Choreographed Crime (Miss Demeanor 3) (3 page)

Chapter Five

Maile drove by the Seattle Ballet building and watched for an open parking space along the street. Eight blocks away, she parallel parked her Jeep and walked to the intimidating building with its wide concrete staircase which led to the vast lobby.

She got out her iPad, looked at the first name on her list and asked the receptionist if she could make an appointment with Edward Berwin.

“He’s in a practice session at the moment. Would you like to wait?”

“Any idea how long it will be?”

She glanced at her watch. “Another couple of hours at least.”

“Maybe you could answer some questions for me. I’m investigating the death of Floriano Garcia.” Maile pulled out her ID to show the woman.

The woman shuddered a little. “So very sad. A great loss for ballet.”

“How well did you know him?”

“Not well, personally, but I’ve followed his career. He was a brilliant dancer.”

“Did you ever hear anyone say something negative about him?”
There had to be someone who didn’t worship this guy no matter how good he was at ballet,
Maile thought.

“Hmm, well, you can imagine there were people who were jealous. Who wouldn’t be?”

“Can you give me names and what they said?” Maile opened her iPad.

The woman leaned forward across her desk and cupped her hand in front of her face. “The understudy might not want him around if you know what I mean.”

“What is the understudy’s name?” Maile lowered her voice to match the other woman’s.

“Charles Vinton, known as Charlie around here.”

Maile asked for the spelling of his name and tapped it into her iPad. “Did Charlie ever do or say anything that would make you think he’d harm Floriano?”

The receptionist lowered her voice even further, “I heard him tell Edward he’d do whatever it took to make principal dancer.”

“Edward Berwin?”

“Yes. Ask him when you talk to him. He’ll tell you.”

“You’ve been very helpful. May I get your name?”

“Patricia. Patricia Cole.”

Maile thanked the woman and said she’d be back in a couple of hours. Maile sat in her Jeep and reread all of her notes. She pulled up the Bible verse Mrs. Fernandez-Garcia showed her and cut and pasted it into her notes. The first time she looked at the Bible verse in Floriano’s Bible, she’d focused more on the blood splotches near the words. This time she understood why Floriano’s mother might think the clue indicated a poisoning.

“The stew was poured out for the men, but as they began to eat it, they cried out, “Man of God, there is death in the pot!” And they could not eat it.”

Maile agreed with Floriano’s mother that the Bible verse had been a hint and hoped this Ballet Master, this Edward Berwin, would be able to help solve the puzzle.

At eleven-thirty when Maile returned to the Seattle Ballet building, she checked with Patricia who walked her to an office on the second floor of the building. Patricia tapped on the door, then opened it a crack, her voice reverent. “Edward?”

“Yes, Patricia. What is it?”

“There’s a private investigator here to speak to you about Floriano’s death.”

“A private investigator? What on earth for? It was a suicide.”

“May I send her in?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

Patricia held the door open and Maile walked across the threshold and extended her hand. As soon as she saw him, she recognized him as the man she’d seen at Lama’s food truck. “Thank you for seeing me.” She showed him her ID. “I’m Maile Kuhiwinui and I’m investigating the death of Floriano Garcia.”

“Yes, that’s what Patricia said, although I don’t understand why.”

“There’s some evidence that suggests he may have been murdered.”

Edward stiffened in his chair. “Oh, this is not good for our ballet company. Does the press know about this?”

“No—I don’t think so.”

“Let’s try to keep it that way.”

“May I ask you some questions?”

“If it will help to shorten the length of this inquiry, then yes.” He maintained his formal pose.

Maile fumbled a bit with her iPad before she started the interview. This guy made her nervous. “What was your relationship with the deceased?”

With what seemed to Maile as carefully measured words, Edward explained that he’d lured Floriano to Seattle after he’d watched him perform in Portland. “His moves were impeccable. He deserved a stage worthy of his talent.”

“Was he happy here?”

