Bombshell

by Catherine Coulter

  Salazar shrugged that off. “Come with me, Agent Hammersmith. We will go to my study and I will answer all your questions.” He gave a general nod to the women in his living room and walked out.

  Griffin smiled at the women. “After I’ve spoken to the professor, I’d like to speak to each of you. Please don’t leave.”

  “We cannot leave at all until we finish cleaning up this pigsty,” Gabrielle said.

  Skinny Black Pigtails said, “How did this stain get on the sofa?”

  Gloria, the little fairy, sang out, “Who could even get in Delsey’s apartment? She has a gazillion locks on the door.”

  She got that one right, Griffin thought. Delsey always locked up tight ever since a kid had broken into her apartment in Santa Monica, looking for dope. Delsey, of course, had walked in on him, belted him with a lamp, and called the cops. Last night she never realized the back door had been broken open.

  Gabrielle said, “I know who you are now, Agent Hammersmith. You’re Delsey’s brother. She looks like you. She also talks about you all the time.” She turned away, said to no one in particular, “Perhaps she was involved in something very bad, I think, knowing she has this beautiful FBI brother to protect her.” He heard her add, a bit of venom lacing her words, “You know she is all about trying to steal other women’s men. I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Sounds like you’ve got an enemy here, Delsey. Who is she jealous about?

  Griffin followed Salazar down a short hallway and through a soundproofed door on the right. It was a music room, not a study. Four different beautifully crafted antique classical guitars, all polished to high brilliance, were placed with obvious care by a loving hand throughout the room. A music stand with open music on it stood by a shining black baby grand piano, and folding chairs were lined up side by side against a wall, as if Salazar practiced for an audience. Probably the group in his living room.

  Griffin walked to the small fireplace, leaned against the mantel, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me what you know about Delsey. You said someone called Elliot was showing her too much attention at your party last night. Who is that, Professor Salazar?”

  Salazar gave a Gallic shrug to rival Gabrielle’s and walked to the grand piano. He paused a moment, pulled a white handkerchief out of his smoking jacket pocket, and lightly rubbed it over a small spot on the piano lid, then moved to stand behind a small, hypermodern ebony desk in the corner. “I am as sorry about Delsey as you are, Agent, believe me. You have my sympathy. As for Elliot, I suppose you will find out soon enough. I was speaking of Dr. Elliot Hayman. He is the director of Stanislaus and also my brother—my twin brother, to be exact. We are fraternal twins and so are not mirrors of each other.”

  “I understand the two of you grew up apart.”

  “That’s right. I was a teenager before I saw him again, in Madrid, but we are brothers, and thus when he invited me to spend a year at Stanislaus, I accepted. Now, I will tell you that what happened last night is not unusual. This time Elliot focused on Delsey, gave her margaritas he made himself. I must say that Elliot is entirely too familiar with female students here, despite his position. I have told him as much, but he ignores me. As for the Stanislaus board, they pretend not to notice. You would think they’d be more watchful, since Dr. Gordon Holcombe, the former director of Stanislaus, left under, let us say, a very black cloud.”

  The pot and the kettle. “What cloud was this, Professor?”

  “There were murders here at Stanislaus last year. It is believed Dr. Holcombe murdered his longtime secretary and lover. He fled. No one knows where he is. I doubt anyone is looking for him, since I was told there isn’t enough evidence to send him to jail.”

  So this was the horrific trouble Ruth and Dr. Chesney had spoken about. He wanted to know more about it, but not now. Griffin asked, “So Dr. Hayman was asked to become the director of Stanislaus after Dr. Holcombe’s departure?”

  “Yes. He plays the piano rather well on the international stage, and that gives him the stature for his position, and a certain cachet, I suppose. But withal he has the soul of an administrator, so he was taken to be a good choice by the board.”

  Griffin said, “Your brother invited you here, yet you don’t get along?”

  Salazar drew up. “I am not criticizing my brother. I merely state facts.”

  “You mean it’s a fact that Dr. Hayman seduces Stanislaus students?”

