The Boom Room (5 page)
“Why?”
“You're Jamie's brother, but you're so different from him.”
“Why? Because I'm a cop?”
“Partly, I suppose. Jamie hates cops.”
“That's because he hates me.”
She leaned across the table. “You're just like every other cop. You all think Jamie's guilty.”
“If I thought that, I wouldn't have bothered to meet you, would I?”
Carolyn picked up a fry and popped it in her mouth. As she chewed, her gaze was faraway.
“Jamie told me once he doesn't think anyone in his family really knows who he is. Jamie's not like other guys. At his core, he's sensitive and kindâand very talented. You've never heard songs like his. I like just reading his lyrics. They're real poetry.”
Ellis thought of his brother's music as nothing more than noise. He kept his mouth shut.
She dabbed another fry in the puddle of ketchup on her plate.
“Most guys I know are total dicks. They only look at girls as an easy lay. Jamie's not like that. I want to help him if I can.”
Ellis tried to keep the surprise he felt at her words out of his voice.
“Do you have something that will help him?”
“Jamie was in the can the entire time between the first and second sets last night. I know. I was out in the hall waiting for him. He couldn't have knifed Lewis.”
“You told my partner that last night. I'm sorry, but it's not something that will stand up in court unless you have another witness.”
“But it's the truth!”
Ellis shrugged, feeling this was all a waste of time. “You're his girlfriend. They would expect you to say that. Anything else?”
Carolyn leaned forward again.
“You might want to check out Mike Master.”
“Why?”
“Because he's mega strange.”
“That's not a lot to go on.”
“Since he joined the band, he's said a lot of things about where he came from, things he did. I looked it up on the Internet this morning. It was complete
BS.
There's no record of him anywhere I could find. Not in the town he claims to come from, not in the county, not anywhere.”
“So you're an expert at using the Internet to find people?”
“I know my way around. Want me to prove it? Maybe I'll look you up.”
“I didn't mean that as an insult. That's a skill set most people don't have.”
“Well, I do!” She picked up a fry and used it as emphasis. “Either Mike's lying about his name or lying about where he's from. That's suspicious. And like I told you, he's a mega-strange dude. You need to check him out.”
Pratt thought there was nothing of the budding rock star as Jamie Clark was led into the interview room at the city jail. Dressed in an orange jumpsuit, he just looked like what he was. A scared twenty-two-year-old.
“Who are you?”
“Detective Pratt. I'm one of the people investigating the murder of Joseph Lewis.”
“Shouldn't I have my lawyer here?”
“You can, of course. But then my questions will have to wait until at least tomorrow. You're in a deep hole, and right about now they're starting to fill it in. Tell you what. If I ask a question you don't want to answer, just tell me to piss off, okay?”
Under the desk, Pratt crossed his fingers. Did he have the kid pegged right?
Clark slouched back in his chair. His shoulders rose and fell once.
Pratt nodded, then pulled out his notebook and pen.
“I know what you said in your statement, so we don't need to cover that. But I have a few questions about what happened earlier in the day. Take this missing knife of yours. Can you tell me positively the last time you had it?”
Jamie pursed his lips. “I used it to cut some pieces of gaffer's tape when we were setting up our gear.”
“What time was that?”
“Sometime after five. That's when load-in is.”
“What happened to the knife after you used it?”
“I put it back in my pocket.”
“Are you sure?”
“I'm very careful with that knife.”
Pratt didn't bother to mention that having it was completely illegal.
“You don't remember having it any time after that?”
“No.”
“When did you discover it was missing?”
“When we were getting changed in the dressing room. Look, most of this is in my statement.”
“I know. I'm just trying to get more details about that knife.” Pratt looked down at his notebook, even though he was making this up as he went along. “What did you say when you discovered it was missing?”
“I asked the rest of the band, didn't I? Look, I wasn't in the best of moods. Lewis was being a prick about money. And then he wouldn't let us do a soundcheck.”
“Who was in the club at the time you last saw the knife?”
“The band, Carolyn and a friend of hers. There were two guys stocking the bar. Carl the manager. Lewis. There might have been some people in the kitchen.”
“When you used the knife to cut the”â Pratt glanced down at his notebookâ“gaffer's tape, who might have seen it?”
“Anyone in the band, I suppose. Carl was hanging around, talking to us. He's been angling to manage the band. Thinks he's an operator.” Jamie leaned forward suddenly. “Why are you asking me all these questions about the knife? What gives?”
“I'm just trying to account for its whereabouts during the time you were in the club.”
“Does this mean I'm not completely screwed? I got the feeling you cops have it in for me. I know all about cops. I have a half brother who's one.”
“I wouldn't talk about that if I were you.”
“In here? Are you kidding? Do you think I'm that stupid?”
“No. I'm talking about saying it anywhere. If I were you, I wouldn't tell anyone. It won't help you.”
“I know he'll think I'm guilty.”
Pratt shook his head. “No, he doesn't think that at all.”
“Bullshit.”
“Believe it or not, I'm telling you the truth.” Pratt leaned forward. “But getting back to your earlier question, son, you will get buried if you murdered Joseph Lewis. I'm just trying to make sure we have the truth.”
On opposite sides of the city in the early hours of the morning, Detectives Pratt and Ellis pushed their chairs away from their computers and rubbed tired eyes.
