WHEN THE MUSIC DIES (MUSIC CITY MURDERS Book 1) (31 page)

“So,” she straightened in her seat, “here I am, four years a detective; almost half of one in homicide and now partnered with the best. Dad is so proud of me.”

Mike laughed, “Oh, he may not be so complimentary of your new partner.”

“He would admire your skill and your dedication like everyone else does.”

“Everyone else?” Mike questioned. “I’m not so sure you could gain a quorum for that vote.”

“I didn’t realize you were modest,” Cris said, smiling.

“Actually, I’m not trying to be.” Mike paused. “It’s just that we have a few detectives who seem to think my sole aim in life is to make them look bad. My objective is to do my job the best I can, and to try and help the people of Nashville to find some type of closure to the ugliest chapters of their lives. It’s bad enough to lose someone like you lost Joey. But, to lose a loved one to a violent homicide is .... It’s worse, trust me.”

Mike pulled through the gate into the fenced area at the rear of the South Precinct.

“You might be surprised at the respect you have within the section.”

“I would be pleasantly surprised,” Mike admitted.

Mike and Cris entered the precinct and showed their shields to the sergeant.

“We’re here to talk with Officer Kurt Newsome,” Mike said. “Do you know if he’s here?”

“Yeah, he came in a few minutes ago,” the sergeant said. “I think he’s in the break room.”

“Do you have an interview room available?” Mike asked.

“Yeah, number two is open. Do you know where the rooms are located?”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “Thanks.”

Mike and Cris walked the hall toward the officers’ break room. Mike scanned the name tags of the three men getting coffee and talking.

“Officer Newsome?” Mike asked.

“I’m Kurt Newsome.”

The other officers left the room.

“Can I assume you’ve been briefed on the purpose of our visit?” Mike asked.

“I was told my prints were found at Cumberland Plaza. I’m not sure what that’s about. I don’t think I’ve ever been to Cumberland Plaza.”

“Let’s step in here. I’m sure you understand I need to record our discussion?”

“Sure,” Newsome agreed.

Mike placed his recorder on the table.

“Officer Kurt Newsome and Detectives Mike Neal and Cris Vega at the South Precinct, April 16th. Officer Newsome, your prints were taken from a vehicle parked on the sixth floor of the Cumberland Plaza parking garage,” Mike said. “Were you in that parking garage recently?”

“No. Sounds like it may be a vehicle I stopped for a traffic violation,” Newsome suggested.

“We thought the same thing,” Mike said, “since you were not on duty in the area at the time, and your name wasn’t on the crime scene log.”

“I’m sure that’s what it is. I stop quite a few vehicles each day.” Newsome smiled at both detectives.

“We’re no longer so sure that’s the explanation,” Cris said.

“What do you mean?” Newsome turned toward Cris.

“We pulled your records and found you did indeed pull this vehicle over for a rolling stop,” Mike said.

“I knew it would be something like that.”

“Eight months ago,” Mike finished his sentence.

“From the spotless appearance of the vehicle, I can’t help but think it may have been washed in the last eight months,” Cris said. “What do you think, Kurt?”

“What’s the make and model?” Newsome asked, becoming concerned about the detectives’ facts.

“It’s a dark blue GMC Yukon Denali,” Mike said.

Newsome’s eyes closed, and his chin dropped slowly to his chest.

“You seem to be familiar with this vehicle?” Cris said.

Newsome nodded his head. “Yeah.”

“Who is the owner?” Cris asked.

“I’m sure you already know the answer to that.”

“Answer the question, officer Newsome,” Mike said.

“The vehicle’s owner is Vanita Joynor,” he said. “She’s an attorney. She works at Cumberland Plaza.”

“Mrs. Joynor is the owner,” Cris said, “and yes, we knew that. We also suspect you and she have been seeing each other for months, possibly since her citation.”

Newsome sat quietly looking at Cris.

“We also know she is married—like you,” Cris said. “You have two young girls at home?”

“Leave them out of it,” Newsome said, wrinkling his brow. “They’re none of your business.”

“When we pull numerous fingerprints of yours from a vehicle parked less than four feet from the brutally murdered body of a young man, everything is our business,” Mike said. “It is also the business of the District Attorney, who is working hard to determine who was wielding the blade used to commit this monstrous crime. Officer Newsome, do you own a knife?”

