Rock & Roll Homicide (28 page)

Nigel looked around the room. His eyes settled on the TV showing the front door. Everyone looked at the monitor to see what caught his eye. It showed four men in sky-blue jumpsuits, carrying automatic rifles. “What are they looking for? I thought you said Koflanovich was dead,” said Ian.

I responded, “He faked them out with a look-alike once before. I’m sure they were told to make certain it doesn’t happen again.”

Nigel said, “I hate to be a party pooper but it’s time for everyone except Ivana to go greet our guests.”

Ian said, “You’re daft if you think I’m going out there,” and he lunged toward Nigel. Nigel pulled the trigger and whizzed a bullet a few inches to the right of Ian’s left ear. “I’m fucking deaf,” he screamed.

Nigel said, “You’re gonna be fucking dead if you don’t go out that door right now,” as he pointed to the door.

“Why are you keeping Ivana here?” asked Jeannine.

I replied, “He doesn’t want her putting her thumb on the scanner again.”

“Amazingly astute for a Catholic Irishman, Mr. Duffy,” said Nigel. “Now I suggest you get out there before the blue-boys show up on the library monitor.”

“You’re not going to get away with this, Nigel. Why kill your mates?” asked Jack

He replied, “The only people who know about this room are either dead or here with me. I plan on sticking around for maybe a week. Let all the cops and crime scene people do their thing, then waltz out of here and go someplace where I can continue to write and record. Now, if you don’t leave immediately I’m going to shoot you and toss you out myself.”

I took a final glance at the monitors and saw no one. The heavy door popped open and the five of us made our way across the library as the door closed behind us and the panel slid back into place. “There’s a set of stairs on the other side of the kitchen,” I said, “follow me.” Serving as point man, I peaked into the kitchen and saw two of the paratroopers walking onto an adjacent pantry room. We quickly crossed in front of the doorway while their backs were turned.

The door to the back stairs was ajar. Jack was guarding the rear of our little group. “Shut the door,” I whispered to him when we were all on the stairs. Fortunately, it was a new, expensive house so we didn’t have to contend with noisy stairs. When I reached the top I peaked around the corner and saw a long hallway with several open doors. “Let’s go,” I whispered as I ascended the last stair and moved into the hall. Jeannine was directly behind me, followed by Michael. As soon as Jeannine was completely into the hallway I saw the tip of a machine gun come whipping around the corner along with a leg in a mid-calf skirt. Before she made eye contact she started firing. I threw a cross-body block into Jeannine, knocking her into Michael and back into the stair well. Three rounds blew holes in the wall to my right. I landed on the hall carpet and yelled,” Svetlana!”

She stopped firing immediately and shouted, “Ivana?”

“It’s Jason Duffy,” I retorted and directed our group into the hall. When Svetlana reached us I said, “Ivana is in the safe room with a killer.”

“What is safe room?” she asked.

“The bomb shelter,” Jeannine said.

“Do you have any more guns?” I asked.

“Come,” she replied and walked to a nearby bedroom. At the foot of the bed was a large cedar chest with two large brass bands adorning what looked to me like a pirate’s chest. Svetlana pushed two of the many beveled rivets holding the bands, and the chest opened quickly to reveal five AK-47’s and numerous ammo clips.

“Everybody take one,” I said as I snapped an ammo clip into one of the weapons.

“I don’t want one,” Jeannine said as she continually shook her head.

“Then make sure you stay close,” I said and the continual shaking changed to continual nodding.

“Does anybody have any shooting experience?” I asked.

Jack said, “I grew up in the country. My dad taught me to shoot when I was twelve. I was pretty good.”

Nobody else said anything. At my request, Svetlana gave them a quick lesson in loading and firing. When she finished I asked, “Svetlana, do you have any idea how we can get back into the safe room?”

“Bomb shelter,” she scowled then immediately smiled as she held up her thumb.

“What about the TV monitors?” I asked.

Once again she simply said, “Come,” and walked out of the room. We all followed her into her bedroom about two-thirds of the way down the hall away from the back stairs, but not quite to the exposed railing overlooking the front foyer. Just as we were closing ranks inside her room, shots rang out in the hallway coming from the back stairs. Jack hit the floor with a thump and I was sure he was dead until he started firing his weapon. Before any of us could do anything to help, Jack stopped firing, turned back to us and said, “It must have been the guys from the kitchen. I got ‘em.”

