Authors: David Archer
“Sam Prichard,” he said, “private investigator. I'd like to speak with Mr. Smith.”
The receptionist frowned. “You're not on my appointment list, Mr. Prichard, and I'm afraid Mr. Smith doesn't see anybody without one. Can I set one for you? He has an opening next Friday...”
“No, that's okay. You just tell him I'm here, and if he doesn't have time to see me, I'll go on down to the police, and maybe he'll have time to see them.”
She looked at him blankly for a moment, then said, “One moment.” She picked up a phone and pushed a button. “There's a Mr. Prichard here who would like to see you,” she said, “and he said if you're too busy, he can send the police, instead.”
Jimmy Smith came out of his office a few seconds later, and Sam was surprised at the sheer size of the man. Where Bill Miller had been a very small fellow, Jimmy Smith was almost a giant; he stood at least six foot six, and was built like a football coach's dream.
“Mr. Prichard,” he said with a scowl. “If you'd called ahead, I would have been happy to see you without the theatrics.”
“That's okay,” Sam said with a smile. “I think theatrics can be fun, now and then. Besides, I didn't want to risk anyone else finding out I was coming, so this was easier.”
Smith gave him a menacing look, but Sam kept smiling. “Come on in,” Smith said after a moment.
Sam followed him into his office, and sat in the chair in front of the big desk that dominated the room. “I do appreciate you taking the time for me, Mr. Smith, and I've only got a few questions. Can you tell me about your relationship with Chris Lancaster?”
Smith scrunched his eyes together. “Lancaster? He's a jerk, I can tell you that much. I got him a gig years ago that would have made him rich, and he blew it off like it was nothing. I spent thousands of dollars setting it up, and when it came down to it, he just decided it wasn't good enough for him. The guy who got it has made about two hundred million bucks, while Lancaster's been playing barrooms and dives ever since.”
“So you're not fond of him, then?”
“Not really, no.”
“Is that why you insisted Barry Wallace had to leave his band behind? To get back at Chris for that incident?”
Smith stared at him for several seconds. “No, of course not. Barry is far too good for Chris and his band, that was all. He needed more professional musicians to back him, and I could make that happen. When he signed with Sony, he'd have had his pick of musicians; they'd have let him have anyone he wanted, no matter who it was or what the cost.”
Sam cocked his head. “Then why couldn't he have the ones he already had, the ones you knew he really wanted? You say Sony wanted him so badly they'd have let him choose the band he wanted; why did he have to reject the one he already knew and had chosen? That sounds more like your decision than the label's.”
Smith leaned back in his chair. “Look, Mr. Prichard, with all due respect, I know this business. Barry might have done all right with the band he had, if he'd signed and taken them along, but he could do much, much better with a truly professional band. One of the things my job entails is teaching artists about how the business really works, and Barry was one of those guys. He didn't know what was best for him, but I did.”
Sam nodded. “Okay. Now, you say Barry told you he was going to sign, and would tell the band he was gonna leave them, right? Thing is, no one else ever heard that, and apparently he'd been adamant that he never would. The band thought he was done with you two weeks earlier, after he told you he wasn't interested if they didn't go with him.”
“That's their story, I'm sure, but then, it would be. They aren't going to admit he was leaving them, even if they had nothing to do with his disappearance, because it would hurt them as a band. If the word got out that someone like Barry thought they weren't good enough, no other serious singer would be interested in fronting them, simply because they all think they're the best. If this band wasn't good enough for one singer, they aren't good enough for anyone else, either. Simple music marketing.”
Sam nodded again. “So the only reason you wanted him to leave the band was so you could help him do better, right?”
“That's exactly right.”
Sam smiled. “Okay, got it. Tell me about Samantha Harris.”
Smith blinked, and his eyes went dark. “Mr. Prichard, I don't see what ancient history has to do with your current investigation, and I think that this interview is over.” He started to rise from his chair, but Sam went on.
