Send Out The Clowns (Frank River Series) (8 page)

"Not that I know of. Everyone liked him. If he was
murdered, it must have been by a scorned female or something to do with
drugs."

"Did he have a drug problem?"

"I don't think so. Almost everyone in the entertainment
business tries a little coke or some left-handed cigarettes on occasion, but he
never went to extremes."

"Why did you suggest drugs?"

"Nothing else makes sense. Why would anyone want to
kill a clown?"

"Is that common? To refer to comics as clowns?"
Rankin nodded. "Been that way for a long time " Frank wanted to
change the tempo of the interview  He chose to put Rankin on the defensive.
"I've heard you underpay your entertainers at the club," He
exclaimed, "and insist on a kickback after they've become successful."
If he expected Rankin to bristle, he was off base. Rankin laughed and slapped
his knees.

"I know where that comes from. You've been talking to
'The Grinch,' Gretchen Sullivan, bartender at the Ha Ha House. She's always
trying to make me out as a criminal. Anyone that knows the business realizes I
have to pay scale at the very least, and I'd never sign a decent act if that
was all I paid. As to the 'kickback,' I sign most of the stand-ups as their
agent if they don't have one. All agents get a percent of their client's
income."

"And Mars?" Frank found Rankin's laughter
infectious. He couldn't keep himself from grinning.

"Oh yes, Marsha. Never a more naive young gal did I
ever meet. Good for the soul, that one."

"I've noticed that all the people around your clubs
have stage names. Is that common?"

"Almost required in show business. Remember, it's
entertainment. Nothing is ever entirely what it seems."

Frank asked several more questions and Rankin answered
forthright and in detail. He appeared to hold nothing back, nor did he seem to
have anything to hide. When Frank closed his notebook and stuck his pencil in
his pocket, Rankin reached out and clasped him on the forearm.

"You're a talented investigator, Detective Rivers. I
have faith in you. Get this killer. Manny was my friend. Almost a son to me.
Don't let the bastard get away."

Frank stood on the porch of Reuben Rankin's house and
pondered what he'd experienced during the visit. Nothing was as it appeared,
Rankin had said about entertainers, and he was one of the best. He remained
Frank's number one suspect in Nguyen's murder, but it was like catching
buckshot with mosquito netting. It left his story full of holes.

He flipped open his cell phone and checked for messages.
There was just one: Gerry. He rang her number.

"Hey, Frank. How'd the interview go with Rankin?"

"It was different, to say the least. I'm still trying
to get it organized in my head. How's house hunting?"

"Perfect. I found exactly what I wanted on Fowler,
about two blocks from Washington. Roger Harrington is helping me move. We
should have the grunt work done by sundown, but it'll take me forever to get
everything arranged the way I want it. Of course, I MUST go shopping for new
things."

"If I can talk Pauley into it, I plan to take her out
for dinner tonight."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll keep my phone on."

"Me too. I hope we don't get a call."

"I hear that. See you Monday."

Before he put the phone away, he called Pauley. She answered
on the first ring.

"Hi, Cisco. Where are you?"

"Why, where would any debonair, wealthy bachelor be on
a fair Sunday morning? I'm in River Oaks."

"It doesn't suit you, and it's afternoon, you
ninny."

Frank looked at his watch. "Are you at the
apartment?"

"Not yet. Should be there in about fifteen
minutes."

"I've got one more thing I need to do. I should be
there in an hour or so. Tell you what. Let's get cleaned up and I'll take you
out to dinner at a wonderful place where you've never been."

"Okay," she said, drawing the word out so it
sounded more like a question. Frank knew she was dying to ask where he'd been
without her. He didn't respond. Pauley answered after a pause, her voice still
sounding more quizzical than confidant. "That sounds great. See you
soon."

When Frank entered the library at Rice University, he grinned.
The smell of the place brought back memories of previous visits. He loved
libraries. Each had a distinct aroma, yet was unique unto itself. When he
entered the front door of Rice's library, it had a sweet industrial smell from
the cleaning fluids. When he pushed into the main area, the cleaning fluid
smell at first mingled, then gave way to the aroma of varnish on fine wood and
the powdery smell of old books.

He went directly to the computer catalog and found where the
files for old newspapers about the entertainment industry were kept. He took a
cubical and researched the rise and fall of Reuben Rankin's career. When he
finished, it was a bigger puzzle than ever. Rankin hadn't lied when he said
he'd been shot on stage, but what was most remarkable to Frank was the name of
the shooter - Gus Sullivan. There was a photo of Sullivan. He hadn't worn his
hair in a ponytail back then.

