by Karen Black
Corky bristled slightly. “I’m telling you. Jazzy Saint James cannot be your killer!” Her expression registered her indignation.
“We’ll see. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to identify her if I see her up close and personal.” I turned to Hennie, anxious to change the subject. “How far is it to the company’s office?”
“A little over a hundred miles, up north of Anchorage. I’ve got a map in the car.”
“By the way, I have another question. Back to your toilet wall artistry. What was that tiny little drawing of a pyramid with the word Herodotus printed in block letters? What did that mean?”
“Wasn’t me. Must have been someone else’s shit-house artistry.” He grinned, his spirits seemed to have brightened.
CHAPTER XXI
Sunday, Anchorage, The Ecofreaks Concert
The next morning, I left Corky and Hennie to do their things, Corky shopping and Hennie, spying I guess, and drove Hennie’s rental out around Anchorage. I’d never been here before, and I wanted to get the lay of the land. I approached an attractive building, attractive at least as far as government types go. What first caught my attention was the group of about fifty people, gathered on the sidewalk and spilling out into the street. That’s what stopped me. They were blocking my lane. As I waited for the police to clear the road, I read the signs they were carrying. “Save the Salmon,” “Natural Gas is Better,” “Save our Wildlife,” “Save our Way of Life,” and “Corporate Greed” were among the most prevalent ones. Lots of different groups. All environmental, in opposition to something. As I passed the building once the cops pushed the protestors back, I saw the sign, Alaska Energy Authority. Okay, this group was protesting the dam.
I stopped at a camera store to purchase a pair of binoculars and a camera. If we were going out to the proposed site tomorrow, I might want to take some pictures. From what I’d seen so far, this place had some spectacular scenery. And I didn’t have time to pack those items when I sneaked out on the good police captain.
As I drove around Anchorage, I couldn’t shake the troubling thought that continued to grow in the back of my mind. Who was the guy from South America? Why would TINMAN bring in a job superintendent from down there, way up “North to Alaska” as Johnny Horton’s song and John Wayne’s movie said? I tried to dismiss it as I drove a different route back to the hotel, but it had taken root.
I didn’t see Hennie when I returned but Corky was just back from her shopping, or in this case her buying, trip. Bags and boxes covered the bed. “Looks like your trip was successful,” I grinned, nodding toward her collection. She giggled for the first time in days. Amazing how much I’d missed that sometimes-annoying sound. I took her in my arms, cupped her face in my hands and gave her a long, meaningful kiss. Then I held her at arm’s length. “I’m hungry, how about you?” She nodded. “I saw a deli down the street as I was driving in. It’s within walking distance so let’s grab a bite before we go to the concert.”
When we returned, our tickets were in our room. Corky’s was in the third row center, a good seat. I was a little off to the left, but in the second row, so I was going to get a good look at Miss Jazzy Saint James, or Ya Ya.
We entered the small crowded theater separately. I saw Corky to my right, but made no visible contact. A loud rock-band consisting of a singer, well, I guess some people would call him a singer, strutting wildly around the stage, bouncing around like some circus clown on a pogo stick, another wrinkled old guy plucking the strings off a beat-up guitar and a third guy with long, shaggy hair almost covering his face, beating equally loud–no louder–drums provided the warm-up. Thankfully, I had the forethought to bring ear plugs.
Then it was time for the main attraction. Four big, tall black dudes came out and started harmonizing to some not totally unrecognizable melody, much lower on the volume. They weren’t bad. I removed the ear plugs. Where in the hell did Ya Ya find four almost seven-foot black guys who could sing? Then it dawned on me. I bet they were a throwback to her basketball days.
The screaming audience went ape shit. A still-beautiful, six-foot blonde came onto the stage. She picked up the mike and belted out a haunting love song. I actually did like her music. But, she wasn’t going to be performing much longer, because Jazzy Saint James was indeed Jasmine Jarlemain or Ya Ya. And when she turned her back to the audience, I saw the same gorgeous long blond hair cascading down the same creamy back that I had seen walking away from my porch. I’d call Mike when I got back to the hotel to let him know. He would know who to tell to have her arrested.
