Steve’s Shorts: The Piano Man…Part Two of Two
[Note from Steve: This is the start of a series of short stories inspired by my favorite songs. Some you might know, like this Billy Joel classic; others are a wee bit obscure (and possibly no longer available). The stories are freebies for readers of this blog…until they appear in a short story collection, that is. Enjoy!]
The Piano Man – Part Two
Copyright 2015, Steven M. Moore
Peterson walked into the interrogation room and nodded to the public defender.
“Hello, Nora,” said Bob Ortega. “You’re looking well.”
She took a chair across from Walter Ellison and Ortega. “I’m not in the mood for ass kissing today, counselor.” She pushed a paper across to Ellison. It had GGGEb written on it. “Can you tell me what that means?”
Ellison studied it. “Is this some kind of code? I can’t break codes. I always admired those guys when I was fighting in Afghanistan. I can say it doesn’t make sense because G is repeated.”
Is this an act? “Let’s say they’re musical notes.”
Ellison hummed. “Yeah, that makes sense. It’s the four opening notes of Beethoven’s Fifth.”
“Does it have any other meaning?”
“Hmm. If I remember my Boy Scout merit badge work correctly and take it to signify dot-dot-dot-dash, that’s V. In World War Two, I think Churchill used both the notes and V to rally the Brits—V for victory.” He looked at Ortega. “I thought we were going to discuss the charges against me.”
“We were,” said Ortega. “Where is this going, Detective?”
“Do you know the name of your victim?” Peterson said to Ellison.
“You’re leading my client,” said Ortega. “It’s incumbent upon the police and the DA to prove my client had something to do with this crime. Use of the pronoun ‘your’ is tantamount to asking him to confess to a crime.”
Peterson frowned. “OK. Have you heard who the victim is?”
“You told me it was Billy Hunter,” said Ellison. “Did you get the name wrong?”
“No, it’s Billy Hunter.” Damn, that was a slip. I must be tired. “Did you know Billy Hunter?”
“By reputation. His father brags about his Little League prowess all the time at the VFW post.”
Is that a connection? “So you know the father, Nate Hunter?”
“We talked once during one of my breaks at the bar. I generally do three sessions with breaks in between.” He flexed his fingers. “More for the voice than the hands. I used to do only two, but the tip jar started overflowing.”
“You draw good crowds?”
“Even during the week, but Friday and Saturday nights are crazy. Still not enough to rent an apartment. I bailed on the last one. No one would rent to me now anyway.”
Peterson wrote a few notes. “So you’ve never met Billy Hunter.”
“Detective, the only thing I know about Billy is that his father says he’s a great shortstop but needs to learn to hit better. I told him not to worry—a lot of MLB shortstops are great at defense and bad at offense.” He smiled. “I don’t know where you’re going with this. A lot of the fathers brag about their kids. I figure that listening to them is the price I have to pay to get some free refreshments.” There was a twinkle in his eye.
Am I starting to like this guy? “You’re at the VFW often?”
“It’s dinner some nights. It’s hard to cook in my van, and I get tired of fast food.”
“Back to Beethoven. Do those notes signify anything else?”
“They’re powerful notes. I suppose they could signify strength and power. It was once thought that Beethoven intended them to mean fate knocking at the door, but that was probably just an exuberant publicist.”
“Fate, huh?” Whose fate? The perp’s or the vic’s? “Do you understand all the charges against you, Mr. Ellison?”
“Not really. I was sleeping off a hangover and your people woke me up. You have the wrong man. I’d never hurt a kid.”
“Did you and your wife have kids?”
“We tried. Considering the circumstances, it’s probably a good thing we didn’t. Please leave Angela out of this.”
“Just trying to understand you better. Were you ever diagnosed with PTSD?”
“My client doesn’t have to answer that question,” said Ortega.
“I don’t mind,” said Ellison. “While I sometimes have nightmares about my tours over there, I don’t have PTSD. Did you?”
“How did you know I served?”
“A lot of cops do, but Bob told me.”
“The answer is no, but it’s really none of your business. Let’s keep the questions to mine.”
They went on for almost an hour. She ran out of steam before Ellison did.
***
“That didn’t go well,” said Monday.
“With the mayor, or watching my lame attempts to obtain a confession.”
“Both, I guess. But forget about the mayor for now. What’s your take on Ellison?”
Peterson sighed. “Either he’s innocent or he’s very good at hiding his guilt.”
“What’s your gut feeling?”
“That we have the wrong guy. There’s no concrete evidence. Saying Beethoven was a musician and Ellison’s also a musician is a pretty flimsy connection, don’t you think?”
