The Angel Singers (13 page)

“Same thing is true of the explosive—no halfway sharp chemistry student would have a problem putting it together. We still have some other areas to look into, but right now we seem to be spinning our wheels.

“Oh,” he added, “and I was able to check out your friend Barry Legget. He spent three months in juvvie for assault when he was fourteen.”

“Any details?”

“Apparently, he attacked a school bully who’d been giving him a really hard time. He fractured the kid’s skull with a rock.”

I found that bit of information both interesting and, frankly, surprising. Barry would be the last person I’d think of as being the violent type. But I learned long ago that what you see isn’t always what you get.

Marty’s voice brought me back to the present. “I assume you think he might be involved?”

“I’d really hate to think so,” I said. “He strikes me as a nice kid.”

“Yeah, well, the jails are full of nice kids. We’ll have a talk with him, too.”

Though I felt a twinge of guilt about dragging Barry into it, I understood their position and filed the information in my own mental follow-up file.

“So, anything else?” he asked.

“Not that I haven’t already told you. Though if you have the chance, could you check and see if you have anything at all on a Jerry Granville? He went after Grant at a chorus rehearsal and may be something of a loose cannon. I hate to send you running off on a trail that probably won’t lead anywhere, but…”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’d rather follow up on six dead-end trails than miss one that might lead somewhere.”

*

That evening we decided to save a little time by going out to dinner at Cap’n Rooney’s Fish Shack, Joshua’s favorite fine-dining establishment, before Jonathan went to class. As usual, we took two cars so he could go directly from dinner to school.

Joshua, as always, was fascinated by the fish in Cap’n Rooney’s trademark huge fish tank. And, as usual since our having taken him to a Red Lobster, he demanded to know why there weren’t any lobsters in the tank. He had, fortunately, not yet made the connection between the creatures he so dearly loved to look at and what was served on his plate.

I’d intended, when we got home, to put in a call to Bernie Niles, giving him the benefit of the doubt in assuming his work schedule had prevented him from contacting me during the day. That logic worked for why he hadn’t called me at the office but fell a little short considering I’d given him my home phone as well.

However, when we got home, Joshua kept me totally distracted with a steady stream of games he wanted to play and magazines he wanted to “read” and general vigorous roughhousing, including, while wrestling, my narrowly missing being kicked in the privates when a flailing foot caught me off-guard. By the time I’d gotten him bathed, toweled, tooth-brushed, pajama-ed, in-bedded, and Story-Timed, we both were fairly well pooped. I still could and probably should have called, but I figured the hell with it.

Jonathan got home in a…playful…mood, having aced a test. Surprising how being tired can sort of go away under the right conditions.

*

Around ten o’clock Thursday morning, there was a knock at my door. Not expecting anyone, I decided not to stand on formality and merely called out, “Come on in.”

“Am I catching you at a bad time?” Eric asked as he entered.

To say I was surprised to see him would be an understatement, but I tried not to let it show.

“Not at all,” I said.

He closed the door behind him.

“I don’t go in to work today until around one,” he said, crossing toward me, “and since I was in the neighborhood I thought I’d drop by—you said it was okay when I was over for dinner that first time.”

“Not a problem,” I said. “Have a seat.”

He stood in front of my desk, looking around the room, then appeared to notice the closest chair and sat down.

“I told you it wasn’t much,” I said with a grin.

“No, no! This is interesting. I’ve never been in a P.I.’s office before. Sort of like reading a detective book.”

“I’m glad you think so. Is your work schedule always this flexible?”

He shrugged, gaze still wandering around the room. “Pretty much. It depends mostly on what has to get done when. And I work so much overtime they’re happy when things are slow enough for me to take some time off. Saves them money.”

I wasn’t quite sure what to say next so there was a bit of a pause until he said, “I was wondering if you might want to take a few minutes to go out for coffee.”

I indicated my coffeemaker with a nod. I was sure he’d seen it when he came in.

“I can offer you a cup here, if you’d like. I’m expecting a call”—I lied—”so I’d better stay close to home.”

“Sure,” he said brightly. “That’d be fine.”

I got up and went to pour our coffee. There was just enough to fill his cup and partly fill mine. “Cream—make that creamer, since I don’t have a fridge—and sugar?”

He shook his head. “Black’s fine.”

When we’d had dinner and brunch with him, he’d taken both cream
and
sugar.

He took the cup with thanks, and I moved around to sit back down at my desk.

“I told Jonathan I’d be coming by one of these days,” he said. “I hope he won’t be jealous.”

I grinned. “Jonathan isn’t the jealous type.” I resisted adding “unlike me.”

“Good,” he said. “I wouldn’t want either one of you to think I was coming on to you.”

A rather odd statement.

“Furthest thing from my mind,” I assured him, lying again.

“Not that I wouldn’t in a heartbeat if you weren’t with Jonathan,” he added.

Uh, is it getting a bit warm in here?
a mind-voice asked.

“That’s nice of you to say,” I replied noncommittally.

“So,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee, “are you still working on Grant’s murder…if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Ask away,” I said. “I don’t mind. I was hoping to talk to you to see if there might be something else you’ve thought of that could help me.”

“Glad to help,” he said, “but I’m not sure how.”

“Well, you’re in a unique situation with the chorus. You know everybody, and from what I understand most of the members confide in you. I’m curious about what you might know about Grant’s relationships with Crandall Booth and Roger Rothenberger, and the relationship between
Booth
and Rothenberger.”

Taking another sip of coffee, he leaned forward to set the cup on the edge of my desk.

