by N. C. Lewis
Amy paused before answering. She'd had her doubts about Megan but had to admit she had done an outstanding job. "I can't fault her. She was here on time, did as I told her, and got the job done."
Danielle wrinkled her nose. "And…"
"Okay," Amy admitted. "Megan was wonderful, a breeze to work with, outstanding!" Then she paused, trying to think of something else, something that nagged at the back of her mind. "But…"
"But what?"
Amy considered for a moment. "Megan seemed a little starstruck. Did you see the way she stared at Danny? It was as if… she was trying to get his attention."
"Amy girl, who isn't starstruck? It happens to Stan all the time, and his band plays mainly to locals and die-hard fans." Danielle grinned. "Happens to me too, especially when I tell people Stan is my husband." Her face became serious. "So, you will hire Megan again?"
"Yes. As you pointed out the other day, we need the help. I guess I'll get used to her quirks."
Danielle laughed. "This is Austin, weird is normal here. Anyway, where is Megan?"
They scanned the room, but Megan was gone.
"Probably went through to the main party in the lobby," suggested Amy at last.
"See, that woman has got more sense than both of us. Let's join her."
"Agreed. I'm looking forward to the festivities. When is Stan and the band up?"
"Just after nine. Stan thinks the rain has finished for the evening, so they'll play outside, on a stage at the back. I better go see how he is doing." Danielle hurried away giving a little wave as she went.
Amy eased into the oversized lobby. More like a great hall, she thought, glancing around. The air filled with the chatter of voices trying to be heard over the soothing strains of a violin quartet. Well-dressed people stood in clusters, drink glasses in hand as waitstaff flitted around carrying silver platters of hors d'oeuvres or fluted champagne glasses.
To Amy's way of thinking the gathered crowd seemed more intent on conversation, food, and drink than they were in listening to Beethoven's Razumovsky. She paused for a moment, taking in the delicious melody, eyes half closed. What a pity, she thought, that Nick wasn't here to enjoy this with her. He'd be downing a pint or two right now with his old boss, retired detective, Alfred Thomas. She was pleased Nick had reconnected with his old mentor but was nevertheless disappointed he wasn't with her tonight.
When she opened her eyes, she noticed a bearded man sitting on a stool to the side of the quartet. He wore a white dhoti—an unstitched piece of cloth tied around the waist and legs—and fiddled with a pair of tabla drums. His chestnut complexion and sharp facial features marked him out as Hindu, or at the very least from the Indian subcontinent. Several dancers, wearing colorful flowing saris, lined up at his side. They were busy preparing for their dance routine, which Amy knew, from the Hindi movies she had watched, would be spectacular.
To her front, Noel and Ruby chatted with a distinguished-looking gentleman who Amy recognized immediately as Dr. Walden. She watched as the doctor slapped Noel on the back. The doctor's eyes, Amy thought, seemed to glitter and sparkle as if they held some great secret. She thought she detected, even at this distance, nervous energy in his movements, a skittish twitch in his smile. It made her uncomfortable.
"Well," Amy said aloud. "The consultation sessions with Noel seem to be working. He and Ruby are getting along much better."
"Would madam like a drink?" The question, from a waiter, dressed in dark clothes with a white apron, startled Amy out of her thoughts.
"Ah, yes," she said picking up a glass of the bubbly rose champagne. "Thank you."
The waiter nodded acknowledgment then melted into the crowd, tray held high like a tightrope walker crossing a great canyon.
Suddenly overcome by the need for fresh air, Amy made her way to the front door. She wouldn't have noticed the security guard, dressed in a dark navy blue uniform with a clipboard in his hand, if it wasn't for the sharp tone in his voice. On his lapel, he wore a silver name tag—Duke Savage.
"Sir, you have had too much to drink. Better go home and sleep it off. I'll call you a taxi," Duke said to a man, dressed in a shabby polyester suit, whose face flushed a violent shade of crimson, twisted into a snarl.
"Danny's friend, that's who I am. If it weren't for me, he'd be a nobody," the drunk insisted.
