The Rock 'N Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - a Spike Berenger Anthology (64 page)

“Finding the mother is the key to finding the baby,” Berenger said and hung up. “Boot up the laptop, Suzanne. Let’s listen to these mothers.”

Within minutes, she had the disk marked Track One in the CD-ROM drive. As soon as it began playing, they were both surprised by how good the music was. The woman had a strong, soprano voice and the songwriting was complex and inventive. While she had a folk-rock quality much like a Joni Mitchell or Judy Collins, there was an element of Kate Bush’s experimental sensibility as well. Berenger liked it a lot. There was also something very familiar about it, but he couldn’t place what it was.

“I’ve heard this song before,” Prescott said. “Over at Bud Callahan’s house. The tape he played of that concert from sixty-nine! Spike, this is really her!”

“You know, I feel like I’ve heard her before, too, but I don’t know where.”

“This is one of same songs she sung at that concert—only this is fully produced in a studio.”

“The question is—is it newly recorded, or was it made in the sixties?”

They finished listening to Track One and then popped the second disk into the laptop. Once again, they were impressed with the contents.

“I don’t know this one,” Prescott commented. “She performed only three numbers on that concert recording.”

By the time they had listened to Track Six, something clicked with Berenger.

“Oh,
man
! I know where I’ve heard her! In fact, I’ve heard
this song
before!” He immediately picked up his cell, dialed New York, and had Melanie transfer the call to Remix.

“’Yo Spikers, howzit hangin’, my man?”

“Remix, I need you to do something for me.”

“Whassat, o wise master?”

“You know where I park my Altima?”

“Uhhh, on the street?”

“No, in the parking garage beneath the building where I live. Just up the street.”

“Okay.”

“I need you to grab the keys out of my desk drawer—get Rudy to unlock it for you—and go get something out of the car.”

“What’s that?”

“I have a pile of CDs in the accessory compartment in the dash. Grab ‘em all. But there’s one that’s a CD-R that was made by my friend Sandro. It’s labeled ‘Italian Sampler’ or something like that. I need you to upload all the music from that CD onto our server, and then I’ll access it from here.”

“Okay, boss. It’s not some of that prog shit you listen to, is it?”

“Never mind what it is!”

“What if it ain’t there?”

“Remix, it’s there. It’s where I left it. Call me once you’ve got it uploaded, all right?”

“You betcha. Anything else?”

Berenger thought for a moment. “Yeah. See if you can get hold of all of the albums by Red Skyez and Windy City Engine. I know I have maybe three Red Skyez albums on vinyl, and a few Windy City CDs in the gym. Figure out what we’re missing and then scour the used music stores in the city and see if you can pick them up.”

“What about e-Bay?”

“That’ll take too long. But if any Internet shops have them and can ship them overnight, that would help, too.”

“You forget I’m a technogeek, boss. There are other ways to find those records. I can maybe find them on a usenet peer-to-peer network like BitTorrent or eMule.”

“Whatever.”

“But even if I find ‘em there, it can still take a long time to download the things.”

“
Whatever
, Remix!”

“And I suppose you want me to upload all these albums on our server, too?”

“You got it. And while you’re at it, pick up the solo albums by Stuart Clayton and Joe Nance.”

“Shit, man, now you’re really gettin’ esoteric! Last time I looked, Clayton’s first album was sellin’ for nearly a hundred bucks!”

“I think the firm can afford it, Remix.”

“Then how come my expense report for the third week of January wasn’t approved? It was only seventy-eight dollars and ninety-nine cents!”

“Remix, if I remember correctly, you submitted your Movies-On-Demand bill as your expenses for the week.”

“But they wuz all
music
movies, man!
Woodstock
,
Monterey Pop
,
The Song Remains the Same
,
Stop Making Sense
...”

“Wasn’t
Hardcore Gangstas
on that list, too?”

“Uh… yeah. Okay, never mind.”

Berenger hung up and they finished listening to all the disks—tracks one through eight.

“Three more tracks and she’s got herself a full album,” Prescott noted.

“Yeah. Brill, Nance, and Clayton. One song for each.”

“We have to get them some protection.”

“The police won’t listen to me, Suzanne, you know that. And you know what’ll happen if I try to warn Nance. Clayton won’t speak to me. Why don’t you try calling him? Here…” Berenger read off his number from his cell phone. She dialed it from her own mobile and got voice mail.

“Mister Clayton, it’s Suzanne Prescott calling. Please call me back as soon as you get this.” She gave him her number. “It’s important. Spike and I think you might be in danger.”

Berenger decided to leave messages with Brill and Nance as well. It wouldn’t hurt to warn them, but neither of them picked up. He left a similar message on both voice mail systems.

An hour later, Remix called back and said the Italian sampler was on the server. Prescott accessed it on her laptop and Berenger went directly to the song performed by Julia Faerie, the woman he had been impressed with.

It was identical to the song marked Track Six that Sylvia Favero had left for him.

B
erenger got up early on Wednesday morning so that he could check his voice mail. He had already left a message for Sandro Ponti in Italy but that was several hours earlier and the time difference would have meant the middle of the night for the Italian musician. Luckily, Ponti received Berenger’s missive and left a text message for the PI to call at seven a.m., Central Time.

