The Rock 'N Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - a Spike Berenger Anthology (14 page)

“What’s the possibility of Theo being hooked up with the Jimmys?” Berenger asked.

“I’m still working on that angle,” Briggs replied. “I don’t know yet.”

“I have a question,” Suzanne said.

“What?” Briggs asked.

“When I was at their church yesterday, I saw Reverend Theo’s driver. A big bald guy, very scary looking. Do you know who he is?”

“I do,” Berenger said. “That’s Ron Black. He was actually Flame’s personal driver—and bodyguard—until Flame died. I’d like to know a little more about him, too. He was a part of the Messengers’ organization before he started working for Flame, and now he’s back working for the Messengers again. They’re using Flame’s limo, too. Al Patton told me about it. Says it’s all above-board per Flame’s wishes. Did you talk to Black, Suzanne?”

“No. I was leaving and he passed me coming in. I just got a weird vibe from him and there was something familiar about the guy. I don’t know, it’s probably nothing.”

“We’ll see if we can find out more about him,” Berenger said. He looked at Remix and asked, “You having any luck hacking into the Messengers’ server?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Remix replied. “I’ll have it soon.”

“Fine. I guess that’s it for now. I’m off to interview Joshua Duncan and from there I’m going to talk to Kenny Franklin. Everyone, try to keep busy today but be on hand in case I need you for something. Okay?”

“Okay, boss,” Remix said.

They got up from the table and Remix went to the CD player. He shut off Paul Simon and rolled his eyes at Berenger. As the team filed out, Berenger touched Suzanne’s arm. “Hold on a sec, Suzanne.” When they were alone, he said, “Blister Pack is playing at Mortimer’s tonight. I figure it might be a good opportunity to catch Dave Bristol after the show. You wanna go?”

Suzanne’s eyes brightened. “Sure. Sounds fun.”

“Unfortunately, before that I have to go out to Long Island and check on my mom. They’re moving her into a different room in the Alzheimer’s unit today. You wouldn’t… you wouldn’t want to come with me, would you? We could have a bite to eat in-between and then go to the show.”

“Sure, Spike,” Suzanne said. “I like your mom.” She gave him a little pat on the shoulder. “Call me on my cell to let me know what time and all that.”

“Will do.”

After she left, Berenger stood in the empty conference room and became aware that his headache hadn’t subsided. He went over to the coffee counter, opened a drawer, found the ibuprofen, and popped a couple tablets into his mouth.

The day was just beginning and he was already ready for a nap.

B
erenger took a taxi across town and up to Columbia University’s Morningside Campus, which was located on Broadway between 114
^th
Street and 120
^th
Street. The campus was situated in a lovely part of Manhattan, just a couple of blocks east of Riverside Park. Although it was technically on the edge of Harlem, the Upper West Side had maintained the reputation of being one of the more desired areas of the city in which to live. Berenger always found it to be a pleasant place and he enjoyed visiting the streets around the campus. It didn’t hurt that attractive young women usually populated the area.

Joshua Duncan didn’t want to meet on campus, though. He had suggested a rendezvous at the Hungarian Pastry Shop, a popular spot for students and Upper West Side intelligentsia. It wasn’t far from Columbia, just a few blocks south on Amsterdam Avenue, right across the street from the magnificent Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine. Berenger loved the shop but tried to avoid it. He had a weakness for croissants and pastries and they tended to pack on the weight more than anything else he put in his mouth. Nevertheless, he steeled his resolve and showed up in front of the eatery at 10:30, the appointed time. Joshua Duncan was already there, sitting at one of the small wooden tables on the sidewalk.

“Hello, Joshua,” Berenger said, stepping up to the young man and extending his hand. Joshua half-rose from his seat and shook hands.

“Hi, Mister Berenger.”

“Sit, sit. I’m gonna get me a coffee and something I shouldn’t. I’ll be back in a second.” Berenger went inside the shop, bought a large coffee and a cinnamon bun—he was tempted to buy a blueberry tart as well but admirably resisted—and joined the young man at the table. Joshua was dressed in casual school clothes—baggy pants, T-shirt, tennis shoes—and had a backpack with him. He had finished his own coffee and had been reading the
Times
.

“You got classes today?” Berenger asked.

“Yeah.”

“You’re in Columbia Law School, right?”
“Uh huh.”

The young man appeared to be a little nervous. He fidgeted in his seat and couldn’t keep his leg from bouncing.

“How are you holding up, Joshua?” Berenger asked.

“I’m all right, I guess.”

“I’m really sorry about your dad. I knew him a long time.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

“I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me. I understand how you might feel, me working for the defense and all.”

“That’s okay. Adrian’s my half-brother.” Joshua shrugged.

“Are you and Adrian close?” Berenger asked.

Joshua smirked. “Are you kidding? We have nothing to do with each other. I see him once in a blue moon and we
might
exchange a ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’ but that’s about it. If we do have a conversation at all it’s usually about how much he hates our father.”

“Do you have much of a relationship with his mother?”
“Gina? Nah. My mom can’t stand her. I guess I’m supposed to follow suit.” He chuckled a bit. “It’s all pretty silly, if you ask me.”

“Why do you think there’s such bad blood between them? I mean, Flame had divorced Gina long before he and your mom got together.”

