Steve’s shorts: Mayhem, Murder, and Music’s The Tightrope Walker…Part Three of Three
[Note from Steve: I’ve decided to title this series of short stories suggested by musical pieces as above, so don’t be surprised to see a short story collection later on that sports this title. For now, you can read them for free and find it, along with the others, in “Steve’s Shorts.” This one is inspired by the Second Movement of Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G. If you think that dude is an impressionist/jazz composer, think again. This music is about as romantic as you can get. Enjoy.]
The Tightrope Walker, Part Three of Three
Copyright 2015, Steven M. Moore
“We have a shell casing with a partial,” said the CSI.
“You’re kidding. Where did you find it?”
“You told us to go over the center ring again where Yuri was practicing. We were a bit more thorough this time, that’s all. Or luckier. It was wedged into a seam in the ring’s border with moist sawdust.”
“By someone?”
“Probably not. Probably just kicked there. Everyone practices in that main ring. The only ring. It’s a small circus.”
I nodded. “OK, so who’s the partial belong to?”
“You’re not going to believe this,” said the CSI with a smile.
“Try me.”
“Cynthia Brock.” Thought a moment; then I jumped up. “Where are you going, Detective?”
“I need to see if Cynthia was in the circus that night watching the practice,” I said.
I cursed my stupidity. It had never occurred me to check that. Like many performances, the circus sold cheap tickets for rehearsals. The public loved them. The crowds don’t often mind that there are repeats, false starts, and glitches. Some people think that’s more fun.
We had only studied the video to determine if we could see the shooter. But the cameras pan through the crowd too because the cameramen are rehearsing too. The shooter could have been in the crowd and then gone behind scenes. Who would know? But I’d know if I saw Cynthia.
***
“This is most irregular,” said Mr. Brock. “Shouldn’t Cynthia be here?”
“It won’t matter either way,” I said as the CSU began its search in the Brocks’ home. “But you might want to get her a lawyer.”
“That’s absurd. Just because she was in the audience doesn’t make her the shooter. She doesn’t even have a gun.”
Twenty minutes later we had the unusual gun packed up in a plastic evidence bag, together with a box of the peculiar bullets. I put out a BOLO on Cynthia Brock. Her father called his lawyer.
But I’m paid to have second thoughts. Who killed Tara? Unless Cynthia had killed both Yuri and Tara, a possibility, someone else had to kill Tara. The two shootings were a week apart, though. Why did she wait so long? Maybe she decided that losing Yuri wasn’t punishment enough for Tara?
The BOLO soon had its effect. Cynthia was spotted by a uniform buying a dress on Fifth Avenue. We had her for one murder. The other would probably remain unsolved. That wasn’t satisfying for me, but it happens. Tara didn’t have any relatives that needed closure either.
A week later, the DA’s office had taken the case and run with it. I still wasn’t satisfied.
***
“Detective, can I have a moment?”
Hamilton Brock had seemed to age in a week. Wrote it off to the fact that he still loved his daughter and was stressed out. Thought maybe their attorney was good enough to strike some kind of plea bargain or give the DA’s office a run for their money, but that wouldn’t satisfy the old man.
I nodded and motioned to my old visitor’s chair.
“I’ll be blunt,” he said. “Don’t you think this is too easy? Here you can’t come up with any real suspects, and suddenly you find a shell casing in some sawdust.”
I smiled. “OK, I’ll give you that it seems a bit too convenient, but so what? Criminals aren’t that smart, Mr. Brock. Your daughter slipped up with the casing and the gun. Cops aren’t rocket scientists either, but we will solve the cases when crooks are more stupid than we are.”
“I’m not trying to comment about anyone’s mental prowess,” said Brock. “My daughter might have been obsessed with Yuri, but she’s no killer. And she’s not stupid. I’m saying this is a frame. Someone’s framing my daughter.”
“Forgetting the fact that you’re a biased observer, do you have any ideas who would do that?”