I took this as an extremely good sign. I knew since that fateful day in the alley behind the Dali Lama that I had the stones to pull the trigger. Since I first applied for my PI license I visited a shooting range for practice at least once a month. But, I still don’t know if I could hit a moving target, especially a moving human target. At least I knew one of us could and, under the circumstances, that was a huge plus.

After Jack made his announcement, Svetlana sat at her desk, opened her laptop computer and began typing furiously. As she pounded the keys I noticed for the first time that for a forty-something woman, she might actually be attractive with a little effort. “Done,” she said as she closed the computer and stood up.

“What’s done?” I asked feeling like she had just hung up on me once again.

“Bomb shelter monitors turned off. They will not see us coming,” she said as she breezed past me to assume the point position. “This way,” Svetlana said as she led us to the back stairs. As we stepped over the two Mafioso’s that Jack had killed, Svetlana put a hand on Jack’s shoulder and said, “Good boy. You walk with me in front.”

I had just been demoted and I didn’t care. I took up the rear position with Jeannine directly in front of me. Ian stayed right behind Jack and was looking like the only thing he wanted to kill was a bottle of Jameson whiskey.

We cautiously made our way back to the library. When we got there I shut and locked the hallway door. As I did this, Svetlana headed straight for the panel release switch and it retracted. “Stop!” I yelled in a hushed scream. “He’ll shoot Ivana if you just barge in with your gun.”

For once Svetlana was listening to me and froze in her tracks. “You have better idea?” she asked. In less than a minute I laid it out and everyone except Svetlana found hiding spots away from the doorway. Jack unlocked the library door, checked outside and left it ajar. He then took up a firing position behind an L-shaped, stone and copper planter box that joined the wall between the hallway door and the first of the library bookshelves. Svetlana thumbed the scanner, then dropped to the carpet. When it popped open, she pushed it wide and called, “Ivana, it’s Svetlana! Are you in there?”

“Svetlana, don’t come in!” screamed Ivana.

Svetlana replied, “I’ve been shot. Your father is alive. He is in hallway. Please pull him into bomb shelter.”

At this news both Ivana and Nigel appeared in the open doorway. In an amazing display of acting, Svetlana made eye contact with Ivana and said, “He is awake. Get him in here before they come back.”

I was counting on my theory that Nigel and Chofsky had been co-conspirators in hopes Nigel would immediately recognize the value of Chofsky’s money and contacts to help him out of this jam. I was also hoping Nigel didn’t see the big hole in Chofsky’s forehead as he exited the office. Ivana believed what she wanted to believe and instinctively ran toward the library door. Nigel lowered his gun so that it was a couple of feet from Svetlana’s head when a short burst of shots rang out and Nigel’s right arm exploded just below the elbow. The little square gun fell directly in front of Svetlana and she retrieved it, stood up and aimed it at Nigel’s head.

“No!” I yelled and Svetlana glanced my way. Nigel had dropped to his knees and was holding his right arm with his left hand. She lowered the gun, then kicked Nigel in the face with all of her might. He flipped backwards and banged his head on the floor as he landed on his back.

“Daddy’s not there!” cried Ivana. Jeannine ran into the hallway and threw her arms around her. After a brief moment, Jack herded them back into the library and locked the doors.

Svetlana stood over Nigel, “What did you do to that little girl? She demanded, then suddenly stomped on his shattered arm.”

Nigel let out a scream of incredible intensity. As I charged toward Svetlana before she could finish him off I heard Ian say to Jack, “We could have used that scream on the
Biscuit
CD.”

I grabbed Svetlana by the shoulders and moved her away from Nigel, “Everybody inside the bomb shelter!” I yelled. Once we were inside it was apparent that Jeannine had explained our ruse to Ivana. She sat on one of the beds and wept into her hands. “Can you operate the short-wave radio?” I asked Svetlana.

She gave me a look of disgust and replied, “What do you think?” as she sat down and started flipping switches.

Svetlana connected me with a police dispatcher, who patched me through to Shamansky. “Jason, I’m with your dad outside the compound. Are you OK?” he asked.

“I’m inside a bomb shelter. Everybody’s OK except Chofsky. He was killed instantly,” I said.