“Grant certainly never ‘confided’ in me,” he said. “Any time he told me anything, he had a damned good reason for it. Right after he joined, he told me that Roger had come on to him and had then gotten really pissed when Grant said no. I know damned well that’s a lie—Grant would sleep with anyone if he thought it was to his advantage to do so. If anybody came on to anybody, I can almost guarantee it was him who came on to Roger.”

“But why do you suppose he told you that?”

“I don’t think he knew at the time that Roger and I are close. I think he was starting his little campaign to turn everyone against each other. I suppose he figured that was a way to get what he wanted. The old divide-and-conquer thing.”

“Were you able to find out anything about his relationship with Crandall?”

“Grant made it perfectly clear he considered Crandall to be nothing more than an open cash drawer, but you can bet your bottom dollar he never let Crandall know that! Whenever I saw them together, Grant was the perfect little boy-toy. I really can’t imagine Crandall didn’t know what was going on.”

“What about the running feud between Crandall and Roger?” I finished my coffee but kept holding the empty cup to have something to do with my hands.

“That goes back a long time before Grant,” Eric said. “They’ve butted heads from the very start. Roger is pretty territorial when it comes to the chorus, and Crandall likes to push his weight around. Roger would stand up to him any time he thought Crandall was going too far.

“But when Grant showed up, things really started going to hell. I think Roger was afraid Crandall might be using Grant to undermine his control. And Grant really did a lot of damage, maybe not directly to Roger but to the chorus’ morale.”

He paused a moment before continuing. “A lot of the guys were really upset with the way things started going almost from the minute Grant showed up, but they stuck around mainly for the Chicago trip. If Grant was still around, I know damned well he’d have managed to provoke Roger and Crandall into a real showdown. If that happened, Crandall might well have withdrawn his financial support from the chorus to spite Roger, and that would totally destroy what was left of the morale and drive a lot of guys out of the chorus. It might never have recovered.

“With Grant out of the picture, Crandall can let up a bit and go back to using the chorus as a tax write-off.”

“You’re pretty smart,” I said, impressed by his undoubtedly accurate grasp of the situation.

He grinned. “Hey, I’m not just another pretty face.”

“Has Barry ever confided in you? About anything other than Grant’s nastiness?”

His expression changed to one of mild suspicion. “A little,” he admitted. “Like what?”

“I understand Barry had some problems when he was in high school,” I said.

“Oh, you mean about fracturing that guy’s skull and being sent to juvvie?”

“Yeah, like that.”

“Well, I figured you already knew about it or you wouldn’t have asked.”

“Yeah, I knew about it,” I said, “but I didn’t know the details. I was wondering if he might have told you. Did he claim it was an accident, or…”

“Oh, no. Barry meant it. The guy was a real prick and had been making Barry’s life hell until one day he decided he’d had enough, and when the guy came after him the next time, Barry picked up a rock and brained him. He went to juvvie because he admitted it; he didn’t try to make excuses for what he’d done. I admire him for that.”

Part of me admired him for standing up to a bully, too, and I know everyone does spur-of-the-moment things they later regret, but if he reacted with such violence once…

“You’re really wonderful with Joshua,” Eric commented, out of nowhere. “I mean, you’re not even related to him. He was lucky you were there for him.”

“Well, I’m sort of related by marriage,” I replied, grinning. “Most of the credit goes to Jonathan. It’s not always easy.”

There was a moment’s break in the conversation.

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you,” I said, referring to the death of his own family when he was hardly more than a kid.

He gave me a small, wistful smile. “I survived,” he said.

“I’m sure you really must miss them.”

He looked at me oddly then suddenly got up. “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Coffee break’s over. I’d better let you get back to work.”

I was really sorry to think I’d struck a nerve and upset him but didn’t know whether I should say anything or not.

But he smiled as he reached across the desk to shake my hand—and held it a little longer than necessary.

“Thanks for the coffee. And tell Jonathan I didn’t come on to you…this time,” he added with a grin.

“I’ll do that,” I said as he released my hand and headed for the door. He waved over his shoulder without looking back and left.

What in the hell was that all about?
I wondered. I hoped I hadn’t inadvertently opened an old wound, and I really hoped he was kidding about hitting on me, but I can be a little dense at times, though I was sure he wouldn’t seriously jeopardize his friendship with Jonathan. While I was flattered to think he might harbor an erotic fantasy or two, I have closets full of erotic fantasies, and I would never act on them in real life. If I weren’t with Jonathan it might be a different story.

But you are with Jonathan
, a mind-voice cautioned.
Don’t even go there.

It was right, and I forced my attention back to the problems at hand. Regardless of what Eric’s motives were for coming by, I was glad he had. Probably more than anyone else I’d talked to about the chorus, he was in a position to have the broadest and most objective overview of the situation. He knew far more about what was going on there than I ever could.

I did find it interesting, and somehow reassuring, that Barry had been open with Eric about his juvenile record. That it confirmed what Marty had said indicated Barry wasn’t trying to cover anything up. For Jonathan’s sake, and the sake of everyone else in the chorus, I hoped Eric was right in thinking things would settle down now that Grant was out of the picture.

All of which did nothing to tell me who had killed Grant Jefferson. As usual, lots of smoke and mirrors, little substance.

Crandall Booth remained at the top of my suspects list followed, for reasons I couldn’t specify, by Roger Rothenberger; then came Charles Stapleton, Jerry Granville, Barry Legget—reluctantly—and all those other guys in the chorus Grant had screwed over. And, though still lurking out there in the shadows, most definitely Robert Smith, the possible stalker from New York.

Chapter 7