Monday nodded. Stood and poured some coffee for himself and then raised an eyebrow to Peterson. She shook her head. He sat again. “So, did you have PTSD?”
“It affected me, yes. I was never diagnosed with it. And I’ve been over the experience for a long time. Ellison’s more recent.”
Monday shook his head. “Having PTSD isn’t a crime by any stretch of the imagination. I’m really wading in the dog crap now, though, because we have no other POIs. The mayor suggested removing you from the case, by the way. He wants us to give it to someone else who can take it to the DA.” He smiled. “I told him to stick it in a nice way, that he can run the city, but not Riverside PD.” He put an index finger on the file folder that had become larger as the hours passed. “Canvassing that whole area produced squat. And Nate says no way someone came into his house to take Billy.”
“The kid might have let himself out,” she said. “Any forensics indicating that?”
“Billy’s fingerprints are all over the place. Why wouldn’t they be? He lives there. When we eliminate all family members, no prints are left. He must have gone outside.”
“The neighbors aren’t good POIs either. The one in back is an old lady who thought Billy was the cat’s meow. The two families on either side are on vacation. Ones across the street check out too. And there aren’t too many other kids in the neighborhood.”
“What about gangs? Don’t some of them congregate in that park where they picked up Ellison?”
“They meet there to drink and smoke. That’s pretty harmless and out in the open. Other things they do, not so much. Do you think this is some kind of weird initiation?”
“That would be a first for this town. The only Fifth those boys would know about comes straight from Kentucky.” He frowned. “We’re either going to have to charge Ellison or let him go, you know.”
“Let’s do that,” she said. “We’ll tail him.”
***
It was Peterson’s shift two nights later when Ellison left the club. She watched him head toward the van, fake books in hand. He opened the back, put the music inside, and closed the doors. He moved around to the front. She could see under that van and watched his feet. They disappeared into shadows.
She waited. Did I lose him?
A knock on the passenger window made her jump. Ellison slid into her passenger seat.
“Hello, Detective. I was waiting for you.”
Can I get to my gun in time? “Really? You knew we were tailing you?”
“I was in combat in Afghanistan. When every sound is a threat and every shadow can kill you, you develop a keen sense of surveillance and detection. Even smell—the Taliban don’t bathe too often.” He smiled. “I was waiting for you, though. I wanted to get to know you better.”
In what way? “I’m not sure the feeling is mutual.”
“I suppose not. You seem like a nice person, though. Can I invite you in to have a drink?”
“In the bar?”
“It’s really a night club, but they haven’t closed yet. The serious drinkers still linger on.”
“I’m on duty.”
“Of course. What was I thinking? How ‘bout tomorrow night? Come around and catch my first set, and I’ll buy you a drink on my break.”
“I thought you were homeless?”
“The cost of a few drinks doesn’t come near paying rent for an apartment. Joe might give us freebies too. I just received a raise, though. People are coming in from around the entire county just to hear me.” Ellison made a face.
“Isn’t that good?”
“Ever heard the adage about being a victim of your own success. Success is overrated. It just complicates our lives. Right now I have no encumbrances besides my van.”
“But you invited me for a drink.”
“I said I wanted to know you better, not marry you. I don’t have a good track record in that department.”
“Your fault or Angela’s?”
“Does it matter?” He slid out of the car. “Think about tomorrow night. Let me just say you have a good influence on me. I’ve been sober since I met you.” He waved his fingers. “Playing better too. Come see.”
She followed him into the countryside where he pulled onto a side road and parked. After fifteen minutes, she left her suspect to his dreams.
***
Peterson walked into the office that morning, sat and her desk, and was confronted by Monday.
“Were you tailing Ellison?” he said.
“Until he pulled off of County Road Six to sleep. Why? That’s been SOP on this tail. We have other cases.”
He nodded. “Susie Vickers is missing.”
Peterson searched her memory. “Who’s Susie Vickers?”
“The mayor’s secretary’s kid.”
I should have known that. “How old is she?”
“She just turned twelve. Pat is on sedatives and Chuck has threatened to go after Ellison with a gun. We had to restrain him. We have Ellison in protective custody. He said he talked to you, so he discovered the tail.”
“From night one, I think. He was very pleasant and asked me to join him for a drink at the night club tonight. What time did Susie go missing?”
“They haven’t seen her since about half past ten,” said Monday.
“That clears Ellison,” said Peterson. “Does Chuck know that?”
“He says Ellison could have grabbed her on his break.”
She thought a moment. “Don’t the Vickers live on the other side of town from the bar?”
Monday nodded. “People aren’t listening to me, including the mayor. They’d lynch Ellison if he weren’t in custody.”
“Have you questioned Ellison?”
