WHEN THE MUSIC DIES (MUSIC CITY MURDERS Book 1) (19 page)

“I know—like Connie’s case.”

Mike glanced up at her. He swallowed hard, then nodded slightly.

“Yeah—Yeah.” He looked at Carol with tight lips, and then he spoke. “Sorry, if I hurt your feelings by using my camera. I can’t help it. The odds are against us, and I have to do all I can to win.” Mike looked at the floor. “I don’t need another damn cold case.”

“I didn’t mean to beat you up,” Carol said. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, but it wasn’t possible—witnesses and Moretti’s Law.

“Okay,” Mike said as he reached into his pocket for his recorder. “Enough mutual persecution. We need to get finished before the crime scene truck get here.”

Carol smiled and said, “We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Sure.”

Mike shook off the emotional discussion as he approached the officers gathered near the barrier next to the elevator.

“All right, everyone listen up.” He waited for their attention. “Right now, I want everybody to remain outside the first perimeter on the fifth level until further notice. We’re going to be shooting the crime scene, and I don’t want any of your smiling faces in these shots. Understand? I’ll let you know when we’re finished.”

Some of the officers had only viewed Mike and his work from a distance, and they saw him as arrogant and hard to please. His confidence and scrupulous ways were quite often misread as cocky. But, those who had worked with him, witnessed his focus and the quality of his work, knew otherwise. His and Norm’s success rate was the best in the Homicide Unit and had been for almost a year.

Mike walked back down the ramp toward his car intending to hang up his jacket. There he was, strolling up the ramp. The smirk on his face told Mike that Detective Jack Hogue didn’t care if he was violating orders from the lead investigator or even that he could be jeopardizing evidence. He was pissing off the lieutenant’s fair-haired boy, and enjoying it.

Ever since Mike and Norm solved their first case in late 2000, Hogue acted like the new team was stealing his and partner Gil Murdock’s thunder. Mike’s CID experience, his professionalism and his by-the-book dedication made him a high caliber investigator. Hogue’s brusque old-school ways didn’t always harmonize with Captain Moretti’s expectations. Mike’s scrupulous methods presented the image the Captain wanted for the detectives of the MNPD. Hogue didn’t speak the language.

Mike and Norm had encountered Hogue, his partner Murdock, and their shared aversion on too many occasions. These guys made no effort to hide it. Norm wanted to speak to Moretti about it, but Mike thought it best to ignore them and hope they would grow tired of their competitive behavior. Obviously, even with Murdock’s retirement, that goal had not yet been achieved.

“What are you doing?” Mike growled. “You’re not supposed to be up here. I asked everyone to remain outside the first perimeter. You
know
the procedures.”

“You didn’t mean me,” Hogue touched his chest with both hands, “I’m here to help you, kiddo. I can be your partner.” He looked around the garage. “Hell, somebody needs to be.”

“First of all, I meant especially you, and secondly, I don’t need your help. Norm’s on his way. Hell, you’re not even on duty tonight.”

Hogue offered a crooked smile.

Mike could tell the aging detective had been drinking long before the stench of his breath arrived. “Step over here, we need to talk.” Mike took him by the arm and even though he resisted, Mike was able to direct him behind one of the garage’s large pillars and away from anyone’s line of sight.

“Watch it, Neal. You’re getting me riled.” Hogue snatched his arm as Mike released his grasp.

“Listen, Hogue, you’ve been dogging me ever since I came to Homicide, and I’m fed up with it. Mouthing off around our guys is one thing, but risking the destruction of my crime scene evidence will not be tolerated.”

“I know what I’m doin’,” he slurred. “I’m not risking anything.”

“Sure. You’re too smashed to
know
what you’re doing. In addition to risking the evidence, with the media here, you’re risking your job and your pension. Besides, you need to understand. I’m not competing with you. The way this city is growing, unfortunately there’s more than enough crime for all of us. I’m here to do my job and do it to the best of my ability. And I’m going to do that, whatever it takes.”

“Oh chill out, show-off. It’s only another dead Mexican. He probably got hacked by one of his pissed off amigos.”

