Murder with Strings Attached

by Mark Reutlinger

  “Okay, I see your point,” Aaron said, waving his arm to indicate he’d heard enough. “Let’s pursue that line for a minute. It sounds pretty plausible. So Ballard shows up, Martin tells him about the violin deal, Ballard wants a cut, Martin refuses so Ballard decides to take the whole prize for himself, shoots Martin. Now he can’t stay in the apartment, so he goes…where?”

  Of course, that was the sixty-four dollar question, and I considered it. “Hmm. Well, if it were me—and I don’t claim to know how the criminal mind works, despite the fact I could be considered a criminal myself—I’d get out of Dodge, far out, and close to where the money is.”

  Aaron nodded as he stood up and paced the floor. “You mean close to where Sanders lives, in California.”

  “Yes. It hardly pinpoints his location,” I said, “but at least it gives us a starting point. And it means whichever theory we choose to chase down—Sanders had Martin killed or the roommate killed Martin so he could make the deal with Sanders—it takes us down to California, where we just might find both the killer and the violin.”

  I knew this was the conclusion Aaron wanted to reach, so he didn’t have to put off going after his violin in order to pursue Martin’s killer. And I had to agree it made sense.

  “Okay,” I said, “so we still need to know if the violin is in fact with Sanders. Maybe your friend Rafael, or my friend Rolf, will have heard something. Maybe Ballard’s already contacted Sanders to make a deal. So what do we do next?”

  Aaron sat down again and tapped his right hand on the arm of the chair. He certainly seemed to be the twitchy sort when thinking. I was mentally attributing it to his violin playing when I found myself doing the same thing. So much for that theory.

  “I think we should plan to make a trip to the Bay Area as soon as we find out Sanders has the violin,” Aaron said. “If we find the violin, we might be able to find out how it got there, maybe who brought it to Sanders. Who knows? It might be someone we haven’t even considered. But if they have—or had—the violin, they probably killed Martin.”

  I nodded agreement. “Ideally what we want, of course, is the murder weapon, to match up with the bullet that killed Martin. I don’t know how we’d get it, but if we can learn where—or whose—it is, we might come up with a way.”

  “That’d be great, but a long shot. Anyway, I’ll check with Rafael and ask him to let us know as soon as the violin shows up.”

  “If it shows up,” I said. And then suddenly I thought of a small problem.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “If I recall correctly, one of the terms of my bail bond is that I can’t leave the state. Last I looked, Seattle was in Washington and the Bay Area was in California.”

  Aaron considered this.

  “That’s right,” he said. “But of course there’s no way they’re going to know you’ve traveled to California, unless they check all the airline passenger lists every day looking for you, which I doubt. As long as you show up for your hearing when it’s scheduled, which I believe isn’t for another month or so, you should be fine. And besides, what’s the worst that can happen? I lose a whole lot of money and you get put back in jail.”

  “You make it sound so innocuous,” I said. “How about if I lose the money and you get put in jail?”

  “You got fifty thousand dollars cash handy?”

  I gasped. “You mean it cost you fifty thousand dollars to spring me from the pokey?”

  “Sure did.”

  I gave Aaron a big kiss on the cheek. “Thank you,” I said.

  “So are you willing to chance their finding out you’ve left the state?”

  I could hardly say no, as I definitely wanted to find out who killed Martin, not to mention earn that hundred grand for recovering Aaron’s violin.

  So I said yes.

  Chapter 13

  It was about two days later that Aaron phoned again. He sounded excited.

  “Guess what?” he said. “Guess who I just talked to.”

  “Your mother? Your accompanist?”

  “No, no. I just talked with Rafael, down in Los Altos, where Sanders lives. He says Sanders should have the violin in a couple of days. And he knows who’s got it, and who’s going to bring it to Sanders.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “Rafael.”

  “Yeah, I know you’re talking about Rafael, but who’s bringing the violin?”

