“Tell Jack I said thanks,” Max demanded in a calmer tone.
“You heard that?” I asked Max.
“Sure, I did. I’m old but there’s nothing wrong with my hearing,” he sniffed indignantly.
“He heard that,” I told Jack. There’s no way out now, I mused silently.
“I’ve got this. Go get dressed. Treats!” He yelled to the delight of both cats. Then he took the can of cat food from me, leaned in and whispered. “They found a body. Not in the house, but on the rocks below. Let’s find out more before you break the news to Max,” he whispered. “My contact from the Lost Hills station tells me Pat Dolan could benefit from the support of a friend.”
“Bye, Max! Talk to you later,” Jack hollered as he ended the phone call.
I dashed down the hall to dress, still woefully caffeine deprived. My head was spinning. Why not? Events around me were moving way too fast. A pit formed in my stomach as Jack’s words sank in. A body on the rocks below the maestro’s magnificent Malibu Cliffs estate could only mean one thing. Dave Rollins was dead.
2 Prelude to Romance
Sunlight sparkled on the water below the cliffs as Jack and I stood overlooking the beach near Dave Rollins’ Malibu estate. The view was usually quite lovely. This morning, the area off to the left at the foot of the cliffs had been cordoned off by the police as the coroner and crime scene investigators—CSIs—clambered over the rocks at awkward angles. Their movements were disturbingly crablike.
Light cast by the full moon the night before must not have been enough for anyone to see the body on the rocks below if someone had been around to see it. That explained why no one had found the maestro when Max spoke to the police demanding information about the whereabouts of his longtime friend. Despite how disgruntled Max was when he called me, it was fortunate the police investigation got underway as early as it did. That was the best I could do to find a silver lining in this dark cloud.
“I guess it’s a good thing Dave’s neighbors complained, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Those calls put Dave Rollins’ disappearance on the record sooner than it would have been otherwise. It got Pat over here quick, too. If she hadn’t insisted the police search for him on the beach, it’s possible the tide would have carried his body out to sea. Without a body, the maestro’s disappearance could have remained a missing persons case rather than becoming a homicide investigation. A sad story either way, as you know all too well, my love.”
Jack was right. There was a hint of déjà vu in all of this, accentuated by a chilling ocean breeze that swirled around us. I’d lived through something similar in my youth. An attack on the beach that had become a cold case for decades until it was resolved not long ago.
“I hear you,” I sighed. “With ‘no body and no blood,’ as the officer told Max, I don’t suppose they could have called Dave’s disappearance a homicide even with the house in the shape it was in.” I reached out to take Jack’s hand.
Dave’s amazing house of glass and steel, with its dramatic butterfly roof pointing skyward, could be seen from where we stood on the cliffs gazing down at the activity on the beach. A clifftop trail had led us from the maestro’s estate to this spot. We’d passed through a gate from Dave’s property onto a crudely worn path that was open to the public. Not only Malibu residents, but visitors used the trail to walk, jog, or gain access to the beach via a set of stairs. When we passed through it, Jack had stopped to examine the gate.
“The lock is operated by a keypad like the entry points into his house. Dave must have opened it unless someone else has the code. Pat has it, I’m sure, but she may not be the only one.”
“The open gate must be the reason Pat insisted the police check the beach. Why would Dave have left it open?”
“Who knows? There’s no sign anyone forced their way into his home. Any attempt to do that would have alerted Dave’s security service. The intruder either had the code or Dave let the person in.”
“If he knew the person he let into the house maybe they came out here for a stroll on the beach.” Jack nodded, deep in thought. At one point, after we’d been walking in silence for a few minutes, I slid a little on the gravelly ground. Jack steadied me, but that wave of déjà vu I’d felt earlier was replaced by vertigo. I hadn’t been in any real danger of falling, but if I’d been a little closer when I slid it might have been different.
“Do you think that’s what happened to Dave—he lost his footing and fell? In the dark, if he got too close to the edge, he could have tripped or stumbled, before falling. The light of a full moon might not have been enough to help him see where he was going.”
“It’s possible. I’m sure he was more familiar with this path than we are, so it’s hard to believe he fell because he lost track of where he was even in the low light.”
“He’d been drinking at the gala. That could have made him unsteady on his feet or less aware of his surroundings.” Suddenly my mind jumped the track and sped off in a different direction. “Of course, if he’d fallen and he was out here with a guest, why didn’t his companion call for help immediately? Jack, what if he was running away from the intruder that trashed his house? In a panic, he could have lost track of where he was and then plunged off the cliff.”
“It’s too soon to rule anything out. If the maestro had too much to drink, that could explain why he forgot to shut the gate when he headed for the beach. Once we get the autopsy report, we’ll know more about how much alcohol was in his system. There might also be something that tells us if he fell or was pushed.”
“Dave was remarkably fit for a man in his seventies although I doubt he could have outrun a pursuer, especially one who was younger or more fit. Pushed is more likely, isn’t it?”
“Yes, presuming he got this far on his own accord,” Jack said, searching the path we were on and pointing to long indentions in the path. “The investigators snapped a few pictures of the path out here. They say there’s no way to know how old these ruts are or what made them. Apparently, bikers use this path so that’s probably where they came from. Still, it’s not inconceivable someone hauled Dave out here and dumped him off the cliff.”
