“I wasn’t expecting you,” said Madison. “But now that you’re here it makes sense. The cops offered me one phone call after they picked me up. I turned them down. I imagine they extended the same offer to Connie.” He looked back at the blonde woman. “She decided to make a collect call to New York and get the head office out here.”
The lady didn’t mistake his tone.
“We didn’t seem to be doing very well on our own,” she said evenly. “I had to save your life at the gravel quarry—only to have you drag us into a homicide investigation way on the other side of town.”
She didn’t say it as a nagging woman. It was delivered as a statement of fact, which Madison didn’t dispute.
“Speaking of which,” interrupted Shapiro, now looking at Madison, “how about a report? The police haven’t released a goddamn thing yet. That’s why those news people came down on you so hard. All they had was that Jeremy’s wife had been murdered and that one of the group was being held as a witness. Hell, that’s all they even told Jeremy.” He made a sour face. “As if that wasn’t enough for the headlines!”
“I’m afraid there’s going to be more,” said Madison, and he reported to Shapiro what had happened between Jeremy Bates and Mick Adamson in the hallway of the police department. He finished with, “I’d say most of the stations and papers caught Jeremy’s accusations. It didn’t sound good.” Shapiro could only shake his head. He drove staring blankly ahead for at least a minute. “And to think that I wanted you on this tour to keep things quiet,” he said at last.
Madison tried to keep the irony from his voice. “If it does anything to help your ulcer, I kept quiet on the vampire angle,” he said.
Connie Frazer’s lovely smooth forehead creased with a frown.
“I’d been wondering about that,” she said. “Do you think there’s a tie up between this vampire psycho and Laura’s murder?”
“I’m working on that assumption,” said Madison. “Things have been happening too fast over the last two days for them to be unconnected.”
“But what about the police? If they don’t know anything about our original assignment, why are they letting everyone go? Since Laura was in bed with another man at the time of her murder, I’d think Jeremy would be the first one to be booked.”
“Jeremy and Keith showed up in the cocktail lounge of the Holiday Inn around ten-thirty last night,” said Shapiro. “Jeremy told me that when he and Keith briefed me at the airport this morning. The reason he’s still walking around is that the police say it’s stretching it a bit to imagine that he’d slash his own wife’s throat across town, then race back to the Holiday Inn to sit down and have some drinks with Keith. He came unglued completely when he heard the news. He was a little more together when I saw him this morning. But then it looks like he came unglued all over again just a while ago, doesn’t it?”
“Laura was murdered either just before or during the time that Lee, Connie and I were talking to Mick at that motel room,” said Madison. “The way I understand it, neither Jeremy nor Keith have an alibi for the exact time of death, right? If the murder occurred about ten, either Keith or Jeremy could have done it and still showed up at that cocktail lounge by ten-thirty.”
Shapiro’s expression turned even more sour. “Sad but true,” he admitted. “All Connie asked was why the police haven’t booked Jeremy. They’re not saying they won’t, Connie. They’re just saying that there are enough extenuating circumstances for them to look around a little more.”
Connie nodded.
“I guess you were right,” she said to Steve. “They’re just waiting for someone to trip up, aren’t they?”
“Just because they don’t make a pinch doesn’t mean they don’t have suspicions,” agreed Madison. “They just don’t have any proof yet. We haven’t heard the last of their questions, you can bet on that.”
“Which reminds me,” said Shapiro. “What about my question? Where’s my report?”
“Where do you want me to start?” said Madison. “When Connie and I hooked up with this tour there had just been another vampire killing and our psycho must have been paranoid. Or maybe he sees it as being careful. Anyway, he put together who I was and what I was trying to do, and he’s been out to nail my ass ever since.”
“You weren’t exactly keeping undercover,” Connie reminded him.
“I’m not complaining,” said Madison. “But the point is, they tried to frame me with the dead girl in Chicago, then they tried for me again at the gravel quarry. My guess is, Laura knew something and after the hit at the quarry fell through, they rushed over to that motel and slit her throat to keep her from naming any names.”
“Isn’t that kind of over-reacting?’ asked Shapiro. “Not if she knew something that would put the killer away. Murder comes awful easy once you’ve already tried your hand at it. Especially when it looks like one more murder is all it will take to cover up the others. It’s called kill-crazy.”
“Who’s this they you keep mentioning? I thought we were dealing with one guy?”
“There were two people trying to hit me at that quarry,” said Madison. “Someone drove the truck and he had a backup with a knife waiting in the wings in case anything went wrong.” Briefly, he told Shapiro why he had gone to the quarry and what had happened there. Then he looked at Connie. “You were sitting with Mick and Jeremy around the video machine on the flight out from Chi,” he said; “Pick anything up?”
“Only that this was the first time anyone on the tour has been to K.C.,” she said. “But I guess that doesn’t help much, does it?’
Shapiro didn’t give Madison a chance to reply. He was still trying to get his facts straight as they pulled into the Holiday Inn parking lot.
“So, after you were attacked at the quarry, you came storming back to the motel where you figured everyone would be, and you got Brocchi to take you over for a confrontation with Adamson. Is that it?”
