Shades of Blue (4 page)

Was Cal just transcribing the record, learning the tunes and the changes? I set them aside and go though the other music and find a copy of
Downbeat
magazine dated 1949, with a story on the
Birth of the Cool
band.

I feel the hair on the back of my neck prickle. In all the times I talked with Cal, I don’t remember a single one where we talked about either of these recordings.

Birth of the Coo
l was just that. Ushering in the cool school of jazz. Gerry Mulligan and Gil Evans wrote a lot of the arrangements. Mulligan’s partnership with Chet Baker was still three years down the line.
Kind of Blue
was another landmark in jazz history when Miles began to explore modal jazz and discovered a young quiet pianist named Bill Evans. It’s all kind of spooky. I don’t know what to make of it. I gather up the sheets and put them together.

In the bedroom I go through Cal’s meager wardrobe. There’s not much. Some slacks, a few sport coats, and a half dozen shirts on hangers. I decide to bundle everything from the closet into a couple of the big trash bags, maybe for Goodwill or the Salvation Army. Some I just toss.

The small dresser was more of the same. One drawer for socks and underwear, another for t-shirts, another for sweaters. The bottom drawer is stuck. I have to move and wiggle it get it open. It’s full of papers. Digging through it, I find canceled checks, bills, receipts, an old pocket watch on a chain, a program from the Newport Jazz Festival, and a lot of other junk I don’t feel like going through. In the end I just dump the contents of the drawer upside down on the bed.

I stop then, frozen to the spot.

Taped to the bottom of the drawer is a small manila envelope. I stare at it for a moment, knowing whatever is in it is somehow going to change everything for me.

I sit down on the bed and light a cigarette, just thinking for a couple of minutes. There were no missing legal papers from the lot the lawyer Scott had given me so this is something else entirely. Cal never struck me as a secretive man, so why this? I put out the cigarette and tear off the envelope.

Inside, is a note and another smaller business size envelope.

I read and reread the note, puzzling over it, wondering how long it had been here. The masking tape looks fairly fresh, so maybe just a few weeks, a few days? I put the note aside and reach for the other envelope turning it in my hands.

Tear it up and throw it away? Cal, you knew me better than that. Inside is a grainy black and white photograph of a very young Calvin Hughes, standing next to a baby carriage, smiling at the camera. All very uncharacteristic for Cal. In the background there’s a view of a building and part of a sign I can hardly make out. OTEL. Hotel but the name isn’t visible if there is one.

A clue? What does he mean? A clue for what? Don’t think too badly of him? About what?

“Evan? You in here?”

“Dana? Yeah in the bedroom.” She comes in carrying a plastic bucket filled with cleaning material supplies and some rags.

“Thought I’d give this place a going over.” She sees me holding the photo and the note from Cal. “What have you got there?”

I hand them both to her. “What do you make of these?”

She reads the note and studies the photo. “Where were they? Hey, that’s Cal isn’t it? He was a good looking dude.”

I show her the drawer. “They were taped to the bottom of this drawer.”

She reads the note again. “God, that’s weird. I don’t know, but he wanted you to find it that’s for sure. Oh my God,” she says, “do you think Cal had a baby?” She studies the photo again.

“Cal? I don’t think he was ever married.” She gives me a look. “Okay, he could still have a child, but what am I supposed to do?”

“You’ll figure it out,” she says. She looks at me and smiles. “Sherlock. Hey you’re a detective.” She grabs the bucket. “I got cleaning to do.”

I put the note and photo aside and finish the bedroom, boxing up the things I want to keep and putting all the old clothes in the trash bags. The drawer full of papers I put in a shoe box I find in the closet. I’ll go over those later.

I grab my cell phone and go looking for Dana. She’s in the kitchen scrubbing the sink and has trashed virtually everything from the refrigerator. “I’m done in the bedroom,” I say. “How about a pizza? There’s a place down on Franklin, I think.”

“Manny’s? Sure,” she says. “I’m almost finished here.”

I look around. “You don’t have to do this you know.”

“Yes I do. I’m going to live here and I want to keep my landlord happy. You go get the pizza. Everything on it, okay. The works.”

“Coming up.” I drag some of the trash bags downstairs and set them out for pickup and walk down to Franklin.

I order one of Manny’s Deluxe to go and while I’m waiting, I step outside, light a cigarette and call Andie’s pager. She calls back in five minutes.

“Hello.”

“Evan? Where are you? How’s it going?”

“I’m just waiting for a pizza. It’s not fun. Just doesn’t seem right Cal isn’t here.”

“I know it must be hard, but better to get it over with. Have you decided what to do about the house?”