“Wait a damn minute. Don’t do this,” Newsome said. “I haven’t killed anyone, and I’m pretty sure you know that too. I was nowhere near that area of town yesterday. And, when I touched the SUV last, I was nowhere near that building.”

“Officer Newsome, we deal in facts,” Mike said. “What we know is, your prints are on a car that was in close proximity to an extremely violent murder, and we’re looking for suspects. Until we find sufficient reasons to eliminate you as a suspect, you will remain on the short list of potentials.”

Newsome’s fear was beginning to surface.

“Now, how about you start providing us with some viable reasons to eliminate you as a suspect?” Cris said.

Newsome appeared defeated. He looked like a man who wished he was somewhere else, and someone else.

“What do you want?” Newsome said.

“We want to hear the facts; the truth,” Cris said. “You can start anytime.”

“Okay, full disclosure.” The cop leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and rubbed them aggressively with both hands. He let out a brief guttural groan, then sat up.

“I wrote Vanita Joynor a citation last year for failure to stop. She was hot, very hot. I was—at the time, doing without. My wife and I weren’t getting along. I took down Vanita’s information and hooked up with her the next week. We’ve been sorta seeing each other off and on since then. That’s it. That’s everything; the entire story.”

“The entire story?” Cris asked.

“Yeah. That’s it. You may find my prints on the inside of the SUV as well. Look, can we keep a lid on this? I got those two little girls at home, and I’d like to get past this without any further damage.” His initial confidence appeared shaken.

“That’s not gonna be up to us. We have a job to do,” Mike said.

“We could get into some deep shit here,” Cris said. “The fact your prints are found, prominently and in large numbers, at a crime scene you’re not assigned to. Well, that’s between you and the powers that be. We can’t jeopardize this investigation or
our
jobs to save your unfaithful ass.”

Mike’s look suggested to Cris she might want to curtail her judgmental tone.

“Okay, what
can
you do?” His head moved from Mike to Cris and back. “Why can’t you say I gave her a citation and leave it at that? Why does all this other crap have to come out?”

“We have to pursue all leads. This is, above all, a homicide investigation,” Mike said, trying not to destroy the man’s hope.

“I’m screwed.” Newsome dropped his head into his hands. “Damn it. Why did she have to be so beautiful?”

“Newsome,” Cris said, “why don’t you try blaming yourself a little for this? Mrs. Joynor did not pursue you.”

Newsome sat thinking and staring at the table between him and the detectives.

“Hey, talk to your sergeant now before the facts all come out,” Cris said. “Explain it all to him. It will lessen the impact on everyone.”

“He’ll can my ass.”

“Maybe not,” Mike said as he stood. “Honesty helps.”

“Yeah,” Cris said, “honesty will probably help you a lot more before the facts come out than it will after everyone has made their assumptions and blown it all out of proportion. You owe those two little girls better than that.”

Newsome dropped his head into his hands.

Criminal Justice Center

Nashville, Tennessee

Wednesday Late Afternoon

When Carol caught sight of Mike, he was standing outside the door to Lieutenant Burris’s office talking with a tall blonde woman. She was maybe mid-thirties, sporting a tailored and expensive navy blue suit over her well-toned form. Her long legs and stiletto heels put her eye-to-eye with Detective Neal.

This woman is not a cop.

Carol could see the woman had Mike’s full attention even before she casually unbuttoned her jacket. The shiny folded lapel of her white silk blouse fell part-way open when she pushed back her jacket and rested her fist on her hip. She never broke pace with her dialogue, acting as though nothing had happened. The intentional increase in the exposure of her lace camisole appeared to draw Mike in. The dance had begun; she was leading. She occasionally looked around the Homicide Unit while she talked so Mike might take the opportunity to enjoy her show.

She has to be a lawyer.

What perturbed Carol most was that Mike’s awareness of this woman’s plan, like his resistance, seemed to be non-existent. Mike stood smiling, nodding and holding his notebook in front of him.

At least he’s keeping his hands busy.

The woman must have said something funny. She leaned forward and laid her hand on Mike’s bare forearm. They both laughed out loud.

Could this bitch get more obvious?

“Who
is
this woman,” Carol said aloud, without realizing it.

“Vanita Joynor,” a voice behind her replied.

