“Yeah. What’s up, Rudy?”
“Sorry, but oh, man, you need to get over to Carol Merryman’s place as quick as you can.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Early this morning she took a leap off the roof of her apartment building. She’s dead, Spike.”
20
Free Fallin’
(performed by Tom Petty)
By the time Berenger arrived by taxi, a swarm of onlookers had gathered in front of Carol Merryman’s Madison Avenue building. Three NYPD patrol cars, an unmarked detective’s vehicle, and an ambulance surrounded the site—an infallible advertisement for the curious that something grisly had happened. Police had partitioned off the crime scene with the familiar yellow tape but that didn’t keep gawkers and reporters from attempting to sneak a better view.
Berenger approached the scene and saw the drape covering the body, which was sprawled across the dividing line between the sidewalk and the street. He also spotted Lieutenant Detective Billy McTiernan among the policemen, plainclothes detectives, and forensic technicians hovering inside the yellow-taped space. McTiernan looked up, met Berenger’s eyes, and curtly nodded. Figuring he couldn’t get out of there without talking to his nemesis, McTiernan ducked under the tape and walked over to the private investigator.
“Whatcha doin’ here, Berenger?” McTiernan asked.
“What do you think, McTiernan? I’d say this concerns Rockin’ Security,” Berenger replied. “What are you doing here? Isn’t this a bit out of your jurisdiction?”
“Yeah, it is. It’s not my fucking case. I’m simply here as an interested party. The guys in this precinct are friends of mine.”
“You mind telling me what happened?”
“The lady jumped. It happened around six o’clock.”
“Any witnesses?”
“On the ground, yeah. A bus driver saw her free falling and then—splat—right there. At least six other people on the sidewalk saw her fall. Everyone else in the area, well, they just saw the goddamned mess after the fact.”
“Anyone see her on the roof and actually take the dive?”
“Nope.”
“Then how do you know she voluntarily jumped?”
“Because there’s no sign of a break-in at her apartment and it looks like she didn’t even enter her home after the concert last night. The boys have already contacted some witnesses from the party she was at. They stated she left ‘highly intoxicated’ around five in the morning. Figures. It was full of fucking hippies.”
“Where was the party?”
“Some loft in Soho. A bunch of goddamned rock stars were there. You know. We’re looking for the cab driver that brought her home. The thing is, we’re not sure if she took a cab or got a ride from someone.”
Berenger stood and stared at the drape. After the crime scene photos were completed, the body was placed on a stretcher and put into the ambulance.
“She didn’t commit suicide, McTiernan,” Berenger said.
“Yeah? How do you know?”
“Because of what she said last night at the concert. She had big plans for Flame’s company. She had a lot of business decisions to make and she was looking forward to seeing them through. She was about to spend a year preparing her son to take over. By the way, where is her son?”
“We can’t find him. Detective Pollock over there left a message on the kid’s answering machine. Where could he be this early in the morning?”
Berenger shrugged. “Joshua’s a college student. Maybe he had early classes. He was at the concert last night, too. Maybe he was at the same party or a different one, got lucky, and went home with some dame.”
“Well, we need to find him. He’s the next of kin.”
“McTiernan, tell your pals not to write it off as a suicide just yet. They need to look into it deeper. She was having some problems with the IRS but I don’t think they were bad enough to kill herself over.”
“Hey, Berenger, let us do our fucking job, okay?” McTiernan moved closer in Berenger’s face. “Go on. Get out of here. We don’t need your kind tellin’ us what to do?”
“My kind? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, Berenger, do I have to spell it out? You know professional law enforcement personnel don’t like goddamned private investigators. They step on our toes and shit where they’re not supposed to.”
“You’re a real charmer, McTiernan,” Berenger said. He poked his index finger into the police detective’s chest. “I’m a pro and you know it.”
“Fine, you’re a pro and I know it. Now get lost. I gotta go back over there.”
“McTiernan.”
“What?”