“
Pronto
?”

“Sandro?”

“Spike! How are you?” The jovial bass player spoke with a thick accent and somewhat broken English that reminded Berenger of Chico Marx.

“Okay, Sandro. You doing all right?”

“Yes, yes. I am fine. It is so good to hear from you. Did you get the sampler I sent you?”

“I did, and in fact that’s what I’m calling about.”

“Ah, you want more good Italian progressive rock music?”

“Sure, that’d be nice, but what I need to talk to you about concerns one of the musicians on the sampler. Julia Faerie.”

“Oh, yes! Wonderful singer, no? She is very talented.”

“Wait… do you
know
her?”

“Yes, I do! I help to get her music produced.”

Berenger was astonished. Were they talking about the same woman? “Sandro. How old is she?”

“Let’s see… about forty, I think. But she looks much younger.”

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

“Uhm… maybe three month ago. We lay down tracks in the studio in Rome.”

Berenger felt his pulse quicken.

“How well do you know her? What can you tell me about her?”

“Spike, what is this about?”

“Sandro, have you heard about what has happened in Chicago over the past two or three months?”

“No, I do not listen to American news. I do not like it.”

“Sandro, many members from Red Skyez and Windy City Engine have been murdered. One by one, someone has been killing them.”

“What? Oh, my God!”

Berenger did his best to bring Ponti up to date on the tragic events. The Italian seemed to be genuinely upset.

“Charles? Manny? Dave Monaco? I can’t believe it!”

“You were friends with all these guys, right?”

“Sure, I knew them all when I was in Chicago. When I was in Rattlesnake, I met them. Bud Callahan was tight with them, so I knew them through him.”

“Did you ever know a woman named Sylvia Favero?”

“Sylvia Favero… no, who is she?”

“She was a friend of the band… well, when the band was The Loop. Remember The Loop?”

“I was not in Chicago then, but I heard of them, of course. That’s what Windy City Engine was before they changed their name, right?”

“The Loop split into two bands—Windy City Engine and Red Skyez.”

“Oh, right.”

“Sylvia Favero was a groupie, for lack of a better word. She also performed, sang her own songs. She disappeared in nineteen-seventy.”

“No, I do not know about her, Spike.”

Berenger explained a little about the CDs that the killer had left for him, and that one of the tracks was identical to Julia Faerie’s cut on the sampler.

“But… how can that be?” Ponti asked.

“I don’t know! That’s what I need to find out. Tell me about Julia.”

“She has been, how you say?—kicking around—the music scene in Italy for twenty years or more. She was with popular choral group that sang religious music for a number of years. When she was in her thirties she became solo act. She is not well-known… yet. I met her about six years ago. I heard some of her original songs and thought they were fantastic. I encourage her to make a record. So, slowly, she has been recording demos. The track on the sampler was a demo. Hopefully we make album soon.”

“I need to talk to her. Does she speak English?”

“Of course! Her mother was American.”

Bingo,
Berenger thought
. There’s the connection.

B
erenger didn’t tell Ponti that he suspected Julia Faerie might be Sylvia Favero’s long lost child. He didn’t want to believe it himself until he learned more and talked to the singer. Nevertheless, Ponti said he would find Julia and get back to him. The Italian was afraid she might be away from Rome but he would search for her. Berenger informed him of the benefit concert on Friday night, and Ponti said he would like to be there and might actually try to come.

That afternoon, Berenger and Prescott left the rental car at the hotel and took a walk through Old Town, a quaint and affluent area of trendy shops, restaurants, and clubs. Berenger had other things on his mind but felt he was at a loss. He didn’t know what to do next since his investigation depended on others getting back to him. So when Prescott suggested that they get outside into the fresh air, he didn’t mind. It would clear his head.

While Prescott window shopped, Berenger noted the diversity of people that populated the area. Young people dominated Old Town and there was definitely a bohemian vibe that reminded him of West Greenwich Village. He was surprised by the number of couples—boy/girl, boy/boy, girl/girl—as if everyone in Chicago had a significant other. He knew it wasn’t so, but it was the impression that the beautiful spring day brought. Perhaps the cessation of the rains had brought out the lovers.

A guitar shop on Clark Street caught Berenger’s eye, so he stopped and admired the goods in the window. He stood slavering over a vintage circa 1950s Les Paul “Goldtop” when he saw the moving reflection of a familiar figure in the window. Berenger turned and confirmed that Felix Bushnell was walking north with a purpose. The man was dressed as he had been at the police station—in a black turtleneck, tight black pants, and the dangling earrings, which were what caught the PI’s attention. Without a second thought, Berenger followed the suspect. Although he had serious doubts that Bushnell had anything to do with the musician murders, the guy was definitely a strange bird. Given the man’s history with armed robberies while dressed in drag, Berenger supposed it was possible that he could be wrong. After all, if Julia Faerie was the woman singing on the tapes that Sylvia Favero had given him, then Favero couldn’t be the performer. And if the real Sylvia Favero was dead, then someone was impersonating her. Could it be Julia Faerie? Or what about Nance’s wife, Lucy? Was it a coincidence that she had blonde hair and suddenly dyed it red? Or could it be Felix Bushnell—a man with a record and questionable lifestyle?