Sand City Murders (60 page)

***

The Rumblers started their next set with
Hurdy Gurdy Man
, moved through to an obscure Leon Russell tune called
This
Masquerade,
and finished up with a couple of requisite Police numbers, and two by Elvis Costello. I got the opportunity to dance with Suzy and Anika, separately of course, though neither got my full attention. I was completely distracted, searching the room for suspects and in particular, Mortimer. I did see Molly Gossip sitting alone at the bar and slightly drunk. I wasn’t the only person trying their best to avoid her. I also saw Eleanor and Mrs Lovely dancing together, a likely couple, I guess, but the song that played was not:
Please allow me to introduce myself, I’m a man of…
The Rumblers were covering that Rolling Stones tune. Miriam came up to my side and watched them too. “Cute, eh?” she commented.

“Two peas in a pod…”

“Well, they are sisters, after all.”

“What?” I turned to face her, unable to mask my surprise.

“You didn’t know Annabel and El are sisters?” Miriam laughed. “How long have you been working at the
Chronicle
?”

“She never said anything to me.”

“Hmm, I wonder what else you don’t know, Patrick?”

***

Pagor took the stage again. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s now time for the featured event of the evening, our benefit auction. All proceeds will be donated to the SCPD benevolent league, so I urge you to please, bid often and bid generously. Tonight’s first item is this magnificent antique hardwood cane with a brass jackal-head handle. The bidding will start at five hundred dollars. I see six hundred... and seven, eight… Mr Leaning from the
Times
.”

With a slight gesture, Fynn made it a thousand.

“A thousand… fifteen hundred to Mr James…”

Evan James is bidding on this? Where did he get that kind of money? I didn’t even see him come in.

“I have twenty-five hundred, Mr Leaning again… and three thousand, madam…” Pagor continued, “Four... and five thousand… Doctor Hackney, thank you.” Fynn nodded again. “Ten thousand, thank you Inspector Fynn. More bids? Twelve thousand, thank you, Melissa…”

Wait. Melissa? She was bidding too? I strained for a better view and saw her standing with her husband in the far corner of the room. He was whispering in her ear. “I see twenty thousand, Mr Chamblis.”

It seemed to be down to three bidders now. Fynn nodded again. “Thirty thousand… that’s quite generous, thank you… And now, the gentleman at the back, forty thousand. I have forty… forty one… two… three, forty three thousand dollars to Mr Chamblis… Going once, twice… sold to Mr Charles Chamblis. Thank you sir, indeed, most generous. If you’ll just come up and claim your prize... Ladies and gentleman, a big round of applause for Mr Chamblis, please.”

It was over in a flash; the dreaded cane, now in the hands of Chucky Chamblis.

Pagor went on to the next item on the auction list, an oversized National Audubon Society cook book. “This delightful volume would make a fine addition to any kitchen and it’s filled with the most enticing recipes…” Despite his bellow, I was able to turn Pagor off in my mind... Wait. What are they trying to auction off now?

***

Not long afterwards I heard my name called over the public address, well almost, “Ladies and gentlemen please welcome our special guest performer, Mr Gary Sevens...” I gulped. Anxiety rushed through me. I heard some applause as I drained my glass and walked up to the stage.

“Thanks, everybody… hope you’re all having a great time. Let’s hear it for Randy and the Rumblers tonight. They’re doing a fantastic job, right?”

A round of applause, and a few modest bows from the band. I strapped on my guitar and strummed nervously. The level was perfect and it was in tune. I noticed Fat Jack switching to his acoustic. “Like to start off with a Van Morrison tune… sorry though, it’s not
Moon Dance
.” I heard Randy laugh behind me. That probably would have been the perfect song for tonight. Instead, I began with
Into the Mystic
. I strummed the five beat intro and sang, “
We were born before the wind...
” To my complete surprise, a horn section came up behind me. It was Randy on his trumpet with some added effects. Very nice indeed.

