Last Song Sung

by David A. Poulsen

  “I agree, Mr. Keller. Were you there by yourself, sir?”

  “I was by myself that night, actually. Most of the time there were three of us — a couple of my buddies usually came along — but that night I guess they were busy or something, I can’t honestly remember, but I do remember being by myself that night.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, by myself is probably not totally accurate. It was a friendly place, so after a few minutes you were usually in conversation with someone — between sets, I mean. You know, it was just a really social atmosphere in there.”

  “You remember any of the conversations that night?”

  “I don’t know. There were probably lots of them. I remember trying to chat up this girl, but she was three or four years older than me. I was eighteen, and when she found out how old I was she couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. I remember that because back then I was kind of a strikeout artist, not much luck with girls, so I remember her as sort of another brick in the wall.” He followed the admission with what sounded like a laugh of embarrassment.

  “I’ve been there, believe me,” I said, knowing self-deprecation was never a bad thing when wanting to win the confidence of an interviewee. “You remember any other conversations from that night?”

  “Conversations, no. But I remember that was the night I almost got in a fight with a couple of guys. Well, one guy, anyway.”

  “What was that about?”

  “I’d just got a coffee, and this guy kind of ran into me, which was no big deal. It was pretty crowded in there that night because both Ellie and Joni Mitchell were performing.”

  “Except she wasn’t Joni Mitchell back then, was she?”

  “Nope … Joni Anderson. I think it was a year or two later she got married.”

  You just passed the test with flying colours, Mr. Keller.

  “Okay, so this guy jostles you. I imagine he caused you to spill your coffee.”

  “Knocked it right out of my hand. The reason I remember that was because this cup smashes to smithereens on the floor, and I look up, and who’s standing there looking at me like I’ve got dog shit on my shoes but the girl I’d been trying to move on earlier.

  “Anyway, the guy was pretty big, which, by the way, I’m not, and if he’d said ‘Excuse me’ or ‘Sorry about that’ — anything — I would have left it alone. But first he looked at me about the same way the girl had been, and then he told me to watch the fuck where I was going, or words to that effect. I think I’m pretty close.”

  “When you say he was a big guy, Mr. Keller, what do you mean? Football player big, lots of muscles, what?”

  “No, that was the other guy. This guy was tall but not much for physical presence. But just an ignorant prick, you know what I mean?”

  “I do, yes. So what happened after that?”

  “Nothing. Some people got between us, and his friend, the dark guy, pulled him away, and that was it.”

  “Dark guy?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know — sort of foreign — Arab or something.”

  “And he was the football-body guy?”

  “I don’t know about football, but he was pretty big — tough-looking. I was glad it wasn’t him who had knocked my coffee on the floor.”

  “And you remember all this fifty years later.”

  “I guess it’s kind of like you remember where you were on 9/11, or when Kennedy was assassinated — stuff like that. If Ellie Foster hadn’t been kidnapped and those guys shot out behind The Depression that same night, I might have forgotten about it by now. And, of course, I had to go through it with the cops a few times, so that kind of set it in my mind a little firmer, maybe.”

  “So tell me about that, Mr. Keller.”

  “The cops part?”

  “Yeah, that part.”

  “Well, after we found out what had happened outside, there was a lot of milling around in there. I wouldn’t call it panic, but pretty close. Then the cops showed up — they got there pretty fast, really — and nobody could leave after that. They questioned all of us. We were there for a really long time.”

  “Did you see the two guys you had the altercation with? Were they still there when the questioning was happening?”

  “I don’t remember seeing them, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t there. Although I did hear that quite a few people hauled ass out of there when they heard about the shooting and stuff.”

  “Mr. Keller, would you have time to meet me? I’d like to chat further, and maybe it would be better if we could talk face to face.”

  “Yeah, I guess that would be okay.”

  “Any chance you could meet my partner, too? He’s the detective; I just do research, and I’d really like for him to chat with you.”

  “Sure, if you think it would help at all. You think there’s anything I’ve told you that might be useful?”

  “I can’t say, Mr. Keller. But I think it would be helpful if you talked with Mike Cobb.”

  We set up a time for the next morning at the Good Earth at Glenmore Landing in the south part of the city. After the call ended, I gathered keys, phone, and wallet and headed for my Accord, which was parked behind my apartment at a neighbour’s, who had kindly rented me space in his backyard.

  I didn’t often use the space — even less so since Kennedy had taken me down and threatened to kill me some months earlier. Most of the time, I just parked on the street. Now as I got to the car I looked over my shoulder, a habit that had developed after the unpleasantness with Kennedy.

  The remastered two-CD edition of Glass Tiger’s The Thin Red Line did two things: it made the time pass more quickly as I made my way downtown to the Rose and Crown and it improved my mood even more. I was already feeling somewhat buoyed by my conversation with Alfie Keller. I hoped my impending meeting with Kennedy wouldn’t undo Glass Tiger’s good work.

