Wed and Buried (13 page)

Rawls made a face, and turned ruminative. “You know, when he first came to KRAS, I admired him a whole lot. He'd overcome this handicap, and made a successful career for himself. But when you got to know what an egomaniac he was, you forgot he was blind. It's a funny thing, how we categorize people, whether it's their race or their religion or whatever—then we get to know them and that stuff on the surface doesn't matter, shouldn't have mattered in the first place. A jerk is a jerk.”

Renie looked up from stuffing her face with her beef dip. “Nice homily. But you got sidetracked. Promotions? Public appearances?”

“Oh, right.” Rawls fingered a matchbook that bore Foozle's outmoded logo. “He was pretty sly about that stuff. Take that fashion show—I gather all he had to do was hang onto Tara Novotny and walk down the runway. Who could guess he couldn't see? The same thing at rock concerts he emceed—once he got into his place on stage, he faced the audience and screamed his head off. You don't have to have eyes to do that, you just follow the sound. That was Harley's thing, sound, noise, voices, mu
sic. He used them all to his advantage. I hate to admit it, but it was something to watch him do his show. Everything's done by computer these days, and he played that board like a piano. I never heard him make a slip.”

Judith inclined her head. “Harley must have been quite smart. Is it true that he had a lot of enemies, especially at work?”

Getting to his feet, Rawls chuckled. “Enemies, rivals, people he'd offended—they'd fill a phone book. But none of the ones I could name would kill him. They wouldn't have the guts. Sorry to be such a washout. I've got to find a DJ who can get at least a five market share.”

Twenty minutes later, the cousins were cruising for a parking place by the Belmont Hotel. As they passed the Naples for the third time, Renie tapped her temple.

“Billy Big Horn,” she said. “He'd make a perfect photo for the homeless brochure. If he's not sitting outside the hotel fountain, I'll have to try Donner & Blitzen. That's his usual spot.”

“He wasn't there yesterday,” Judith noted. “Try the Cascadia Hotel. I've seen him there once or twice.”

“I'll do that,” Renie said, turning once more into the street that led to the Belmont's entrance. “Actually, I'll tell Morris Mitchell. He's the photographer who's doing the shoot.”

Ahead of them, a white sedan was pulling out of a parking space. Renie applied the brakes, just a little too late. The big Chev's bumper nudged the rear of the other car.

“Yikes!” Renie cried. “I told Bill we needed a brake job. He always thinks I'm imagining things.”

“You didn't allow enough time,” Judith said. “You were going kind of fast.”

“Oh, hush!” Renie was glaring at the other car, the door of which was now being thrust open. “I couldn't have been doing more than twenty-five.”

“On these narrow streets, that's still…” Judith swallowed the next words.

The driver emerging from the white sedan was Joe Flynn, and he was very angry.

I
T APPEARED THAT
Joe didn't recognize Judith and Renie until he was within five feet of the Chev. He was reaching for his badge when Renie poked her head out of the window. A split second later, Joe saw Judith in the passenger seat.

“Hi, Joe,” Renie said in what sounded like a falsetto. “What's up?”

“Jeez.” Joe held his head. “I'm not asking. I don't want to know.” He gave Renie a hard stare. “Maybe I should arrest both of you. Then I could do my job and not feel as if I'm being followed by a pair of doofus amateur sleuths.”

“
Sleuths
?” Renie exclaimed.

“
Doofus
?” Judith blurted.

Joe looked grim. “That's what I said.” Turning his back on the cousins, he examined the rear of the unmarked city car. “You're lucky,” he called to Renie. “I don't see any damage.”

“What about
my
car?” Renie demanded, her own temper resurfacing.

Joe didn't bother looking. He started back towards the white sedan, but Woody was getting out of the passenger side.

“Is that…?” Woody began, and then stopped.
“Hello, Judith, Serena. Nice to see you. I think.”

“It's not nice,” Joe snapped, swerving on his heel. “It's damned annoying. Look,” he said, reapproaching the Chev, “Woody and I are here for one last look at the crime scene. The demolition people and the builders and the contractors want to get moving again on this old dump come Monday. We want to shut down our part. Now go home. I mean it.”

Judith was leaning out of the Chev. “If you're going to take a look around, why can't we come with you? We won't get in your way, we won't let out a peep.”

Joe shook his head. “That's against police procedure. We don't allow citizens to tag along on a homicide investigation. You heard me, go home.”

“Hey, Woody,” Renie called out. “Did you see that the local opera company is going to do
Trovatore
set in Iraq? Manrico and Azucena will be Kuwaiti spies.”

Woody, who was now standing by the white sedan, gave a start. His passion for opera was as great as Renie's and had helped forge a bond between Joe's partner and Judith's cousin. “What? They can't be serious!”

“That's what I hear,” Renie said, nodding sagely. “You won't believe what they plan for
Tristan und Isolde
.”

