Hangman (24 page)

“Sure can.”

“The piece I usually ask pianists to play is the Fantaisie-Impromptu because most of them know it fairly well and it’s long enough to give me a good readout. There’s sheet music in the bench
for that, and other pieces if you don’t want that one. If your hand hurts at any time, stop.”

“Okay.”

“The sheet music is in the bench,” he repeated.

“I know the piece.” Gabe adjusted the bench so he could comfortably operate the pedals. He took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and put the specs back atop his nose. His hands flew up and down the keyboard. “Nice piano.”

“You can start whenever you’re ready.”

The kid didn’t answer, just stared into space for a few moments. Then he lifted his left hand, his eyes half closed as he launched into a series of arpeggios.

Rina’s mouth dropped open.

For the next five minutes and fourteen seconds, she was transported to another world. She had attended a few classical music concerts, but not being very musical, she couldn’t even remember them. But with the boy, there was something different. Never had she heard the piano played with such technique, touch, and feeling.

When it was over, no one spoke. Nicholas Mark, the ponytailed man who was in the room, said, “Matt, ask him if he knows any of the Chopin Opus ten Etudes.”

Through the mike, Birenbaum cleared his throat. “Your finger strength is registering well. Do you know any of the Chopin Opus ten Etudes?”

“Sure.” The boy thought a moment. “How about the Liszt Transcendental Studies?”

Mark nodded. Birenbaum said, “Liszt is fine.”

“Or how about the Grandes études de Paganini? ‘La campanella.’ I like the piece, and that should tell you a thing or two about my hand’s strength.”

Mark said, “Tell him if he has any pain to stop playing immediately.”

Birenbaum said, “That’s fine, Gabe, but watch your left hand. If you feel any twinge of anything, stop playing. Your hand is what’s important here.”

“Sure.” Again, Gabe stared into space for a few moments, readjusting the bench for his feet. The etude started out with a few light touches, but then quickly progressed into an exquisite series of bell-like passages with the boy’s right hand moving a mile all the way up the keyboard to a series of lightning-fast trills, and ended with a rousing climax. It was a beautiful and complex piece of music that traversed an emotional spectrum, but Rina felt that Gabe chose it because, more than anything, it showcased virtuosity. Four minutes and thirty-two seconds later, again, she was stunned into silence.

This jewel that had been entrusted into her care.

Gabe rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. “A little dicey. Not my best, not my worst. I made some mistakes. My left hand’s definitely off. But it should heal, right?”

Birenbaum cleared his throat into the microphone. “It should heal fine. I’ll be out in a minute, Gabe.” Matt turned to his ponytailed friend. “That was weird.”

“You might say that. Where’d he
come
from?”

They both looked at Rina.

“It’s a long story.”

“So what do you think, Nick?” Birenbaum asked.

“What do I think?” The man shrugged. “The kid’s a freak.”

I
T WAS THE
first time that Rina had seen the boy display unfettered emotion. Too bad it was anxiety. His eyes got big and his breathing quickened. His gaze was on Nicholas Mark. “Were you listening to me?” He regarded Rina. “Did you set this up?”

“Set what up?” she asked.

“No one set anything up. I just happened to be here getting my hand checked,” Mark told him. “Dr. Birenbaum invited me to listen.”

Gabe said. “I can do better than that. That stunk!”

“Stank,” Rina corrected.

“Stunk. Stank. I can do better than that. I swear I can. My hand’s off. Not that I’m making excuses. It’s just that I know that I can do better—”

“Relax.” Mark put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“I know I made mistakes. It wasn’t my best at all—”

Rina said, “Excuse my ignorance, but are you a pianist?”

Birenbaum said, “Nicholas Mark is not only a renowned pianist, but he is at the forefront of modern composition for the piano.”

“That’s great,” Rina said. “We’re looking for a piano teacher—”

The boy spoke through clenched teeth. “Uh, I don’t think Mr. Mark needs to be bothered with our trivial problems.”

