A Mint Condition Corpse, page 17
part #1 of Kirby Baxter Series
"I see where you're going," said Sandra, studying her carefully lacquered nails in a failed effort to look nonchalant. "You think I killed Erica?"
"Did you?" asked Kirby.
"I wouldn't risk chipping a nail on that slut," said Sandra.
"You can understand why we're concerned," said Kirby, "you were once banned from your own set for a week for assaulting a co-star."
"That was just a slap," said Sandra, "it was not assault, it was what she deserved for getting in my light. Besides the bitch got a big fat pay-off to go away, and she did."
"Yes she did," said Kirby, who had done his research on the way to Sandra's hotel, "all the way to an Emmy win and better ratings on another series."
Kirby caught a flash of anger dance across her perfectly sculpted face. If they weren't in the presence of a police detective with Gustav looming behind her like the spectre of death, she'd have been on Kirby like a pit bull and using those carefully lacquered nails to surgically remove his own less than perfect face. The flash lasted less than half a second, but he saw it, and she knew it.
"I know how these models work," she snarled. "They use their looks to get what they want."
"And you think that Erica Cross did that to get the lead part in the movie?" asked Darling.
"Those types of girls have to give head to get ahead," hissed Sandra, "it's obvious, just look at how hard she came onto you, when she found out how rich you are."
Kirby coughed into his hand to hide his own flash of anger from her cold blue eyes.
"Where were you at the time of Erica Cross' death?" asked Darling. "That was at one forty-five in the morning. You left the party early, and there's no evidence that you returned to this hotel that night, which means that we need to know where you were."
Sandra shrugged. "I guess you could say that I was doing charity work."
"Charity work?" asked Darling.
"I was making some nerd's life worth living from about twelve thirty to around two o'clock in the morning."
"This was at the Waterloo?" asked Kirby.
"As you probably already know," said Sandra, "there had been an incident at the party the night before–"
"Erica Cross threw her drink in your face," said Darling, getting her own flash of anger from Sandra.
"Yes," answered Sandra, her voice low. "I didn't want a repeat of that incident, so I cut out of the second party early, before she could bitch out on me again, and went to the hotel bar, for a drink that wasn't all over my face. A bit after midnight this guy showed up and started sweet talking me like I was the most important woman in the world."
"Did you know him?" asked Darling.
Sandra shook her head and smiled. "Some rich guy, I think he had to be into computers or something...aren't they all? Anyway, he was short, had curly hair and was wearing some crazy looking shirt. He wasn't the best looking guy to hit on me, but he earned an A for effort and I gave him the gold star night of his life."
"Do you know his name?" asked Kirby, fearing the answer.
"His name was Harry Pairatestes," said Sandra, "I think he was Greek or Spanish or something like that. He had to be rich, he was staying in the biggest suite in the Waterloo."
"Oh hell," said Kirby, putting his hand over his face.
"What?" asked Sandra.
"Nothing," said Kirby rising from his seat and shaking Sandra's hand. "Thanks for your time."
"Finally," said Sandra. "I really must go see the hair and make-up people, for some reason they're insisting that my character remain a redhead. I say why mess with perfection."
Gustav closed the door behind them as they entered the hallway.
"Thanks for your time?" asked Darling.
"She has an alibi," said Kirby, "and I'm surprised we haven't heard all about it already."
"What do you mean?" asked Darling. "I had to keep from laughing over that silly fake name she gave us. I thought you'd be all over it like a dog on a bone."
"I know who gave her that fake name," said Kirby. "We need to get back to the Waterloo. I have to ask Ashmore some questions."
"What does Ashmore have to do with Erica Cross' death?"
"A motive."
"What about her alibi?"
"I know her alibi."
"Who is it?"
"It's that little bastard Mitch."
"Hello Fred," said Kirby as he took a seat across from Ashmore. They were in one of the multi-purpose rooms that ringed the main convention floor. Characters and logos from DC Comics papered the walls. Kirby picked it himself; he wanted Ashmore surrounded by the symbols of a bigger and more successful company. There was no table, nothing for Ashmore to lean on.
