Trace rubbed his hands on his jeans, looking more anxious by the moment. “That would be great. Should we call the police?”
“If there’s any chance foul play could be involved, then you’ll want to call the authorities sooner rather than later,” Levi said.
Jono already had his cell to his ear.
Levi and I took off down a row of trailers. I jiggled the door of each of them, and they were all locked. I glanced at Levi and noticed he surveyed everything around him with quiet, purposeful motions.
“What’s going on in those other tents?” Levi asked.
I shook my head. “I think concerts take place there at various times. It can’t hurt to take a look now, right?”
We skirted around the perimeter of the property, past several vehicles that we peered inside of, and finally reached the first tent.
The door—really just a flap—was closed, and the security guard stood beside a truck talking to a pretty girl. He stretched to full attention when he spotted us trying to get inside.
“Anyone in here?” Levi said, an air of authority about him.
I supposed when you’d consulted on major cases where your name had made national headlines, you had that option.
The guard, who appeared young and cocky—yet something still told me he was unreliable—strode toward us. “Of course. I’ve been here the whole time.”
“Any other ways to get inside?” Levi asked, his hands on his hips and an overall imposing air about him.
“There’s a door around back. That’s where the band goes in. But—”
Before he could finish, Levi headed toward that area. The security guard was on his heels, quivering like a toddler trying to convince his dad not to punish him.
“What are you doing? You can’t go in there!”
“Someone’s missing,” Levi muttered, still charging forward and not acting the least bit ruffled. “We need to check every possible place where this man might be. His truck is still here, his trailer is empty, and his band is waiting for him before they can go onstage.”
The security guard still scrambled to keep up. “And who are you?”
“I’m a police consultant. No, I’m not official right now, but when someone’s missing, every moment counts. Capisce?” He still didn’t slow, didn’t even look back at the man.
“Capisce.” The guard frowned. “But I’ve been at this tent for the last three hours. No one’s in there. There’s no concert there until tomorrow night.”
Levi stopped and turned on his heel, coming face-to-face with the security guard. “Then you won’t mind if we look inside?”
The guard swallowed so hard that his Adam’s apple bobbed up and back down. “No . . . no. I guess not.”
He pulled the door open. I stayed close, remaining silent—unusual for me, but I wanted to soak in everything. I wanted to see how Levi handled situations like these.
“Where are the lights to this place?” Levi asked, stepping into the dark, enclosed space. A concert hall—or tent—without a band, lights, and an audience almost felt like some kind of music graveyard.
“Right over here, sir.” The security guard hurried across the back of the tent, and I could hear him fumbling with something.
I had to admit that I truly stood in awe of the respect that Levi commanded. Was he cocky? Maybe. But even more than that, he came across as authoritative, like someone who knew what he was doing.
The lights popped on and the smaller, arena-like tent came into focus. After gathering my surroundings for a moment, I opened my mouth, about to suggest splitting up. Levi beat me to it.
“Gabby, you go that way. I’ll make my way behind stage. Let’s see if we can find Dud anywhere.”
I nodded. “Took the words out of my mouth.”
Slowly, I walked along the rows of chairs. I realized with a touch of dread that the method of my searching indicated I didn’t think I would find Dud alive and well. I was looking for a body.
My throat tightened at the thought. I was probably overreacting. I’d just seen too many crimes, so many that my mind instantly went to devious explanations instead of simple ones.
That thought calmed me for a moment. I had to stop seeing malice wherever I went. My life would be much easier when I did that.
Row by row, I searched. Row by row, I only saw chairs.
“Gabby, over here!” Levi shouted.
My nerves returned in an instant. I sprinted toward the backstage area, instantly putting on my brakes when I found Levi.
A few feet away, I saw someone lying on the ground, unmoving and in an unnatural position. Blood surrounded him.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Levi asked.
I nodded. “It means that poor Dud is dead.”
CHAPTER 11
Fifteen minutes later, the police showed up. Those fifteen minutes afforded me the opportunity to survey the scene. I tried to be subtle as I pulled out my phone and snapped some photos of bloody handprints and some footprints at the scene. There were definitely two sets, and they seemed to indicate a scuffle.
The Locard Theory, I remembered. Every contact leaves its trace. Those footprints would let investigators know the height, weight, and sometimes even social class of the person wearing those shoes. Also interesting, I’d learned this week that Nike shoes were the ones most commonly worn at crime scenes.
The question for me was: Were these footprints there before Dud even came back here? It was hard to tell.
The detective who took charge of the scene was short and stout and had only a fringe of hair. A coffee stain graced the front of his button-up shirt, and his khakis looked a little too tight.
“Dr. Stone, didn’t expect to see you here,” Detective Brooks said, his gaze skimming over us as he pulled on some plastic gloves.
“Didn’t expect to stumble on a crime scene.” Levi stepped back. “Detective Brooks, this is my colleague, Gabby St. Claire. She works in the Norfolk, Virginia, area.”
