bright blue, while Suellyn’s-and presumably her Latino husband’s-were brown.
She thought too about Edwin’s comment in the recent interview.
Dance asked, “But how come no one knew she was pregnant?”
“Oh, Kayleigh didn’t start performing professionally until she was seventeen. She wasn’t on the press radar before then but Bishop had big plans for her. He pulled her out of school when she was about two months pregnant, got a tutor for homeschooling. He kept it secret and spun the story pretty well to friends-Kayleigh was real upset her mother had died. She was depressed. Made sense for her to disappear for eight, nine months. He suggested to people she’d had a breakdown.”
Dance was appalled. “And he forced her to give the baby up?”
Zeigler’s long face moved up and down. “Bobby was twenty-two, she was six years younger. Okay, that’s bad, no question. On the other hand, he was a really nice guy and if anybody would fall for a father figure, it’d be Kayleigh. Her mother had just died, she was living in a house she hated, with her father on the road most of the time. She was vulnerable. And it wasn’t just a fling. They wanted to get married. They were in love. But when Bishop heard, he flew back to town right after a concert and said if they didn’t agree to the adoption he was going get Bobby arrested for statutory rape.”
“He did
“Sure did. Kayleigh agreed to the adoption-but only to placing the girl with her sister so she could still see her. And she insisted that Bobby stay with the band. Bishop figured that was the best he was going to get and he agreed.”
Dance recalled her own observations about Bobby and what Kayleigh had told her. “That’s when Bobby started drinking and got into drugs, right?”
Zeigler lifted an eyebrow. “You caught that, hm? Yep, that was it. He was really upset it didn’t work out between them.”
“But why couldn’t she keep the baby?” Dance asked. “I know she wants children.”
“Oh, that wouldn’t work,” Zeigler said bitterly. “Bishop’s own career was dying at that point. All he had left was Kayleigh.”
“And he was convinced that she needed to build her career on a good-girl image to be successful.”
“Exactly. He was ahead of the curve there. Like he usually was. Look at those
Dance didn’t know if that was true or not. She had a lot of faith in the intelligence and discernment of audiences. She said coolly, “But it was about you too, right? You can’t afford to lose her. Not with the way record labels are headed nowadays.”
Zeigler’s shoulders, high above Dance, slumped. “Okay, okay. Kayleigh’s my only major act left. Everybody else is gone. If I lose her it’s all over with. I’m forty-five and all I’ve ever done is produce albums. I can’t afford to be a freelancer. Besides, Kayleigh’s an amazing talent. I love working with her. She’s a genius. One of a kind.”
Dance looked at the adoption paperwork, the letter.
“Mary-Gordon doesn’t know?”
“No. Bishop forced Suellyn and her husband to sign a nondisclosure agreement. If they said a word they might lose custody.”
Dance closed her eyes briefly and shook her head at this news about Bishop Towne, which disturbed but didn’t surprise her one bit.
Zeigler gave a bitter laugh. “I’m not the only desperate person in this business.”
She slipped the documents back into the envelope and put it into her purse. “I’ll think about it. For now, you were looking for some personal papers at Bobby’s. What you found and took had no value and had nothing to do with the case.” She looked him over coolly. “But you’re still a suspect in the murders.”
“I was in Carmel, at a hotel, when Bobby died.”
“Can anybody verify that?”
He thought for a moment. Then said, “I was by myself… I was really upset-I’d just been fired by my other major artist. The only contact I had with anybody was a message I left for my wife.” He glanced up at Dance with miserable eyes. “Is that any good-a voicemail where you’re sobbing like a ten-year-old that your career is probably over?”
“It could be,” Dance told him.
Chapter 51
“NO BEATLES?” DENNIS Harutyun asked, visibly disappointed the news wasn’t true. This was the most emotional she’d seen him.
“Doesn’t look that way.”
Dance had phoned Martine, her website partner and a true musical historian, who made some calls and reported back about what Zeigler had said. Yes, there’d been rumors for years of undiscovered Fab Four songs but the consensus was just as the producer explained.
Dance, Harutyun and Crystal Stanning stood in a cluster in the parking lot of the Red Roof Inn. The lights of the patrol cars were flashing urgently. Maybe this was procedure but Dance wished they’d shut them off.
O’Neil was on the phone. Finally he ended the call and looked up. “His alibi? It’s good.”
The cell phone data and the voiceprint of the “sobbing ten-year-old” confirmed that at the moment Bobby Prescott was being murdered in the Fresno convention center, Barry Zeigler was over two hours away.
“Why’d he break into Bobby’s trailer?” Harutyun asked. “What was he after?”
Dance shrugged. “Apparently it’s personal. Nothing to do with the case. I believe him.”
O’Neil’s eyes swung toward her, amused. Was her behavior deviating from her baseline? Which he, of all people, would know very well.
The Fresno deputy said, “Hardly seems worth the trouble, collaring him for that. But, I’ll tell you, bad judgment ought to be a misdemeanor.” He walked over to his car, got Zeigler out and uncuffed him. Dance didn’t know what transpired between the two but she assumed it involved a stern talking-to. With a glance toward Dance, the producer collected his computer bag and returned to his room, rubbing his wrists.
Dance decided to give the documents to Kayleigh and let her decide how to handle the matter.
“So,” Harutyun said, returning to them. “No leads. No suspect.”
“We have the evidence,” Crystal Stanning offered. “From the crime scenes and what we collected in Edwin’s backyard.”
“Evidence,” Harutyun muttered, a sour tone that Dance counted as yet another shred of emotion from the reserved detective. “Life’s not like
Yet another dust devil whirled up nearby. Dance cocked her head as she stared at it.
“What?” O’Neil asked, perusing her face. He sensed something was up.
The miniature cyclone vanished.
Kathryn Dance pulled out her phone and made a call.
Chapter 52
TWO HOURS LATER this foursome reconvened in the sheriff’s office-in the digs of ousted P. K. Madigan, specifically. It was the largest in the Detective Division, the only one with room for more than two or three people at one time.
Dance noted, with some sad poignancy, that the chief detective had been clipping coupons from Safeway.
