Death Sung Softly (9 page)

“That was for you, Baby,” he said, and the crowd went crazy again.

Chris hit a lick on his guitar and they launched into the next song in the set, and slowly the place went back to the normal, loud dance club that it was. Sam sang over and over, and the more he sang, the more the crowd loved him, and he knew he'd found something that he wanted to hold onto, at least for a while.

When the final set was over, Sam and the band all sat down together for a few minutes, gathered around Indie's table. Candy patted Indie's hand, and asked, “So, did he get to you?”

Indie laughed. “Oh, yeah, you could say that! It's funny, but all the words in that song were things he's said to me; that it isn't my looks he wants, that we need to take it a day at a time, all of it—and yet, when I heard him sing it, they all took on a whole different meaning, y'know?” She was looking at Sam, and he felt like blushing.

“I know what you mean,” Candy said. “You know what I'd give to have a guy feel like that about me? You are one lucky girl, Indie, and don't you dare let this one get away!”

They packed everything up, and Chris went to get paid. When he came out, he handed Sam a stack of bills.

“What's this?” Sam asked.

“Your cut, man. Everybody gets fifteen percent of the gig, and the rest goes into the operating fund. We got two grand for the gig, so there's three hundred bucks there for you.”

Sam looked at the money in his hand. “I almost feel bad, taking this,” he said. “Maybe—maybe this should go into a memorial for Barry, or something.”

Chris shook his head. “No, man, you stepped up and did the job, so you get the pay. Trust me when Is ay Barry would want it that way. He was as fair and honest as they come, he'd want it this way, I promise.”

Sam nodded and slipped the money into his pocket, and then it was time to go. He walked Indie out to the Vette, limping all the way and leaning heavily on his cane, but still insisted on opening her door for her, and closing it when he was in. He went around to the driver's door and got behind the wheel, then looked over at her.

“Well,” he said, “how did I really do?”

Indie smiled at him, and then leaned over and kissed him with everything she had. Sam put his arms around her and pulled her close, and the kiss got even hotter, until he finally said, “Whoa, we gotta stop this!”

“Why?” Indie whispered into his ear.

“Because this is a Corvette, and there isn't enough room in this car for what's about to happen if you don't stop, right now! I've been a gentleman, but a guy can only take so much, Baby, and you’re pushing all my buttons!”

Indie slid back into her own seat and smiled at him. “Then I suggest you get us home,” she said in a sultry voice, “so I can show you just how much you really got to me tonight!”

Sam fired up the Vette and left rubber on the parking lot pavement. He drove as calmly as he could, but Indie was caressing his arm and running her hand on his right leg, and he was doing all he could to force himself to remember the rules of the road.

Sam's phone woke him the next morning, and he woke groggily to reach for it, but couldn't move his arm. A second later he was wide awake, as he realized that the reason it wouldn't move was because Indie was laying on it. Instantly, he remembered the night before, and exactly how she'd shown him how he'd gotten to her with his song, and the smile that spread across his face was a mile wide.

The phone was still ringing, though, and so he reached with his other arm behind his head to get it.

“Hello?” he said, and then a recording began to play.

“Hello. This call is from” and a new voice said, “Jimmy Smith,” followed by the original voice saying, “who is an inmate at the county jail. To accept the call, dial five. To decline the call and block all future calls from this inmate, dial nine.”

Sam looked at the phone and thought for a second, then pressed the number five. A second later he heard sounds in the background on the other end.

“Hello?” he said again.

“Hey, Man, thanks for taking the call. Listen, I was wondering if you would come down and see me.”

Sam shook his head. “Why is that, Jimmy? I mean, I didn't put you there, the cops did.”

Smith laughed ironically. “Yeah, I know,” he said, “but here's the thing. I didn't do it. I did not kill Barry Wallace, and someone is going to great lengths to make it look like I did. If I don't get some serious help real soon, Mr. Prichard, I'm gonna find myself standing trial for a murder I didn't commit, and the way it looks, even I would convict me! I need help, and you're the only guy I trust, right at the moment.”

“Jimmy, why would you trust me? From what I've been told, you seem to be the only viable suspect in this case. Why do you think I can help you?”

“Look, Mr. Prichard, the cops aren't even trying to look for anyone else in this case, they think they got the right guy, and with the evidence stacking up the way it does, I can't blame them. That doesn't change the fact that I did not do it, though, so I need someone who knows how to investigate properly, and you're about the only PI in the whole damn state worth his salt. I need someone with your experience and skills, and you’re the only one who really wants to see the truth in this case. Now, I can pay you whatever you want, and I will; I just need your help.”

Sam thought for a long moment, and the first thing that crossed his mind was that he'd had some kind of misgivings about the way the case was solved so easily.

