****
Having regained just a bit of my wits, there was something I just had to know. So I asked the officer in charge how they happened to be on the scene so quickly.
“I mean, I’m really glad you showed up—I was just about to call you—but it turned out I didn’t have to. How come?”
“Just lucky, I guess,” he said with a rueful smile. “Lady in the next apartment apparently heard raised voices coming from this place and then what sounded like a gunshot, which unfortunately ain’t that uncommon in this neighborhood. Worried about it for a while and finally phoned 911. We were the closest car to the scene, so we showed up. Like I said, just lucky.”
Some luck. But that explained it.
Timing is everything.
I won’t bore you with the sordid details of my trip “downtown” and the first booking of my career. Let’s just say it was both scary and humiliating and leave it at that.
Fortunately, I was not charged with murder, at least not yet. The police knew they had a weak case, as there was no murder weapon to be found—and believe me, they made a thorough search inside and outside the apartment. But I was the best suspect they had, and besides, given my black ninja outfit and the lock picks and other paraphernalia they found on me, they figured I was up to something illegal. They booked me on suspicion of burglary, although I think they really suspected I had somehow murdered Martin and disposed of the gun. Swallowed it, I suppose.
I was going to use my “one phone call” (assuming a person really gets one and that’s not just something they say in the movies) to call Aaron, but I didn’t have to bother. Almost as soon as I arrived at the police station, Aaron, who obviously had been watching developments and following the police car I was in, walked in and inquired how I might be released. Given the relatively minor nature of the charge, despite what they might actually suspect, and my clean record, despite all the burglaries they were thankfully unaware of, bail was set according to a standard schedule rather than my having to wait to see a judge the next day.
I didn’t know how much it cost Aaron to bail me out, but of course whatever it was, he could well afford it; and besides, he owed it to me. After all, I was really just his employee, and surely posting bail is a standard employee benefit.
When all the necessary papers had been signed and funds transferred, Aaron and I walked out into the sunshine that I’d been afraid I wouldn’t be seeing for quite a while.
On the way to Aaron’s car, I gave him a hug and a little kiss on the cheek and thanked him for extricating me from the pokey and doing it so quickly. He looked a bit embarrassed by that, but he cleared his throat and said in his best businesslike manner:
“Okay, so why’d you shoot him, and where’d you put the violin?”
Chapter 11
I was tempted to make up some kind of sordid story about how I had shot Martin, swallowed the gun, and tossed the violin out the window, but I decided just to tell him the truth, which was almost as bizarre. So I just laughed—mirthlessly, as they say—and waited until we were driving away from the city jail before I responded.
“Obviously, I didn’t kill Martin,” I said as I tried to get comfortable. It was warm out and my black jumpsuit was not the ideal fashion for the occasion. “He was quite dead when I got there. And there was no violin—I looked everywhere before the police arrived.”
“And that’s another thing,” Aaron interrupted. “How did they know there’d been a murder there?”
I explained what the officer had told me.
“How long do you think it took the police to get there?” Aaron asked.
“I’m not sure, but I got the impression that Martin hadn’t been dead for long. And the police probably assumed it was a nosy neighbor with a vivid imagination and so weren’t in a particular hurry to get there.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. Anyway, if Martin’s been shot and the violin’s missing, it seems pretty clear who killed him, and why.”
“You mean Sanders? You think a man in his position would murder someone just to get a valuable violin?”
“Well, no, I guess not. But since the violin is gone, he must’ve been killed for that. And who else knew he had it?”
“Except us, you mean,” I pointed out.
“Yes, except us. And I don’t mean Sanders came up here and did the job himself, any more than he stole the violin himself. Just that he had it done for him.”
“Okay, but isn’t it possible someone else found out about it—saw it in his apartment, maybe—and killed him for it?” I said.
“I guess so, “Aaron said, “but what’re the odds that someone spotted the violin and recognized it as a priceless Guarneri?”
I then told Aaron about the ring I found near Martin’s body.
“Let’s see it,” he said. “It might be a clue to who killed Martin.”
“I gave it to the police,” I said. “Or rather they found it when they searched my pockets.”
“Hmm. Well, I guess if it helps them find the killer . . . .”
“Or maybe helps us find him. The guy it belongs to has a pretty hefty hand and the initials ‘BJD.’ Maybe we can match it up. Of course we can’t be sure the owner of the ring killed Martin,” I pointed out, “just that he was in the apartment.”
“Unless Martin stole the ring,” Aaron said, “and it has nothing to do with his being killed.”
“That’s true. But then why would it be next to his body, with blood on it?”
“I don’t know,” Aaron said, “but rings don’t easily fall off fingers.”
I thought about this for a moment. “Unless it wasn’t on the killer’s finger…”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing. Anyway, that ring is one of the few clues we have, even if it isn’t very helpful.”
“So are we back at square one?” He scratched his head.
I gave it one more try. “Maybe it was Martin’s roommate who killed him—if he’s not in jail—or maybe Martin blabbed about it to friends, maybe while he was drunk…”
“Okay, okay, there are a million possibilities. We don’t know for sure who killed Martin, or whether Sanders now has the violin. But if he has it, it’s likely he had Martin killed for it. Of course, we’ll have to wait a few days, so whoever took it from Martin has time to deliver it to Sanders. I’ll contact Rafael again and hope he can find out.”
