“kid” was drinking coffee, in the middle of the night, and eating a sandwich that he had clearly just assembled from the contents of the fridge. Packages of lettuce, cheese, an open loaf of bread, condiments, and sliced turkey were on the island top.
He was older than he looked at first, a shaggy-headed blond with sad eyes, maybe midtwenties. Occam’s eyes were trying to tell me something as he said, “Special Agent Ingram, this is one of Stella’s roadies, Theron Workham, tech and support roadie for the band. He came in for the meeting today and apparently slept over in one of the RVs. He woke up hungry and avoided all the security guards to make a sandwich.” He put a faint emphasis on “avoided all the security guards.” Which should not have been so easy.
Not meeting our eyes, Theron shoved a good three inches of sandwich into his mouth and chewed. Keeping his mouth full so he couldn’t talk? I tilted my head to show I understood Occam’s concern.
“And he’s not the only one on scene. According to him, upstairs are two of the part-time riders”—Occam referred to his notes—“Bevie Rhoden and Elisa Yhall.” He spelled both names. “They’re all three part of Stella’s inner circle and they sleep in the bunk room upstairs, when they aren’t in school. They didn’t see a problem with crossing over crime scene tape either.”
So, we had three people with the ability to make use of the property without getting caught. There were probably more. “Cameras?” I asked, about the security system.
Occam said, irritation in his tone, “There’s a light on the door panel that shows red if the system is armed. And he knows the code.”
Anyone who knew about this could get in, turn off the cameras, and come and go without being filmed. I swiveled my hand, thumb slightly up, to show I understood.
“Theron has agreed to clarify for me the names of the band members, backup singers, roadies, assorted personnel, and groupies following the band.”
I gave him a half smile. Theron didn’t seem the least bit willing to do that. He looked as if he’d been caught and knew it and didn’t know how to get out of the breaking-and-entering mess he was in. He finished the sandwich. Put his plate in the sink. Blew a resigned breath.
Having left my tablet in the car, I just listened as Theron reluctantly went down a list of names, some of which were on my own list, some I hadn’t heard until now. So many names, including Stella’s band manager, Regenia Apple, her accountant, Genneille Booker, and her attorney in Nashville, Augustina Mattson. All women.
I was exhausted and half-asleep on my feet. Theron was wide awake. He poured another cup of coffee, added ice to it, and began to drink. Barely able to keep my eyes open, I heard footsteps on the hidden kitchen stairs.
“You’re been very helpful,” Occam said. “What can you tell me about Stella’s romantic interests and lovers?”
Theron choked on his iced coffee. The footsteps stopped. Occam gave a cat smile of interest in the response, what he sometimes called a “gotcha moment.” His cat ears had heard the approach, probably much sooner than I had.
When Theron stopped coughing, he said, sounding half-strangled, “Stella didn’t date.”
I frowned at the reply. Occam smiled wider.
Two women clattered noisily down the final stairs and into the kitchen. Both had short, shaggy, metallic-dyed hair, multiple tattoos and piercings, and the frayed jeans worn by some of the riders sitting on the fence today. The girls, looking wide awake for the hour, fell on the sandwich makings. “Bevie and Elisa,” Theron said, pointing to identify the girls.
Neither girl looked up. I knew their names, but I hadn’t talked to either of them today. They hadn’t been on scene when Stella died, or all day long as we worked. But here they were now. Inside Stella’s house.
Theron shifted his eyes to Occam and tilted his head to the door. “I’ll look at that now, if you want,” he said. “I can eat and look too.”
The roadie had things to say to Occam. Things he didn’t want the womenfolk to hear, which brought back churchwoman memories of being outcasts and kept ignorant of important information. The men left. I pulled my cell and glanced at the time. And wished I hadn’t.
The girls were busily putting together sandwiches and studiously not looking at me. And I realized they might have things they would tell me that they wouldn’t