“That’s it.”
“Now for the biggie,” said Shapiro. “Who do you think did it?”
“Who do I think killed Laura? Well, the roof of that motel office runs up to just beneath the window of the room where Mick and Laura were staying. The window was open. For the moment the police are going on the assumption that someone made it onto the roof of that office, which would have been easy, and slipped into the room and killed Laura while Mick was out at the front door with us. It could have happened that way. That means it could have been a prowler, but that’s really stretching coincidence. I like to do things the hard way. It could have been Jeremy and/or Keith Terrance. Keith is supposed to be very handy with a knife. Or maybe Mick killed her before he answered the door. It could have happened that way too.”
Shapiro pulled the rental car into a parking slot and braked to a halt. He killed the engine and grabbed his keys from the ignition. When he twisted to face Madison there was a cold fury in his expression and voice.
“When I came up with that crazy idea about there maybe being a psycho on these tours, I might just as well have gone up and scream-fed it into every T.V. camera in the country,” he snarled. “I could have at least saved myself a little bread that way. What the hell have you been doing to earn the money I pay you, Madison?”
Madison’s voice was frosty, too. “You can hold off on the employer crap, Arn. You’ve got a full refund coming, okay? I screwed up this one real good, and it cost someone their life. A very nice someone. I wouldn’t take any money for what’s going to happen next, anyway.”
Some of Shapiro’s bluster seemed to disappear. “And what’s going to happen next?” he asked almost cautiously.
“Whoever killed Laura is going to answer to me," said Madison.
The last word was a snarl. Connie Frazer leaned forward and touched his shoulder. “Steve, you can’t blame yourself—”
“I can, and I do,” he told them both. “I was trying to play God and shift people’s lives around. I’ve done it before and pulled it off okay. But this time one o
f the lives got lost. I’m going to find the bastard that killed her. Then I’m going to play God one more time. All for free. Then maybe I’ll be able to look at myself in the mirror again.”
He opened his door and climbed from the car.
Arn Shapiro appeared taken aback by the quiet emotion of Madison’s words. He looked like a man who wanted to say something but wasn’t sure just what.
Connie started to follow Madison out of the car. He stopped her with a hard glance.
“Steve, I’m a part of this. I have a right to come with you.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in an eye for an eye.” Shapiro finally found his voice.
“Steve, maybe I did come on a little strong. It’s not just the money, you should know that. I only met Laura a few times when the band was up to the office in New York, but she seemed like a fine person. Hell, I don’t want to see anyone killed. If you go off half-cocked—”
Madison closed the car door after him. He leaned forward to look at Shapiro through the open window.
“The time for playing both ends against the middle is way past, Arn. You must have figured out the score as well as I have. There’s no way it can be done quietly. I’m sorry but that’s the way it is.”
Connie was still leaning forward from the back. “I’ve earned my right to share this assignment,” she said.
“You have,” nodded Madison. “I owe you a lot, lady. But I don’t owe getting you killed.”
“I can handle myself. I’ve proven that. Don’t I have the right to choose?”
“Not this time, and I’m sorry about that, too. I care too much about you, Connie. I’d be worrying about you even if I didn’t need to. I’d be careless—or too careful—and that could get us both killed. You’ve got to let me handle this on my own. I hope you understand that.”
She relaxed back into the car. Her eyes told him that she didn’t want it this way—but that she cared enough about him in return to respect even a wish like this one..
Not so Shapiro. “At least let me tag along, wherever the hell you’re going,” gruffed the promoter. “Don’t forget who’s paying the bills.”
“No one’s paying the bills,” said Madison. “This one’s on me, remember?”
He turned and started toward the motel. He could feel their eyes following his back all the way. A part of him wanted to turn around, go back to them, but he didn’t.
This was nothing he could turn from. Threatening banks of dark rain clouds were gathering to the west, moving in over the city. A storm was brewing. Even the sunshine seemed chilly.
Madison entered the Holiday Inn, feeling the chill to his very soul—and knowing that it had nothing to do with the weather.
13
It happened in the elevator.
It all began to catch up with him.
The impatience to be doing something after all those hours of police questioning was a very real thing, sure. But the energy of that impatience alone could only propel him so far. Then he would need to rely on defensive senses that would have to be awake and honed, and on-reflexes which would need to be clean and automatic. But he had been pushing nonstop since eight o’clock the previous evening. Not so long in hours, maybe, but an eternity to his now exhausted body and mind.
But he could not slow down. He would not allow himself to. In Nam he’d learned the hard way that when it was a matter of immediate personal danger, the inner survival instincts rarely failed to perform, no matter how tired the conscious mind might think itself.
He would have to trust his own capabilities. There were no other options open to him. No, he would not slow down. Not now. No way.
The members of The Screaming Tree were registered anonymously on the twelfth floor of The Holiday Inn. The anonymity was to insure their privacy from persistent fans. It was now probably hoped by Lee Brocchi that the anonymity would also accomplish the secondary purpose of somewhat covering their tracks from the media after all the excitement of that morning.
If, that is, the band was even returning to the motel.