“It has to do with the fact that you've got a record of violence whenever an artist doesn't do what you want. According to Ms. Harris, you slashed her hand when she declined a contract you wanted her to sign. I was giving you the chance to tell me your side of it.”
Smith sat back down in a huff. “Samantha Harris was a good singer, very good, but she had one flaw; she was nuts about her keyboard man, who stunk to high heaven. As a result, she refused to see past her emotions to the fact that the guy was usually stoned out of his mind on coke, and couldn't play 'Chopsticks' without missing notes. When I tried one last time to explain that fact to her, she picked up a vase and threw it at me, but it hit a wall and shattered. A piece of it bounced back and nicked her hand, and she claimed I had hit her with it. If the cops hadn't been idiots, it would have been obvious she was lying, but I ended up having to take a plea bargain for probation because the prosecutor was going to put some of her friends on the stand, people who claimed they were there and saw it, even though they weren't.”
Sam nodded. “Uh-huh. And John Darnell? Did he break a beer bottle over his own head?”
Smith was on his feet instantly. “John Darnell attacked me with a knife, and I defended myself! When the cops got there, they took the damned knife and it was never seen again. Once again, his friends all said I had gone after him, and I took another plea to stay out of jail! Now, we are done, Mr. Prichard, finished. Shall I show you out, or can you find your way?” The man was angry and breathing hard.
Sam stood, but he walked toward Smith, not to the door. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Smith. I've got enough information to convince me that you are quite capable of violence if you don't get your way, and that makes me wonder if you know more about Barry's disappearance than you say you do. I'm going to keep digging until I find out what happened to him, and if that leads back to you, then I'm going to make damn sure that I have the most airtight case against you that I can hand to the prosecutor. Now, if you've got nothing to hide, then good; I'll keep looking. But if it comes back to you, then I'm going to hang you as high as I possibly can.”
Smith's face had turned bright red, and he was trembling. Through clenched teeth, he said, “Get—out!” and pointed toward the door.
Sam smiled, then walked out of the office. He felt sure that Smith was capable of violence, and didn't believe his stories of innocence for a second, but he wasn't sure that Smith actually had done anything to Barry Wallace. He got to his van and sat in it for a few moments while he thought it through, then called Dan Jacobs.
“Danny, this is a little outside your office, but can you check for any John Doe corpses around the area in the past ten days? Yeah, thanks.” He sat and listened to the hold music for a minute.
When Dan came back, he said, “There's two bodies that turned up with no ID, and the coroner is trying to identify them now. One is old, probably been dead six months, but the other is a little fresher and missing some important pieces, like head and hands. White male, thirty-ish, about five nine when he had his head. They're saying he's been dead about ten days.”
Sam sighed. “Where'd he turn up?”
“Out on route thirty, behind Buckley Air Force Base. Found in a ditch by a jailhouse road cleanup crew two days ago.”
“That may be my guy. I'll get with the coroner and see what I can find out. Thanks.”
Sam called the coroner's office and spoke with a clerk there, who suggested he come on down and talk to the ME on the case. He started the van and headed downtown, arriving about twenty minutes later.
The ME, a woman named Bertha Ochoa, listened to Sam and asked only one question. “Do you know if Mr. Wallace had had any surgeries in the past year? This JD has apparently had a bout with a testicular problem, because he's had one of them removed within the last twelve months.”
Sam's eyes went wide. “Give me five minutes and I can tell you,” he said, then took out his phone. He called Chris Lancaster.
“Chris, it's Sam, and I got an odd question for you. Did Barry have both his balls?”
Chris hesitated, but then said, “No. It was supposed to be a big secret, but he got a cancer down there about nine moths ago, and he went to a clinic in Arizona to have it treated. When he got there, they said the only way to stop it was to take one out, so they did.” He sighed. “I'm guessing the reason you're asking is cause things aren't looking good?”
“I'm afraid Barry's dead, Chris. I'll tell you guys more this afternoon.” He hung up and looked at Bertha Ochoa. “Looks like we have a winner. Testicular cancer, one removed.”