“He was as content as any genius can be. His brilliance was a gift and a curse, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?”

“He stumbled at practice the day he took his own life. He said he felt a little lightheaded. When you are used to perfection, imperfection is difficult to swallow.”

“So you believe he had a reason to overdose?”

“He had a heart that beat irregularly. He hid the fact from everyone but Charles, Clarissa and me. I think perhaps he realized after that stumble he might falter during a performance. It is better to leave the stage at the height of your glory as I did.”

“But he had other options. Teaching, for one.”

“He was not always practical in his desires.” Edward started to stand.

“One more thing. Earlier you said Charles knew about the heart condition. Is that Charles Vinton?”

“Yes.”

“I understand Vinton made a threat.”

“What kind of threat?” Edward stood erect.

“He reportedly said he’d do whatever it took to be a principal dancer. I wonder if that includes getting rid of a principal who is in his way.”

“I hadn’t thought about that. I suppose Charlie could be viewed as impulsive.” He headed toward the door.

Maile stood up and followed him down the hallway. “Thank you for your time.”

“Ms. Kuhiwinui? If you must keep up the pursuit, please use discretion. The ballet company is made up of a group of artisans who are quite sensitive.”

Maile nodded. She felt as though the headmaster had just scolded her.

She felt hungry and decided to navigate her way over to the food truck and see what Lama could tell her about this guy. He seemed pretty friendly with Berwin when she watched them interact the day before.

Chapter Six

Lama blew out a big breath when he saw Maile approach. “Howzit?”

“Good. And again,
mahalo
for the
poke
and beer. Absolutely delicious.”

“Do you want a
loco
today?”

“Not today. I need information and maybe a teriyaki burger with slaw.” She tilted her head and added, “Today I pay or I won’t come back.”

“Shoots. I’ll take the money, then.” Lama fixed her sandwich and slaw and handed it through the service counter. “Mind if I join you as long as I don’t have anyone in line?”

“I hoped you would. I really do want to ask you some questions.”

“And I want to give you some answers.” His grin filled his face.

After they sat down at the picnic table, Maile asked, “How well do you know Edward Berwin?”

“Whoa. Back up. Why are you asking questions about my customers?”

“I guess I never told you what I do for a living, did I?”

“I guess not. Are you a cop?”

“No. I was. Now I’m a private investigator.”

“What are you investigating?”

“Floriano Garcia’s death. I interviewed Mr. Berwin today and thought you might be able to enlighten me about him.”

“Is that why you started to come around the food truck?” Lama should’ve known. She seemed too good to be true.

“No. That’s not the way it happened. Floriano’s mother hired me for this case after I had lunch yesterday. It just so happens I remembered Berwin ordered food and chatted with you while I ate.”

“What do you want to know, because I don’t want to be a narc. The folks from the ballet are some of my best customers.”

“I understand. I just want to find out if there’s a possibility that someone murdered Floriano. There’s some evidence that points in that direction.”

“Then why not go the police with the evidence?”

“Floriano’s mother already did and they didn’t believe her. So, I wondered if you’ve ever heard anyone from the ballet make a threat against Floriano.”

Lama started to pace around the picnic table. He thought about conversations he’d had with Edward and Clarissa and decided nothing they’d said could be construed as threatening. “I can’t think of anything.”

“If you do, will you tell me?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Excuse me.” Lama walked back to the food truck to take care of the couple who approached.

He needed to walk away from Maile anyway.

****

Maile knew how it looked to Lama—a detective sucked up to get information. As soon as his customers left, she walked back over to the truck.

“Lama? Look, I’m just doing my job and someone is dead. Don’t you want to know if Floriano was murdered?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I do want to know.”

“Then help me do my job.” A group of six customers lined up behind Maile. Lama scribbled his address on a napkin. “Come by at six o’clock and we’ll talk.”

What could she say? It wasn’t fair to try to interview Lama at work. “See you later then.” She walked back to her Jeep and decided to go talk to someone at Floriano’s apartment building.