“Like in a wheelbarrow or on a mover’s dolly? Could one person have done that?” I asked.
“A wheelbarrow would have been hard to manage, but a wheeled cart of some kind, maybe. A mover’s dolly is a pretty good alternative. Remind me not to tick you off and put you in touch with your inner cutthroat.” Jack smiled wickedly as he said that.
“Oh, stop it!” Then I arched an eyebrow and donned a wicked little grin of my own. “You know I couldn’t get you onto a mover’s dolly by myself. Not unless I rigged up a pulley system to lift you or killed you on a bed and then rolled you off onto the dolly.” Jack’s mouth fell open.
“That’s enough. You’re starting to worry me, Doll,” Jack said, adopting his hokey film noir detective voice. “I might have to hand you over to the cops for further questioning.”
“Go right ahead. I’ll happily tell them where I was last night until the wee hours of the morning. That would put you in a compromising situation, wouldn’t it, Detective?” Jack threw back his head and laughed.
“An alibi’s an alibi!” He took my hand and tugged me back down the path through the back gate that led onto Dave Rollins’ estate. The walk was an easy one and hadn’t taken long at all. The idea that someone had dragged or even rolled a body such a distance seemed more far-fetched, though, as I tried to imagine carrying out such a desperate maneuver by moonlight. As we walked across the lawn on Dave’s estate, another possibility came to mind.
“So how about this? Dave’s out for a romantic stroll with his lovely companion when things take a dark turn. Moonlight and romance become the setting for a lovers’ quarrel that turns deadly. That would explain why his woman friend didn’t report his fall.”
“Something like that occurred to me, too,” Jack said. “The rose left on the counter in the kitchen sure suggests romance was in the
offing—or so Dave Rollins believed. Just because he had romance on his mind, didn’t mean his guest did as well. Given the way in which his house looks, whoever dropped by for a visit must have had an entirely different mission in mind.”
“Pushing him off the cliff first would have made it easier to search the house without worrying about Dave getting in the way or calling the police. But then why not make Dave hand it over rather than tearing the house apart to find it? What could he have had that was worth killing him to get it?”
“Great questions. Let’s go see if your friend, Pat, is in any shape to tell us what’s missing. That might help us answer your questions.”
“Even if she can’t tell us what’s missing, she might tell us what the sneak thief rummaged through before taking off,” I suggested.
“In a big hurry given that the front door was barely closed, and all the lights were left on. It’s odd that a vandal or thief in such a hurry stopped long enough to turn on the music,” Jack added.
“Vandalizing the house and turning up the music loud enough to rile the neighbors was an angry thing to do. Maybe whatever the intruder hoped to find wasn’t there and that triggered the decision not just to search the place, but to trash it and make all that noise.”
“It could be. But what’s a little vandalism by someone angry enough to murder the old gent and steal from him?” Jack asked as we walked onto the patio behind Dave’s house.
Before venturing into the morning room just off the expansive ultra-modern kitchen, we stopped to check in with a uniformed officer posted nearby. The sun that had risen above the horizon was pouring into the house now, bouncing off shiny surfaces of polished marble and stainless steel. Food was strewn about, here and there, on those surfaces. Glass shards, too.
The intruder had slung food with abandon, smashing jars from the refrigerator. Glassware and plates were shoved from cupboards, leaving their doors open. Surely, this was an act of rage. Would Dave really have stashed something of value in his fridge?
When Pat saw me, she reached out her arms interrupting my ruminations about the mess. My heart ached as I rushed inside to comfort her where she sat at a table in the morning room. She’d been out of it when Jack and I arrived earlier. EMTs, already called to the house in case Dave Rollins had been injured, had given Pat something to settle her nerves.
Before we’d arrived, Pat had agreed to go with the police officers to identify a man’s body found on the beach. She was halfway down the stairs leading from the cliffs to the seaside below when she’d taken one look and verified that Dave Rollins was the man on the rocks. A moment later, she’d come close to joining him. A quick-thinking police woman had snatched Pat by the collar and yanked her away from the stair-railing before she’d tumbled over it in a fit of dizziness.
“I’m sorry I flaked out on you,” Pat said as I sat down beside her.
“Don’t worry about me. We heard what happened. Finding Dave like that had to be a shock.”
Coming in through the front door as Jack and I had done earlier, I’d experienced a jolt, too. The white walls were marred by blood-red streaks. Max’s words, “No blood. No body,” had come back to me right away, followed by the realization that Dave’s house smelled like a bar. The vandal had used red wine to make those streaks. Not just on the walls, but on the maestro’s white carpet, furniture, and his lovely white baby grand piano.
“It was a disturbing sight, even though I knew it had to be Dave. A white-haired man in a red velvet jacket—who else could it be? He loved that ridiculous smoking jacket. Not that he smoked anymore. The old fool had convinced himself it gave him an air of sophistication or some nonsense like that. He never came right out and said it, but I’m sure he believed it gave him an edge when he was pursuing a new woman.”
