by N. C. Lewis
"Yep, all bookings from now on require a nonrefundable deposit."
"Good idea," Nick replied blowing on the surface of the coffee to cool it.
"I considered it earlier," Amy added, "but with a new business, I believed it would put people off. Now I see it is an essential requirement; I've got to cover my costs." She took another sip from her mug.
Besides Nick, the house was quiet. Ruby wouldn’t get up until after nine. Amy had heard Noel shuffling around, so he'd be down for his breakfast soon.
"Do you think it will affect bookings?" Nick asked.
"What bookings?"
They both laughed.
Nick blew again on his coffee, took a gulp, followed by a mouthful of toast, and chased a mushroom around on his plate. Then he forked eggs into his mouth and glanced at Amy. "So what's the plan?"
She smiled. Her husband knew her so well. "I did a little lateral thinking."
"Oh no!" Whenever Amy did lateral thinking it always somehow involved him.
Amy rolled her eyes. "Darling, hear me out."
"Okay."
"I'd like to help with the Danny Fontane case."
Nick took a breath, sipped at his coffee. "Do a little digging like you and Danielle did with the murder in the bookstore?"
"Precisely. I don't know what we'll find, but it can't hurt… anyway, it resulted in good publicity for the business. Danielle and I are going to start with my assistant, Megan Finney. She disappeared after the photo shoot. I'll ask her what she did and saw. We're heading over to her home around four this afternoon. Later, we have dinner at Hansel's House with Ruby and Noel. Dr. Walden is paying. Are you going to join us?"
"Not this evening; I'll be working late. I have a meeting with Lieutenant Kostopoulos and suspect there will be a lot of report filling in after that." Nick smiled. "Your digging might help me get out of that dratted lollipop liaison unit." He was warming to the idea and gazed deeply into his wife's eyes. "But you have to be careful; take precautions."
Before Amy replied, the kitchen door opened. Noel strode in. "Good morning," he said in a cheery voice. "Start work at Dr. Walden's office at nine today."
"Breakfast is on the stovetop," Amy replied. "Fresh coffee in the pot."
Noel shuffled to the stove, spooned out eggs, mushrooms, put two slices of bread in the toaster, and poured a coffee. He placed his food on the kitchen table, then went back to the toaster to collect the crisped bread.
"Amy's going to help with the Danny Fontane case," Nick said as Noel returned to the table. "Have you thought any more about the source of the humming you heard?"
"I've thought of little else," replied Noel, taking a bite of toast. "But I can’t think of where I'd heard it before or the name of the tune."
"Hum it again," Amy said.
Noel hummed in a tuneless falsetto whine. A few bars in, Amy held up her hand.
"You know it?" Noel asked in a hopeful voice.
"Not a chance," Amy said, trying to hide a grin.
Nick rolled back in his chair laughing. "I don't believe the composer could identify it from your out-of-key rendition!"
"Very funny," Noel said, taking another bite of toast. "Music is not one of my better-known talents."
"What time is it?" Nick asked, remembering he had to be at police headquarters by nine for a meeting with Lieutenant Kostopoulos.
"Eight ten," Noel replied.
Nick jumped up, turned on the television that sat on the kitchen counter. "Might as well know what the weather is going to do before I go."
But it was too early for the weather. The announcer relayed news about a rejected Austin Independent School District bond proposal. Images of jubilant voters flashed across the screen, followed by images of bedraggled-looking school officials. The story changed to the Danny Fontane slaying.
Everyone's eyes stared at the screen as if it were some giant magnet.
Although there are no new developments, KATV-News has received information that the killer sang while committing the crime. I asked Austin Police Department spokesperson, Brendan Rendell, if this was a lead they were actively pursuing, but he refused to comment. This is Jack Skanky, senior investigative reporter for KATV-News, Austin.
"Damn media always get the facts wrong," muttered Nick draining his mug. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of notepaper. "Considering what's come out of the woodwork since Danny's murder, I'd say there is a good chance he knew the intruder." He unfolded the sheet of paper. "Here's what I've been able to figure out about his friends. He didn't have any! Vinny Snyder, his manager, seems to have been his only friend. They'd been together since the start of Danny's career."