The building manager shook his head and said, “Look, lady. The cops were here right after the fellow with the tights arrived. They already asked me a bunch of questions.”

“I understand you already talked to the police—”

“Yeah, like I said, right after I let the guy with the tights in the door.”

“Do you remember the name of the guy in the tights?”

“Eddy or Edwin, maybe.”

“Edward?”

“Yeah, maybe Edward. He asked me to open the door and let him in because Garcia didn’t show up for his dance lesson or something. I told him I couldn’t do that and he handed me a donation.”

“So you let him in. What did you see when you opened the door?”

“Look, lady, I’m not saying another word.” He thrust his hands in his jeans pockets.

Maile reached in her purse for her billfold and dropped a twenty on the sidewalk. “Oops.”

He bent to retrieve it and stuffed the bill in his pocket.

Maile cocked her head. “Let’s try that again. What did you see when you opened the door?”

“Nothing. The living room and kitchenette looked fine. Then I heard Eddy cry out from the bedroom and I ran in there. There was Garcia sprawled out on the floor, bare-ass naked.”

“What next?”

“Eddy said “he’s dead” and started to cry like a baby. I called the cops and they called the coroner and in about four hours they all called it a suicide and got out of my hair.”

“Did you see anybody you didn’t recognize come in the building the night before Mr. Garcia died?”

“No, but I don’t monitor all that. Evening is my own time.”

“Are there any other entrances to the building?”

“Yeah, the back door, but you have to have a coded keycard, like this, to use it.” He reached in his pocket and held up a navy blue card with a mountain scene in the background. “Almost no one uses the back door. Too far from the parking lot.”

“Are there security cameras?”

“Nope. Too expensive according to the owner.”

“Mind if I take a walk around the building?”

“Knock yourself out.” He put his hands back in his pockets.

“Thank you for your time.” Maile walked to the back of the three-story brick building. She didn’t see any way someone could have scaled those walls, so if someone murdered Floriano, the killer either walked in the front door or had a keycard to the back door.

Chapter Seven

Later that day, Maile drove to Lama’s place. He lived across the bridge over in Ballard in a two-story apartment building. The address he gave her was the number on the ground level. Maile noticed the empty brown stalks in the flower boxes and wondered what kind of flowers they were and if Lama had grown them.

She rang the doorbell and fidgeted while she waited for Lama to answer the door. She checked the address again to make sure she had the right place. Then she saw Lama pull into the attached garage with his food truck. He joined her on the front steps in a few minutes and apologized for being late.

She pointed to the flowerbeds. “Are you the gardener?”

“Yeah. I like to grow some purple and pinks in the summer. Brightens up the place.”

He opened the door for her and she entered a tidy large room with a bicycle parked in the hallway and a variety of large soup pots stacked on the kitchen counter. A large gray tabby peeked from behind the couch.

“What’s your cat’s name?”

“Queen Lili.”

“Like Liliuokalani?”

“Yeah. Gentle, smart, and gets treated like royalty.”

He offered her a beer.

“No thanks. I have to drive home.”

“Technically, you don’t
have
to.”

“I plan to though, so could we get started?”

“All right, Miss Private Eye. Let’s get started.” Queen Lili jumped to his lap and Lama stroked her back.

“How well did you know Floriano?”

“He ate my food almost every day, but he didn’t always come to the truck himself. Sometimes Edward picked up lunch for everyone and sometimes Clarissa. I only saw Floriano about once a week.”

“Clarissa, the prima ballerina?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know if he had friends other than the ballet folks?” Maile tapped some notes into her iPad.

“Me, I guess. I never heard him talk about anyone else.”

“Did you ever hear anyone talk badly about him?”

“Some of the ballet folks thought he was conceited, but you don’t off somebody for that.” Lama slouched in his recliner. “Maybe he did kill himself. People do sometimes, you know.”

