Kayleigh and then take his own life?
Dance stood up and pulled Kayleigh to her feet.
Just as the car bucked and started forward.
Chapter 43
BUT THE VEHICLE turned out to be a very unthreatening-and slow moving-powder blue Ford Taurus.
And one did not need to be a kinesics expert to note the sea change in Kayleigh’s body language when she saw the driver.
“Oh, it’s Barry!” she cried, offering a smile.
A very tall man, lanky and long-faced handsome, was climbing out. He had a shock of black curly hair and round glasses. Kayleigh ran down the stairs and embraced him hard.
She said, “I didn’t expect you for a couple of days.”
Glancing once toward Dance, Zeigler said, “Really? I called Bishop earlier and told him I was driving in tonight.”
“Oh, that man,” Kayleigh muttered. “Never said a word.”
“I was in Carmel seeing Neil. I got your message about Bobby. Terrible. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s the worst, Barry.” Kayleigh turned to Dance and introduced them. Zeigler, Kayleigh’s producer at her record label, was based in Los Angeles. Dance realized he looked familiar and recalled, at Kayleigh’s house, seeing him in a half dozen framed pictures with the singer going back years. In one they both held a Recording Industry Association of America platinum record award, signifying that she’d sold more than a million of one of her songs or albums.
In jeans, a white T-shirt and dark jacket, Zeigler seemed a bit nineties to Dance but it was a reasonable look for a record producer from any decade. Except for a touch of gray and only at the temples, he didn’t look any different from the man in those photographs.
“And Sheri was attacked too?”
“She was hurt but she’ll be all right.”
“Do you have any leads?” he asked Dance. “Is it that guy Sharp?”
Kayleigh nodded and explained, “Barry knows all about our friend. Edwin’s sent plenty of letters to the label, complaining about production standards, orchestration, technical quality.”
“Pain in the ass,” Zeigler grumbled.
The law enforcement disclaimer: “We’re just gathering information at this point. But tell me, did he ever threaten you or anyone?”
“Like physically?”
“Yes,” Dance replied.
Zeigler shook his head. “He’s been more insulting. I mean, BHRC’s the third oldest record company in L.A. We’ve been producing Kayleigh for six years. She’s had eight gold and four platinums. We must be doing something right. But not according to Sharp. Just last week he sent us a two-page email about the acoustic dynamics on the download of ‘Your Shadow.’ He said it was off in the high ranges. Why was Delmore playing Dobro and not pedal steel?… He said, ‘Kayleigh deserves better than this.’ And then he said we should issue her on vinyl. He’s an analog hound.”
But Dance didn’t think comments about acoustic tonal quality, however harsh, rose to the level of threat under California Penal Code section 646.9.
Zeigler said to Kayleigh, “Bobby was the greatest guy in the world. I can’t believe somebody’d hurt him on purpose. And to die that way. You must be…” Then he grew silent, apparently deciding he shouldn’t be further revisiting the horror.
“Aaron and Steve said if there’s anything anybody at the label can do, you let us know. You’ve got the whole company behind you.”
“Barry, I think he’s going to keep doing this. He picks verses of my songs and plays them and then kills somebody or tries to.”
“That’s what Bishop was telling me.” The producer turned to Dance. “Can’t you arrest him?”
She demurred but Kayleigh said, “He’s too smart. They haven’t been able to find anything he’s done that quite breaks the law. Oh, this is just terrible.” The anger was gone and her eyes welled with tears. Then she tamed the emotion and the same stillness came over her as it did onstage.
Zeigler’s voice dimmed as he said to Kayleigh, “I want to say hi to Bishop and Sheri. But could I talk to you for a minute? Alone?”
“Sure.” To Dance she said, “Be right back.”
The two rose and walked into the living room, the producer ducking automatically as they approached the doorway arch. He had to be six feet, seven inches tall, Dance estimated.
She gave it a minute, then rose quietly and moved to the swing Kayleigh had just occupied, which was next to a half-opened window. From there she could hear their conversation. Whatever Zeigler was going to tell Kayleigh might have something to do with the case, even if neither of them realized it, provided she could make out the conversation.
As it turned out, their words were plenty loud enough to hear. Dance remembered that her children, when younger, believed that if they couldn’t see their parents, they were invisible and produced no sound whatsoever.
“Look, this is a terrible time to bring this up. But I… I’m sorry, I have to ask.”
“What, Barry? Tell me. Come on. I’ll worm it out of you. You know I can.”
“Are you talking to JBT Global?”
“What?”
“JBT Global Entertainment. The three-sixty outfit.”
“I know who they are. And no, I’m not talking to them. Why are you asking?”
Zeigler was explaining how a friend of a friend of a friend in the complicated world that’s entertainment had told him that Global really wanted to sign her.
“You were in discussions, I’d heard.”
“Barry, we get calls all the time. Live Nation, Global… I don’t pay attention to them. You know I’d never leave you guys. You’re the ones who made me. Hey, what’s this all about?”
It was odd to hear someone half the age of the producer talking to him as if he were a child with troubles at school.
“I told you I was in Carmel?”
“Seeing Neil, you said.”
Neil Watson, one of the superstars of the pop music world of the past twenty years.
“Yeah, to get fired.”
“No!”
“He’s going with… get this, SAV-More. Yep, the big box store, like Target and Wal-Mart. They’re producing him and backing his road shows.”
“I’m sorry about that, Barry. But I’m
Dance’s website flew below the radar of the big business of music but she was aware of what Barry Zeigler was talking about: a complete shift in how people got that most addictive of drugs, music.
Before the nineteenth century, music was something that one generally experienced live-at concerts, opera, dance halls, bars. In the 1800s, the powerhouses of the Industry became the publishers of sheet music, which people would buy and bring home to play themselves, on the piano mostly. Then, thank you, Mr. Edison, wax cylinders came about, played on phonographs. A needle in an etched groove of the cylinder vibrated and reproduced sound through a flower-petal-like speaker. You could actually listen to music in your home, anytime you wanted!
The cylinders became disks, to be played on various wind-up machines-phonographs, gramophones (originally
