The Dead Play On

  The musical instrument that now lay in its case by his side on the floor.

  “The sax told you?” Quinn repeated.

  Tyler nodded gravely. “I was playing...just the other night. It was his sax, you see. It’s really old, some kind of an antique his grandmother bought for him. A silver-plated Pennsylvania Special. I don’t know what it’s worth or the rest of its history. I just know it’s a damned good instrument and Arnie loved it. Said it was special. But the point is, I was playing his sax. And suddenly I was playing his song, and I could see his life—his life before he came home. I saw the war. I could feel the damned sand, it was so real. And then I heard his killer.”

  “His dealer?” Quinn asked.

  He was really pushing Tyler, Danni thought. Testing him.

  Tyler thumped a hand on the table. “His killer,” he repeated. “I heard him talking to Arnie just before he shot him up so full of poison that he died within minutes. I heard him, I’m telling you. I heard him say, ‘You’re dead, buddy. You’re dead.’”

  Danni and Quinn turned to look at each other, silent for a moment.

  “Are you saying the sax...talked?” Quinn asked.

  Tyler closed his eyes, looking as if he was in pain. “No. I was playing the sax,” he said quietly. “But while I was playing I saw what Arnie saw, felt what he felt, heard what he heard.”

  “You didn’t happen to see the killer, did you?” Danni asked.

  He stared at her. “Are you mocking me?”

  “I swear, I’m not,” she said softly. “But if you really believe that he was murdered, why didn’t you go to the police?”

  “The police?” Tyler asked drily. “Yeah, right. I wish you could see the way you’re looking at me, and you’re open-minded enough to believe me. The police... I can just imagine the snickers. I’m not sure they’d even try to keep straight faces. You both said you read the newspaper articles about his death, so you know what they’re saying. The same crap you hear everywhere. ‘He just hadn’t adjusted. He was like so many soldiers. Strong, stoic, not about to admit to having nightmares he couldn’t handle, nightmares so bad that he’d turn to drugs to wipe them out.’ Especially not a marine like Arnie. Admit it. That’s all stuff you believed about Arnie when you read he was dead. And like everyone else, I bet you thought, ‘What a waste, what a tragedy. A man comes back from the war and takes his own life. Makes you stop and think.’ But no one stops to think, ‘Hey, whoa, maybe he didn’t kill himself.’”

  Tyler was certainly passionate in defense of his position, Danni thought. Of course, he’d been Arnie’s friend. His best friend, she imagined.

  “Tyler, how long have you had the sax?” Quinn asked him. “You said it’s special, but would anyone else know that?”

  “Probably,” Tyler said and then shrugged. “I don’t know. He told everyone in the band back in high school it was special, that his grandma told him so. I’ve had it since about a week after he died. His mom said she had to give it to someone who would love it the way Arnie had loved it, would take care of it the way he did. She used to love to listen to him, and then she’d laugh. She told us both that Arnie got to be as good as he was because of the sax. His grandmother told him it was special, kind of...magical. But according to his mom, the magic was because he believed it. Plus he loved playing, and he practiced all the damned time. And practicing made him the musician that he was.”

  Quinn nodded. “I read in the paper that the family intended to sell his sax, along with his other instruments, and donate the money to a foundation helping veterans.”

  “Arnie had a bunch of saxes. They planned to sell some of them, but not this one.”

  “What do Arnie’s parents think? Would they tell you if they suspected he’d made any enemies?” Quinn asked.

  “Arnie’s parents think he was murdered, too. But there’s nowhere they can go with that any more than I can. They know the police would think they were crazy, too, if they tried to convince them some random killer had hunted Arnie down and killed him with an overdose of heroin.”

  Quinn pushed his plate aside and leaned on the table, his attention focused entirely on Tyler.

  “Were you with him the night he died? Do you know who he was hanging around with, what might have been going on in his life?” he asked.

  Tyler shook his head. “I wasn’t with him the night he died. Wish I had been!” he said fervently. “I was working in the Quarter that night, too. Arnie had been sitting in with my band, getting back into the swing of playing. I was filling in with another group. A friend of mine was sick and needed someone to cover for him, and I figured Arnie was just getting used to my band, so I’d head over to work with the other group. My band didn’t mind. They all knew Arnie was way better than me,” he added without rancor. “Usually when we end a shift we’re all hungry, so we go out for pizza or something. But that night Arnie told them he had something to do, so he’d see them the next night. And that was it. Sometime after he left the band, someone killed him.

  “They were playing at the same place where you saw me today, Danni, La Porte Rouge. What the police didn’t investigate, I did. Who was he hanging around with? Me. Other musicians. His family. What was going on in his life? Nothing. So yeah, I promise you, the cops would laugh at me if I tried to tell them some random murderer who didn’t steal a thing from him just decided to off him by pumping him full of heroin. Believe me, I know what I sound like. Like I’m on crack myself. But I know what I saw and what I heard when I played that sax, and...”

  “And?” Danni asked.

  He looked at her with eyes as gold as his skin and said, “I knew Arnie. And like most of us who grew up around here, he was exposed to his share of drugs and alcohol. He saw what it did to people—including me. Arnie wouldn’t have touched the stuff. Hell, he’d have swallowed his gun before he stuck a needle in his arm. I know it.”