Looking more carefully at the four altitudinous men, I couldn’t be sure which one of them, if any, had been the driver. I simply hadn’t seen enough of him. And these guys all had long, very long, skinny legs. Any one of them would fold nicely into a gun-metal gray Corvette sports car, provided, of course, the driver’s seat could be pushed back into the back seat. Try as I might, I couldn’t figure out how any of those guys could fit into the front seat of any car!
At intermission, I was able to crowd in next to Corky at the refreshment counter. “Corky, I’m sorry, but it’s her!”
I could see the disbelief mixed with disappointment on her face. She whispered, “I’m going to try to meet her. See you later.”
What? How was she going to try to meet her? I paid for my soda and turned to grab Corky’s arm to stop her, but she was gone. The buzzer sounded, warning the audience the show was about to resume.
When the show ended, I hung around several minutes outside the venue. Corky was nowhere to be found. What the hell was she doing? I grabbed a cab and headed back to the hotel. Maybe she left before me.
Corky wasn’t in the room. By two a.m., I was starting to panic. What could have happened? Could she have gone poking around and been kidnapped by the killers? I wish we hadn’t tried to be so cagey, trying not to be seen together. I hated to wake Hennie, but maybe we should go out and look for her. Or should I call the police? I started to get that all-too-familiar ache in the pit of my stomach. God, please don’t let anything bad happen to her.
I picked up the phone, but I wasn’t sure who to call. Just then, I heard a key in our door. I slammed the phone down, jumped up and rushed to the door. Corky walked in, head lowered. I could tell she had been crying, her normally beautiful brown eyes were swollen and red, as they had been in Aspen when I first met her.
I grabbed her and pulled her close. “Are you okay? Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”
She pulled away as if slightly annoyed at my gesture. “I told you I was going to try to meet her. So, I hung around after the show, told one of the ushers I had seen Jazzy at her first performance near Lake Tahoe, and I would really love to be able to say hello, and tell her how much I enjoy her music and how long I have been a fan. I also slipped him a $20 bill.”
“Are you saying you actually got to talk to her?” I couldn’t keep my astonishment out of my voice.
“A minute or two. I kind of repeated my ‘how great thou art’ routine, but then the Dragon Lady–a fitting name your friend, Mike, gave her–came out and told me to buzz off. She grabbed Jazzy by the arm, pretty forcefully, and pulled her into a dressing room. As she closed the door, I was still standing there and she yelled, ‘‘Get the hell outta here. Jazzy doesn’t do interviews.’
“The usher was not in sight, and I noticed a side door that appeared to go out into an alley. I took it. Sure enough, I found myself just outside the dressing room, beneath a high slightly ajar window. I guess the Dragon Lady never expected eavesdroppers, because I got an earful. Greg, Jazzy didn’t try to kill you.”
“Corky, I know you want to believe that, but I saw her; I know it was….”
“Yes, she did leave the bomb, but…let me explain what I heard. Jazzy wants out of whatever they’re into, and Dragon Lady, who is apparently the brains, muscle and money behind what’s happened, is having none of it. Dragon Lady apparently had said something that upset Jazzy before I got out to the alley bec
ause Jazzy was almost crying, saying she didn’t think that bomb was going to hurt anyone.”
“‘No,’ Dragon Lady said, ‘our stupid bomb maker didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. It was supposed to just be a big enough explosion to discourage the guy, Greg, or whatever his name was, from getting on an airplane. But, he did, and now he’s here. I saw him in the audience and recognized him from that photo they sent me in Minnesota. So, now, we’ve got to take care of him.’”
“What?” I shouted, louder than I intended, “You mean there’s a hit out on me from that group…too?”
Corky nodded her head sadly and continued, “There’s more. Jazzy was adamant. ‘Stella, I’m not going to be involved in killing anyone. Do not even think about it! We’ve done enough damage already. And neither will any of the guys. We’re entertainers, not murderers! I can’t believe you would actually consider such a thing.’”
