Several times I had a synesthetic experience where I saw jagged lines in a soft gray color race across my field of vision. After the third time, I figured out it was triggered by Duncan’s cell phone. Though I wasn’t aware of it on a conscious level, I must have been able to hear it vibrate because each time the lines appeared, he would step away, take out his cell phone, and talk to someone. It was after one of these conversations that he took me aside and informed me they had found Tad Amundsen’s name in Ginny’s client list. Had Ginny been the one who gave Tad the tip that led to his purchase and ultimate downfall? And if so, had Tad killed her out of revenge?
All this focus on death and murder was starting to get to me. I felt jittery and nervous, as well as guilty, for pulling one over on my customers with Duncan. I knew it was a necessary evil; the killer had to be found and hopefully it wouldn’t be anyone I knew. But so far, the list of potential suspects bore a disturbing similarity to my customer and employee rosters. Several times I watched Gary, looking for some hint of guilt, some sign that he was someone other than who I thought he was. But although he seemed to be in a bit of a funk and scowling a lot, I didn’t notice anything. I also studied Cora and Tad when they were otherwise occupied, trying to imagine either one of them turning into a ruthless, cold-blooded killer.
It was going to be a long, interesting night.
Shortly before eight o’clock another of my regulars, Lewis Carmichael, showed up. Lewis and I had connections outside the bar, connections I preferred not to think about. He was a thirty-something, divorced ER nurse who worked at a nearby hospital, and he was on duty the night my father was brought in. Lewis was the last person my father saw or spoke to before he died.
Though Lewis came into my bar several times a week, he rarely ever spoke to me beyond the casual greeting or comment about the weather. He triggered painful memories for me and he seemed to sense that. It was as if we had this silent tacit agreement to be polite but not engage unless absolutely necessary. Occasionally he socialized with other people in the bar, but most nights he seemed content to sit alone at the bar and people watch. I was pretty sure he had a crush on Missy because he was always making innuendo-laden comments to her, comments that unfortunately zipped right over Missy’s head most of the time. With his receding hairline and short, somewhat pudgy build, Lewis didn’t turn many women’s heads.
He usually came in alone, but sometimes he came in with other young professionals who, judging from talk I overheard or the clothing they wore, also worked at the hospital. That was the case tonight. He arrived with two women, and all three of them were wearing scrubs. There were no empty seats when they arrived, so Lewis bellied up to the bar and ordered a round of beers from Gary. Then the three of them stood against the wall waiting for a table to open up, talking and eyeing the police tape at the end of the hall that led to the alley door. When a table finally opened up, Lewis and his lady friends swooped in and started perusing a menu.
Normally I have Missy or Debra wait on Lewis, but because of Duncan’s objective, I decided to do it. Lewis seemed surprised to see me, but after I went through the introduction of Duncan, Lewis turned to me like we were old friends.
“Mack, I heard about the body in the alley,” he said. “How awful that must have been for you, after what happened to your father.”
The two girls stared wide-eyed and expectant at me, waiting for me to dish the goods. When I didn’t say anything, Lewis prompted me some more.
“Do you know who it was?”
“Yes, unfortunately. It was Ginny Rifkin, my father’s girlfriend when he died.”
Lewis arched his brows and sat back in his chair. He looked worried for a moment and then he said, “Wow, that can’t be a coincidence. Makes you wonder if the two murders are connected. Did they ever figure out who shot your father?”
“No,” I said.
“I heard she was stabbed, not shot?” Lewis asked.
“I don’t know,” I lied, shooting a look at Duncan.
Lewis turned to the girls and said, “I was working the night Mack’s father was shot. He was my patient. We tried to save him, but . . .”
The girls looked suitably impressed. I, on the other hand, wanted to knock Lewis out of his chair. Duncan seemed to sense my discomfort and took over the conversation.
“Where did you hear that the victim was stabbed?” he asked.
Lewis took a swig of his beer before he answered, taking his time. “The cops,” he said finally. “They hang out in the ER a lot. And they talk.”
I imagined a few of them would be getting talked to, and maybe worse, once Duncan got ahold of them.
Duncan continued chatting with the trio, trying to determine what else they knew, while I stood by squirming. I’m not sure if it was Lewis or the women he was with who triggered the synesthetic reaction I had as they talked, but I kept hearing a sound like the twang of an out-of-tune guitar. And once again it was a sound I was certain I’d heard this morning when I found Ginny’s body.
Eventually the trio got around to placing food orders, and as Duncan and I retreated to the kitchen, he didn’t waste any time getting down to business.
“So much for keeping the details under wraps,” he grumbled in my ear. “When I find out who the cops were who talked, heads are going to roll.”
Since Helmut had a number of sandwich orders he was working on, I got to work building pizzas and said nothing.
“I take it the male nurse is a regular of yours?” Duncan said, his voice low as he watched me. We were only six feet or so from Helmut, but there was enough ambient kitchen noise between the bubbling of the fryer and the clatter of dishes that I didn’t think Helmut could hear.
