Song For Whoever Part One
The body was splayed out on the pavement
next to the dumpster, artfully arranged in a small pool of its own blood. Its
limbs were twisted at odd angles to the body, and it was lying face down in a
fetid pool of water.
Detectives Pembleton and Bayliss looked on impassively. They'd seen it all
before, and then some. This attack, however, had been particularly brutal. In
the shadowed world of that back alley, the lights from the police cruisers and
ambulance seemed all the more stark and unforgiving. Being careful not to tread
blood around the crime scene, Tim Bayliss gave the alley a cursory inspection.
"Not much to see in the way of evidence, Frank. Not your average drunken
rage attack, that's for sure!"
Frank nodded and gave a wry smile. The condition of the body only indicated that it was probably a planned homicide.
"Multiple stab wounds all over the body, contusions and lacerations to the face and neck, and his trousers pulled down aren't usually the trademark of an opportunity killer. I'd say we got ourselves a nutball! Do we have an ID?" asked Frank.
A uniform thrust a leather wallet at him. Reading from the driver's
licence, the deceased was one Martin LeFevre, aged 31. There was nothing else in
the wallet, except for some small notes and a business card from "The Blue
Angel", a jazz club at Fell's Point.
Tim gave a shout.
"Hey! Over here!"
He pointed to the mud at the side of the alley, near the dumpster. It was a line of mud no more than a few inches wide, but it was what was marked into the rapidly drying mud that interested Tim. There was a trail of a long line of uneven pressure, leading from the entrance to the alley, to roughly the location where the body of Martin LeFevre lay. There was an intermittent second mark appearing next to it at the outside edge of the mud.
"I'm not sure, but maybe he was dragged down here, either already dead, or, at the very least, unconscious. Check the toes and heels of his shoes for scuffs and match up any mud samples you find!"
Tim walked out
of the alley and into the watery sunshine of a March morning.
He took off his spectacles, and rubbed his bleary eyes. Not what you needed, at
6am on a Monday morning, being hauled down to this god-forsaken alley, full of
trash and the putrid stench of stale urine, only to be confronted with the worst
case of knife overkill you'd ever seen. Frank came up beside him, grinning.
"Nothing like a sieve case to set you up on a Monday!"
Tim silently
put his spectacles back on, and walked to the car.
************
Munch ducked as Lewis lobbed the football across the office to Kellerman. It was
unusually quiet for a Monday morning. On a typical Monday, you were clearing up
the detritus of a drunken weekend. More murders over a burnt Sunday roast than
you would expect. The flying football went wide of Kellerman, and carried on
into Frank's waiting hands. He passed it expertly to Kellerman, and sat down at his desk. Tim walked in a few seconds later,
looking perplexed.
"One thing bothers me about that whole scene in the alleyway, Frank. Why
take everything out of his wallet but a few small notes and that card for the
Blue Angel? If it was a random robbery, then why not just take the wallet and
run? Looks like someone is doing a set-up job to me."
"Or that's the
way they want it to look. Either way, it points to the killer having known their
victim well enough to set up that scenario, whatever it may be."
At that moment, Gee stormed out of his office.
"Bayliss! Pembleton! In my office NOW!"
Tim and Frank looked at each other, and got up from their desks simultaneously. They walked side by side towards the office, grinning all the way.
"He'll tell us some titbit of information about the victim, tell us he's an important member of the community," said Frank.
Tim continued, almost without missing a beat.
"And then he'll ask us what we found, we'll
tell him "not much", he'll tell us to search harder, and then let us
go. Guarantee it!"
"What do you know about Martin LeFevre?" intoned Gee, as he sat behind
his massive desk.
Frank suppressed a small smile.
"We were just starting to pull up any public and police records now. Why?"
Gee pulled his large bulk out from behind the desk, and approached the detectives.
"If you'd been doing your job properly, you would have already known that Martin LeFevre is an entertainment agent who specialises in jazz musicians! Did you find anything interesting on the body?"