Amy watched as the drunk staggered forward, steadying himself on the security guard's arm.
"Very good, sir," Duke replied. "Now, what is your name, so I can have a cab take you home?"
"Ha-ha, can't remember my… address," the drunk slurred. "Danny remembers. He always invites me to his events, so he can rub my nose in his success."
"That's okay," Duke replied, gripping on to his arm. "All I need is your name, then I can look your address up from the guest list." He waved the clipboard with his free hand.
"Very clever. Oh, you are smart."
"Your name, sir?"
"Ha-ha," the drunken man laughed, but his voice had stiffened. "You'd know who I am if it wasn't for Danny Fontane stealing fame from me." He staggered backward freeing himself from the grip of the security guard. "Everyone would know who I am. No one steals from Charles Goulart and gets away with it." He raised his fists, staggered forward, falling against the solid bulk of Duke Savage and sobbed. "Danny is finished. It's my turn now."
The rhythmic pounding of the tabla drums echoed throughout the lobby area. Amy spun around to see the colorful line of Indian dancers taking their positions, shimmering like a mirage in some distant desert, their bracelets clanking as they moved. Then a sharp cry pierced the crowded area. It wasn't the volume or even the clarity of the words, but the urgent, desperate tone that caused Amy's blood to run cold.
"Can someone dial 911," a masculine voice called urgently. "Is there a doctor here?"
Amy recognized the voice.
It was her son-in-law, Noel Laird.
Chapter 12
For a long moment time stood still. Then everything seemed to happen at once.
"If there is a doctor in the house, please come quickly," called Noel, turning back toward the study.
By the time Amy arrived in the study, Noel, Miles Block, and several other people clustered around the body on the floor, hiding it from view. It lay very still like a life-sized mannequin, between the office desk and patio door. Her first thought was that a guest had collapsed, but after moving closer, realized the crumpled heap on the floor was Danny Fontane.
"Danny!" cried Vinny in a hushed whisper, kneeling over the body. "It will be all right. Help is on the way. You and I are on the road to success." He kept repeating the sentence over and over.
Amy crept closer. Her hands flew to her mouth as she saw the blood matting the hair around the right temple and then the battered face, dull eyes wide open. Instantly she knew whatever Danny died of, it wasn't natural causes.
"Come now," said Dr. Walden in a soft voice and panting heavily as if trying to control his own shock. He touched Vinny's arm. "Let me look. I'm not a clinician, but maybe I can help."
Vinny stood up, and in a daze wandered to the doorway. Dr. Walden spent several moments examining the body. Eventually, he shook his head. "I don’t think," he intoned, drawing out each word, "there is anything anyone can do for Danny now. He's dead!"
The room was filling with people. Several gasped as they saw the battered skull. Others stared in silent fascination. Amy's heart was beating like a tabla drum, but she didn't let her voice shake. "Noel, please don't let anyone else into the room until the police arrive. We don't want the guests accidentally destroying evidence."
Noel, who had been standing by the door, white-faced, hands nervously twitching, sprang into action. "There is nothing to see here. Help is on the way. Please make your way back to the main lobby." There was an authority in his voice that was missing in his normal life.
In the lobby, the rhythmic pounding of the tabla drums continued over the growing volume of excited chatter as the Indian
dancers hurriedly finished their routine.
If this was murder, Amy thought, and it certainly looked like it from where she stood, it would be splattered across the front page of the Austin American Statesman in the morning. City hall would be all over it. The chief would have to assign a detective to the case. It wouldn't be Nick because Lieutenant Kostopoulos assigned him to the lollipop liaison unit. It'd probably be Detective Mary Wilson.
Detective Wilson was a good cop if such an animal existed. The type of detective who takes work home, mulls cases over in the evenings, and comes into the office on the weekends to check out a new idea. Not jaded. Decidedly not dulled by the grotesque horrors of homicide, deadened to humanity, nor a clock watcher. A good cop but overworked in an understaffed unit.
Nick had encouraged, mentored, and recommended Mary Wilson for detective. They had worked the same shift for years. That was until Nick's heart attack. Now he did desk work, while overworked Mary would do what she could.
