The Rock 'N Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - a Spike Berenger Anthology (56 page)

Clayton took a sip of juice and said, “Oh, I… traveled… here and there.”

Clayton looked down at his plate and didn’t move for a while. Berenger and Prescott exchanged glances—
what now?

“Perhaps we should leave you alone, Stuart,” Prescott said. She reached out and touched his hand. Clayton slowly nodded, but he placed his hand on top of hers and held it tightly. “That might be a good idea. I think I need to turn off the music now.”

Prescott gently pulled her hand away as she and Berenger stood. The PI reached into his pocket and removed one of his business cards. “My number’s on there, Stuart.” He put it on the kitchen table. “Call me if there’s anything you need. Or if you remember anything that might help us solve these crimes.”

Clayton nodded again. He appeared that he might be about to cry.

“Goodbye, Stuart,” Prescott said.

“We’ll show ourselves out,” Berenger said. Together, they went to the front door, unlocked it from the inside, and left the house.

Once they were inside the rental car, Prescott said, “That was pretty uncomfortable.”

“Strange guy. I feel sorry for him.”

“Me too. It’s like he could break apart any minute.”

“Yeah.” Berenger started the car. “I think he liked
you
, though.”

“I do too.”

“You probably gave him a little touch of something he hadn’t felt in a long time.”

Prescott laughed lightly. “Yeah, I have that effect on men.”

Berenger pulled away from the house and headed back to the Drake Hotel. “You know what, though?”

“What?”

“I think he’s hiding something, too. Just like Joe Nance.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Just a feeling. Those guys are not telling us everything about Sylvia Favero.”

T
he killer sat naked on the bed, slipped on silk panties and a bra, and then pulled on the pantyhose, one leg at a time. She then sat at her desk, dressed only in the underclothes. This made her feel something close to
erotic
.

Funny term, that.
Erotic
.

It had been a long time since she had experienced anything remotely sexual. There were times when the music made her feel young again. Sometimes putting on makeup and the feminine underthings did the trick.

But never mind that. She had given up sex long ago. On to more pressing matters…

She took her hit list and scratched a line through Zach Garriott’s name. All that remained were those of Jim Axelrod, Harrison Brill, Manny Rodriguez, Joe Nance, and Stuart Clayton.

She sighed as she pondered the last one…
Stuart Clayton
. He would be the toughest to murder. But it couldn’t be helped. He had known all these years that there would come a reckoning. As much as Clayton meant to her, the man would have to die.

And then she could finally lay to rest.

But what of her album? It had to be released, come hell or highwater! She was entitled to it! And she needed the right person to see that it was done, too.

She leaned over and rummaged through the stack of periodicals and newspapers in the rack beside the desk. She found an old copy of
Rolling Stone
, turned to the page that was dog-eared, and opened it to a feature all about the firm in New York called Rockin’ Security, Inc. There was a picture of the man who had been with Zach Garriott in the stairwell at Reggie’s when she’d shot the guitarist.

Spike Berenger.

He had connections in the music business. He had clout. He was respected.

The killer smiled.

C
harles Nance was cremated on Sunday with no formal funeral. However, a memorial party was scheduled for that afternoon. Berenger and Prescott showed up at Schuba’s, a music club that the remaining members of Windy City Engine and the guys in North Side rented out for the afternoon. It was located at Belmont and Southport in what was the Chicago PD’s Area Three, Nineteenth District. Schuba’s was also the club outside of which Joe Nance had allegedly seen the ghost of Sylvia Favero.

When the PI and his partner arrived, there were approximately a hundred people in the space. The bar was open in the next room and the guests were treating the event as a rock ‘n’ roll wake—plenty of booze and loud music. This suited Berenger fine. The last few days had been stressful. He was still sore from chasing the shooter the other night and he needed to unwind. The fact that it was the middle of the afternoon was not a deterrent.

“You’re not going to get wasted, are you?” Prescott asked him as he made his way to the bar.

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at a wake?” He ordered a beer and asked her what she wanted.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Orange juice.”

With drinks in hand, they joined the party. Joe Nance was already inebriated and holding court at a table near the stage. His wife sat next to him and Berenger thought he recognized their grown kids mingling nearby. Bud and Sharon Callahan sat at another table and it appeared that Bud and Nance were discussing the fine points of Internet CD promotion—very loudly. Rick Tittle and Greg Cross were clinking beers with two guys Berenger recognized as Harrison Brill and Jim Axelrod. Manny Rodriguez was laughing with a group of young women at a different table. There were other attendees from the music world on hand, the most famous being Bill Bruford, the prog and jazz drummer who had played with such bands as Yes, King Crimson, and UK, and now had his own outfit called Earthworks. Berenger thought he spotted a few members from younger Chicago acts like Umphrey’s McGee, Fluid Time, the Buffalo Grease Band, Travel, Art Ensemble of Chicago, Tortoise, and Mr. Blotto. Chicago’s XRT radio station DJs Terri Hemmert, Lin Brehmer, Marty “The Regular Guy” Lennartz, and Doug Levy also blended with the musicians. The rest of the crowd was made up of friends and family.

“I feel like an interloper,” Prescott said.

“Come on, let’s mingle.” Berenger headed straight for Brill and Axelrod.

“Whoa, it’s Spike Berenger!” Brill exclaimed. He firmly grasped the PI’s hand. “I heard you wuz in town. How’ve you been?”

