Extreme Justice (30 page)

“They did fight about Lily, though, right? In the end.”

“They did,” Scat said, nodding gravely. “And that’s where I still hold myself accountable. That’s why I still wake up some nights in a cold sweat.”

“Why?”

“ ’Cause I coulda stopped it.”

“How?”

“Least I think I coulda. I knew what was happenin’. I knew her better than any of them. Nothin’ good ever come from a woman like that.”

“You’re talking about Lily? But I thought—”

“Lily was a beautiful songbird, all right, with a set of cords Ella herself might’ve coveted. But when it came to men, she was bad news with a capital B.”

“How so?”

Scat shrugged. “Oh, she was all the time flirtin’, comin’ on to the boys. Leadin’ ’em on. Makin’ ’em think there was some hope. She did it to everyone.”

“Even you?”

Scat grinned, but Ben thought there was something awkward and forced about it.

“I shoulda told Earl to hang it up, told him she was just a flirt and a tease and not to make anything of it. But I didn’t. And as a result, we had a tragedy.”

“Then you believe Earl killed Professor Hoodoo.”

“Hell, yes, son. Weren’t no doubt about it then; ain’t no doubt about it now.”

“Earl says he didn’t do it.”

“What do you expect him to say? He must have some terrible guilt about it. Earl ain’t a violent man. Never was. He just lost his head, that’s all.”

“It would take more than just losing your head to drive a man to murder.”

“Don’t be so sure of that, son. A man with a temper is a dangerous thing. Those calm, cool collected types like Earl are sometimes the worst. It may take a lot to push them over the edge, but once they go, they go all the way.”

“Temporary insanity?”

“I guess that would be a lawyer’s way of puttin’ it. All I know is that Earl did somethin’ he ordinarily wouldn’t do.”

Ben wondered if Scat was right. If Earl had been temporarily insane, he might’ve gotten off—if he hadn’t pled guilty. “You’re sure it was Earl?”

“Ain’t no doubt. I heard them fightin’. I heard Earl threaten him. I saw Earl go to the man’s apartment. And not an hour later, the joint’s on fire, with George inside. I hate to think of it—that poor messed-up man, maybe still alive, burnin’ to death. Now that’s the stuff nightmares are made of.”

Ben had to agree. He still had nightmares about the time he and Christina had been trapped in a burning church. Burning had to be a horrible way to go—and burning alive! That was simply too gruesome to imagine.

“Did you know Lily was meeting Earl at the club last week?”

“No clue. I could see somethin’ was up, with Earl actin’ like a father whose daughter’s out on her first date. But I never woulda guessed it was Lily. Hadn’t heard nothin’ about Lily for years.”

“Do you have any idea who might’ve killed her?”

Scat tilted his head to one side. “You mean besides the obvious?”

“You don’t think Earl killed her, too!”

Scat shrugged. “He had good reason, didn’t he? In many ways, it was that woman who ruined his life, ruined his career. Drove him to murder—and still never was his girl.”

Ben frowned. This interview wasn’t helping a bit. Worst of all, it was raising some very disturbing possibilities in his mind. “Well, if you can think of anyone else who might possibly have a reason to kill her, let me know, okay?”

“I will,” Scat replied. “But I don’t think that’s likely.”

“I wish I could’ve heard the Professor play. It’s a shame he died so young.”

“I don’t know,” Scat said softly. “Sometimes I think that. Other times I think—maybe it’s just as well.”

“What?”

“The Professor was a brilliant musician—head and shoulders above the rest of us miserable day players. If he had lived—really, what did he have to look forward to? The Sonny and Cher show?
Lollapalooza
? Let’s face it, the music industry today is controlled by teenagers and morons who think music is what you see on MTV in three-minute videos. There ain’t no place for a musician like Professor Hoodoo in this world.”

The man was probably right at that. “You know, there’s just one thing that’s bothering me. If you’re so sure Earl is a murderer, maybe twice over, why do you work for him?”

Scat spread his arms wide. “Hey, kid—I’m a musician. I go where the music is.”

“But—I always thought you liked Earl.”

“Me? Hell, no.”

“But you play in his club. You play poker—”

“So what? I don’t like Earl. I didn’t like him twenty-odd years ago. I think he stole the magic from the greatest jazz musician who ever lived in these parts.” His eyes darkened. “Stole a woman he didn’t deserve.”

