Death Sung Softly (6 page)

Sam leaned forward. “You're saying you were there and actually heard him tell Smith he wouldn't take the contract?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, and then took out her phone. “Here, you can see where he called Jimmy that afternoon from this phone.” She showed him the call log, and Smith's number was there. “But that ain't all. Sunday morning, I get a call from a blocked number, and I don't ever answer those, so it went to voicemail, right? Listen to this.”

She hit a button on her phone, and it called into her voicemail. She chose “saved messages,” and Sam heard:

“Sammie, you should know better than to get in the middle of stuff that isn't your business.  I promise you that you're gonna regret sticking your nose into this.”

The voice sounded like Jimmy Smith's, and Sam could hear the menace in it.

“Was that it? Has he called you again?” Sam asked.

She shook her head. “No, but then yesterday I got this in the mail.” She pulled an envelope from her purse and handed it to him.

The envelope had her address typed on it, with no return address, and it was one of those with the stamp already printed on it. Carefully, Sam used a pen to raise the flap and peer inside, and there was what appeared to be  a lock of hair in it, but when he looked again, he could see that the hair was still attached to a bit of skin, and there was a mild foul odor coming from it.

Sam looked up at Samantha. “I'm gonna need to take this for the lab to check out,” he said, “and the police are gonna want to talk to you about it, I'm sure.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah, I figured. I just don’t want Jimmy finding out about this, cause I know how mean he can be.”

Sam looked at her for a moment. “He claims that it was you who threw a vase at him when he was charged with assaulting you, and that you and your friends lied about it.”

She stared at him, then lifted her left hand to show the scar of a fairly large cut. “There was no vase thrown,” she said. “He grabbed one and smashed it down on my hand in a rage, and my friends and I went running out the door screaming! That lying son of a...”

Sam reached out and touched her hand. “I know,” he said, “I know. I figured him out pretty quickly. Let me take this and have it checked out, and I'm sure the police will want to talk to you later today, so stay close, okay? Is the number you called me from your cell phone?”

She nodded. “Yeah. You can reach me on it, or give it to the cops, whatever.”

Sam took the envelope with the hair and skin and walked her out to her car, which happened to be in the same area as his bike. He thanked her again, and rode out of the lot, then turned toward the main police station downtown.

Walking into the station felt odd, since he hadn't been there more than a half dozen times since he was shot a little over a year earlier. He went to the desk and asked for whoever was in charge of the Barry Wallace murder investigation. “I've got some possible evidence,” he added.

The desk officer checked on a computer, and said, “That's Karen Parks. Hang on a sec, and she'll be right out.”

Sam stood off to one side, and a moment later a heavy woman in a skirt and suit jacket appeared. “Sam?” she asked. “God, it really is you, isn't it? Come on back, and tell me what you've got.”

He waited until they were in her cubicle and then handed her the envelope. “This was sent to a woman who contacted me this morning, Samantha Harris. She's also got a voicemail message saved on her phone that may implicate a possible suspect, name of Jimmy Smith.”

Karen looked into the envelope and made a face at the odor, then looked back at Sam. “Jimmy Smith, the talent agent? We've had a dozen calls saying he had it in for Wallace, but there's nothing to tie him to anything. We haven't even gone out to talk to him, yet, just because most of the calls seem so hostile; sounds more like they want Smith in trouble than any concern for what really happened to Wallace. You got any reason to think he was involved?”

“Some things seem to indicate it,” Sam said. “I know that Smith was trying to get Barry to sign a record deal that required him to leave his band behind, and apparently he didn't want to do that. According to Smith, the day he disappeared he agreed, and said he was going to tell the band that night, but they claim they never saw him. Now Samantha tells me he came to her that afternoon to talk about it, and used her phone to call Smith and tell him it was no deal. Barry left, and disappeared, but the next day, a voice that sounds like Smith called her phone and left a warning voicemail, telling her she should stay out of it. This came in the mail to her yesterday, and she said a friend of hers that I'd spoken to said she should call me.”

Karen looked into the envelope again. “Hair color's right,” she said, “but we'll need DNA to be sure it's his. That'll take weeks.” She looked at Sam. “So it's true you went into PI? Is that how you got involved in this?”

“Yep. The band hired me to try to track him down, but now they want me to find his killer. Naturally, I'll share everything, and I'm hoping you’ll do the same.”

She smiled. “Anything for an old comrade,” she said. “I haven't forgotten our time in the juvie division together, or that you saved my bacon there a couple of times.”