“Up until now I wasn’t sure if Adrian Duncan was really guilty or not. As of this morning I’m beginning to think he’s not. I strongly urge you to look into all this. Carol—her jumping, or whatever happened—it’s related. I know it.”
“Look, Berenger, if you’re so sure Duncan is innocent, then go find the evidence and give it to the guy’s lawyer so it can be presented properly—in court.” With that, McTiernan walked away and joined his cronies who were powwowing beside the unmarked cop car.
Damn, Berenger thought as he crossed the street to hail a taxi. He had liked Carol Merryman. She could be a snotty bitch at times and it seemed she was only interested in what was good for her and her son, but she didn’t deserve this. Whatever this was. Had she really jumped? If so, why? It didn’t make any sense.
He looked up at the roof and saw a couple of patrolmen still working that part of the crime scene. There was no way he’d be able to get up there to snoop around. By the time he could, any evidence he might find would have already been picked up.
As he walked toward Rockin’ Security, Berenger realized he emphatically believed that Carol Merryman hadn’t jumped to her death.
She was pushed.
21
Something to Believe In
(performed by The Ramones)
The team assembled in the conference room at Rockin’ Security and for once there was no music playing through the speakers. Remix was tempted to put on Iron Maiden’s Dance of Death but ultimately decided it would be in bad taste.
“There was no way in hell that Carol Merryman jumped off the roof of her building,” Berenger announced, beginning the meeting. “Suzanne, last night at the concert, did Carol appear depressed to you?”
“No,” Suzanne replied. “She looked pissed off about a few things and under a lot of stress, but I wouldn’t say she was looking to check out.”
“That’s what I think,” Berenger agreed. “Listen, folks, I’m convinced that if we can figure out what’s behind her fall—in other words, who pushed her—then we’ll also find out who Flame’s killer was. It’s got to be related. Okay, give me what you got. Danny, how’s the hacking going?”
Remix cleared his throat. “Spike, it’s done. I got into their server about midnight last night and spent a few hours looking at Reverend Theo’s e-mails. This morning I took a look at Brenda Twist’s but I still have a lot to go through. I printed out some of the more interesting ones in the reverend’s mailbox. He sure keeps in constant contact with a guy named Chucky in Jamaica.”
“That would be Chucky Tools,” Briggs interrupted. “He’s the Messengers’ main man at their church outside of Ocho Rios.”
“Chucky Tools?” Suzanne asked.
“Hey, that’s his name.” Briggs shrugged.
“Anyway,” Remix continued as he looked at a piece of paper, “the Reverend Theo mentioned Flame in an e-mail to Chucky Tools two days ago. It says, ‘Flame’s contribution to us was generous indeed but someone in our organization has put us in jeopardy. I aim to find out who it is and I strongly suggest that you do the same.’ To this, Chucky replied, ‘Come on, reverend, you know who it is. You remember who got very friendly with each other at the second retreat Flame attended? It seems obvious to me.’” Remix slapped the printout and added, “That’s all I
could find so far but I’ll keep digging.”
“I’m beginning to wonder if I need to take a trip to Jamaica,” Berenger said. “This Chucky Tools might be someone I’d like to talk to.”
“Jamaica? Can I go?” Suzanne asked.
Berenger looked at her and asked, “Any more on Brenda Twist, Suzanne?”
Suzanne laughed, made a swish sound as she sailed a flat hand over her head. “That one flew right by, didn’t it? No Caribbean vacation for me! Uhm, okay… Brenda Twist. Nothing new, really. I’ve confirmed that she was diagnosed with substance abuse and addiction in 1998 and sentenced by a court to go into rehab. She was there for two years, found religion, got out, but went right back in four months later. It was during that stint when she met Flame. Oh, I also learned she was a problem teenager in Seattle, where she grew up, and was arrested twice for narcotics possession. There’s an indication that she may have worked the streets as a teenager to support her habit. Her juvenile records are under lock and key, though. We can’t get at them without a court order. The amazing thing is that she’s been squeaky clean since she got out of rehab and became a member of the Messengers.”
