“I already have my suspect right where I want her,” he said and folded his arms.
I said, “So let’s see. Right now you have a suspect with a sparkling record being defended by a lawyer who’s never lost a case. On the other hand, there’s Nigel, who’s running out of money, has motive, opportunity and a posse that likes to blow things up. Why not hedge your bets?”
“Let’s see which way the judge goes,” he said and walked back toward the courtroom.
When the judge called the case, Reginald Rutherford entered a plea of not guilty. He said, “Judge Stafford, this is a classic case of what is wrong with police profiling. The only reason this poor woman spent the past four days in jail is because SDPD chose to cut corners. Mrs. Tucker has never been arrested. She had no financial motive. Her father is very wealthy and she will never want for money. The prosecution has built a case on the fact that she inherits life insurance and had an argument with her husband shortly before his death.” He then spread his arms, looked at the gallery and added, “Will all of you married people who have never had an argument with your spouse please raise your hand?”
There was much laughter and no show of hands. The judge banged his gavel. “Quiet!” he said.
Rutherford added, “I move to dismiss the charges.”
The judge replied, “I put a little more faith in the police and district attorney’s office than you, Mr. Rutherford. Motion denied. However, I expect to see a more compelling case when we go to trial”
Rutherford then asked that Chelsea be released on her own recognizance.
“In lieu of Mrs. Tucker’s record and ties to the community, I am setting bail at $10,000,” Judge Stafford said.
The prosecutor, Jeffrey Del Rio jumped to his feet, “Judge, this woman is a millionaire. She could easily jump bail and live comfortably anywhere in the world.”
“My ruling stands, Mr. Del Rio. You will be notified of the court date. I’m sure I will be hearing motions in the interim. Good day gentlemen, Mrs. Tucker.”
Shamansky looked like he had been punched in the gut. I’m glad I gave him the alternative before the hearing. I don’t think he would have talked to me afterwards. I planned on having a chat with Chelsea after the hearing, but Rutherford escorted her past the press and was intent on controlling every second while she was in the proximity of the courthouse.
My cell phone rang as I was getting into my car. “Jason Duffy,” I said.
“This is David Cooper returning your call,” he said. After a mere three messages Terry’s old band mate was finally responding.
“Thanks for getting back to me. Chelsea hired me to find out who killed Terry and I understand you were helping him in the weeks before his death. I was hoping you’d talk with me about what you were working on,” I said.
“The only reason I’m talking to you is because of Chelsea being arrested. I’m not going to talk about what I did for Terry on the phone. If you want to meet me near my house I’ll fill you in,” he said.
“No problem. Where do you live?” I asked
“Morro Bay,” he replied
“That’s 300 miles from here!” I exclaimed. “Can’t we just talk now?”
“I have a good reason for not wanting to talk on the phone. What I have to say could help Chelsea. If you want to hear it you’ll have to cruise up the coast. What’s it going to be?” David asked.
“How long will it take me to get there?” I asked.
“If you leave now you’ll beat rush hour and should get here in five to six hours. I’m going to have dinner at Carla’s Country Kitchen at 7:00 PM. It’s a block east of Morro Rock, you can’t miss it. Be in the parking lot around 7:45. Come alone and don’t come in the restaurant. Wait for me to come out. I’ll be wearing a black MTV sweatshirt. After dinner I’ll take a walk on the beach. Catch up to me after you’re sure you’re not being followed. Then we’ll talk,” he said.
“Should we set up a password or a secret handshake?” I asked, more than a little annoyed at the hoops he was making me jump through.
“Do you want to do this or not?” he asked.
“I’ll be there,” I replied and hung up.
I spotted Morro Rock at 7:25 PM from about ten miles away. It sits just barely off of the shoreline and is over 700 feet tall. I did a report on it in junior high. It’s actually an extinct volcano, although it looks more like a giant boulder. I rolled into the parking lot of Carla’s Country Kitchen at 7:40 and was looking for a nearby gas station to use the restroom when Cooper appeared in the doorway. He was about my age, had long dirty blond hair and a beard.
I gave him a head start, then followed. I took off the dress shoes and socks I wore to court and jogged on the beach until I caught up with him. “OK, I’m here. Why the cloak and dagger?” I asked.
“Hand me your cell phone,” he said.
I did so and he had it apart in three seconds. He inspected the insides for about a minute, then returned it to me and said, “Leave it off.” He then took something out of his pocket that was just a bit larger than an ink pen and passed it over my body.
“You’re not in the CIA are you?” I asked.
“I’m in the computer security business,” he said.
“In other words you’re a hacker,” I said.
“I’ve had a few government agencies keeping close tabs on me. I’m sure my phone is bugged and we’re probably being watched. But their technology isn’t developed to the point where they can pick us up over the sound of the waves crashing on the beach. The rock gives them fits too,” he said and smiled.
“What were you doing for Terry?” I asked.
“Research,” he said. “At first he had me checking out John Koflanovich, a.k.a. Ivan Chofsky.”
“Was he using Chofsky’s past as leverage in the contract negotiations?” I asked.