I nodded. “He comes in two or three times a week, usually at the end of his shift.”
“He makes you uncomfortable.” It was a statement, not a question.
I gave him a wan smile. “He brings back a lot of painful memories. As I’m sure you heard, he was on duty the night my father was shot.”
“I guess we can rule him out as a suspect in that death then,” Duncan said. “But I sensed him tensing up when he learned who the recent victim was. Did he know Ginny?”
“Not that I know of, but I’ve never really talked to him much. I never saw the two of them together. . . .” I trailed off, remembering my synesthetic reaction and wondering if I should mention it. Duncan picked up on my hesitation right away.
“I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”
“Promise you won’t laugh or declare me crazy?” I said after glancing back at Helmut to be sure his attention was still occupied elsewhere.
“For now, though I reserve the right to re-judge you later.” His comment riled me for a second, but then he winked at me.
“I kept hearing a certain sound when we were talking with Lewis and his group. It was a grating, twangy sound, like someone plucking at an out-of-tune guitar. And I’m pretty certain that was one of the sounds I heard this morning when I found Ginny’s body.”
“Any idea what triggered it?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure what or who triggered it this last time. As for this morning, there were several sounds and several smells, and a whole array of visual things. I had such a synesthetic overload that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to figure all of it out.”
“If that’s the case, how can you be sure the sound you heard tonight is one of the same sounds you heard this morning?”
“It stood out to me. It was so discordant and annoying. And it stood in stark contrast to the sound of the bells chiming.”
“And you don’t have any idea what either of them might mean?”
“I only know that whatever triggered the sounds has something to do with both Ginny’s body and the people we’ve talked to.”
Duncan frowned, and as I put the pizzas in the oven, he stepped away from me to make another call on his cell phone. I heard him mention Lewis’s name and when he hung up, his grim expression said it all.
“Well, we may know Lewis had nothing to do with your father’s murder since he was on duty at the time, but we can’t rule him out with Ginny. His name is also on her list of clients.”
Chapter 10
When we went back out to the bar to deliver the food to Lewis’s table, I kept looking over my shoulder, examining the faces around me. Many of them were dearly familiar, customers I’d known for months or years, people who I considered friends or even family. The thought that one of them might be a killer chilled me even as I denied the possibilities in my mind. I studied each person carefully, searching for hints of guilt, or evil, or even just subterfuge in their expressions. Several times I had synesthetic reactions with certain people, but I couldn’t make any specific connections between these and Ginny. Half the time I didn’t even understand what triggered them. I’ve spent so much time trying to ignore my synesthetic responses over the years that it proved to be a struggle for me now to try to isolate and interpret them. After describing the first few to Duncan and watching the skepticism in his expression, I thought maybe I should keep future ones to myself. I couldn’t help but wonder if he thought I was making them up, manufacturing clever red herrings that were designed to cast suspicion on anyone other than me.
As we continued our rounds, Duncan met and eventually dismissed several of my regular customers based on alibis they provided—often unknowingly—as Duncan cleverly steered conversations and elicited details that his men later checked out.
One person who couldn’t be dismissed and who piqued Duncan’s interest was Kevin Baldwin, a single, thirty-something trash collector whose regular route included my bar. Kevin was a frequent customer who liked to stop in after work, sometimes with coworkers, but more often alone. Though he would announce to anyone who showed the slightest interest in him that he was, “on the hunt for a good woman,” I was pretty sure Kevin was gay. I based that assumption on the fact that he ogled men in the bar more than women, and when he hung out by the TV with the sports types, he paid more attention to the guys watching than he did to the games. When a woman did try to hook up with him, it never led anywhere.
I found it amusing that Kevin worked for a garbage company because he was immaculate when it came to his clothing and hygiene. He was a nice-looking man, a bit on the short side, but with a decent build, his brown hair always shiny clean and perfectly styled. When he was working he wore a jumpsuit over his clothes, but he always changed and cleaned up before coming into the bar. Tonight’s outfit was typical: a pale green button-down shirt and khakis with a crease in them sharp enough to cut my limes. On this particular night Kevin was alone and he walked up to the bar and placed an order with Billy. When it arrived he got all wide-eyed and said, “Man, I heard about that woman they found out back. If my truck hadn’t broken down this morning, I might have been the one who found her.”
Duncan and I were standing right behind him serving drinks to a table and Duncan’s ears perked up immediately. He turned around and said, “What do you mean?”
Kevin looked at him and smiled. “Hey, you’re new here, aren’t you?” He gave Duncan a quick head-to-toe assessment and smiled.
“First night,” Duncan said.
I introduced the two men to one another, using the established story for Duncan. “Kevin is our garbageman,” I explained.
“Your sanitation engineer,” Kevin corrected with a whimsical wink. Then he got back to the business at hand. “So about this body they found, they haven’t released an identity yet. Do you know who it was?”
“It was Ginny Rifkin,” I told him. I watched to see if Kevin showed any recognition. I didn’t think he’d ever met Ginny and he was a relative newcomer to the bar, only coming in for the past few months. As far as I knew, he didn’t know my dad either. But at the mention of Ginny’s name, he flinched almost imperceptibly.
