Wired For Sound Read online

  He did not like American polis. Pigs was what his fans called them. It had occurred to him the fans had a reason. This lot held the power of life and death, yours, in their hands. They made sure those they were dealing with acknowledged it. Common sense and knowledge of human nature were not their primary tools. Guns and bullets were.

  During one of Bushmaster's very first important New York gigs, H.M. rented a Harley, found some friendly Hog people and played about in the city for a while. His friends got a bit boisterous in a pub one night. The pigs responded by throwing everyone outside. The coppers roughly lined them up against a wall as they prepared to search everyone.

  The polis felt up the first couple of women while they frisked them. H.M. began telling them what he thought of them and their tactics.

  Without warning, one of his new friends punched him hard enough in the stomach to lay him out. As he lay on the ground, trying to catch his breath, he watched it all play out. The individual who punched him was quickly worked over.

  Lying there, he realized the Yank saved his hide. Those pigs could have easily killed him. Likely, they would have thought nothing of it. He got the bike back to the shop the next day. From that incident on, Hamish tried to stay under the radar and as far away from U.S. coppers as possible.

  Looking up as he laid the keyboard down, Hamish spotted them. Three members of the polis were in the backstage area. One wore a uniform; the other two did not.

  Both coppers did wear cheap suits. They were careful to reach into the inside pockets of their jackets when putting away their sunglasses. That gesture allowed them to give everyone a good look at the guns they carried in shoulder harnesses.

  So yu're armed. Bleedin marvelous! H.M. thought as he leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. The two men in suits were somewhere in their late thirties or early forties. The older inspector's dark hair had touches of gray sprinkled here and there.

  It was the older one who spoke first. "I'm Lieutenant Wasserman; this is Sergeant Fredrick. We are going to take individual statements from all of you. All of the band members," Wasserman pointed toward the curtains. "Will assemble over there."

  His sarcastic pronunciation of the words 'band members' caused H.M. to grind his back teeth. Hamish guessed what was coming. Rising from the chair, he turned to Lori and gave her hand a light squeeze. Taking his time, H.M. walked over to the area indicated.

  Damn tha fool who found it necessary tae kill Vincent! He thought to himself. While jamming, Hamish unconsciously came to the decision someone had committed murder. Some bastard planned it out. Electrocution did not happen in a large venue with good wiring and competent roadies. Not accidentally.

  H.M. took care to keep the first wave of revulsion and panic which flooded him, hidden from the polis. All of their lives, their careers were at stake here. The murderer had to be found.

  He was praying they got the correct person. Nearly everyone assembled had a reason to kill Vincent. The man had injured hundreds of people. Hamish doubted Vincent's parents, brother, and two sisters, were above suspicion. Their saving grace was their absence.

  Once the inspectors had the crowd sorted out, they herded everyone else but the band out of the immediate area and into another room. Lori glanced at him for reassurance before the door closed behind her. She was frightened. He saw it in her eyes.

  Damn Vincent as well! Why had tha bugger allowed his colossal ego tae run rampant over everyone? Hamish asked himself.

  "Which one of you is Hamish Cadell MacGrough?" Fredrick read his name from a list then looked up expectantly.

  "I am," Hamish replied.

  "OK, come on MacGrough. We are going to have a little talk."

  Hamish followed the copper to one of the dressing rooms. Fredrick motioned H.M. toward the chair opposite the one he stood next to. Everything was going to be nice and cozy, with them knee to knee.

  Intimidation tactics. H.M. realized immediately what Fredrick was planning. He forced himself to relax. He was innocent, and this copper was not going to make him act nervous or uncomfortable for trying to save the bastard's life. And he had tried.

  "You're from England." Fredrick waved the piece of paper he held.

  "Nae. I'm fra Glasgow, Scotland. 'Tis nae England. 'Tis Scotland an I'm ah citizen o tha United Kingdom." He realized he was falling into broad Scots. He needed to hold it down.

  "It's the same thing." The copper waved the paper in H.M.'s face.

  "'Fraid not. But, I dinna believe furtherin your education is tha reason we're in here."

