The Boom Room (6 page)

Ellis got right to the point. “Tell me more about Mike Master.”

“What have you found out?”

“Pretend I know nothing. I want to hear this in your words.”

“Well, he's weird, very weird.”

“You said that yesterday. Can you be more specific?”

“He lies about everything. Have you seen his Facebook page?”

Ellis nodded.

She continued, “Since he joined Rotten Attitude—”

“When was that?”

“About eight months ago. Since he joined, I've heard him change stories about things dozens of times. The band just writes it off as him being a born bullshitter, but I'm not so sure. Here's something else: he has no
ID
. I looked in Mike's wallet once, and there was nothing in it but a bit of cash. No cards, no driver's license, no nothin'. Do you know anyone with zero
ID
in this day and age?”

“Where does he live?”

“At the band house. Jamie and I have our own place now, but the rest of the guys live at the house. They rehearse in the basement. They think it's cool, but it's really a dump and not worth the rent.”

“How does everyone in the band get along?”

“Pretty well, I guess. Of course, they have fights about songs when they're working them out. Nothing serious though. Jamie writes all the band's good songs.” She reached in her purse and pulled out a
CD
. Its cover had only
Rotten Attitude
scribbled across it. “Promise me you'll listen to it. It's really good.”

Ellis nodded and slipped it into his coat pocket. “How does Jamie get along with Mike?”

She shrugged. “All right, although there's a lot of push and pull over who's the leader of the band. Mike obviously wants to be.”

“And the others?”

“Skip and Jonny have been with Jamie since high school. They're still solid. But with Jamie currently out of the picture, I don't know what will go down.”

“What do they believe happened the other night?”

Carolyn sighed heavily.

“I get the feeling they think Jamie did it. They won't say so, of course, but you can see it in their eyes. A couple of weeks ago, we were all sitting around after a long rehearsal. Gigs have been thin on the ground, and Rotten Attitude seems to be spinning its wheels. They were shooting the shit about surefire ways to get noticed. Someone jokingly said, ‘Well, I guess one of us could always kill someone.' We all laughed.”

“Do you remember who said that?”

She thought for a couple of seconds, then shrugged. “No. Sorry.”

“Bet it doesn't seem so funny now.”

Chapter
Thirteen

Pratt's luck didn't hold through the afternoon or else the cheating couple had never met around Thomson's apartment. Either way, he now had something to confront them with. Question was, did the husband know?

The next stop downtown was to speak again with The Boom Room's longest-serving employee, a bartender named Ben.

Fittingly, they met at a bar—just not the one Ben hoped he still worked at.

Being midafternoon, the joint was deserted. Ben had a pint, and Pratt, black coffee.

“I need you to help clear up a few questions,” Pratt began.

“Hey, no problem. If it will help things along and get The Room open again. Everyone is asking about it.”

“You don't think people would be turned off that someone was murdered there?”

“Are you kidding? Now The Room is even more notorious! It'll be jammed from the first night—guaranteed.”

Ben looked to be north of thirty with short blond hair, blue eyes and bulging muscles. Pratt guessed why he enjoyed working there. “All those young girls and so little time” was probably the bartender's motto.

Reading from his notes, Pratt said, “When I first questioned you, you told me, quote, ‘Joe Lewis really had no idea how a bar operation runs.' Care to elaborate?”

“This is between you and me, right?”

“Absolutely. Nothing will have to come out unless it has a direct bearing on Lewis's murder, and then only in court.”

“Well, okay. I just don't want to risk my job.”

“So what did you mean about Lewis?”

“He was a businessman, sure. Had some money, bought the club four years ago and figured to rake in the dough. But you have to know things beyond ordering booze and stuff. You gotta know what brings in the crowds. He tried a DJ for a while, but the joint wasn't exactly jumping.”

“So what changed? I understand it's now the hottest place in town.”

“Carl Thomson. He's got the touch about what's hot and what's not. Carl started booking live acts, got Joe to put in a kick-ass light show. The place changed overnight.”

“So what are you gun-shy about telling me?”

“Carl Thomson, he's a shifty bugger.”

“Is he dealing drugs out of the place?”

Ben took a pull on his beer.

“Not smart in the club district. Somebody takes a dislike to you, and suddenly the cops appear. Carl's not stupid.”

“Then what is going on?”

“It started with the usual diddles anyone pulls working in a bar. Carl always took over the service bar when it got busy. We all knew he was bringing in his own booze. Don't ring it in when you pour it, then pocket the money. It's pretty well undetectable. On a busy weekend, you can easily skim a few hundred each night. I'm certain he was running other scams too. When you work behind a bar for a while, you learn all the tricks.”

Pratt felt sure Ben did the same thing.

“You said, ‘It started with the usual diddles.' What changed?”

“Some of us felt that over the last few months, Carl was doing his best to run the place into the ground.”

“How was he doing that?”

“Mostly by booking bad acts, but he also hired two really crappy bartenders—slow, lazy, bad attitudes. Then two weeks ago, Lewis started being at the club more. The two bartenders were canned, and Lewis hired the replacements. Carl was told to book Rotten Attitude. They've always filled the place.”

“Having Lewis there was out of the ordinary?”

“Sure. Old Joe just wanted the money at the end of the night. He was never there to work. Carl was going around with a long face, let me tell you. I got the feeling he was going to be shown the door. But Carl had the touch with the bands, and Lewis couldn't get rid of him without slitting his own throat.”