  Salazar spared him a condescending glance. “I know it is difficult for you, but you must try to understand. It is not at all uncommon among musicians—these attempts to connect with those who share our passions, to keep our balance, and, shall I say it, to gain a certain release. It happens everywhere. Music is a haunting mistress that can consume the souls of the truly gifted.”

  And the Spanish lizard shrugged yet again. As if that said it all, Griffin thought, and excused any behavior. He said, “I see. So as long as one is careful and exercises a bit of discretion, these connections are overlooked, ignored?”

  “It is the civilized thing to do.”

  “Then why were you so angry with Dr. Hayman for wanting to forge a connection to Delsey?”

  “I suppose because she was hurt last night and because Elliot is not what she needs. She is an innocent, though she is a brilliant musician, more driven than most. It is unfortunate she continues to pursue a commercial path. I am endeavoring to guide her away from that profane choice.” He lightly flicked a spot of lint from his smoking jacket. “Naturally, Delsey, like all gifted musicians, needs guidance.”

  “And you wish to be the one to provide this guidance?”

  If Salazar suspected irony, he didn’t show it. He merely nodded. “That is correct. We are like spirits, she and I.”

  Amazing.

  “But tell me, Agent, what happened to her last night? What really happened to her, not the press version you gave out to those credulous girls in the living room.”

  Griffin smiled. “What happened was exactly what I said. I have nothing more to add for the moment.” He realized he really wanted to punch out the lizard—not good, he had to get control of himself. He said, “I assume you’re enjoying your year here at Stanislaus?”

  “Yes, certainly. So many talented musicians, and the atmosphere here is intimate and congenial and conducive to study and performance. Not like all the distractions that plague Juilliard, for example.”

  “Professor Salazar, you said Delsey slipped out without anyone seeing her?”

  “Hardly anyone. I went looking for her, but I could not find her. Clarice—she is one of our flautists—told me she saw Delsey slip out the back door. She saw her do this, so it is not supposition. I know she was escaping him. There is no doubt in my mind.”

  “Did you notice if anyone else left the party about the same time Delsey snuck out?”

  This gave Salazar pause. He slowly shook his head. “Not that I can remember. One of the students demanded my attention, and I was occupied. Always the students need my attention.”

  “Was Delsey drunk from the margaritas Dr. Hayman gave her?”

  “It is possible.”

  “Did you ever hear Delsey mention she was worried about someone? Another student, perhaps? Another professor here at Stanislaus?”

  “No, certainly not. Well, the students—you must understand that competition is not only encouraged, it is necessary. There are few truly major orchestra seats available for talented musicians to win. For those students, like Delsey, who wish to gain success in composition, there are also many others vying for recognition. Talent is not enough. It is drive that gains the brass ring. Delsey’s fingers could close on the ring, if she would fight for it.”

  “Could all that competition have led to violence? Out of jealousy, perhaps?”

  “Surely not, but it is a thought that must intrude, is it not?” He frowned toward one of his guitars
. “Drive and effort are what are needful in every worthwhile pursuit in life. Perhaps even in yours?” Again, a whiff of contempt.

  “Perhaps you will be able to observe that for yourself, Professor,” Griffin said.

  When Griffin left Salazar’s study, he heard him shout for Barbara to bring him his nonfat mocha cinnamon latte. Griffin returned to the living room, settled in on the sofa with the stain, and started asking questions.

  Gabrielle DuBois said, “There was no earthly raison for Dr. Hayman to single her out, but Professor Salazar is right. He did last night, gave her drink after drink. And why, I ask you?” Her French accent was very pronounced, this time for dramatic effect, enough to make Griffin grin. “I mean, does she sing like Edith Piaf? Non, she does not. She has not the talent to achieve any sort of magnificent height.” Like mine, he heard her add under her breath.

  If Gabrielle was edgy and harsh in her dislike of Delsey, Griffin soon got the impression several of the other women also didn’t appreciate Delsey’s getting so much of Dr. Hayman’s attention. Simple jealousy or ambition? He realized some of the women were frightened about the attack because it was too close to home. Others appeared to be worried about Delsey, but none of them admitted to anything strange or unusual having happened at the party the previous evening or to having any idea who might have hurt her.