“That’s a good question,” Joshua said. “I really don’t know. You’ll have to ask my mom that one. Gina’s always been pretty nice to me. Maybe mom was embarrassed for her all those years that Gina had the party-girl reputation. And that kooky Gina the Gypsy stuff. Gina always got more publicity than my mom ever did.”

Berenger nodded but said, “Well, your mom was a bit of a party girl at one time, too.”

“I know. Don’t ask me to explain those women.” He smiled sheepishly.

“Why do you think Flame stayed on good terms with your mom and not with Gina?”

“Again, I don’t know the answer to that one. I think it’s because Gina really gave my dad a hard time when they divorced. She tried to take him to the cleaners and he didn’t like it. They were pretty nasty to each other, from what I understand.”

Berenger remembered the tabloids. It was indeed a messy divorce and it played out much like John and Cynthia Lennon’s did in the late sixties.

“As for my mom,” Joshua continued, “I guess they simply stayed friends. They respected each other’s spaces. I thought my dad would get really angry at mom over the IRS business but he didn’t. He supported—”

“Hold on,” Berenger interrupted. “What IRS business?

Joshua expression suddenly went to one of self-reproach. “Oh, uhm, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Shit. I guess it’s not common knowledge.”

“What is it, Joshua? Can you tell me?”

He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “Mom’s being investigated by the IRS for possible tax evasion.” He laughed sardonically. “Don’t tell her I told you.”

“I won’t.”

Tax evasion?
Damn
, Berenger thought. Carol Merryman flaunted her wealth. Could it be possible that she might be
embezzling
from Flame Productions? He decided to change the subject.

“So why do you think your dad and Adrian were such enemies?” he asked as tactfully as he could.

Joshua made a face as if to say, ‘don’t you know?’ “I don’t like to talk about my brother this way but everyone knows he’s an asshole. It’s like he has this entitlement thing going. He thinks just ‘cause he’s Flame’s son he can have a free ride through life. I could have had that attitude, too, but I don’t. I mean, I’m going to college and all that. I want to make my own money and have my own life, not ride on a celebrity’s coattails.”

“And your father didn’t like Adrian’s attitude?”

“No way. He didn’t like moochers. Dad really liked his money, if you know what I mean. He wasn’t a very charitable guy, I’m sorry to say.”

“But you got along with him okay?”

“Sure. Yeah, we were friends. But you know, as close as we were, I never saw him. We lived in the same city but I
never
saw him. I mean, he wasn’t on tour
that
much. I wish… I wish we could have spent more time together, that’s all. I’ll miss him a lot.” Joshua looked away and stared at the cathedral across the street.

“Were you surprised to inherit his estate?”

Joshua turned back and said, “Hell, yes. I thought it would go to mom.” He chuckled slightly. “She did too.”

“Did that cause any problems?”

“Not really. Mom’s a good sport. She’s still in charge for a year so she’ll get something out of it. I don’t know, maybe I’ll let her have it anyway.”

“Why would you do that?”

The young man turned up his hands. “What the hell do I know about rock ‘n’ roll? I have nothing to do with the music business. I know nothing about it and never wanted to. I want to be a lawyer, not run the great Peter Flame’s estate. To tell you the truth, I have no desire whatsoever to be in charge of Flame Productions.”

“You could always hire other people to manage it. Then all you have to do is sit back and rake in the dough.”

“I know. That’s probably what I’ll do. But even so, there’s still a lot to do. I’d have to make a lot of decisions about what kinds of archival recordings to release and stuff like that. There’s tons of unreleased material in the vault. Live concerts, bunches of studio outtakes, whole albums that never saw the light of day…”

“That’s a potential goldmine.”

“You’re telling me. And you wouldn’t believe all the vultures circling around it, too. I’m getting ‘advice’ from just about everyone associated with my dad.”

“Like who?”

“Well, everyone. Al Patton, my mom, Dave Bristol… you name ‘em. Anyone who has a vested interest in my father’s music from a business standpoint stands to gain from him dying. It’s going to be up to me and my mom to control the floodgates.”

Berenger finished his pastry and downed the coffee. “Who would want to kill your father?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have any ideas of who’d want to kill him?”

“Adrian did it, Mister Berenger.”

“You’re so sure about that?”

“Well… yeah. I mean, the cops arrested him and all. There’s evidence against him. He must be guilty. They wouldn’t have arrested him if there wasn’t a case.”

“A man is innocent until proven guilty in a court of law, Joshua.”

“I know, I know. I’m studying law, remember?”

“Then you should know that police can make mistakes. District Attorneys can make mistakes. Adrian’s in a fight for his reputation and for his life. You have to understand that we’re going to do everything we can to show the court that the prosecution
doesn’t
have a case. This thing will never go to trial, Joshua.”

“But he
did
it, Mister Berenger. I know he did.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know Adrian. He’s always said he’d like to kill my dad someday. That’s one of the few things he ever said to me. And he said it more than once. Adrian’s a mean, spoiled jerk. It’s like he hates the world and everyone in it. I’m convinced he certainly has it
in
him to commit murder. And he
hated
my father. Adrian had the motive and the means to do it. Mister Berenger, I believe the police got the right guy.”

B
erenger skipped lunch and headed downtown to see Kenny Franklin and the members of Flame’s current touring band. Franklin had told him they would be in a mid-town recording studio all day long. Berenger decided to take public transportation. He walked to the IRT subway line and figured he’d ride the train to Times Square, get off there, and walk over to Sixth Avenue, formally known as Avenue of the Americas although no one in New York called it that.