“I was leaving that for you, but are you too involved with him to be objective?”
“Oh, please. The man asked me to drink with him. And I didn’t say yes. I was pretty surprised.”
“Then he’s all yours.”
***
“Do you know the Vickers family?” said Peterson.
Ellison, who had been resting his head on his hands at the table, looked at Bob Ortega. The lawyer nodded.
“I knew Patsy a long time ago. She’s from my hometown. I didn’t even know she was living here. I thought the only person I knew from here was Mayor Bradley.”
“How did you know Sam Bradley?”
“Basic training. We were in a scuffle once. He landed in the brig for a bit.”
“What was that about?”
“I just wanted to show him how to break his gun down faster. I never quite understood what pissed him off. Those are the kind of unpleasant things that are better forgotten.”
“Excuse me a minute,” said Peterson.
She left the interrogation room to join Monday, who’d been behind the glass.
“Did the mayor ever mention that he knew Ellison?”
“Nope. Not a word. Who’d figure that?”
“While I finish with Ellison, can you have Kathy fetch the mayor’s service record?”
“Where are you going with this? Bradley’s as squeaky clean as Mickey Mouse.”
“Why? Did you see his service record?”
Monday blushed. “Of course not. No one performs a background check on a sitting mayor. We might be the police, but this isn’t a police state.”
“Aren’t you a bit curious? We already have Ellison’s service record. It didn’t mention any altercation. That tells me that the onus is on Bradley, at least according to DoD.”
“OK. But let’s keep this between Kathy, you, and me for now. We’re treading on thin ice.”
She returned to the interrogation.
***
“I want that man charged!” said Mayor Bradley. He was red in the face and bellowing.
“Sit down, Sam” said Monday, indicating a chair. The mayor sat. “I’ve asked Nora Peterson to join us in this little discussion.”
When Peterson entered, she nodded toward the mayor and winked at Monday.
“Why didn’t you say you knew Walter Ellison from basic training?” said Monday.
“What? What difference does that make?” He looked at Peterson and then back at Monday. “OK, I had a tiff with the jerk. Do you think I’m trying to frame him for that?”
“I’ll let Nora answer that.”
“We asked for your military records, Mister Mayor,” she said. “I was curious because you were thrown in the brig for that altercation and Ellison was not.”
“That’s because the CO was black too,” said Bradley with a growl.
“We’ll ignore that statement,” said Monday with a smile. It wasn’t often that he had three people in his little office at the same time, so his own black skin was shiny with perspiration. Of course, Bradley’s was more red than white. “Go ahead, Nora.”
“Actually we couldn’t access the reason with DoD. So I asked an FBI friend to pressure them a bit and DoD finally opened your records. All of them. You were in the brig for possessing child pornography, right? And you barely avoided a court martial in Korea when you were accused of raping a Korean boy. Where’s Susie Vickers, Mr. Mayor? And where were you on the night when Billy Hunter was killed? What happened? Did you see Ellison’s old van and decide to have some fun while framing him?”
“I want my lawyer. When I’m through with you two, you’ll be homeless too.”
“I wouldn’t bluster so much, Sam. It’s not good for your blood pressure. Read him his rights, Nora.”
***
“I don’t get it,” said Ellison. “In basic training, I didn’t even know about the porn.”
He took a sip of his drink.
“Bradley didn’t know that. He’s been worried you’d expose him for years and when you showed up here in Riverside, he lost it. In the interim, he had made his pictorial fantasies come to life. We saved Susie, poor thing, but he has left a trail of little bodies, kids raped and murdered. I suppose his lawyer will make an insanity plea.”
She straightened her blond hair. She’d put on some makeup. Ellison raised his glass to her. “I want to thank you for believing in me.”
“I didn’t. You had opportunity and you were a night owl and homeless guy. I jumped to conclusions. It’s hard to maintain an even keel when you see vics like this. I suffer for them and I suffer for their families.”
“Understood. What about that Beethoven crap?”
“He wanted something to point to you.”
“He confessed to all this?”
“Even the case in Korea. He’s looking for leniency. I’m betting he’ll get it along with a long sentence in a prison for the criminally insane.” She smiled at him. “So, what’s in your future?”
“Not jail or worse, thanks to you. I’m still maintaining my sobriety streak. That guy I was talking to? He has a recording studio. He wants to make a CD with me. Go figure.”
“So you’re hanging around here?”
“For a while. That place on the other side of town offered me a gig, so Joe here had to match their offer to keep me. I guess you’re good luck, Detective.”
“Just call me Nora. Our professional relationship is now over.”
“What about a personal one?”
“It’s starting.”
***
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In elibris libertas…