  Griffin asked the group, “Why do you think Professor Salazar and Dr. Hayman don’t get along?”

  Barbara of Starbucks fame, a full-bodied future opera singer with an incredibly rich speaking voice, said, “They’re brothers, twins. I’ll bet they’ve competed since they were kids, fought all the time. And now here they are together again at Stanislaus, both fishing in the same pond.”

  The little fairy, Gloria of viola fame, said, “Really, Barbara, I don’t like to think of myself as a tuna. Professor Salazar and Dr. Hayman have made it into a fine art. But, you know, I can’t recall ever hearing Dr. Hayman saying anything about Professor Salazar.”

  “Professor Salazar, on the other hand,” Barbara said, “is always insulting, snipping, but only when Dr. Hayman isn’t around.”

  Gloria said, “It is true, though, many of the professors who aren’t married or near death are the same way.” She grinned at him. “But the professors aren’t stupid. Most of them steer really clear of the undergraduate students.”

  Black Pigtails said, “No one wants to be lonely, do they? Everyone wants some attention and intimacy now and then, and what’s wrong with that? I only wish Professor Salazar would pay for our gas to come here.”

  Gabrielle said, “Yes, but Professor Salazar is not like his brother. He is seeing me, only me.”

  Black Pigtails said matter-of-factly, “Yes, and since Professor Salazar told you you sing like Edith Piaf, you’ve practically had it tattooed on your butt.”

  There was one lone snigger.

  Salazar strolled into the room, his Starbucks cup in one hand. He didn’t look at Griffin, but told Gabrielle he was certain he’d seen a small sausage roll beneath the sofa. She was on her hands and knees in an instant, her butt in the air, and he stood behind her, smoking another cigarette.

  Griffin had to admit it, he was shocked, though none of the other women seemed to find her display unusual.

  Griffin left Salazar’s rented house on Golden Meadow Terrace a thoughtful man. Would Delsey have ever told him about this soap opera?

  Henderson County Hospital

  Saturday afternoon

  The door to Delsey’s memory wouldn’t open even a crack. The more she shoved at the door, the more it made her head hurt.

  Griffin strode into the hospital room, paused for a moment in the doorway to study her. “Stop it, Delsey, you’re thinking too hard.”

  She flapped her hand at him. “It doesn’t matter how hard I try, I still can’t remember much. Where have you been? Nobody knew.”

  He walked to her bed, took her hand. “You were sleeping, so I went to see Professor Salazar. The snow’s been coming down so hard again you can barely see a foot in front of you, but the good professor had managed to convince half a dozen students to drive to his house and clean up the mess from last night. The place was gossip central, once I told them what had happened to you.”

  “I’ll bet they were all women, and Professor Salazar won’t pay them a cent. There’s not even any extra credit.”

  Griffin smiled. He told her about Gabrielle DuBois in her summer-pink shorts, on her hands and knees searching under the sofa and putting on a show for Professor Salazar.

  “Gabrielle has been after him from the moment he stepped out of his brand-new Fiat in September. Then he made the mistake of paying attention to her. She’s having an affair with him, but still, he likes to be among his musicians, especially the women. As you probably saw, this doesn’t make Gabrielle happy. You know, even if he does play like a god and looks really good, he’s still got too many notches on his belt—I wouldn’t want to sleep with him.”

  Griffin said, “You’ve always been clear-sighted about people, and living in the melting pot of L.A., I imagine you’ve seen it all before. None of these personalities is new to you. True?”

  “Yes, all right, but I sometimes think I saw too much in L.A.” She brightened. “But at least in L.A. the guys on the beach were buff. Hey, did Gabrielle bring him his chilled glass of fresh- squeezed orange juice, the pulp removed?”

  “That must have been before I arrived. He was obsessing about a latte. Oh, yes, Gloria sends her best wishes. Now, Salazar told me the director, Dr. Hayman—his twin brother—was all over you last night, plying you with too many margaritas. I think Salazar wants you to replace Gabrielle.”