“Is that why he was wearing it?” I glanced up at Jack who was hovering nearby. “Was a woman here with him last night?”
“I assume so. The smoking jacket, a single red rose, and a bottle of champagne upstairs on the balcony outside the office adjoining his master suite. It’s Dave’s prelude to romance.”
“This one must have had a late start given that the gala didn’t end until ten,” I commented.
“Yes, most likely he and his date met there. I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve already told the police. No, I don’t know who he was entertaining last night. I sensed he wasn’t alone when he called me and asked me to drop by after lunch today. When I left the gala, a crowd of well-wishers had him surrounded saying their goodbyes. That group included several attractive and attentive women. It could have been one of them or another woman hanging back to avoid being noticed. Who knows?” Pat’s hands shook as she sipped a cup of coffee.
“I kept Dave’s calendar when it came to his professional life; scheduling events, keeping up with correspondence on his behalf, reminding him of meetings, and making sure he showed up when and where he was supposed to show up. As his Personal Assistant, I ran lots of mundane errands like picking up his dry cleaning and prescriptions, but I drew the line at any involvement in his love life. I learned that lesson the hard way.”
“What does that mean?” I asked. Pat squirmed under my gaze.
3 A Little Night Music
“Years ago, when there was still a Mrs. Maestro, she didn’t like the amount of time I spent with her husband even though it was my job. One birthday Dave asked me to buy a gift for her. I picked out this lovely diamond bracelet. When I showed it to him, she walked in and became convinced he’d given it to me. Dave handed her the note that the jeweler had inserted with the bracelet that read ‘To my beloved wife,’ or something like that. It wasn’t enough. I was never able to interact with Marla again without feeling she was about to snarl or hiss at me.”
“I’ll bet she didn’t turn that bracelet down, did she?” I muttered, recalling my encounters with Dave’s wife over the years.
“No, she did not!” Pat tried to smile.
“If it’s any consolation, Pat, she never liked me much either.”
“I’m sure any woman who worked with Dave was on her list of potential rivals. I can’t blame her for being suspicious. An attractive man with money and notoriety, there were always women throwing themselves at his feet. He seemed unable to resist the temptation to take advantage of what his adoring fans offered. Of course, Dave was never one to wait for a woman to make the first move. He was a gifted musician, a talented composer, and diligent about his art and career. Too bad he wasn’t as committed to his marriage and family.” Pat shrugged as she took another sip of coffee.
“In my case, her suspicions were unfounded. Dave was flirtatious, but after the brouhaha over Marla, he must have decided not to risk becoming involved with women at work.” Pat nodded as if she understood what I was talking about.
“Their romance raised more than a few eyebrows at The Cat Factory, as I recall. I take back what I said about his career. That was a major lapse in judgment that could have killed some careers,” Pat sighed at whatever old memories our discussion had raised.
“I hadn’t given much thought in years to the stress surrounding his marriage and divorce from Marla. His kids are grown, now. At the time, they took the tongue-wagging about their famous father to heart. They were gawky teens with braces when lots of kids are a little embarrassed by their parents anyway. Time heals all wounds, doesn’t it?”
“Some, maybe, but not all,” I replied in a pensive mood. “I didn’t pay too much attention to Dave’s break-up. There had been rumors about other women even when his kids were younger. It never occurred to me to consider how big an impact all the gossip must have had on them. Was Marla behind the leaks to the media about his affairs or were his women friends the kiss and tell types?”
“I’m not sure. I doubt Marla was intent on preserving his reputation by the time she filed for divorce. She was always high strung and never hesitated to vent her anger about Dave’s failings. If she flew off the handle when there happened to be members of the public a
round, so be it.” Pat shrugged. “It was worse at home. I learned to get out of her way when she was ticked off—before she started throwing things.”
“Did she ever injure you or anyone else?”
“No. The walls and furniture took a beating, but not me or Dave and the kids as far as I know. The shouting and screaming was loud at times, but no one ever called the police. Occasionally, she was so out of control, I was tempted to call them. The thought of the kids having to witness the police questioning their mother or arresting her just seemed wrong. Maybe that was a mistake, but once they divorced and she moved out, the worst seemed to be over. There was a row or two about money after that. They’d both get on the phone to their lawyers and their surrogates would fight it out.”
Jack didn’t say anything, but I could tell he was listening intently. If I had to guess, Marla was now suspect number one. Wives and girlfriends—ex or not—are always at or near the top of the list when a man is murdered.
“Dave’s fondness for beautiful women continued after his divorce. Whenever I ran into him at concerts or company-related events, there always seemed to be one waiting in the wings, so to speak.” Pat nodded in agreement.
“Quite literally, at times. As he grew older, the women he chose didn’t, or so it seemed to me. It bolstered his confidence to have a beautiful, young woman standing off stage or sitting in the front row at a concert or theater performance.” Pat paused and took another sip of water before speaking again. “He was a complicated person.”
“No wonder he and Max were such good friends. Max doesn’t chase women in the same way but he’s the epitome of complicated, isn’t he?” Jack made that comment from where he’d been standing, leaning against a wall, as he listened to our conversation.
Murder of the Maestro Page 2