“Dragon Lady said something like, ‘We wouldn’t do it ourselves, but I do have to make a call.’”
“Then Jazzy sounded like she was crying again and said, ‘How in the hell did we ever get in this mess?’”
“Dragon Lady just yelled, ‘because we needed the damn money.’”
“I couldn’t hear every word, but apparently she got a call from Los Angeles about a job that would pay $50,000. A job to discourage a certain Greg McGregor from getting on an airplane that weekend and it was supposed to further their environmental causes. She didn’t say how. She contacted a guy she knew who made bombs and the deed was done. They, whoever they are, wired $25,000 as soon as she agreed and the other $25,000 after. She made it very clear to Jazzy that it was only because of that money that they were still doing performances and were able to be up here to protest that damn dam.’”
“Well, I’ll be dammed,” I quipped, trying to lighten the tense mood. My meager attempt at levity was ignored.
Corky was still subdued. “So, I guess you were right about it being Jazzy, but I was right that she wasn’t trying to kill you. Not that it’s a lot of comfort. She did kill your dog, and it could have been you. What are you going to do now?”
I looked at my watch. It would already be morning in St Paul and Mike was an early riser. I picked up the phone. “I’m going to call Mike.”
“Well, the world traveler! Where are you hanging your hat now?” Mike asked as soon as I identified myself.
“I’m in Anchorage. Look, cut the small talk, I found Jazzy, I went to her concert last night, and she is definitely the one that placed the bomb. My partner even had the good fortune of planting herself in an alley and hearing it all confessed.”
“Your partner?”
“Yeah, Mike. I’ll fill you in later on the details, but I’ve met a girl…and she’s a keeper. But for now, I want to concentrate on what we do about Jazzy. According to Corky…that’s my partner’s name…they may now have a hit out on me. The old broad who manages the group is the muscle behind it. She apparently recognized me in the audience. Corky overheard her say they had to finish what they didn’t intend to start. I’ll also explain that later.
“Can you notify Captain what’s-his-name of the St. Paul Police that you received a call from me, and I have identified Jazzy Saint James as the person who left the bomb on my front porch, and ask him to contact the Anchorage Police to issue an arrest warrant or whatever or however they handle this inter-jurisdictional stuff? I’d kind of like to have them arrested before they have a chance to complete the contract. Be sure to include Dragon Lady, the manager. She’s actually the culprit behind the whole thing. They both need to be arrested.”
“How does this play into the murder of your friend? Were they involved in that?”
“I don’t think so. According to Corky, they received a call from L.A. with an offer of $50,000 for the job to keep me from getting on an airplane. I have no idea why someone in L.A. would know they would do ‘the job.’ I have a hunch Dragon Lady is a small-time drug dealer and that’s how she was on their radar. But they did hire her and she hired a bomb maker who was a little too aggressive in performing his craft. In other words, he gave them a bigger boom for their buck than they ordered or expected. But, it still fits with the pattern. Someone in L.A. is behind this and they have virtually unlimited funds. Which still makes me suspect someone in TINMAN. But who? They seem to have criminal contacts just about everywhere that they can call to handle a ‘job’ on a minute’s notice…including here I’m assuming. So, I’d like some speedy action on Miss Jazzy. And, by the way, yes, she is Jasmine Jarlemain. I wish to hell I knew what happened to her! How this is where she ended up.”
“Where can I reach you?” Mike asked. I gave him the hotel number and our room number. Mike signed off, “I’ll see what I can do. You take care. Seriously, my friend…take care.”
CHAPTER XXII
Monday, Anchorage, the Core Drilling
After only a couple hours sleep, we were up by 8 a.m. having a cup of coffee in the room when we heard a knock. Hennie entered, carrying his own cup of coffee.
“Okay, guys, what’s been happening the last couple of days with you? You tell me your news first and then I’ll tell you what I’ve found.” We gave him a blow by blow on what we had learned and where things stood.
