What Happened on Beale Street Read online

  Nate identified himself as a private investigator from Louisiana working with Memphis homicide, checked his weapon at the desk, and waited for Tito to be brought in. He was expecting a multi-tattooed, hard-as-nails thug with an attitude. But Tito looked like an emaciated, frightened kid who had never pumped iron or talked trash in his life. It would be miraculous if he stayed alive long enough to stand trial.

  “Who are you?” asked Tito, slumping into the chair on the opposite side of the table.

  “Name’s Nate Price. I’m a friend of Danny Andre’s. I came to town to investigate his murder.” He kept his expression neutral.

  “Oh, man! It’s good to finally see a friendly face. I’m going crazy in this place. You gotta get me out of here. I ain’t even been charged yet.” Sullivan’s eyes darted left and right, as though danger was closing in.

  “Why would you think I’d be friendly with you? You’re about to be charged with Danny’s murder.”

  “No! That ain’t right.” Tito sliced the air with his hand. “I would never hurt Danny. He was my friend. I weren’t nowhere around the night he got killed. I got no idea who done it, but it weren’t me.”

  Nate was taken aback by the verbiage. An English teacher would jail Sullivan based on bad grammar alone. “I take it you have an airtight alibi for last Thursday night?”

  The small amount of color in Tito’s complexion faded. “That’s just it. I was someplace I shouldn’t have been.” His voice dropped to a whisper.

  With little knowledge of the world Sullivan inhabited, a visual montage of opium dens and crack houses ran through Nate’s mind, courtesy of TV crime dramas. “Did you fall off the wagon but don’t want to get your dealer in trouble?” Scorn turned Nate’s words brittle.

  Tito stared at him. “No, man, nothing like that. I swear I’m clean.” He placed a bony hand across his heart. “I ain’t got no supplier.”

  Nate was no expert on substance abuse withdrawal, but wouldn’t Sullivan be sweating or trembling or have dilated pupils if he’d been using? The pathetic soul sitting across from him looked like he needed a good meal, not a fix. “If you had nothing to do with Danny’s death, you should start talking, at least to me. I’m not interested in bringing other criminal charges against you, only murder.”

  Tito glanced at the camera mounted on the wall. “I guess I got nothing to lose. I spent the night locked in the sound room at the Blues City Club. Danny introduced me to the sound guy who works all the big shows. When there’s gonna be a standin’-room-only crowd, he lets Danny and me sneak in to hear the band. Danny had the night off, so I thought he’d show up, but he never did.”

  Nate leaned back in his chair. This had to be the last thing he expected. “Go on. How did you get locked in?”

  “They rented the balcony for a bachelor party and set out a spread of food. Wings, hoagies, ribs… even fried okra. I never had it fixed that way.” Tito’s eyes glazed over with the memory. “Never saw so much grub. I waited till those boys wouldn’t care who wandered into line, but I didn’t touch no booze. You gotta believe me. I filled my plate a second time for Danny and hid in the closet of the sound room. Then I fell asleep. When I woke up, the door was locked and I had to wait till Gus came to work the next night to get out. Gus told me if he ever laid eyes on me again, he’d break my arm.” Tito rubbed the sleeve of his jumpsuit.

  The guard unlocked the door and cleared his throat, signaling that Nate’s time was up.

  “I didn’t lay a hand on Danny. I was still a block away from the apartment when I heard that he was dead.”

  “So why would you run if you had nothing to hide?” Nate rose to his feet.

  “I ain’t got good history with cops.” Something raw flashed in Tito’s eyes and then was gone. “They’ll look at my rap sheet and not believe a word I’m sayin’.”

  “Thanks for talking to me, Mr. Sullivan. I suggest you do whatever your attorney says.”

  “What you gonna do for me, Price? I told you I was stuck in Blues City all night!” Tito’s pleas followed Nate out the door.

  The only thing he could do, whether or not it was for Tito, was call Detective Marino. “Hey, Chip. How’s it going?” Nate trotted out his friendliest tone. “I wanted to make sure you knew Danny Andre’s funeral was tomorrow morning.”

  “Is that right? Give me the details and I’ll make a point to be there.”