Berenger looked at Briggs. “You have something for me, Tommy?”
“Not much more either. I did find out about Chucky Tools, like I said. He runs the retreat there in Jamaica. I’ve been vetting all the known members of the Messengers for criminal backgrounds. Other than the reverend himself, I’ve come up with zilch. I did receive an interesting report from Plaskett at the Bureau who got it from his contact in Jamaica. There was a lawsuit filed against the Messengers three years ago. It was dismissed for lack of evidence but I got a copy of the suit. It alleged that the Messengers use drugs in their so-called retreats and that these events are very ritualistic. Not sure what that means exactly. Anyway, the drugs apparently reduce inhibitions and affect the users psychologically, making them more open to suggestion.”
“What is it, some kind of truth serum?” Berenger asked.
“Who knows? It could be a number of things. But if it’s powerful stuff then it’s no wonder these people start pledging their lives and fortunes to the group.”
“That does it,” Berenger said. “I’m going to Jamaica. Tommy, who’s the contact in Jamaica? Can I see him?”
“His name is Baskin. Steve Baskin. I’ll see if I can arrange a meeting.”
“Great. Ringo, see what kind of flights you can get me for tonight or in the morning.”
Mel nodded and left the room, saying, “Okay, but you better bring us some T-shirts and some reggae CDs.”
The best flight out wasn’t until the next morning so Berenger had a day to kill. Mel found out from the Sixth Precinct that Lieutenant Detective McTiernan was at New York Hospital, where Carol Merryman’s body was taken for a post-mortem. Berenger caught a cab there and found the officer in the mortuary waiting room with Joshua Duncan. The young man appeared pale and extremely shaken.
McTiernan saw Berenger approaching and winced. “Geez, Berenger, don’t you have any tact? We don’t want to talk to you right now.”
Berenger ignored him and spoke to Joshua. “Hey, I’m really sorry to hear about your mom. We were friends, you know.”
Duncan nodded but wouldn’t look Berenger in the eye. He stood and mumbled, “You guys can go ahead and talk, I’m going to the washroom.”
As he walked away, McTiernan shrugged and said, “Poor kid. Lost both his parents in less than three weeks.”
Berenger sat by McTiernan and said, “Look, Billy, I’m coming right to the point. I really think Carol Merryman was forced to take that jump. There are too many weird things about this case.”
“Berenger, I don’t—”
“Just hear me out, will you?”
McTiernan frowned and folded his arms. “Okay, I’m listening.”
“Reverend Theo—you know, the Messengers guy—he served time in Jamaica before founding their church and coming to America. He even had a murder rap but was acquitted. The Messengers have a retreat in Jamaica where they send all new members. I’ve learned that they use drugs and rituals during the retreats, causing the participants to lose control and become susceptible to suggestion. I’m going to Jamaica tomorrow morning to check it out.”
“So?”
“So, the Messengers have a motive for killing Flame. And Carol Merryman. They wanted his money. And Carol was in charge of the money after his death. They wanted her out of the way.”
“You can’t prove that, can you?”
“Not yet, but I’m—”
“When you have something to show me, Berenger, I’ll listen. Right now I’m up to my ears in shit. What makes you think Adrian Duncan didn’t kill his father? We’ve got him dead to rights. There’s physical evidence and eyewitnesses.”
“I think he was set up. I really do.”
“Look, Berenger, I’m all for justice and getting the right guy and all that. But until you can convince me otherwise, we’ve got the right guy. What else do you have for me?”
“Brenda Twist was a drug addict before she met Flame. She’s not the Snow White she lets everyone think she is.”
“So? Big fucking deal. Neither are you.”
“Oh, come on, McTiernan!” Berenger stood. “Didn’t your boys find anything on that roof or in Carol’s apartment? Anything to suggest she wasn’t alone last night?”
“Nope.”
“How did she get home from the party?”