  He stopped talking and looked at the two of them questioningly.

  Danni turned to Quinn. He nodded slowly.

  “We’ll look into it,” he promised.

  Danni almost fell off her chair.

  How? she wanted to scream at Quinn. How the hell were they going to look into it? No witnesses, the body already interred, and they weren’t likely to get any help from the ME or the cops.

  Obviously, Tyler Anderson didn’t want to accept the fact his friend had committed suicide, and maybe that was all this was: a man desperate to think the best of his friend. But then there was the vision he’d claimed to have had while playing the dead man’s sax...

  It was all just too damned tragic.

  She winced, lowering her head.

  And yet, was it any less a tragedy if he’d been murdered?

  It was almost as if Tyler read her thoughts. When she looked up, he was staring at her.

  He shook his head. “The truth. The truth is what we all need. And if...if I’m right, it’s not vengeance I’m after. It’s justice. Justice for Arnie.”

  Looking back at him, she understood. She didn’t know why, but she understood. Wondering, not knowing, those were the emotional upheavals that tore people to pieces.

  “We’ll need a lot from you,” Quinn told him. “I need names—all the musicians he might have played with and anyone he might have been seeing. A one-night stand, a long-lost love—anyone. And,” he said, “I’ll have to talk to his family.”

  Tyler winced at that. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

  “And,” Danni added, “if the sax...says anything else to you, we have to know.”

  Tyler stiffened and stared at her. “The sax doesn’t talk,” he told her, irritated.

  She smiled. “I didn’t say it talked. But if it gives you anything else, another vision, anything else at all, we need to know right away.”

  He nodded and said, “Thank you.”

/>   “Of course,” she said softly.

  He rose, picking up the sax case.

  “Oh, and...” He paused, looking at his plate as if surprised. Somewhere along the way he’d actually finished his food. “Thanks for the lasagna.”

  “My pleasure. I just hope we can help you,” she said.

  “One more thing,” Quinn said.

  “What’s that?” Tyler asked.

  “The sax,” Quinn said.

  “The sax?” Tyler repeated, puzzled.

  “That’s the sax that Arnie’s mom gave you, right?” Quinn asked.

  “That’s it.”

  “Leave it here,” Quinn said.

  “But...I’m a saxophonist. I make a living playing music.”

  “You have others, right?”

  “None that I play like this,” Tyler said.

  “You’ll play it again,” Quinn promised. “For now, please, let us keep it. Let us try to figure out if there really is something about this sax that’s special. But if anyone comes up to you threatening you for a sax, hand it right over. Any sax you happen to have on you.”

  Tyler looked puzzled. “You’re talking about that holdup down near Frenchman Street, right?” he asked, then something dawned in his eyes.

  “More than that, Tyler. Two musicians have been killed in their homes.”

  “Two?” Tyler looked shocked. “I saw something on the news a few days ago about a guy, but—”

  “Another man was killed today. It will be on the eleven o’clock news, if you don’t believe me. I think someone wants the sax you have right there. They just don’t know where it is,” Quinn said. He frowned, puzzled. “Didn’t Arnie have his sax the night he was killed?”

  “He must have, but I don’t know if it was found with him or not, and I don’t know what sax he had,” Tyler said.

  Danni looked at Quinn. He’d caught her by surprise with his mention of a musician’s murder earlier that day. Clearly he knew much more, saw more connections, than she did.

  Tyler looked as if he were loath to part with the instrument.

  “It could mean your life,” Quinn said quietly. “And while you’re at it, when you’re talking to people, make a point of saying you wish you had Arnie’s old sax. Don’t tell anyone who doesn’t already know that you had it or where it might be. As far as you know, it went up for auction.”

  Tyler still looked doubtful.

  “When you got here you told me you knew what Quinn and I did,” Danni said quietly. “So let us do our job, all right?”

  Tyler nodded and slowly handed over the sax. “Thank you.” He reached into his pocket and produced his card. “This is me. If you need me at any time for anything, just call. Obviously, when I’m playing, I don’t hear my phone. But I’ll check it every break in case...in case I can help.”

  “Here are our numbers,” Quinn said, and produced a card, as well. It had his cell, Danni’s cell and the shop number.

  Tyler took the card as if it were a lifeline. “Thanks,” he said.

  “Be careful, okay?” Quinn said. “I expect the police will be putting out a parish-wide warning for musicians, but it doesn’t hurt to be reminded. Don’t open the door when you’re alone, even to people you think are your friends. And make sure you warn your band and anyone else you play with that someone has it in for musicians.”

  Tyler nodded gravely. “I’ll do that,” he promised.

  “I’ll walk you out through the front,” Quinn told him.

  Danni picked up in the kitchen while Quinn led Tyler back through the shop. When he came back he slipped his arms around her where she stood at the sink.

  She spun in his embrace, staring at him, a sudsy plate in her hands.

