“So, is it going to be a hell of a show? Shake the arena?” Wellington asked.
“You bet.”
“And you have tickets for me, right?”
“Backstage passes included, Uncle Andy,” Chase assured him.
Wellington frowned at that.
“It’s cool,” Chase assured him. “We all called friends Aunt this or Uncle that back when I was growing up. They’ll just think you’re a family friend they’ve never met.”
“But your folks—”
“Aren’t coming. They’ve been in Ireland for the last six months. My dad flew in and out to make sure I was taking good care of his father. This has been a great opportunity for my mom, working at the museum in Dublin, so Gramps and I both insisted that Dad get back over there.”
Wellington nodded. “I trust you. Obviously, you wouldn’t be working for me if I didn’t. All right, so I’m out of here for tonight.”
Chase stood to walk him out.
“Great place you have here,” Wellington told him, standing on the porch and looking toward the path that led around to the side courtyard. “You’re right in the French Quarter, away from the fury of Bourbon Street, just two blocks off Esplanade and about that distance in from Rampart. Very oddly neighborhood-y.”
Chase grinned. “Yeah. My grandfather, Hank, bought this place when the city was a disaster, right after Katrina. He paid too much for it, but he’s a good guy, too. The family he bought it from was in trouble, no jobs, kids in college... And, yeah, I have to admit, being the grandson of a rock icon has its perks. He gave me the house as a gift when I graduated from college.”
“You grew up here.”
“Yeah, in New Orleans. In a house my folks still own in the Irish Channel area.”
“And you’re working for me,” Wellington said, shaking his head.
“They still call it home, but they travel all the time.”
Wellington looked around, nodding. “Well, keep your head down. See you rockin’ out.”
Chase nodded and watched Wellington walk away, headed down the street. He paused for a minute. No way out of it, his grandfather’s success—or the success of Skyhawk—had given him amazing privileges. But he had always known that, and he had known it was because his grandfather, like Jake Ferguson, was just a good guy. From the time he’d been a child he’d been taught they were blessed and lucky and that meant they had to help others. Hank McCoy had practiced what he preached, and he was one of the few people who knew what Chase really did and who he worked for. Hank had been surprised at first about Chase’s deepening interest in criminology. But when Chase had been about to graduate with his second degree, he’d told Hank a little impatiently, “You told me to help people, that we’d led a charmed life and that meant giving back. Gramps, I think I can be good at delving into things, discovering the truth. I think I can really help people this way!”
Hank had grown silent, and then he’d smiled.
“All right. Maybe you’re right. But don’t forget the drums, huh?”
“I love the drums. And the guitar, though I’m better at drums.”
“Genetics,” Hank told him. “Go out and save the world. Do me proud. But remember this. Music. Seriously. Like love, it makes the world go around.”
Chase headed back in, locked the door, grimacing when he remembered it had been his idea to give Wellington a key for the times now when he might be waiting to see him privately, wanting a personal update.
His office was on the right side of the house, just behind the music room. He headed there, determined to go over everything he knew about the major players in the case.
Of course, that started with the band.
And his memories of the last concert Jake had played, and the last words Jake had said to him.
There had been about seventy thousand people in the audience, just as there had been for U2 and the Rolling Stones.
Seventy thousand suspects?
No. Because Jake wouldn’t have known or had contact with the majority of the audience, though of course, New Orleans had been his hometown, so he’d have had friends there. And the other band members would have had friends. And family.
But Jake wouldn’t have been talking with many people right before the show: he’d have been with the band, with the roadies and perhaps the venue supervisor. But he was angry about something he’d seen just as they had been setting up. Something he had seen someone do.
And because of the emotion involved, it suggested someone close to him.
Back to the band and the roadies.
Sometimes, roadies were attached to a venue, sometimes to a performer or group, and sometimes, a combination of the two were working.
That night...
Chase closed his eyes and leaned back. Though he’d already been intrigued by other courses in college, his focus in life that night had been music. And he’d been standing stage left, ready to sit in for Hank, something that still thrilled his grandfather since his father had chosen to follow another path, the restoration of ancient art pieces. Chase’s father’s work was impressive since he’d worked on pieces in major museums across the world—it just didn’t compare to the fame of being a rock star. Though Chase had failed miserably at drawing so much as a stick figure, his dad had never minded that he didn’t follow him into the art world, but rather he was glad that Chase made Hank so happy.
Jake hadn’t just been the lead singer. He’d been the true front man. He knew how to work a crowd. He also knew how to share, kicking over to other band members, never doing a show that didn’t feature each player, each instrument.
After his death...
The gigs hadn’t been enormous. Joe Garcia had taken over most of the vocals, Hank had taken on a few, and Chris and Mark the rest. During his life, Jake Ferguson had recorded sessions with his daughter, wildly popular on social media through the years.
Everyone had been beyond thrilled that she had agreed to be part of this concert. It was taking place in her hometown, and the guys had assumed that she had finally agreed in a moment of weakness. She’d never shown any of them hostility; she had always been not just cordial but friendly because she didn’t ever want to ruin the fact that her mom was still friends with the group and their families and when she’d been at the same place at the same time, she’d hung out with them.
But Chase knew her better. Even if it had been years now since...