“Relax.” Mark put his hand on Gabe’s shoulder again. “It’s okay. Take a deep breath.”

Gabe nodded, took a deep breath, and let it out.

“Better?”

“I’m fine.” Gabe suddenly felt dumb for being so nervous. “I’m okay.”

“Good. First of all, who have you studied with?” After Gabe rattled off a half-dozen names, Mark asked, “What happened? You kept outgrowing teachers?”

“Yes, that happened. And I was sort of at my parents’ transportation whims since we didn’t live in the city—in Manhattan. I’m from back east. We lived about thirty minutes away in the burbs.”

Mark looked at Rina. “How are you two related?”

“We’re not,” Gabe said. “I’m a foundling—”

“You’re not a foundling,” Rina said. “His parents are unavailable at the moment. He’s staying with my family. When he hurt his hand, I thought of Matt. We go to the same synagogue and he’s the best.”

“You make me blush,” Birenbaum said. “But not too hard.”

Mark smiled. “You
are
the best.” To Rina he said, “How long is Gabe staying with you?”

“That’s up to Gabe and his parents. As far as I’m concerned, he can certainly bunk down with my family, especially if it means having the teacher he wants.”

“Where are your parents?”

Gabe turned bright red, but Rina was very calm. “That’s at issue right now. We don’t know where his parents are, but his parents do know that Gabe is staying with us. Professionally, what can you do for him?”

The boy slapped his hands over his face. Mark smiled. “I said relax, okay. It’s not a prerequisite of American citizenship to know who I am.” He turned to Rina. “What I can do for him…is…this. I want you both to know…that I’m not looking for students. With
my teaching at the university, my composing, and commuting each weekend to and from Santa Fe, I don’t have a lot of free time.”

“I can move to Santa Fe,” Gabe blurted out.

“You’re not moving anywhere,” Rina said.

Again, Mark laughed. “I have a waiting list a mile long and to bump him to the top would be unfair.”

“Of course,” Rina said. “Maybe you can recommend someone?”

“Hold on a minute. I said it would be unfair…if I decided to take him on full-time. But since this looks like a temporary situation, I’d be willing to see him for a few lessons.”

Rina said, “That would be really nice of you.”

Mark said, “This is the deal, Gabe. I don’t demand one hundred percent perfection in your playing. But I do demand…one hundred percent dedication. If I make time for you, you’d better be prepared.” He took out his BlackBerry. “I can only see you once…no, let’s make it twice a week at…ten in the morning at USC. I have no other time. I don’t know how that affects your schooling.”

Rina said, “We can work around that. What days?”

“How about…Tuesday and…and if I move this and move this appointment there…” He played with his PDA. “Let’s try out Monday and Thursday at ten—sharp.”

“I teach,” Rina said. “I have to be in school by nine—”

“I can take the bus,” Gabe said.

Rina ignored him. “My husband or I will drop him off early. I’m sure he can figure out something to do.”

“It’s a university with a major music department,” Mark said. “There are practice rooms.” He regarded Gabe. “You don’t drive or you don’t have a car?”

“He’s too young,” Rina told him. “He’ll be fifteen in June.”

“Younger than I thought. Even better. What kind of piano do you have?”

“We don’t have piano,” Rina said. “Do you have a recommendation?”

“A good piano is tens of thousands of dollars.”

“That would be very pricey,” Rina said.

“I’ll see if I can loan you something from the university,” Mark told her. “But no playing until your hand is completely healed and you get the okay from Dr. Birenbaum.”

“It should take about a week before all the bruises are gone,” the doctor told him.

“So let’s make our first lesson a week from today if you’re still around.” He entered some data in his PDA. “What etudes do you know?”

“All the Chopin ten Etudes, some of the twenty-fives, and some of the Liszt Transcendental. I have the sheet music for those and the ones I don’t know by heart.”

“Bring them with you. We’ll start with that.” He offered him a business card. “You did a pretty good job with ‘La campanella,’ but I definitely want you to lay off that until we do some of the etudes. Call the night before if you can’t make it.”

