The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 (32 page)

“I heard Miles crossing the stage not long after I asked him
to escort the two to the room,” I interrupted.

“Patience.”  He scanned that sheet and the next.  “Let me
look at his interview.”  He took out another folder, looked through more papers
and shook his head again.  “He just said he wanted to find out what you were
doing onstage.”

We focused our attention back on the monitor.  I watched
myself reach down and feel the floor. I didn’t remember doing that.  I couldn’t
see my expression, but I could see myself bring my hand up and hide it as I
turned around.  “This is where the nightmare begins.  I got up and walked around
the curtain.”

“How could you see Carl if it was dark there?” he asked as
he paused the tape.

“When I pulled back the curtain the spotlights were still
on, and they lit the area that I pulled back.”  I sighed.  “I was surprised at
first.  I thought he was really late!  And then my mind took in what my eyes
were seeing. I think I may have laughed.  The whole thing didn’t look real.  I
don’t know, like an animation cell or a scene out of a teen thriller.”

He started the tape and kept it running on slow play.

“Here comes Miles.”

The tape continued on in that agonizing slow pace.  It took
forever for him to cross the stage.  I pulled back the curtain, exposing Carl
for the first time to the camera. Miles fainted and fell on top of me, pushing
us both towards the floor.  I hung on to the curtain for a moment until I lost
my footing on the blood, and we fell together, sliding under Carl.  The two
guards ran in slow motion to the side stairs and first rolled Miles off me then
pulled the curtain further back.  They stood there dumbfounded, staring at Carl
while I was floundering on the ground trying to get up.

“Slippery?”

“What?”

“Why did it take you so long to get up?”

“My left arm can’t support my weight.  I believe I mentioned
my injury.  I can’t push myself up on the left so I have to adjust my weight
and balance to the right.  See?”

He nodded and stopped the tape.  “Thank you, for coming here
and helping with this.”

“Do you want me to leave?” I asked.

“I think we’re finished with the tape.”

“Oh no, we aren’t done yet.  I have some questions.”  I got
off the stool so I could pace.  I don’t know why I pace, but I seem to need to
- anyway they do it in the movies.  “Why weren’t you surprised when I told you
over the phone that I didn’t think Carl was killed behind Bernice and Art? Why
isn’t he blue?  He was blue when I first saw him, I swear.  Where’s his tape
recorder?”  I stopped pacing.  “Detective Curtis, I think that Carl was killed
somewhere else.  The murderer used his tape recorder and taped his or her
scream and had it timed to play back while we were playing.”

“Alibi?”

“I think he or she then picked up the tape recorder as the
band left the stage at intermission.  Turned off the microphone and got rid of
or hid the recorder.”  I put my hands on my hips.  I tried to look imposing.  I
didn’t want to be patted on the head and sent home.

Detective Curtis blew air out of his nose.  “You want to
know why I was here till the wee hours this morning?”

“Well, it’s a start.”

“Come on.”  He got up and looked around, catching sight of
Harry he called, “You might as well join us.  I am going to need your brawn.”

Harry arrived smiling.  Harry hadn’t changed much in the
last few years since I had him over the house.  He had a lot of nerve. Fearless
was a good adjective for him, fearless.

“We need all the lights on back here, and how tight can we
get these curtains?”

“Tight?”  Harry asked.

“Out of the way,” I need to have as much uninterrupted floor
space as you can give me.”  Detective Curtis made a squeezing motion with his
hands.

“Righto.”  Harry went to work.   Daylight flooded backstage
as the automatic loading door opened.  It took a little longer for the
curtains.  We helped him rope them together.  When we were finished, Detective
Curtis motioned us over to where I found Carl.

“First, what I have to say stays here.  Harry, do you
understand me?”  A nod from Harry was enough for the detective.  Knowing Harry,
I would have asked for a better assurance than that, but that wasn’t my
problem.  “The coroner, Doctor Monitor, estimated the time of death to be about
six-thirty.  You heard the scream at seven-twenty.  This supports your theory
on the use of a tape recorder or maybe someone screaming back here by the
microphone.  What bothered me last night was why wasn’t his body discovered
before the concert?  If he were killed here, the blood pool would have been
much advanced.  You would have been walking in it on the way to your seat.”

“Detective Curtis, what was the cause of death?”

“Well that’s a bigger problem.  It first looked to us that
it was from the impalement of the microphone stand, but then why the mouthpiece
in the mouth?  You said on the phone that he was blue, so I thought maybe he
was strangled, forced to swallow the mouthpiece.  I pushed to have the autopsy
done last night.  Believe me, they weren’t too pleased.  The official cause of
death was suffocation due to paralysis of the lungs.  Carl had a circular
bruise on his neck where a needle was inserted into the artery.  The mouthpiece
was jammed in his mouth as he was dying.  The microphone stand was inserted
post mortem.   There was some evidence of pooling in his back indicating he was
laid down.   His eyelids stayed open after death because he died quickly. 
There was some breakage in his joints suggesting he was posed.  We have to wait
on toxicology to find out what caused the paralysis.”

