where she is,” she said as she came back to the door.

  “When did she leave?”

  “Well, I haven’t seen her since yesterday.”

  I couldn’t contain my surprise. “She didn’t come home last night?”

  “No, well, uh, I don’t know. I saw her before I left for work last night. You know, here.” She pointed behind her. “But I spent the night at my boyfriend’s. When I got home this morning, Sally was gone. I figured she left before I got home.”

  “Did she leave a note saying where she went?”

  “No. Sometimes we tell each other, but I don’t keep track of her.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not her mother.”

  “Right, I get it,” I said.

  She shifted from foot to foot, and glanced over her shoulder. “Hey, listen, I gotta go, okay?”

  I tried to look behind her. Was Sally there and she didn’t want me to know? “Sure. If you see Sally, tell her to call me as soon as possible.”

  “Okay.”

  Kristen shut the door and as I walked slowly up the steps, I called Sally again and listened for a ring through the apartment window. I didn’t hear anything, nor did Sally answer. Then the music started up again, as loud as before. I hurried to my car and called Brenda.

  “Hello?” she answered, her voice tired.

  “It’s Reed Ferguson,” I said. “Is Sally there?”

  “She was, but she left.”

  “Where’s she going?”

  “I think she’s headed home. Is everything okay?”

  “She’s not ans
wering her phone.”

  She sighed. “That sounds like Sally. That girl…” She left the rest unsaid.

  “If you talk to her, tell her to call me. It’s important.”

  “I will. Have you found out something?”

  I hesitated. “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Sally didn’t do this. Trust me, a mother knows.”

  “Uh-huh. I’ll call you when I know more.”

  She thanked me and was gone. I sat back, cranked some tunes, and waited. A few minutes later, Kristen came out and strode down the street away from me. She got into a green car, pulled into the street, and turned the corner.

  I waited for an hour, and as I did, I thought about Gabe and Masta Dig. Who was that masked man? I thought, conjuring up the old Lone Ranger movies. I went over all I knew about Masta Dig, which wasn’t much. The Goofballs thought he was funny. And so did millions of others.

  My mind went to Gabe’s neighbor Luis Hernandez, and I mulled over my encounter with him. I remembered how much he seemed to like Gabe, and how much he knew about social media personalities. Did Luis know more than he’d told me? I stared out the window at dark clouds that were building in the west and thought about him. It’d be worth talking to him again. It would be better than wasting time waiting for Sally to show up. I tried her again, but she still didn’t answer. I swore and left. I’d try her later.

  I drove to Race Street and parked. The wind picked up, whipping at my clothes as I rushed inside the vestibule. I pressed Luis’s call button below his mailbox, but he didn’t answer, so I hurried back to my car and watched the building. I was getting tired of all the waiting, but this time I didn’t have long because Luis soon ran up the sidewalk. I got out of the car and raced up to the building. When I entered the lobby, the glass security door was closing. I grabbed the handle, flung the door open, and hustled inside. I heard Luis in the stairwell. I took the steps two-at-a-time and then saw him above me.

  “Hey,” I called out. “I need to talk to you.”

  Luis turned around and stared at me. Then he whirled around and dashed up the stairs.