  Nate provided the time and place and then asked, “You eager to see who shows up? Maybe the killer will be lurking behind the headstones?”

  “Nah. I already got the killer lurking in a cell. I’m hoping Andre’s sister is so grateful she’ll go out with me. Get this. Tito Sullivan was wearing Danny’s clothes and watch when we arrested him. I sent a picture of the nice wool sweater to Isabelle, and she confirmed she bought it for Danny last Christmas, along with the watch. Sounds to me like Sullivan wanted them in a bad way and things got out of hand. Plenty of neighbors will testify that Tito had a temper.”

  Nate didn’t know what bothered him more, Marino trying to get a date with Isabelle or his foregone conclusion he’d arrested the right man. “I just talked to Tito. He said he spent last Friday locked in the Blues City Club overnight. Crashed some kind of bachelor party and overstayed his welcome.”

  “Wow, you’re like a dog with a bone, ain’t you? Yeah, I ran that alibi by the soundman at the club. The guy said he didn’t know what Sullivan was talking about.”

  “The soundman may have motivation to lie.” Nate crossed the parking lot to his car as sirens whined in the distance.

  “And Sullivan doesn’t? Man, why won’t you let this go? Sullivan was wearing expensive property that didn’t belong to him, his alibi doesn’t hold water, and the guy has a rap sheet a mile long, including both theft and assault. You wanted me to catch Andre’s killer and I have. Now, pick a night we can go for ribs and forget about that loser.”

  Marino disconnected the call without as much as a goodbye.

  But the detective’s rudeness didn’t matter to Nate. It was the inkling that he’d helped railroad the wrong man.

  THIRTEEN

  Befitting the occasion, the morning of Danny’s funeral dawned cool and rainy. Nate put on the fanciest clothes he’d brought to Memphis—tan chinos, white cotton shirt, and dark sport coat. The Carlton concierge had everything starched and pressed last night. Mr. Prescott was only too happy to help Nate because Nicki had brightened his grandfather’s day. Nate smiled. If she wanted to sniff out something that happened sixty years ago, he couldn’t be happier. Just as long as she stayed out of harm’s way.

  Nicki and Hunter were waiting in the lobby at the appointed hour. Nicki looked demure in a navy dress with white collar and cuffs, while Hunter’s Armani suit underscored his distinguished appearance. Maybe it was the haircut or his French accent, but Hunter would probably look dignified dressed in a clown costume. Even if Nate tripled his yearly income, he couldn’t come close to Hunter’s élan.

  As the three of them walked outside, the valet had a Lincoln Town Car waiting at the curb. “I thought you were renting a Buick,” Nate whispered in Nicki’s ear while Hunter walked to the driver’s side.

  “Hunter made the arrangements. He thought something bigger would be more comfortable.”

  The somber occasion affected everyone’s mood during the drive to Germantown. Hunter made polite conversation about his court testimony, carefully avoiding anything that might upset Nicki. He was not only rich and well dressed, but diplomatic as well. Nate tried to inventory his personal assets and came up with only “never licks his fingers in public” and “never wears socks with sandals.” Not exactly a compelling list of reasons for women to dream about him. But once they arrived at Isabelle’s church, Nate forgot his self-absorption.

  Isabelle Andre stood on the steps with the minister and a man who had to be the funeral director. Dressed from head to toe in black, she looked paler and smaller than normal. Her almost waist-length black hair was wound in a knot at the back
of her head.

  Hunter parked just behind the hearse and limo and walked around to open Nicki’s door. As soon as she was out of the car, Nicki ran straight up the steps into Isabelle’s arms. For several long moments the two women hugged and cried while Nate and Hunter watched helplessly. Both men wanted to offer comfort but were afraid to intrude.

  “I’m so glad you came.” Isabelle’s plaintive words floated on the breeze. “It didn’t hit me until today that he isn’t coming back.”

  Nicki choked out something undecipherable, wiped her eyes, and then blew her nose. “We’ll stay as long as you need us. Izzy, I’d like you meet my fiancé, Hunter Galen.” Nicki reached for Hunter’s hand to draw him close.

  Feeling like an interloper, Nate hung back with the minister and funeral director on the sidelines. He watched one white-haired woman enter the church.