“Thanks, Karen,” Sam said with a smile. “I appreciate it. Here's Samantha's number, and that's her address on the envelope. I suggest you get a copy of that voicemail, have it run through voice analysis. If it's Smith, then he's my favorite for this one, so far.”

“If it is, it'll get us enough for a warrant. Whoever sent this to your girl must have Wallace's head in a freezer, somewhere, or did until yesterday. If it was at Smith's house, we'll find at least traces of it.”

Sam thanked her again and got up. He made a detour over to Narcotics before he left the building and saw Dan Jacobs at his old desk, so he snuck up on him and put both hands over his eyes.

Dan froze, but then laughed. “Sam, you old son, how are you?” Sam let him go, and he spun around in his chair and stood to wrap his old partner in a hug.

“Oof!” Sam said. “I'm good, or I was til you broke me! I figured I've been yakkin' at yo on the phone enough; I was here talking to homicide, and wanted to pop in before I left.”

“Good thing you did, or I'd have had to come hunting you! You on a murder case?”

“Yeah, as of yesterday. MP I was looking for turned up dead in a ditch, minus hands and head. I just got handed what may be part of his scalp, so I brought it in.”

Dan scowled. “I hate murder cases,” he said. “I'll stick to drugs and vice.”

The two me chatted for a few minutes, and then Sam's phone went off. He looked to see Indie's number, and answered.

“Yeah, Babe,” he said without thinking, and Dan's eyebrows went up a half inch. “Babe?” he mouthed silently, but Sam ignored him.

“Sam, I just got to thinking about some things this morning, and I realized I didn't ever check out that songwriter, Bill Miller. I had Herman do a run on him, and you're not gonna believe what I found!”

Sam grinned. “So, tell me, then, and I'll do my best.”

“Bill Miller isn't a William—he's a Wilhelmina!”

“Wait a minute,” Sam said. “Run that by me again, only in English.”

Indie laughed. “Yeah, that's what I said, too. Bill Miller was born Wilhelmina Marie Miller, a
girl
, only in 2003, not long after he got out of high school, he left town for about a year. When he came back, he went by the name Bill, and has been posing as a man ever since. He's only got his mother still living here, no other family, and apparently he's enough of a loner that no one's ever made a fuss about it.”

Sam shrugged. “Okay, well, to each his own, I guess...”

“No, wait,” Indie said, “there's more! During that time he—she—I dunno,
it
was gone, there was a Baby born, and guess who the mother was? Yep, Wilhelmina! Wanna take a wild guess as to who was listed as the father?”

Sam groaned. “Don't tell me,” he said.

“Barry Wallace! Is that weird, or what?”

Sam shook his head. “It's pretty weird, all right, but I don’t see it having any connection to this case. Or is there something more, still?”

“Just this: the Baby is being raised right here in Denver, by Barry's sister Marjorie. Apparently, since Wilhelmina didn't want it and Barry wasn't stable enough to support it, they signed off to let her adopt the child. That wouldn't mean much on its own, but then Herman found a lawsuit filed about two months ago by Barry, asking to reclaim his daughter, and just to make sure I keep you
totally
confused, according to the lawsuit, Barry was married to none other than Janice Peet! That blew my mind, so we did a search of marriage records, and sure enough, the two of them were married just over two months back in a civil ceremony down in Littleton.”

Sam was shaking his head steadily. “Indie, this is wild, but unless you’re suggesting his sister killed him, I think it still doesn't fit into the case.”

“No, probably not, but I thought it was odd enough that I should tell you right away. By the way, are you gonna be home soon? Kenzie wants you; I told her you were working and she said that's fine, she'll wait, but she really needs to tell you something, and she won't tell me what it is.”

That got a chuckle out of him. “Tell her I'll be there within the hour,” he said, and then added, “and tell her I love her!”

Indie was silent for a couple of seconds, then said, “Okay, I'll tell her. Bye!”

Sam said, “Bye,” but he heard the line go dead before he got it out. When he put the phone back into his pocket, Dan was staring at him.

“You said, 'Babe,' and then you said, 'Indie.' Is that the girl you had me check out a couple weeks ago?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, and before you start in, we just got around to realizing we like each other over the past couple days. I woulda told you sooner or later.”

Dan grinned. “I'm not complaining! I'm just glad to see you coming back to the world of the living! I didn't think I'd ever see you with a woman again, at least not one you really wanted to hang onto, but this sounds kinda serious. Is it?”