Horrified, Woody walked up to the Chev. “Now wait a minute—nobody should mess around with Wagner, especially not
Tristan
. Oh, I know they do some peculiar things with the
Ring
, but…”

“Isolde is on a bus,” Renie interrupted. “She's going to Salinas to meet her future husband, who's a wealthy lettuce farmer. The bus driver is…”

“Stop!” Woody put his hands over his ears. “You've got to be making this up!”

“Would I?” Renie wore her middle-aged ingenue's expression.

With his arms folded across his chest, Joe regarded his partner, his wife, and his cousin-in-law with exasperation.
“Come on, let's go. We've got work to do.”

Renie jumped out of the car. “I'll tell you about it while we go inside the hotel, Woody. According to Melissa Bargroom, the local music critic, who just happens to be a dear friend of mine, from now on, all the operas will be presented in a different setting and time period. Faust becomes a dentist in Milwaukee, and Mephistopheles is a patient who needs a root canal…” Renie and Woody headed for the hotel entrance.

Joe glared at Judith. “You win. I didn't think Renie would pull such a cheap stunt.”

“I didn't either,” Judith agreed, falling in step with her husband. “But I'm glad she did. It's really silly of you to keep us from having a peek inside. After all, how else can I figure out what happened to Tara when she was pushed off the roof?”

“Oh,
that!
” Joe's voice was full of disgust. “I'd hoped you'd forgotten that nonsense.”

Judith felt it was best not to argue. She kept quiet as they entered a much-abused freight elevator. While Renie and Woody lamented the state into which the local opera company allegedly had fallen, the cables groaned and the car creaked. At last they reached the top floor.

Joe led the way down a dingy corridor where the aged carpet was torn and the walls showed water damage. Electrical wiring dangled from the ceiling, piles of plaster littered the floor, and at least two doors had been ripped off of their hinges.

The door marked with crime scene tape was padlocked, however. The lock looked new, and Judith assumed it had been put in place by Joe and Woody. Sure enough, Joe unlocked it with a key that he had taken out of his pocket.

The room itself was spacious, with furnishings that had once been stylish and comfortable. But a patina of age and dust and decay had settled in over what Judith figured had once been a penthouse. Two bedrooms led from the sitting room which looked out onto a balcony. Judith had
to restrain herself to keep from checking to see if it was the same balcony onto which Tara had been pushed.

“In here,” Joe said, going into the bedroom on the left. “Harley was lying on that double bed. Half-lying, as if he'd fallen after he was stabbed.”

“He never saw it coming,” Judith murmured, suddenly overcome by the disc jockey's helplessness. “Dear me.”

The bedroom was in approximately the same state of disintegration as the rest of the building, though the ceiling and walls were still intact. A couple of empty places where the rug looked cleaner and less worn indicated that someone had removed furniture.

“Did you take something out of here?” Judith asked, wincing at the dark stains on the carpet which she assumed were dried blood.

Joe shook his head. “Thieves, maybe. Whatever was in those spots was gone when we got here.”

“The dust, the fallen plaster,” Judith commented, studying the bed with its moth-eaten blanket. “Could you get footprints?”

“Dozens,” Joe replied. “Transients, the demolition crew, whoever else has been around in the past month. We're still sorting through them.”

“Where's the bedspread?” Renie was leaning against the wall next to a window that was covered by a tattered blue drape.

“We took that with us,” Woody answered from his kneeling position by the bed. He held a powerful flashlight, which he played around the floor. “Possible hair and fibers, bloodstains. Not much help, though. Too many people over too long a time period have been here.”

Judith moved quietly around the room, inspecting a dressing table, the closet, the bathroom. She found nothing unusual, only signs of deterioration and a hint of long-ago luxury. One item, however, caught her eye: It was an ordinary galvanized bucket that was almost filled with a gray, mushy substance.

“Plaster?” she asked as Joe joined her by the doors that led to the balcony.

Joe peered into the ten-gallon bucket. “No. It's some kind of ash. We noticed that earlier.”

“Burning evidence?” Judith inquired, her eyes wide.

“Not likely,” Joe responded, straightening up. “Some bum probably was trying to cook something and started a fire by accident. Whatever it is—was—it's completely destroyed.”

Renie had returned to the sitting room. “Are you done?” she asked Judith with a trace of impatience. “I've got to get back to work. You can't say I haven't done my share by finessing Woody into a free pass.”

“I appreciate it,” Judith said and meant it. “But I'm afraid it hasn't done much good. It looks as if Joe and Woody are just going through the motions before they sign off on the building. I'm sure they made a thorough search of this place earlier.”

“Of course.” Renie made a fidgety gesture with one hand. “Let's hit it then. We
are
parked illegally.”

“I think we're safe from being arrested,” Judith responded, going to the Fench doors that led onto the balcony. “I wonder…”

Joe and Woody came out of the bedroom. “Okay, it's a wrap,” Joe announced, then eyed his partner questioningly. “Unless you want to check the other bedroom one last time?”

Woody, who was still looking pained over Renie's operatic report, glumly allowed that he'd have a look. “It never hurts to be sure,” he said in a morose tone that would have done a spurned baritone proud.