  “Hey! What the heck is going on? You know way more than I do. Do you really think this has something to do with the incidents with those other musicians? And what about this second murder? Are you sure it makes sense for us to investigate this? Arnie’s death must have been investigated, even if they just wanted to know where he got the heroin. He was a hero and a popular local figure, found dead on Rampart Street. They could be right, you know, and it really was an accidental OD.”

  He took the plate from her. Suds were flying, because she was waving it around as she talked, she realized.

  “I’m sorry. I thought we’d think alike on this,” he said.

  “I’m not saying I disagree.”

  “What, then?” He moved away from her, and she was almost sorry she had spoken.

  There was a sudden distant look in his eyes, as if he was remembering something she hadn’t been a part of. She loved him so much, but she knew he’d had a life before he’d met her, a very different life. He’d once been a shining star, and then he’d crashed and burned, finally becoming the man he was today.

  “You know,” he said quietly. “I was messed up. So messed up that I almost died. I did die, actually. They brought me back.”

  “I know that,” she said softly. “I thank God constantly that you came through. And you’re right. I believe Tyler. And I don’t believe Arnie Watson just left work one night and decided to stick a needle in his arm.”

  “All these incidents are related—they have to be,” Quinn said. “Larue was mistaken earlier when he told me about Holton Morelli, the musician who was killed in his home last week. He wasn’t the first to die. Arnie Watson was.”

  Chapter 3

  QUINN HEARD A knock at the side door, off the courtyard entrance, to the house on Royal Street just as he was returning to the kitchen.

  He knew it was Larue or another friend. Only those in their close circle ever used the courtyard entrance.

  He looked at Danni and saw the resolve reflected in her eyes. He lowered his head, not wanting her to see the bittersweet smile on his lips. He couldn’t help but remember when he’d first gotten to know her. He’d worked with her late father many times. And when he’d been thrown into an “assignment” with her the first time—seeking a mysterious Italian bust—he’d believed he’d been stuck seeking help from a spoiled debutante.

  Danni was beautiful, filled with grace and charm and a smile that could melt a man’s heart—or ignite his libido. And Angus had never said a word to her about his special “collection.” She’d been pitched almost blindly into a world where people killed over possessions that were more than they seemed, and where the sins of the past could thunder down upon the present.

  And now, when he looked at her, he saw the resolve in her eyes, an implicit promise to find justice for Tyler’s dead friend.

  “I’ll get it,” he said. “It’s probably Jake.”

  “You have a very odd smile on your face, considering the circumstances,” she told him.

  “I was thinking that I’m a lucky man,” he said softly.

  “Quinn, this is bad, isn’t it? Very bad.”

  “Yes, but I have a luscious—and brilliant—partner,” he told her. “One who comes with...benefits.”

  “Hmm. I confess I appreciate my coworker—and eye candy—too,” she said.

  She was worried, though; he could tell. Her eyes had already fallen to the sax he’d been so determined they should keep.

  There was another knock, and Quinn went to let Larue in.

  He greeted Danni warmly. Over the past few years they’d gotten to know one another well. Although Larue preferred to believe in what his five senses told him, Quinn knew he respected the connection he and Danni felt to something...more. And all of them believed deeply in right over wrong, which meant together they were a crime-solving force that worked.

  “Want some coffee?” she asked Larue warmly.

  “I’ll have something a lot stronger—if that won’t bother you?” he asked, looking at Quinn.

  “Not at all. One man’s demo
n can be another man’s friend,” he said. He looked over at Danni with a questioning glance.

  “I’ll stick to coffee,” she said.

  Billie came into the kitchen from the shop just then. “Detective Larue, good to see you,” he said then caught the serious vibe in the room and quickly added, “Or not.”

  “Billie, good to see you,” Larue replied.

  “Shop is locked up,” he said. “I’m going to go catch up on some television, I guess.”

  “Stay, Billie,” Quinn said.

  “Yes, stay,” Larue echoed.

  Billie nodded. He had started working with Angus in Scotland, and after Angus’s death he had cast himself in the role of Danni’s guardian. They were lucky, Quinn knew, to have him in their fold.

  Quinn poured Larue a good stiff scotch and set it in front of him. Larue told Danni that he would take a coffee “chaser,” too, and soon the four of them were seated around the table.

  Larue spoke first, telling them about the holdup in the street and progressing to the two murders. Quinn, in turn, explained everything that had happened with Arnie Watson and how Tyler Anderson was convinced that Arnie had been murdered.

  Larue frowned and said, “The ME reported Arnie’s death as an accidental overdose. Based on the circumstances, we accepted that finding. And I’m still not a hundred percent convinced his death is connected. These other murders... They were about as brutal and sadistic as you can get.”

  “The connection makes sense,” Quinn argued. “They were all musicians. The holdup? Only their instruments were stolen. After that, things escalated. First you had Arnie’s death. Maybe it was a gentler murder because the killer and Arnie were actually friends. But Arnie didn’t have the sax on him. Not the right sax, anyway.”

  “I wonder why that was,” Danni put in.

  “What?” Quinn asked her.

  “Arnie had been playing with Tyler’s group that night. But he wasn’t found with his sax, and his family had the...special sax after he died, when his mother gave it to Tyler, who left it here with us. So what happened to his sax that night?” Danni asked.