"Should I have a lawyer here?" asked Ashmore.
"We're just confirming alibis," said Darling as she sat in the folding chair Gustav put out for her, "you don't think you need a lawyer for that, do you?"
"Really," said Ashmore, craning his long neck to watch Gustav take a position behind him. "So why are Kirby and his...um...friend here?"
"He's a consultant on this case," said Darling.
"No, really," said Ashmore with a nervous laugh, "why is he here?"
"He's a special consultant on this investigation," said Darling.
"I even got a fancy ID card and everything," said Kirby, showing the warrant card Interpol gave him.
"You must have had this printed by someone," said Ashmore as he leaned over to study the card.
"A lot can happen in two years," said Kirby, "especially when you are trying to get a life outside of work."
"Yeah," said Ashmore, "but it's supposed to be a life drawing greeting cards. Not running around conning the cops into thinking that you're somehow Sherlock Baxter the boy detective."
"You can Google me after this interview," said Kirby.
"Sure," said Ashmore unable to contain the sarcasm and disbelief, "that means it must be true."
"I Googled you on the way over here," said Kirby. "Do you know what it told me?"
"What?" asked Ashmore.
"That everything people have been telling me since I left the company is true," said Kirby, "that all the top people are gone, sales are down and the company's losing money at a level not seen since the big crash of the nineteen nineties."
"We're not that bad," said Ashmore, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I will admit that the company's hit a bit of a rough patch, but we're going to survive bigger than ever."
"How can Atlantic Comics survive if the sale to Continental Pictures goes down the toilet?"
Ashmore's eyes widened for just a flash.
"What are you getting at?" asked Ashmore, trying and failing to appear calm.
"You signed a pretty crappy contract with Cooperman," said Kirby, "if they even start filming The Vengeance Sisters movie within the next week, his MaxCo will control the movie rights of all of Atlantic Comics' characters, especially its most popular and potentially profitable franchises, for another two years. I don't see Continental Pictures sitting around for two years waiting to make movies out of characters they're supposed to own, and I don't see Max Cooperman letting them do it without paying him off big time."
Ashmore crossed and uncrossed his legs.
"It must make you look pretty bad to your family," continued Kirby. "They owned Atlantic Comics for what, almost eighty years? Eighty years of fairly smooth operation, and now it looks like it's all going to crash and burn with a pot of gold just within reach. Because you screwed it up with your contract with Cooperman."
"There are ways around that contract," said Ashmore.
"Like killing the lead actress a few days before principal photography begins?" asked Kirby.
Ashmore's entire body stiffened, then he started to stand up. Gustav took a step forward but Kirby signalled him to stop.
"Unless I'm under arrest," said Ashmore as he rose, "I'm leaving."
"We still need to confirm your alibi," Darling declared, "because if we don't then we might have to put you under arrest for real."
Ashmore stopped in front of the door and slumped down his head.
"At one forty-five I was on the phone with my father," said Ashmore, "he was calling from Hawaii and spent half an hour carving me a new asshole over this MaxCo deal. Today, when someone tried to run over your precious little consultant, I was on the phone with my Uncle Leonard from New York. It was his turn to carve me yet another asshole, because my family doesn't think I have enough. If you ask them, they'll probably repeat everything they said to me verbatim. Are you happy now?"
"Sure," said Kirby, actually feeling a little guilty for pushing those buttons, but he wasn't going to show it to Ashmore. Kirby hid his own guilt because he knew Ashmore didn't feel even a little bit guilty for crushing his career and life over a petty fit of ego. "That's all, thank you for your time."
"So," said Darling as they stepped back onto the main convention floor. "We have suspects, but they all have alibis, and so far they all seem to be checking out."
"Ma'am," said a young uniformed patrolman as he approached, followed by Bruce Haring. Kirby nodded to Bruce, and he waved back.