  “I just told you. Rafael. Come on over and I’ll explain. And get ready to pack your bags.”

  ****

  A half hour later I was again in Aaron’s suite, sunk into a chair I was beginning to consider my personal piece of furniture. I had a gin and tonic in my hand, and Aaron, sitting across from me, was holding straight bourbon.

  “So tell me already,” I said, “what the hell you’re talking about. What did Rafael say?”

  “Well, it’s like this. Apparently we were right about who killed Martin and took the violin, because this guy Ballard, Martin’s former roommate, contacted Sanders, or at least the Sanders residence, saying he had the violin and was willing to part with it for whatever Sanders had offered Martin.”

  “Wait a minute. Does this mean Sanders hired Ballard to get the violin from Martin, or that Ballard acted on his own?”

  “I don’t know,” Aaron said. “And I doubt it matters to Sanders, as long as he gets his—that is, my—violin, on his terms.”

  “Okay. So the violin is in Sanders’ hands?”

  “Not exactly. Sanders is away somewhere on business for a few days, and apparently he wants to be there in person when the violin arrives. So he doesn’t want it delivered until he gets back.”

  “And then he’ll have Ballard deliver it to him?”

  “Also not exactly. But this is the good part. Ballard insisted someone come to where he’s staying, bringing the cash. He didn’t want to be in the enemy camp, where they could grab the violin and send him off empty-handed, or worse. Much worse. So Sanders is having Rafael retrieve the violin from Ballard. Apparently Rafael is pretty reliable, and not likely to take off with the cash instead of giving it to Ballard. So Sanders filled Rafael in on the violin plan, much of which of course he already knew, and told him he’d be the go-between.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “But wait: If Rafael is picking up the violin, why not just have him bring the violin to you instead of Sanders? That’d save everyone—meaning you and me—a helluva lot of trouble.”

  “I thought of that, of course, but I quickly realized I’d be putting Rafael in an untenable position. Remember, I promised I wouldn’t even disclose that he told me about the violin, because of what Sanders—or someone on his behalf—might do if he found out. Think what he might do if he found out Rafael had double-crossed him. Remember there’s already been one murder over my violin.”

  “Okay, I get that. So we just have to wait until the violin is actually in Sanders’ possession to begin our little retrieval mission.”

  “Right. We should plan to head for the Bay Area pretty soon. But I want to wait until I’m sure the violin is there, in Sanders’ possession.

  “And besides,” he added, “I have some…some business to attend to in the next day or two. Meanwhile you can be coming up with a plan for our little escapade, since you’re the professional here.”

  At least he recognized who was in charge. Or maybe he just didn’t want to be bothered with the planning end of things. One way or the other, it was three days later before Aaron called again.

  “It’s official,” he said. “Sanders definitely has the violin. I just spoke with Rafael, and like I told you, he’s the one who retrieved it from Ballard.”

  That all sounded fine, although somehow Aaron didn’t sound especially pleased that we would now be heading for the Bay Area to retrieve his prized possession.

  Either he’s getting cold feet, which would be more than understandable for even an experienced burglar, or he’s finally realizing this is not fun and games, but a serious job that requires caref
ul planning and a sober attitude.

  “Good news,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure myself that it was. This could be a fool’s mission, even if a necessary one. “Let’s get together tomorrow and make final plans.”

  “Roger and out,” he said, and hung up.

  Strange man. But in a nice way.

  Chapter 14

  Morning, in Aaron’s suite. I was becoming as regular a visitor as the maid I almost was.

  Aaron sounded more upbeat than he had on the phone, which was good to hear.

  An earlier-than-usual glass of wine in hand to bolster my own nerves, I laid out the plan I had formulated.

  “First, I need all of the information that you have available, even trivial-seeming details, about this Sanders guy and where he lives. I can’t tell now what little detail will turn out to be crucial in some unexpected way.”