"Nick!" Amy said under her breath. "I'd better call him." As she reached for her cell phone, a scuffle broke out.
"You are responsible for this," shouted Vinny, pointing the finger at Miles Block. "I'm going to inform the police you were the only person who knew, down to the last detail, Danny's whereabouts. If you didn't kill him, you know who did."
Miles cowered. His face paled. "No!" he said weakly. "You've got it all wrong." He turned, shoved by Noel, and stormed out of the room.
"And you," Vinny yelled, now out of control and pointing at Duke Savage, "were supposed to be our security. Don't expect payment for this fiasco. I'm going to report you to the police as incompetent."
Duke stepped toward Vinny, menace in his eyes, hesitated, and like Miles Block, turned on his heels, hurrying from the room.
Moments later sirens wailed, and police officers spilled into the house. Within a short while, the study was a crime scene swarming with white-suited technicians who took photographs, measurements around the body, and bagged up evidence. Eventually, Danny Fontane's body, now in a body bag, was hoisted onto a gurney and wheeled away by dour-faced paramedics.
It had all happened so fast that Amy hadn't had time to process events when Detective Mary Wilson pulled her aside.
"Tell me everything that happened," she said, "for the record."
Amy told her what she had observed, which wasn't much. That she'd gone to the front door to get some fresh air. Then the shouts for help from Noel. How she rushed to the study to find it already full of people, with Vinny Snyder kneeling over the body. How Dr. Walden had examined the body and pronounced Danny dead. She let Detective Wilson know Noel had done his best to secure the room.
"Very helpful," the detective said in appreciation. "Let's hope some evidence has been preserved."
Amy didn't mention the angry words Vinny directed at Miles Block and Duke Savage. If it were relevant, the detective would uncover it as part of the investigation.
When Amy had finished, Detective Wilson went over her notes again.
"It was Noel's voice that alerted you?"
"Yes."
The detective scribbled something in her notebook. "I'll speak with him next."
◆◆◆
Noel was still pale and shaking when Detective Wilson approached him for a statement. She steered him to a chair, her penetrating eyes seeking answers.
"I wanted to meet Danny... Miles Block, the party organizer, told me Danny was in his office. I stopped by to introduce myself," Noel began.
"What happened next?" Detective Wilson asked, taking out her notebook and sitting down.
"I'm not sure; it was all so fast."
"Start at the beginning," she said in an encouraging tone.
"When I was at the door I heard a shout."
"A shout?" She leaned forward, took out a mint from her jacket pocket and popped it into her mouth.
"More of a cry or startled gasp."
"Male or female?"
"Male."
"Then what happened?"
Noel closed his eyes, seeking clarity on what he had seen. Detective Wilson sucked hard on the mint, tapped her pen on her notebook, her eyes fixed on his face. Then Noel's eyes shot open. "Humming!"
Detective Wilson tilted her head to one side. "Humming?"
"From the study, after the startled gasp and before I entered the room, humming. I overheard Danny humming. He has… had such a wonderful voice."
"What type of humming?"
"Very melodic, tuneful. I could have listened all evening." Noel hummed a few notes, but his tuneless voice made it impossible to identify the melody.
"Do you know the tune?" Detective Wilson asked.
"Yes. I believe I do."
"What is it called?"
Noel paused in thought. "I don't know the name. I think it is from a radio show."
Detective Wilson's eyes flashed with interest. "Which one?"
Noel pressed his lips together. "I don't know."
The detective put down her pen and stared hard at Noel. "If you remember, please let me know."
"It will come to me, I'm sure," Noel replied sheepishly.
"What happened next?" There was a hint of frustration in the detective's voice.
"I entered the room as a figure darted through the patio doors."
"Man or woman?"
Noel placed his hand to his cheek and again closed his eyes. "I'm not sure, might have been a woman. But then again it could have been a man."
"Anything else?" Detective Wilson sighed.
"Footsteps. The sound of heavy footsteps… but no more humming!"
