The Rock 'N Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - a Spike Berenger Anthology (61 page)

“How do I know it’s you?” Berenger asked. “And how did you get my number?”

“Your number was easy to get. And you’ll know it’s really me after I ask you a question.”

“What’s that?”

“Have the police allowed you to listen to my CDs yet?”

Berenger felt a cold chill run up his spine. Only the Chicago PD knew about the compact disks. And the killer.

“No, they haven’t. I’d like to hear them.”

“Well, Mister Berenger, I want you to hear them. In fact, I’d like to interest you in a little business deal.”

Berenger’s heart was pounding. He didn’t know if he should tell her that he never made deals with murderers, or if he should play along and perhaps get her to reveal more about herself.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked.

“You have connections in the music industry, right?”

“I suppose.”

“You could help get a record made. With your influence. You know some people. You’ve probably done favors that need repaying. If you had to—or
wanted
to—you could get a record made. Am I correct?”

Berenger knew where this was going. “I could probably do that, yes. But getting it distributed is another thing altogether.”

She was persistent. “But you have connections. To major labels. To distribution.”

“Okay, let’s say I do.”

“I want to turn over my album to you. You’re going to produce it and see that it gets distributed. I’ll give you fifteen per cent of all sales, just like an agent or manager.”

Berenger almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “You want me to produce your
album
?”

“That’s right.”

He needed to keep her talking. Learn more about her.

“Why are you killing these musicians, Sylvia?”

“They know why, Mister Berenger.”

“You can call me Spike. What do they know?”

“They know why I’m doing this. Every one of them. And I can’t let any of them continue the sickness.”

“The sickness?”

“The plague that began in nineteen-sixty-seven, when I first met them. The pestilence that ended in nineteen-seventy, when I
died
.”

Berenger rubbed his eyes. The woman was out of her mind. “Are you telling me that you’re dead?”

“Look, if I get you the CDs, will you agree to the deal?”

“You know I can’t guarantee I can get an album produced and distributed. I can
try
but I can’t guarantee it!”

“Once you hear it, you won’t just try, you’ll
want
to do it.”

“Maybe that’s true. How do I get the CDs?”

“I’ll get back to you. Don’t tell the police I’ve called you, or you won’t hear from me again.”

She disconnected the call. Berenger immediately tried to redial the number but it was busy. According to his Calls Received list, it was a Chicago number. He quickly punched in Rockin’ Security’s number and told Melanie to transfer him to Tommy Briggs.

“Tommy, I need you to get the records for a mobile phone number. Fast! Grab a pencil.”

“Go ahead, Spike.”

Berenger gave him the number. “Get back to me as soon as you can.”

He hung up and went back to the table. “Who was that?” Prescott asked.

“I’ll tell you later.” He addressed Linda and Noyce. “Listen, guys, it was really, really awesome to see you here, but Suzanne and I have to run.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that,” Noyce answered. “I was just getting interested in the music talk.”

“You check out some of those bands I mentioned.” He shook hands with the man.
“Uhm, I will!”

Berenger then clumsily leaned over and kissed Linda on the cheek. “See you later, babe.”

Surprised, Linda gasped slightly and said, “Goodbye, Spike.” She rubbed her hand across her cheek and tried her best to smile. Berenger helped Suzanne up and rushed her out of the bar.

“What’s going on, Spike?”

“Sylvia Favero just called me.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Jesus! Where are we going?”

“I don’t know. I had to get away from those two. I couldn’t think.”

They stood in the expansive hotel lobby. “You mean you don’t have a plan?”

“I have to wait for her to call me back. She’s going to give me the CDs.” He told her about the killer’s proposition.

“Spike, you can’t agree to do that.”

“Why not?”

“That woman has been killing friends of yours!”

“I know. But maybe this will get us closer to her.”

“Are you going to tell Mike Case about it?”

Berenger rubbed his chin. “Not yet. I want to see how this plays out. I want to be absolutely sure I’m not being taken for a ride.”

“So what do we do while we wait for her to call you back?”

“Let’s try to see Stuart Clayton again. Then we’ll go talk to Joe Nance.”

Berenger tried to redial Sylvia’s number one more time but it was still busy. “Let me use your phone to call Clayton. I want to keep my line open.”

Prescott handed her cell to him and he dialed Clayton’s number.

“Hello?”

“Stuart, it’s Spike Berenger. How are you?”

“Who?”

“Spike Berenger. Suzanne Prescott and I were over at your house a couple of days ago. From Rockin’ Security.”

“Oh, yes. Hello.”

“Listen, Stuart, I’ve thought of some more things I’d like to talk to you about. Would it be convenient if we stopped over again today?”

“Stopped over?”

Clayton sounded disoriented. He’d either been asleep or was drugged.

“For a little while. I have a few questions I’d like to ask you about Sylvia.”

There was silence at the other end.

“Stuart? You there?”