"Where in the world are you taking me? Aren't we going
toward Tomball?" Pauley asked as Frank maneuvered off the Sam Houston
Parkway and onto Cutten Road. They were driving Frank's Karman Ghia, the one
he'd found after his old wheels from college, a car of similar vintage, had
been demolished, putting Frank in the hospital. Frank enjoyed the sports car,
but it didn't have the intrigue of the one he'd lost. His first car had teemed
with fond memories. This car only reminded him of his loss. He wanted to trade
up, get a new vehicle. Pauley had nagged him about buying a newer car before
the wreck, but she now seemed to be enjoying this car, and he didn't know how
she would react if he traded for a new one. His fear about losing her again was
crippling his ability to think straight—a way to ensure the demise of the
relationship.

He glanced out the window at the open spaces along the road,
marveling as he often did, about how, in Houston, one could be mired in
gridlock traffic one moment and in open country the next.

"It's a picnic," Frank said, waving to the open
spaces on the left. "I'm taking you on a picnic."

Pauley gritted her teeth and sent him a very familiar look
of frustration. "Tell me," she said.

"No. It's a secret. A very special place. You'll have
to wait until we get there."

They drove north and encountered heavy traffic. Frank
crossed FM 1960 and continued on Cutten Road. The buildup in traffic soon
abated and he turned on what appeared to be a country lane, lined with stately
oak and towering pine trees. At the end of a curving gravel drive was an
elegant one-floor building in Grecian-Mediterranean styling that resembled a
private estate or country club. No neon sign, merely the name, Phaeton's
Bunker, in burnished copper letters of discreet size along the ridgeline. Young
men in suits, and fashionably dressed young women waited on the porch in front
of the building. There were no vehicles in sight.

"I've never heard of this place," Pauley
commented. "It's beautiful."

"They don't advertise. You have to know about it or you
wouldn't come."

"How did you hear about it?"

"The bartender was involved in a fire bombing case
several years ago. I met him here a couple times. The in crowd calls it The
Bunker.'"

One of the well dressed valets met them at the front steps,
handed Frank a number and disappeared in the sports car. Frank took Pauley's
elbow and escorted her through the front door where an attractive woman met
them. Frank hesitated, looking toward the bar, waiting to see if Chris Trevor
recognized him, and if so, how he would have them seated. Chris employed a
special system pre-arranged with the greeter. He pushed buttons at the bar that
flashed colored lights on the lectern near the front door.

First timers or those who came infrequently were the only
people seated in the front room. Rooms on either side of the main room and bar
area were designated by color: the Red Room on the left and the Green Room on
the right. Frank knew the setup, but if he hadn't, he wouldn't have noticed any
signal being given or received. The greeter smiled immediately and said,
"Follow me."

She passed through the main room and into the Red Room, leading
Frank and Pauley to a framed booth along the far wall. It and two other tables
had lights on. All the others were cast in shadow. The decor was ornate
Mediterranean, and classical music wafted in a low volume from hidden speakers
in the top of the booth. The menus were already in place with goblets of water
looking cold and inviting.

"Frank," Pauley gasped in a panicked whisper.
"There are no prices on this menu."

Frank smiled. "If you have to ask, we should go on down
Cutten Road. There's a County Line Barbeque around the bend."

"We can't afford this place, Cisco."

"Sure we can. Just this once."

Before Pauley could continue to argue against such a lavish
outing, Chris Trevor appeared by their table. Trevor had a full russet beard,
precisely trimmed, and well styled blonde hair. Pauley guessed his age at
forty-something and considered him an attractive man.

"Detective Rivers," Chris remarked. "What a
pleasant surprise. I hope I'm not under suspicion of murder again."

"No, I wanted you to meet my friend Paulette Heyer.
Pauley, this is Chris Trevor, a wizard behind the bar and a man with excellent
taste in women." He turned to Chris. "How's Hildegarth?"

"I'm pleased to meet you, Ms. Heyer. Frank mentioned he
had a girlfriend, but I never expected he could attract such a beautiful
lady."

"Well, Mr. Trevor, I'm pleased to meet you and
flattered by your compliment." They both smiled and shook hands. Chris
turned to Frank.

"Hildy will be by later this evening. She usually comes
in after the dinner rush and drives me home. I'm expecting a slow night, even
though it's Sunday. There's too much going on in town to capture the interest
of our regular customers." He glanced at Paulette, noticing that her
attention had returned to the menu. He merely smiled at her reaction to the
list of entrees and the lack of prices. Such 'shock' was common to first
timers. "Tell you what," he said. "That menu can be disquieting
until you get used to it. Let me choose your dinner for you, and later, after
Hildy arrives, the four of us can have some brandy and talk over old
times."

"That would be wonderful," Pauley said. She looked
at Frank. "Unless you had something special in mind."

"No, I've never had dinner here, only drinks. I'd like
it if Chris did the honors."