Next, I did a Who song, mainly to satisfy Eddie.
My Generation
had an awesome bass solo that he loved to play. I think Terry the drummer had some fun with it too. I shut my eyes tight and started to sing. Surprising or not, this tune did a good job of filling up the dance floor. I finished my set with a Talking Heads song:
Once in a Lifetime
, but I had put my guitar down. Fat Jack would be hitting the power chords when needed. And ironically, I realized that my tuxedo and bow tie were especially appropriate. It’s nearly impossible to describe this song with words. The band started up with a double-time beat, a skidding syncopation and a kind of repetitive bubbly sound from the synthesizer. It was all punctuated by a plucked bass in measure. Fat Jack hit the three major power chords, and let the fourth sustain… The bubbling background continued. I came up to the mic but I didn’t sing at first, I spoke:

You may find yourself living in a shotgun shack… You may find yourself in another part of the world... And you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?

Randy and the Rumblers took it from there:
Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down... Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground...

Fat Jack hit the power chords again with Randy following on his keyboard. I continued, half speaking, half singing, repeating:
Same as it ever was... same as it ever was...

We nailed the song perfectly, as strange as it is, and it also filled the dance floor. I was happy enough to hear people clapping; someone also shouted out
encore
, but it was probably just Joey. I took a small bow and left the stage. The house lights were raised and the band took a break. I slipped back to the bar for another drink but soon remembered I had spent my last twenty dollars.

Pagor hobbled to the stage for a final time, I hoped so at least. “Let’s have a big round of applause for Sand City’s own, Patrick Jardel. I’ve been working with Patrick at the
Chronicle
for the past eight years and had no idea he was so talented. Thank you, Patrick, or should I say, Mr Sevens…”

It seemed like faint praise or a backhanded compliment. I wasn’t quite sure which.

“And now ladies and gentlemen, on to the main event so to speak. I’d like to call up Chief Leonardo Arantez…” Pagor boomed. The chief took the stage awkwardly and with a certain resignation, I thought. He was certainly conspicuous, not in a tuxedo. He began a long rambling speech about his time in Sand City. He thanked a lot of people, not all of them present tonight, and finally called up his own replacement. Arantez was officially retiring and handing over the reigns of the SCPD to Captain Richard Durbin the Third. It was the changing of the guard. I wasn’t entirely sure about the legality of this but had no complaints; Durbin would make a fine chief. In turn, the detective also had a long list of thank you’s…

Randy and the Rumblers took the stage again and I heard strains of Little Feat, probably
Dixie Chicken…
Up till now they had the fifties to the eighties well covered, but I sensed they were having a little trouble arriving to the present, musically at least. I started to doubt we would hear any song from this century.

***

“That’s the man, that’s Mortimer. I’m sure,” Fynn came up behind me and whispered.

I looked across the dance floor to see who he meant. “Who, who are you talking about?”

“The man speaking to your Melissa.”

“I think… I think I’ve seen him before… wait, that’s her husband... That’s Mortimer?”

“Without a doubt. He appears almost exactly as I remember him from nineteen sixty-four, a bit older perhaps.”

This was Mortimer? I’ll admit to being shocked. I looked at his face. It was angular and sharp. He had long stringy black hair and a thin mustache that drooped on either side of his mouth, and an equally thin goatee. He could have just stepped out of a Civil War documentary. This was Mel’s hubby, father to cute little Madison? Mortimer was not quite as impressive as I had expected. He did stand over six feet tall, but not the great hulking man that Annabel Lovely had described. Rather more, he seemed sort of gangly, wearing a dinner jacket that was one size too large around the shoulders. Nor was it at all apparent that he only had one eye. I looked down at his shoes. All doubts to his identity were erased: Italian, size eleven.

It seemed impossible to me though. I reached back to my memory, searching for clues and remembered what little Madison had said. First on the bike path: they were looking for her father’s hat… and in the office, the drawing of him with an eyepatch, and the dog on a stick. It started to make sense now…

“And Melissa was his accomplice all this time,” I said almost to myself.

“No, I don’t believe so. Melissa is not the willing accomplice, though an unwitting one, I would guess,” Fynn whispered behind me.

“Who then?”

“Go on and introduce yourself, if you’d like. See what you make of the man. I must however keep close tabs on our Mr Chamblis, or more specifically his new cane.”

“Yeah, why did you let him win, the auction, I mean?”

“I thought it pointless to continue the bidding, he seemed hell bent on acquiring it.”