"Maybe Danny and Vinny fell out over a contract or something," Noel interrupted.
Nick scratched his chin. "According to Vinny, they were always falling out over something. It was a love-hate kind of relationship, like brothers."
"What else do you have?" Amy asked, picking up a pen and jotting down ideas in her notebook.
Reading from the sheet he began. "Not much. Next on my list is Miles Block, the event organizer. He'd known Danny for several years, but they were not close."
"What's his motive?" Amy asked.
Nick shook his head. "No idea."
Noel spoke up. "Vinny said Miles was responsible for Danny's death."
"Really? I didn't see that in your police statement," replied Nick with interest.
Noel hesitated. "He also blamed the security guard and everyone else, so I didn’t think it was relevant."
Nick tapped his pen on his lip. "There is mention of a security guard in the police file, a Mr. Duke Savage. I'll follow up with him just in case we missed something."
Amy thought for a moment. "Did you say Danny had no long-term friends?"
"According to the police file," Nick replied.
"Wait!" Amy's hand flew to her mouth. "That can't be right. At the party, I went to the front door for fresh air. There was a drunk arguing with the security guard, said he was an old friend of Danny's."
Nick tried to sit tight. "Go on," he said. "What else?"
"The man threatened to get even with Danny. I thought it was the alcohol talking. Now I'm not so sure."
Nick stood up. "What's the friend's name?"
Amy placed a palm on her cheek. "I don't remember… wait, yes… Charles… Charles Goulart."
Nick kissed his wife, sat back down and scribbled on the sheet of paper. "I'll track Charles down. See what he knows. This might just be the lead that breaks the case!"
Chapter 21
When Nick arrived at the open-plan office at police headquarters, Chambers sat fidgeting at his desk. "Got news," he said with an eager smile, taking a bite from a donut.
"About what?" Nick asked, glancing at his watch—eight forty-five.
"Our meeting with Lieutenant Kostopoulos."
Nick waited for Officer Chambers to continue, but instead he took another bite of donut, eyed the remaining doughy delight for a moment, and chewed vigorously.
"Okay, recess is over. What's the skinny on the lieutenant?"
Chambers swallowed hard, then burped. "Barbara Edwards, his administrative assistant stopped by five minutes ago, said they called Lieutenant Kostopoulos into an urgent meeting with the chief."
"What about?"
"Barb wasn't saying, but I figure it is politics. You know, all the unsolved murders. Guess the chief is under pressure to throw more resources at it."
Nick hoped Officer Chambers was correct. With the politicians baying for action and the chief freeing extra resources, the lieutenant might be more receptive to his desire to move back to the executive protection unit. "So they have canceled our meeting?"
"No, moved to two p.m. Lieutenant Kostopoulos has a briefing session with the chief late afternoon. Gives us time to finish our reports."
"Great!" Nick hated filling in reports, he hated administrative tasks, and most of all he hated the unending bureaucracy that went w
ith the paperwork side of police work. Chambers relished it, thrived on it, and as long as he didn't have to communicate with the public or make a presentation, he was content.
Nick busied himself glancing over lollipop liaison reports, refreshing his memory on recent meetings, statistics, and recommendations. There remained several private schools he had yet to visit, and two middle schools on the east side of town that had asked him to return to present at parent-teacher organizations. He made a note to ask Chambers to schedule these.
After an hour Nick stood up, stretched, and glanced around the office.
"Coffee break?" Chambers said hopefully. "Want to stroll over to Dunkin's?"
"Sure," Nick replied glancing at his watch. They had four hours before their meeting with the lieutenant, and he was as prepared as could be. "On second thought, let's grab a takeout and do a little detective work."
◆◆◆
Detective Nick King and Officer Bob Chambers arrived at Moonies Burger Bar a little before the noon hour rush. Workers busily flipped burgers, chopped potatoes and carried buckets of salad or emptied bins of garbage. They wore uniforms that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the 1950s. Yellow pants, with white, button-down shirts, red bow ties, and little red-and-white caps with the Moonies logo, a burger licking its lips emblazoned on the front.