Tim produced the evidence bag containing the
business card and passed it to Gee.
"Why aren't you two at the Blue Angel now, finding out what connection this
guy had with the place? Is this all you've got?"
Both Frank and Tim nodded.
"Well, then, you'd better search a bit harder, hadn't you!"
With that,
Gee opened the door, and ushered them out of his office.
************
The Blue Angel was a plush club, both outside and in.
Unlike the stereotypical image of a jazz club, the Blue Angel was clean, well
decorated, and in a prime location. It had adequate air conditioning, and there
wasn't the impenetrable haze of cigarette smoke one would associate with a jazz
club. It was 10pm, and Tim and Frank had arrived early in the hope of getting
their work done as early as possible. After a day of digging, their only lead
remained the Blue Angel club. As Gee had said, Martin LeFevre was an
entertainment agent, who operated out of a small office in the centre of town.
He had no known girlfriends or wives, seeming to be a serial womaniser. Most of
his clients were female singers, and one of them, Rachel Meyers, was the
resident singer at the Blue Angel. She was also an ex-girlfriend of LeFevre's,
and she was the closest thing they had to a lead. It was her they had come to
see tonight.
Frank ambled over to the bar, and ordered beers for both of them.
"What time's Rachel Meyers on tonight?" he asked the bartender.
"She normally does three sets, an hour long each. The first one usually starts at 10.30."
Frank nodded his appreciation, and took the drinks to the table at
the front that Tim had sat at. Ella Fitzgerald was playing in the background,
and Tim smiled as he took the first sip of his beer.
"I could get to like this place," he murmured.
Frank shook his head and grinned broadly.
"Didn't think that this was your scene anymore, Tim. Thought you were more into the "same sex" scene now...."
Tim bristled at the deliberate reference to his sexuality.
"Just because I
enjoy the company of men sometimes does not make me gay, Frank! To tell the
truth, I don't know what I am half the time. Why should I have to label myself
and tuck myself into a neat little box? Just because society expects it? That's
not a good enough reason to force me into making a decision, Frank. Can we
please close this subject now? Thank you!"
With that, Tim went into a quiet sort of sulk, sipping his beer and staring
resolutely at the small stage, as if, by sheer will alone, he could force Rachel
Meyers out onto the stage, and this whole farce of a day could come to a swift
conclusion. He was fed up with everyone questioning his sexuality! Ever since he
had had dinner with that restaurant owner, Chris Rawls, he had been so confused.
He'd tried relationships with both men and
women since then, and none had worked. There just wasn't the chemistry there, or
the understanding to keep things going.
His reverie was rudely interrupted by the compere, who announced the imminent
arrival of Rachel Meyers. His attention was returned to the stage, and his mind
was suddenly whirling with questions that he needed answers to from this woman.
The curtains swept back, and a small young woman dressed in black velvet took
centre stage. She was in her mid twenties, with shoulder length blonde hair and
pale skin. The pianist played the opening chords of "Cry Me a River"
and she began to sing. Her voice was mellow, yet powerful, and capable of
expressing deep emotion seemingly effortlessly. The first set passed by in what
seemed like seconds, and Frank and Tim went backstage to speak to the singer.
They knocked on her dressing room door, and a confident voice said, "Come
in!"
Tim opened the door to be faced with Rachel Meyers in a satin robe. Frank flashed his badge.
"Baltimore Homicide. I'm Detective Pembleton, this is Detective Bayliss. I believe you know Martin LeFevre, Ms. Meyers. Is that correct?"
She sat down in a chair next to the mirror, and motioned for the detectives to sit on a sofa on the opposite wall.
"Of course I do, he's my agent. Has something happened to him?"
Tim looked at her with compassion.
"I'm afraid Mr. LeFevre was found dead earlier today, in a back alley about
a quarter mile from here."
The colour visibly drained from Rachel's face, and she slumped in her chair,
shaking.
"H-how did he die? Would he have been in any pain?"