  “Fair enough.” Aaron got up and went over to the closet, where he extracted a thin leather briefcase. He brought it back to the coffee table, opened it, and took out some notes, then laid it aside. Glancing at the notes, he said, “Sanders is very wealthy. He’s apparently one of these millionaires who grew up poor, made a ton of money in his 40’s, and now he’s fifty-something and spending it like it’s going out of style.”

  “On things like stolen violins?”

  “And paintings and whatever else catches his fancy. But not all stolen by any means. Most of his collection is quite legit.”

  “Is he married?”

  “No, at least not now. In fact, from what I can gather, he’s one of those lecherous moneybags who picks up sweet young things here and there, plays with ’em for a while, then pays them off and moves on to the next one. Or two or three.”

  “You mean plays with them in bed.”

  “Well, I don’t mean chess or Monopoly. Yes.”

  “Okay,” I said, “I’ve got a picture of the guy, although I’ll need an actual photo as well.”

  “You can get one off the internet.”

  “Fine. Let’s move on for the moment to his house, where I assume we’ll find your violin?”

  “Right. Later today I’ll ask Rafael for as detailed a plan of the house, and where in it we might find the violin, as he can give me. He should be able to get it to me overnight. What I do know is that Sanders’ house is not far from San Francisco. It’s in Los Altos, one of those expensive suburbs.”

  “The sooner the better,” I said. “We’ll have to do a certain amount of reconnaissance, not only of the house, but of the area around it, since we won’t be familiar with the territory. I’d estimate the whole operation will require a minimum of, say, two weeks.”

  Aaron didn’t look happy about my estimate. “Hmm…we may have a problem here. I don’t want to lose any time, because the longer we wait, the more likely the violin might be transferred to the Japanese collector. But I’ve got a recital series in L.A. this coming week, and that’ll take up at least three or four days; then I’m free for several weeks. Maybe you could get started on your own?”

  I thought about that for a few moments, then shook my head.

  “I don’t know. I really think setting up this job requires more than one person. I’m also a little concerned that even if we’re both there, we won’t have any ‘back-up’.”

  “What kind of back-up?”

  “Well, if something goes wrong, as it well might, we’d have no one to contact to help us out.”

  “Are you suggesting we add a third person to the job? I don’t get it. First you say you only work alone, then you reluctantly let me come along, and now you want to add someone—”

  “No, not exactly. Let me explain. I do work alone. But I have this good friend named Sara I’ve known for years, who knows what it is I do and who has occasionally helped me out of jams I’ve gotten myself into. I’d sure like her to come along to the Bay Area with us.”

  “But is it a good idea to let someone else in on our plans, even a friend of yours?”

  “Hey, it’s too late for that. Sara already knows all about you and the violin. In fact, she helped me decide to let you come along on the job.”

  Aaron smiled. “Well, in that case, by all means invite the lovely lady along.”

  “Unfortunately, it’s not quite that easy. Even though Sara sometimes shares with me what you might call the joys of victory and the agony of defeat, she’s always steadfastly refused to get directly involved in my ‘business.’ But she might be willing to help with the reconnaissance part, and I’d sure like the company.”

  “Tell her I’ll pay her expenses as well as yours—maybe a paid vacation in San Francisco will appeal to her.”

  I had to laugh at that. “I think it just might.”

  Chapter 15

  On Friday Aaron finally obtained from his friend Rafael the exact location and a rough sketch of the exterior and interior of the Sanders mansion. (At 16 rooms plus six bathrooms, it certainly qualified as a mansion in my book.) According to Rafael, Chez Sanders, as I was now thinking of it, was located on several wooded acres near Los Altos, a short commute down the Peninsula from San Francisco. That meant our party could indeed be billeted in San Francisco, with all the amenities that included. Although Aaron didn’t know the precise location of the violin in the house, there was some kind of “art gallery” there, which seemed like a logical place to display a rare musical instrument. I congratulated Aaron on the thoroughness of his research, and although it was Rafael who had furnished the information to Aaron, he gladly accepted the credit.

