The Boom Room
THE
BOOM
     Â
ROOM
RICK BLECHTA
Copyright © 2014 Rick Blechta
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Blechta, Rick, author
The boom room / Rick Blechta.
(Rapid reads)
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN
978-1-4598-0514-9 (pbk.).--
ISBN
978-1-4598-0515-6 (pdf ).-
ISBN
978-1-4598-0516-3 (epub)
I. Title. II. Series: Rapid reads
PS
8553.
L
3969
B
65 2014Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â
C
813'.54Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â
C
2013-907630-1
C
2013-907631-
X
First published in the United States, 2014
Library of Congress Control Number: 2013956421
Summary: When the prime suspect in a nightclub murder turns out to be his partner's half brother, Detective Mervin Pratt soon realizes that the case is not quite so open-and-shut as it first appears. (
RL
4.2)
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies:the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
Design by Jenn Playford
Cover photography by plainpicture
In Canada:
Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 5626, Station B
Victoria, BC Canada
V8R 6S4
In the United States:
Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 468
Custer, WA USA
98240-0468
17 16 15 14 ⢠4 3 2 1
This one is dedicated to Ted Blechta
for no other reason than
you're the greatest brother
in the world.
Contents
Pratt was digging into a nice plate of pasta at his favorite Italian restaurant. He knew he shouldn't eat the stuff. But so what if a few extra pounds showed on his six-foot frame? He deserved a treat now and then.
He was about to shovel in his third mouthful when he got the call.
“We need help at a crime scene,” dispatch told him.
The detective looked at his cell phone like it was a traitor. Why couldn't they have called him last night, when he'd just gone home after work?
With a sigh, he put the phone back to his ear. “Where?”
“Nightclub district. A stiff's turned up stabbed at The Boom Room. Heard of it?”
“Yes, but not in a way that makes me eager to visit.”
“We sent Snow and Gordon down, but Snow has pulled up lame. Gordon is alone and could use help.”
“Why me?” Pratt asked. Everyone knew there was bad blood between Gordon and him.
“You're the closest to the crime scene.”
“How do you know that?”
The dispatcher chuckled. “We have our ways.”
“You rat!”
“Hey, Pratt, I'm just doing my job. Just get a doggie bag for your dinner.”
Signaling for the waiter, Pratt sighed again. “I'll be there
ASAP.
”
It was true he wasn't far away. But it was Friday, and traffic was impossible. Kids were flooding downtown on this latewinter evening. Pratt could have walked there faster. Even with the magnetic bubblegum light on top of his car, no one gave him an inch.
Finally driving up to the yellow police tape, he got out. The patrolman on duty almost said something, but Pratt's glare shut him up. His cell phone rang again.
“Pratt here. What do you want?”
The person at the other end laughed. “Boy, are you in a crabby mood!”
It was Ellis, his still-wet-behind-the-ears partner. The lad had good “cop instincts,” so Pratt had taken him on. Two months later, the fit was still good. He didn't make Pratt always feel like the old fart on the homicide squad.
“What do you want?”
“I hear you got called in to help Gordon,” the younger man said.
“Bad news travels fast.”
“Want some company? I have nothing on tonight.”
“Suit yourself. You know how Gordon can be.”
“That's why I'm offering.”
“Well, in that case, sure. You might learn something about how not to interact with the public.”
“See you in half an hour.”
“The traffic is horrible,” Pratt warned him.
“It always is down there on Fridays. I'm taking transit.”
Police tape extended across the street from both corners of the building housing The Boom Room. A large crowd pressed forward against the flimsy plastic strips. Four uniformed cops kept it back.
The Boom Room stank of stale beer and sweat. Two distinct groups crowded around a couple of tables at the back of the long room, looking uneasily at each other. Two more uniformed cops stood nearby, keeping an eye on them. Pratt also noticed three girls sitting in a corner by themselves. One was sobbing uncontrollably. The other two were comforting her.
The club must have been packed when the murder was discovered. Where the hell were all those people? Why hadn't Gordon made some attempt to keep them there?