Her voice was shaky and hoarse, and she reached for a bottle of brandy and a glass under the dressing table.
"Do you guys want some?"
Frank shook his head, and pulled out the evidence bag with the business card in.
"Do you recognise this at all, Ms. Meyers?"
She nodded, her eyes pointed to the floor.
"Of
course I do! Martin gives them to all the girls who work here. Said they'd be
useful for making contacts. Why are you showing this to me, anyway? There's
thousands of them around."
"This was the only thing that was in his wallet when his body was found. We
were wondering why that might be," intoned Frank, heavily.
Rachel shook her head, and took a small sip of the brandy, grimacing as it trickled down her throat.
"Don't tell Guy, the manager, that I'm drinking this. He keeps it
in here to entertain his "friends", if you know what I mean. I ought
to tell you that I used to date Martin until about 6 months ago. He traded me in
for a much younger model, if you catch my drift. We dated for about 18 months.
He was never faithful to me, I really don't know why I stayed with him, to be
honest."
Tim regarded Rachel quietly, not knowing quite what to make of her. For some
reason, he was feeling strangely attracted to her, even though she was not the
type of woman that he would usually go for. She was pretty, but no more, and was
very small, whereas he was usually attracted to more statuesque women. Of
course, there was that disastrous date with Ballard a while ago, and he was glad
that she had been transferred to the NYPD, as things had been rather awkward
between them for some time. She had been tiny, too, and
he and had felt protective of her for that reason. Maybe he needed to feel as if
he was the protector. His feelings for Rachel puzzled him, especially as she
seemed to be shaping up as a suspect in this case.
Tim had had a rough time of it since the Ryland killing. He had left the
Homicide unit for a while, confused as to where his future lay. After a few
weeks of doing nothing but feeling guilt over various cases, including the
murder of Adena Watson, something Frank had said came back to him. "If we
don't speak for the dead, who will?" After a long talk with Gee and
Barnfather, he decided that Homicide was where his future lay, and it was there
that he could make an impact on the lives of others. He also decided that the
time had come for him to rekindle his once-deep friendship with Frank, and,
after some soul-searching on Frank's part, Tim persuaded him to talk to Gee
about returning to Homicide.
And now, a few months later, here they were, together again, good cop and bad
cop, chasing down another brutal killer. Just like old times. But this wasn't
old times. This was all new to both of them. They were both different people,
and nothing could ever change that. Frank was badgering Rachel about her
relationship with Martin LeFevre before he was killed, and, from the sound of
it, there wasn't an awful lot to tell. They'd split about 6 months ago, and,
when she needed some help from her agent, had tried to deal with
someone else at the firm, just to avoid seeing him. According to Rachel, she had
hated him for a while, on account of his treatment of her, both before and after
the breakup, but had gotten over it by throwing herself into her work.
After about a half hour of questioning, Rachel seemed wrung out, and profoundly
shocked. Frank looked at Tim and shook his head. They stood up, and walked over
to the door.
"I'm going to go and interview the bartender and some of the regulars, see if they know anything at all. You stay and try to get some more out of her. I won't be long."
Frank disappeared into the corridor, leaving Tim alone with Rachel. He picked up the business card, and placed it into his pocket.
"If he treated you so badly, why did you stay with him for so long? Did he have some sort of power over you?"
Rachel shook her head wearily.
"No, but it was kinda hard, because he was my agent. I guess I just felt
obliged to stay with him because of what he was doing for my career. When he
eventually decided that I was too old for him, it was more a relief than it was
upsetting. I had my life back, and I don't think I really appreciated that until
recently."
Tim smiled. He knew that feeling well. It wasn't until he steeled up the courage
to return to the Homicide unit that he felt whole again.
"I know this is a shock to you, but I have to ask you this next question. Were you with Martin LeFevre recently, say, the past couple of weeks? Have you seen him at all?"
Rachel placed her empty glass on the table, and turned her face up to him. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and shock, and she gazed at him silently.