“You loved Lily, too,” Ben said quietly.

Scat shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “ ’Course I did. Everyone did.”

“There’s something more.” Ben inched forward. “Something you’re not telling me.”

“Maybe it’s none of your goddamned business.”

Ben didn’t let up. “Did you want Lily for yourself?”

“I didn’t have to want nothin’.”

“Were you sleeping with her?”

Scat’s teeth ground together. “ ’Course I was sleepin’ with her, you little twerp. I was married to her!”

Ben fell back in his chair, stunned.

“How do you think she happened to be at that club? Who do you think introduced her to our little group? She came on my arm, pal. She was my lady.” He wiped a hand across his brow. “I was always loyal to her, too. Always. But she strayed. When she started in with the Professor, that was one thing. They could make music together in a way I could never hope to, could never dream of. The Professor was beyond human rules.” His eyes narrowed. “But Earl was just a gross disgusting pig. A thief, that’s all he was. He stole things that weren’t his. Music. Women. Whatever he could get his hands on.”

“But if you hate Earl so badly—”

“A man’s gotta eat, you know what I’m saying? Earl has a nice place, and he’s one of the few around who still knows what a club should be, what music should be. Just between you and me, he’s one of the few in this town who really understands the meaning of jazz.”

“Earl quizzed me on that subject. I flunked. I don’t suppose you’d like to clue me in?”

Scat grinned, then spread his arms wide. “It’s like the great Satchmo himself said—”

Ben nodded. They finished the sentence together. “ ’If you gots to ask, you’ll never know.’ ”

“Is he gone?”

As soon as Ben left the condo, the other man stepped out of the shadows of the rear bedroom. He paused just outside the living room, waiting for his answer.

“I said, Is he gone?”

Scat plopped himself wearily into a chair. “He’s gone.”

The other man entered the room and fingered the back of a linen chair. “What took you so long?”

“What did you want me to do?” Scat asked. “Push him over the railing?”

“Wouldn’t be a bad idea,” the man growled. “I’ve had about as much of that little turd as I can take.”

“Well, you do what you want. But not in my digs. I don’t want anythin’ to do with it. And I don’t want anythin’ to do with you.”

The man’s eyes lowered. “Bit late for that now, isn’t it?”

“No, it ain’t. I didn’t know what you were plannin’. I didn’t know you were gonna kill anybody!”

The man displayed a thin smile. “Be honest, Scat. Weren’t you just a little bit happy when you saw Lily’s dead body on that stage? After all she’d done to you—didn’t that give you just the tiniest bit of pleasure?”

“No, you sick sucker, it didn’t. Just get the hell out of here and leave me alone.”

An eerie smile crept across the man’s face. “You know what they say, Scat, old man. In for a penny, in for a pound.”

“Yeah, well, now I’m out for a ton, you got it?”

“It’s not that simple.” He lowered himself into the chair opposite Scat, so close their knees brushed together. Much too close for Scat’s liking. “My business isn’t finished.”

“Is that my fault? Are you blamin’ me because you keep—” He stopped himself just short of the punch, but not so soon his companion couldn’t tell what had been coming.

“You’re not going to chicken out on me, are you, Scat?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’d hate to see you go chicken. I’d hate to see you become a problem.” He leaned oppressively forward. “Because you see, I’ve got enough problems right now. I don’t need any new ones. I don’t want to have to deal with them.” His eyes hardened. “But if I have to, I will.”

Scat leaned away, pressing himself against the back of his chair. “Wha—what’re you saying?”

The other man did not break eye contact. “I think you know, Scat. I think you do.”

Scat laughed, a nervous, high-pitched titter. “Whoa, now, let’s back off, man. We’re buds, remember? We’re in this together.”

“Oh, I remember, Scat. I just wanted to make sure you did.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.” He stood suddenly, walking away, an unnatural twitch in his step.

“Good.” The man eased back into the chair, steepling his fingers, peering through the apertures. “The end is near, you know. The fat lady is about to sing.” He allowed himself a small chuckle. “For ol’ Uncle Earl. And his piano-playing pissant friend.”

B
EN WAS ALMOST
shaved and ready to leave for the club when he heard a furious pounding at his front door. He wrapped his untied tie around his neck, dried his face, and headed for the living room.