  The Sergeant leaned back in the chair with a slight smile on his face. "What do you think we are doing here?"

  "As tae front man of our band just died of electrocution, I would think we were tae discuss his death."

  Hamish's statement appeared to take the copper back a trifle which in turn amused H.M. The inspector decided to back off for the moment. The man tried a new tactic. H.M. watched the wheels turn in his head.

  "I understand you tried to resuscitate the victim?" The detective asked.

  "Aye, I did. It wa worth an attempt."

  "Are you aware Slaughter is dead?" The copper was watching him carefully.

  "I thought that wa tha case when they took him away tae hospital. I knew he was nae respondin. It dinna seem likely they would be able tae revive him. His heart did nae start on its own. His brain wa without oxygen tae long. Had they been able tae get his heart restarted, likely he would ha been ah vegetable."

  Silent for a moment, Hamish rubbed his right hand on his thigh. Realizing he was doing so, H.M. clasped his hands together. "Vincent had ah living will. He carried ah copy in his wallet. Slaughter had ah horror of that sort of thing happening tae him."

  Fredrick was still watching him carefully. "How would you know?"

  "I knew ah great deal about Vincent. We ha been playin together for eight years. There was ah time, before being ah star went tae his head, when he was ah reasonable person."

  A twinge of sadness flicked through Hamish. "We had many conversations about various things, 'Cabbages and Kings', ye might say. Talk is easy late at night on yur way tae tha next gig. Vincent an I went tae college together, medical school. I had ah scholarship. Vincent was upper crust, from ah long line of medical men. His family all wanted him tae give this up an return to finish tha program an become ah doctor."

  "You were the first one on stage tonight. Weren't you?"

  Hamish put both hands on his thighs. "Aye. I'm always tae first one on stage for sound check. I like tae make sure I have enough time tae correct any problems I may encounter without anyone tappin their toe at me. Everyone kens it. I also dinna go up on stage with ah screwdriver an wire strippin tool. One of the roadies is almost always round when I'm setting up my rig."

  The inspector made a notation in the small notebook he carried. "No one asked you about 'screwdrivers or wire stripping tools,' why did you bring it up?"

  Hamish folded his arms across his chest. "I understand tha hazards of my business. Electrocution has nae been ah major concern for many years. Some instruments are more inclined tae that particular problem. Nothing can happen as long as tha amps are all wired correctly, an tha power source as well. All tha amps were wired correctly at tha beginning of tha tour. The road crew always checks tha wiring of tha venue before anyone plays. Logically, at some point, tha amplifier was incorrectly rewired, either by accident, or design."

  Fredrick made several more notations in the small notebook. When the inspector looked at H.M. again, his expression had undergone a change. He was now curious about the people involved in his investigation as individuals.

  "Who had a reason to kill Slaughter in your opinion?"

  "More tae tha point, who dinna have ah reason tae kill him?" Hamish decided he might as well get it all out in the open. "I would think by your standards, standards for polis investigation purposes, tha problems we all had with tha man could have been reason enough for murder."

  He felt
his anger grow against the individual who had planned the murder as he said the word out loud.

  "Then you believe he was murdered." Fredrick was watching him carefully.

  "Unfortunately, that does appear tae be tha case. I have considered all tha technical facets of tha matter an 'tis tha only conclusion I can come tae." He kept his voice as emotionless as possible.

  "Well, well. And although you had reason to murder him, you didn't do the deed, as they say?" Fredrick leaned forward, his face just a few inches from H.M.'s. The copper was waiting for a reply.

  "Nae, Sergeant Fredrick, I didnae do tha deed. I have two tickets on tha British Airways noon flight tae London with ah hired jet waiting tae take me tae Glasgow Airport. I have ah studio date set up there. If all went as planned, I would never need tae play for Slaughter or Bushmaster again. Not that tha band could reform now."

  Hamish unfolded his arms and put both hands on his thighs again. "It would be difficult tae find ah replacement for Vincent. Before ye investigate this in any depth, be advised I had tha feeling Vince was plannin some sort of devilment. He still wanted me tae work on an album with him. Nothing he could have done would have induced me tae work for him on his debut album. I knew Vincent would try tae force me tae work for him somehow. Legally per'aps."