"Detective Bayliss, I haven't seen him face to face in three months or so.
The last time I saw him, he was kissing the girl he dropped me for. Her name's
Emma, she's about sixteen, I think she's a prostitute. I felt almost used, even
though we'd split a long time before. I swear I haven't spoken him since that
day, and I never wanted to see him
again!"
She placed her head in her hands, and slowly drew them back over
her hair in a gesture of helplessness. Tim felt a sudden rush of feeling for
this woman he didn't know. What the hell was wrong with him! He was getting
affected by some bizarre sense of caring for Rachel, and didn't know how to deal
with it. All he knew was that he wanted to get to know her better - a lot
better.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
"What the hell do you want?" yelled Rachel.
A tall man poked his head around the door. He was in his late thirties or so, and was unshaven with greasy black hair and little piggy eyes.
"Whaddya want, Guy?"
So this must be the manager, thought Tim. Not exactly the kind of person that would inspire trust at first glance.
"The customers are getting pissed that you haven't started the second set yet, Rach. You'd better get on stage pretty damn quick, or we could lose a lot of money. They only come here for you, and you know it."
Rachel scowled, and turned on Guy.
"I'm not going on again tonight! Martin was murdered today, goddamnit! There is no way that you're making me go out and sing again tonight. I can't do it!"
And with that, she finally gave into the tears that had
been threatening since she heard the news.
Tim stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Guy stormed out, slamming the
door behind him, leaving Tim to deal with the sobbing Rachel. He pulled a clean
tissue from his inside pocket, and knelt down beside her, his arm awkwardly
cradled around Rachel's back. She accepted the tissue gratefully, and
unceremoniously rubbed at her eyes and nose. She looked up at him with red
rimmed eyes, and a nose to match, and gave him a weak smile.
"I didn't think Homicide detectives were supposed to be human! Thanks. I'm sorry I'm such a mess, it's just that you don't find out that an ex-boyfriend has been murdered all that often."
Tim gave her a quick squeeze, and then returned to the
sofa.
Rachel looked Detective Bayliss up and down, appraising him for the first time.
He was very tall, with warm hazel eyes and floppy brown hair. There was
something in his eyes, a sadness that he was trying hard to conceal. He was
incredibly attractive, but in a way that made Rachel think that he was fragile,
rather than the manly types that she was usually attracted to. She turned to the
mirror and started to clean off her makeup.
Tim watched, fascinated. She was really quite attractive when you thought about
it. But not in a conventional way at all. "What in the hell am I thinking
here?? This is a possible suspect in a homicide, and I'm getting a hot nut for
her!" thought Tim. "God, now I'm even thinking like Frank!" He
was mentally disgusted with himself, but couldn't shake the feeling that she was
giving him. Suddenly, he found himself speaking, and didn't realise what
he was saying until it had happened.
"What are you doing after you finish here? I mean, I own a bar a few minutes' walk from here, and I, uh, was kinda wondering if you would like to come for a drink with me? I know this isn't what I'm supposed to do, but I'd like to get to know you. I'm sorry, I'm babbling. I understand..."
Rachel cut him off.
"I'd love to, as long as you won't get into trouble for seeing someone involved in an investigation", she replied.
Tim smiled broadly, and was about to hug Rachel when Frank walked in.
"Nothin' out there. Let's go. Tim?"
Tim turned to look at Frank.
"Uh, I've offered to give Ms. Meyers a ride. Her usual ride can't collect her until 2am, and she wants to go now. You take the car, and I'll walk back to the stationhouse to pick mine up when we're ready to leave here."
Frank looked a little dubious at first, but agreed after Rachel looked pleadingly at him.
"Okay, but make sure you're in first thing to type up your reports. Ms. Meyers, we will be needing to speak to you again about this matter, so just write down your address for Detective Bayliss when he takes you home."
Frank walked out, and left Tim and Rachel alone once more.