“Yeah, this girl who’s been helping Cal, walking the dog and all, I’m going to rent it to her for now. She’s a grad student at UCLA.”

“That’s fast. How well do you know her?”

“I don’t, but she worked for Cal and that’s good enough for me.”

“I suppose,” Andie says but not very convincingly.

“Andie, I found something in the house.” I tell her about the note and photo, how it was taped to the drawer. “Wrap your FBI mind around that.”

There’s a few moments of silence. “Jesus, I don’t know. That’s weird.”

“When you guys were checking out Cal, was there anything about him being married, having a child.”

More silence. “I don’t remember,” Andie says. “That was awhile ago. I’ve seen so many case files since then.”

“Well could you check? There has to be a reason for him to have left this for me.”

“I’ll see what I can do. I don’t think we dug that deep. We were just kind of vetting your friends.” I sigh. I didn’t like it then and I don’t now. It was a subject neither of us had talked about.

I look through the window and see the pizza guy waving to me. “I gotta go, Andie. My pizza is ready. I’ll call you but let me know if you come up with something, okay.”

“I will but who knows, Evan, it may mean nothing.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“No, I guess not. Call me. I love you.”

I walk back up the hill thinking about the note, the photo, and wondering most of all about one thing.

Who had been standing just out of the frame when that photo was taken?

Chapter Three

I get Coop to meet me at a small noisy diner in Santa Monica. It’s close to police headquarters, the court house, and a favorite of cops. When I arrive Coop is already in a booth, reading a newspaper, a cup of coffee in front of him. There are several uniformed cops at the counter, others in plain clothes in booths, and a few suits who I guess to be assistant district attorneys. Public defenders probably have their own hangout.

Coop looks up as I approach the table. “Jesus, what happened to you?” I’d hardly slept the night before and I guess it shows. Dana and I had sat up talking about Cal till very late, and after the pizza and a few drinks, she got me to open up about my accident that had prevented me from playing, and to recount my previous stints as a reluctant detective. I hadn’t talked as much to anyone since my sessions with the FBI psychologist after the Gillian Payne case. Not even to Andie. Dana is a good listener.

The memories came flooding back. Lying on the coast highway, my wrist shattered, the rehab, starting to play again, trying not to let things slip away. Starting over in a shopping mall in Las Vegas and helping my friend Ace Buffington dig into the past about Wardell Gray’s murder in 1955. The only good thing to come out of that was meeting Natalie Beamer, but that had gone bad too eventually.

Then, just when things seemed to be going my way, getting a record contract, it was Danny Cooper who wanted my help. I became a conduit between the FBI and a deranged woman bent on some insane revenge for her brother’s failures.

Andie Lawrence came out of that one, but Natalie was gone. Then escaping to Europe, playing again only to be side tracked by Ace’s disappearance in Amsterdam and following in the ghostly footsteps of Chet Baker and sadly, discovering Ace was not quite who I thought he was. Do you really ever know anybody?

And here I am, many miles and murders further, coming home to find the one person, with the exception of Danny Cooper, I had some kind of real connection with, dead and gone but leaving me yet another mystery to solve.

I don’t know how long I went on but when I had looked up at Dana, all she said was, “Well, your life certainly hasn’t been boring.” The rehash had left me edgy and restless. I found myself angry at the note and photo Cal had left. Angry at Cal, for dying, angry for knowing me well enough that I’d have to pursue this wherever it took me.

Coop grins at me as I slide in opposite him. “You and Dana get acquainted?”

“Oh fuck off, Coop. She’s a kid.”

“Yeah, way too young for an old guy like you,” Coop’s ever present smirk expanded to a grin.

A waitress, tall and blond with the hard look, I suppose, of too many sour experiences, comes over. “What’ll it be boys?” She smiles at Coop and refills his coffee cup.

Coop grins. “How ya doin’, Darlene? How’s your boy?”

“He’s great, finally doing well in school and—”

“Look, can I just get some fucking coffee? You two can stroll down memory lane some other time, okay?”

“Whoa, Sport,” Coop says. They both stare at me. “I’ll have the special and my rude friend will have some fucking coffee, I guess.”

I shake my head and look at her. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ll have the special too, whatever it is.”

“Sure,” Darlene says, dismissing me curtly and walking away.

Coop continues to study me. “So what’s going on with you?”

“This.” I take out the note and photo from Cal, and slide them across the table. “I found those when I was going through Cal’s things at the house yesterday. That is Cal’s writing.” Coop studies them both for a minute.

“Where did you find them?”

“Taped to the bottom of a dresser drawer.”

Coop looks up to see if I’m joking, sees I’m not. “Well, that’s original.” He looks at the note. “That’s what he means by not thinking creatively, huh?”