I waited till Melissa walked away from her husband to talk to Molly Gossip. I strode over quickly and stood in front of him, but said nothing.

“Mortimer Javelin at your service, Mr Jardel.” He took my hand and shook it. “It’s an honor and a privilege.”

“You’re Melissa’s husband?”

“Indeed I am, though she knows me better as Jerry... Or is it Julian? I’m rather forgetful about such details.” He smiled graciously enough, though I saw nothing genuine in it. “She has told me everything about you. I feel as if I know you quite well already.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“Eh? Well, I’m rather enjoying this little soiree. Here we are surrounded by policemen, yet no one seems the slightest bit interested in me.”

“Fynn is.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re correct about that.”

“You’ve killed eight people and you’ll pay for your crimes.”

“Tell me then, whom have I killed, Mr Jardel? And especially in the eyes of the law...”

 I had no answer to that.

“Now if you will excuse me, I must speak with your editor…” Mortimer walked across the dance floor to the seating level, and right up to Eleanor, who was at a table chatting with Annabel. I watched as he whispered something in her ear and a smile spread across her face. She glanced up at him almost adoringly and I heard her raspy laugh. Mortimer led her to the dance floor. Incongruously, the band started playing Jobim’s
Girl From Ipanema.

It was not Mortimer’s intention to dance with Eleanor though. He took her across the main floor to the far corner of the room near one of the columns and started arguing in a highly animated manner. It was a bit difficult to see what they were doing, but at first glance I thought Mortimer had his arm around Eleanor’s neck. This seemed to attract some attention as well. It certainly got mine. I hurried in that direction and passed by Melissa, her face had turned quite pale. I also saw Chamblis striding over, now with Fynn in tow instead of Michael Burton Dean. We arrived at more or less the same moment.

“Ah, gentlemen, I see I’ve garnished your attention,” Mortimer said. “I was having a little chat with Eleanor here. She is being most unreasonable at the moment. I don’t think she trusts me anymore.” He tightened his grip around her neck. “Isn’t that right, my dear?”

Eleanor was compelled to nod an affirmative. She was absolutely terrified, given the look on her face.

“And Tractus, good of you to join us at last.” He looked at the inspector carefully. “Look how old you’ve become, Fynn… you’ve been here far too long, I think.” Mortimer gave him a cruel smile. “And I’m so sorry to see your wife isn’t with us tonight. I’d love to meet her again. She was quite enchanting on the first occasion. Oh, when was that? On the streets of London, I think… not so long ago to me. But I do see your daughter Anika is here this evening… wonderful, indeed.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing,” I nearly screamed.

“Please, Mr Jardel, lower your voice. I’m sure you don’t wish to see your beloved editor come to harm this evening.” Mortimer gave off an insidious smile. “I only want what’s mine.”

“What’s that?”

“My cane of course.”

Chamblis was smiling now. He took a step closer. “You’re him, aren’t you… you are Jasper— I knew it.”

“And how are you this evening, Mr Chamblis?” Mortimer spat his name out.

“You set me up, you bastard. You put that girl in the freezer, you took her to the park in my goddamn car, and sent me those freaking shoes.”

Mortimer laughed. “I don’t have the slightest inkling as to what you’re saying… but please, now you will return my cane to me… or, I will snap this woman’s neck like a twig.” Mortimer turned to Fynn. “Tell him Tractus, you know me better than most. You know I’m not bluffing.”

The inspector gave him a once over. “No, I don’t suppose you are.”

“Well then, my cane if you please.”

“It’s not mine to give.”

“That’s right. It’s mine now,” Chamblis said and sneered. “What’s so goddamn important about it?”

“I’m sure that’s well beyond your tiny mind, Chuck,” Mortimer replied with utter contempt. “Hand it over or Eleanor comes to harm.”

“I don’t care what happens to her, she’s an old lady.”

Mortimer was only slightly surprised by this response. “Well, well, a man after my own heart,” he said. “Though these two men do not share this view, I think. The cane, Fynn, now…”

“Mr Chamblis, if it’s a matter of money, I will happily write you a check for the full amount, or more if necessary,” Fynn said.

“It’s not about money. Jasper here has messed with the wrong guy.”