  Suddenly Isabelle extended her hand toward him. “Mr. Price, I am so grateful you’re here too.” She pulled him into the inner circle. “It’s just as I thought,” she whispered next to his ear. “Most of the mourners are from the women’s club or members of the church choir. Danny didn’t attend this church, and I didn’t socialize with couples. I feared there wouldn’t be enough pallbearers.”

  Nate liked the feel of Isabelle’s hand so much he would have agreed to carry the casket on his back. “We’ll have enough now. Should we go inside?”

  “Yes, before they close the casket,” said Nicki. “Hunter never got to meet Danny. This will be his last chance.” Her face crumpled with misery as Hunter walked with her into the sanctuary.

  Nate extended his elbow to Isabelle as a vehicle screeched to a stop in the parking lot. The painted lettering indicated the van came from Memphis First Baptist. Judging by their rough attire, it didn’t take a PI to deduce the mourners were Danny’s former clients. One by one the reformed addicts entered the church, somber and respectful. One man, better attired than the others, approached the funeral director and spoke quietly.

  Nate was halfway up the center aisle before realization dawned. Carl Fuentes… no longer missing in action. But with Isabelle leaning on his arm, now wasn’t the time for crime solving. As Nicki wept in front of Danny’s casket, Nate cleared his mind of everything but the moment at hand. For ten minutes mourners filed past Danny, paying their last respects as a pianist played hauntingly beautiful music. Nate had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from crying for a man he barely knew.

  When the funeral director closed the casket, the minister opened the service with Scripture. Then some of those who knew the deceased stepped forward to offer tributes. Although Nicki, Danny’s best friend, and Isabelle, his only close relative, both spoke, the most stirring words came from those Danny had mentored. Half a dozen men walked to the pulpit one at a time, and each one described how Danny saved his life. Each insisted he would be dead if not for Danny’s intervention, how he refused to give up even after several failed attempts at rehab. According to their testimonies, Danny had exemplified the Christian code of kindness, selflessness, and generosity. Many of the men broke down and wept at the pulpit. By the time Carl Fuentes delivered his tribute, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

  Nate gazed around the sanctuary as the soloist delivered a mournful “Amazing Grace.” Several older women had slipped into the last row after the service had begun, along with Chip Marino. The detective nodded when Nate’s gaze met his. At the song’s conclusion, the minister delivered his final prayer, directions to the cemetery, and instructions as to where lunch would be served. Nate had no chance to talk with Marino, Fuentes, or any of the New Horizons clients. Isabelle clung tightly to his arm as they followed the casket down the center aisle. When the wheeled contraption arrived at the church steps and could go no farther, Nate and Hunter stepped forward to carry the casket to the hearse. But Fuentes and five of Danny’s clients reached for the brass handles first.

  “Please, let us do this for Danny,” said the center’s director. “It’s nothing compared to what he did for us.”

  Nate returned to where Isabelle leaned against a pillar. “I didn’t know how cherished my brother was,” she said softly. “I guess I didn’t know him at all.” A single tear ran down her cheek.

  “Most people have many sides, Miss Andre. You saw the side reserved for sisters, the one he wanted you to see.” Nate squeezed her hand as they walked toward the Lincoln.

  As the cortege drove through the streets of Germantown, no one spoke. Nate expected Isabelle’s silence, but he couldn’t remember his cousin ever being that quiet. Even the charismatic Hunter Galen stared out the window as the drizzle increased to a downpour. Although the Carlton concierge had provided two large umbrellas for the graveside prayers, the residents of New Horizon stood in the rain without complaint. Finally, the funeral director instructed mourners to place a long-stemmed rose on the casket and say their final words.

  “I’d like a moment with you before you leave, Mr. Price.” Carl Fuentes appeared at his side.

  “Sure. Just give me a few minutes.” Nate accompanied Isabelle across the uneven ground to deliver her flower. Once she and Nicki were safely inside the Lincoln with Hunter, he sought out the former addict-turned-pastor. “What can I do for you, Mr. Fuentes?”

  “I’m sorry I missed you the other day when you stopped by the center. I was in Biloxi a few days for a family matter. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “I wanted to know about Danny’s role at New Horizons, but that was cleared up at the funeral today. Thanks for coming, by the way. Hearing how instrumental Danny was in the men’s lives was a powerful tonic for Miss Andre.”

