The Bass Wore Scales (35 page)

“
I do,” said Jillian. “I hear that you have quite a safari going on in your neck of the woods. Is this information going to clear Kokomo?”

“
Depends on what you tell me.”

“
Well, then. There’s a smudged partial print. Not enough to make an identification. But, where there’s a print, there’s DNA. I got two good samples. One was from the victim—I matched it to a sample sent over by Kent—and the other is from an unknown donor.”

“
You ran it through the system?”

“
CODIS. Yeah. The FBI’s Combined DNA Index System. No match. So, we have the DNA but until we can match it to someone, it doesn’t do us any good.”

“
So what can you tell me?”

“
The DNA is from a male human—not a male gorilla. That’s about it until you have something I can match it to. Then it’s a slam-dunk. I can’t believe the perp left the pipe sitting there.”

“
It was wedged between the sound-board and the cast-iron plate of the grand piano. We never would have found it if Kokomo hadn’t broken the piano in half.”

“
Wow,” said Jillian.

“
Wait a minute,” I said. “Did you just say
perp
?”

“
Uh…no.”

“
You did! You said
perp
!”

“
I didn’t! And don’t you ever tell anyone, either! Hey! Hang on a second. Nancy’s here.”

“
Oh, yeah. She has something else for you to look at. Can you do it right away?”

“
Absolutely. I like that gorilla.”

* * *

Nancy plopped down at our table at the Bear and Brew. “We took the lock off the door, carried it over to Jillian, took it apart and looked at it under the microscope. There is absolutely no trace of any key other than this one.”

She dropped the key onto the table.

“
And this one,” she continued, “is made of nickel.”

“
Nickel?”

“
Yep. And there isn’t one chance in a million that any duplicate would be made of nickel as well. First of all, no one would know the original was made of nickel unless they tested it. Secondly, no one would cast nickel unless they had to. Jillian checked the inside of the lock looking for scratches that left a trace of any other metal other than nickel. Nothing. This was absolutely the only key that opened this lock.”

“
Hmm. Where’s Dave?”

“
On his way. He had to pick up his dry cleaning.”

I spread the blueprint of the church across the table. “Okay. First question. The door was locked. How did the murderer get out?”

Dave walked up and sat down beside Nancy. “What did I miss?”

“
Not a thing, Snookie-Pie,” I said. “Now pay attention. The door was locked, and the key was in the lock
inside
the office. How did the murderer get out?”

“
Air vent?” Nancy said, looking at the blueprint.

“
Nope. They’re all too small. The duct work is flexible pipe about a foot in diameter.”

“
Maybe the killer was really, really thin,” offered Dave. He was answered by an elbow and a snort from Nancy.

“
How about a drop ceiling?” said Nancy. “Maybe he pushed a panel up and got out that way.”

“
It’s a drywall ceiling,” I said. “I checked when I was there this morning.”

“
Secret tunnel?” asked Dave. “Maybe he was hiding under the piano?”

“
He would have been seen if he was still in there when Nancy and I arrived. It was a mess, but I doubt that we could have missed him. And there’s no secret tunnel in the blueprints. We went around that office and the outside of the church pretty thoroughly. Frankly, I don’t think that New Fellowship Baptist would have spent the money to put a secret tunnel in for Brother Kilroy’s use.”

“
Good point,” said Nancy.

“
How about this?” said Dave. “The key is magnetic, right? What if the killer used some sort of magnet from the outside to turn the key?”

“
Can’t be done,” said Nancy. “Yes, nickel is magnetic, but the door’s too thick, the lock’s too tight and anyway, it’s a double bit key.”

“
How about the gorilla?” Dave said. “Could Kokomo have locked the door behind the killer?”

“
I don’t know,” I said. “Let’s find out.”

I pulled out my cell phone, dialed Kent Murphee and posed the question.

“
Let me call Penelope. She drove back to Maryland this morning, but she’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll call you right back.”

We were on our second beer when my phone rang.

“
Monkeys,” explained Kent, “have a wrist joint that restricts the movement plane of their wrist in the same way that we restrict the movement of our foot. Now that’s great if you’re in the trees. But if you come down to the ground and think about running around with a foot that has this kind of floppy motion, you won’t last very long. What apes did, when they came down from the trees, is develop an odd form of locomotion called knuckle-walking. It’s the way that they can deal with this wrist problem.”

“
But they still have the wrist problem?” I asked.