  Shrugging his broad shoulders, H.M. continued. "Nae matter. I was prepared. I've ah battery of solicitors ready an waitin tae counter any move he might have made. Much as I disliked tha ass Vincent had allowed himself tae become, I dinna believe in murder as a solution tae dealing with eejits. Life is tae be preserved and safeguarded. God is tha only reliable guardian of tha power tae end life."

  Fredrick had physically backed away from Hamish so he could make notes in his book. The inspector scribbled in the notebook for a moment more before tucking it into the pocket of his suit jacket.

  "I'm afraid you won't be taking the flight to London, Mr. MacGrough. No one will be allowed to leave the city until we have Mr. Slaughter's killer in custody."

  H.M. sighed as he rubbed both hands up and down his thighs. "I believed ye would take that action. Since my feelings have been justified, I have tae make different arrangements."

  He looked up at the Sergeant. "Are we finished for tha moment?"

  "We have covered the basics." Fredrick rose from the chair. "You may go now."

  He walked over to the door and opened it for H.M. "Please advise your girlfriend, she must also remain in the area."

  "It was expected." Hamish stepped through the door. Immediately he went in search of Lori. She would probably be in their dressing room if they had finished questioning her. On opening the door, he was promptly tugged inside.

  "It was awful! They aren't going to let us leave here!" Lori shut the door behind him and threw both arms around his waist.

  "What are we going to do? If we have to stay here too long, it could ruin the deal in Glasgow. Hamish, what is going on here? Did someone really kill Vincent?"

  "Aye, luv, I ken it was difficult. Aye, someone did kill Vincent." He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed his cheek against her hair. "We willnae be able tae contact anyone at home now, tis tae early there. We need tae get out of here. Let's go somewhere, get somethin tae eat. A drink would be most welcome at tha moment."

  Lori turned her head; her mouth was close to his chest. Putting her arms around his neck, Lori clung to Hamish. "Where can we go? The hotel will be the only safe place once the reporters are on our trail."

  Her warm breath against his skin, Lori's hands around his neck was just this minute the only normal thing in Hamish's world. She waited for him to reply.

  "Nae. I think not. Once we're inside tha hotel, we will have tha devil's own time getting away again without ah lot of trouble. This is goin tae require our usual method of escape."

  Lori stepped away from Hamish. He was reluctant to let go of her. Turning, Hamish walked over to a trunk in the far corner of the room. It was large enough to house all of Lori's painting supplies including canvas.

  The trunk could easily carry two small speaker enclosures if necessary. H.M. slipped the six shelves out and unfolded a small jump seat attached to the inside of the rectangular box.

  Holding out an old well worn tweed jacket to him, she waited quietly. Hamish took it and shrugged into the loose coat. Together they tucked his dark hair under a leather cap. Lori put on a pair of coveralls as H.M. made himself comfortable on the jump seat in the trunk.

  After fastening the heavy latches on the lid, she spoke into one of the vent holes evenly spaced around the top of the box. "Ready?"

  "Aye. Shall we go?" His voice was muffled by the wood of the case.

  Tipping back the hand truck, Lori wheeled the trunk over to the door, opened it and 1maneuvered the case through. The roadies were still busy packing the show up. In the coveralls, she blended easily into the stream of objects headed for the loading dock. Lori trundled the crate up a ramp and into the back of one of the vans.

  "How you doing Mrs. Mac?" A roadie spoke quietly to her as she began to unfasten the latches.

  "Not too good tonight," Lori replied.

  While Hamish slipped out of the case, she stripped off the coveralls before throwing them into the trunk.

  H.M. motioned the man over to where they stood. "Ye know tha drill, Ed. Give us ah bit of cover an then take this back tae tha dressin room tae be loaded, if ye will."

  "Sure thing Mr. Mac. That was a weird thing that happened to Mr. Slaughter. None of us would have hooked up something like that."

  "I ken, Ed. This doesnae look good. The polis are asking a lot of questions."