She gave him a sad smile. “Sorry,” she said, as Sam rose to leave.
Sam, Indie and Kenzie drove up to Stan's place at two on the dot, after a stop at Taco Bell for lunch. Chris had called to say that the band all felt they should go ahead with rehearsals, that Barry wouldn't want them to stop, so they were still on. Sam wasn't sure how well it would go, but he agreed to come.
There were chairs lined up just inside the garage, and they all sat down. Sam started by explaining about his call to Dan, and then described his meeting with the ME, including the way the body had been found and the condition it was in.
“When Chris confirmed that Barry'd had a testicle removed, that clinched it pretty well,” he said. “I'm afraid we're now looking at a murder case. If you want me to stay on it, I will, but you only hired me to find out where he was, and I did. Your call.”
“You can't quit,” Janice said, tears flowing steadily. “You can't. You gotta find out who did this to him.”
Sam looked at Chris, who seemed to be the band's manager. Chris looked at each of the others in turn, then looked back at Sam. “I think we all need to know,” he said. “We'd like to keep you on it for now, if that's okay. We can afford a few more days, and maybe you'll figure it out.”
Sam nodded. “Okay, then. I'm working some leads, and I'll give it my best shot.”
“Let's make some music,” Stan said. “Barry wouldn't want us to quit over this. Let's make some music.”
The rest agreed, even Janice, who couldn't stop crying. The band all took their positions and Chris gave Sam some printed out the lyrics to their songs. They chose four songs to work on that day, and then they played them through with Chris singing, so Sam could learn how they went. On the second run-through, Sam stepped up to the mike and sang along with Chris, and on the third he sang alone. By the time five o'clock came around, Sam knew them fairly well, and someone ordered pizza so they could break to eat and then go through them a few more times.
Indie and Kenzie were having a blast. The more Sam sang, the more animated Kenzie became, until finally she was standing in front of him,dancing her little heart out to the beat of the music. Indie laughed happily, and soon she was dancing, as well, holding hands with Kenzie and both of the shaking everything they had. While there were moments of sadness, all of them were enjoying themselves to some degree, and when they finally broke it off at nine, they were all exhausted.
“Same time tomorrow,” Chris said as Sam and Indie took a sleeping Kenzie to the van and buckled her into her car seat. Sam smiled and waved, and they headed for home.
“So, how bad was I?” Sam asked.
“You were terrific,” Indie said. “I'm blown away, Sam, you're really every bit as good as the guys say you are. I love hearing you sing!”
Sam turned a little pink. “I kinda like singing for you,” he said. “I like seeing you smiling at me while I sing, I mean, and Kenzie just tickles me!”
Indie leaned her head back and looked at him, smiling. “So, when am I gonna get to hear more of your songs?”
Sam grinned. “We'll have to see what we can do about that,” he said. “Did I ever tell you I cut a few records, years ago? They weren't rock—I was actually in a country music band for a while, and we went into a studio and made an album. I've still got some do the tracks, somewhere.”
Indie's eyes were wide open. “And you're gonna find them for me, aren't you?” she asked. “I like country music, too, I'd love to hear them!”
Sam grinned. “I'll see what I can do about that, but not tonight. I think we need to get our little one into bed, and then we can take it easy a bit before we give it up for the night.”
Indie was staring at him, and Sam got nervous. “What? Did I say something wrong?”
She shook her head slowly. “You don't even know what you said, do you? Sam, you just called Kenzie 'our little one,' and that's the first time I've ever heard anyone say those words...” Suddenly she had tears on her cheeks. “That was just so sweet,” she whispered.
Sam shrugged. “Well—I guess that's just how I think of her. I mean, I know I'm not her father, but when we're together, I just think of all three of us as being part of something, so that makes her 'ours' in that sense, right? I'm not making any sense, am I?”
