by Dave Daren
“Sure,” she said. She was soft spoken, and she seemed shy. “The others are downstairs, would you care for a cup of tea?”
“Uh, sure,” I said.
The odd European gesture somehow fit in with her demure disposition. She took us into an empty dining area with a long heavy oak table that had seen more than a bit of use. She was quiet and somber, and Landon and I took our cues from her and remained so ourselves. We sat politely, and she busied herself about the small kitchen, and I noticed her thin pale hands shake.
Finally, she sat down at the table and poured the three of us drinks. She sighed long and deep.
“Is it alright if I film?” Landon asked.
She smiled. “Sure.”
“What we want,” I said while Landon turned on the camera, “is to know what happened the night of the incident. As you know, Julianna has been accused of the murder, and we don’t believe she did it. So, we want to find out everything that you can remember about that night that could give us a clue as to what really happened.”
“Okay,” she smiled, gripped her teacup, and sighed as she gathered words. Then she let out a short whimper and gripped her stomach as if she would be nauseated. “This is difficult to talk about. I didn’t realize how hard it would be.”
“I understand,” I said. “We spoke with Chloe earlier, and it was difficult for her, too. But, the more we know, the closer we can get to the real killer and justice for Beyo.”
I had a hard time spitting out his nickname, but I did it to put her at ease.
“Right,” she nearly whispered, and I wondered how much audio Landon could pick up.
“So what can you tell us?” I asked again.
She primly crossed her legs and looked into her teacup and then up at me again.
“The night of--” she stopped as if looking for a way to refer to what was clearly a traumatic experience.
“The incident?” I supplied her with a euphemism.
“The incident, yes,” she said, “that night was very hectic. We were running late, and I twisted my ankle during rehearsals, and I had to put it on ice while the others did run-throughs without me. This was difficult to do, and everyone was tense, and the practice was sloppy. Ugh. There is nothing Beyo hates more than sloppy rehearsals.”
She took a sip of her tea, and I listened quietly. This part was largely irrelevant, but getting a good feel for what had happened earlier in the day would give us an understanding of the timeline of the murder.
“On top of my ankle problem,” she continued, “the stage was wider than we were used to, so it threw all of the blocking off, so we had to rework a lot of sections. I sat on the side of the stage with an ice pack and tried to memorize the new positions. This all made Beyo uptight, and he was snapping at everyone. Also, we knew that Beyo and Julianna had had words.”
“Do you know what about?” I asked.
I had the information from Julianna as to why there was tension between the two of them, but I wanted to know if Olivia was aware.
“Not exactly,” she said. “Julianna and Beyo clashed frequently. Beyo is... or was... a strong man, and he didn’t like to be crossed or challenged. Julianna’s strength threatened him, I think. So, they would get into heated arguments about mundane things like schedules or specific stage blocking. Tour rehearsals had started to become very difficult.”
“So you were unaware of what the root tension between the two of them might have been?” I asked.
I wanted to find out if she knew about Gabriel.
“No,” she shrugged, “other than personality differences.”
“So, go on,” I said. “What else happened that night?”
“We were told that there were protestors outside,” she said. “We weren’t strangers to controversy. Our act has always been met with a certain degree of skepticism. Beyo thrives on it. He saw himself as a revolutionary, pushing artistic boundaries. I think he thought the more resistance he had, the more he was ‘lifting the veil of ignorance,’ as he called it. He assured us that Mr. Iakova had them under control. But, we were asked not to go outside for our own safety.”
“Chloe explained that the performance was late because of a protestor?” I prodded the story along to get it moving.
She drew a deep breath. “I was in my dressing room, getting into costume, when all of a sudden I heard a noise at the window. A woman dressed in an animal print costume and a can of paint in her hand was climbing through the window.”
“Judith Klein,” I sighed.
“Is that her name?” she asked. “Well, I immediately screamed for help, and she fell in through the window and tried to shush me. She said that she was here to rescue me from a life of wantonness and sexual immorality.”
I smirked. I hadn’t realized that Judith had interacted with any of the dancers prior to her green paint fiasco.
“She tried to tell me that I was under great deception and that my life was worth so much more,” she said. “I told her that I quite loved my life, and my work and career which were very important to me. She began to yell at me and call me dirty names. I immediately left the dressing room to look for security, and then the next thing I knew, the woman was running down the hall with green paint to ‘clothe our nakedness’ as she called it.”
“And this was before the performance?” I clarified. I already knew the answer, but it was important to make sure all of the stories coincided.
“Yes,” she said. “Security chased her, and I am not sure if they ever caught her. I believe she was the one who killed Beyo.”
“What exactly happened after the performance?” I asked. “Can you give me a timeline of events leading up to you finding out about the incident?”
“Well,” she sipped her tea and looked off into the distance of the room. “I exited the stage after the curtain call and went to my dressing room to change into street clothes. Mr. Iokava had instructed us we were to have a ‘meet and greet’ after the show for some of the community leaders. So, I changed and was waiting for everyone else to arrive, when Mr. Iokava came looking for us, and then Chloe alerted us to the death.”