  The man shuffled his feet for a moment. Ed looked up at Hamish. "It couldn't have been an accident. We all knew it from the first."

  "Aye, well. It was nae accident. Someone had enough of tha Viper then took steps tae cure tha problem. Ye've seen nothing odd going on lately, have you?"

  "Nah. But I'll check around with the other guys. It's a bum end to a decent tour."

  Hamish pulled the jacket around him and buttoned the middle two buttons. "This is going tae cause ah lot of problems for everyone. If you hear anythin, nae matter how silly it sounds, come tae me."

  Lori stared at the two of them then shook her head. It was so unbelievable. Feeling somewhat numb, she reached for her husband's hand. At least, they would be out of the thick of it all shortly. Cuddling against him gratefully, she turned her face away from the bustle outside the trailer.

  "You can count on it Mac." Ed glanced out of the back of the van toward the loading dock. "Stay put for a minute. We'll have you out of here with none of the snoops the wiser in a hot tick."

  With a pat on the back for H.M., Ed left the van. One of the crew had just started up the ramp toward him.

  "Dumb ass! I didn't tell you to bring that one in here yet. Dumb shit!" Ed reached out and grabbed the man's arm, jerking him forward.

  Ed whispered hastily in his ear. "Mac's in the truck."

  The long haired man grinned as he shook off Ed's hand. "You want something else moved, you show me big man! Don't push me!"

  The shouting match was on. Ed and the younger man skillfully kept the crowd's eyes on the developing fight as they moved every one inside the loading bay. While the curious watched the argument, H.M. lowered Lori by one arm from the truck to the ground. He jumped down quietly after her. Slipping past the tractor rigs, they made their way out to the street.

  Hamish was now a tourist from Britain on holiday, having come to see and be entertained by Los Angeles. They caught a cab. Lori directed the driver in the general direction of the ocean. A town H.M. couldn't recall the name of, had a good fish and chip shop with real malt vinegar and decent beer. Lori remembered the name of the town as well as the street name. The cab sped away into the metallic smelling twilight.

  Perched on the edge of the seat, the small dark haired woman was nervously pleating the cloth of her shirt. "L.A. still has its own perfume. I think I like Glasgow better, now that I've r
efreshed my memory."

  She shook her dark head. "How the hell are we going to get home? How the hell are we going to get out of this? There has to be a way. What did they ask you?"

  Taking both her hands in his, he leaned back against the seat. Patting gently, H.M. then lightly squeezed her fingers. "Bide ah wee mite. We'll discuss this in private, mind?"

  She leaned back against him and was silent for the remainder of the ride. H.M. kept up a running commentary on the amazing scenery. Giving his broad Scots tongue free rein, the big man hammed it up for the benefit of Lori and the cabbie. As they drove up to the curb in front of an imitation Tudor era inn, the driver asked if he was visiting from Ireland.

  "Och, nae." He drawled. "In from tha U.K., actually. I was fond of tha cinema, westerns, when ah lad. I a'ways promised meself, ah visit tae tha wild west."

  Looking back over his shoulder, the cab driver grinned at the couple. "It's the wild west alright." The cab driver took the bill Lori handed him, counted out their change and drove off.

  Once they were seated with beers in front of them, Hamish took a long swallow of the cold liquid as he surveyed the layout of the room. The table spacing was good. They would be able to have a private conversation.

  He looked over at Lori. "The copper was frank. They know he was murdered." Hamish took another drink.

  Lori clutched the cold mug in front of her. "I began to think the same thing when they grouped the band into one section. They scared me, really frightened me."

  "I saw. They ken all tha band had sufficient reason for murder."

  "You told them everything?" She shifted the silverware to one side.

  "Och, no, luv. They will have tae do their own investigatin."

  "And how long will that take?" Lori took a drink of her beer then leaned back against the back of the captain's chair. She traced a finger through the frost on the cold mug.

  "Do you think they can find the individual responsible for Vincent's death quickly enough so our backers won't get tired of waiting? They did want to release the album in the fall to take advantage of the back to school spending spree."