3 Requiem at Christmas (6 page)

She had only vague notions of what made up the modern mafia
since her attention had usually been turned to threats outside the nation’s borders
and what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas, at least as far as her department
was concerned. Still she recognized the outlines of an individual who was
living outside the law and in the spiritual homeland of greed and nonpolitical
power. It got her hackles up.

One of the orbiters turned to study her and Raphael. Juliet
smiled vapidly and did her best to look like a harmless older lady as the man
in the fourth row with the blue jowls, thick wrists, and fingernails that
gleamed like diamonds also turned and looked her over with dead eyes. Raphael
got no more than a passing glance. Men in wheelchairs weren’t anything to worry
about, his gaze said. Which only went to show that this creature wasn’t very
bright, or, as her boss used to say, “He could probably count to six but only
if he was masturbating.” How dare he just dismiss a man who had ten times their
integrity and a hundred times their combined talent?

“It’s for the best, you know,” Raphael said quietly as Mr.
No-neck turned away. “Sometimes it is convenient to be underestimated. So
please don’t go over and punch him in the nose.”

“I won’t,” she answered, relaxing and even managing a small
smile. “There were days that I only survived at work by letting everyone think
that my greatest gift was in my brassiere.”

Raphael laughed quietly.

“Did you ever cheat?”

“Wear a padded bra, do you mean?
If I had
enough warning.
And my boss encouraged me. He didn’t want anyone else to
know how good I was at my job and try to steal me for other projects. We both
preferred that I be thought of as a pretty coffee-fetcher.”

Juliet thought again about how little she missed her job. It
hadn’t been fun being a human database and
lie
detector
that spent every waking hour looking for men like the
neckless
creature. Her hours were more happily spent with her easel and paints among
people who also preferred art to intrigue.

She wondered
,
if there hadn’t been
a murder, if she hadn’t seen the torn body, would she even be suspicious of
this stranger?

The dark star stood suddenly and began walking for the exit.
He had on expensive shoes but didn’t look as though he was comfortable in them.
He didn’t wear his suit well either, though his tailor had done a great job of
hiding his figure. He wasn’t old money or power. Old money would walk all over
a person, but do it gracefully. This guy stomped like he was looking for
someone to kick.

He was also the last type of person she expected to see at
either a Celtic festival or a Requiem Mass, being neither given to frivolous
entertainment or higher spiritual pursuits. She counted three men who were
circling the very earthy body, pulling tight as they left the building.

Yes, even without a body, she would have been suspicious of
this one.

“Now that is a surprise,” Juliet said softly.

“Indeed. I wonder if he is a patron. Some of them use the
arts as a tax write-off.”

“Not of this event. Harrison got a grant. I don’t like to
judge a book by its cover—”

“But sometimes the cover gets it exactly right,” he said. “And
I think we may conclude at least two things. Three, if we include the almost
certain fact that he is likely involved in the killing.”

She was glad that she wasn’t alone in her suspicions.

“
One, that
whatever Mr. No-neck
wants has not yet been found?
Because he wants something,
right?”

“Correct—or he wouldn’t be here. The question is—”

“—did the killer find what he was after when Holtz was dead and
take it for himself? Or was he premature with the knife, leaving the unknown
commodity to still be discovered by any interested party?” she finished.

There was a small shriek from the front of the room and the
singing stopped.

Harrison was rubbing his face while the tenor and soprano
hissed at one another. There was no yelling as that might damage their voices.

“I think that’s our cue,” Juliet said. “Damn it. I didn’t
want to get involved in this.”

“Juliet. Raphael,” Harrison said in surprise and some relief
when he looked up and saw them. For a young man, he was looking surprisingly
haggard. “It’s good of you to look in on rehearsals.” He turned to the squabbling
singers. His voice was mild but reproving. Harrison did not think it despicable
to be efficient and professional in one’s work, and had little patience for
divas that ruined his schedule. “I’m sure you two will excuse me for a moment.
I sincerely hope that the morning’s bitching will be done by the time I come
back. If the critics’ reviews are going to upset you this much, I suggest you
stop reading them. For heaven’s sake, don’t listen to anything that anyone says
until the real performance.”