Gabe took the card. He was beaming. “Thank you so much, Mr. Mark, for this opportunity.”

“Of all of your teachers…the only one I know is Ivan Lettech. I’m going to give him a call. Anything you’d like to tell me before I speak to him?”

“He taught me for almost a year. I think it went okay. He told me I needed to enter more of the major competitions to make myself known.”

“Did you?”

“Uh, the family situation at that time made it a little hard. But I’m older and things are better. Or maybe not better. Maybe more stable. Well, I don’t know if ‘stable’ is the right word. Am I rambling?”

“A little bit,” Rina said. “Whatever guidance he needs would be appreciated.”

“Not a problem.”

Gabe looked down. “I think Mr. Lettech was angry when I left for California.” His eyes went to Mark’s face. “If you do speak to him, please tell him again that the move wasn’t my idea.”

THE MASKED MAN
with the whip wasn’t Aaron Otis. The tats, as small as they were, didn’t match up. Aaron continued to study the pictures. “It’s not Greg, that’s for sure. It
could
be Garth. I really can’t make out the tattoos. Could you enlarge the pictures?”

Decker gave the snapshots to Marge.

“Have someone scan it into the computer and see if we can bring up a larger image.” After she left the interview room, Decker said, “Recognize the girl?”

“Doesn’t look like Adrianna.”

“Do you think you might recognize her if we enlarged her face?”

Aaron shook his head. “Honestly, Lieutenant, she doesn’t look familiar.” The young man raised an eyebrow. “Too bad. Looks like she might have been fun.”

Decker failed to find the humor in two corpses and a missing woman. He remained flat-faced and Aaron turned red.

“Sorry.”

“And you haven’t heard a peep from Garth?”

“Nothing. I’d tell you if I did. I love Garth, but if he’s mixed up in something bad, I don’t want any part of it.”

Oliver came in. “Can I see you for a moment, Lieutenant?”

Decker excused himself. The two of them talked outside the interview room.

“Marge is still scanning in the photographs,” Oliver told him. “Greg Reyburn walked into the police station about five minutes ago. I put him in room number three. Do you want to talk to him or should I do it?”

“You can do it.”

Oliver took out his notebook and read from a list. “Find out where he’s been for the last twenty-four hours, check out the alibi, ask him again about Garth and their camping trip, show him the snapshots I found in Mandy’s apartment, ask him to identify the tattoos, then lastly about Mandy Kowalski. Anything else?”

“That about covers it. Aaron claims he doesn’t recognize Mandy in the photo as someone he knows or has seen around.”

“Do you think he’s lying?”

“He’s been cooperative. He’s clearly not the masked man, but he could have taken the pictures. He even made a joke about it. Said it was too bad he didn’t know her. She seems like a lot of fun.”

“Rim shot,” Oliver said, miming a drummer hitting a cymbal.

“Indeed, it was a joke of poor timing and poor taste. Aaron needs to revamp his material.”

GREG REYBURN LOOKED
at the enlarged pictures with tired, red-rimmed eyes. “That snake up his arm with the wings…it’s like the medical symbol.”

“The caduceus,” Oliver said.

“Yeah, Garth has one just like it.” Reyburn raked his black curls with his hand and made a face. “I’m no prude. I like a good time just like anyone. I could see me doing something like that maybe once or twice…like if I was piss-drunk…but even I don’t think I’d take pictures of me acting like an ass no matter how drunk I was.”

Oliver nodded. “Do you know if Garth has played dress-up before?”

“If it is Garth. I mean, a lot of people could have that cadu…what did you call it?”

“Caduceus.”

“I’m sure that’s a common tat with the doctors.”

Oliver hadn’t known too many inked-up physicians in his lifetime, but who knew around the younger set. It was a new world out there. “Do you recognize any of the other tattoos?”

“Well…” Reyburn sifted through the pictures again. “This one.” He pointed to a black widow in her web. “He has this one, too.”

