Free Death Sung Softly by David Archer Page A

saw him. Now Samantha tells me he came to her that afternoon to talk about it, and used her phone to call Smith and tell him it was no deal. Barry left, and disappeared, but the next day, a voice that sounds like Smith called her phone and left a warning voicemail, telling her she should stay out of it. This came in the mail to her yesterday, and she said a friend of hers that I'd spoken to said she should call me.”
    Karen looked into the envelope again. “Hair color's right,” she said, “but we'll need DNA to be sure it's his. That'll take weeks.” She looked at Sam. “So it's true you went into PI? Is that how you got involved in this?”
    “Yep. The band hired me to try to track him down, but now they want me to find his killer. Naturally, I'll share everything, and I'm hoping you’ll do the same.”
    She smiled. “Anything for an old comrade,” she said. “I haven't forgotten our time in the juvie division together, or that you saved my bacon there a couple of times.”
    “Thanks, Karen,” Sam said with a smile. “I appreciate it. Here's Samantha's number, and that's her address on the envelope. I suggest you get a copy of that voicemail, have it run through voice analysis. If it's Smith, then he's my favorite for this one, so far.”
    “If it is, it'll get us enough for a warrant. Whoever sent this to your girl must have Wallace's head in a freezer, somewhere, or did until yesterday. If it was at Smith's house, we'll find at least traces of it.”
    Sam thanked her again and got up. He made a detour over to Narcotics before he left the building and saw Dan Jacobs at his old desk, so he snuck up on him and put both hands over his eyes.
    Dan froze, but then laughed. “Sam, you old son, how are you?” Sam let him go, and he spun around in his chair and stood to wrap his old partner in a hug.
    “Oof!” Sam said. “I'm good, or I was til you broke me! I figured I've been yakkin' at yo on the phone enough; I was here talking to homicide, and wanted to pop in before I left.”
    “Good thing you did, or I'd have had to come hunting you! You on a murder case?”
    “Yeah, as of yesterday. MP I was looking for turned up dead in a ditch, minus hands and head. I just got handed what may be part of his scalp, so I brought it in.”
    Dan scowled. “I hate murder cases,” he said. “I'll stick to drugs and vice.”
    The two me chatted for a few minutes, and then Sam's phone went off. He looked to see Indie's number, and answered.
    “Yeah, Babe,” he said without thinking, and Dan's eyebrows went up a half inch. “Babe?” he mouthed silently, but Sam ignored him.
    “Sam, I just got to thinking about some things this morning, and I realized I didn't ever check out that songwriter, Bill Miller. I had Herman do a run on him, and you're not gonna believe what I found!”
    Sam grinned. “So, tell me, then, and I'll do my best.”
    “Bill Miller isn't a William—he's a Wilhelmina!”

 
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    “Wait a minute,” Sam said. “Run that by me again, only in English.”
    Indie laughed. “Yeah, that's what I said, too. Bill Miller was born Wilhelmina Marie Miller, a girl , only in 2003, not long after he got out of high school, he left town for about a year. When he came back, he went by the name Bill, and has been posing as a man ever since. He's only got his mother still living here, no other family, and apparently he's enough of a loner that no one's ever made a fuss about it.”
    Sam shrugged. “Okay, well, to each his own, I guess...”
    “No, wait,” Indie said, “there's more! During that time he—she—I dunno, it was gone, there was a Baby born, and guess who the mother was? Yep, Wilhelmina! Wanna take a wild guess as to who was listed as the father?”
    Sam groaned. “Don't tell me,” he said.
    “Barry Wallace! Is that weird, or what?”
    Sam shook his head. “It's pretty weird, all right, but I don’t see it having any connection to this case. Or is there something more,