The Old Deep and Dark (19 page)

“Does your lack of sleep mean something significant? Have you moved on? Is there someone new on the horizon?”

“There's nobody else.” She was a restaurateur, for Pete's sake. She should have more to eat in her refrigerator than week-old tuna salad, pickles, capers, prepared horseradish, and a slice of moldy Jarlsberg. Sure, there was a pint of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey in the freezer, but for breakfast? That way lies madness, she thought, closing the refrigerator door. Grabbing an apple from a bowl on the kitchen counter, she drifted into the living room, the dogs trotting along beside her, hoping for their usual piece of apple core.

“So you're not going to tell me what's going on in your love life?”

“When I figure it out, you'll be the first to know.”

“Have you heard from your dad this morning?” asked Cordelia. “I was the one who called him last night, you know. Kit wanted to stay with Tommy until they dragged him out to the squad car, so she asked me to phone.”

In fact, Jane had heard from her father. It was the only reason she was up and basically though barely functioning. His call had awakened her after nine. Not exactly early. She felt like a slug for still being in bed. “Tommy's arraignment is set for this morning. Dad's representing him.”

“Any idea what this incontrovertible evidence is that the police say they have on him?” asked Cordelia.

“Not yet. We'll probably hear something later today.”

“I hate to say it, but after Tommy was carted off, both Kit and Beverly seemed relieved. I'm not saying they were happy—”

“I get it,” said Jane, dropping down on the couch. “Who wouldn't want to be off the hook in a murder investigation?”

“When Booker and Chloe got home, I detected some relief in their eyes, too. I like Booker, but boy that kid keeps such a tight rein on his feelings. First thing he does when he finds out about Tommy is head to the kitchen and make himself a chocolate sundae.”

When Jane was tired, she became highly suggestible about food. All of a sudden, ice cream sounded like the perfect breakfast.

“Anyway, I've got to take off,” said Cordelia. “Much ado today.”

“Yeah, me, too. Are you at the theater?”

“About to walk into a meeting. Later, Janey.”

“Later,” repeated Jane, already on her way to that carton of Chunky Monkey in the freezer.

*   *   *

Joji Mura's secretary, a Margaret Thatcher look-alike, led Jane back to a conference room at the far end of a carpeted hallway. She invited Jane to sit down, said that Mr. Mura would be with her shortly, and then asked if she could get Jane a cup of coffee.

Since she was already flying on caffeine and sugar, Jane declined the offer. She stood by the windows for a few minutes looking up at the heavy, gray morning sky. She turned around when the door opened, finding Dahlia Grady's divorce lawyer a much older man than she'd expected. With his straight silver hair, heavy dark glasses, plump face, and easy smile, he looked like an aging Asian cherub. He nodded to a chair, then sat down across from her. “So,” he said, folding his hands. “How can I help you?”

She briefly explained about Dahlia and that she was a private investigator working on a homicide investigation. Taking out one of her cards, she pushed it across the table.

“Sure, I remember Mrs. Grady. She was a friend of a friend.”

“Jordan Deere.”

The mention of his name caused Mura obvious pain. “Is that the homicide you're working on?”

“For Kit Deere's attorney, Raymond Lawless.”

“You're related to Mr. Lawless? You have the same last name.”

“He's my father. I wonder if we could start with a few comments about your friendship with Jordan?”

He leaned back in his chair. “Well, we met at a charity auction, must be twenty years ago.”

“You knew him well?”

“He was a dear friend, the kind of man who genuinely liked other people. That's rare, in my opinion. It was hard not to like him in return.”

“I understand he'd talked to you recently about divorcing his wife.” It was a stab in the dark. She hoped it would pay off.

“Yes,” he said, a little hesitantly. “More as a friend than as a lawyer. His attorney in Nashville will handle it for him. It's an unfortunate business. But then, it was inevitable, I suppose. Under the circumstances.”

“Could you elaborate on that a little?”