Maile dropped her iPad into her lap. “I’m stuck, Lama. I want to help Floriano’s mother, but you might be right. Maybe he did commit suicide.”

“Are we done with the questions? I’d like to show you something.” He looked at his watch.

“Done for now, I guess. What do you want to show me?”

“We have to take a short drive to get there. Are you game?”

“Why not?” She followed him out the front door. He led her to a red Mustang convertible.

“Nice ride.” She snapped her seatbelt on and Lama eased the car down the street.

He shifted the gears expertly and she leaned back to enjoy the ride. Fifteen minutes later he parked on the street and they got out.

“What’s the name of this place?”

“Kerry Park.”

He reached for her hand and she let him lead her. She could see the lights of Seattle and the top of the Space Needle.

“This is one of the most beautiful views of the city, day or night,” Lama said.

“It is beautiful.”

“When I think about Hawai’i, I think about surfing. When I think about Seattle I think about this view and all the city has to offer. I thought you might like to see the skyline from here.”

Maile squeezed his hand and he smiled and led her back to the car. Back at his apartment, he invited her to stay and eat. It’d been seven hours since she ate the teriyaki burger and she felt hungry, so she agreed.

Lama whipped up a Spam
loco moco
. The smell of the rich brown gravy drew Maile into the kitchenette. “Thanks for showing me the skyline. It reminds me I live in a beautiful place. It’s not Hawai’i, but Seattle has its own charm.”

He turned from the stove and looked at her as if he adored her. On impulse, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him until her lips ached.

When he released her, she helped herself to a beer.

“I thought you didn’t want to drink and drive.” Lama looked over his shoulder as he stirred the gravy.

“Who’s driving?” Maile smiled and raised her eyebrows.

****

The next morning, Maile woke up with a throbbing headache alone in Lama’s bed. She tiptoed into the living room and found Lama curled up on his couch with a blanket draped over his torso and Queen Lili tucked under his arm.

She started to count how many beers she’d consumed the night before. “Ugh,” she said aloud when she realized more than five. At least she had her clothes on. No hanky-panky. And even if she wouldn’t have minded a little hanky-panky with Lama, she wanted to at least remember the hanky-panky when the time came.

She knelt by the couch and kissed him awake. “I have to go. Do you have any aspirin?”

He sat up and when Queen Lili strode to her food dish, he pulled Maile onto his lap. “Head hurt?”

“Yeah. Remind me to stop at three. I’m a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.” She stood up, then sat back down immediately and held her head in her hands.

“Coffee will help. I’ll make you a cup for the road.” Lama walked to the kitchenette and came back with a glass of water and two aspirin. “Lie back down until I have your coffee ready.”

She did as he suggested. “I hope this headache goes away. I need to do more interviews today, but first I want to go to my apartment and get cleaned up.”

Lama brought her a cup of coffee and a slice of dry toast. “I have to get going, but you stay as long as you need to. Just lock the door when you leave. Will I see you later?”

Maile sat up to sip at her coffee and nibble on the toast. “As long as I feel better. How about my place this time? Around seven o’clock?”

He grinned and handed her a piece of paper and a pen. “I’ll need your address and I’d like your phone number.”

Maile wrote down the information and asked Lama for his phone number, too.

He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I’ll bring the food—beef stew is on the menu today.”

Maile drank her coffee and laid her head back on the pillow. Two hours later she woke with only a dull headache, but a big ache for Lama. She wanted that man in the worst way.

She really needed to leave. She looked around the apartment for her purse. It didn’t seem to be anywhere. She thought she’d set it down on the floor by the recliner when she arrived.

Maile knelt down and looked under the chair skirt. She swept her hand under it and giggled when an array of items appeared from the bowels of the chair. She retrieved her purse and stuffed the other items back where she found them, including a little baggie with what looked like a shredded dried plant. Did Lama smoke pot? She stuffed everything back under the chair. Lama certainly didn’t need to think she snooped around his apartment in his absence.