“Shit!”

“Harry, don’t swear,” I said automatically.

“You do.  And, hey, you’re not my mom.”

“Ahem,” the detective said and waited for Harry and I to
stop talking before he continued, “I came back here, and I saw some things we
overlooked.”  He got down on one knee and pointed to a ridge in the floor.  “See
this straight line?”

“Yes.”

“If Carl bled out naturally, the blood would have hit this
ridge and followed along it.  But it was on both sides of the ridge.  I think
Carl was killed somewhere else, maybe on plastic or canvas, and he was dragged
or carried over here.  He was posed, and the blood was poured off the plastic
down the microphone stand and over the floor.”

“If he was already dead, why go to the trouble of posing
him?”  Harry asked.

I looked at both him and Curtis.  “The killer was sending a
message.”

“What message?”  Asked Curtis

“Don’t be late,” I said quietly.

With Harry’s help we searched the stage.  After being told
not to touch anything, we started with the storage rooms and worked our way
inward.  The percussion section was set up on a series of risers that were
interconnected.  Under one of the risers at the very back our search came to fruition. 
Harry and Detective Curtis lifted the riser up and exposed a neatly folded,
heavy plastic drop cloth in a clear plastic shopping bag along with an empty
bottle of water.

“Why the water bottle?”  Harry asked.

“Don’t touch it,” warned Detective Curtis.  “Let’s put this
thing down.  Humph.  I think,” he squatted down near the bag, “that this was
slid.  See where the dust is disturbed?”

“The back of the riser would have been behind the backdrop,”
Harry pointed out.

“The killer would just have to bend down and push.  No one
would have seen him from the audience.”

“So, we have the murderer killing and stuffing Carl
somewhere back here over a conveniently laid plastic.  Carl was moved to the
front, posed, decorated and the excess blood poured out on the floor.  The
killer then carefully folded up the plastic and hid it under the riser as he or
she went in and joined the band,” I surmised.

“Or joined the band as you left the room and entered the
stage,” Detective Curtis offered.

“What about the needle?”  Harry asked.

“Pocketed.”

“Tape recorder,” Harry pushed.

“Yes, the tape recorder and fingerprints!”  I clapped my
hands together.

“Gloves.”

“I saw on a show were you can get fingerprints off of
plastic gloves,”  Harry volunteered.

“Maybe, but what if they weren’t plastic, and where are the
gloves?”  Curtis asked.

“Hidden in a pocket and taken home.  But the tape recorder
that Carl used is too big not to be noticed in a pocket.  Detective Curtis,
Harry, I think that the killer took the time to fast forward the tape fifteen
minutes, no more.  He had to allow time for forming up.  He then walked
outside, screamed into it and rewound it.  He then started it, stepped into
line and played the concert.  At intermission he - I keep saying he - he or she
grabbed it on the way off stage, turned off the microphone and disposed of it.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere private...” I started.

Harry was up and running calling  “Restroom!” after him.

“Don’t touch anything!” Detective Curtis yelled after him.

I got up and went into the women’s room just in case our
murderer was female.  I was looking in one of the trashcans, carefully shifting
through the papers and whatnots when I heard Harry yell, “Got it!”

I ventured into the men’s room to find Harry and Detective
Curtis staring into the basket under the paper towel dispenser on the wall. 

“What do we do now?” I asked.

“I need to call in reinforcements.  What time is it?”
Detective Curtis asked.

I looked at my watch and groaned, “Almost four.”

“Problem?”

“I have to gather all those music folders and get them to
band by seven.”

“Why?”

“We have a rehearsal tonight.  My alto… is still in the
trunk!” I realized.  “That’s right, I forgot it last night.  Whew!  I thought I
would have to go all the way home and come back.”

“I think I want to be at that rehearsal tonight.  I have a
lot more questions to ask.  I think it would be an excellent opportunity.”  He
pulled out his cell phone.

“How long to get the troops here?”  I asked.

“Maybe twenty minutes to an hour.  Why?”

“I’m hungry, famished.  I didn’t eat this morning,” I
explained.

“Come to think of it, I could use some food myself.”

“Hello?” Harry butted in.  “I would be happy to go out and
get some takeout. Except...”

“Except what?” I asked.

“I don’t have any wheels here.”

“Use my car.”  I dug in my purse and pulled out some cash
and my keys.  “I’m not fussy, but you better bring back some caffeine with the
meal,” I said, handing him the keys and money.  “Detective?”

“Anything.”

“BMW!” Harry cut him off.  “Are these BMW keys?  Woo hoo!” 
He all but flew to the open loading door.  “That blue one over there?”

“Yes,” I said now regretting my impulse.

“Yee ha!” Harry jumped down and all but ran to the car
before I changed my mind.  By the time we got to the loading dock, Harry had
the top down and was reaching into his shirt pocket, coming up with a pair of
surfer sunglasses.  He looked in the mirror, fluffed his hair and smiled big,
all teeth showing.