“Well, of course, because Jordan is—was—gay. I'm sure everyone in the family knows about that by now. The novel, and all. I'm hardly telling tales out of school.”

“No, of course not,” said Jane, nodding, keeping her expression neutral.

“The marriage was never meant to be anything more than a, shall we say … arrangement. Over the years, Jordan and Kit came to care deeply about each other. Frankly, I think that's the only reason the … arrangement … lasted as long as it did—that and the children, and of course, Jordan's need for, again, for want of a better term … his privacy.” He leaned back, made a bridge of his fingers. “But people change. Situations change. Jordan felt it was time to move beyond his old way of thinking. He's a huge name in his field. Sold something like forty million records worldwide. Twelve studio albums. A couple greatest hits albums. He has a Grammy, a dozen CMA awards, and he penned at least twenty-five number-one hits. So, yes, there would have been career issues to deal with, but I believe he was ready for them. He felt it would be different coming out now, though country music isn't exactly welcoming to gay talent. It would still have been a struggle. But he just kept saying, ‘What's the worst that can happen?' He was already a millionaire many times over, happy with his life. He felt coming out would be a positive action. A breath of fresh air in a section of the music industry he felt needed a reality check. I have to say I encouraged him. Now I wonder if that was a mistake.”

“Meaning you think he might have been murdered to prevent that information from becoming public knowledge?”

His lips tightened. “I have no idea why Jordan was murdered, Ms. Lawless.”

“Can you tell me when you talked to him last?”

“Last Thursday. Before he left, we scheduled a meeting for yesterday morning. Obviously, that never happened.”

“Do you know if he was planning to change his will? Or if he already had?”

“His estate was in a trust,” said Mura. “So, no changes. Except for one new bequest. That's what we were going to talk about.”

“Can you tell me about that?”

“I'm sorry. You understand.” He pushed his glasses, which had slid down his nose, back up. “I understand Tommy Prior has been arrested for Jordan's murder. I know he's been struggling with alcohol addiction for several years. And then there was that business about the hundred thousand he, well, shall we say, borrowed.”

Jane tried to downplay her eagerness as she made notes. “Do you have any specific information about that?”

“No, I'm afraid I don't.” He glanced at his watch. “I hope I've been of some help to you. I'm afraid I have another appointment.”

“I understand,” said Jane, feeling her cell phone buzz inside her pocket. When she took it out, she saw that it was a text from her father.

Mura rose from the table. “It was good meeting you. Just so you know, I plan to contact the police later today, tell them what I can. It's a sad business. I'd like to see whoever murdered Jordan put in prison.”

She thanked him for his time, shaking his hand.

“If you need to stay in the conference room to take that call, please feel free.”

Once he'd left, Jane clicked on the message.

Strange developments. Call ASAP.

She tapped in his number.

“That was quick,” her father said, sounding out of breath.

“Just met with Jordan's lawyer friend. Boy did I get an earful.”

“Give me the highlights.”

“Jordan was gay. Kit knew about it from the very beginning.”

After several seconds of silence, her father said, “I see. That does change things.”

“Jordan wrote a novel. From what I can piece together, it may have been somewhat autobiographical.”

“Anything else?”

She explained about Tommy embezzling money.

“Look, honey, I want to hear all the details, but right now, I need you to do something for me. Tommy is being released.”

“You got the judge to post bail?”

“The arraignment was canceled. All charges have been dropped.”

Jane clicked her pen shut and slid it into her pocket. “I thought they had his coffin ready to nail shut.”

“Apparently not. I don't have all the particulars, but I will shortly. I need you to drive to the jail and pick Tommy up and then take him back to Frenchman's Bay. Can you do that for me?”

“Sure.”

“Talk to him, Janey. See if you can get him to open up. Maybe he knows something about what you just learned.”

“I'll do my best.”

“DePetro agreed to meet with me, so I'm heading over to his office right now.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks. You know, I have to say that I think this goes much deeper than I originally thought. We forget the first rule of criminology at our peril.”