"Don't call me 'Ma'am,'" said Darling.
"If I called you by your name," said the young patrolman with a smirk, "there could be some misunderstandings."
"Don't be cutesy and just call me 'Sergeant,'" ordered Sergeant Darling. "Did you talk to Mitch Mandelbaum?"
"He was very forthcoming about the encounter...Sergeant," replied the young patrolman, "in fact, if he had pictures, he'd have shown them to everyone."
"Thank God for small mercies," said Kirby.
"Mr. Haring has a question for you," said the young patrolman.
"How can we help you Mr. Haring?"
"I know you have rules about this sort of thing," said Haring, "but I'd like to know if you're making any progress."
"We can't really comment on an ongoing investigation," said Darling.
"I understand," said Haring, "did you look into her stalker?"
"Her stalker?" asked Darling.
"I mentioned him to that older detective," said Haring, "the one named Spasky."
"You also mentioned him to me," said Kirby. "I feel like an idiot for not thinking about it earlier." This was an honest answer; he really did feel like a Grade A idiot for letting his hunger for a petty revenge against Ashmore distract him from another potential suspect.
"Do you think this stalker may be in town?" asked Darling.
"I don't know," answered Haring, "but I do know that he scared Erica more than she let on and I think it can't hurt to look into it."
"Knowing our luck he was having high tea with the Queen, the Pope and the Dalai Lama," said Darling.
"It still won't hurt to look." said Kirby, knowing that he should have said that much earlier.
"The LAPD have a file," said Haring, "but Erica kept copies of everything she had on her laptop."
"Then let's take a look at that," said Darling.
"It's in her suite," said Haring, "follow me."
"I don't know if this creep followed her to Toronto or what," said Bruce as the elevator chimed their arrival at the Excelsior floor, "but who knows these days."
"It's definitely something to look into," said Darling as she followed Bruce into the hall.
"I wish I had thought of it earlier," said Kirby as he came out of the elevator, followed by Gustav.
"Things have been a little confusing lately," said Darling.
"That's more of an excuse than a cause," said Kirby, giving himself another mental kick in the pants for his stupidity.
Bruce reached into his pocket for the room's key card but froze right in front of the suite's door.
"Were your officers in the room today?" asked Bruce.
"No," said Darling. Kirby stepped aside and saw that the door was ajar. "But there are supposed to be two watching the door. Where are they?"
"Someone popped the lock," said Kirby.
"Stand aside," said Darling, drawing her gun, a 9mm Glock, with one hand and her pocket radio with another. "This is Sergeant Darling," she said into the radio, getting a crackly response from the officers downstairs, "I need back-up on the thirteenth floor, because someone has broken into the Erica Cross suite."
Gustav reached for his holster, but Kirby signalled him to stand down.
Darling nudged the door open with her foot and entered the suite. Bruce stood back, but Kirby followed the detective and Gustav followed him.
Suitcases were lying on the floor of the suite's main drawing room, wide open, and their contents were strewn everywhere. Someone had pulled out the drawers from the little writing desk, turned them over and tossed them aside.
"Oh my..." muttered Bruce from the door.
"Stay here," said Darling as she approached the door to the bedroom.
SLAM!
A figure body-checked the detective and slammed her hard into the wall. Kirby leaped at the figure and while in mid-air asked himself what the hell he was doing, then got the answer when the charging figure slammed him into the other wall. The world spun around Kirby's head as the air rushed from his body, and then he felt the carpet rub hard against his face. It took less than a second for the world to stop spinning. When it finally did, he saw the figure, now transformed into a man with a narrow, rat-like face and thinning hair, his back pinned to the floor by Gustav's beefy arm. The rat-faced man's eyes and mouth were wide open with terror. However, he did have the option of closing his eyes; closing his mouth though was impossible, since the barrel of Gustav's .45 automatic pistol was jammed in it.
"Gustav is a very useful fellow to have around," said Darling as she got up from the floor.