“Hogue, I can’t decide what’s more repulsive about you: your insensitivity or your bigotry. The man is Middle Eastern. You don’t have a clue
who’s
responsible for this murder, and so far neither do we.”

“Mexican, camel jockey, who gives a damn?”

“Look, the fact that you’re determined to get yourself fired is your problem. The issue is, on your fast trip to career hell, you take the department with you, and I’m not going to let that happen. These guys work too hard, and they don’t deserve it.”

“You’d do well to benefit from my years of experience,” Hogue said.

“Hogue, I value a short list of people’s opinions. And I assure you, yours didn’t make the cut.”

“You’re just afraid I’ll show you up.”

“There are reporters and cameramen waiting a few levels down with some very expensive video equipment. They get paid to catch idiots like you on tape so the world can marvel at your pathetic behavior. If you want to trash your career in front of your peers and half of Nashville, I couldn’t care less. But, I’m not going to let you soil the image of this department. I’d rather have the good citizens of this city watch me kick your drunken ass all over this parking garage on the Scene at Ten.”

Hogue stood there, staring at Mike.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” Mike asked.

Jack Hogue was seeing a new side of Detective Neal, and it didn’t appear to be one he wanted to challenge, particularly not in his current intoxicated condition.

Mike’s nostrils flared as he took slow deep breaths, trying to remain calm. He was not only surprised at himself after his rant, but disappointed as well. This asshole had taken him to the edge, and it was a long time since Mike had lost control. He could feel the blood-flow to his face increasing. He was prepared for an all out show-and-tell so this clown could see all the interesting things Mike learned in the Army. Mike had no intention of doing it with the media watching, but that wasn’t the package he was selling Hogue.

“I’ve got to go,” Hogue mumbled as he looked at his watch then turned and walked away.

Mike watched Hogue’s back as he battled equilibrium on his way down the ramp. When Mike was sure Hogue was gone, his eyes went back to his work. It took his concentration a little longer.

Out of his peripheral vision, Mike saw his bulky partner climbing the ramp. Norm had to park on the fourth level due to the growing collection of law enforcement and emergency response personnel.

“Glad you could join the party.”

“What’s that asshole doing here?” Norm said, catching his breath. “Don’t we have enough shit going on without that idiot popping up like a zit on prom night?”

“He acts like he’s lost without Murdock,” Mike said.

“Poor bastard,” Norm said tongue-in-cheek. “Okay. What do we know so far?”

Mike brought Norm up to speed on the details. “I’d like you to talk with the two men from facility maintenance and then interview the ladies waiting down in the lobby. Their vehicles need to be the first ones we process so they can go home to their families. They’ve been waiting the longest. Afterward, you need to question the other car owners so when the print techs are finished with the cars, those folks can go home.”

Mike walked to where Sergeant Hill was speaking with some of his men, “Steve, can you have a couple of your guys locate the head of security and check out the camera mounted over the elevator?

“Sure thing, Mike,” the sergeant said.

“Detective?”

Mike turned to see Officer James Bowden approaching.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

“No problem. What’s up?” Mike asked.

“Ms. Spencer asked me to find you. I think she’s spotted something.”

Hubbard County, Tennessee

Brad Evans’s Home

Tuesday Evening

Brad learned that not only was Carl Garrison an exceedingly influential man with countless prospective gun-totin’ contacts, he appeared to be interested in helping Brad find justice for Julie. Brad felt there could be potential in this unusual relationship.

“Hello.”

“Carl?”

“Hello, Brad. Any news yet?”

“Yes. I spoke with my contact in Kentucky. He can get you what you need.”

“That’s great. When can we get it?”

“He is receiving the delivery tomorrow morning, and he wants us to pick it up as soon afterward as possible. He also told me he has developed the ability to mask explosives and prevent detection by bomb dogs. You may want to talk with him about that, Brad said, in an effort to expose the bogus story about the beaver dam.”

“That’s interesting.” Garrison smiled.

“I didn’t realize masking of explosives could be done reliably,” Brad said. “I know C4 has a pungent odor that’s normally detectable by trained K-9s.”

“It sounds like something we need to hear more about,” Garrison said. “Who is this guy anyway? You said you met him in Vietnam?”