“Arthur Hill.” My eyebrows arched. “He must have wanted Cynthia after all.”
“That’s farfetched. And why would he kill Tara then?”
“I don’t know about Tara, but Cynthia was obsessed with Yuri. That’s enough motive if Arthur still had a thing for Cynthia. Payback to both Yuri and Cynthia, in fact, exactly the scenario you described earlier.”
“A good story, but still farfetched. Let’s go with it for the sake of argument. Again, why kill Tara?”
“God knows. Maybe he wanted her too. He’s kind of creepy. Smart, but creepy.”
I shrugged. “If I were you, Mr. Brock, I would start getting used to the idea that Cynthia’s going away for a long time. The DA has enough evidence for that.”
“Did the gun have Cynthia’s fingerprints?” Brock said.
“No. It was wiped clean. Two rounds had been fired, though, and the gun hadn’t been cleaned after firing them.”
“Where’s the other shell casing?”
“Beats me. That’s not important. We don’t have to solve Tara’s murder, you know.”
“As a detective, that should be unsatisfying.”
It was, but I wasn’t going to admit it to the prime suspect’s father.
***
Unsatisfied as I was with the case, I started working on others, trying to put Yuri’s murder out of my mind until the trial began. It kept bouncing around in my head, though. But I just couldn’t see what stones I’d left unturned. We had the gun, so a search of the entire circus wasn’t called for. All the evidence pointed to Cynthia. Hill insisted it had to be her, and he had a solid alibi for the night when Yuri was killed—he had been in the same bar where I met him the second time. I hadn’t just taken the barkeep’s word for that—we had Hill on a CCTV tape at the bar, and the time stamps were clear.
Two days before the trial, I caught another break. The director of the amateur thespian group called.
“I remember the woman’s name who helped Cynthia Brock and Arthur Hill with their lines. It was Laura Polzin. Hill mentioned her, but I never met her.”
I thanked the man and found the case file to see if I’d talked to anyone with that name. I hadn’t, but she was in the file. She was also a clown. I set up an interview.
I’d missed her in my interviews because she was out with flu. She was one of the happy clowns.
“I’ve been informed that you helped Cynthia and Arthur with their Romeo and Juliet lines. Can you confirm?”
Polzin was a redhead closer to my size, a bit chubbier too. She had an easy smile. The name sounded Russian, but maybe there was an Irish leprechaun relative in her genealogy. In my polyglot city where hundreds of languages and dialects are spoken, I knew that was irrelevant to the case. I was just curious. For all I knew, that Irish person might be an O’Connell.
“No problem. I’m a good friend, or was, of both Yuri and Tara, and I knew Hill through Yuri. I just prompted them until they had it down. They were good at it, though. Shakespeare’s not easy, you know.”
“A foreign language, as far as I’m concerned. Did you know Yuri before he joined the circus?”
“I came on board after him. Tara and I are younger. We used to have a business being clowns at kids’ birthdays. Like any business, you have to work your way up. She was my connection here.”
“What was Tara like?”
“Because of her history, which I don’t want to get into, she was paranoid. She didn’t particularly trust men. Always kept a gun handy in her trailer.” She was taken a bit aback by my expression. I probably looked like I was struck by lightning. “I can see you think that’s important. She bought it when we had a gig in Georgia. Some redneck was obsessed with her and reminded her of her father. I advised she purchase a gun, knowing it would make her feel better. She had a license and a permit to carry, but she kept it here in her trailer. When we were doing birthday parties, she’d slip it into my glove compartment.”
“Do you know who else knew she had that gun?”
Laura shrugged. “God knows. Yuri probably did. He slept in the trailer most nights. You know how it is: Separate abodes in case it doesn’t work out. Oh, and Enrique knew about it, because Tara threatened him once with it, making him leave the trailer.”
Great—yet another suspect. “Did it have a silencer?”
“I don’t think so. Aren’t they illegal?”
“They’re legal in about 80% of the states. In New York and New Jersey, they’re illegal.”