“I guess.” I watch him study both items. “Well?”

Coop shrugs. “Well what? I don’t know what to make of it but it’s obviously something he wanted you to have, or…” He stops, looking away for a moment then back to the note. “It’s like, he wanted you to find it but if you didn’t, that would be okay too. You know what I mean?” Coop looks up at me then. “How about you. Any ideas?”

“I’m not sure.” I watch Coop look, his face creasing into a frown. He’s studied hundreds of crime scene photos and I’m hoping he sees something I don’t.

“It’s like a half-hearted confession about something. He knows he’s dying, gets a conscience. Maybe somewhere along the line Cal had a child. I don’t think this is just some girl he just met who happened to have a baby with her. Look how his hand is on the handle of the carriage.” He leans over squinting at it and points to the photo.

I look again and realize I hadn’t noticed it before.

“And he keeps it all these years. Why? Unless the baby in there is important.” Coop looks up at me. “His baby?”

“Cal never mentioned being married, much less becoming a dad.”

“Maybe he couldn’t tell you.” Coop suddenly sits up straight. “Jesus, maybe that’s you. Maybe you’re that baby in the carriage.”

I shake my head. “Yeah right, and my mother is Lena Horne. Come on. My parents live outside of Boston. Richard and Susan Horne. You know them.” But even as I say the words a tiny flicker of doubt seeps into some corner of my mind. Why? Where is that coming from? I brush it aside quickly. No, I know who my father is and it is not Calvin Hughes.

“But why not just leave it with the other papers, with the lawyer?”

“Good question. Maybe he wanted you to find it. In his mind, he gave it a try and you an option.”

“C’mon, Coop. If you found something like that would you just tear it up and throw it away without looking ?”

Coop sighs. “No, but then I’m a cop. But Jesus, this could be anything.”

“Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say he has a child somewhere. Maybe he was married, maybe he wasn’t. He wants me to track her down, help her, give her money, whatever. Why wouldn’t he leave more information, some place to start?”

Coop looks at me again, his voice is slow and measured. “Because he knows if you found this, you’d already know where to start. You just haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Thanks, Coop. That helps a lot.”

Darlene brings our coffee then. She avoids looking at me but still has the big smile for Coop. “Be right back with your food,” she says and hurries off again.

“I’d leave her a big tip if I were you,” Coop says.

I add cream and sugar to my coffee and look at Coop. “When I got hauled into the FBI, they looked into Cal’s background. Did you know anything about that?”

Coop takes a drink of coffee and shakes his head. “I wasn’t really in the loop as far as the bureau goes. Why would they check on Cal?”

“Same reason they checked me and Natalie out? Andie told me about it but only when I asked her last night.”

“You think something else is going on?” Coop asks. “What did she say?”

“She said she can’t remember, that she’s looked at hundreds of background files since then and it wasn’t relevant anyway, just routine procedure.”

Coop looks away for a moment, then asks the hard question. “Don’t take this wrong, but do you trust Andie?”

***

Driving back to the house, Coop’s question keeps pushing forward in my mind. Do I trust anybody? I think about what Coop said and at least part of it makes sense. I try to put myself in Cal’s mind. Near death, doesn’t know how long he has, and what he’s been carrying around for who knows how long is eating at him. Somewhere out there is his child and now it’s time to try to make some amends for all the loss. A dying man’s last ditch attempt, however feeble, to make good on something that happened so long ago. So who does he pick? Me, the one person he’s had any kind of close relationship with in years. Wasn’t there any other family, and who was the mother?

In the photo, Cal can’t be more than mid-twenties, thirty tops, so that baby is—if it’s Cal’s and depending on the year the photo was taken—would now be around forty something. Close to my age. That part of Coop’s speculation is ridiculous. Because I’d already know where to start? No Cal, I’m sorry but I don’t. Maybe Andie can help.

I weave through the traffic on Sunset, past the clubs, restaurants, shops of all kinds, and continue east to Vine Street. As I sit, tapping on the steering wheel, waiting to make the left turn, I suddenly remember there is someplace I can start.

When I get back to the house, I see Dana’s car parked in front. Inside Milton is stretched out on the floor, and the sound of a vacuum cleaner comes from the bedroom. Milton manages to get to his feet and strolls over wagging his tail. I scratch behind the ears. He sighs and flops down again.

Looking around, I see everything has been transformed. Dana has done quite a job. In the living room books have been shelved, records stacked neatly by the stereo, and the piano even looks shiny.

The vacuum stops then. “Dana?” I walk back to find her wrapping the cord in her hand and looping it over the handle of the cleaner.

“Hey,” she says. “How was lunch? I’m just about finished here.”