The short blonde and shorter black-haired man both blinked,
looking a bit like children who are startled by someone throwing on a light
when they’ve been hiding in the closet. The basso stared off into space, bored.
The alto had already left the stage for the restroom. The soprano though was
either fascinated or horrified by Raphael’s wheelchair and couldn’t look away.
Juliet found she had an urge to throw something at her.

Harrison gestured them toward a pew, then he pulled a red
foil candy out of his pocket and unwrapped it. The yellow
candy
inside looked a bit like
a glass marble. He noticed her attention and
reached in his pocket to offer her one.

“They’re good. Holtz got them for everyone. It is so wrong
that he should die now. The man was almost euphoric the morning that he died.”

Holtz.
The car
full of red and green wrappers.
She had been right about the sweet tooth,
though the wrapping was folded differently. These candies’ wrappers had been
twisted on both ends. The ones in the car were folded into rectangles, but
other than that, they were the same.

“Oh. No thanks. My teeth don’t like the hard stuff.”

He turned to Raphael who also declined the candy.

“Every job has its rituals,” Juliet said. “Why not kill a
critic in effigy? It might help with pre-performance jitters and boost morale.
You don’t have to do it in the church,” she said to Harrison, thinking to the
blood sacrifices—mostly metaphorical—of Monday morning meetings with the heads
of the various divisions of the NSA. She had had to sit in for her boss on
occasion and thought of it as breakfasting with the
Borgias
since it came with poisonous infighting and attempted character assassination.
She usually managed to stay out of fights by pretending to be stupid and
fetching coffee. Still, she had to admit that nothing she had faced there had
been half
so
savage as the attacks of some art
critics. She supposed it was as bad for musicians.

“If we didn’t have a homicide detective hanging around I
might consider it. As it is, that might be bad form. Besides, I think it is
mainly worry about Jim—the understudy—stepping in for Holtz that has everyone
upset. Jim is good but he isn’t a name. Holtz had even been asked to go to
China on some cultural exchange program next month.”

“So someone has finally come to interview us about the
murder? They didn’t set any speed records, did they?”

“Yes, a Captain David Denver finally arrived this morning.
Apparently he’s been checking up on everyone from the Woods and Sheriff Garret
has given us good character references. And thank God for it, because this guy
is not one of the kinder and gentler policemen.”

“Is he stupid?” Juliet asked.

“No.
Just pissed off.
I guess he
thought they would make it through the month without a murder.”

“Did he say anything about the power man in the expensive
suit watching rehearsals?”

Harrison frowned.

“Someone was here?”

“Yes.
Someone with three bodyguards and no
neck.”

Harrison looked blank and then, when there was another
shriek, a little harassed.

“He could have just been a passing music lover,” Raphael
said soothingly, though Juliet knew he didn’t think that any more than she did.
However, the young composer clearly had other worries and didn’t need this one
added to the list.

“Don’t let us keep you. I just wanted to see how you were
getting on with the new tenor and to wish you all kinds of luck.”

“Thank you.” Harrison’s smile was genuine, if a little
brittle. “You’ll be here tomorrow night?”

“Of course.
I’ve even bought a new
dress.” She stood and Raphael backed his chair away so she would have room to
get out of the pew.

Juliet waited to speak until they were outside.

“You know, I hate to borrow trouble….” Her breath was frosty
and white as her cloak.

“I know, but I doubt they can cope,” Raphael answered. “However,
I think the first thing to do is see this Captain Denver and perhaps extract a
little information from him. We need light, not just heated suspicions. Perhaps
he is very competent.”