  He was at a back table on the second level of the pub, laptop already on the table and fired up.

  I’m not sure why that surprised me — maybe I somehow thought his technological expertise applied to surveillance equipment only. In any event, he looked up at me and moved the chair on the opposite side of the table to a spot on the side, I assumed so I could see whatever it was he had ready.

  But before I could say anything, he waved to a young server who looked like she was a regular at a gym somewhere.

  “Bud Light for me. What are you having?” Kennedy asked.

  “Same,” I said, and she disappeared down the steps to the main floor.

  “What have you got?” I looked at the computer.

  “Wait till she brings the beer.” Kennedy held up a hand. “No sense starting and having to stop right away.”

  The buff server was back quickly, and I had my wallet out when she arrived.

  “No, no, no,” Kennedy objected. “My invitation. My bill.”

  “Wrong,” I said. “You were far too generous with my staying at your place, so this is on me.”

  He looked like he wanted to argue further but also wanted to get on with whatever it was he wanted me to see. So he nodded to the server. I paid, and she headed off to see to the needs of three young guys a couple of tables away who looked and sounded like they were getting ready for a large night.

  Kennedy held up his beer. “Cheers.”

  “Skol,” I said.

  We drank, set our glasses down, and Kennedy swung the computer around to face me. He clicked the mouse once, and I was back looking at the garage and alley behind the house where Faith Unruh’s body had been found. Same scene I had looked at for ten days and nights at Kennedy’s house. I leaned forward and concentrated hard on what I was seeing, which for about forty-five seconds was nothing.

  Then it changed. Something fleeting. A shadow? It was as if a portion of the screen had grown darker, then the dark patch moved across the s
creen from right to left, starting from up the alley a bit and then moving toward the yard and garage. I strained hard, almost hurting my eyes, willing them to see something more. But the shadow was gone, and there was nothing else.

  “That’s it? I showed you this the night you got back.”

  Kennedy shook his head. “Uh-uh. This is from last night.” He clicked the mouse a couple more times. “This is what you showed me.”

  Another piece of tape played, and it was virtually identical to what I’d just seen. Then he played both pieces again, back to back.

  “What do you think?” I said.

  “I want to know what you think.”

  “I don’t know. They’re so similar, it’s hard to imagine an animal doing exactly the same thing, almost taking the same steps.”

  “But not impossible. I told you I’d seen that same thing a few times before. I went back and looked at those tapes, too. And it’s like watching a replay over and over — almost no variation.”

  “Did you go over there last night?”

  “Yeah. Nothing. Just like the other times.”

  “Hard to figure,” I said. “I wish I had some idea what it is that’s making that shadow, or whatever the thing is. But I just don’t.”

  “Yeah, well, that makes it unanimous.”

  “I mean, all these years later — you said it’s happened only in the last two, three years — it’s hard to believe that it could have anything to do with the murder of Faith Unruh.”

  “But again, not impossible.”

  “No, not impossible.”

  “There’s one more thing.” He tapped away at the computer and after a few seconds angled it again for me to see. “Recognize that?”

  I didn’t at first and shook my head.

  He enlarged the image, and I looked again. This time I nodded. Garbage cans on a stand. With all the focus on the garbage cans behind The Depression where Guy Kramer had hidden during the abduction of Ellie Foster, that’s where my mind went. But only for a few seconds.

  “Is that the alley behind the mur—” I checked myself, not wanting to sound callous. “The house where Faith’s body was found?”

  Kennedy’s eyes moved from the screen to me. His chin moved up, then down, the movement slight but definite.

  “Okay, I remember seeing them the night I went over there,” I said. “I’m not sure the signifi—”

  He held up a hand to cut me off, then manipulated the zoom on the screen. Finally, he pointed again. I guessed that what I was looking at was a two-by-six board painted white. It looked to be one of the pieces along the bottom of the stand that housed the two garbage cans.

  He zoomed again, and what appeared in the wood looked like scratches — no, not scratches. Tally marks. Two groups of five, and one more. Eleven marks in all:

  “What do they mean to you?” Kennedy asked, his voice flat and low.

  “Looks like the marks someone makes when they’re keeping track of a number — one, two, three, four, five, then one, two, three, and so on over again.”

  “Right. So what does it mean there?”

  “When did you notice these?” I asked him.

  “Last night. I never saw them all the other times I was there.”

  “I missed them, too,” I admitted, “if they were there when I checked the alley that night.”

  “I’m betting they were there … or at least some of them were,” Kennedy said.

  I stared at the screen for a while longer and then finally looked up at him. “Jesus, you don’t think it’s some tally of times the guy came into that alley …? No, that can’t be possible.”

  “Somebody made those marks. Those aren’t the work of an animal.”

  I didn’t answer. I had no answer.

