The Rock 'N Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - a Spike Berenger Anthology (27 page)

In frustration, Berenger rubbed his head and said, “Okay, McTiernan. You win for now. I’ll be back when I have something more substantial.” He walked away but McTiernan stopped him.

“Hey, Berenger.”

“What?”

“I
am
interested in what you find out about the Messengers. Those people give me the creeps, too. I’m not totally blowing you off.”

Berenger nodded and said, “Thanks.” He left the waiting room and turned the corner to walk toward the elevator. He saw the Men’s Room and decided to look inside. Sure enough, Joshua Duncan was there, standing at the sink and staring into the mirror.

“You all right, Joshua?” Berenger asked.

Joshua’s eyes darted around the room and then he immediately began to splash cold water in his face. “Yeah, I guess,” he said.

“You mind telling me where you were last night after the concert?”

“I went to the same damned party my mom went to. I left early, though. I left at two o’clock and took a cab home. Mom was still there when I left. I told the detective that, too. You can check with Al Patton’s secretary. She called the cab for me.”

“This was Al Patton’s party?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any idea how your mom got home after she left, whenever that was?”

“
No
. If I did I would have told Detective McTiernan. And I’d tell you, too.”

“Okay, Joshua.” Berenger stood next to him and gave him a light pat on the back. “Take it easy, all right? I’ll… I’ll be in touch.”

Joshua didn’t say anything as Berenger left the washroom.

A
drian Duncan looked at Berenger with disappointment.

“I thought you were going to be Patterson,” he said.

“You’re not glad to see me?” Berenger asked.

Duncan shrugged. He looked away but Berenger noticed the shiner.

“What happened?”

“Fucking guard hit me.”

“Did you provoke him?”

“He says I did. He’s really a big Flame fan and wanted some payback.”

“Have you told Patterson about it?”

“Not yet. What do you want?”

Berenger sighed and said, “Look, Adrian. I haven’t been totally honest with you and Patterson. Before, I wasn’t convinced you were innocent. But I came to tell you that now I really do believe you’re not guilty and I’m getting closer to finding out the truth about what happened that night.”

“Oh yeah? Well, gee, thanks for telling me. I really don’t give a fuck if you think I’m guilty or not.”

Berenger’s instinct to punch the man returned in full force. Adrian Duncan really was an ungrateful, miserable louse.

“Listen,” he said. “The Jimmys sent me a death threat package. And the other night one of them tried to kill me in a parking garage. You know of any reason why the Jimmys would want to put me on a death list?”

Adrian’s expression turned to one of genuine befuddlement. “No. Because you’re working for my defense? Is that it?”

“I don’t see why. You’d think they’d want me to find the evidence that proves you’re innocent. Or could it be they want
you
out of the way, too, for some reason?”

Adrian shook his head. “You got me. I don’t understand any of it.”

Berenger paused a moment and then asked, “You heard about Carol Merryman?”

“Yeah, it was on the news. They let us watch CNN here.”

“Don’t you see? Whoever killed her—”

“I thought she committed suicide.”

“Do you believe that?”

He shrugged. “What do I know? I don’t give a shit about her.”

“Believe me, Adrian. She didn’t jump off that roof by herself.”

“How do you know? Were you there?”

“No, but I’ve been in this business a long time. I smell a big fat rat and I think it’s the same big fat rat that killed your father.”

“Well, then, you better find some big fat cheese and set a big fat trap.”

Berenger gave up. “Fine, Adrian. I came here to give you a little encouragement. I came here to say I believe you and I’m trying to help you. But apparently you don’t give a damn.” He stood and walked away from the table. Berenger gestured to the guard, indicating that he was done.

“Hey,” Adrian called.

Berenger looked at the inmate.

“Thanks, Mister Berenger.” Duncan tried to smile. One corner of his mouth turned up and Berenger figured it was the best the man could do.

“You’re welcome. And call me Spike.”

He waited and watched the guard lead Duncan out of the visitor’s room. When Berenger was outside, he called the office.

“Hi, Ringo. Do me a favor. See if Al Patton is in his office. I’d like to spend a few minutes with him.”

Mel phoned him back as soon as Berenger got in his car outside the prison.

“Spike, Al Patton is booked up the rest of the day,” she said. “His assistant didn’t know when he’d be back in the office.”

“Damn,” Berenger muttered. Patton was the only one on his list who hadn’t been interviewed at length. “All right, thanks.” He hung up and drove out of Rikers.

S
he answered the phone with a weary “Yeah?”

“Hi, Gina.”

When she realized who it was, she paused and said, “Hello, tiger.”

“I’m surprised to find you in your room.”

“Yeah, I was just about to go to dinner. Actually I’d fallen asleep. I was wondering if I’d hear from you today.”

“Well, it’s been a long one. You got back to the hotel okay this morning?”

“I’m here, ain’t I?”

“Whatcha been doin’?”

“Sleeping, mostly. You wore me out, Spike.” She laughed seductively.

“Yeah, I’m a little raw, too. Speaking of raw, would you like to get some sushi? There’s a nice Japanese restaurant near your hotel.”

She laughed again and said, “Sureshi.”

