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CRANKYBLANCA
CHAPTER SEVEN: "But everybody's having such a good time."
RBB [voiceover]: The Merlot tasted good. Princess looked good. For a little while, I figured I could let myself forget about the killer on the loose, the bodies piling up in Doc Rochelle's morgue, the unanswered questions flailing around in my mind like fish out of water. It was a good night, and suddenly the Crankyland sound system chimed in, as it always did at just the right time:
VINYLMAN: Hello, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, cats and dogs. This is Vinylman, the spinner of classic platters old and new, tried and true, here at WKRK, Radio Crankyland. It's a convivial night, my friends, so I am going to play one of the most convivial songs I know: Billy Joel, singing PIANO MAN....
RBB [voiceover]: The music played, and it was like a warm, reassuring bath, melting away tension and fatigue and pain. I leaned back against the sofa built into the booth that housed our table. I listened to the music, my glass held so that the light caught the deep scarlet tones of the Merlot, my eyes half-closed with a mix of happiness, alcohol, and fatigue. I only had two glasses of wine in an evening; I long ago learned to respect my limits. Princess was sitting next to me. She looked damned good, and to my surprise I found my thoughts straying in a direction I had thought myself incapable of going for weeks or months. I found myself looking her over, and she noticed it too, and winked at me.
All was going well; I was feeling like myself again, for the first time in weeks. It figures that the phone would ring at just that moment. It sat in the corner of our booth-table, discreet and black and streamlined. I cursed and picked up the phone.
RBB: Yes? Bernstein here.
zeppo: The bastard has struck again.
RBB: That makes six. Who drew the short straw this time?
zeppo: Bulworth.
RBB: Oh, shit. Not him. He's too young .... Never mind. When someone decides to kill you, you're always too young. Where is he?
zeppo: Jason Cranky's office. We figured we should bring you in as soon as we found the body.
RBB: Who found the body?
zeppo: Cranky's secretary, Veruca Salt, and one of the musicians from the band -- the one with the flute.
RBB: That one's talented. Damn. We'll be right down.
RBB [voiceover]: I whispered an explanation to Princess, and she sagged slightly, but rallied herself. We made our excuses to the others, without telling them what had happened, and we headed out, up the stairs, to where Eamon J Doyle was waiting for us. His starched demeanor was starting to sag, too; he looked shaken, and I felt sorry for him. He should be worrying about picking whether to use a blade or an electric razor, not about murder.
He brought us to the same door that had led to the corridor where Hans's control room was, and down that hallway to Jason Cranky's office. It was the door across from Hans's control room, and I realized something.
RBB: Doesn't Hans's operation cover Jason Cranky's office?
EAMON J DOYLE: No, Professor.
RBB: Damn.
RBB [voiceover]: When we got to the door, Lieutenant JYD opened it. He was not glad to see me, but he thawed a bit, again, at the sight of the Princess of PMS, and she flashed him a reassuring smile. I now knew what it had been like for Bogart to squire around Lauren Bacall; Princess had that same flair, that same combination of brains and dazzle and a spine of drop-forged steel just as strong as Bacall's.
Bulworth's body was lying in Cranky's desk chair, his eyes staring at nothing any of us could see, the second mouth made by the blade drawn across his throat a grotesque disfigurement. There was no blood. There was a series of scratches on the back of his right hand -- making the Roman numeral VI. And there was a model of Big Ben, with a dot of red paint indicating the VI on its dial.
Doc Rochelle wasn't there; she had to tend to her kids, I remembered, so I wasn't surprised to see her boss, Dr. Shakesmear, in attendance at the crime scene. Shakesmear was a dour Scotsman who hailed from Canada. He was tall, lean, and slightly stooped, with a pale, refined, ascetic face, and two immense, bushy eyebrows that drew down into a rough simulacrum of a cumulonimbus cloud when he was angry. He was angry now.
SHAKESMEAR: I don't like this case. This was as cold-blooded a killing as I've seen in years. The bugger didn't give the poor lad a chance. Hammer lock around the throat, choking him into unconsciousness, and then with the blade -- first the cuts on the hand, so they'd bleed, and then the slash across the throat. And then he was dumped into a cart and trundled here with no respect at all.
RBB [voiceover]: I was staring at the body, and something was not right. I couldn't figure out what it was, and it was starting to make me crazy. Dr. Shakesmear and I had had some hot words in the past, and I figured he still didn't like me. I was sorry about that, and I'd tried to make amends, but even though he had accepted my apology, I still was not sure that he had let bygones be bygones. Even so, I was determined to get him to focus on this problem.
RBB: Doctor? JYD? zeppo? May I ask a favor? Something's not right about this one.
SHAKESMEAR: *Nothing* is right about this one, or any of them.
RBB: I know that, but there's something else. Please run this guy's prints. OK? It's not much to ask.
zeppo: That we will, but I'm damned if I can understand why you want that.
RBB: To tell the truth, I don't know either, but it has to be done. It's a gut feeling. I think we need to have a conference.
JYD: First, we have to interview the people who found the body.
zeppo: Hey, Doc Shakes, can we move the body now?
SHAKESMEAR: Yes, but have him brought to the morgue with the others. I'll have Rochelle examine the body and the crime-scene photos when she returns from the Jewish holiday.
JYD: While you make the arrangements for the corpse party, I'll bring in the witnesses.
RBB [voiceover]: Veruca Salt, a tall, willowy redhead with a pout that men would die for, was clad in a slinky silver lame dress that probably had Archbishops baying at the moon and Orthodox rabbis queuing up to chow down on pork rinds. Right now, though, she was ashen-pale, and trembling.