“And that is?”

Another few seconds of silence. “Everybody lies, Janey.
Everybody.
”

 

21

Jane found Tommy sitting on a bench outside the police station, eyes closed, head tilted back against a brick wall. He looked every inch the man who'd spent his night in an interrogation room.

When she approached, he sat up. As the bright light penetrated, he closed his eyes again and grimaced. “You here to take me back to the house?” He moved like an arthritic old man.

“You doing okay?” she asked.

“I'll live.”

As they walked back to her car, Tommy began coughing and couldn't seem to stop. Jane popped open the glove compartment once they were seated and pointed to a box of tissues.

“Look,” he said, wiping his mouth, “I'm starving. Can't even remember the last time I ate. Could we stop somewhere?”

“Fast food okay?” she said, nodding to a Burger King on the other side of the street.

“No, it's not. What about the Red Lion? It's close. I'll direct you.”

Jane had her answer. She'd suggested the Burger King because she wanted to know if he was truly hungry—or thirsty. His need for a drink rolled off him like a fever.

“You'll have to pay,” he said, turning to look out the side window as they moved out into traffic. He said nothing more until they were seated in the main dining room and he'd ordered a bourbon. Glancing at the menu with little interest, he muttered, more to himself than to her, “I can't believe they let me go.”

“Do you know why?” she asked, checking out the burger options. Even if he wasn't hungry, she was. Ice cream for breakfast hadn't been her smartest move.

Tommy ran both hands through his hair. Now that the alcohol he'd been craving was just moments away, his mood seemed to brighten, although only marginally. “They said they found a button from my coat at the crime scene. Proof positive that I'd been there and murdered Jordan.” He raked his knuckles against the stubble on his cheeks. “They kept hammering at me to tell them how it all went down. I kept telling them that the button had either been planted, or someone had borrowed my coat on Sunday morning without asking. Either way, I did
not
murder my best friend. End of the story. But, of course, it wasn't. They had their proof and no matter what I said, evidence is evidence.”

“So, if they had proof that you're guilty, why'd they let you go?”

“No freakin' idea.” When the bourbon was placed in front of him, he immediately put his hand on it, almost as if he were afraid it might crawl away. He took a long, slow sip, smiled slightly, then let out a sigh. “You a Bruce Springsteen fan?” he asked.

The sudden change in subject threw her. “Sure.”

“I've never liked country music.” Lowering his voice and looking over his shoulder, he added, “Believe me, you don't want to say that out loud in Nashville.”

“Are you telling me you didn't like Jordan's music?”

“Never. Give me a rock song any day. Besides, today's country music is just pop by another name.”

“Okay,” said Jane, not terribly interested in this bend in the conversational stream. “All pretty heterosexual, too, I guess you could say.”

“You got something against heterosexual?”

“No. But it does suck up all the air in the room, given half a chance. At least it feels that way if you don't share the … vibe.”

“You're gay?”

She nodded. “Just like Jordan.”

He looked up at her sharply. “Where did you get that idea?”

“You saying it's not true?”

“I'm saying—” He took another swallow. “Jordan was as straight as I am.”

“In case you're interested, his friend Joji Mura told me.”

“Jesus.” He downed the last of the bourbon, seemingly annoyed that it had disappeared so quickly.

“Are you saying he got it wrong?” asked Jane.

He held up the glass, motioned for the waitress to bring him another. As he waited, shredding a napkin for something to do, he muttered, “That's private information, Ms. Lawless. Not for public consumption.”

“Jordan was in the closet.”

He flicked his eyes to her, then away.

“Do you know anything about a novel Jordan had been writing?” asked Jane. “Something about his childhood?”

His eyes rising to the ceiling, he said, “Joji told you about that, too? Look, let me make this clear. You and your father work for Kit Deere. That means you keep whatever Joji told you to yourself.”

“Even if I do, it won't matter. He plans to tell the police what he knows.”