Sam smiled sheepishly. “I don't really know yet, Danny,” he said, “but it's definitely looking good so far! She's beautiful, and smart as they come—a lot smarter than me, I can tell you that—and she's got the most adorable little girl you ever laid eyes on, who thinks I should be her Daddy.”

Dan shook his head, laughing. “Old Buddy, all I can say is I wish you the best! You deserve it, Sam, you really do. But I wanna meet her, and soon!”

Sam grinned. “Well, since that cat is outa the bag, let's go for another one. Come down to Herman's Hideaway this Saturday night, and you can meet her while you watch me make a fool of myself. I'm the new lead singer for Barry Wallace's band, and we're playing there this weekend.”

Dan looked shocked. “No! You're lying! Man, you haven't been on stage in how many years? This I gotta see, make sure you get me a seat!” He turned and shouted to the whole room. “Hey, everybody! Sam's gonna be singing at Herman's this Saturday night! Let's all go and make him proud!”

The entire narcotics division exploded into applause, and Sam blushed as he waved to everyone. Several of the people there, detectives and other staff alike, came over to ask if was true and congratulate him. He didn't get out for another ten minutes, and had to push the bike through back streets to get home as soon as he'd said.

Kenzie, still in her pajamas, was waiting for him at the door when he got off the bike, and opened it for him as he came onto the porch.

“Sam! Sam, guess what!”

“What?” Sam asked, his eyes wide with pretended anticipation. “What is it, Kenzie? What?”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him inside, then rushed him into the kitchen. “We've got a mouse!” she said loudly, then dropped her voice to a whisper. “But don't tell Mommy, she's scared of mouses!”

“We've got a
what
?” Indie shrieked. “Where's a mouse?”

Kenzie showed them both where she insisted she'd seen a mouse under the edge of the kitchen counter, and when Sam got down and looked, he did indeed find a mouse hole.

“Well,” he said. “Looks like we need to get something.”

Kenzie was nodding her head vigorously, and Indie whispered, “Oh, no,” but she was too late. The little girl smiled up at Sam and said, “Yeah, we gotta get a cat!”

Sam's eyes popped wide open, and he looked at Indie. “A cat?” he asked her. “She wants a cat?”

Indie nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “I hadn't thought about it to tell you, but when we had our apartment, we got a kitten, and when we lost the place, we lost the cat, too. We couldn't take it with us, so one of our neighbors adopted it. She's asked me a dozen times if we can get another one someday, and all I ever said was, 'yeah, someday, maybe.' I didn't think she was still thinking about it, though.”

Sam grinned. “I may not know a lot about kids, but one thing I'm sure of is that they don’t forget much of anything, if it's something they want.” He winked at her. “I don't know about a cat, though. I mean, a cat is a pretty important decision. Someone has to make sure to feed a cat, and then there's making sure it gets to play a lot—cats need a lot of playing, you know. I'm not sure I've got time to feed and play with a cat, every day, Honey, do you?”

Indie caught on, and smiled. “No, I don't think I do. If we got a cat, someone would have to do all that, but who would we get to do it, Sam?”

“Me!” Kenzie screamed at the top of her lungs. “Me! I'll feed it, and I'll play with it! Please? Pretty, pretty, pretty,
pretty
please can we get a cat?”

Sam and Indie smiled at each other, and Sam reached down and scooped Kenzie up into his arms. “If we get a cat, Kenzie, do you promise to take care of it and feed it and play with it?”

She nodded her head so fast that Sam almost thought she was going to fall out of his arms, but he held on. “I will, I will, I will!”

He looked at Indie. “Well, it sounds to me like we're off to the animal shelter, then. Why don't you go get ready, Kenzie, while Mommy and I talk for a minute?” He set her down, and she ran up the stairs to change her clothes.

Indie stared at Sam. “Do you even like cats?” she asked.

“We had them when I was a kid,” he said, “and I always got along with them. I'd even thought of getting one after I wasn't on the force anymore, but I just hadn’t gotten around to it. It was one of those 'maybe I oughta' things that run through your mind, but never seem to materialize, y'know? If you're asking if I'm good with us getting a cat, I am. Are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm a cat lover from way back, Sam, so yeah. But I feel like maybe we're pushing you into things you might not want, and I don't want to do that. I—I like where this seems to be going, and I don't want anything to mess it up.”

Sam took her into his arms. “I don't think anything's gonna mess it up, Babe,” he said. “If I wasn't such a coward, I'd already be talking about college funds and fixing up the other bedroom and stuff like that, but I don't want to push you, either.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I get the feeling you and Kenzie are the best things ever happened to me, Indie.”