"Can't spare Charles for long," said the manager, a short, barrel-chested man with an even shorter temper. "This is a business! Our busiest time of day. It’s all hands on deck at lunchtime."
"We appreciate your help," Nick replied in his standard detective voice. "We'll be as brief as possible. Now, who is Charles?"
"Charles, over here, now!" the manager barked at the line of busy workers.
At first, Nick wondered if the workers had heard the barked order, for they continued preparing, chopping, carrying, and cleaning as if he hadn't spoken.
Then Nick saw him.
Charles wore the same uniform as the others, but his cap was slightly askew, bow tie faded to a dull pink, yellow pants streaked with dark stains, and on his feet, sneakers that had seen better days.
Charles recognized a police officer when he saw one, even in plain clothes. For an instant, he considered fleeing but he knew it was useless. He could barely walk in his sneakers, let alone run. And what was the point; if the police wanted to talk with him they'd track him down.
His shoulders slumped as he shambled toward the manager. He didn’t hurry, just a steady shuffle. Slow enough to give him time to think, consider his options, decide on his responses. As he drew close, his eyes darted from the manager to Nick then to Chambers and back to the manager. Nick saw from the stare in Charles's eyes he knew they were police officers.
"Charles Goulart?" Nick asked, knowing already this was their man.
"Yes, sir," Charles replied, his back stiffening like a galvanized washboard. He'd played this like Bogart: natural, unfettered by the fear that swirled within. "I'm Charles. How can I help you?"
"The fries," Chambers said before Nick could get a word in, "are they cooked in peanut oil?"
"Yes, sir," Charles replied. So these cops are interested in food he thought, smiling inwardly.
"And the burgers, they are really from grass-fed cattle roaming free on Texas ranches?"
"Yes." Charles's confidence was growing. Here before him stood a pair of buffoons. "Sir, I have work to do. I'm sure the manager will be happy to fill you in on the details of Moonies Burger Bar menu."
"Danny Fontane," Nick said nudging Chambers out of the way. "You were at the reunion party, correct?"
Charles's years on the stage almost paid off, but Nick saw fear deep within his eyes. "Yes," he said hesitantly. "I was at the event."
"An old friend?" Nick asked.
"You might say so."
Nick lowered his voice. "I'm sorry for your loss."
Charles rubbed his chin. "We go back a long way. The two of us studied together at acting school."
"You studied with the great Danny Fontane?" blurted Chambers. "Wow! He was amazing. Fancy that, and I've never heard of you."
Nick was about to lose his temper with Chambers when he saw something flash across Charles's face. He waited, knowing something was coming.
"Danny was a good actor," Charles said cautiously. "But I'm much better."
"Really?" Nick quizzed.
That did it. Charles snapped, and it all came tumbling out—his relationship with Danny, the acting job Danny got ahead of him all those years ago, his constant struggle to pay the bills, the bitterness over an opportunity long lost. "Yes!" Charles said when he had finished. "Danny stole my fame and rubbed my nose in his success. You know how many times I've thought about killing that thief? Almost every day of my miserable life. Am I sorry he's dead? Hell, no! But I didn't kill him."
Nick folded his arms, weighing his options. At last he said, "We'll need a formal statement from you. Can I expect to see you at police department headquarters later today?"
Charles was about to protest, realizing they'd probably arrest him, hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll stop by after my shift."
"Good," Nick said, turning to leave.
Chambers trotted behind. "Seeing as we're here," he said in a greedy whisper, "we may as well sample the food."
"Go ahead," Nick replied. "But before you join the line, I'd like your thoughts."
Chambers glanced anxiously toward the growing line of diners. "He did it. Charles Goulart killed Danny Fontane."
Chapter 22
"Oh man, this is good," Chambers said, mouth full of fries. "Golden, fluffy but crisp and firm. Don’t know why you didn’t order, Detective King."