“I hope you’re not going to regret this,” Detective Curtis
said behind me.

“Detective, I regretted it on the woo hoo, the yee ha just
confirmed my stupidity.”

Harry backed out of the space, beeped the horn and jetted
out of the parking lot.  I sat down on the loading dock contemplating how much
my insurance was going to go up while Detective Curtis made his calls.

~

Harry did come back, and my car was in one piece.  He
brought deli sandwiches and plenty of Cokes.  I didn’t ask for my change.  I
never received any from my son, and I didn’t expect any from Harry.

Detective Curtis was eating as he walked around supervising
the day shift photographer and fingerprint team.  The tape recorder was rescued
from the waste bin, but the tape was missing - dead end.  Harry and I were
picnicking on the loading dock, staying out of everyone’s way.  He and I were
getting caught up on gossip when something on the cement caught my eye.

“Excuse me Harry.”  I got up and walked over to inspect some
reddish gravelly stuff on top of the dock.  “What’s this?”

“Cat litter most likely.  We use it to absorb paint spills. 
The lazy so-and-sos most of the time just sweep it out here.”  He got up and
walked over.

“Look how the red litter stops in a straight line,” I
pointed out.

“There is a lot of it just inside the door here.  Oh my
god!”

“What?”

“This is where the bastard killed that Carl guy.”  Harry was
off like a shot and returned with Detective Curtis.

“Well, I’ll be damned.  How did my crew miss this?  Very
sloppy work.”  He left and came back with the photographer and crime scene
team.  “Cin, Harry, I think I will have to ask you to move your picnic inside.”

“Don’t worry, I just lost my appetite.”  I tossed my
remaining sandwich in the white deli bag and went into the building to gather
the music folders.

~

With Harry’s help I stowed all the folders in my car.  I had
to use the passenger seat as the trunk is very small, and with my alto we could
only squeeze in ten folders.  He seat-belted the thirty folders and cautioned
me to ease to a standstill as a jarring stop would send the folders flying. 

“Yes, Daddy,” I said sarcastically.

“Hey now, I’m just looking out for your best interests.”

“Sounds like part of a speech I gave Alex once.”

“You gave it to the both of us one evening.”

“I guess I was a nag.”

“No, you cared.  You were a friend when I needed you and a
mom when my mom was too ill.”

“Thanks, Harry.”

“No, thank you!”  He gave me a big smile and ducked in time
to miss the rub on the head I was going to give him.

I closed up the car and we wandered into the building. 
Detective Curtis motioned us over to him.

“This is how it looks so far.  The killer was waiting for
Carl outside.  He lured him over and killed him here.  He had some nerve
considering it was still daylight at six-thirty.  He then dragged him in, and
the rest of our thesis seems to fit.”  He looked over at me.  “The ‘where’ has
been solved.  The ‘who’ and ‘why’ is yet to be determined.”

“It is the ‘who’ that bothers me the most.”

“I know it could have been anyone, no, more correctly, any
male.”

“That gives me little comfort considering, there are forty-one
males in the band.”

“What about looking at who left the stage before the sound
changed?  Wouldn’t that narrow it down?” suggested Harry.

Detective Curtis patted Harry on the back.  “I’m one step
ahead of you.  The tape is cued and all we need is Cin here.”

I groaned and followed Harry and the detective.  The
detective asked Harry. “So what’s your major?”

“Performance art.”

“Performance art?  It should be law enforcement.”

“No way, I’m allergic to donuts,” Harry insisted.

I sat down once again and looked at the monitor.  Detective
Curtis, whom I would call by his first name if I could recall it, had stopped
the tape right at the sound change. 

“Tell me who is still on the stage.”

I rattled off the names, and he crossed them off his list. 
Allowing that some of them may have been right behind the killer and
subtracting the women, he came up with twenty-nine names.  Twenty-six band
members, Miles the conductor, and the announcer.

“I’m going to run this by my supervisor before I attend your
practice.  I have here that it’s at Coconut Palms High School,” Curtis looked
at me and I nodded.  “Until we get this resolved, don’t share what we’ve found
with anyone, Cin.  Harry that goes triple for you.  We need to keep our killer
feeling safe and sound.  It would be very dangerous for both of you if the
killer knew you had some idea of who he was.”  He was very serious, and I heard
more than caution in his voice.  I heard concern.

“Detective, I have one more question.”

“Yes, Cin.”

“What’s your first name?  Detective Curtis is quite a
mouthful.”

“Anthony.”

“Don’t tell me, your mother calls you Tony,” Harry said.
“You should have been in performance arts and not law enforcement!”

I left with them bickering.  I had fifteen minutes before I
had to be at practice.  I needed time to prepare myself to walk into a room
where Carl’s killer may be.  More importantly, I needed to act blissfully
unaware that he was there.