VERUCA SALT: I've never seen a dead body before. It was terrible.
JYD: Ms. Salt, the sooner we finish, the sooner you can go. It will be OK. Now, when did you find the body?
VERUCA SALT: It was at 8:45 p.m.
zeppo: Just ten minutes ago. How do you know what time it was?
VERUCA SALT: I know because I'd just finished my dinner, which usually runs from 8:00 to 8:45, and I was coming in here to check the boss's paperwork. He's always a mess. But I -- I -- there he was -- and the throat ....
RBB [voiceover]: She broke down weeping. I shot a narrow glance at Princess, and she nodded at me. Princess was always good with female witnesses and suspects, and I deferred to her judgment as to when women were telling the truth or leaving something out or holding something back. Princess's nod told me that Veruca had said all she could say, and told about all that she saw.
I looked over at the other witness. JYD had called her Chica. She was short and slight of build, with thick, short, lustrous black hair and arresting dark-brown eyes. She was stunning; the faultless black-and-white tuxedo that all band members wore suited her perfectly. The sight shook me, in a pleasant way -- even though she was young enough to be my daughter. What really got me about her was that same look of fearsome, questing intelligence that Princess had, and that Philm Phan had. This one was a star-in-the-making, no doubt about it. Whatever field she chose, she'd dominate within a decade.
CHICA: I heard Veruca Salt scream. I was in the hallway, heading back to the bandstand from the staff restrooms; we'd taken a break before the second set.
RBB: Did either of you see or hear anything from outside, or down the hall?
VERUCA SALT: No ... no.
CHICA: Now that I think about it ... just as I was leaving the restroom, I heard something. It sounded like a cleaning woman's cart with squeaky wheels heading down the corridor towards the -- towards the emergency exit. But that's supposed to be locked.
RBB [voiceover]: We bolted down the hallway and stopped, in dismay. Sure enough, someone had artfully gimmicked the lock of the emergency exit door.
zeppo: I want this dusted for prints, immediately.
RBB [voiceover]: Two forensics types had been working unnoticed in Cranky's office, and at zeppo's bellow, they came sprinting down the hall.
FIERCE_MOLLY: I'll do it. This old stoner couldn't dust his momma.
mendo: Fine way to talk to a man old enough to be your father. Way uncool.
FIERCE MOLLY: Don't talk to me about uncool. You keep picking fights with teenagers.
JYD: They're the best forensics team at headquarters, but they drive me crazy with their bickering. Knock it off, you two, and dust the lock for prints.
RBB [voiceover]: They went to work, while I started to think at warp speed. Something had happened that had gone wrong for our killer. I was convinced of that. He'd never come that close to being caught before, and he'd never left visible traces of his presence ... other than the bodies. I suspected that something good had happened for us in the case, for a change.
I looked at Chica, and she looked back at me.
RBB: Nice meeting you, kid. You play a mean flute.
CHICA: Thanks. Tulane thinks so, too. Call me Chica.
RBB: It's a nice town and a good school. And you're handling this well, Chica.
CHICA: My dad's in the service; he taught me to be tough. And, on top of that, when you have Strom Thurmond for a Senator you learn to be tough and self-reliant.
RBB [voiceover]: Princess tugged at my sleeve, and when I turned to her she whispered a suggestion in my ear. It was a good one, and I nodded and raised my eyebrows in what I hoped was an approving gesture. She got the point -- she always could read me well -- and turned to the young flutist.
PRINCESS OF PMS: May we ask you a favor, Chica?
CHICA: Sure.
PRINCESS OF PMS: You seem to be a cut above the rest in the observing department. Keep a sharp eye open, OK? And let us know if anything happens.
CHICA: Will do. I don't want my parents to know that I'm working here to supplement my allowance, and the Crankyland murders may make headlines and get me in trouble with them. Also, I just want these murders stopped. This is pretty gross. And I liked Bulworth. Why would anyone want to kill him?
RBB: That's what's bothering me, too. It's way too long after his departure notice. Something else doesn't ring true about this one. Maybe our guy has made a mistake.
PRINCESS OF PMS: Let's hope so.
JYD: Time to notify the big man, I guess.
zeppo: Yes. I hate this part. He always starts bellyaching over the phone, and ...
RBB: Let me do it.
RBB [voiceover]: I used the private line that Veruca set up for me and rang up Jason Cranky. He was in the middle of a dinner with Angelina Jolie, and he was not happy. He made sure to tell me both things, at length, in a harsh whisper punctuated with muffled, genial comments to his dinner guest. I gathered that the two of them were getting nice and comfy with each other, and I didn't want to know any more than that.
RBB: Look, Cranky, I know you're pissed, but something is up -- the guy shaved it almost too close this time, and we may have some leads for a change. So keep your shirt on -- figuratively, I mean; I don't want to tell you what to do with your private life or the life of your privates.
JASON CRANKY: Professor Bernstein, I hired you and we've had two more murders.
RBB: And?
JASON CRANKY: I want them to stop. Do you hear me? I want them to stop.
RBB [voiceover]: I hung up on him, and turned to Princess.
PRINCESS OF PMS: Shall we go back upstairs?
RBB: We might as well.
JYD: What about Bulworth?
RBB: I'll think about that tomorrow. Tomorrow is another day.
PRINCESS OF PMS: I thought you hated that movie.
RBB: I do, but when you have to steal, steal from the best.
[...to be continued...]
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