"You have no idea," said Kirby. "Next time, we'll let him go in first, all right."
ISSUE #12
SHUTTER-ROACH
Kirby carefully unwrapped his cheeseburger, lifted the top bun, peeked at the contents and let out a barely audible grumble.
"Don't you hate that?" said Kirby, looking across the interrogation room table at his subject, "you finally get a chance to eat lunch, after spending half the day running around in circles, you ask them to hold the mayonnaise and guess what, they put mayonnaise on it."
"Lawyer," said the man across from Kirby. Gustav, back in his position of looming doom over the man's shoulder, lowered his own sandwich and gave Kirby a look that reminded Kirby of the time he and Gustav faced a very reluctant informant in London, but Kirby shook his head. He didn't think the Canadian police would allow that sort of thing.
"At least they got the onion rings right," said Kirby, biting one. "These are pretty good, do you want any?"
"Lawyer," said the man.
"That's what Sergeant Darling's arranging," answered Kirby. "But this is not an interrogation. I'm not a cop, I'm just a consultant. I don't even want to be here, I got kind of drafted into this mess, and besides, we already know all we need to know about you."
The man cocked an eyebrow ever so slightly. He wanted to know what they knew, and that was Kirby's opening to find out what this little rat of a man knew.
"We know that your name is Armand Tanzerian," continued Kirby, "you're from North Hollywood, California; you make your living as a paparazzi, selling photos of celebrities to the tabloids. You also have a habit of trespassing on private property, and have just graduated into burglary, assault and assault on a police officer."
"I didn't know she was a cop," said Tanzerian in a mentally rehearsed monotone, "I thought she was a burglar with a gun who was going to kill me."
"A burglar?" asked Kirby. "That's your defence? You thought a woman in a grey suit calling out 'police' was a burglar breaking into a room sealed with crime scene tape and under police guard?"
"I didn't see any guards," said Tanzerian with a faux nonchalant shrug.
"That's right," said Kirby, as he scraped the mayonnaise off his hamburger bun with the otherwise useless plastic knife that came with his lunch. "The policemen guarding the door just happened to be called away to assist hotel security when half a dozen homeless men started causing trouble at the entrance of the convention centre."
"What a coincidence," said Tanzerian.
"We already have the statements of those homeless men," said Kirby, "they were quite eager to say that they were paid by you to cause that trouble. That means you're also on the hook for conspiracy to cause what they call a 'breach of the Queen's peace.' Don't you love the names they give these laws? It's like something out of Masterpiece Theatre."
Tanzerian just sat and stared straight ahead.
"Of course your lawyer can sort all that out," said Kirby. "I wonder if the Canadian lawyers wear the wigs in court like the British ones. I'll have to look into it. Anyway, yours will be quite busy."
Tanzerian sat in silence, Kirby took a bite out of his now mostly mayonnaise free cheeseburger. He chewed slowly and deliberately, letting the time take its toll on Tanzerian's nerves. Then he took a sip of Coke Zero, and turned back to Tanzerian.
"We took a look in your bag," said Kirby, "and I have to say that it does a really good job of hanging you. By the way, that's just a figure of speech, they don't have hanging here in Canada. Anyway, we found a laptop in your bag that belongs to Erica Cross. Let me guess, you were convinced that she left it to you in her will, and you decided to go get it before any mystery burglars calling themselves cops came and took it?"
No answer.
"Then I guess you'll be using the same defence with all those pairs of her panties we found in your bag?" asked Kirby, trying to be nonchalant himself, and fighting the urge to let Gustav correct this fellow the way he did that irksome informant. "I don't think you got them for yourself. They're not your size. So I'm figuring that you were planning to sell them on the internet as some kind of pervy collectible."
Stony silence. Tanzerian crossed his arms.
"Then again," said Kirby, "maybe you do want them for yourself. Doesn't really matter, this isn't California, juries aren't going to just let you walk away with a fine. You're in a lot of serious trouble, and are looking at some serious jail time."
