Sarah’s colleague was tied up in court, but for once, Isobel didn’t mind waiting. Finally, she was working for someone who was willing to support her investigations. James had always come around in the end, however reluctantly, but Isobel suspected that Sarah was just as eager as she was to find out who killed her client’s ex. That was certainly a fortunate coincidence. Because of Sarah, Isobel already knew more about Judge Willard Harrison and his private life than she would have otherwise. Life, like show business, was all about being in the right place at the right time.
On her way home from work, Isobel buzzed Tony Callahan’s apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. After a few moments, Tony let her up and welcomed her into an apartment that was only slightly warmer than a meat freezer. Even with the air conditioner running full blast, Tony’s face was still shiny with perspiration, although his shirt, at least, was dry. Isobel wondered if the delay letting her in was because he was frantically donning a fresh one.
“Have a seat for a sec,” he said, gesturing to a lumpy couch. “Want a drink?”
Isobel was happy to chance discomfort for the implied offer to chat. “I’d take a glass of water, thanks.”
While Tony was in the kitchen, she pulled the checks from her bag and flipped through the envelopes until she found his. He exchanged the water for the check and, after opening the envelope and giving a satisfied nod, stuffed it in his shirt pocket.
“It’s not much, but at least it’s the right amount. With Peter, he either forgets to pay you in full or forgets to pay you at all.”
“And here I was giving him the benefit of the doubt because of all the chaos with the judge,” Isobel said.
“Oh, Peter’s always got some excuse.” Tony pulled over a cushioned chair that had seen better days, and not recently. “Once he got some ‘important’ phone call right as a gig was ending, and he took off. Usually, I’m the one who goes tracking down the checks.”
“Happy to give you a break,” Isobel said. “I didn’t realize you’d worked with him before.”
“I’ve done a bunch of gigs with him. There’s another guy he uses, same physical type as me. We alternate.”
Isobel took a sip of water and set her glass down on top of a cardboard coaster with a drawing of a 1950s ocean liner on it. “What about the others? Have you ever worked with them?”
“I did a gig once with Jemma. Not the brightest Crayola in the box, is she?”
“No,” Isobel agreed. “I never had much use for Jemma Red.”
He chuckled. “Andrew’s new. I think Jack recommended him.”
“Who’s Jack?”
“The sax player in the jazz combo. He and Peter team up a lot. They’re good, right? Steve is the bass player and Chad is the drummer.”
“Speaking of Andrew…” Isobel gave him a conspiratorial look.
Tony shifted uncomfortably and examined his pudgy hands. “Yeah. What the hell happened to him?”
“He took off. I followed him into the dining room that looked like Marie Antoinette’s boudoir, but I’m pretty sure he ran into the park through a side door.”
“You don’t think he…you know…shot the guy?”
Isobel shrugged. “Neither of us went hightailing it out of there like a guilty thing surprised.”
Tony tapped his knee with a coaster, and a telltale stain spread into view under his armpit. “Andrew was definitely acting weird all evening. I just figured he was stoned.”
Isobel eyed him curiously. “How do you know he was acting weird if you’ve never worked with him before?”
Tony rose and paced over to a wall of bookshelves. Isobel saw that the back of his shirt was soaked.
“Actors don’t show up at rehearsal and then mentally check out.” He turned to look at her. “You know what I mean. I saw you practicing with your props, going over your lines. Andrew didn’t seem to give a shit. But he also didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would shoot a stranger in a room full of people.”
“If he had some reason to shoot the judge, they probably weren’t strangers.” Isobel pulled her jacket tighter and rubbed her hands up and down her arms.
“Do you want me to turn the air down?” Tony asked.
“Just a little, if you don’t mind,” Isobel said. “I think Peter’s behavior is every bit as weird as Andrew’s, don’t you?”
Tony paused by the air conditioner. “What do you mean?” He brightened. “Oh, you mean, forgetting about the checks?”
“No, I mean forgetting about Andrew. Peter never said anything to the police about him. As far as they know, Andrew doesn’t exist.”
“Why didn’t you say something if you saw him run off?”
“I did. I told Peter.”
Tony scratched his neck. “But not the police?”
“I figured he’d tell them,” Isobel said. “I was so focused on Delphi that I didn’t realize until later that he hadn’t.”
“You think Peter was covering for him?” Tony asked, surprised.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Well, that’s the question isn’t it?” Isobel realized her right butt cheek had fallen asleep. She shifted onto the couch’s middle pillow, which looked like it might offer more support.
It didn’t.
Tony shook his head, and Isobel did her best not to flinch as drops of sweat sprayed toward her. “It doesn’t make sense. He didn’t know Andrew. He knew Jack,” Tony repeated. “Besides, you can’t predict how you’re going to respond in a situation like that. I’m telling you, Peter forgot about him.”
Isobel smiled. “You’re probably right. You know what they say. Never attribute to Machiavellian manipulation what can be explained by sheer animal stupidity.”
“Right. Wait...what?”
“Human error. Simple as that.” Isobel hauled herself off the couch with some effort and handed Tony her empty glass. “I have to get going. Thanks for the water.”
“Thanks for the check.”
“Andrew didn’t answer my email about his. Do you think Jack might know how to reach him?”
“Yeah, maybe. I get the sense they’re pretty good friends. I might have an email somewhere for Jack. If I find it, I’ll send it to you.”
“That would be great, thanks,” Isobel said, heading for the door. If she stayed any longer, she was liable to start sneezing from the cold. “If I can get the check to Jack, that’s one step closer to getting it to Andrew.”
And, perhaps, she thought, one step closer to finding out why he’d bolted.