“Yes, I served with him. He’s on a short list of technicians who are willing and able to work fast and without questions or conscience for whoever has the ability to compensate them.

“He sounds like a valuable man to know.”

“Yes, and not someone you want working for your opposition.”

“I’ll be free tomorrow morning after nine. Does that work for you?”

“Sounds good. The drive will take between two and three hours, assuming normal traffic.”

“That’ll give us a chance to finish that discussion we started yesterday about your skills and some of our needs here at the lodge. I’ve got some ideas I think you’ll like.”

“I’ll pick you up at your office at nine-thirty,” Brad said.

“I’ll be ready.”

Cumberland Plaza

Nashville, Tennessee

Tuesday Evening

Carol was near the roof level of the parking garage when Mike and Officer Bowden approached her. Mike could see the yellow evidence markers she’d placed on the pavement at the edge of the ramp. She lowered her camera. “I thought you might want to see these.”

Mike looked inside the ninety-degree angles of the three evidence markers. There were cigarette butts, wet from the misting rain. He squatted for a closer look. Finding a few butts in a parking garage was not front page news, but these cigarettes were different.

As Mike stood, Carol looked up at him, “Are those markings Arabic?”

“Yes.” He paused for a moment. “I wish finding Middle Eastern cigarettes today was more unusual than it is.” Mike stared at the butts, then looked around the garage. “These could be helpful, Carol. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Carol smiled.

“You keep those beautiful eyes open,” Mike said as he and Officer Bowden turned and began to walk back toward the victim. He loved the fact that Carol took so much pride in her work.

“Detective,” Carol shouted.

“Yeah?” Mike stopped and turned around.

“What did you say?”

Mike thought for a second. “Uh, I don’t know.” He looked at Bowden. “What did I say?”

Bowden shrugged his shoulders.

Carol wanted to hear it again. Mike had never paid her a compliment in public.

Mike looked back at Officer Bowden, who turned up his palms.

“Oh yeah,” he paused. “I said ‘You keep those
dutiful
eyes open.’”

Carol squinted.

Mike looked at Bowden and tossed his head toward the crime scene. The two men turned and started back.

“Keep looking, Carol,” Mike yelled without glancing back. “You may spot something else.” Mike laughed to himself.

“Hey, Mike,” Norm yelled as he rounded the corner, “I just spoke with Sergeant Hill and the guy in charge of the—uh ... security cameras. I use the term loosely.”

Mike stopped, “That doesn’t sound good. What did he say about the one over this elevator? Can he burn us a disk?”

“Well, yes and no,” Norm hedged.

“What do you mean, yes and no?”

“He can’t get us a disk because they still use VHS tape to record here in the parking garage.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Do they know we’re now in the
twenty-first
century?”

“They switched to digital video recorders in the office tower, but in the parking garage they kept their VHS recorders to save money. They’re on a loop recording process that recycles the cassettes.”

“Damn,” Mike said, as he bowed his head.

“He said they have never had any issues causing them to need recordings from the garage.”

“Well, they sure have one now,” Mike said. “VHS quality sucks even when it’s not recycled. Nobody’s using VHS to record security cams anymore. The images are always unpredictable.”

“I guess the camera is worthless,” Norm said.

“We could use a break in this case, and I was hoping the camera would be it. So, are we getting the tape, shitty as it is?”

“Yeah, I took it and gave him a receipt. It’s bagged and labeled. I’ll get it to Dean McMurray and see if he can clean it up enough for us to see anything. I’ve seen him do some amazing things in the Audio/ Video lab with his Mac and video software. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Do me a favor,” Mike said. “Bring the crime scene techs up to speed and tell them Carol is about finished with all the video and photos except the close-ups. They’ll be able to start working soon.”

Sergeant Hill stepped off the elevator with two young Middle Eastern men. They, like the victim, were dressed in burgundy shirts and black slacks, obviously their employer’s uniforms.

The looks on their faces said they were clueless about what was going on and uncomfortable with their current surroundings. Being corralled by a police officer and taken through a sea of emergency responders and their flashing strobes was enough to unnerve anyone.