“You mean a safe room?” he asked.

“Yes. It’s inside the library. What’s going on with the paratroopers?” I asked.

He replied, “They have a helicopter inside the compound, but a SWAT guy hit the fuel line and it’s on fire.”

“Anybody I know?” I asked.

“It was a different team than the guys you met this morning. We lost your transmission right after the shit hit the fan. Did Nigel give it up?” he asked.

Nigel was listening to my conversation and I didn’t know if Shamansky was planning on keeping the Teddy Pine story going, so I replied, “Not only that, we can now add five counts of attempted murder. By the time he gets out of prison he’ll be lucky if he can get a gig playing at his old folks home.”

“Arsehole,” Nigel said.

“Oops, I almost forgot. Nigel got his arm shot off. I guess he’ll have to settle for being somebody’s prison bitch for the next 30 years,” I said.

“It sounds like he’s listening to us. Call me back in a half-hour. We should have everything under control by then,” he said and was about to hang up when he said, “Jason, are you still there?”

“I’m here,” I said.

“Your dad wants to talk to you,” he said and was gone.

“Jason, are you alright?” Dad asked.

“I’m fine. I can’t talk, but tell me about the interrogations,” I said.

He replied, “I think they’re expecting Nigel to roll in with a cadre of lawyers and everything will be alright. So they’re not talking. Forensics got a positive result when they tested Billingsly’s hands for gunpowder,” he said.

“Anything from the other couple in the house?” I asked.

“Desmond hasn’t said a word, but the girl, Marilyn Hempstead, has been cooperating,” he said. “She didn’t know about Terry Tucker, but she was very helpful when it came to remembering when they got the missing headphones, what they looked like and how everybody told her not to take them out of the house because they could get the guys in trouble,” Dad said. We continued to talk another twenty minutes. Jack kept his gun trained on Nigel while Svetlana tied a tourniquet on his arm in a less than gentle manner.

“The grounds are clear and Shamansky is in the library. He wants you to open the door now. I’m signing off,” Dad said. I told Ivana to thumb the scanner.

When the door opened Shamansky walked in with two SWAT officers, pointed at Nigel and said, “Gentlemen, there’s your man.” The officer on the left helped him to his feet.

Nigel said to me, “You never would have made it as a professional musician. Your vocal range is too limited and your rhythm guitar is just a knock-off of other people’s style. I was just jerking you off to keep you out of the way.”

“And a fine job you did on that one, Nigel,” I said as I tried to ignore the sting of his biting critique.

“What about me?” asked Michael Marinangeli.

“You are the real deal. Your buddy totally screwed you. If it wasn’t for Duffy you’d be playing to full stadiums and making more money than the bloody president,” Nigel said as the officers led him out the door.

“Tough break Michael,” I said.

“Are you kidding me?” he replied. “When we were upstairs in that hallway I prayed for the first time since I was a little kid. I asked God to keep Jeannine safe and told Him if He did I’d never ask for another thing.” Michael put his arms around her and she started to cry.

Chapter 29

Over the next three days I was in touch with Shamansky on a regular basis. The DA’s office was pressing hard for the death penalty since it was clearly premeditated.

Shamansky said that the death penalty threat was the DA’s way of getting Nigel to roll over on his buddies. In exchange he was offered 25 years to life. With good behavior, that translates to eight and a third years before becoming eligible for parole. Nigel’s attorney might have considered the death penalty talk to be just so much sword rattling had it not been for the fact that Jack and Ian changed the home page of the Doberman’s Stub Official Web Site to ask fans to demand justice. It had a flattering picture of Terry and a very unflattering one of Nigel flipping off the media. The caption read, “Let’s get Terry and Nigel together again in the hereafter. The text strongly urged fans to email the San Diego County DA’s office to ask for the death penalty for Nigel Choate.  A link was included and twelve thousand emails and text messages were received in the first 24 hours. They were forwarded to Nigel’s attorney and made a strong impression.

On Thursday morning Shamansky called to say he just concluded a meeting with the DA and was told all charges against Chelsea would be officially dismissed. He asked the DA if he could give her the good news and got the OK. “Would you like to be the one to tell her she is officially off the hook?” he asked.

“I love giving good news,” I replied. “Can I tell her today?”

“The sooner the better. Make sure her attorney calls the DA’s office by tomorrow at the latest,” he replied.