The drive home was a tangle of traffic and after she showered and took two more aspirin and drank a Coke, she felt ready to continue the investigation.

She drove over to the Seattle Ballet studio and asked Patricia if she made appointments for everyone or just Mr. Berwin. Patricia conceded that she only handled the Ballet Master’s appointments, but she wanted to help Maile find justice for Floriano. “Edward instructed me to assist you with an interview room if you came back. Who would you like to speak to?”

“Charles Newton and Clarissa Moorman.”

“They are both in session with Edward in practice room three. They should break within the hour. I’ll reserve room ten down the hall for you. You can watch them practice if you want.” Patricia waved her hand across the wide expanse of tile floor.

“Thank you.” Maile stood at the plate glass window and watched as the only woman in the practice room spun on her toes. Clarissa. The male dancer, presumably Charles, grasped her waist and lifted her while she draped her lean body across his. The dancers stopped abruptly and stood side by side, with their heads hung.

Edward walked to the dancers and waved Charles to the side. Clarissa started to spin on her toes again. Edward lifted her from the floor with a look of such tenderness that Maile developed goose bumps.

She did not see the same look in Clarissa’s eyes.

Edward motioned Charles back to the floor. The dancers went through the sequence several times before they stopped. Maile watched as Edward motioned for Charles. Clarissa walked to a bench, drank from a water bottle, draped a pink sweater over her shoulders then sat to remove her toe shoes while Charles stood in front of Edward with his head bowed.

When Clarissa left the practice room, Maile approached her and introduced herself. “I wonder if you’d mind answering a few questions about Floriano.”

Clarissa mopped her head with the sleeve of her sweater. “What kind of questions?”

“Like, did he have any enemies?”

“Why should I answer your questions?”

“Because there’s a chance your partner was murdered.”

Clarissa looked over one shoulder, then the other. “We should talk in a more private place.”

“Patricia reserved an office for my interviews.”

Again, Clarissa looked around. She hummed a little tune and screwed up her lips. “Not here and not now. I’ll meet you in the alleyway behind the building tomorrow at three o’clock. I can’t be distracted today while I work with Charlie.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you then. Thank you.”

Maile went back to the window and wondered if Edward finished chewing out Charles. At that point, Edward waved his arms dismissively and Charles went to the bench and put on a navy blue hoodie. When he came into the hallway, Maile approached him, introduced herself and told him why she wanted to talk to him.

Charles looked at the ceiling, and then asked sarcastically, “Has Edward given permission?”

Maile nodded and Charles followed her down the hallway to room ten. “Take a seat, please,” Maile said.

“I can’t sit yet. I need to move so my muscles don’t tighten.”

Maile took out her iPad and started to ask questions of the moving target. “How well did you know Floriano?”

“I am, or shall I say
was
, his understudy. We practiced together six days a week. We didn’t socialize.”

“Did he ever talk about anyone who might be upset with him?”

Charles stopped pacing. “There was one time I remember he said Clarissa expected him to be perfect all the time. I joked he only had to be perfect when he danced with her, not
all
the time
. He answered that he meant “all the damn time.””

“What was their relationship?”

“There were rumors.”

“Like what?”

Charles put one foot on a chair and leaned into a stretch. “You know. She controlled him by sleeping with him. Comments like that.”

“Was she sleeping with him?”

“Who knows? Clarissa may have started the rumors herself. She’s really quite mad, you know. The crazy prima ballerina.” He struck a haughty pose.

“Did Floriano ever give you any indication that he planned to kill himself?”

He scoffed. “Why would he? He had it all. He gained the position as principal shortly after joining the company. It’s one of the highest recognitions in ballet.”

“I see. Do you know of anyone who hated Floriano enough to murder him?”

He turned his back to her. She watched his shoulders rise and fall for a couple of beats before he turned to face her. “Hmm. The better question is who didn’t?”