  “I didn’t bring them. They would have come without my van. Once they heard what happened, they were very upset.”

  “Even Tito Sullivan?”

  “Especially Tito. He was crushed by Danny’s death.”

  “Doesn’t look good that he disappeared when the police wanted to question him.”

  Fuentes stared at the endless rows of graves. “When you’ve had as many run-ins with the law as Tito, you become reluctant to step forward. And when you made a lifetime habit of lying, everyone assumes you’re incapable of the truth. But that doesn’t make him a murderer. I assure you, Mr. Price, that Tito loved Danny. He wouldn’t kill him over a watch or a sweater or anything else.”

  Nate’s surprise that the director knew the details doubtlessly showed on his face. “So you heard he was caught wearing Danny’s clothes?”

  “I spoke with his public defender last night after the DA charged him with second-degree murder. I’ll tell you the same thing I told the lawyer. Tito was wearing the sweater and wristwatch to help him blend in at Blues City. He borrowed Danny’s clothes often, and Danny didn’t mind. They were roommates.”

  “The soundman at the blues club didn’t corroborate Tito’s story.”

  “No surprise there. If management found out he let people sneak in, he would be fired. Why would he risk his job for someone from the streets?”

  “If you’re certain it wasn’t Tito, who would want to harm a nice guy like Danny?”

  Fuentes shrugged. “Don’t know, but if I were you, I’d stop looking at former users and start looking where Danny made his living… on Beale Street. From what I’ve heard, Danny was in demand when clubs needed a stand-in sax player. For musicians not in a band, good-paying gigs are hard to find. Every time Danny got picked, some other musician went hungry that night.” Carl pulled up his collar with a shiver. “If you have any more questions, Mr. Price, you know where to find me.”

  Nate watched him shuffle back to the van, hunched over in the rain, and then returned to Hunter’s rental car, more confused than ever by the enigma of Danny Andre.

  Isabelle cringed when she saw Detective Marino approaching the car. Nicki and Hunter had stepped out to confer with the funeral director about the luncheon. Poor Nicki was worried the ladies’ auxiliary wouldn’t provide enough food for hungry men, so Hunter was trying to arrange for some
deli trays and buckets of fried chicken. When the homicide cop tapped on her window, Isabelle had no choice but to open the door.

  “Come in out of the rain, Detective.” She scooted over on the spacious backseat.

  Marino shook the rain from his trench coat like a spaniel and ducked into the car. “Don’t mind if I do. Man, I don’t think the forecasters called for this kind of monsoon.” He smiled without parting his lips.

  With zero knowledge of the day’s weather report, Isabelle changed the subject. “I wanted to thank you for coming to my brother’s funeral. And also for arresting the man responsible for Danny’s death.” She offered him her hand to shake.

  Marino squeezed her fingers. “No need to thank me. I felt bad about your seeing your brother on the riverbank that way. And tracking down that lowlife moocher was just doin’ my job. Some guys not only don’t know how to say ‘thank you,’ but they bite the hand that feeds them. Throwing Sullivan in jail was my pleasure.”

  “Just the same, I am grateful for your diligence on Danny’s case. Others may have drawn the wrong conclusion about my brother based on where he lived and his choice of friends.” Isabelle glanced out the window, hoping Nicki and Hunter would hurry. “Will you stop for a sandwich back at First Methodist? Even a busy detective has to take time to eat.”

  “Since you asked so nicely, Miss Andre, I’m sure I can spare another hour.” Marino glanced at his watch and then let his gaze drift over her dressy suit. “I need to talk to my old buddy Nate, anyway. I’ll meet y’all over there. And if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, give me a call.” He set his card on the leather upholstery.

  Suddenly a knock on the glass jarred their attention. Isabelle lowered the window to see a woman in a full-length black raincoat, her face obscured by its deep hood.

  “Miss Andre, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I wanted to express my sympathy for the loss of your brother.” She pushed back the hood to reveal classically pretty features with high cheekbones and full lips. But the woman’s eyes were bloodshot, and her complexion was so pale as to be almost ghostlike.