Indie rested her head against his chest for a moment, and sighed. “I know I could gt used to this. And I understand about being scared, Sam, I'm a little scared, myself. This almost seems too good to be true, and I keep waiting for something to go wrong, or I'm afraid I'll make you mad and you'll toss us out—except I don't think you'd do that, even if I did make you mad.” She wrapped her arms tighter around him and squeezed. “You're something, Sam Prichard. Something pretty special. Now, where were you four years ago, when I was falling apart?”

Sam was quiet for a moment, but then they heard Kenzie coming back down the stairs, so he leaned back and looked into her eyes. “I've got a feeling I was right on the path that I was supposed to beon, so I'd be here when you needed me most.” He kissed her lips quickly, and let go just as Kenzie came running into the room.

“I'm ready!” she announced, and they all headed out to the van. Indie got Kenzie buckled into the car seat, climbed in, and they were off.

The animal shelter was out on West Bayaud Ave, just off of Highway 87, and it took them about a half hour to get there. “An old friend of mine told me a while back,” Sam said, “that if I ever needed a pet, I should come here because they don't have all the red tape you have to go through with other places. No waiting periods, in other words; if we find a cat we like, we can take it home today.”

“Ah,” Indie said. “Sounds like a good idea, then.”

They got out of the van and went inside, and only a few moments later they were being shown all of the cats that were available for adoption. They looked at alley cats, tiger stripes, Persians, Siamese and every other kind of cat you could imagine, but Kenzie just kept shaking her head at each one.

“I'll know it when I see it,” she said, and Sam and Indie could only smile and follow her. She walked through row after row of cages, and Sam had to lift her up now and then to peer into one that was too high for her to see, but still she shook her head.

Finally, the lady showing them around said, rather testily, that all that were left were some that might need minor medical care, and Sam nodded that they would look at those, too. “Might as well cover all the bases,” he said, and they were led into the last room.

Kenzie instantly pointed at one cage that was on top, and said, “That's the one!” Sam lifted her up and she stuck her fingers through the chain link of the cage, and a small cat came to sniff at them. A moment later, it licked her fingers, and Kenzie said again, “This is the one!”

Sam put her down and turned to the lady. “What’s the story with this guy?” he asked.

The woman smiled for the first time in twenty minutes. “Actually, that's Samson,” she said. “He doesn't actually need any medical care, but he does have a special situation. He had distemper when he was a kitten, and managed to survive it, but it left him with a neurological problem; when he tries to run, his back legs sort of pass his front legs, and he'll end up tumbling head over heels every time. We named him Samson because he was strong enough to overcome the distemper; most cats don't live through it, but he did. If you want to adopt him, you need to know that he may get hurt now and then, from his problems. But there's not a more loving and loyal cat in the world, I can tell you that about him. I'd really love to see him go to a good family like yours.”

Sam looked at Indie, and she nodded her head. “Looks like Samson has a new home,” he said, “but if I hear one joke about him being 'Sam-son,' somebody is sleeping in the van!”

Indie laughed. “I hadn’t even caught it til you said that!” she said. “But don't worry, I won't say a word about it.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, “I believe that! We'll take him home with us!”

They filled out all the paperwork and Samson got to ride in Kenzie's lap. He didn't seem to mind, and spent a good deal of the time just nuzzling her hands. They stopped by a small pet store and bought a litter box, litter, cat food and a number of toys, as well as a carpet covered stack of boxes for Samson to climb on and play in, hopefully saving the furniture from his claws.

He was obviously content as they drove the rest of the way home, purring in Kenzie's lap. Indie sat sideways in her seat so she could watch them.

“He's gonna be good for her,” Indie said. “I hope we just did the right thing.”

Sam looked at her. “If he's good for her, then why would it not be the right thing?”

“Sam, we just went out and got a cat together,” she said. “Just like an actual family; what happens if things don't work out between us? Kenzie is feeling happier and more secure than she's ever been. If anything goes wrong and we don't make it work—I'm just worried about her, that's all.”

Sam smiled, then reached over and took her hand into his. “One day at a time, okay?” he said, and she smiled back and nodded.

She sighed. “One day at a time. I'll be okay.” She pulled his hand up and kissed it.

They got to the house and took Samson inside, and all three laughed as he explored the house. More than once, they got to see his physical problem, as he would get excited and try to run. He'd make it about four strides before his back end passed his front end, and suddenly he was tumbling and rolling. When he stopped, he'd shake his head as if wondering what had just happened, then get up and walk slowly for a bit, but sooner or later, he'd forget and take off running, only to have it happen again.