“I'll come down,” he said. “What time is visiting hours?”

“They start at noon, but I asked the head jailer, and he said if I hire a PI or a lawyer, they can come anytime and we can go into a meeting room and talk privately. I'll be ready anytime, just come as soon as you can, okay?”

Sam sighed. “I'll be there in a couple of hours,” he said.

Smith let out a sigh of his own. “Thanks, Mr. Prichard, I really appreciate it. I'll talk to you then.”

Sam put down the phone, and noticed that Indie was awake and looking at him. “Jimmy Smith?” she asked.

“Yep. He says he didn't do it, and wants to hire me to try to prove it.”

“You think there's any chance he's telling the truth?”

Sam nodded. “Strange as it may seem, Babe, I think there might be. Something about the way the case ended has been bothering me, like there's something I've overlooked. I think I want to hear what he's got to say.”

“I heard you say you'd be there in two hours. How long does it take you to get there?”

“Half hour or so.”

“Good,” she said, “cause I'm not done with you yet.” She rolled over on top of him, and he stopped thinking about Jimmy Smith.

An hour later, he got up and showered while Indie went back to sleep for a while, then slipped into his clothes and out the front door. He drove the van downtown to the jail and told the jailer he was there as a PI to see Jimmy Smith. A few minutes later, another jailer came to escort him to an interview room normally used by police and lawyers.

“You sit here,” the jailer said, indicating one of a pair of chairs on one side of a table. “Smith will sit across from you. If he gets violent or anything, just yell, and one of us will be right outside. I don't know if you've seen him, but he's a big son of a bitch!”

“I know him,” Sam said, and the jailer nodded and left. A moment later, he returned with Smith and told him to sit in his chair and not to get out of it for any reason.

“No problem,” Smith said, and the jailer left them alone.

“Mr. Prichard,” he began, but Sam held up a hand to stop him.

“Just Sam,” he said, and Smith nodded.

“Thanks for coming, Sam. I know it must have been a hard decision, especially after the last time we met. I wasn't very polite, and I apologize for it.”

Sam shrugged. “I was pretty rude, myself, that day. Let's forget that and get on to this. To be honest, I wasn't a hundred percent convinced you were guilty, and I guess I'm still not. Tell me your side of it.”

“That's part of the problem,” Smith said, “I don't even have a side to tell. I have no idea how Barry died, and no clue how his head ended up in my property. The place where they found it, that spot is back by the road behind my place, and if you ask me, anyone could have driven up there in the middle of the night, got out and buried that stuff, and been gone before anyone noticed. I sure didn't hear anything.”

Sam sat there and looked at him for a minute. “I've talked to someone who says Barry called you from her phone and said he wasn't interested in your record deal, a few hours after you say he told you he'd sign and leave the band.”

Smith nodded. “I heard. Samantha Harris. I got a call from her that day, but it wasn't from Barry. She called me and said Barry asked her to call and say he wasn't interested. I said that was BS, but she insisted it was true, so I started trying to call Barry and he never answered. I figured she talked him out of it, and that he just wasn't answering for me, and that's when I called her and left the message they're using against me. I was trying to tell her to butt out, was all, cause I figured she was talking him into ignoring me.”

Sam thought it through. He'd seen the call to Smith's phone on Samantha's, but there was no way to know who had placed it, of course. Smith could be telling the truth.

“What did the cops say when you told them this?”

Smith snorted. “I asked them to put me on a polygraph, and they said it wasn't worth their time and effort. They basically said they've got me, so they're not gonna look for anyone else. That's why I thought to call you, Sam.”

So who do you think is framing you? Samantha Harris?”

“Nah, she's not this smart,” Smith said. “But I can guarantee you she knows who's doing it, and working right along with 'em! Otherwise, she'd never have thought to say Barry called me that day from her phone. She'd have tried to pretend she never talked to me at all.”

“Then who else could it be? It'd have to be someone who hated Barry enough to kill him, and hated you enough to want you to go down for it. Any ideas?”

Smith nodded. “Two possibilities,” he said. “One would be Chris Lancaster; we've had a problem since I tried to get him in with that big band, and he's run his mouth several times about wanting to see me get what he says I deserve, and if Barry did say he was leaving the band, he'd have been hot enough to flip his lid. He'd be the first one I'd look at.”

“And the second?”

“Barry's sister, Marjorie. Back when I started working with Chris, he told me about how his sister is raising his kid, and he was trying to make enough money he could get her back. I thought if I could help him out with that, then he'd sign the contract and I'd be hone free and making the big money, so I went to talk to her. She and her husband went absolutely nuts on me; she even pulled a gun and threatened to shoot me if I ever talked to her again! She said she'd see Barry rot in hell before she ever let him have his daughter back, and that if I didn't stay out of it, she'd send me there right along with him. She's a nutcase, and I guarantee you she'd be capable of killing her own brother!”