  Aaron seemed to be mostly over whatever case of nerves he’d had, and in fact he was like a small boy embarking on his first day in school. He was an effervescent mixture of enthusiasm for a new adventure and dread of its unknown hazards. I impressed upon him several times that this was, at bottom, a business venture. It might succeed, and it might fail. Which result obtained would depend on the thoroughness of our planning, the precision of our actions, and a dollop of dumb luck. I urged him to keep his emotions in check and to concentrate on business. To his credit, I’m sure Aaron did his best to comply, and I had high hopes that he would prove to be a competent cohort, or at least would not totally screw up the works.

  ****

  Getting Sara to cooperate was another matter. It was partly that, although she enjoyed being on the fringe of my more exciting capers, she had assiduously stayed away from the epicenter, and this smacked too much of placing her squarely at ground zero. But there was also a more practical issue: She had several engagements that would have to be cancelled or rescheduled on short notice if she were to take off for a two-week dalliance with me and Aaron.

  “I understand the problem,” I told her as we shared evening coffee (there was no need for the wine this time). “And I’m sure we can get along without you. But I’d rather not. In addition to the fact that it would be fun to spend a couple of weeks in the Bay Area together, you’re my safety net, and I’d hate to cross that high wire without one.”

  “I know, Flo, but it’s such short notice. I can reschedule things like the two doctor’s appointments, and I can cancel a meeting with my financial advisor. But you’ll remember I told you about that guy I met at the library, and he’s asked me out to a concert next Wednesday. I kind of hate to cancel a first date, if you know what I mean…” As I was well aware, to Sara having a good time was a high priority, and having a hot new boyfriend was the epitome of a good time.

  “Sure, I understand,” I said. “So let me sweeten the pot here. Aaron has lots of money and doesn’t mind spending it. I’m sure he’ll put us up at the Fairmont in San Francisco or whatever hotel we want, and the whole trip will be first class. Two weeks all-expenses-paid, like they say on the quiz shows, in the Bay Area. And as for this guy you met, if he can’t wait a week or two to take you out, he probably isn’t worth the trouble.”

  Sara thought about that while she sipped her coffee. As an attractive and “comfortably situated” single woman, she did not lack for romantic opport
unities. And although this latest guy seemed a bit special, she knew I was right: If he couldn’t handle a brief delay in what he no doubt saw as the first skirmish in a short campaign leading to Sara’s bedroom, she was better off waiting for the next recruit.

  “Okay, I’ll go,” she said at last. “It should be fun. And I’d hate to think of you out there in need of help with no one to call on, at least no one within a thousand miles or so.”

  “Great!” I leaned over and gave Sara a hug. “I’ll tell Aaron everything’s set. We’ll all leave on Monday.”

  The next day, Saturday, I spent poring over the plan of Chez Sanders and considering the kinds of information I was still missing. Of course, one crucial question was how Aaron and I would get into the house in the first place, especially as it apparently was gated with a security guard on duty. This wouldn’t be as simple as picking the lock on Donny Martin’s front door, or getting into Aaron’s room by impersonating a housekeeper.

  Or would it?

  Chapter 16

  I didn’t think I’d need to do a lot of packing. The tools I generally use for my housebreaking operations are very compact, so I can carry them in my pockets while on the job. The only “work clothes” I needed were as simple and as basic black as one could imagine. And I definitely would need an outfit or two for shopping, sightseeing, and dining. All work and no play….

  As for Sara, she was treating this as almost exclusively a pleasure trip. She packed like a woman unconcerned about excess weight baggage fees, a woman of means who intended to make liberal use—on someone else’s nickel, of course—of such luxuries as porters, taxi-drivers, and bellhops. If she didn’t have to carry it, she told me, she didn’t care what it weighed. Or cost.

  Aaron, being a man, packed his tuxedo for the Los Angeles recitals together with two pairs of slacks, two pairs of jeans, some underwear, and a few mismatched shirts and was good to go. I hate that.