“Okay, Harrison. Good to see you. It’s been a long time.” Berenger introduced Prescott to them and reminded Axelrod that they’d met many years ago.

“Sorry we have to see each other under these circumstances,” the PI said.

“Yeah. How’s the investigation going?” Brill asked.

“Too slow. In fact, with Zach gone, we have to decide what we’re going to do. Prescott and I can’t stay in Chicago indefinitely.”

“I understand. Let me talk to Joe and Manny. Maybe we can scrounge up enough cash to pay you for some more time.”

Manny Rodriguez and his entourage of women came over and joined them. More handshakes and introductions.

“I’m glad I have the three of you together,” Berenger said. “You’re the last guys I haven’t talked to about all this.”

“Yeah, sorry. Manny and I were in Michigan,” Brill explained.

“I just flew in from L.A. last night,” Axelrod offered.

Rodriguez shooed his female friends away and then asked, “What do you think, Spike? Are we in danger?”

“Difficult to say. But if I can make a recommendation, you should travel around with a group when you’re in public. The killer’s M.O. has been catching her victims when they’re alone or with one other person.”

“Yeah, I heard about what happened to Zach. You were there, weren’t you?” Brill asked.

“I was there. We were in a stairwell with no one watching. That’s the thing. Stay with a group.”

“So, do you have any suspects?” Rodriguez asked.

“Well, Joe thinks it’s this girl you used to know back in the sixties. Someone who went missing and was never heard from again.”

Berenger noted that the three musicians shared glances.

“Sylvia Favero? You knew her, right?”

After a pause, Brill answered. “Yeah. We knew her.”

“Joe’s being a little nuts about that,” Rodriguez said under his breath.

“So none of you have had any ‘visions’ of Sylvia?”

They answered negatively.

Prescott asked, “What do you remember about her?”

There was another hesitation, as if the men didn’t want to talk about the woman. Then Rodriguez answered, “She was a party girl. A groupie. She hung out with us, smoked dope, drank, and had sex. And she liked all of those things.”

“Gee, I understand she was a musician, too,” Prescott said, not without sarcasm.

“Yeah, she was that. I guess she was pretty good. Joe thought she was. Stuart Clayton really liked her. He got her to open for us at least once.”

Brill said, “I happen to think she had genuine talent. But she was wild and unpredictable. She lived alone and you never knew how to contact her. She didn’t have a phone, if I remember correctly.”

“That’s right,” Axelrod added. “I remember one night Stuart was trying to get hold of her for drugs and he was pissed off that he couldn’t call her.”

“So she did supply the band with drugs?”

“Yeah. Mostly pot and acid.”

Berenger continued. “Clayton said that she might have been angry at the band for not backing her with the recording of her own album. Any truth to that?”

Rodriguez scratched his head and looked at the other two. “I don’t remember that. Do you?”

Brill shook his head, but Axelrod said, “Yeah, I kind of remember something about it. She was after Stuart and Joe to produce it, I think. She wanted The Loop to be her backup band. I’m pretty sure there was a feeling among the band that we didn’t want to do it.”

“You mean besides Clayton and Nance?”

“Yeah. They were the ones bonkin’ her the most,” Rodriguez said.

“What about the rest of you?” Prescott asked with a little too much of what Berenger thought was an accusatory tone.

The three of them exchanged looks again. Rodriguez answered, “We all partied with Sylvia. But Stuart and Joe were her main squeezes.”

“At the same time?”

Axelrod rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. I never could figure out that relationship.” The other two agreed.

Berenger said, “Look, guys, is there something about this girl you’re not telling me? ‘Cause I get the feeling that you, and Joe, and Stuart—are all hiding something.”

Before the men could answer, the clinking of a utensil on a glass interrupted them. The music was turned down and all eyes turned to Joe Nance, who was standing on the small stage.

“Can I have everyone’s attention?” he shouted. Eventually the room quieted enough for him to speak. “Uhm, hi everyone. Thanks for coming. I’m sure Charles would have appreciated it. I’m not going to stand up here and say some maudlin speech or anything. I just wanted to say that you should have yourself some drinks—it’s an open bar until five o’clock. If each of you has a drink for Charles, then that’ll amount to what he usually drank each day.”

People laughed.

“Uhm, I’ve talked to my buddies at Park West, and they’ve agreed to let us do a big blowout benefit concert this coming Friday night. It’ll be to help out Zach Garriott’s family and set up a musicians’ scholarship fund in Charles’ name at De Paul, where he went for, uhm, a semester. Windy City Engine—what’s left of it—will headline. I’ve asked Jim Axelrod to participate, and I’m going to call Stuart Clayton tomorrow. Maybe we can coax that hermit out of his cave.”

More laughs—skeptical ones.

“I’m sending out the word to some other Chicago bands to help us out. So, anyway, I hope everyone will cancel whatever plans you might have that night and come to the Park West for a historic gig.”

Applause and cheers. Nance held up his hands to silence everyone again.

“Charles and I… well, we grew up together, you know. He was my kid brother. We were playing music together since we were old enough to pick up a guitar and bash on a drum. All my life I’ve played with Charles and I just can’t imagine playing music without him. So I just want to say, well, I’m gonna retire now. As far as I’m concerned, Windy City Engine is no more as of Friday’s show. Sorry Harrison, Manny. You guys can do what you want. If you want to keep the band’s name, go ahead. I don’t care.”