The bed is made and my bag sits in the middle of it. “Those two boxes in the corner are books I’d like,” she says. “You can go through them if you want. I put the stuff you set aside in the hall closet. If you want, I can drop off those bags of clothes at the Salvation Army. Might be better to get them out of here, huh?”

“Yeah I guess so.” There were enough reminders of Cal already.

“Oh, I put the rest of the stuff from that drawer in that small box.” She points to one in the corner.

“Thanks. I’ll go through that later.”

She turns and faces me. “When will it be okay for me to move in my stuff? My aunt is—”

“Whenever you want. I’m probably going to get out of here tomorrow or the next day, decide what else I can do about that note, see if I can figure things out.”

“What did Cooper say about it?”

“Mostly speculation. He thinks it’s Cal’s baby in that carriage. I didn’t notice it before but Cal’s hand is on the handle. Coop thinks that means something.”

“Can I see it again?”

I take it out of my pocket and show it to her, watch her study it. She nods. “So do I,” she says. “And look at the way he’s smiling.”

I nod. “It’s hard to know. Coop also made a wild stab at things.”

“Oh?”

“He said, maybe that’s me in the carriage.” I force a laugh.

Dana doesn’t laugh. “I didn’t want to say anything but I think it’s a possibility.”

“But I told you my parents are still alive and live in Boston.”

“I know but…oh well, I guess it is a crazy idea.”

She glances at her watch. “I have to get out of here. I’m meeting with my advisor at three. If you want I’ll come back and cook dinner tonight unless you have some other plans.”

“No, that would be fine.” I take out some money. “Here, get whatever you need.”

“I do a pretty mean pasta and shrimp. That okay?”

“Sound great. See you then.”

“Okay, I should be back around six or so. I thought I’d leave Milton here. He’s getting a little disoriented going back and forth.”

“Sure.”

I watch her go then call Andie at her office. “Special agent Lawrence please,” I tell the receptionist when she answers. “Evan Horne.”

“One moment.”

I listen to a few clicks then Andie comes on. “Evan, how’s it going.”

“Hi. I was going to ask you the same.”

“I’ve been swamped, Evan. I haven’t had time to do anything. When are you coming back?”

“Probably tomorrow or the next day. Things are mostly in control here.” I pause for a moment. “Cal was cremated. I have to decide what to do about his ashes.”

“God,” Andie says. “I’m sorry, Evan. That’s a rough one.”

“Yeah, well at least I don’t have to worry about the house or Milton. Dana is ready to move in and she got the place looking great.”

Andie’s voice is suddenly chilly. “How domestic of her.”

“Andie.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, I’m just not ecstatic about you sharing that house with a hot coed. Did you talk to Coop about the note and the photo?”

“Yeah, had lunch with him today.”

“And?”

“He’s pretty intrigued and has some wild theories.”

“Oh?” Is it my imagination or is her voice guarded? “He say anything else?”

“No. Like what?”

“I don’t know. Nothing I guess. I gotta go, Evan. We’re having a briefing in five minutes. Let me know when you’re coming in. I miss you.”

“Yeah, me too. Talk to you later.”

I hang up and get the file from the lawyer, and look through the unopened mail. I look around again in the living room. Under the table on a small shelf are some magazines and two copies of the
International Federation of Musicians
newspaper. I flip quickly through both copies and I find what I want on the Notice to Members page.

I start for the door then turn back and go into the bedroom and take the photo of Cal with Miles Davis and the other man out of the frame and put it in the file. Milton looks up at me questioningly with those deep brown eyes.

“It’s okay pal, I’ll bring it back.” I give him a pet and head for my car.

***

Musicians Union Local #47 is not far from the house, on Vine Street just south of Santa Monica Boulevard. I pull the rental car into the parking lot and find a space easily so I know there’s not much happening today, and it must not be studio musicians payday. Getting out of the car, I hear a big band from one of the rehearsal studios, and across the street, in front of the Professional Drum Shop, there are a lot of cars. Walking to the front entrance of the union, I think about dropping in over there. It’s more than a drum shop, kind of a hangout for L.A. drummers. Maybe a good idea to show the photo of Miles and Cal.

“Hi,” I say to the woman at the Directory booth in the lobby. She has a headset on. She glances at me and holds up one finger from the keyboard while she finishes with the phone.

“Yes?” She looks tired, as if she’s seen and heard it all and hasn’t been very impressed with any of it.

“Calvin Hughes, pianist. You have a listing for him?”

She taps some keys, the screen flickers and changes several times. She leans in closer. “Lapsed member. No wait, he caught up his dues a month ago and was reinstated. There’s a listing for here in Hollywood.”