“Did you hear any rumors about the place changing hands?”

“Sure. Carl made no secret he wanted to buy it. Actually, he tried to make it a secret, but when he's had a few drinks, his mouth gets a little loose.”

“Anything else?”

“They had a big fight about something last week. I was the only one there at the time, but I went downstairs to the office. The door was shut and they were screaming at each other.”

“What day?”

“Friday, I think…Yeah. Friday. My luckiest night of that week.” Ben flashed a toothy grin. “Would you believe it? Twins!”

Chapter
Fourteen

Pratt had never been to his partner's condo, though he'd been invited several times.

Jennifer Ellis was not what he expected. In many ways, she was her husband's opposite. He was tall (over six feet); she was short (maybe five three). His hair was dark and short; hers, long, flowing and blond. He was quite handsome; she was sort of plain. When she welcomed Pratt, though, he could tell from her eyes that a very special person lived inside. She taught kindergarten, and he got the feeling that she was very good at it.

“Finally I get to meet the formidable Detective Pratt,” she said with a smile. “My husband speaks of practically no one else.”

Said husband turned bright red.

When Jennifer went off to fetch beers, Pratt suggested they find someplace private to talk.

“The less anyone knows about this, the better.”

Ellis suggested the condo's balcony, even though the night was rather chilly. Early spring often brought winds off the lake.

I know where I'd spend my time if I lived here, Pratt thought when he saw the view.

“So why the big rush to see me?” Ellis asked once the beers had been delivered.

“Forensics came back with an early report on the knife we found.”

“And?”

Ellis kept his expression blank, but Pratt could tell he knew what was coming.

“Jamie's fingerprints are on it, as well as blood. No
DNA
yet, of course, but the blood type is the same as Lewis's.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“I shouldn't be telling you this, of course, and I'd suggest you keep it from your family. We're not going to announce it to the press for the moment—unless Gordon shoots off his mouth.”

“So that's the end of it.”

“Not quite.” Pratt opened his briefcase, which contained the police computer Ellis wanted to use. On top were two photos. “They sent over photos, and something on them is bothering me. Take a look at these and tell me what you think.”

They were close-ups of the dusted knife. The prosecution would use them in court to identify the accused's fingerprints on the murder weapon.

“There are some odd smudges on the handle just above the blade.”

“Good lad. Forensics won't say what they think. Gordon says that's where your brother gripped the blade when he was pulling it out of Lewis's back. That caused the smudges. I can't explain them, and that bothers me. I've never seen anything like it before, frankly.”

“What are you going to do with this?”

“Think about it. Try to come up with other ways it could have happened.”

Ellis needed access to the police computers, something he didn't have at the moment. So far, he'd been unable to track down any information about Mike Master before he'd joined the band. While that fact was telling, Ellis needed to get some solid information about the singer's past. Pratt's computer was his only hope for that, since he'd had to turn in his while on leave.

It didn't take Ellis long to tell Pratt the little he actually knew. And most of that came from Carolyn Tucci, so it might not be reliable.

Pratt asked, “And you believe Tucci is on to something?”

“I didn't at first. But when I found Masters actually was completely off the radar, I began to think she might be right. Obviously, Mike Master isn't his real name.”

“Also, Carolyn might not be privy to everything going on in the band.”

“I thought of that too.”

“I would talk to Jamie again, but I caught hell from McDonnell for going to see him by myself. If I go again, I have to let Flash tag along. I don't know if I want to do that.”

“That only leaves the band members. I'd talk to them—”

“If anyone needs to be questioned, I do it. Period.”

Ellis smiled. “Yes, boss.” He took a last swig of his beer. Then asked a little too casually, “So how is Jamie?”

“Scared. Gordon is really turning the screws in hopes of getting a confession. I didn't
BS
him. He's in deep if we don't come up with something. But I did let him know someone's working for the truth.”

Ellis sighed. “We all appreciate your efforts.”

“The least I can do.”

“So how do we proceed?”

“Use my laptop. You can log in as me. You know this computer stuff better than I do. So I'll let you handle searching for Master through official channels.” Pratt put down his empty beer bottle. “But I need your help too. I need someone to follow Carl Thomson, someone who won't be seen.”

He quickly sketched out what he had learned during the day and what he suspected.

“If we could catch Thomson and Margerie Lewis together, we might make good use of that to get other information. You think Master might be involved with Lewis's murder. I think it might be Thomson and the wife.”

“So I follow him, and hopefully they meet up. What then?”

“Call me, and I'll step in. No one needs to know you were involved.”

“I like it. But how do we get them to meet?”

“I'm going to light a little fire under them and see what it smokes out. By the way, can you do that cell-phone-records trick again for me? It would be nice to know if they've been calling each other.”

Two hours later, Ellis got up stiffly and stretched out the kinks. Jen had long since disappeared to bed. He found Pratt on the living-room sofa, snoring softly.

Using Pratt's login, Ellis had sent out on the police network two photos from the band's Facebook page. He'd asked for help from anyone who might know the face. As he'd expected, there had been no record of Master's name on the official computers.

Now he'd have to try to be patient, waiting to see if any law enforcement agencies responded to his inquiry.

Chapter
Fifteen