Madison was alone in the elevator. As the car came to a stop and the doors yawned open, his faith in himself was rewarded as his fatigue seemed to evaporate and all his senses went on Alert.
He left the elevator, walking down the carpeted hallway toward the room shared by Keith Terrance and Mick Adamson. He moved briskly yet with a loose-jointed caution, his right hand held close to the body, ready to dart beneath the jacket toward the .44 Magnum at a moment’s notice.
He didn’t know what to expect, not even of himself. What was coming, if the band had indeed returned to their rooms, would resemble a musical jam in that it would be played strictly by ear, carefully watching and listening to each of the others before deciding what lines you yourself would use.
There were some things about this assignment that Madison knew, others he could only guess at and still many more that he would like to know. Now was the time to ask, before emotions and fears and paranoia could cool and new lies could be thought up.;
He reached the door and knocked sharply. Two seconds passed. The door was yanked open by Brocchi. “Goddammit, no interv—” His intense dark eyes went from flashing to narrow. “Madison!”
Madison slipped into the room. It was one of those big open ones with two double beds. Madison took a quick inventory of the faces present.
“Well, well,” he said. “The gang’s all here.”
Jeremy Bates was closest to him. The new widower was leaning against the shelf beneath the wall mirror. He was holding a fifth of Jack Daniels and he looked morose and restless in equal proportions. Across the room, Mick Adamson sat hunched forward in a low chair beside the window. His elbows were on his knees and he was staring at the carpet like a man who wished he was invisible. Between the widower and the wiry lead singer, Keith Terrance sat on the end of one of the double beds with his feet planted squarely on the floor and his muscles bulging under a tight T-shirt. Madison had the impression that the big drummer’s positioning was more strategic than by chance.
Terrance turned slightly, glaring at the new arrival.
“Get the hell out of here, Madison. This is a private wake. No promo men needed.”
Madison nodded from Jeremy to Mick.
“These two don’t exactly seem to be enjoying each other’s company,” he said. “What’s keeping them here if it isn’t your muscle? I don’t think you’d take the trouble for a wake, Keith. You might for a business conference, though.”
Brocchi stepped forward.
“There is some business to take care of,” he said. His manner implied that this was his turf and that he had the situation well under control, but that he was willing to take Madison into his confidence. “It’s something only the guys can decide. Whether or not to play their scheduled show tonight.”
Madison felt a jab of anger in the pit of his stomach that began to extend all over his chest.
“Say that again,” he said slowly.
Over in the chair, Mick Adamson came to life, addressing everyone but Madison. “I say we have no business playing tonight,” he snarled. “This is carrying the-show-must-go-on bullshit a little too far if you ask me.”
“So, rib one’s asking you,” Keith Terrance told him coolly. “We’re professional musicians and we’ve got a job to do. You’re just feeling like a piece of shit and you don’t want the world looking at you. But if it isn’t too heavy for Jeremy to play tonight, I don’t see where you even have a say in the matter.” Madison shifted his attention to Jeremy Bates. The lead guitarist lifted his arm and downed a long hit from the bottle. He glared back at Madison almost defiantly.
“Laura knew me,” he said. “She knew what was important to me. She always told me to do what was right. Those people who have tickets to our show tonight...they want us to share our music with them. That’s important. Laura was a musician’s woman and she’d understand that.”
Madison paused for a moment. Every word that Jeremy had said was
true. Yet something within him was still offended by what was going down here.
“It seems like respect for the dead should come into it somewhere along the line,” he said evenly.
Mick Adamson burst from his chair and stepped forward but remained on the other side of Terrance. He pointed an accusing finger at Madison.
“See! That’s what I’ve been talking about! Look at the way he keeps playing us against each other!”
“Yeah,” agreed Terrance, eyeing Madison. “When we had our talk on the plane yesterday—”
“Is that what you’re calling it now, Keith—a talk?” The drummer continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “We never did get it straight just who you are, Madison. Maybe now would be a real good time to tell us.”
Madison nodded.
“Maybe it would.” He looked at Brocchi. “Tell them, Lee.”
Brocchi’s expression seemed to tighten, but Terrance didn’t notice it..
“Why don’t you just stop messing with people’s heads?” the drummer shouted angrily. “You tried to turn me and Lee against each other back at the airstrip. It didn’t take then, and it won’t take now. He’s Jeremy’s main man and that’s good enough for me.”.
“It was good enough for Shapiro too,” said Madison. “Lee and I have been working side by side since Chicago.”
Brocchi stepped forward. The simmering rage that Madison had recognized as far back as the police department was now brimming over.
“Madison, you two-faced sonovabitch—”
Madison stood his ground. His fingertips hovered near the front of his jacket, very close to the butt of the .44.
Brocchi got the hint and stopped.
Madison looked around at all four of them.
“So, you’re having a wake for Laura,” he said. “While you’re at it, how about a wake for the girl who died in Chicago two nights ago? Or all the other girls on all the other Screaming Tree tours?”
Across the room, Mick Adamson looked mildly stunned.
“What the hell’s he talking about?” he demanded of the others.
The Vampire Chase Page 11