“Terry wasn’t like that. Most people he worked with saw him as a Type A personality with a maniacal drive to succeed. What people don’t know is that he really was a good person. He did all kinds of charity work and didn’t take advantage of other people’s problems. He had me checking out Chofsky because he had the same suspicions you blabbed to that horrible television show,” he said.
“I didn’t blab to anyone. One of my employees gave them that story after two of Chofsky’s thugs put him in the hospital. The day Vlad Torhan was shot I was going on the air to tell the public how California Confidential has screwed up the story,” I said.
“No shit?” he asked with amusement.
“What other research did you do?” I asked.
“Terry was very good at analyzing industry data. He was sure that Doberman’s Stub was about to explode. I discreetly floated a rumor that they would be going free agent in search of a new record company. I then intercepted emails between executives to get a feel for what the market would bear,” he said.
“That’s not what you brought me up here to tell me,” I said.
“No. It concerns the final research project he gave to me. Care to guess who he wanted me to check out?” he asked.
“Nigel and the boys from Portadown?” I asked.
“I’m impressed,” he said.
I asked, “What did you find out?”
“Let me ask you a question first. Do you think Nigel is responsible for Terry’s death?” David asked.
I replied, “Without a doubt. The only mitigating circumstance I can imagine is if one of his hooligan buddies heard Nigel carping about the contract negotiations and took it upon himself to make Nigel the star.”
“Is that what you think happened?” asked David.
“No. I think Nigel was the ringleader and even morons know enough not to kill the goose that lays the golden eggs without permission,” I said. “So, tell me about the research you did on Nigel.”
“At first it was just Terry’s gut telling him Nigel’s friends were going to be a problem. After seeing their pictures all over Nigel’s house, he ran into them at a club one night, a few weeks before
he died, and got a very bad vibe. I tapped into an international network and found that all three of them have criminal records. One in particular, Devin Billingsly, has a history of sadistic charges. He started out strapping home made mini-bombs to the household pets of Irish Catholics, then worked his way up to farm animals. He was arrested on three occasions for detonating bombs that resulted in human death, but he was never convicted. Once, the prosecution had a witness, but she suddenly disappeared a week before trial and Billingsly walked. I have no doubt he did the handiwork on the headphones,” he said.
“What else can you tell me about the hooligans?” I asked.
“All of them are Irish citizens. Warren Bates had a work visa and came out to San Diego to help with his uncle’s landscaping business for a year,” he said.
“Do you remember the name of the uncle’s business?” I asked.
“It’s called Emerald Landscaping. The uncle’s name is Paul McDougal. I checked him out, thinking bad blood may run in the family, but he came up clean. In fact, I got into his emails and found one to Warren’s mother explaining that he was pulling the plug on the employment arrangement because of character issues and other major concerns. He kept it pretty general, not wanting to hurt his sister with details, but I got the impression that McDougal is a straight shooter and wanted nothing to do with Bates,” he said.
“Did you find out if it’s the kind of landscaping outfit that mows lawns or the kind that comes in after construction projects?” I asked.
“They do major construction contracts and, get this, during the time Warren was there they worked almost exclusively on a huge multi-tract project in Sorrento Mesa. While Emerald was landscaping one tract, the general contractor was excavating adjacent tracts,” David said.
“Sounds like a great place to pick up blasting caps,” I said.
“Exactly,” said David.
“Any info on Theodore Pine?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, Teddy Boy is very low tech. I don’t know much beyond his nickname, which is synonymous with ass-kicker in Great Britain,” he said.
“Does Nigel pay bills or do banking over the Internet?” I asked.
“He’ll make an occasional purchase, but he’s careful and I’ve checked him out in ways you couldn’t imagine,” he said.
“I have a theory that Nigel recommended the headphones to either Chelsea or Terry. I’ll ask her about it tomorrow. I’d like to get you the name of the manufacturer. Is there a way to do that safely without driving back up here?” I asked.
“Use the email drop-box I set up for Terry,” he said and shook my hand, pressing a note that contained the email address. If you don’t want the feds on your tail I suggest you take a circuitous route back to your car.”
“One last question,” I said. “Was Gavin Tomko helping Terry, too?”
“Gavin would let Terry use his ID so that he could go out in public without getting overwhelmed by fans. He doesn’t know anything about this. You can talk to him if you like, but it will be a waste of time,” David said, then broke into a jog. I climbed up the first beach access I could find, and walked a few neighborhoods before retrieving my car.
Chapter 25
At 9:00 AM Wednesday I called Chelsea from my office. As expected, I reached voice-mail and left a message. I spent the next hour deciding how I was going to proceed with Nigel. There didn’t seem to be any advantage to maintaining a friendly relationship since I was sure that if Victoria didn’t tell him about my visit that Ian would. I sent David Cooper the email we talked about and hoped his hacking skills could give me a clearer picture of how the murder went down.
I hadn’t given up on the possibility that the original headphones Chelsea had given to Terry were somewhere other than a landfill or the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. I felt it was important, once Nigel knew he was a suspect, that someone keep a close eye on him at all times in case he decides to move Terry’s headphones to a safer place. This would mean long stakeouts and, considering Cory’s broken ribs and his desire to do something to make up for the California Confidential fiasco, I felt it best not to bring him in on this one. I called Dad and asked him to lunch.