************
The Waterfront Bar was empty, except for Munch behind the bar, and Mike
Kellerman propping it up. It was past closing time, and the place looked as
though a bomb had hit it. Tim noticed that Munch was appraising Rachel in much
the same way as he himself had done previously. Munch explained the mess in an
embarrassed tone.
"Had some punks in earlier. Gharty was in, and he was drunk, and decided to tell his 'Nam story. It pissed them off, so they kicked off. We were saved only by Mikey's prepossession with guns, weren't we, Mike?"
Kellerman lifted his head a little from the bar, and grunted in Tim's general direction. Tim noticed Munch's curious eyes on himself and Rachel, and decided it was time to introduce them.
"Rachel, the man who remains
standing is John Munch. I work with him in Homicide, and he's also a part owner
of the Waterfront. And this useless drunk is Mike Kellerman, also a Homicide
detective, although you wouldn't think it to look at him! Guys, this is Rachel. We decided to come for a drink before I take her home."
Munch smiled. Timmy, Timmy, Timmy! If only you would make up your mind which
team you were playing for! Tim was behind the bar, pouring a beer for himself
and a dry white wine for Rachel. He took them over to a table at the back of the
bar. He and Rachel sat opposite each other in companionable silence for a few
minutes, just sipping their drinks. It was Rachel who spoke first.
"How do you manage to work homicide and run this place? Doesn't it put a
bit of a dampener on your social life? I mean, you can't have much time to
yourself."
Tim took a long pull on his beer before answering her.
"I
don't really have much of a social life. I don't go out much because I have no
one to go with, and even if I did, they probably wouldn't understand the weird
hours I have to work when I'm trying to break a case. Anyway, what about you?
You work odd hours, too. What about your life outside of work?"
"I don't really have a social life either, not since I split with Martin,
anyway. I sing every night now. I threw myself into work after the breakup, just
to try to get over him. I don't get home until 3 or 4am, and I sleep until noon
if I'm lucky, so I only have seven or eight hours of the day to fill. I usually
go to the gym, read, do whatever I like. Anything just to
ignore how lonely I feel sometimes. I'm sorry, I'm talking too much. I always do
that when I feel nervous."
Tim looked incredulous.
"You're nervous? Around me? Why?"
He was amazed that he was capable of making a confident woman like Rachel nervous. He felt like a schoolboy on his first date.
"I haven't done the dating thing since I split with Martin, and I guess I really don't know what to expect at all."
Tim looked at her for a few seconds before responding.
"A date? Is that what this is?" he asked, with an amused look.
He desperately hoped
that Rachel did see it as a date, a prelude to something more. He wanted to get
to know her a lot better, but didn't want to display his feelings this soon, for
fear of being hurt.
Rachel looked mortified.
"I-I'm sorry. I guess I just thought that you might want to get to know me as much as I want to get to know you. But it's obvious you're just being kind. I've been too forward. I'm so sorry!"
She hung her head and stared intently at the table. Tim suddenly felt a huge rush of feeling for this woman, who was being so honest. He reached across the table and took her hand.
"Don't be sorry. I do want to see you again, I just didn't know how to say it. I'm not exactly great at this dating thing, either. Are you free tomorrow lunchtime? I'm working tomorrow night, so would lunch be okay?"
Rachel raised her head slightly, and nodded.
"I'd really like that. Lunch would be great. On one condition, though-I get to call you something other than Detective Bayliss!"
"Oh hell! It's Tim. I'm sorry, I should have told you earlier. How about I pick you up at your place at, say, 12.30, and we take it from there?"
Rachel nodded, and gave Tim an elated smile.
"Shit!" exclaimed Rachel, looking at the clock on the barroom wall.
"It's almost 1am! We ought to get going."
They got up, and returned to the main bar, where Munch was casually trying to appear as though he hadn't been listening to their conversation. Mike was no longer leaning on the bar. He had passed out on the floor, and Munch had placed a cushion under his head, and covered him with a blanket.
"Are you planning on letting him stay there all night, Munch?" asked Tim.