It suddenly occurred to me where this conversation was headed.
“Wait just a minute,” I said. “Assuming we find that Sanders now has the violin, you aren’t still intending to steal it back from him, are you? I mean, now that we know he plays for keeps and doesn’t mind killing people to hang onto that fiddle?”
“Absolutely,” Aaron said, sounding like he meant it. “Nothing has really changed, except the job is maybe a little more risky than it was.”
“‘A little more risky’? A little? You call getting shot a little more risky than merely being caught stealing a violin?”
“Okay, more than a little. And I won’t hold you to our bargain if you want out. But stealing it is still the only way to get it back.”
I thought about this, but not for long.
“How about we tell the police the real reason we were in Martin’s apartment—”
“Excuse me, why you were in Martin’s apartment. You wouldn’t let me go with you.”
“Okay, why I was in Martin’s apartment, about the violin being stolen by Sanders, and help them find the killer, and at the same time your violin.”
Aaron shook his head. “You forget that we still have absolutely no evidence to link Sanders with the theft, much less with the killing. All we’ll get is maybe a lawsuit for defamation. At the very least, we’d be telling the police that you were in Martin’s apartment to steal a violin, and that I hired you to do it. Not exactly the kind of thing we’d like them to know. No, it’s still up to us—sorry, to me—to get that violin back.”
So here we were right back where we were in
Aaron’s suite, except this time while the rewards had stayed the same, the risks had gone up considerably. Or so I thought until Aaron reminded me that the reward side had changed as well:
“And there’s another, maybe more important reason not to quit now. You’ve been arrested at the scene of the crime, standing over the body, with no good excuse for being there. At least none the police are aware of. And while you weren’t charged with murder yet, you can be sure you’re still suspect number one, because you’re their only suspect. If it weren’t for the fact they can’t find the gun, I think you’d have been charged with murder by now.”
You can bet that sent a shiver down my spine. Aaron sure knew how to cheer a woman up.
“It seems to me,” Aaron continued, “the only way to clear your name for certain is to find out who really shot Martin. If it was some unknown person, like, as you just suggested, someone who found out about his having it, there’s not much we can do to find him. But if whoever killed Martin took the violin to bring it to Sanders, we can best find him at the source, so to speak. I think we’ll find that person where we find Sanders.”
Obviously there were several holes in Aaron’s theory, but I was in no mood or condition to argue with him. He did have a point. Unless the cops could find the real killer of Donny Martin, I was still their best alternative. And although I was probably being somewhat uncharitable toward them, I couldn’t help thinking that the police might rather convict a possibly innocent suspect than appear to let a serious crime go unsolved.
So it would be up to me to decide whether to carry on after this disastrous start, or to jump this sinking ship.
Loyal crew member or deserting rat.
****
Aaron took me back to his suite, where we sat across from each other, each sipping a scotch and soda. I’m sure I needed it more than he did, but of course it was a rough day for both of us.
“Let’s wait until I can talk with Rafael,” Aaron said after the silence became a bit thick. “If he can’t find out whether Sanders now has the violin, there’s no point in proceeding further.”
“What will you do then?” I asked.
“What can I do? I’ll have to tell the police about the theft and hope they can somehow find the violin, if not the thief.”
“And the murder? What happens to me?”
“Yes, that’s a bit tricky, isn’t it?” he said. “If I tell them I thought Martin’s murder was because he had the stolen violin, they’ll want to know how I know that, which would lead to either telling them who told me Martin had it, or telling them that we tried to steal it back, or both.”
“Which would give us both a motive to kill Martin,” I pointed out. “Anyway, I can’t think about this any more today. I need a hot shower and an early bedtime.”
Chapter 12
I had that hot shower as soon as I got home, but I didn’t go right to bed. I had to tell someone about what had happened that day, and of course Sara was the one I had to tell.
“So Aaron had to bail you out,” Sara said after I had poured us some Chardonnay and gone over the events from knocking on Martin’s door to driving home with Aaron. “And a dead body! You poor thing—what a terrible experience. You’re lucky you weren’t the one getting shot. I assume you’ve had enough of this caper and are ready to resume your nice, quiet burglary business. Or maybe even go straight?”
“Not so fast,” I said. “It’s more complicated than that. Aaron still intends to go after his violin himself, whether I go with him or not. And as he pointed out, I’m now a prime suspect in Martin’s killing, so in addition to recovering Aaron’s violin, I have to try to discover who really killed Martin, the answer to which Aaron thinks lies with Sanders or his henchmen. So things haven’t really changed that much.”
“Yeah, except now it seems you might end up dead, instead of just in jail.”
She was right, and I didn’t argue the point.
“Okay, so this is different. I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it. And maybe Aaron’s friend will report that the violin still hasn’t shown up at Sanders’ house, in which case I won’t have to cross the bridge at all.”
This thought kept me from obsessing on the possibility of putting my head back in the noose I’d barely escaped.