“Wow…Uh….” A long pause followed. He tilted his head back, wrinkled his nose, and then shrugged nonchalantly, to show how “unimpressed” he was. “I guess you’ve been almost as productive as I have.” His eyes twinkled. “We’re getting closer. And, at least you found out who killed your dog. Okay, here’s the skinny on what I’ve found.” He sat his coffee on the desk. Hennie used his arms a lot to talk when he was excited. And he seemed excited.
“Greg, you remember when you first met Charley?”
“Sure, he called me out of the blue to fly down to Ecuador.”
“Do you remember anyone you met there?”
I scowled, thinking of that bothersome idea in the back of my mind that kept poking through to the surface even though I kept trying to push it down. “Yes.” I said tentatively. “I met a big guy, the construction foreman, Buddy Lee something…McGee I think.”
“And you win the cupie doll, mi handsome, red-headed lad!” He announced in a fake Scottish accent. “The head motha’ up here on this damn dam project is none other than big and wide Buddy Lee McGee, who lost millions of dollars on that Ecuador job when Charley stood his ground, and refused to pay him to remove the approximately 22,000 cubic yards of rock that went crashing down.”
“Are 22,000 cubic yards of rock a lot?” Corky asked.
“Let’s see if I can remember me math. 22,000 cubic yards at about 4,000 pounds a yard for that kind of rock and limestone is about 225,000 pounds, divided by approximately 2,000 pounds per ton equates to something over 112 tons of rock. Buddy Lee made some significant verbal threats, using lots of words in both English and Spanish that I won’t attempt to repeat in front of a lady,” he grinned and bowed gallantly toward Corky.
I started pondering out loud. “Okay, so who hired him? Did Charley hire him to give him a chance to make up for his losses, or did Leonard hire him? It would have had to be one of those two because of their roles at TINMAN. But if it was Charley, then why would Buddy Lee have him killed?”
“All excellent questions, mi lad. What we now need are excellent answers.”
“Okay, it’s time to step out into the light. Dragon Lady already knows I’m here. I don’t know if she’s still involved with the people she dealt with in L.A., but for the sake of safety, let’s assume she is. That’s probably the call she has to make, which in turn means we’re likely to have the goon squad after us soon…or at least after me. When I played football, I always favored the adage ‘a good defense is a good offense,’ so I think it’s time to go on offense.”
Corky had been unusually quiet during my exchange with Hennie, but she piped up at my last comment. “So, just what does ‘going on offense’ look like to you?”
“I’m going to ca
ll Leonard, tell him I’m in Anchorage–I have a feeling he knows that already–and ask him how big, wide Buddy Lee came to be involved.”
Hennie asked, “And what makes you think he’ll level with you?”
“For the same reason I think he’s behind all this. Maybe him and Buddy Lee both. Someone knows a little too much about his ‘personal affairs’ and he can’t afford to let that information get out. I saw Leonard’s reaction when I mentioned the Cliffe Motel. He went white. So, if I have to use that catch phrase again, I’ll do it. Although I now know who killed Darwin, I don’t know who was behind it…not for sure. And I want to know who was responsible for Charley’s death.”
Hennie looked at me questioningly. “What’s the Cliffe Motel got to do with Leonard? Charley used to go there a lot for lunch. He liked the place, and the chef was quite good for a place like that. Definitely not a five star establishment…not even close. I’ve been there a few times with Charley, but I don’t remember ever seeing Leonard.”
Oh, Shit. I forgot we hadn’t included that information in our earlier briefing of Hennie and for some reason, I didn’t want to betray Leonard’s secret, certainly not if I didn’t have to. But Hennie wouldn’t be happy if I just blew him off. Think–fast! What’s believable? Okay. Here goes. I put on my best sheepish expression, “We might have caught him seeing another…someone else.” My voice sort of choked when I started to say woman. “Someone he probably wouldn’t want his wife to know about.”
It worked. Hennie seemed to accept that almost-true explanation without question. Rolling his eyes, he noted, “Every one of those partners at TINMAN has a mistress on the side. But yeah, Leonard wouldn’t want his wife to know. She controls the purse strings in that family. She’s actually the one with all the money.”