“What about Georgia?”
“They’re legal there.”
“Then she could have had a silencer, I guess. Wouldn’t that add to the expense? Guns aren’t cheap to begin with, and Tara wasn’t rich by any means. Yuri wanted to get married, but Tara wanted to wait until they had more of a nest egg.”
“Makes sense.” I handed her my card. “This is useful information, Laura. Thanks. If you can think of anything else, let me know.”
***
It was easy to compare Tara’s gun license with the gun we had recovered from Cynthia’s house. It was a match. Either Cynthia had stolen the gun from Tara, or someone else killed Yuri. Could that someone be Enrique Jimenez?
But that clown had been undergoing laser eye surgery. Figured. He couldn’t wear glasses and contacts wouldn’t work well with all the circus sawdust and other detritus.
I made a trip to the holding jail. Cynthia Brock didn’t look too fashionable in her orange jumper suit. Not too bad, though. Some women can look good in anything. I had to struggle.
“I have nothing to say to you detective,” she said to me from across the metal table in the interrogation room. Her attorney was present.
“Just one question, please,” I said. “Did you know Tara Finley had a gun?”
“I advise you not to answer,” said the attorney.
“Oh, shut up, Claude! I can’t get into any more trouble than I’m in.” She gave him the finger and turned to me. “Of course I didn’t. I didn’t want to be near her. She stole Yuri.”
“Did she know you were obsessed with Yuri?”
“It wasn’t an obsession. I loved Yuri. Arthur turned him against me, so he settled for Tara.”
The attorney cringed. “Please, Cynthia. You don’t have to answer these questions.”
She gave him the finger again. “Dumb ass, if I don’t answer them now, I’ll probably have to answer them at the trial. At least here it’s only between the three of us.”
It was amusing that Cynthia was worried about her image. “Did Tara think Yuri still liked you, in spite of Hill’s advice.”
“God knows. Arthur’s the real culprit here. If he hadn’t turned Yuri against me, everything would have been fine.”
“Did Arthur know about Tara’s gun?”
“I suppose. He and Yuri were like twin brothers. In high school, we used to think they could read others’ minds, they were so close. Yin and yang.”
I thought a minute. Dominoes were falling. Yin and yang? Who was yin and who was yang? The whole convoluted mess started to make sense. At least, I had a good idea how things went down. Could I prove my theory?
I concluded that the case had to be solved in court. But I needed a bit more evidence.
***
“Hello, Detective,” said Arthur Hill. “Who are your friends?
“We have a search warrant.”
“Please come in, then.”
“It’s for your car, not your house, Arthur. Is it in your garage?”
“Of course. I keep it away from the elements as much as possible. I spent good money for that car.”
The car was a top-of-the-line Audi. The CSU combed through it. When they finished, they nodded to me.
“Can I ask what this is about?”
“Nothing much. Thank you for your patience.”
We left the man puzzled. It hadn’t taken them long to find what I needed.
***
“Mr. Hill, have you seen this gun before?”
“No. I don’t like guns. I think the NRA is a club for weirdoes with penis envy.”
“Objection,” said the prosecutor.
“Please just answer the questions, Mr. Hill,” said the judge. “We don’t need you to editorialize.”
“Then no, I’ve never seen that gun before.”
“Did the victim tell you about Tara’s past and why she had a gun?”
“That’s two questions.”
“Granted. Answer them both, please.”
“The victim didn’t tell me; Laura Polzin told me about Tara’s past. She told me when she was coaching Cynthia and me on lines for a play.”
“And the second question. Did Ms. Polzin explain why Tara had a gun?”
“She did.”
“So both Cynthia and you knew she had a gun. Is that correct?”
“Yes. I guess she stole it.”
The defense lawyer turned to the judge. “I move to strike that last part, your honor. It’s conjecture.”
“Agreed. Don’t embellish, Mr. Hill.”
“Well, how else did she get the gun, then? We heard testimony that it was Tara’s gun.”