“And you think we can do that even if he’s pissed off?”
Juliet asked, pulling her cloak tighter. “He may just blow smoke at us. Most
cops would.”

“I have faith in you,” Raphael said.

*
 
*
 
*

“So, Miss Henry, Mr. James, it’s nice of you to come to me
voluntarily. Tracking you people down has been a challenge,” began Captain
Denver after they had taken their seats in a back table at the diner where the
policeman was conducting his interviews. He had skin the color of sand, and
ginger eyebrows and lashes which were pale enough to leave his face looking
naked and expressionless. “I have just had a chat with Sheriff Garret.”

“And how is he?” she asked when he paused.

“Fine.
Efficient.
Knew an awful lot about all of you.”

“Small town,” she said and smiled. “He’s taking care of my
cat.”

Denver’s eyes moved from her to Raphael and back again. He
looked puzzled.

“He also hinted that it might be best if I didn’t bother
enquiring any further about your trustworthiness.”

“But you did?” she guessed.

“Yes, and I was told you were trustworthy. Apparently Mr.
James is also trustworthy.
As is Mr. Rodriguez.
In
fact, it seems that you have character references from everyone except God—and
you might have one from Him but that is classified.”

Harrison was right. Captain Denver was pissed off. Juliet
wondered if she should try to be charming but decided against it since she had
left the push-up bra and lipstick at home and was past the age for such
nonsense anyway.

“You must be reassured to be surrounded by so many
upstanding citizens.” Raphael glanced at her as she answered and she knew he
was amused. “Is there something you would like to ask me about the murder,
Captain Denver? I made a very thorough statement to Officer Gibbons—twice—but
you might have questions you wish to ask me yourself.”

“How did you know that the killer was using one of those
cabins to wait in?”

Juliet thought about it.

“The one at the base of the grade?
I thought I saw tracks to the door. And the killer had to go somewhere after
leaving the car. I’m assuming he went back to get gasoline or some other
accelerant for the fire. Gasoline makes the most sense since if the car’s
remains were examined for
residue,
gasoline wouldn’t
be out of place. And he could hardly have been carrying it with him when Holtz
picked him up.”

“We believe that is so, but someone burned down the cabin
this morning before a team could get in to collect any evidence that might have
been left behind.”

“Has the road been plowed?”

“Yes, at dawn. It had to be so that we could get in to investigate.
Someone else got there first.”

“So it could be anyone coming from either direction?
Unfortunate.”

“Have you come up with a scenario for the crime?” Denver
asked.

“Several, but I suspect it was some variation of this one.
Holtz was told to meet someone on that road or to travel that road for some
reason. He picked up a hitchhiker—either out of compassion for a poor soul
stuck in a storm, or by previous instruction. The hitchhiker killed him and
then went back to the cabin to get gasoline to burn up the car and the body. He
didn’t think that anyone would witness the killing because those are summer
cabins, the ski lodge was closed, and the ranger station is hidden by a thick
stand of trees. He also did not imagine that anyone would be crazy enough to
try using that road as a bypass to the highway during a storm.”

“You seem pretty sure of this.”

“Captain,” Juliet said gently. “In my old job I needed to do
a lot of dot-connecting. It helped that I am a decent cryptographer and
linguist—though there were many who were better. But the big thing that made me
good at finding the bad people was that I was—am—intuitive, and that I am not
afraid to embrace my intuition. I look for variations in predicted human
behavior. This killing is a large variant.”

She had had to use instinct. With the advent of computers,
spying and terrorism had gone high-tech, bits of data,
blips
of light. The motivations of the malefactors hadn’t changed much, but the players
had. The cryptographer geek was suddenly
king
. Seeing
past the electronic smokescreens of hackers was a gift few had, because it was
inborn and could not be taught. But she didn’t understand computers. Her work
was almost completely based on intuition about her opponents’ natures.

The captain was staring at her, clearly debating what to
say. She hoped it wasn’t condescending.