Carol turned quickly to see Detective Cris Vega standing at her desk. Carol wasn’t sure what to say.

“She’s an attorney,” Cris said. “Her SUV was the blue one next to Hamid’s Acura at Cumberland Plaza.”

“Oh—okay.” Carol relaxed a bit, now that she knew why the woman was here.

As Carol and Cris stood watching, Mike looked up. Over Joynor’s shoulder, his attention appeared to freeze on Carol. Carol dropped her eyes to the photos in her hands, and turned away. She resisted her desire to look back at Mike and his new lawyer friend.

“See ya, Carol,” Cris said, as she stepped toward the copier.

After a moment, Carol allowed a couple of photos to drop from her hands and she bent to pick them up. During her squat, she stole another look in Mike’s direction. The two of them were gone. She stood, scanned the Unit, and then turned back to her photos. Mike was standing behind her.

“Hi,” he said.

“Oh—Hi, Mike. You scared me.”

“When?”

“Just now,” Carol said.

“Now, or a few minutes ago when I was talking with Mrs. Joynor?”

“What do you mean?”

“You had this ... look on your face,” Mike said.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, you did. Carol, she was flirting; pretty obvious too, huh?”

Carol shrugged her shoulders. She waited, and then nodded at Mike.

“Hey, she’s married, and she knows that we know she’s been having an affair. She needs us to keep that fact quiet, so she wants to be our friend.”

“Okay.”

“By the way, I’m still thinking with this head.” Mike tapped next to his ear.

“Good. Okay,” Carol said, confirming her embarrassment.

“See you later,” Mike said.

“Yeah. Later.”

“Hey, Cris,” Mike shouted. “You ready to meet with the lieutenant?”

“Sure. I’ll be right there.”

Mike walked toward Burris’s office. Cris came back to her desk to drop off her copies. Carol was still thumbing through her photographs and wondering how stupid she must have looked.

Cris picked up her writing pad, stepped close to Carol and whispered, “Don’t give up; you’ve got him on the ropes.” Cris winked and then walked to Burris’s office.

“Okay, guys. I talked with the Captain, and he said the Chief wants you two dedicated to the Hamid case until it’s cleared.”

“Wow,” Cris said.

“So, bring me everything else you’ve been working on so I can dole it out. This one is top priority. The Chief said the Mayor wants this case cleared before the Kurdish Conference on Friday.”

“You gotta be kidding,” Cris said. “What about the graffiti artist?”

“I’ll reassign it,” Burris said. “Just focus on this one for now. The powers want it cleared.”

“Hmm,” Cris said.

“Listen,” Burris said. “You need to understand. The political implications here are huge. We’ve got hundreds of international dignitaries and politicos coming into the city over the next few days, not to mention all the VIPs from Congress and around the U.S.. The Mayor doesn’t want the positive press for Nashville to be overshadowed by the negative coming out of this case. If the victim wasn’t Kurdish, it wouldn’t be quite as bad.”

“We gotcha, Lieutenant.” Mike stood. He knew if they had a prayer of clearing this case by Friday, they had to get back to it.

“Cris, you collect the other casebooks and get them to Lieutenant Burris. I’m going to go see the Medical Examiner. Surely some of her backlog has been cleared by now.”

Criminal Justice Center

Nashville, Tennessee

Wednesday Late Afternoon

Captain Moretti was standing, actually pacing, in his office. Jack Hogue was trying not to look at him.

“If it wasn’t for your tenure here,” Moretti said, “I wouldn’t even be talking with you today.”

Moretti stopped in front of Hogue.

“Jack, we can remember the past, we can learn from it, and we can even relish it, but it’s not somewhere to live. The world is constantly changing, particularly our part of it. I have to have someone in your job I can trust to do the things that have to be done by a seasoned detective and who will do them with the best interest of the department and the citizens of Nashville foremost in their thinking. I would like this person to be you, but based upon your actions over the past couple of months, since Murdock’s retirement, you are proving to me that this is not possible.”

“Captain,” Hogue said. “This is all a big misunderstanding.”

“I’ll agree that it’s big, but it’s no misunderstanding. Your taking the cruiser, leaving your partner standing in a parking lot then driving outside our jurisdiction at over ninety miles per hour after you’d been drinking was not a misunderstanding. Jack, that’s what’s called irresponsible and thoroughly dumb ass.”