“Didn’t you tell me Wednesday night is date night for you and Kelly?” he asked.
“It is, but there are a lot of things happening quickly. I may have to postpone with her this week,” I said.
“Don’t do that, son. She’ll feel like she’s always playing second fiddle to your career. Cops have just about the highest divorce rates of any profession and PI’s experience many of the same strains. Like it or not, you got a lot of publicity from that television show and should be busy with cases for years to come,” he said. “I’m no expert on relationships but I’ll bet Kelly’s busting to tell you about her new class now that school just started. Let her tell you all about it on the ride over here and at dinner. Afterwards she can help your mother in the kitchen and we’ll talk. What do you say?” he asked.
Dad was helping me and I appreciated it. For so many years we instinctively said no to each other. “OK. How about if we come over at 7:30?” I asked.
“Your mother will be thrilled. We’ll see you then, son,” he said and hung up.
Less than a minute later the phone rang and I thought Mom nixed the idea because of a prior commitment. I answered the phone before Jeannine could pick up by asking, “Is there a problem?”
“Is this Jason?” Chelsea Tucker asked.
“Chelsea, I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else. I’ll bet it felt great sleeping in you own bed last night,” I said.
“You have no idea,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I don’t think I would be alive today if it wasn’t for your advice about acting psycho at the jail.”
“I wish I could give you a couple of days to get your head together after that ordeal, but I really need to meet with you today,” I said.
“I understand. Tell me when and where and I’ll be there,” she said, no longer exuding the supreme confidence she demonstrated in the past.
“Why don’t I stop by your place. You may want to avoid the public for a while if possible,” I said.
“It’s almost eleven. If you want to come over now I’ll make lunch,” she said with a slight quiver in her voice.
“That would be terrific. I’ll leave here in ten minutes,” I said.
“I’ve been craving a chicken club sandwich for two days. Will that be OK?” she asked.
“Great. Should I stop for anything?” I asked.
“I’m out of Diet Coke, would you mind?” she asked.
“No problem. I’ll see you soon,” I said and hung up.
I then called Kelly’s cell phone and left a message asking if she would like to have dinner with my parents.
Just as I was about to leave the office, an email came in from David Cooper, which said, “Devin Billingsly purchased three sets of Delatorre headphones from a distributor in Ireland.”
About six blocks from Chelsea’s house I pulled into a 7/Eleven to pick up a six-pack of Diet Coke. I’m usually a fanatic about locking my car door. I learned the hard way when I was eighteen years old and had my guitar stolen while I was at a friend’s house for no more than twenty minutes. Since then I’ve locked my door except when I stop at a gas station or a convenience store, because they usually have huge windows facing their parking lots. I took three steps toward the 7/Eleven and froze in my tracks. It suddenly hit me that Terry stopped at a 7/Eleven after he left Denny’s the day he was killed. Nigel went to the restroom as they were leaving, giving Terry the impression he was alone when he stopped for his iced tea, but Nigel could very well have followed him and swapped the headphones while Terry was getting his Super Big Gulp.
When I arrived at Chelsea’s house she was every bit as friendly and energized as she was on the phone. “Why don’t we eat first, then talk,” she suggested.
“That’s fine with me,” I said and followed her to the dining room. I have seen many people shortly after being r
eleased from jail, including several first-time offenders from affluent homes. They are almost always either depressed or angry. Never have I seen anyone have such a positive metamorphosis as Chelsea Tucker. We ate and exchanged small talk. Then Chelsea cleared the table, refreshed our soft drinks, and sat down across from me. “Are you ready to talk?” I asked.
“I think so,” she replied and took a deep breath.
“I’m 99% certain I know who killed Terry. It’s somebody you know and the normal response is that you’re going to want to lash out at him, then you’re going to want to tell the world it wasn’t you who did it. But, if you do that he’ll have time to get rid of evidence and our chances of catching him and punishing him will be hurt. So be honest with yourself and tell me if you’re going to be able to keep it a secret,” I said.
“I want to know, Jason,” she said while maintaining eye contact.
“Promise me you’ll let me and the police handle it and not do anything to get retribution,” I stated.
“I promise. After what I just went through I can guarantee you that I have no intention of ever getting a parking ticket.”
I said, “Before I tell you I have a couple of questions. First, tell me why you decided to purchase the brand and model of headphones you gave to Terry.”
“He was complaining that he had a problem with outside noise when he listened to his audio notes between songs. I was in the process of trying to find a pair that touted extraneous noise reduction when Terry came home one day and said he heard that Delatorre Electronics put out a line that would do a great job,” she said.
“Did he say who gave him the recommendation?” I asked
“Nigel told him they were a little heavy but would take out 90% of the background noise he’d get in the studio,” she said.
“Did he recommend a particular model?” I asked.
“No. He just told Terry that the more expensive ones would do the best job,” she said.
Rock & Roll Homicide Page 24