Until, that is, the next morning at 10 a.m. when Aaron telephoned. At least he let me sleep in after my exhausting, not to mention humiliating, experience as a perp.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
“About like you’d expect,” I said, “after finding a dead body I wasn’t expecting, not finding a stolen violin I was expecting, and finding myself suspected of burglary and maybe murder. Lousy.”
Silence. Then, “That bad, huh?”
“That bad.”
“So where do we go from here?”
“Not to the Bay Area, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I said.
“But I’m sure that’s where the violin must be now,” Aaron said, sounding almost as if he actually believed it.
“Yeah, like you were sure it was in Donny Martin’s apartment.”
“And I’m still sure it was,” Aaron insisted, “and that whoever murdered Martin took the violin. Or to put it more precisely, Martin was murdered because he had the violin. I’m sure of it. Otherwise it would still have been there.”
“Well, then I hope you’re sure of who killed him, because right now the police think I did. And before we worry about who has the violin, let’s worry about who killed Martin, so your friendly neighborhood burglar doesn’t end up at the end of a rope.”
“They don’t hang people anymore,” Aaron said.
I hated it when Aaron became pedantic.
“Look,” I said, “I don’t give a shit whether they’d hang me, electrocute me, or throw me to the lions. I’d be equally dead. What I do give a shit about is finding who did kill Martin.”
“Well,” Aaron said, sounding at least slightly chastened, “I assume the police are trying to find out just that.”
“Maybe so,” I said, “but their incentive isn’t half as great as mine, and like I said, I think they already believe it was me. They just don’t have enough evidence yet.”
Again silence, and then, “Fair enough. So do you think it was Sanders, or someone working for Sanders, who killed Martin? If Martin was trying to squeeze Sanders for more money…”
“I don’t know what I think right now. Listen, can we get together somewhere and talk this over? And decide what to do next?”
“I guess…”
“And yes, I know how important getting that violin back is to you. But first things first, and as far as I’m concerned, keeping me above ground and unincarcerated—is there such a word?—keeping me outta jail is the first thing.”
“Okay,” Aaron said. “Your place or mine?”
“Yours has much softer furniture. How about noon, and we’ll order room service for lunch?”
“Works for me. Phone when you’re in the lobby so I can come get you.”
I’d forgotten about the heavily guarded Concierge floor. I’d need an escort.
“Bring your magic key,” I said. “See you then.”
****
Back in those comfy chairs in Aaron’s suite.
“So how are we supposed to find out who killed Martin?” Aaron asked. “We know almost nothing about him, never met him…” For a person who had seemed up until now nothing but positive, Aaron was sounding awfully negative about the Donny Martin branch of the violin caper.
“I think we have to try,” I said. “Maybe we can at least turn up enough information to point the police in the right direction. Or any direction other than toward me. Remember, they’re operating without the somewhat relevant information about your stolen violin. In other words, we know the motive, at least what we think was the motive. Now if you want to tell them about the violin…”
“We’ve been over that,” Aaron said, a bit testily, I thought. “
That would give both of us a motive and get my friend in trouble and…”
“Yes, yes. So let’s go over what we do and don’t know, and see if it gets us anywhere.”
“Well,” said Aaron, scratching the back of his head and squinting, “we believe Martin is the thief who initially stole the violin from my car.” He ticked this point off on his index finger. I took notes on a pad I’d brought along. “And we believe he stole it on the orders of, or at least at the behest of, Sanders.” Point number two on his middle finger. “And if the information from Rafael is correct, Martin was holding out for a bigger payoff.” Point three, ring finger. “So maybe he got a bigger payoff than he expected.”
“Maybe. So that obviously points to Martin being killed by Sanders, or someone hired by Sanders,” I said. “And if that’s so, Sanders must have used either someone inside his organization or someone outside, sort of a hired gun.”
“Like Martin,” Aaron said. “And he saw how well that worked out.”
“Okay, never mind that, it’s still Sanders behind it, whoever he used. If we could prove that, it’d be sufficient to get me off the hook. Now who else might it have been if it wasn’t Sanders or someone he put up to it?”
Aaron looked thoughtful again. At last he said, “Well, it could have been just an ordinary case of burglary and homicide, or someone Martin had pissed off or cheated—”
“Or double-crossed.”
“Yes, or double-crossed, since he seemed inclined that way.”
“But if that’s the case,” I said, “I doubt we’d have any chance of finding out who it was. Besides, the violin was gone, and it’s hardly the kind of thing someone would bother to steal unless they knew how valuable it was. So let’s cross that possibility off for now and stick to what we do know. How about that roommate of his, what was his name?”
“Hmm. Ballard, I think. Hank Ballard?”
“No, you’re thinking of the singer. Fred Ballard, that was it. Maybe he did it.”
“But I thought your contact said Ballard was in jail.”
“Yeah, for attempted murder, I think. But what if he’s out? Rolf only said he thought Ballard might still be in jail. He didn’t know. Maybe he came back to the apartment and Martin told him about the violin job, showed him the violin, and Ballard decides to take it and make a deal for himself. Martin tries to stop him, and…”
Murder with Strings Attached Page 6