Chapter 13
"Here's how I see the situation," Officer Bob Chambers interrupted while popping half a jelly doughnut into his mouth and chewing vigorously. "It was a bungled burglary. The perp breaks in and confronts Danny Fontane, and in a blind panic clobbers him and makes their escape."
Detective Nick King looked up from the case file and had to ponder that for a moment. He rolled his eyes in disgust as a narrow pink tongue darted out of Officer Chambers mouth to catch a dollop of jelly that had escaped his last bite, and rolled, almost to freedom, down one of his many chins. Then Nick's mind drifted back to Danny Fontane. He'd already tossed the question around in his head a thousand times about why somebody would kill the actor.
Solution Number One: It was, as Chambers had suggested, a bungled burglary. That it took place on the night of Danny's famed relaunch party had absolutely nothing to do with said party. Except that, according to the file, the burglar stole nothing—and that was too big a coincidence for Nick to swallow.
Two: The slaying was mob related. Anyone with as high a profile as Danny Fontane would surely have crossed paths with the underbelly of society. There were traces of cocaine in his body. Had he crossed a member of the mob? Did he owe money? Not likely, Nick thought. This killing had the hallmarks of an amateur.
Three: It was a minor crook wanting to hit the big time and gain boasting rights in the criminal fraternity by burglarizing Danny's home as his grand party took place. It seemed too much like an episode from the Pink Panther to Nick, but he made a mental note to speak with his criminal contacts.
And that brought him to four. It was a publicity stunt organized by Danny that went horribly wrong. But if that were the case, his manager, Vinny Snyder, would have mentioned it, but his statement was as vague as the others.
Nick rested his head in his hands, closing his eyes. There wasn't a straightforward solution to this one.
Still chewing on a bit of donut, Officer Chambers put his feet on the desk and continued voicing his own thoughts out loud, mouth wide open as crumbs swirled around his dark gums like clothes in a laundromat tumble dryer. "Doubt we'll solve this one. Not without a lucky break. Maybe, the burglar will make a mistake, get caught on a video camera or try to sell to the wrong fence." He picked up another jelly donut, stabbing it in the air. "Anyway, we've got enough work with our lollipop duties and all."
Nick hated bein
g reminded of his desk job in the lollipop liaison unit. He wanted to be back in the executive protection unit or working homicide, but Lieutenant Kostopoulos had denied his last request.
"The chief," the lieutenant had said to Nick, "is under pressure from city hall. I need you to set up and head the lollipop liaison unit for an interim period. The focus is on traffic safety around schools."
He didn’t say how long the interim period would be. At first, Nick hoped it would only be two weeks but was fearful it would turn into months or even years. With the politics of city hall, anything was possible.
Nick stared at Chambers, who munched contently on the last donut. "Anyway," he said, gazing with disappointment at the now empty donut box, "It's not our case. Mr. Fontaine's death is none of our business."
Nick didn't respond. He wouldn't let it go—his case or not.
"Ah, Detective King and Officer Chambers. A word in my office, please." It was Lieutenant Kostopoulos, and he was smiling.
◆◆◆
They stood at the lieutenant's desk until invited to sit.
"Ah, that is better," Chambers commented easing his considerable bulk down into the chair. "Not as fit as I used to be; standing takes it out of the knees."
The lieutenant, not known for his humor, continued to smile. Nick couldn't remember the last time he had seen the lieutenant in such a relaxed mood. He was usually sour-faced on a good day, or red-faced on a bad day. But he never smiled.
"Gentlemen, I wanted to congratulate you," the lieutenant said, breaking out into a broad grin.
This unnerved Nick, who sat bolt upright in his chair. "Sir, may I ask what for?"
The lieutenant folded his arms. "Your new unit, Nick. The chief tells me it was a big hit with the folks in city hall. Say's the city manager was especially pleased with the idea. The chief is riding high right now, commended me on my idea to have you two as the founding members of the unit."
"Sir, that is wonderful," gushed Chambers. "It is demanding work, but we are up to the task."
"Now," said the lieutenant leaning forward, lowering his voice, "you'll be pleased to hear the powers that be have extended the life of the unit."