In response, Munch came out from behind the bar, and poked Mike in the ribs with his toe.
"Come on, Mikey-Boy, time to rise and shine! If we leave you here all night, there'll be nothing left for us to sell tomorrow! Get up, you lazy bastard!"
Mike grunted non-committally, and rolled over, mumbling incoherently. Munch gave him a sharper poke, and Mike stirred.
"What the fuck are you doin'? You tryin' to kill me, Munch? Okay, okay, I get the message. I know, I'll get a cab. Here's my car key. See ya tomorrow."
With that, he stumbled out of the door, closely followed by Tim and Rachel.
************
It was cold outside, and Tim put his arm around Rachel's shoulders. She was
looking around as though she had never seen Baltimore at night. Tim turned her
to face him, and pulled her closer.
"I know it's late, Rachel, but I'd like to take a walk before taking you home. Do you mind?"
Rachel shook her head, and they headed off towards the wharf. The stars were bright, and there was a half moon reflected on the still water. They sat down on the waterfront, and Rachel cuddled in to keep warm.
"I need to tell you something, Rachel, before you hear it from anyone else. Please don't hate me, but if you don't want to date me again, I understand."
Before he could say any more, Rachel interrupted him.
"You're bisexual, aren't you?"
Tim was stunned. No one had ever been so forthright on the subject, not even
himself.
"Uh, yeah... how did you know?"
He was perplexed. How could she tell? He hadn't been attracted to men for a while now, so surely he hadn't been giving off signals.
"Don't worry, you haven't got a big sign on your head saying "I'm a Bi-Guy" or anything! I just noticed the way that you were looking at Detective Pembleton occasionally. And I'm not worried about it. I'm here now because I like you, not your sexuality. Anyway, I have a dark secret of my own I ought to tell you. I had a relationship with another woman once, so I guess that makes us even, huh?"
She smiled, and linked her arm
in his, resting her head on his shoulder.
Tim was speechless. He'd never been directly confronted with his own sexuality
in this manner, especially by someone he was so attracted to.
"I didn't mean that I'd experimented, Rachel. I AM bi, not just bi-curious. I've had five or six relationships with men, but none have worked, for various reasons. Can you handle that if we were to take things any further between us? Could you stand knowing that I may be thinking about other men?"
Rachel shook her head and smiled.
"And could you handle knowing that I may be thinking about
another woman at the same time? Face it, Tim. We both know what it feels like to
have that happen, so don't make a barrier of it! We can either let this run its
course, and maybe end up with something wonderful, or we can end it before it's
even begun, and maybe end up regretting it. I'm prepared to take that risk. Are
you?"
Tim looked at her for a long time without saying anything, and then slowly
nodded his head.
"You're right. There's no point in looking back and thinking what might have happened."
He bent his head, and gently kissed her lips. He pulled away, and waited for a response from Rachel. She looked up at him, eyes shining in the moonlight.
"I never kiss on a first date, Tim. But, as it was yesterday when we went to the Waterfront, I guess that this can be counted as our second date..."
With that, she put her hand behind his head, and pulled his face down to hers. She kissed him long and deep, and he
responded just as enthusiastically. They sat together for a while, just talking
and kissing, and eventually got up to leave.
It was 2am by the time that they eventually pulled up outside of Rachel's
apartment building.
"Do you want to come up for a while, Tim? I need to write down my address for Detective Pembleton."
Tim shook his head regretfully.
"I'm sorry, I have to go. I'm on duty at 6am, so I need to get some sleep. Here's a pen. I want your address on this slip of paper, and your address and telephone numbers in my diary. I don't want to have to give Frank your address and not have your details myself. I really enjoyed tonight. I haven't had this much fun in a long time. Thanks."
He leaned over and pulled her into his arms, and kissed her again. He didn't want to leave her, but he needed to sleep. She pulled away, gave him a last kiss, and got out of the car. He stayed parked at the kerb long after she had gone into her apartment building.