Chapter 11

I was tempted to make up some kind of sordid story about how I had shot Martin, swallowed the gun, and tossed the violin out the window, but I decided just to tell him the truth, which was almost as bizarre. So I just laughed—mirthlessly, as they say—and waited until we were driving away from the city jail before I responded.

“Obviously, I didn’t kill Martin,” I said as I tried to get comfortable. It was warm out and my black jumpsuit was not the ideal fashion for the occasion. “He was quite dead when I got there. And there was no violin—I looked everywhere before the police arrived.”

“And that’s another thing,” Aaron interrupted. “How did they know there’d been a murder there?”

I explained what the officer had told me.

“How long do you think it took the police to get there?” Aaron asked.

“I’m not sure, but I got the impression that Martin hadn’t been dead for long. And the police probably assumed it was a nosy neighbor with a vivid imagination and so weren’t in a particular hurry to get there.”

“Yeah, I suppose so. Anyway, if Martin’s been shot and the violin’s missing, it seems pretty clear who killed him, and why.”

“You mean Sanders? You think a man in his position would murder someone just to get a valuable violin?”

“Well, no, I guess not. But since the violin is gone, he must’ve been killed for that. And who else knew he had it?”

“Except us, you mean,” I pointed out.

“Yes, except us. And I don’t mean Sanders came up here and did the job himself, any more than he stole the violin himself. Just that he had it done for him.”

“Okay, but isn’t it possible someone else found out about it—saw it in his apartment, maybe—and killed him for it?” I said.

“I guess so, “Aaron said, “but what’re the odds that someone spotted the violin and recognized it as a priceless Guarneri?”

I then told Aaron about the ring I found near Martin’s body.

“Let’s see it,” he said. “It might be a clue to who killed Martin.”

“I gave it to the police,” I said. “Or rather they found it when they searched my pockets.”

“Hmm. Well, I guess if it helps them find the killer . . . .”

“Or maybe helps us find him. The guy it belongs to has a pretty hefty hand and the initials ‘BJD.’ Maybe we can match it up. Of course we can’t be sure the owner of the ring killed Martin,” I pointed out, “just that he was in the apartment.”

“Unless Martin stole the ring,” Aaron said, “and it has nothing to do with his being killed.”

“That’s true. But then why would it be next to his body, with blood on it?”

“I don’t know,” Aaron said, “but rings don’t easily fall off fingers.”

I thought about this for a moment. “Unless it wasn’t on the killer’s finger…”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Anyway, that ring is one of the few clues we have, even if it isn’t very helpful.”

“So are we back at square one?” He scratched his head.

I gave it one more try. “Maybe it was Martin’s roommate who killed him—if he’s not in jail—or maybe Martin blabbed about it to friends, maybe while he was drunk…”

“Okay, okay, there are a million possibilities. We don’t know for sure who killed Martin, or whether Sanders now has the violin. But if he has it, it’s likely he had Martin killed for it. Of course, we’ll have to wait a few days, so whoever took it from Martin has time to deliver it to Sanders. I’ll contact Rafael again and hope he can find out.”

It suddenly occurred to me where this conversation was headed.

“Wait just a minute,” I said. “Assuming we find that Sanders now has the violin, you aren’t still intending to steal it back from him, are you? I mean, now that we know he plays for keeps and doesn’t mind killing people to hang onto that fiddle?”

“Absolutely,” Aaron said, sounding like he meant it. “Nothing has really changed, except the job is maybe a little more risky than it was.”

“‘A little more risky’? A little? You call getting shot a little more risky than merely being caught stealing a violin?”

“Okay, more than a little. And I won’t hold you to our bargain if you want out. But stealing it is still the only way to get it back.”

I thought about this, but not for long.

“How about we tell the police the real reason we were in Martin’s apartment—”

“Excuse me, why you were in Martin’s apartment. You wouldn’t let me go with you.”

“Okay, why I was in Martin’s apartment, about the violin being stolen by Sanders, and help them find the killer, and at the same time your violin.”

Aaron shook his head. “You forget that we still have absolutely no evidence to link Sanders with the theft, much less with the killing. All we’ll get is maybe a lawsuit for defamation. At the very least, we’d be telling the police that you were in Martin’s apartment to steal a violin, and that I hired you to do it. Not exactly the kind of thing we’d like them to know. No, it’s still up to us—sorry, to me—to get that violin back.”

So here we were right back where we were in Aaron’s suite, except this time while the rewards had stayed the same, the risks had gone up considerably. Or so I thought until Aaron reminded me that the reward side had changed as well:

“And there’s another, maybe more important reason not to quit now. You’ve been arrested at the scene of the crime, standing over the body, with no good excuse for being there. At least none the police are aware of. And while you weren’t charged with murder yet, you can be sure you’re still suspect number one, because you’re their only suspect. If it weren’t for the fact they can’t find the gun, I think you’d have been charged with murder by now.”

You can bet that sent a shiver down my spine. Aaron sure knew how to cheer a woman up.

“It seems to me,” Aaron continued, “the only way to clear your name for certain is to find out who really shot Martin. If it was some unknown person, like, as you just suggested, someone who found out about his having it, there’s not much we can do to find him. But if whoever killed Martin took the violin to bring it to Sanders, we can best find him at the source, so to speak. I think we’ll find that person where we find Sanders.”

Obviously there were several holes in Aaron’s theory, but I was in no mood or condition to argue with him. He did have a point. Unless the cops could find the real killer of Donny Martin, I was still their best alternative. And although I was probably being somewhat uncharitable toward them, I couldn’t help thinking that the police might rather convict a possibly innocent suspect than appear to let a serious crime go unsolved.

So it would be up to me to decide whether to carry on after this disastrous start, or to jump this sinking ship.

Loyal crew member or deserting rat.

****

Aaron took me back to his suite, where we sat across from each other, each sipping a scotch and soda. I’m sure I needed it more than he did, but of course it was a rough day for both of us.

“Let’s wait until I can talk with Rafael,” Aaron said after the silence became a bit thick. “If he can’t find out whether Sanders now has the violin, there’s no point in proceeding further.”

“What will you do then?” I asked.

“What can I do? I’ll have to tell the police about the theft and hope they can somehow find the violin, if not the thief.”

“And the murder? What happens to me?”

“Yes, that’s a bit tricky, isn’t it?” he said. “If I tell them I thought Martin’s murder was because he had the stolen violin, they’ll want to know how I know that, which would lead to either telling them who told me Martin had it, or telling them that we tried to steal it back, or both.”

“Which would give us both a motive to kill Martin,” I pointed out. “Anyway, I can’t think about this any more today. I need a hot shower and an early bedtime.”