Pratt was in the squad room, having thoroughly checked out Margerie Lewis, her husband and the club's manager, Carl Thomson. Searching police records had uncovered a few interesting tidbits. Thomson had once been arrested for domestic violence, but charges were later dropped. He'd also once been linked to a biker gang. Joseph Lewis had been investigated for fraud a number of years back. But the case had never made it to court. Margerie Lewis at first appeared to be an upstanding member of the community. But then he'd found her named in a divorce suit six years ago. She had been married to Lewis at the time.
It wasn't a lot to go on, but it did show that two of the three had possibly operated on the windy side of the law at one point or another. The only way to move forward now was to do some good old legwork.
But first, Pratt definitely needed a few hours of shut-eye.
Ellis, on the other hand, was completely wired. He sat alone in his spare bedroom as his wife slept. He'd found nothing about Mike Master anywhere in the country. On the Internet, the guy simply didn't exist. It felt odd to be so happy about something not found.
Rolling the desk chair back toward his laptop, he muttered, “All right. I know you're out there somewhere. Let's find out who you really are⦔
Pratt rolled into work the next morning at nine twenty, his eyes still smarting from two days of little sleep and long hours staring at a computer screen.
He was soon on his way again. Armed with photos of Margerie Lewis and Carl Thomson, he drove out to the suburban neighborhood where the Lewises lived.
Pratt first tried his luck at the house directly across the street. An old woman answered the doorbell. Perfect. Maybe she was the “nosy neighbor” type.
His badge in his hand, he said, “I'm Detective Pratt. We're searching for a man, and I'm hoping you can help.”
“What man? Why?”
Pratt pulled out his photos of Thomson. “This man. Have you seen him in the area?”
She looked at them long and hard, then shook her head.
“No. I don't believe I've ever seen him before.”
“It would probably be during the day.”
Now she was more certain.
“No. Sorry I can't help. Is he dangerous?”
“No. We just want to ask him some questions. Sorry to have bothered you.”
At the surrounding houses, Pratt had two no-answers to his ring and two more negative answers from people who came to their doors. He might have continued down the street, but if the immediate neighbors hadn't seen anything, he doubted he'd get any hits farther away.
Thomson's face was also unknown to the old man living in the house directly backing onto the Lewises'. On either side of him, it was the same. At that point, Pratt gave up, somewhat depressed. It had been a bit of a long shot, but he'd had hopes.
At the far end of the street was the back end of a fairly large park. Pratt figured he'd try his luck there. Not wanting to alarm the young mothers he found near the playground, he told them it was an insurance-fraud case.
After twenty minutes, he'd struck out again. Spotting a park bench, he sat to reconsider his theory. Maybe he was barking up the wrong tree.
The sun was warm, so he unbuttoned his overcoat. It was finally feeling like spring.
A few minutes later, a young mother sat down at the other end of the bench. She needed to tend to her fussy baby. Once a bottle was stuck in its mouth, the crying stopped. The mother sighed, shut her eyes and tilted her head back, bathing her face in the warm sun.
A moment later, she asked without opening her eyes, “You a cop?”
Pratt sat up straight. “What makes you think that?”
“You look like one. I know the breed. My dad's a cop too. Maybe you know him. His name's Burt McDonnell. He's a detective.”
“You're Shelley McDonnell? Excuse me, but I didn't recognize you. Actually, the last time I saw you, you were only twelve.”
She finally turned, and sure enough, he could detect a bit of her dad in her eyes and mouth. “And you are?”
“Pratt. Merv Pratt,” he answered, holding out his hand.
As they shook, she grinned.
“My dad's mentioned you. Says you're a real good detective, but a pain in the ass. I hope you don't mind my saying that. Dad's pretty blunt, as you certainly must know.”
Like father, like daughter, he thought.
Shelley tilted her head to the sun again. “What brings you here? Are you hot on a case right now?”
“Something like that. I'm trying to find out if someone has been seen around this neighborhood.”
“Any luck?”
“So far, no.”
“Who is it?”
“This guy,” Pratt said, holding out one of the Thomson photos.
She looked at it for only a second.
“I've seen him a few times. He drives a yellow 'Vette. Nice car, the kind you notice. He leaves it on the far side of the park, then cuts across, walks down the street and around the corner. An hour or so later, he's back.”
“Is he always alone?”
“As far as I've seen. Bet he's canoodling with some lonely housewife in the neighborhood. He looks the type,” she added, handing back the photo. “So, is marital infidelity now on official police radar?”
“Not really. I'm trying to find out if he knows someone a bit better than he admits.”
“On the way back to his car, he looks like a canary-swallowing cat, so I'd say yes.”
Pratt got to his feet. “Thanks for your help, Shelley.”
“No problem. Small world, isn't it?”
“You can say that again.” He started to walk away, then turned. “By the way, when was the last time you saw our friend?”
She pursed her lips, considering. “About a week ago. Yes. A week ago Friday. He was a bit longer that day. Looked as if he had a pretty good romp.”
Shelley flashed Pratt a big smile, then turned to her baby, who'd finished the bottle.
Pratt's step had more life in it as he walked back to his car.
Ellis was also in a park. He'd slept only three hours, but unlike his older partner, he felt wide awake, ready for anything.
At nine
AM,
he'd gotten hold of Carolyn Tucci to arrange another meeting. She had an earlier shift that day, and they agreed to meet in a park near the coffee shop.
As she walked up, he studied her closely. Underneath all the goth makeup and facial piercings, she reminded him strongly of the mother he and Jamie shared. He wondered if his half brother realized that.