"Good," Chris turned to Frank. "If I remember
correctly, you like scotch rocks with lemon, and if I had to guess, Ms. Heyer
would prefer wine, perhaps a gentle blush, say a Gamay Rose?"

Pauley nodded, hoping she didn't appear so much the rube as
she felt. Chris flashed a warm smile that helped her relax, and left to
retrieve the drinks.

"Chris is a regular guy," Frank explained.
"He was a geologic engineer before the oil companies went down. He has the
remarkable ability to relate to people from any level of society, but his basic
personality is solidly Middle America."

Chris didn't deliver the drinks personally. A tall slender
waiter dressed in black tie and a white shirt, black pants and a cut-away vest
brought them.

"Hi, my name is Gary, and I'll be taking care of you this
evening." He pointed to an ivory button on the inside wall of the booth.
"If you need anything at all, push that button and I'll be here
immediately."

Frank and Pauley nodded.

"If you want, I'll put your order in now. It takes a
good thirty minutes to prepare." Frank and Pauley nodded again. Gary
smiled and left.

"I feel so pampered," Pauley smiled. "I don't
know whether I should think of myself as a princess, or a serf having a last
meal before facing the gallows."

"You should always think of yourself as a princess,
Pauley. You need to get used to such lavishness. When your new ventures get off
the ground, you'll be having dinner parties at places like this on a regular
basis."

She reached forward and took his hand. "Do I detect a
ring of gloom in your voice?"

"I'd be lying if I said that your new enterprises
didn't scare me. I have a feeling our lives are going to undergo major
change."

Pauley swirled her wine, staring at the motion in the glass.
"Change is the only certainty in life," she said softly. Frank didn't
respond.

Frank settled back against the leather padding of his seat,
savoring the lingering taste of beef and spices, and drifting in a peaceful
buzz created from the scotch before dinner and the smooth delicate wine during.
Pauley appeared to be in a similar state of euphoria. Gary, the waiter,
completed his attentive services by delivering a snifter of cognac to Frank and
a mug of Irish coffee to Pauley. Before either could sample their after-dinner
drinks, Chris and Hildegarth joined them at the table. Frank had met Hildy
before and knew her background. As Hildy introduced herself to Pauley, Frank
marveled at the woman's charisma and her ability to hide the fact that she had
spent the majority of her adult life serving her country as an agent of
Interpol. Pauley was mesmerized immediately.

Hildy looked at Frank, although she was directing her
comments to Pauley. "You shouldn't let this one get away, Ms. Heyer. He's
a prize."

"Please, call me Pauley. I'm amazed that Frank has kept
you and Chris a secret from me." She too, stared at Frank. Frank could
feel Chris's eyes watching him. He didn't enjoy being the center of attention
and chose to make Pauley his focus,

"My devoted mother taught me to always hold back
pleasant surprises to bring out in moments of conflict. I'm hoping I can
convince you not to abandon me when you're rich and famous."

Hildy elbowed Chris and commented, "I think we've been
drawn into a lover's tryst and are unsuspecting pawns."

"Please," Frank answered. "It's the wine talking.
Pauley's on the threshold of opportunity and I'm showing my lack of
confidence."

"Paulette," Chris added, "You and I need to
remember that our friends here are both cops and experts in reading innuendo in
other people's thoughts."

Pauley allowed her surprise to show, and gaped at Hildy.
"You're a policewoman?"

Hildy laughed. "Not any more, but I was an
international spy for years, darling." She used a broad accent to
emphasize that she considered her previous life as a joke. "When I met
Chris, I decided to come in from the cold and become a groupie bar fly."

During the next few minutes, Frank, Chris and Hildegarth
filled Pauley in on their past relationship. They all treated it in a light
vein, bringing the conversation to a level of enjoyment that had Pauley relaxed
and laughing, until Frank looked startled and indicated he'd received a phone
call.

"I'm on standby, and had the phone on vibrate." He
looked at the phone. It was Gerry. She wouldn't disturb him unless it was
important. "I need to take this," he explained. He stood and walked
away from the table.

"Rivers."

"We've got another one," Gerry reported.

"Where?"

"Like before, it's in a parking garage, but this time
it's on Congress near Fannin."

Frank looked toward the table. He caught Pauley looking at
him, only a brief glance before returning her gaze to Hildegarth. Chris had
been right. Cops did read innuendo in other people's reactions. Now was a bad
time to interrupt his evening with Pauley, but he had a job to do.

"It'll take me the better part of an hour to take care
of things here and get there."

"No problem, this one isn't going anywhere."

Frank closed the phone and fought back his anger. He didn't
know who he was most angry with; himself for not staying on the case and
preventing a second victim, or the killer for interrupting a pleasant evening
and probably sealing his fate at losing Pauley.