“
Absolutely.”

“
So, could Kokomo work a key in a double lock?”

“
Not a chance. It’d be like you trying to lock it with your toes, even if you
could
hold the key steady. Your foot just doesn’t turn all the way around.”

“
So, we’re back where we started,” I said, after I thanked Kent and flipped my phone closed. “So the first question is ‘How did the killer get out of the locked room?’ Second question—Brother Kilroy always kept his key on a ring with a miniature Bible key-fob attached. What happened to the Bible?”

“
Maybe it got pulled off in the fracas,” said Nancy.

“
If that had happened, part of the key ring would have still been attached. Nope. The key was in the lock, but there was no key ring. I find that very odd.”

“
A clue perhaps?” said Dave.

“
Perhaps,” I said. “One of you guys is going to need to go through the dumpster again. See if you can find that miniature Bible and the key chain.”

“
Aw, man…” said Nancy.

“
Just Dave this time,” I said. “It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours. Okay, that’s the first part of the puzzle. The
How
. We also need the
Why
. We need a motive.”

“
It might be easier to discover how and then we’ll know why,” said Nancy.

“
Jillian gave me a DNA report on the pipe,” I said. “Kilroy’s DNA is at one end and our killer’s at the other. No match in the system, though.”

“
Fingerprints?” asked Nancy.

“
Nothing we can use,” I said. “One thing we do know. Our killer is male.”

“
Nuts,” said Nancy. “I had a feeling it was Mona.”

“
Well, she may be involved, but she wasn’t the one that hit him with the pipe. But here’s another person-of-interest. It seems that Officer Burt Coley had an appointment with Brother Kilroy on the Friday before he was killed. Burt is going into the ministry, and Kilroy was on his discernment committee.”

“
Really? You think Burt might be involved?” said Nancy. “I’ve known him since he was eighteen.”

“
Yeah, me, too,” I said. “Anyway, I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Don’t forget, Dave—dumpster duty, first thing in the morning.”

“
I hate to go into a dumpster by myself. I have dumpster-phobia. Nancy should really come with me.”

“
In a pig’s eye,” I said. “You know, Bootsie Watkins sure was jumpy at the beginning of that interview. Then she relaxed. Maybe I just didn’t ask the right questions.”

“
Let’s go interview her again,” said Nancy.

“
We will. Tomorrow morning, while Dave’s in the dumpster. Right after we interview Kokomo.”

* * *

I barged into Moby Mel’s Fish Emporium like a smelt on National Smelt Day at the Fish Emporium. I looked into the display case and there they were--basses from every choir in the city, stretched out on the ice like Nancy Kerrigan after her attempted Triple-Mooseflip during the long program at the ’94 Olympics. They’d been cleaned and cleaned good.

“
Oh, those poor things!” said Marilyn, coming in behind me.

“
Don’t look, Babe. It’s not a pretty sight.”

“
Why’d they do it?”

“
Two reasons. First, they don’t want any four-part singing. That’s obvious. Just praise choruses. And with the basses gone, the tenors don’t stand much of a chance. Sure, they’ll wander around for a while, trying to find tonic, but eventually they’ll just give up and go home.”

“
How about the altos?”

“
They might hang on a little longer. Try to harmonize. But they won’t last.”

“
What’s the second reason?” Marilyn asked.

“
They needed those scales. Look there,” I said pointing to the naked corpses. “There’s Larry Lydian. That one’s Phreddy Phrygian.” I sighed. “Mick Solydian, A.O. Leon, Linc Locrian. What a waste.”

“
Who did it?”

“
The Minimalist,” I said.

“
You’re referring to me?” came a voice from behind us. It was him--and I was caught with my waders around my ankles.

* * *

Choir practice began promptly at 6:45 during the summer months. That being the case, everyone was in his or her seats and ready to sing at 7:18.

“
Everyone sit down and let’s get started,” I called out. “We have a lot to do. I have an announcement to make. Also, there’s some music on the organ we need to look at.”

“
Pete sent this,” said Rebecca, holding out a brown paper grocery bag. “I stopped by the Slab for supper before choir, and Pete said to bring this bag on up.”

“
What is it?” asked Bev.

“
His new Communion Fish,” said Rebecca. “They’re really tasty! Try one!” She passed the bag down the row of altos. “This flavor is
Tongues of Flame
—
Cajun Spicy.
I’m going to need something to drink, though. These are hot!”