The last bit of the story I remembered. She was sitting in the green room, alone when we all found out about the murder.
“That’s all that you remember?” I asked.
“Oh,” she said, “one other little thing. What did you say her name was, Judith?”
“Yes,” I said, “Judith Klein.”
“I heard her in the hallway having strong words with Beyo before you arrived.”
“You did, huh?” I asked. “What were they saying?”
“I couldn’t make out the words,” she said. “Only that they were arguing.”
“You believe it was Judith Klein who committed the murder?” I asked.
“No doubt,” she said.
I glanced at Landon who switched off the recording.
“Thank you for your time, Olivia,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said. “Do you have any idea when they will let us go home?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not with the prosecution. I’m only with the defense, so I couldn’t tell you.”
She looked disappointed. “Thank you.”
Landon and I rose to leave, and we headed out to my car. As soon as we got outside, I searched for the blueprint layout of the PAH on my phone. It was harder to find than I had expected.
“What do you make of that story?” Landon asked.
“I think it all checks out,” I said. “Except for one part. The open window we saw was in Beowulf’s dressing room, not Olivia’s.”
“There could have been two open windows,” he said.
I shook my head and tapped around as I tried to find the floor plans.
“I’ve performed at the PAH,” I said. “The large dressing room was the only one with windows. The rest of the dressing rooms don’t have windows at all.”
“She’s lying,” he stated.
I winked and nodded. “At least
about that.”
“That’s big,” he said.
“This may be bigger than we thought,” I said.
“Ahh,” he threw up his arms and practically yelled. “I knew it!”
He switched on the camera. “Say it again! Come on, say it again. Say, ‘You were right, Landon.’ Come on, let me get it on film.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” I laughed as I beeped my car unlocked.
I drove back to the office, with Landon narrating his thoughts on the interview in diary format.
“...But, there was no window in the dressing room,” he said. “We’re going to get floor plans to prove that, or footage of the PAH itself. So that’s where we are people, and it’s about 3:12 in the afternoon, and now we’re going back to the office to rendezvous with the rest of the team.”
He clicked the camcorder shut, and I snickered. “You make my life sound so much more dramatic than it actually is.”
“This is great stuff,” he said. “I don’t know why you’re not, like, totally into it.”
“This isn’t my first go around with this,” I said.
“That’s what makes it cooler,” he said. “What if all the cases you’ve worked on tie together in some sort of puzzle?”
“I don’t think that’s the case,” I said as I rounded the corner into the parking lot adjacent to our office.
“No, dude, think about it,” he said. “So the whole thing with your sister, with those Russian mobsters trying to do an art scam.”
“Uh-huh,” I said as we walked the half block to the office.
“And then, there was the big thing with Clifton that had to do with…” he whistled and shook his head, “my head is still reeling. I mean, an embezzlement scheme with the city council, geez, and then there was the thing with a lady trying to steal the zebra’s money, and the kombucha factory that got it all.”
“What are you trying to say, Landon?” I asked. He was wearing on my patience as we arrived at the office door.
“I’m just saying, what if these are all connected?” he said as we walked in. “It’s all part of one big plot.”
“I don’t think so, Landon,” I said.
“Then what other explanation could there be, all these crimes, in one town and all around the same time?” he asked.
“It could be,” I said. “That people commit crimes all the time, and since I work in the legal field, I know about them.”
“Nah,” he shook his head. “I think it’s bigger than that.”
“Bigger than what?” AJ asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Where are we with Erin Kramer?”
Erin Kramer was the young woman who was supposed to host Beowulf and Julianna on the night of the murder. Neither of them made it to her house, but I thought that she might be a marginal source of clues.
“I had coffee with her,” she said. “She didn’t have much in the way of information, although she said she did get the impression that Julianna never intended to stay with her.”
“How’s that?” I asked as I set my bag down and settled into my desk.
Landon had the camera open, and AJ squirmed a bit under its gaze. Vicki was on the phone and avoided the conversation altogether.
“Erin said in the correspondence with Julianna, she wanted to know what kind of breakfast foods they would like, and how they wanted their sleeping arrangements, and Julianna only provided details for Beowulf. And when she asked questions about Julianna’s preferences, they went unanswered,” AJ said.
I nodded. “Not a large clue, but we can gather that Julianna never intended to stay with Erin.”
“Right,” AJ replied, “which enforces her story that she had planned to leave with Gabriel.”
“And this was e-mail, Facebook, text, how?” I asked.
“E-mails,” she said.
“Okay,” I said. “Get printouts of those from her. I don’t see them being particularly useful, but they could come in handy. So let’s have them just in case.”
“Got it,” she said.
Vicki was off the phone now, and I turned to her. “What happened with John Malone and Michael Knapp?”
“That was Malone’s office,” she said. “We’ve got an appointment with him next week.”