I wanted to add, “As a crime scene cleaner.” But instead I lived with the illusion that I did something more, at least for the moment.
He nodded his acknowledgment before stepping toward Dud. “What do we have here?”
Levi explained to him everything that had happened from the time we arrived until we found the man with a gunshot wound to his chest. Levi and I had guarded the area, making sure no one else came inside to contaminate any potential evidence.
I followed his gaze to the grisly scene behind me. The bullet had taken off part of Dud’s face. Right now, blood and brain particulates slid down the otherwise white walls of the tent and down the black speakers, and were spread across the grassy, dusty ground.
I’d seen a lot of awful scenes. Truly awful ones. But this one would haunt me.
The detective began inspecting the area just as the crime scene unit came in, set out markers, and began taking photos. They started with the broad scene and narrowed their photos down to the minute details.
I knew exactly what they were doing. It’s what I was supposed to be doing: officially working cases rather than inserting myself into them.
Instead I came up with ways to remove all evidence that the crime ever happened by scrubbing blood away and picking out bones from walls and scrubbing other . . . unmentionable parts of the human body . . . from surfaces. I was feeling the reality of my decisions now more than ever.
I stood on the side, by the door, and watched everyone as they worked. Levi chatted with the detective, pointed to various blood spatter patterns, and otherwise acted like he owned the place. The ME showed up to eventually take the body away for an official autopsy.
Just then, Trace came running in the door beside me. The police officer stationed there held him back. But Trace still remained in the entry, his eyes darting around, desperation, fear, and worry mingling in their depths.
Finally, his gaze fell on me. “What’s going on? I heard the police were here.”
“I’m sorry, Trace,�
�� I started. I didn’t want to say too much, since the information wasn’t mine to release. Still, my heart clutched with anguish.
“Did you find Dud?”
I didn’t say anything, which seemed to be answer enough.
“Oh, no. Not Dud.” He lunged toward the tent again, but just like before, the officer stopped him.
“Sir, you can’t go in there. It’s an active crime scene.”
“Is it my drummer? Can you just tell me that?”
The detective exchanged a look with the officer, something silent passing between them, and finally the detective nodded. He stepped toward the doorway. “The body appears to be that of Dud Larson.”
Trace let out a moan. I slipped past the guard and put my arms around him, trying to offer what little comfort I could. He felt too tight and wound up to be comforted, though. I stepped back, keeping one hand on his arm.
“Not Dud. No, no, no. What happened?” His eyes looked haggard as he dragged them up to meet mine.
“He was shot,” the detective said behind me, his voice laced with compassion.
“Can I see him?” Trace took an eager step forward.
The man didn’t realize what he was asking. I put my hand on his arm. “You don’t want to see him, Trace. You don’t want to remember him like that.”
Trace closed his eyes, squeezed the skin at the bridge of his nose. “Who would do something like this?”
The detective’s hawk-like eyes soaked in every movement, every expression, every nonverbal exchange. “We intend to try to figure that out, Mr. Ryan. Did Dud have any enemies?”
Trace remained silent a moment, staring straight ahead as if in thought. “There was our old manager. He and Dud didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. It was part of the reason we let Lenny go. Dud was a good guy. There was nothing not to like about him.”
“What else can you tell us about him?” the detective continued.
“He’s twenty-six, from Austin, Texas. He’s single, a great drummer, and he always joked about how he used to be a rodeo clown before he made enough money as a musician. Dud hasn’t even been with the band for a year, but he fit right in.”
Detective Brooks nodded. “We’ll need to contact next of kin for Dud. Do you have that information?”
“I don’t, but Jono does. He’s our manager.”
“Thank you.” The detective put away his notepad. “You’ll be around if we have any more questions?”
“I’m in Oklahoma for the rest of the week. Then we’re supposed to go on a 150-city tour.”
I walked Trace outside. Crowds had formed on the other side of the police line. Most likely there were concertgoers who’d gotten wind that something was going on.
“What can I do for you?” I asked Trace.
“Figure out who did this.” He shook his head, his neck muscles bulging and veins popping out on his temples. “I just can’t believe this. Dud still had so much more of life to live.”
We started walking back toward the trailers, away from the crowds displaying their cell phones and snapping what they hoped would be the Twitter photo of the day. They couldn’t possibly realize the grim reality of finding someone who should be full of life suddenly only an empty vessel.
“I know it has to be quite a shock, especially since there was violence involved.” I dangled my hands in my pockets, adjusting my cowboy hat so the sun wouldn’t hit my eyes. You said you’d just seen him two hours ago?”
“That’s right. We finished rehearsal, and we were all having some downtime until the concert started. It’s important that we conserve our energy before a big show. I thought he was in his trailer, probably playing the Xbox. It was one of his favorite ways to unwind.”
“Is there anything else you can remember? Anything at all that might be a clue as to what happened to him?”
“I really don’t know, Gabby.” He pulled his hat off and wiped his hand through his thick, light brown hair. “Nothing seems clear right now, to be honest.”