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” he said a little too quickly. I felt certain he was lying, and judging from the narrow-eyed way Duncan was looking at him, I suspected he thought so too.
Gary, still scowling, brought our drinks and practically slammed them down on my tray. As I turned to carry them to the tables, Duncan pulled me aside and asked me for Kevin’s full name. After I gave it to him, he got on his cell phone and had another one of those hushed conversations with someone. When he hung up, his interest in Kevin seemed even keener and I knew it wasn’t going to be good news.
“Our sanitation engineer is lying,” Duncan told me a few minutes later. “His name is on Ginny’s client list, too. Did you have one of your experiences with him?”
“Nothing significant,” I said, though even if I had, I’m not sure I would have admitted to it. “Are you going to question him?”
Duncan nodded. “Someone will. I want to keep my cover for now. People are more inclined to open up if they don’t know I’m a cop so I think I’ll have another detective come in here and talk to some of these people tonight while I observe the reactions.”
“You’re going to interrogate people in my bar?” I said. “That won’t be good for business. You’ll chase my customers away.”
“It won’t be an official interrogation, just a fact-finding mission to feel people out. If we have a reason to go beyond that, we’ll invite that person to the station for further questioning. We’ll be as discreet as possible. The other detective will be dressed in ordinary street clothes and he’ll talk to each suspect in an unobtrusive way.”
The term suspect sent a small chill down my back. “Look at this place. It’s packed. How unobtrusive can you possibly be? People will talk. And they’ll think I set them up.”
“We’ll be subtle and do the questioning in your office to provide some privacy. It will be strictly voluntary.”
“I don’t want you using my bar as some kind of interrogation room,” I said. “I want my customers to feel comfortable coming here. Many of them are my friends, almost like family. They trust me. And I don’t want to violate that trust.”
“I’m trying to do this as easily as I can,” Duncan said. “You said you needed to have the bar open and running and I’m trying to compromise and help you out here while also trying to solve a murder and catch a killer.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “What would you have me do, Mack?”
The threat of closing down the bar was a good one, but I still didn’t like the idea of police interrogations going on in my bar. Then I had an idea.
“What if I question my customers? I’ll invite them into my office one at a time and ask them what they know.”
Duncan gave me a quizzical look. “You? You don’t even know what to ask them. Or how to do it.”
“Then tell me. Though I’m not sure you’ll have to. I think my customers will open up to me in a way they wouldn’t to a cop. And you can be in the room with me when I talk to them. I’ll tell them you’re my protection, or my witness, something.”
Duncan stared at me for several long seconds, his eyes narrowed in thought. “Tell you what,” he said finally. “I’ll let you do the questioning if you agree to certain circumstances.”
“Such as?”
“One, I need to be present at all times.”
“Can the people I talk to know you’re a detective?”
“No.” I started to object but he held up his hand. “Anything that gets said won’t be usable as evidence.”
I considered this, and nodded. “What else?”
“I want you to share with me any of your reactions to the people we talk to.”
“My reactions?”
“You know, this special talent you have.”
“You want to know if I have any synesthetic responses?”
“Yes.”
“I can tell you now that I will. I have them all the time.”
“But I want you to interpret them.”
I sighed. He had no idea what he was asking of me. “I can try, but I’ve spent so many years trying to ignore my reactions that I’m not sure I can. I often have no idea
what is triggering a particular reaction and sometimes I don’t even know if something I experience is a synesthetic interpretation or something real.”
He shrugged. “Do what you can.”
Against my better judgment, I agreed, mainly because I didn’t have a choice unless I wanted to close the place down. “Anything else?”
“Can you wait a few minutes before you start? Another detective, my partner, is due here any minute. He has something I think you should see.”
The second detective, whose name was Jimmy Patterson, arrived ten minutes later. I didn’t peg him for who he was until Duncan pointed him out to me. When we went to wait on him, he was careful to treat Duncan as someone he didn’t know. They shook hands and Jimmy ordered a plain club soda with a lime, a drink that can look alcoholic but isn’t.
When we brought Jimmy his drink, he slid a photograph across the table toward me. It was a picture of a pair of broken eyeglasses with a tortoiseshell frame. “Do these look like the ones Tad wore?” he asked me in a low voice.
“They do,” I said warily. “Where did you find them?”
“In the pile of debris around Ginny’s body.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” Jimmy echoed.
Duncan said, “I’d appreciate it if you could find a way to work these glasses into your talk with Tad.”
I nodded and, resigned to my fate, I headed for Tad, who was sitting with a group of people who were, ironically, discussing Ginny’s murder and speculating on what evidence the cops might or might not have.
I approached Tad on the side away from the group and leaned in close to his ear, speaking at just above a whisper so nearby patrons wouldn’t overhear. “Tad, I want to talk to you about Ginny’s murder. Would you mind coming into my office?”
Murder on the Rocks Page 9