“Mister Berenger, I have nothing more to say to you. I’ve already told you everything I know. I’ve told the police the same things. All this stuff brings back painful memories and I have enough problems. Please leave me alone and don’t call again.”

Berenger tried a different tact. “Stuart, I heard from Sylvia. She called me.”

There was some shuffling on the line and then Clayton said, “Perhaps you’ll believe me now. I told you I’d seen her.”

“So let’s get together and talk about her.”

“No, I don’t think so. I said I didn’t want to discuss her anymore. Goodbye, Mister Berenger. I hope you catch her.”

Clayton hung up and Berenger cursed.

“No luck?” Prescott asked.

“No. Let’s try again tomorrow and
you
ask him. He liked you better than me.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s go drop in on Joe. Screw this calling people and warning them beforehand. Let’s surprise him.”

And they strode out of the hotel to the parking lot.

T
here were visitors at the Nance house, for two other vehicles were parked out front. Lucy Nance opened the door and didn’t seem surprised to see him.

“Come in. Joe and the others are in the music room.” Lucy held open the door for them.

“Thanks. Who’s here?”

“Manny and Harrison.”

“Just the people I need to see, all in one place.”

“Well, I warn you. They’re a little drunk… and Joe is
really
drunk.” She led them to a room in which Berenger and Prescott had never been. It contained a grand piano and other musical instruments, chairs, and some recording equipment for laying down home demos. It was a comfortable space for music-making, not a soundproofed studio.

The Windy City Engine members sat in chairs around a coffee table. The smell of marijuana was strong and the floor was littered with several empty beer cans.

“Spike! What are you doing here?” Nance asked. He didn’t stand.

“Hello, boys. How are things? You remember my partner, Suzanne?”

“We were in the middle of a band meeting, Spike,” Nance said. “Did we have an appointment or something I forgot about?”

“No, I just decided to drop by. Sorry to interrupt your meeting, but I have some more questions for you guys.” He sat on the piano bench and straddled it. “You mind?”

The three musicians looked at each other. Nance shrugged. “Have a
seat
, Spike. You, too, Suzanne.”

Prescott sat on a stool near Berenger.

“Okay, I’ll get right to the point. I believe you’re all hiding something. It’s about Sylvia Favero. What is it? Why is this woman going around killing off Chicagoprog musicians and saying she’s the ghost of Sylvia Favero? There’s a rational explanation to this and I think you guys know what it is.”

Nance’s already pink cheeks turned red. “What the fuck? How dare you come in here with an accusation like that!”

Suzanne said, under her breath, “That was tactful, Spike.”

“It’s true, isn’t it, Joe? Why are you so defensive about it?”

“It
isn’t
true!” Nance spat. “We don’t know a thing about her or what happened to her!” He turned to Brill and Rodriguez. “Isn’t that right?”

They nodded and murmured in agreement.

“Come on,” Berenger said. “I know bullshit when I smell it. And frankly, I think I stepped in it coming in here.”

Prescott said, “Hold on, you guys… Spike had a couple of martinis before coming over here, and it looks like you’ve been dr—”

Nance threw a half-full beer can across the room. It struck the wall and sprayed a foamy mess all over it and the carpet below. Then Nance stood, ready for a fight.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, coming in here and talking that way to me? I’ve just lost my
brother
, for Christ’s sake! What’s the matter with you?”

Berenger stood to face him. “I’m sorry for your loss, Joe, but I’m
trying to save your life
!”

“Goddamn it, I’ve told you everything I know! We all have!”

“What is it, Joe? Did you and Stuart come to blows over her? You wanted her for yourself? He wanted her for himself? Whose girlfriend was she? Or maybe you didn’t like it that she was
everyone
’s girlfriend!”

Nance couldn’t maintain control. He threw his weight at Berenger and they both tumbled over the piano bench, fell hard onto the floor, and began to pummel each other.

“Spike! Joe!” Prescott shouted.

Fists flew as the two grown men wrestled like animals until Rodriguez and Brill jumped up and intervened. It took both of them to pull Nance off of Berenger and throw him onto the sofa. They held him down as he struggled.

“Get him out of here!” Nance shouted. “Get out of my house!”

Prescott helped Berenger stand. There didn’t seem to be any harm done aside from bruised egos.

“I want you off the case, Berenger!” Nance said. “Zach isn’t around to pay you. We don’t need you sticking your nose into our lives anymore. Either the police will catch this woman or ghost or whatever the hell she is—or they won’t! Now get out!”

Brill said, “Better do as he says, Spike. I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” Rodriguez added.

“Don’t apologize to that fuck!” Nance yelled.

Lucy Nance entered and took in the sight of the two band members restraining her husband. “Joe? What’s going on?”

“We’re leaving,” Berenger said to her. “I’m sorry for the trouble. Come on, Suzanne.”

Prescott whispered to the woman that she was sorry as well and followed her partner out the door. Berenger stormed outside, got into the rental car, started it, and waited for Prescott to join him.