She laughed and nodded. “Yes, you are,” she said, “you're making perfect sense.” She sat and chewed her bottom lip for a moment. “If I tell you something, you promise not to freak out on me?”
Sam grinned and looked at her. “I didn't know people still say 'freak out,' like that,” he said, “but I won't. Go ahead.”
“Mom was an old hippie, what can I say? Anyway, what I was gonna tell you is, a couple weeks ago, when you left to go to Arkansas after that guy, Kenzie actually asked me if you were going to be her daddy.”
Sam turned the van onto his street before he looked at her again. “And what did you say?”
Indie rolled her eyes. “I said, 'Hush, child, we'll see!' and left it at that!” She smiled. “But I can't say I haven’t thought about it.”
Sam slowed the van to pull into the driveway, and once he was parked, he said, “So have I. And part of me is scared of the idea, because I’ve never had kids and I don't know if I'd be good at it, and another part of me is hoping it turns out that way, but it's way too soon to be having conversations this deep, so let's get her inside and into bed.”
Indie leaned over an kissed him, then climbed out and opened the side door to get Kenzie. She carried the little sleeper inside while Sam stood there and watched her from the driveway. He looked up at the ksy for a moment, and whispered, “If you sent her into my life, then thank you. And please help me make the right choices, where they're concerned.”
He went inside and got out two bottles of Coke, then took them into the living room, sat on the couch again and turned on the TV news, just in time to catch the story about the discovery of Barry's body. The reporter interviewed Barry's sister, Marjorie Newcomb, who was in tears.
“He was the sweetest guy you'd ever want to know,” she said, “always had a big, warm heart for everyone. Barry was the kind of man who never met a stranger, to him, everyone was just a friend he didn't know yet. The world will be a much darker place without him in it.”
Indie came in as the anchor was wrapping up the story. “That’s odd,” she said. “Barry's a well known singer, but they didn't even call any of his band to ask about him, or get their reactions to his death? I'd think that would be just about as important as asking his family.”
Sam looked at her. “It would,” he said. “Good point, and one worth looking into. For tonight, let's just spend a little time together, okay?”
Indie grinned and came to sit beside him. She accepted her Coke and took a sip, then set it on the coffee table.
“Sam,” she said, “sing me a song.”
He chuckled. “What, right now? Right here?”
She turned and kissed him, hard, then leaned back and looked him in the eye. “Yes, right now and right here! Come on, sing for me!”
Sam looked into her eyes for a moment, then pulled her down to lean against him. “Okay,” he said, "you wanna grab my guitar for me?”
She got up and brought it to him, then sat on the other end of the couch so she could watch him.
“This is one of my country songs,” he said, “one we actually recorded. I'll dig that out for you another time, but here goes.” He began to play a melody, then, and a moment alter he sang:
(Click to Listen)
You all remember the story, you heard a long time ago,
The prince was throwin' a party, but Cinderella couldn't go,
Then a miracle happened, and she attended after all,
And by the time it was over, Cindy was the Queen of the Ball!
But there was more to the story, and if the truth was ever told,
You'd learn that hap'ly ever after, turned into somethin' cruel and cold,
And if you're wonderin' how I know, what I'm talkin' about,
I'm the prince who once was charming, til Cinderella threw me out!
There ain't no happy endings,
There ain't no ever afters,
Why don't we stop pretending,
With all the lies and laughter?
You know it's only in the moo—oo—vies,
Where the boy gets the girl,
There ain't no happy endings,
Out in the real world!
You know your mama always told you, that love was waitin' at your door,
And all you gotta do is find it, and you'll be happy evermore,
But you know it's just a fairy tale, like little children love to hear,
Let's leave the stories for the children, and cry our lonely, grown-up tears!
There ain't no happy endings,
There ain't no ever afters,
Why don't we stop pretending,
With all the lies and laughter?
You know it's only in the moo—oo—vies,
Where the boy gets the girl,
There ain't no happy endings,
Out in the real world!
There ain't no happy endings,
There ain't no ever afters,
Why don't we stop pretending,
With all the lies and laughter?