"Keepin' my heart in good shape," Nick replied, gazing out of the car window onto the busy street. "Anyway, I've just about tried every fried food Austin offers over the years."
"Well, this ranks right up there with the best." Chambers took a bite of his hamburger. After he had munched, he half turned. "Why'd you let Charles Goulart walk?"
"Got to be sure of our facts before we reel 'em in."
Chambers squinted at his hamburger and took a huge bite. "Think he'll show up at headquarters?"
"I'd put money on it."
Chambers popped the last fry in his mouth, licked his fingers, sucked his teeth, and smirked. "He'll run, won't see him again. I can feel it in my gut." He patted his oversized stomach.
Nick considered that for a moment. "We must disagree on that one. I don't believe Charles is the running type… but if he does, we'll put out an APB and street patrol will pick him up within twenty-four hours."
Chambers finished his hamburger and grunted. "Better get back to headquarters." His belly full, he wanted to put his feet up on his desk, take a light nap, then grab an afternoon donut before their meeting with Lieutenant Kostopoulos. That wouldn’t happen if they chased down leads all over the city, doing someone else's detective work.
Nick pulled a sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket, glanced at it for a moment then nodded as if to himself. "Not just yet, Chambers. We need to pay a visit to Vinny Snyder. His office is on the east side."
"Sir," Chambers protested. "We have to get back to headquarters well before our meeting with the Lieutenant. What if he calls us in early?"
"I'll take that risk," Nick answered, putting the gearshift into drive and pulling out into the noonday traffic.
◆◆◆
Snyder Talent Agency occupied a small unit in a sprawling, one-story, concrete building that sat on the corner of a narrow east Austin street. The street, deserted except for a man sitting in the entrance of an abandoned storefront drinking from a brown paper bag, had seen better days. A dingy liquor store and gaudily painted pawnshop faced the building.
"Mr. Snyder is finishing a session," the young receptionist said, eyeing Nick's badge with curiosity. "Is that real or are you in a role?" she asked.
"We're the real deal," Nick replied.
The receptionist eyed Chambers, looked doubtful, then said,
"If you take a seat, Mr. Snyder will be out momentarily." She picked up a magazine and read.
With a heavy grunt, Chambers sat down in a worn plastic chair, clutching the arms and letting his weight go before his rump hit, so the plastic bent out of shape. Nick remained standing.
Tap-boom-tap-tap-boom. Arrgh! Tap-boom-tap-tap-boom.
"What's that?" Nick asked, walking in the direction of the sound which came from a door he presumed led to Vinny Snyder's office.
"Guess they are almost done with Vinny's prosperity ceremony," the receptionist responded without looking up from her magazine. "Mr. Snyder will be out in a minute or two."
Nick didn’t get to ask another question before the office door opened. A man he recognized as Sage Oats strode out. At his side, a man wearing a white dhoti and carrying a pair of tabla drums.
"Afternoon. Peace be with you," Sage Oats said as he passed by Nick.
Nick nodded in acknowledgment and watched with curiosity as Sage Oats and the drummer left the office. A gentle purring sound caused him to turn around.
Chambers, whose head rested on his chest with eyes closed, jerked violently to his feet at Nick's angry shout. "Sir!" he said, still uncertain where he was or whether it was morning or night. Quickly regaining his bearings, he added, "Just taking a power nap. The chief said it was a great way to get rest during the day."
"Ah, Detective King."
Nick spun around.
"We meet in the strangest places," Dr. Walden said with a broad smile, extending his hand.
They shook.
"I guess you are here on official business. Are you investigating the unfortunate death of Danny Fontane?"
Nick neither confirmed nor denied Dr. Walden's assertion. He glanced at Chambers, who had fallen back to sleep, and changed the subject. "How is Noel getting along?"
"Splendid. Noel is a great help." The doctor rubbed his chin. "I've invited him and Ruby to dinner this evening. Your wife, Amy, and her friend Danielle are attending. Will you be able to join us?"
"I'd like to," Nick replied, feeling the exact opposite. "But work calls. You know how that goes."