“So let’s assume it’s Garth,” Oliver said. “What about the girl?”

Reyburn shrugged. “I can’t place her.”

“You never met her at one of Garth’s and Adrianna’s parties?”

“Maybe.” He gave the photographs back to Oliver. “They sure partied a lot, entertained some strange people. I don’t remember any girl wearing a leather collar with spikes and a bustier, but I didn’t check out everyone.”

Oliver gave the pictures to Greg. “Look at them one more time.”

Reyburn cooperated. One pose—the masked man riding her back—caught his interest. “Maybe yes, maybe no. That’s the best I can do right now.”

“Any idea who took the picture?”

“Not me.”

“How about Adrianna or Crystal?”

“I’d just be guessing.” He shook his head. “Can I go now? I’m pretty fucked up right now. Crystal and I were friends, you know.”

“How close?”

“Did we have sex? Yeah, we did.” His eyes moistened and he tried to cover it by rubbing them. “Crystal was a free spirit.”

“Did her freedom include Garth?”

“Probably.”

“Probably or definitely.”

“Definitely. I remember once…when Garth was completely blitzed…I think he suggested a threesome with her.”

“And?”

“Wasn’t my thing.” He stopped. “At least not with him. Maybe if it had been Adrianna and Crystal, but not Garth and Crystal.”

“Let’s get back to Adrianna. Did you ever do her?”

Greg shook his head. “No…not that I woulda said no if the situation came up, but we never got around to it.”

“Aaron did her.”

Reyburn shrugged. “Good for him. I didn’t.”

“How did Garth feel about Aaron fucking Adrianna?”

“Never talked to him about it.” He scratched his stubbly face. He had broken out over his forehead and chin. “Garth knew that Adrianna was screwing around. And Adrianna knew that Garth was screwing around. And both of them were kinda jealous of the other one. Why they stayed together was a big question mark.”

“I heard Adrianna was giving Garth play money and that’s why he stuck with her.”

“Yeah, she gave him a couple hundred here and there.”

“What did he do with it?”

Reyburn shrugged “Took it to Vegas.”

“I heard he spent a lot more on women than on gambling.”

“Maybe. Garth liked his pussy.”

“So maybe that’s why he stayed with Adrianna. She gave him money.” When Greg’s eyes darted back and forth, Oliver said, “What is it?”

Reyburn threw up his hands. “You’re going to think I’ve been holding out on you…but I just thought of something. It could be that Adrianna wasn’t the only one giving Garth pocket change.”

“Go on.”

“I say it could be because I never really believed Garth.” Reyburn sighed. “So here’s the deal. Once when he was drunk, Garth told Aaron and me that he had a couple of cougars in Vegas that gave him money. Way more money than Adrianna. That’s why he went to Vegas so often.”

“Okay,” Oliver said. “Do these women have names?”

“He never told me names. He mentioned this only once, and when he was blotto, and that was like over a year ago. Aaron and I decided it was bullshit. I don’t know why I just thought of it…maybe because you said that Adrianna gave him money.”

Oliver said, “Did he tell you anything about the women?”

Again Reyburn ran his hands through his hair. “He told us that the women were like married to Mob guys, and when their husbands were away, he’d fuck them for money. We pressed him for details, but he said he couldn’t tell us any more. That it was all very secret, and if their husbands found out, he would be killed. That’s when we decided that the whole thing was crap. We could see Garth screwing women…we could see Garth screwing women who gave him money. But the whole Mob thing…I mean, c’mon! You’re a fucking radiology tech, Garth. Get over yourself.”

“So you didn’t believe him.”

“Not the Mob part. Garth said a lot of stupid stuff when he got drunk. He’d…embellish things. But who doesn’t say stupid stuff when you’re bombed.”

“Where’d you stay when you went to Las Vegas?”

“Garth went a lot more than we did. When we went together, we’d go to the Luxor or MGM. They were a little cheaper but still on the Strip.”

“And you have no idea who these women are?”

“I don’t know even if they’re real.”