“We still don’t know. But we haven’t found everyone who was there. It’s going to take a while.”
In frustration, Berenger rubbed his head and said, “Okay, McTiernan. You win for now. I’ll be back when I have something more substantial.” He walked away but McTiernan stopped him.
“Hey, Berenger.”
“What?”
“I am interested in what you find out about the Messengers. Those people give me the creeps, too. I’m not totally blowing you off.”
Berenger nodded and said, “Thanks.” He left the waiting room and turned the corner to walk toward the elevator. He saw the Men’s Room and decided to look inside. Sure enough, Joshua Duncan was there, standing at the sink and staring into the mirror.
“You all right, Joshua?” Berenger asked.
Joshua’s eyes darted around the room and then he immediately began to splash cold water in his face. “Yeah, I guess,” he said.
“You mind telling me where you were last night after the concert?”
“I went to the same damned party my mom went to. I left early, though. I left at two o’clock and took a cab home. Mom was still there when I left. I told the detective that, too. You can check with Al Patton’s secretary. She called the cab for me.”
“This was Al Patton’s party?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have any idea how your mom got home after she left, whenever that was?”
“No. If I did I would have told Detective McTiernan. And I’d tell you, too.”
“Okay, Joshua.” Berenger stood next to him and gave him a light pat on the back. “Take it easy, all right? I’ll… I’ll be in touch.”
Joshua didn’t say anything as Berenger left the washroom.
Adrian Duncan looked at Berenger with disappointment.
“I thought you were going to be Patterson,” he said.
“You’re not glad to see me?” Berenger asked.
Duncan shrugged. He looked away but Berenger noticed the shiner.
“What happened?”
“Fucking guard hit me.”
“Did you provoke him?”
“He says I did. He’s really a big Flame fan and wanted some payback.”
“Have you told Patterson about it?”
“Not yet. What do you want?”
Berenger sighed and said, “Look, Adrian. I haven’t been totally honest with you and Patterson. Before, I wasn’t convinced you were innocent. But I came to tell you that now I really do believe you’re not guilty and I’m getting closer to fi
nding out the truth about what happened that night.”
“Oh yeah? Well, gee, thanks for telling me. I really don’t give a fuck if you think I’m guilty or not.”
Berenger’s instinct to punch the man returned in full force. Adrian Duncan really was an ungrateful, miserable louse.
“Listen,” he said. “The Jimmys sent me a death threat package. And the other night one of them tried to kill me in a parking garage. You know of any reason why the Jimmys would want to put me on a death list?”
Adrian’s expression turned to one of genuine befuddlement. “No. Because you’re working for my defense? Is that it?”
“I don’t see why. You’d think they’d want me to find the evidence that proves you’re innocent. Or could it be they want you out of the way, too, for some reason?”
Adrian shook his head. “You got me. I don’t understand any of it.”
Berenger paused a moment and then asked, “You heard about Carol Merryman?”
“Yeah, it was on the news. They let us watch CNN here.”
“Don’t you see? Whoever killed her—”
“I thought she committed suicide.”
“Do you believe that?”
He shrugged. “What do I know? I don’t give a shit about her.”
“Believe me, Adrian. She didn’t jump off that roof by herself.”
“How do you know? Were you there?”
“No, but I’ve been in this business a long time. I smell a big fat rat and I think it’s the same big fat rat that killed your father.”
“Well, then, you better find some big fat cheese and set a big fat trap.”
Berenger gave up. “Fine, Adrian. I came here to give you a little encouragement. I came here to say I believe you and I’m trying to help you. But apparently you don’t give a damn.” He stood and walked away from the table. Berenger gestured to the guard, indicating that he was done.
“Hey,” Adrian called.
Berenger looked at the inmate.
“Thanks, Mister Berenger.” Duncan tried to smile. One corner of his mouth turned up and Berenger figured it was the best the man could do.
The Rock 'n Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - A Spike Berenger Anthology Page 18