They met at the restaurant, where they had a quiet and unhurried meal spiced up with no small amount of wasabi. They spoke very little, preferring to gaze at each other with bewildered affection. Neither one of them understood the mixed emotions they felt about the previous night. Berenger figured that they were simply refusing to acknowledge the previously dormant sexuality that had rekindled between them, so it was best left unsaid. When they did talk it was about the quality of the tuna or how hot the wasabi was. At one point during the meal Berenger laid his hand upon Gina’s and they smiled at each other for a couple of seconds. It was indeed an awakening, but Berenger wasn’t sure what kind. They were both lonely and single middle-aged adults, and perhaps that’s all it was.

After dinner, with sinuses cleared and stomachs filled, they walked to Gina’s hotel and stood on the sidewalk in front of the building.

“I’m going to Jamaica tomorrow,” he said. “I didn’t know if you’d still be in town when I got back.”

“How long are you going to be gone?”

“I don’t know. A couple of days. I hope no more than that.”

“I haven’t decided what I want to do. I feel like I should stay as long as Adrian’s in jail. So, yeah, I’ll probably be here.”

He looked at his watch. “It’s still early. We could—”

“We could go upstairs to my room,” she suggested.

“I thought you were worn out.”

She shrugged. “Hair of the dog?”

Berenger blinked. “Somehow that doesn’t sound quite right in this connotation.”

She laughed again, took his hand, and led him toward the door. “Come on, you big lug. I’ll show you what raw really is.”

W
hen Gina was asleep, Berenger slipped out of bed, dressed, and left the hotel. The anticipation of his early flight to Jamaica and the events of the past couple of days had produced a strong bout of insomnia. He figured he might as well continue to work on the case.

He stopped by his apartment and retrieved the Kahr P9 semiautomatic before setting out on what they used to call a “covert op” back in his army days. He dressed in dark clothing, put the gun in a shoulder holster that he wore beneath a black leather jacket, and set out for the street. He hailed a taxi that took him to Hell’s Kitchen, a block away from the Messengers’ church.

Sticking to the shadows, Berenger moved down the street toward Ninth Avenue to survey the front of the building. All was quiet but a couple of lights were on upstairs—perhaps Reverend Theo and Brenda Twist were burning the midnight oil again. Berenger noticed that a small set of stairs descended to a basement level in front of the church, which was standard for many of the buildings from that era. These often led to single basement studio apartments that had their own access from the exteriors. In this case, the door below street level appeared unused, for it was cloudy and dirty from years of no cleansing. Berenger went down the steps and turned on a penlight so that he could examine the space. The steel door was locked, of course. There was a square window at the top that was reinforced with steel mesh. Berenger peered inside and saw nothing but darkness.

One of the tools of the PI trade was a set of lockpicks and skeleton keys. Unlike what occurred in most spy stories, lockpicks were not infallible. Depending on the type of lock and how old it was, the use of lockpicks or skeleton keys to open a door was always a gamble. Maybe one of them would fit—more often not. Berenger pulled out the ring from his trouser leg pocket and held the picks and keys so that they wouldn’t jingle. He began with the keys, trying one at a time, hoping for a minor miracle. When he got to number fourteen, the key slipped into the keyhole like butter. It helped that the door was old and was fitted with what was then a fairly standard lock.

Berenger turned the key and heard the
click
that allowed him to pull the door open. He winced when the thing squeaked loudly. If anyone really was in the building, hopefully they were far enough away and didn’t hear the noise.

He stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind him. Utilizing the penlight, he looked around the room. The small room was full of junk—old broken folding chairs, pieces of furniture, paintings and decorations that hadn’t been used in years, and ancient cans of paint.

Another door led to the rest of the building. He tried it and was surprised to find it unlocked. Berenger moved into the hallway and found himself outside the chapel that Suzanne had told him about. He took a quick look inside, shuddered at the ugly artwork, and moved on.

He carefully ascended the stairs to the ground floor. The foyer and office were dark. He went to the sanctuary doors, put his ear to them, and determined that the room was empty. Berenger began to move away but froze when he heard the sound of a door opening above him on the second floor. He heard footsteps and quickly skirted to the corner of the foyer, where the illumination was at its darkest. He waited until the footsteps diminished and he heard the sound of a knock and another door opening. Muffled voices. Male and female.

Berenger moved to the stairs and slowly took each step one at a time. If any of them creaked he’d be discovered, so he kept to the outer edges of the steps where the carpet had not been tread upon as much and was still thick. When he reached the top, Berenger’s forehead was covered in sweat.

He flattened against the wall by Reverend Theo’s office. The door was slightly ajar and the lights were on inside. He heard movement and more muffled voices—but they weren’t words. It sounded more like…
no, it couldn’t be
!

Berenger inched toward the door and positioned himself so that he could steal a look through the tiny open slit.

Sure enough, the noise he had heard was what he thought it was.

Brenda Twist was sitting on the reverend’s desk, naked from the waist down. The good Reverend Theo was standing in front of her, his trousers dropped to his ankles. Her bare legs were wrapped around his waist as he continually thrust against her hard and fast. Brenda’s eyes were closed in ecstasy and the reverend’s head was tilted up, as if he were praying.