“Perfect,” I nodded as I toyed with a pencil in my hand. Landon lounged in a chair and zipped back and forth between subjects.
“And Michael?” I asked.
She sighed. “Okay, so, I met with Michael. He basically confirmed everything we already know.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“Iakova is a publicity hog,” she said. “Knapp said he booked the performance, and it was supposed to be at the Horace’s theatre.”
Vicki smirked. “Why does that not surprise me?”
Horace Uvalde was one of our former clients, who owned a small theatre. He had a good heart, but the theatre was a bit on the other side of experimental.
“That would actually be an excellent place for an act like Ghoti,” I said.
“I was surprised they got the PAH,” AJ said. “Big acts play there. I saw Carrie Underwood there.”
“You went to a Carrie Underwood show?” Landon stared at her. “That’s it. We’re broken up. I just can’t look at you the same.”
“Leave me alone,” she blushed.
“Right,” Vicki said, “it was supposed to be a small show, mainly a favor for Julianna, because she had been a bit of a high school superstar, it sounds like. Then Iakova found out about it, took over, and turned it into three dollars short of a celebrity wedding.”
“How did Iakova find out?” I asked.
“How does Iakova find out about anything?” she asked. “His own media, plus he lives here, and it sounds like the media outlets here are sort of his darlings.”
“We’re not much of a big media market here, though,” I said.
“No,” Vicki said. “But for a small town, I’ve been impressed. The media here is really well done.”
“That’s true,” I said.
Our community news site, The Herald, had given us leads on cases more than once.
“Alright,” I said to Landon’s camera, “You got it on film, Matt Chelmi, do we get the endorsement check?”
Everyone laughed, and Landon said from behind the camera, “You heard him, man, pay up.”
“So more on Michael,” I prodded Vicki.
“Yeah,” she said. “Iakova took it over, and it was all about boosting sales, and then he said there was a conference call between Iakova and Malone. He didn’t know what was discussed, but after the call, that’s when all the controversy started.”
“What controversy?” I asked.
“Well,” she said, “we’ve been so busy chasing zebras and tigers through town that we never bothered to read any news stories. But, Starbright publications ran op eds either way on the performance and stirred up quite a buzz on social media.”
“Iakova straight up told us that,” I said.
“But,” she said, “he didn’t connect it to Malone.”
“So,” I concluded, “you think Malone is behind the controversy?”
“We know he’s pro-first amendment expansion,” she said.
“But,” I said, “it would seem that that would actually disprove his point. If a media controversy resulted in a death, then it would actually be a case for limited media.”
“Unless Iakova had some other way to spin it,” she said. “How is he spinning it now?”
“Right now,” AJ was on The Herald, “everything has been straightforward. There hasn’t been a sensational amount of spin.”
“Maybe we’re on the wrong track,” I said. “Maybe it’s not a collusion between Iakova and Malone at all. Maybe it’s not political, and it’s just a homicide.”
“No, I disagree,” Vicki said. “I think we’re onto something, there’s just too much coincidence. But, maybe we’re not looking in the right direction.”
“Wait,” AJ su
ddenly said as she skimmed the article. “This said there’s been another arrest made in connection with the night of the attack. Oh, my God.”
“What?” I asked, and Landon’s camera zoned in on her.
“Judith Klein has been arrested,” she said.
Chapter 8
Vicki and I arrived at the police station in the late afternoon. Now that Judith was vulnerable, we might be able to extract information from her. Vicki and I parked and walked the half a block from metered parking to the building.
“She doesn’t have to talk to us at all,” Vicki said. “But we at least need to find out who her lawyer is.”
The wind blew her hair in her face so she pulled it back, and her expression was purposeful and focused. She wore black dress jeans with smart black heels, a black-and-white striped button down with a brown blazer, and her steps on the concrete were sure and quick.
“Judith Klein?” I laughed. “You think that woman doesn’t want to talk? She will talk to a lamp post if you gave it to her. She’s right where we want her, right now, indignant and vulnerable. Give her a platform, and she will sing like a canary.”
“I hope you’re right,” Vicki said. “Otherwise we just drove out here for no reason.”
I winked. “I know I’m right. I’m always right.”
She laughed and shook her head. “No, delusional is what you are.”
“Is there a difference?” I said.
“Between delusional and right?” she replied.
“Truth is perception,” I said.
“You are so full of shit right now,” she laughed.
“Aren’t I always?” I asked.
“When you get in this mood--” she began.
“Mood?” I asked. “What mood is that?”
“I call it your Oscar Wilde mood,” she said. “Full of cynical bullshit. It means you don’t have enough to think about, so you invent bullshit to entertain yourself.”
“I invent bullshit?” I repeated.
“Totally,” she said. “Come on, ‘truth is perception?’ You’re just bored.”
I laughed because she was right. This case had a lot of moving parts, but none of them fit together like I wanted, and I was getting impatient with the whole thing. I needed some kind of smoking gun here, and the harder I looked, the more I just got unrelated pieces. I rubbed my face and sighed. I needed a break here.