  Delsey shook her head, regretted it, and held perfectly still. “Not me in particular.” And Griffin laughed, since she’d echoed the other women at Salazar’s house.

  “Nope. Professor Salazar really wants Anna, not Gabrielle.”

  “Anna, as in your best friend?”

  “Yep, but he better pray he doesn’t get her, because Anna’s tough, doesn’t put up with any guff.”

  “Sort of like you?”

  Delsey laughed. “Anna says Professor Salazar’s a talented lush with a cool name and an exaggerated accent, but I know he wants her; I’m only a stray guppy, an afterthought. She’s the one who told me she’d read he and his twin Dr. Hayman were separated as boys and it was Rafael the mom took back to Spain. He is always waxing eloquent about his upbringing in Barcelona and his training at Queen Sofía College of Music in Madrid, studying under the famous Natalia Bron.”

  She sighed. “I guess I was drunk.”

  “Sounds like it. That’s weird for you, Ms. One Drink.” He turned toward the door. “Ah, here he is, your friend and neighbor, Mr. Stoltzen. He asked if he could come see you.” Griffin nodded to Henry. “Mr. Stoltzen.”

  Henry didn’t quite meet his eyes. He whispered, “Please, Agent Hammersmith, call me Henry.”

  “All right,” Griffin said, and watched Delsey smile with affection at him.

  Henry was different, Delsey knew it when she’d first met him, and she really liked him—impossible not to. She took his hand, shook it. “Hey, dude. You found me and called the paramedics. Thank you.”

  Griffin had met music nerds before Henry, and when Stoltzen had stopped him in the lobby, Griffin knew he fit the bill nicely. He was on the short side, his shoulders stooped, his skin vampire-pale and soft-looking, like he’d never thrown anything heavier than a wadded-up piece of paper into a wastebasket. He wore a long goatee, blacker even than his shaggy hair, meaning he probably dyed it. Still, all six inches of it was a pure distraction, an excellent affectation for him. Even though Griffin had read the statement Dix took from Henry, he thought it was a good idea to let him visit with Delsey. Perhaps he would help her remember something.

  He watched Henry slink to Delsey’s bedside, and stand looking
down at her knees, not her face, shifting his feet back and forth. “It was really bad, Delsey,” he said, finally looking at her face. “I came by earlier to speak to Agent Noble. Then I wanted to see you, but the deputy outside your room wouldn’t let me come in—”

  “You didn’t recognize Deputy Claus?”

  “Sure, and he recognized me, too, but he said I still needed permission, but Agent Noble was gone and there was no one to give it to me.” He turned to Griffin. “Delsey talks about you a lot.”

  “Not all bad,” Delsey said.

  Griffin said, “Why didn’t you go to the party, Mr. Stoltzen? Henry?”

  “I wasn’t invited. I’m not pretty enough.”

  Delsey said to her brother, “Professor Salazar’s parties always have more women than men.”

  Both Griffin and Delsey heard spite in Henry’s voice when he said, “According to what I’ve heard, Salazar doesn’t like competition.”

  Then where’s the harm in inviting you? Griffin said, “I know you already told your story to Sheriff Noble and Agent Noble, but please humor me and tell us both again, from the beginning, Mr. . . . Henry.”

  “Yeah, okay, I can do that.” He looked down at Delsey. “I heard you pull in at about one o’clock and looked out the window, saw you unlock your door and walk in. I admit it, Delsey, I did wonder if you’d had too much fun at Salazar’s party. You looked like you were weaving around a bit.”

  Delsey said, “And I’ll never do that again for as long as I live, so help me God.”

  “Good,” Griffin said, then turned to Henry again. “You said you heard something come from Delsey’s apartment and it worried you? How long was this after she came in at one o’clock?”

  “Maybe about ten minutes before she walked in. I thought I heard some bumping around, like there was someone in her apartment, a visitor maybe, but then I didn’t hear anything else, and so I thought I imagined it. Until Delsey screamed. I banged on the floor and called 911, and then I listened some more, and then I walked down.”