Once Shunned. Блейк Пирс
would still like to ask a few more questions.”
A silence fell, then the buzzer rang and the door clicked. Jenn opened the door and she and her colleagues walked inside.
She thought …
It doesn’t sound like we’re exactly welcome.
Jenn wondered why not.
She decided she was going to find out.
CHAPTER SIX
Jenn followed Chief Brennan into the building and up the stairwell to the second floor. Riley and Bill followed behind as they walked down the hall toward Duane Scoville’s apartment.
Jenn’s ears perked up as she heard the sound wafting from some nearby room.
That music again.
This time she was sure she’d heard it before, but it had been a long time ago, and she wasn’t sure where or when. It was a classical piece—something slow, soft, and incredibly sad.
They arrived at Scoville’s apartment, and Chief Brennan rapped on the door.
A voice called out, “Come in.”
As she and her colleagues walked inside, Jenn was startled by the appearance of the apartment. The place was a mess, all scattered with beer cans and food wrappers.
About ten guitars were in view, some of them on stands, others in open cases, still others lying about in the open. Some were acoustic, some electric. There were also amplifiers, speakers, and miscellaneous electronic equipment scattered about.
Duane Scoville himself sat in a battered beanbag chair. He had long hair and a beard and wore jeans, a tie-dye shirt, a peace symbol on a cord around his neck, and round-framed “granny glasses.”
Jenn had to suppress a giggle. Scoville looked like he was in his twenties, but he was trying his best to look like a sixties-style hippie. The room’s decor included beads, cheap tapestries, faux-Persian throw rugs, lighted candles, and general disorderliness. Some of the posters on the wall were psychedelic images, others promoting rock music groups and performers that had been popular long before Jenn’s time.
There was a strong odor in the air—of incense and …
Something else, Jenn realized.
Duane Scoville sat staring blearily into space as if no one had arrived. He was obviously quite stoned, although Jenn saw no signs of drugs anywhere.
Chief Brennan said to him, “Duane, these are FBI Agents Paige, Jeffreys, and Roston. Like I just said, they’ve got a few more questions for you.”
Duane said nothing, and he didn’t offer his visitors a place to sit in the crowded little room.
Jenn felt perplexed as she remembered how immaculately neat the victim’s little home had been. She could hardly believe Robin Scoville had ever known this man, much less been married to him.
And then there was the music …
Instead of the Doors or Jefferson Airplane or Jimi Hendrix or something else more appropriate to these surroundings, Duane was listening to soft Baroque chamber music with a haunting woodwind solo like a high-pitched, mournful birdsong.
Suddenly recognizing the piece, Jenn said to Duane, “That’s Vivaldi, isn’t it? The slow movement of a piccolo concerto.”
Still without looking at Jenn or her companions, Duane asked, “How did you know?”
Jenn felt jolted by the question. She remembered vividly where she’d heard the music before.
It had been back in Aunt Cora’s foster home, where she’d grown up.
Aunt Cora had always kept classical music playing in the background when she’d been teaching her kids how to be master criminals.
Jenn shivered a little. She found it eerie and unsettling to hear this melancholy melody again after so many years. It brought back strange, disturbing memories of days Jenn had tried hard to put behind her.
But she knew she mustn’t let it distract her.
Keep your head in the game, Jenn told herself sternly.
Instead of answering Duane’s question, she said …
“You don’t strike me as a Vivaldi kind of guy, Duane.”
Duane finally looked at her and met her gaze.
He said in a dull voice, “Why not?”
Jenn didn’t reply. From studying at the academy and her experiences working with Riley and Bill, she knew she’d accomplished a little something just by getting him to look at her. Now they had at least a tentative connection. Jenn decided to wait and let Duane speak next.
But he said nothing right away.
The slow, sad movement came to an end and a sparkling fast movement started.
Duane clicked his player so the same slow movement began to play again.
Finally he said, “Robin really liked this piece. It was her favorite movement. She couldn’t get enough of it.”
Then with a trace of a sneer he added …
“I hope they play it at her funeral.”
Jenn was chilled by a telltale note of anger and bitterness in his voice. She wondered—what was behind those dark emotions?
She glanced at Bill and Riley. They gave her slight nods, silently encouraging her to keep following her instincts.
She took a step closer to Duane and asked, “Are you going to Robin’s funeral?”
Duane said, “No, I don’t even know when or where it’s going to be. Over in Missouri, I guess. That’s where Robin grew up, where her family still lives. St. Louis, Missouri. I don’t guess I’ll be invited.”
Then with a barely audible chuckle he added, “And I don’t guess I’d be welcome if I did go.”
“Why not?” Jenn asked.
Duane shrugged. “Why do you think? Her folks don’t like me very much.”
“Why don’t they like you?”
Duane abruptly switched off the music. His face twisted a little with what appeared to be disgust.
Then he said spoke directly to the three agents. “Look, let’s get right to the point, OK? You folks want to know if I killed her. I didn’t. I went through all this earlier with Chief Brennan here. It’s like I told him, I was over in Rhode Island, playing a gig with my band. We stayed the night.”
He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a piece of paper and offered it to Jenn.
“Do I need to show this again?” he said. “It’s our motel bill.”
Jenn crossed her arms and let him hold the paper in his hand.
Whatever was written there, she doubted she’d find it convincing. It might only mean that some members of the band had stayed there that night.
She said, “Can your bandmates vouch that you were with them all night?”
He didn’t reply. But he did look uncomfortable with the question. Jenn’s suspicions were thoroughly piqued now.
She said to him, “Could you tell us how to get in touch with them?”
“I guess,” Duane said. “But I’d rather not.”
“Why not?”
“We weren’t on the best of terms. They’d just kicked me out of the group. They might not exactly cooperate.”
Jenn began to pace a little.
“It might be a good idea for you to cooperate,” she said.
Duane said, “Yeah? Is that what a lawyer would tell me? Do I need a lawyer?”
Jenn didn’t reply right away. But as she walked past a closed living room closet, she noticed