“Indeed,” said the attorney. “Here I’ll ask for an opinion: why do you think she needed one?”
I smiled. That was a safe opinion to ask for. Who would object? He was the defense attorney.
“To kill Yuri, of course.”
“The Brocks have plenty of guns in the house. Why steal one?”
“I don’t know. And I’m not allowed to conjecture.” Hill looked smug.
“Did you see Cynthia after Yuri died?” said the defense attorney, changing tactic. But I knew what was coming.
“I tried to console her, yes.”
“And after Tara died?”
“That’s when I visited her.”
“An interesting lapse of time. Would that be the night of—?” the attorney looked at his PDA, giving the date and time.
“It might.”
“I’m going to play a CCTV video showing a car leaving the Brock’s home. Will the court please pay attention to the time stamps?”
“Objection,” said the DA’s man. “Mr. Hill has already said he went to console Ms. Brock. We have that video. It’s a waste of time.”
“Counselor?” said the judge.
“Defense stipulates that the time stamps are key.”
The judge nodded. “Objection overruled. Please continue. But don’t waste this court’s time.”
The video showed Hill in his convertible driving away from the mansion. It was 3:37 a.m.
“Is that you, Mr. Hill?”
He shrugged. “So what? I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re complaining about.”
“No, I expect you’re coldly sober. Max, can you bring forward the report from the CSU.”
“Is this something we haven’t seen, counselor?” said the DA’s attorney.
“I’m sure it’s in your files somewhere,” said defense, “just like the video. It’s easy to miss, I suppose. Your honor, it’s a note from a CSU search of Mr. Hill’s car. The warrant was signed by Judge Sawyer, and the request was made by Detective O’Connell, who’s already testified for state in this case.”
“She didn’t say anything about that search,” said the DA’s attorney with a growl.
“You didn’t ask her. You probably thought it was procedural and irrelevant. However, I will point out that there was GSR in the glove compartment of Mr. Hill’s Audi. Mr. Hill has testified he doesn’t like guns. How did it get there, Mr. Hill?”
Arthur Hill’s face turned white. “I didn’t kill Yuri! Tara did.”
The courtroom buzz increased in volume.
“That seems like a bold statement, considering Ms. Finley isn’t here to defend herself.”
“She told me she did it. Yuri had told her about Cynthia’s obsession, but Tara thought he still had feelings for Cynthia. She lost it and killed him while he was practicing.”
“So you took the gun from her trailer?”
“Maybe.”
“Answer the question, Mr. Hill,” said the judge.
Hill put his head in his hands. “OK, I took it from the trailer. I wanted to protect her.”
Cynthia Brock jumped to her feet. “You bastard, you fucked me and then planted the gun, didn’t you? You wanted Tara!”
“Order, order!” said the judge. “Bailiff, clear the court. I’ll see the two attorneys in my chambers.”
***
That pretty much did it. Cynthia was freed, and Hill would do time for his little scheme of trying to frame her. But I knew the story didn’t end there. Why would he have done such a thing? The only possible motive was that he killed Tara and used that shell casing as part of the frame. I’d suspected that Hill really wanted Tara, but she’d balked when he told her he was going to protect her by framing Cynthia. That murder was on his hands; I just couldn’t prove it.
You win a few, you lose a few. I bought that Ravel concerto, though. Some pianist who loves wolves is playing it now on my stereo. I like the first and third movements better than the second because the latter reminds me too much that love can turn into jealousy so easily.
***
[Trivia note from Steve: Doyle has Holmes say, “The game is afoot,” but the original is from Shakespeare’s Henry V, who says, “The game’s afoot….” It’s surprising how a word has legs over a span of centuries and then has restricted usage. Today afoot would only be used in contrast to riding, if at all. I’ll leave you to figure out who the pianist is who likes wolves. I like them too…and that pianist is fantastic!]
***
[Now available on Amazon: Family Affairs, #6 in the “Detectives Chen and Castilblanco Series.”]
In elibris libertas….