Jono rushed over to us. “What’s going on? I’ve been trying to find out something and searching all over this place for Dud. Then I heard that someone found a body. Is it true?”
“Dud is dead, Jono,” Trace said, his voice strained and tight.
Jono blinked. He took his glasses off, ran his hands under his eyes, and then slid his spectacles back on. “Dead? He can’t be dead. We just saw him.”
Trace nodded. “He’s been shot. Gabby and Levi found him in one of the concert tents.”
Jono started pacing. “I can’t believe this. We need to come up with a plan. Put together a press release.”
Trace’s gaze went cold. “Jono, Dud is dead. I don’t care about the concert or public relations or even the tour.”
“Well, someone’s got to be the one who worries about these things. This is what you pay me for. I’m deeply sorry about Dud, but I’m trying to think of the bigger picture here!”
Trace’s jaw flexed. “We can’t go on without Dud. I won’t do it.”
In the distance, someone squealed. “Trace Ryan, I love you!”
A woman started toward him, but a ring of police officers stopped her before she crossed the police line.
It was a zoo around here. Just give it another hour, and the press would join this circus. I felt as if I’d been swept up in some Western version of Hollywood with red carpets and stardom and crazy fans.
“Jono, why don’t you take Trace back to his trailer and talk about things. Out here in the open isn’t the place to do it,” I told him.
As they nodded and walked toward the sunset, I paused and glanced around. I needed to seize the opportunity to do some snooping. From here on out, I was taking this investigation by the horns.
***
I lingered at the crime scene for a few minutes. Somehow I’d still been given the clearance to stick around while the police did their work. I guessed that’s what happened when you had a world-renowned forensic expert with you.
The concert had been canceled, and everyone had been cleared out about an hour ago. Since then, it had been relatively quiet outside. Trace and the remaining members of the band had been sequestered to their trailers, and I planned to check on him before I left.
I watched for a moment as Levi measured the blood spatter, as he observed it from different angles, as he recorded the size of every drop in every location.
I knew my time was whittling away, so I paced toward the back of the tent.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the young security guard who’d supposedly been guarding this tent pacing in the distance. He was a younger guy, probably in his early twenties. Though he was small, he seemed fit. He had light brown hair that was cropped close, and something about him screamed that he was street smart. Maybe it was the way he walked or the way his hair was trimmed or the look in his eyes. I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it.
What I did recognize was that he looked nervous. But why? I needed to find out.
Trying to look casual, I stuffed my hands into my pockets and approached him. He stopped pacing when he saw me and straightened, as if he feared his body language would give too much away.
“Horrible what happened, isn’t it?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah, more than horrible.”
“You had no idea he was in here?” I asked. “How did he manage to slip inside, then?”
He shook his head. “I dunno.”
“You have no guesses, even?”
He shook his head again. “No guesses.”
“That’s strange. Somehow he got by you.”
He rubbed his neck. “He must have sneaked in through another entrance somewhere. I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense. I keep running it through in my mind.”
I had a feeling Dud could have easily sneaked in while this security guard was flirting with attractive concertgoers.
“Did you see anything?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I did see Dud walking around here earlier. He sai
d he was stretching his legs before the concert.”
“Was he by himself?”
He shook his head, more sweat forming on his forehead. “There was a girl with him.”
“What did she look like?”
“She was a brunette. She had curly hair. Soft curls, you know? Not like those tight ones. She was medium height, thin. That’s all I could see. I didn’t get a close look at her.”
Interesting. That girl might have been the last person Dud was seen alive with. That made her the number one suspect.
“Have you told the police that?” I asked him.
“Not yet. They told me to wait here.”
“You’re going to tell them, right?”
He rubbed his neck again. “Yes, of course.”
“Great.”
Despite his seeming willingness, I had the strange feeling there was something he wasn’t telling me.
CHAPTER 12
I slipped away from the crime scene and made my way toward the band’s trailers. On a whim, I went toward the trailer next to Trace’s and rapped on the door.
Wentworth answered. “Gabby. What’s going on?” His voice sounded subdued, as it should after finding out someone who’d been your friend and band mate had died.
“I need your help.”
“Come right in.”
I stepped inside and spotted Leroy, the bass player, lingering in the background, his feet propped up on what was probably the kitchen table. The news blared on a small TV set high in the corner, and the entire place reeked of potato chips and dirty socks.
Wentworth sighed and pushed some magazines off a small bench seat. “Have a seat. And excuse the mess. We weren’t expecting company.”
I lowered myself there, careful not to get too comfortable.
Wentworth sat at the kitchen table and frowned. “We don’t know what to do. I just can’t believe what happened to Dud . . .”
“I know. It’s terrible,” I agreed.
“You found him?” Wentworth asked.
I nodded. “I’m sorry. Can I ask you a few questions?”
“What do you need to know?”
“I need to know who Dud was dating.”
Broom and Gloom: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 9 Page 8