Sam sat there for another long moment, just considering what Smith had said. If he was telling the truth, and there was no reason to doubt him at the moment, then it was very possible that he was innocent. Sam wasn't convinced that Chris was a killer, but the sister was an unknown quantity.

“Let's assume for the moment that I believe you're innocent. There still are no guarantees that I can prove that. You do understand that, right?”

Smith nodded. “I know,” he said, “but you’re the only hope I've got. I'll pay you fifty thousand to get your ass out there and try to find the real killer, Sam. If you manage it, I'll give you another fifty on top of that. Fair enough?”

Sam nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “How do I get the money? They let you have a checkbook in here?”

“No, but I talked this over with my wife Sheila last night, and she said to call you. I'll give you her number, and she'll give it to you in cash today.”

Sam's eyebrows went up. “You keep that kind of money around in cash?”

“Hey, sometimes cash is what makes the big deals happen! I keep better than half a million in cash there in a safe, just in case I need it. Just call her and she'll let you have it. And Sam? Thank you, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”

“If you really are innocent,” Sam said, “then I'm gonna do my best to prove it. If you’re not, and you're playing me, then I'm gonna take your money and enjoy the heck out of it while you rot in prison, understood?”

Smith stood up and extended a hand. “Perfectly,” he said, “and I'd feel exactly the same way if I was you!”

Sam shook his hand, and then knocked to let the jailer know he was done. The same one came and escorted Smith back to his cell, while another walked Sam out.

When he got outside, he dialed the number Smith had given him, and a woman answered.

“Mrs. Smith, this is Sam Prichard,” he said, and she started talking and crying all at once.

“Oh, thank God, Mr. Prichard, thank God you called! You talked to Jimmy already?”

“Yes, he told me...”

“To call me, yes,” she said. “I've got the money for you now, fifty thousand dollars in cash. Can you come by for it, or do you want me to bring it to you somewhere?”

“I can come by. I can be there in about thirty minutes, is that alright?”

“Yes, yes, I'll be here! And thank you, thank you so much for being willing to help!”

Sam hung up and got into the van to drive to the Smith place, a fairly large mansion on the edge of the city. He got there just when he'd said he would, and Mrs. Smith answered the doorbell instantly. She was a ravishingly beautiful woman, a few years younger than her husband, but obviously in great shape. She invited him in, and he stepped into a grand foyer, then followed her into her kitchen.

She picked up a small cloth bag, the kind used by upscale stores, and handed it to him. Sam glanced inside and saw several stacks of bills with paper bank wrappers still on them. Each was marked $1000, and he estimated that there were probably fifty of them, as promised. He didn't bother to count it.

“Mr. Prichard,” she said, “I do thank you for helping us. Jimmy isn't nearly as bad a man as some people think, and this is very hard on our whole family. I know he didn't do this, Mr. Prichard, I
know
he didn't do it. I even told the police, he was with me the whole day that Barry disappeared; I was here when Barry called him, and when that woman called him, too. I know for sure that he's innocent, but the police think I'm just lying to try to protect him, and I guess I can see why they'd think a wife would do that, but I’m telling the truth!”

Sam looked at her for a moment, and then asked a question. “Mrs. Smith, would you have any ideas who might want to frame your husband for murder? Does anyone come to mind when you think about it?”

She looked him in the eye for a long moment, and then asked one of her own. “Mr. Prichard, is a private investigator like a lawyer? Do you keep confidential what your clients tell you?”

“We're not protected by the law on such matters, Mrs. Smith, but I can give you my word on it. Anything you tell me will stay between us.”

Mrs. Smith stood there for a few seconds, then said, “Mr. Prichard, my husband is a good provider and a wonderful father, but he's also a man, and sometimes he strays. This Samantha Harris was one of those he has strayed with in the past, and the truth about the time he supposedly assaulted her is that they got into a fight because he would not leave me and marry her. That's what caused her to back out of the contract he was working on for her, and that led to the big fight. If you ask me, she's had it in for him ever since, and since she's the one who supposedly came up with all this evidence...”

“Then you think she's behind it? I asked Jimmy about her, and he said she isn't smart enough to do this on her own.”

Mrs. Smith smiled, but it was a bitter smile. “My husband has a low opinion of the female intelligence, I'm afraid. Is she smart enough? Oh, yes, she's very intelligent, and very devious! I think she's quite capable of doing this, and I know she's had some sort of relationship with Barry that was pretty rocky, too. I'm not sure what it was all about, but there were times when she loved him, and others when she hated his guts!”