Taking the Fifth(65)

With the orchestra continuing to play, Alan Dale, Ray Holman, and the rest hurried onto the stage and muscled the heavy piece of equipment into position. From the wings I watched while Jasmine, already draped on the piano and bathed in the spotlight, waited silently for them to finish.

When the broken band shell was finally facing the audience, the conductor give a slight nod in the direction of the piano player and Jasmine Day. She nodded back in acknowledgment.

The first number was “Sophisticated Lady.” I don’t think I had ever heard the lyrics to that song before, but I did then. That night, every nuance of disillusionment and hurt was clear to me as Jasmine Day sang her heart out. She was that sophisticated lady, mourning for what was lost—not a man, but a dream.

As far as I knew, no one had told her that Roger Glancy was waiting in the wings with a warrant for her arrest. But she sang as if she knew he was there, as if it was all over and this was her last chance to take wing with an audience. She cast a spell with her music, one that held me enchanted, watching and listening.

Roger Glancy, however, was evidently immune to her magic. Halfway through the second number, he tugged at my sleeve and motioned me toward the dressing room. “Detective Beaumont,” he whispered. “You’d better come take a look at this.”





CHAPTER 21




IN JASMINE’S DRESSING ROOM A HUGE trunk stood empty, its contents spilled carelessly on the floor. I was sure it hadn’t been there the night before when I was in the dressing room. It probably had been there while I was talking with Jasmine earlier, during the intermission, but I didn’t remember it. My mind had been occupied with other issues.

Glancy urged me forward, and I walked over to the trunk and looked inside. A false bottom had been removed and stood leaning against the outside of the trunk. At first glance, the bottom surface seemed to be covered with clear plastic. Only a closer examination revealed that it was really plastic-covered white bricks that filled the entire bottom surface of the trunk. White bricks of cocaine, no doubt, packed in so tightly that a dime couldn’t be shoved into the cracks between them.

“They’re three deep,” the other DEA agent was saying to Roger Glancy. “I’d say there’s at least a million dollars’ worth right here.”

The third man hurried into the room. “We’ve got Waverly,” he announced. “We picked him up out in the lobby, but there’s no sign of Osgood anywhere. I understand he never showed up for work today.”

Glancy nodded. “Okay, keep Waverly under wraps in one of the dressing rooms.”

“Seattle P.D. has already issued an APB on Osgood,” I told them. “We want him too. We’ve checked the airport and his house, but so far there’s no sign of him.”

Glancy turned back to his men. “Leave two people with Waverly and have the others block every possible exit.” He turned to the agent who had searched the dressing room. “Okay, Dick, you go to the other side of the stage and wait there. I’ll be on this side. Let’s just make damned sure she doesn’t slip through our fingers.”

“Right,” Dick answered, melting through the door.

“Wait a minute,” I said. Glancy paused and looked at me. He must have thought I was talking to him, but I was actually speaking to Big Bertha, who had followed us into the dressing room and stopped right inside the door.

“Where’d this trunk come from? It wasn’t here last night.”

Bertha struggled to find words. Her chest was heaving as though she couldn’t quite catch her breath. I was afraid she was having a heart attack. “They usually put it in the dressing room during the final performance. That way we can start the load-out as soon as the show is over.”

“And where was it when it wasn’t in the dressing room?” I asked.

She pointed. “Out there in the common room.”

“Locked?”

“Yes.”

“Is this Jasmine’s private trunk?”

“No one on this show has a private trunk,” Bertha declared.

I turned to Glancy. “It isn’t Jasmine’s trunk,” I said.

He glared at me. “So what does that prove? It’s in her dressing room now, isn’t it? Her name was on the door when we came in.”

“Somebody’s been trying to frame her,” I said. “I’m convinced of it.”

Glancy looked at me and shook his head. “You may be convinced of it, pal, but I’m not. And the judge who signed this warrant isn’t either. She’s in it up to her eyeballs.”

“Yes, but…” I began.

“No buts, Detective Beaumont. We’re arresting the little lady the moment she sets foot off stage.”