“Jones! What are you doing here?”

Jones rushed in before Ben had a chance to suggest anything different. He was in a bad way. Although he was decked out in his Sunday duds, he was walking hunched, hands clasped and brow furrowed, more like a man on death row than a man about to go out on a date.

“I can’t do it,” Jones said. His voice was hoarse and broken.

“Can’t do what?”

“This.” He paced around the room in an aimless circle. “This … date thing. With Paula.”

“Paula? Oh, right. The cybertramp.”

“She is
not
a tramp!”

“ ‘I can feel your strong arms drawing me near. I can feel your strength, your hardness.’ Give me a break.”

“She’s not a tramp!” Jones’s face was tight as a drum. “She was just trying to … inspire me to agree to a face-to-face.”

“Well, I think she accomplished that.”

“I thought so, too. But I was wrong. I can’t do it.” He threw himself down on Ben’s ratty sofa, in a would-be fetal position. “I want to meet her. I’ve been thinking about this date all week. But I can’t do it!”

“Just as a point of interest,” Ben said, “how can you meet her when you don’t know what she looks like?”

“She’s going to be at the club tonight at seven-thirty wearing a red carnation.” He shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter. I can’t do it.”

Ben smothered his smile. It was obvious Jones was truly upset and sick about this. He tried to be sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Jones. I can see this is tearing you apart. What’s causing all this worry? I thought you had no doubts about her. I thought you knew everything about her.”

“Oh, don’t patronize me,” Jones said, twisting away. “You said it yourself. No one normal meets in a chat room. She’s probably an axe murderer.”

“Well … perhaps I was exaggerating.”

“Maybe you didn’t exaggerate enough. Maybe she’s a stalker who uses chat lines to lure men to their deaths. Maybe she’s really a
he
!”

“Jones, come on.” He looked Jones straight in the eyes. “I’ve already agreed to keep an eye on you. This isn’t what’s really bothering you, is it?”

Jones turned away. “No. I suppose it isn’t.”

“What then?”

Jones spoke with the tiniest of voices. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

Now they were getting to the heart of the matter. “Come on, Jones, buck up. You don’t have any reason to think she won’t like you.”

“I don’t have any reason to think she will like me, either.”

“Nonsense. What about all those online chats? You said she was desperate to meet you.”

“Only because she
hasn’t
met me. Once she has, that’ll all be over.”

“You’re being ridiculous. You’re a very likeable person.”

“I’m a secretary, Boss. Let’s face it. Her heart won’t go pitty-pat over a thirty-two-year-old secretary.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a secretary. And besides,” he added, “you’re an executive office assistant.”

“Semantic games aren’t going to help me here.” He stared down at the carpet. His voice dropped to a whisper. “She thinks I’m a private investigator.”

“
What?
”

“I know, I know. Don’t start—”

“Why on earth would you lie to her?”

“I didn’t mean to. It was in my online profile. I didn’t know she was going to read it.”

“Why did you lie in your profile?”

Jones shrugged. “I just—I started writing about some of your cases. Just to make myself a bit more interesting. It was a game, you know? Pretending to be someone I wasn’t. Then she read it and started asking questions. She kept pressing to know what I did and what role I played and—what was I going to say? ‘Well, I typed the pleadings.’ ”

Ben shook his head. “This is bad, Jones. Really bad.”

“I know, I know.”

“You have to tell her the truth. First thing.”

“I can’t.”

“The longer you let the lie fester, the worse it’ll become. If you tell her straight away, perhaps she’ll forgive you.”

Jones swallowed. “There’s more.”

Ben covered his face. “More?”

“I kinda sorta exaggerated my physical description.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Well, what was I going to tell her? That I’m skinny, puny, poorly dressed—”

“Jones, you’ve really gotten yourself in deep now.”

“I don’t know what to do. But I can’t show up looking … like I do.”

“You have to. You made a date. You can’t stand her up.”

“I know. But I can’t go, either. I thought … maybe I could get someone to take my place.”

“Oh, right. You’re going to hit the streets till you find someone who matches this imaginary physical profile you invented.”

Jones coughed. “Actually, Boss … I based the physical description on you.”

Ben froze, then began slowly moving away. “Now, wait a minute.”