You know it's only in the moo—oo—vies,
Where the boy gets the girl,
There ain't no happy endings,
Out in the real world!
Indie sat there in silence as the last vibrations of the guitar faded away. “That was so beautiful,” she said, “but so sad.”
Sam grinned. “Yeah, I wrote that right after my girlfriend at the time dumped me, so it was kinda dark, I know.” He set the guitar down beside the arm of the couch. “But that's not how I really feel, it was just a way to express what I was feeling at that time. I know that happy endings are possible, Indie; but I also know we have to work to make them happen.”
“Yeah,” she said, “we do.” She slid over closer, leaned her face in and kissed him, and this time he put his arms around her and held on. They kissed without paying attention to anything else for a long time, and when they finally broke, Sam said, “I think it's bedtime, Babe. Get on upstairs.”
Indie smiled. “If I don't go now, I might not go at all.” She kissed him once more and then got up and headed for her bedroom. Sam sat where he was for another half hour, just thinking, and then got up and went to bed himself.
Sam was awakened the next morning by his phone ringing, and sleepily grabbed it from his nightstand.
“Hello,” he said.
“I hear you wanna know what happened to Barry Wallace,” said a woman's voice.
Sam was instantly awake. “Yes,” he said, “I most certainly do. Can you tell me?”
“Yeah, but not over the phone. Can you meet me somewhere? Maybe at a restaurant or something, someplace pretty public? This could get me killed, so I'd rather be in a crowd.”
“Sure. How about the Cherry Creek mall, the food court? That's always pretty crowded, but we should be able to talk.”
“Okay,” the woman said, “that'll work. Meet me there in an hour, and I can tell you what you need to know. You'll know me, I'll be wearing a jacket with Barry's band on it.”
She hung up before Sam could say another word, so he got up, showered and dressed. It wasn't even seven AM yet, so Indie and Kenzie were still in bed. He wrote a note and left it on the kitchen table, then went out and got onto his motorcycle, fired it up and rode off toward the mall.
The weather was nice, and the ride woke him up quickly. When he got to the mall, he parked as close to the food entrance as he could, pulled his cane from the clips he'd mounted on the bike to hold it and started walking toward the food court.
There weren't a lot of people there yet, but he spotted a woman in a Step Back Once jacket sitting off by herself near the coffee shop. He walked past her at first and saw that she didn't react, got himself a cup of coffee and then went to her table.
“Are you the lady who called me this morning?” he asked, and she looked up at him nervously. “About Barry?”
She nodded, and he sat down. “I'm Samantha Harris,” she said. “Barry and I were old friends, and sometimes more than that, if you know what I mean. I can't believe he's dead, but I think I know how he got that way, and Billy Miller said you'd be the guy to call about it.”
Sam sipped his coffee, but said nothing. After a moment, she went on. “Barry was dealing with Jimmy Smith, the agent, you knew about that?” Sam nodded. “Well, he came to me last Saturday afternoon, and said Jimmy said he had him a deal with Sony Records, but he had to quit his band if he wanted it. He knew I'd been through that with Jimmy once before, and wanted to talk to me about it, right? So he called me up and said could he come over, and I said it was okay.”
She picked up her own coffee and took a big gulp of the steaming liquid. “So he tells me Jimmy's singing the same old tune, and I said he should ditch the bum, not the band. I told him, he's one of the best, and if the label really wanted him, they'd have asked to talk to him by now, and he could ask them if he could bring his band along. I mean, sure, they'd probably need a better keyboardist; Janice is good, but she's got problems, y'know, but the rest of them would probably make it fine, right? So we talked for about an hour, and he said he wanted to call Jimmy and tell him the deal was a no-go, but his phone was dead, so I let him use mine. He called and said he wasn't gonna do it, and I could hear Jimmy screaming at him, but Barry finally just laughed and said Jimmy could go flip himself and hung up. A little later, he left, and he's never seen alive again, right?”