Judith pointed to the balcony. “You looked out there?”

Joe nodded. “We didn't find anything. We didn't expect to. It was latched from the inside. We checked the roof, too.” He avoided Judith's eyes. “Nothing, except what you'd expect to find on an old roof.”

The latch to the balcony was simple. Judith opened one
of the two doors and stepped outside. As she'd figured, the Naples Hotel rose a couple of floors above the Belmont on the far side. This was the balcony where Tara had fallen; it was a remarkably short drop.

“So the doors were latched when you came here Monday to find the body?” Judith inquired, still standing on the balcony.

“Yes.” Joe was pacing the sitting room. Renie was halfway out into the hall. Woody remained in the second bedroom. “We don't think Harley came in through the balcony, if that's what you're implying,” Joe added.

“Why not?” Judith asked the question while poking around in the rubble on the balcony floor.

“Because it doesn't make sense,” Joe replied easily. “Would a blind man jump off a roof onto a balcony and get inside that way? Or would he come through the main entrance, which apparently wasn't secure?”

“Why come in at all?” Judith called over her shoulder.

“It has the makings of a drug deal gone wrong,” Joe answered and then swore under his breath. “Pretend you didn't hear that.”

Judith didn't have to pretend. Something had caught her eye among the pieces of tar paper and bird droppings and dirt. It wasn't much, just a chunk of dull green glass. On a whim, she slipped it into the pocket of her slacks and came back inside.

“Okay, I'm done,” she declared just as Woody returned from the second bedroom.

“So am I,” he said.

The quartet headed for the elevator. Joe didn't bother to lock up, and instead pocketed the padlock. “We're finished. That's official. They can wreck the damned place now.” He poked Judith in the ribs. “Are you satisfied?”

Judith smiled, albeit a trifle weakly. “Oh, yes. Thank you. My curiosity must have gotten the better of me.”

“No kidding,” Joe said drolly, getting into the rickety elevator. “You don't want a souvenir?”

Judith patted the pocket of her blue cotton slacks. “I've got one.”

“What is it?” Joe looked faintly amused.

“This.” Judith removed the chunk of glass and held it out in front of her. “It was on the balcony.”

Joe, Woody, and Renie all gave the fragment a cursory look. “A piece of a cheap wine bottle?” Joe remarked with a glance at Woody.

“Maybe,” Woody replied. “It looks old and dirty. It might have come off of a paperweight or it could be one of those electrical transformer things.”

Joe chuckled. “Whatever it is, it belongs to my dear wife. She's had her fun, now she can go home and run the B&B.”

Judith heard the condescending note in Joe's voice and started to bristle. Instead, she put the glass back in her pocket and patted it again. The rugged bulge felt comforting, though Judith didn't know why. Maybe it was a symbol of her small victory over Joe. Maybe it was a sop to her sentimental nature.

Maybe it was nothing at all.

Maybe it was much more.

 

“Wow!” Judith exclaimed, admiring the view from the sixth floor of Belgravia Gardens. “You can see all over the city and across the bay and to the mountains on the other side.”

“You could see more if it weren't so cloudy,” Arlene noted. “It's going to rain. I suppose our summer is over.”

Arlene was not a native Pacific Northwesterner, and didn't share Judith's aversion to warm weather. “It'll clear off in a couple of days,” Judith said idly as she explored the master bedroom with its fireplace and sunken Jacuzzi. “These condos have everything. No wonder the asking price is a million dollars.”

“It's nine hundred thousand for this one,” Arlene said. “Of course the annual maintenance fee isn't included in
the asking price. The only unit that actually went for a million was the penthouse Bascombe de Tourville bought.”

“The view would be even better up there on the tenth floor,” Judith remarked as they wandered into the state-of-the-art kitchen with its marble countertops and hardwood floor. “Did you say you don't know how de Tourville made his money?”

“That's right, I don't.” Arlene flipped on the recessed lights. “Regular oven, convection oven, microwave, dishwasher, trash compactor, garbage disposal, dishwasher, security monitor.” She poked a button and turned on a small screen that was discreetly placed by the telephone. “Look, you can see the lobby.”

Judith peered at the monitor. The color transmission was excellent. “This is better than the one at the bank. Everybody there looks like they're standing in front of a funhouse mirror. I always feel like I weigh three hundred pounds and I'm deformed.”

“Yes, it's no wonder they never catch the bank robbers,” Arlene agreed. “They don't look the least like they do in real life. Oh, see there—someone is coming in.”

Judith watched the screen, which showed a woman entering the lobby. She was tall and dark and slim with a graceful, confident walk. Judith gasped.

“That's Tara Novotny! Come on, Arlene, let's head her off!” Judith dashed for the front door.

“What?” Arlene was still at the monitor. “Here, you can see an exterior of the building. There's a cab pulling away, and here comes Corinne Dooley down the street in her van with some of the kids. Now which ones are with her…?”