Pratt knew one of the uniforms and went up to him. “Where's Gordon?”
The cop motioned with his head.
“In the basement. Manager's office. Crime scene guys are down there too. I have no idea what's going on, so don't ask.”
Pratt headed for the door the cop had pointed to. Passing the club's small kitchen, he saw a uniform talking with the threeman cooking crew.
Sticking his head in, he asked, “Taking statements?”
This cop turned and rolled his eyes.
“Something like that. Speaking English is not their strong point.”
“Gordon?”
“Downstairs. Stairway's at the end of the corridor on the right.”
Back here, the reek of old cooking oil was added to the stench of beer. The steps to the basement were sticky and slimy at the same time. Pratt gripped the railing tightly.
At the bottom he found a small square room. Painted flat black some years ago, it was now a dusty dark gray. A door on the left stood open. Two white-suited crime techs were in there. Pratt could clearly see the body slumped over a desk. There wasn't as much blood as he'd expected with a stabbing.
He didn't need to ask where Gordon was. His loud voice could be heard behind a door marked
Employees Only
.
Gordon looked up as Pratt entered. His face wasn't friendly, but then, it seldom was when Pratt was around.
The space was a locker room for employees and doubled as the dressing room for bands. Everything was low-rent and dirty: lockers, a few chairs, a table, a cheap metal coatrack. The full-length mirror on the back wall had a big crack through it. On a chair in front of it huddled a scared-looking twenty-something kid. Gordon motioned Pratt out of the room. He followed and shut the door.
“Do you think it's wise leaving your suspect alone?” Pratt asked.
Gordon ignored him.
“So you got sent?”
Pratt nodded. “How come Snow isn't here?”
“He got sick earlier this evening. Says he has the flu. It's bullshit. He wanted a head start on his weekend. Well, the joke's on him. You too, for that matter. This is an open-and-shut case.”
“That kid in the room?”
“Guilty as sin. I was about to take him downtown.”
Pratt raised his eyebrows. “He's confessed?”
“Get real, Pratt. They all say they're innocent. Here are the facts. The kid is the leader of the band playing here tonight. He had a screaming argument with Lewis, the owner, this afternoon when they were setting up. Everybody saw it. Then he went around telling everyone what a scumbag the guy was. Said he was going to get him. The club manager heard him. A few hours later, someone sticks a knife in Lewis's back. And guess who was always flashing a knifeâincluding earlier this evening? The one he claims has now gone missing.”
“That's pretty compelling.”
“Damn straight it is! I had to laugh when the kid said he didn't do it.”
“And what if he's telling you the truth?”
Gordon stepped right into Pratt's face.
“Know what your problem is, Pratt? You think you're smarter than everyone else. Well, you're not, and I'm going to prove it. A couple hours' grilling downtown and this kid will fold like a cheap suitcase. You'll see.”
As Gordon went back into the room, Pratt was thinking it was a good thing they had
CCTV
in the interview rooms now. In the bad old days, cops like Gordon would have beaten a confession out of the kid.
He sighed. Seldom was a case this easy. The problem wasn't that he thought he was smarter than anybody. The problem was Gordon's lack of imaginationâand his laziness. If the kid got a good attorney, Gordon's case could wind up shredded. It did look bad for the suspect, but every aspect of a case should be carefully studied. That was the only proper way to investigate a murder.
He sometimes wished he could take the easy way outâlike Gordon.
But then, he knew, he wouldn't be doing his job.
Pratt moved back to the doorway of the crime scene room. Two techs in their white “bunny suits” were busy working it up. He knew better than to enter.
“Have a minute, guys?”
The one closest to the door took a few more photos of the body before turning.
“Sure, Pratt. What can I do for you?”
That was unexpected. Usually, they told detectives to bugger off and let them work.
“Anything interesting to report?”
The tech shrugged.
“Pretty simple. The doc hasn't arrived yet, but it looks like the late Joseph Lewis met his end from one stab wound in the left side of his back. Right into the heart. The death wound was made by a knife with a thin blade. Sharpened on both sides, probably with a long blade.”