  “I think there are two possibilities,” he said slowly. “One is that someone somehow knows about my setup and that I’m watching that spot and is fuckin’ with me.”

  I nodded. I could see that as a possibility. Hard to believe that someone would get some kind of kick out of messing with a person’s head in that way, but not impossible.

  “There aren’t many people who know about this,” he said.

  “You said nobody — except Cobb and me and your wife.”

  “That’s right,” he said, and sat back in the chair looking at me. Hard.

  It suddenly dawned on me. “Wait a minute. You think one of us put those marks there to screw with your head?”

  “I’m saying there aren’t a lot of possible explanations.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

  “You still pissed at me for what happened behind your place that night?” He leaned forward, his face now close to mine. “Is that it?”

  “I’m only going to say this once, Kennedy” — I didn’t care at that moment that this man could take me apart in seconds — “I’ve never seen those marks before now. I didn’t put them there, and I’ll guarantee you Cobb didn’t put them there either. Now you can believe that or not, I don’t really give a shit.” I stood up.

  “Hold on,” he said, holding up a hand. “I didn’t really believe it, but I had to ask.”

  I stayed standing, still angry.

  “I’m sorry,” Kennedy said. “I’d appreciate it if you sat back down. I have something else to show you … please.”

  I sat down, pushed my beer to one side.

  “I said there was another possibility.”

  “And that is?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer.

  Neither of us had spoken loudly even during the confrontation, but he lowered his voice still more. “The killer’s been back there eleven times and has logged every one of those times.”

  “Jesus,” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  “But why? Why would he do that?”

  “Like I said … fucking with my head.”

  “But for that to be true, he’d have to know about your house and what’s in it and what you do with it.”

  “That’s how I see it.”

  I shook my head. “That doesn’t seem possible. There’s another possibility,” I said.

  He lifted his eyebrows to invite my suggestion.

  “The marks mean nothing,” I said. “Maybe the guy who lives there made them to indicate how often he took out the trash, to show his wife how overworked he is — who the hell knows? — but I’d bet my backside those weren’t made by the killer.”

  “Be careful what you bet. You could lose your ass.” Kennedy sat back and thought about what I’d said, then leaned forward again. “Okay, what’s your email address?”

  I gave it to him.

  “I’m not going back through years of tapes to look at every time Dennis Bevans — that’s the name of the guy who lives there — took out the goddamn garbage. Which, by the way, was a hell of a lot more than eleven times. But I’m going to watch from now on — and if he so much as bends his knees, I’ll be over there to see if there’s another mark.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “Just make sure you don’t jump the guy because you think he might be up to something.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be cool. And if another mark shows up that I know he didn’t make, I’ll email it to you.”

  I looked at him, seeing a bit more of the guy who’d dropped me in the alley behind my apartment. I nodded. “Just remember your promise.”

  “I’ll keep my promise.” He gave me a mirthless grin. “You and Cobb will be the first to know. Oh, and one more thing. I did go back through the tapes to count up how many times I’d seen that movement, that shadow over there, the same one you saw.”

  “And?”

  “Counting the one you saw and the one last night: ten times.”

  “Ten times,” I repeated. “Eleven marks.”


  “Yeah,” Kennedy said, his voice as cold as Arctic ice. “Maybe he was there one other time … a long time ago.”

  I had no answer for that. We drank beer for a couple of minutes, neither of us saying anything. Finally, he reached into the inside breast pocket of his blazer.

  “One last thing I’ve got for you.”

  I set my glass down. “What is it?”

  “You remember I told you and Cobb I figured maybe there was a cop factored into the thing somewhere, either as the perp or maybe doing some shit inside to make it harder to investigate?”

  “I remember.”

  “I told you I’d make a few notes about some of the things that I see as a little irregular.”

  “I remember that, too.”

  He unfolded a piece of paper and spread it on the table in front of him. Then he once again turned it so I could see.

  It was brief, containing just four points.

  Lack of forensic evidence. Only prints on ply­wood belonged to the owner of the house where Faith’s body was found. No DNA match. This is not impossible or even unusual, but it makes you wonder, especially when you think about the other stuff.

  One piece of Faith’s clothing was recovered but later disappeared from evidence room.

  No tip line — senior police administrators (or someone else) argued successfully against it.

  The case was taken away from Hansel and Gretel after only seventeen days; they were then reinstated as the primary investigators three weeks later. Why were they removed, and why were they reinstated?

  I wasn’t sure what Cobb would say, but I had to agree that there were a couple of points on Kennedy’s list that, first of all, I hadn’t been aware of, and second, that bothered me. I didn’t know, for example, that Hansel and Gretel had been pulled from the case and then put back on it. Who were the investigators in the interim? And where was their report? I was quite sure I hadn’t seen a secondary report in the homicide file.

  And which piece of clothing had been found and then gone missing?

  Definitely points to consider.

  “You can keep that,” Kennedy said.