I gave her a call as soon as we got off of the phone and she asked if I would like her to make lunch for us once again. I accepted.

Two hours later I was seated at her kitchen table with a Diet Coke from the twelve-pack I brought along. When I told her the charges were dropped she let out a loud sigh and said, “In a way it feels like it’s over, but I don’t think it will ever really be over.”

“You’re never going to forget about him, but eventually most of your memories will be of the good times,” I said.

As we finished lunch I said, “There’s one other matter I’d like to discuss.”

“What is it, Jason?” she asked.

“At Nigel’s trial it will come out that Cerise Records owner, John Koflanovich, a.k.a. Ivan Chofsky, may have been in on the conspiracy to kill Terry. He was killed in the Russian Mafia raid on his home. I just wanted you to know that his sole heir is a 17 year-old girl who was kidnapped in Russia and had a finger chopped off. She has lived like a prisoner ever since, but still managed to turn out to be a terrific kid.”

Chelsea said, “So if I were thinking of suing Chofsky’s estate it would actually be this poor girl who would take the hit for her father.”

“I just thought you should know,” I said.

“Before you go I have something for you,” she said as she got up from the table and left the room. When she returned she was carrying a guitar. “It’s not very expensive and he never used it on stage, but Terry wrote all of his Doberman’s Stub songs on this guitar.”

I strummed it and said, “It’s incredibly easy to fret.”

“That’s what Terry said. He could play that guitar all day and night without getting tired. I can give you a letter of authenticity if you like,” she said.

“This is a keeper, Chelsea. I won’t be selling it,” I said.

“I’m really glad you feel that way,” she said.

After placing the guitar in an expensive Fender case, she handed it to me then picked up a white envelope on a table by the door. “My dad wanted to thank you personally but he had to go out of town. He said to tell you not to open it until you get back to your office.” She gave me a hug and said, “Thanks for everything, Jason.”

      Once inside the Acura, I opened the envelope and a check for $50,000 fell out. The note said: “Thank you for believing in my little girl. The enclosed check is my way of showing my gratitude. Should the thought of sending it back cross your mind, consider that her attorneys would have cost me 10 times that amount. I’m sure I will be referring you to my friends and associates. Regards, Peter Spivey.”

A lot of thoughts crossed my mind, but sending back the check was definitely not one of them. Considering their contributions I decided that Jeannine and Cory would be getting Christmas bonuses.

When I got back to the office Jeannine told me that my mother had called. After we exchanged hellos she said, “I know it’s last minute, but your father and I would like you and Kelly to join us and the Kerrigans for a little dinner party here at the house Saturday night to celebrate you closing the case, and Dennis getting a citation.”

“Mom, I’ve got a problem with this,” I said.

“Do you and Kelly have other plans?” she asked.

I replied, “No, I have a problem with joining the Irish Mafia.”

“I asked you not to use that term,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter what we call it. Ever since Dad found out I was dating a girl of Irish heritage he assumed I want to become a member of his exclusive little club,” I said.

“There’s nothing wrong with having friends,” Mom said.

“I agree. I have lots of friends. I have Italian friends, African-American friends, Mexican friends. We’re Americans, Mom, not Irishmen,” I said, getting a little worked up in the process.

“I understand what you’re saying, Jason, but your dad and I grew up in a different era. We were taught to trust our own people. Right or wrong when you learn these things from parents you love and trust, it stays with you,” she said.

“That may be so but it doesn’t make it right. You might see it as me humoring my father. But, you have to understand, I see it as perpetuating racism. I think it’s high time the Duffy family sign on as 100% American,” I said wishing there was a way of making my feelings known without upsetting her.

“Does this mean you’re not going to join us?” she asked.

“We will if you agree to integrate the festivities. Invite Detective Shamansky and a date to the party, and we’ll be glad to join you,” I said.

“OK, give me his number and I’ll give him a call,” she said.

“Are you going to ask Dad first?” I asked.

“I’ll tell him, but I’m not taking no for an answer. What you said is true and I’m ashamed I wasn’t a better example for you,” she said.

“I didn’t mean to shame you, I just think it’s time we evolve as a family,” I said.

“Say no more. I’ll see you and Kelly Saturday night. Cocktails at 7:00 dinner at 8:00,” she said.