Chapter 35
Chase and Marva had finally managed to get in touch with Daniel Bozek, the guitar player for Turbo Heartthrob, and an interview had been set up at the Star Hotel—coincidentally, the same hotel where Harley Glad had been murdered.
“When did you arrive in town, Mr. Bozek?” was therefore the logical first question Chase asked.
Daniel Bozek didn’t look like a rock star, he thought. More like a door-to-door Bible salesman. But then, of course, there probably isn’t a fixed look for rock stars.
They had arranged the interview in the lobby of the hotel, but since it was too noisy, with lots of people around, they had relocated to a small conference room in the back.
Bozek had taken a seat and proved most eager to answer any questions they might have.
“I arrived last night,” he said. “The moment I heard that my precious guitar had turned up in Hampton Cove, I booked a flight out here.” He held up his hands, which were covered with tattoos, Chase saw. “Unfortunately, I was too late. The man who had my guitar had died, and my guitar was gone.”
“What is so special about this particular guitar?” asked Marva. “I mean, I can imagine you probably own several of them.”
“Oh, yes, I do own lots of guitars,” said the guitar hero.
“But this is the guitar I used to compose and also record most of our hit songs on, and it holds a special place in my heart. It was stolen from a backstage area in Germany last year, during one of Turbo Heartthrob’s shows, and when I found out that it was gone, I put out a notice that said I was willing to pay good money for its safe and expedient return. Unfortunately, I never got a response.”
“The thief must have figured that he stood to gain more by selling it on,” said Chase. “How did you find out it was here?”
“A fan told me,” said Daniel. “She wrote me an anonymous note and said my guitar had turned up locally, and that it was put up for sale in one of the local fan groups. So I immediately checked, and it was true. The guitar was up for sale for twenty thousand dollars. So I put in my bid and tried to connect with the seller, but I never got a reply.”
“He must have realized it was you and didn’t want to sell to the original owner,” said Chase.
“Yeah, he was probably afraid you would contact the police,” said Marva. “So this is the actual guitar you composed all of your many hit songs on, Mr. Bozek?”
She almost sounded like a fan, Chase thought, and maybe she was. Apparently, this was a pretty popular band, even though they were German. All of their songs were in English, though, and they weren’t bad. He had checked them out and had to say it wasn’t his taste, but he could see the attraction.
They were fun songs, with creative and funny videos, and their stage shows were legendary.
“Yeah, this is the guitar that I used to compose all of the songs on,” said Daniel.
“Since it was stolen, I haven’t been able to compose a single new song, even though I have tried.
I have experimented with different guitars,” he explained, “but it simply isn’t the same.
And now I’m afraid I will never be able to create new music again. ”
“I’m sure you will,” said Marva, once again sounding more like a fan than a cop. But then it was a little intimidating for most people to come face-to-face with a star. He had gotten used to it by now, as he had talked to so many of them over the years.
“Did you know Harley Glad personally?” asked Chase. “The man who bought your guitar?”
Daniel hesitated, then nodded. “I checked my social media and discovered that he sent me several messages over the years. He was also very active on the band’s social media, and in our Discord he was one of the main contributors.
So I had seen his name, but it took me a moment to make the connection. How did he die?”
“He was murdered. Shot,” Chase explained curtly.
“My God. And all for this guitar? It’s hard to believe.”
“Do you think the guitar is worth more than twenty thousand to some of your fans?”
“I imagine so. They all know how important this guitar is to me, and so they also know that it is pretty much invaluable. I can’t really put a price on it.
Well, maybe I can. If I add all the money I have made from the songs that I have written on her, then maybe that is the money that she is worth. ”
“What are you going to do now?” asked Marva. “Are you going to stick around and see if we can trace your guitar to Harley Glad’s killer?”
“I hope you find my guitar,” said Daniel. “But no, I can’t stick around, as you put it. I have to return to Germany to start recording our new album.”
“Even though you haven’t been able to write any new material?” asked Marva.
Daniel shrugged. “We don’t have a choice.
We’ve spent most of the past year on tour, so we haven’t had time to record anything.
If we don’t do it now, the next tour will start, and it’ll be at least another year before we can release new music.
That’s unacceptable—to us, to the fans, and to the label.
We’ve been going through some older songs I wrote that we never used, and we’re going to try to make them work.
It won’t be the same, but it’s better than the alternative, which is no new album at all. ”
“So you’re leaving… when, exactly?” asked Chase.
He was still wondering if they should consider this guy a suspect or not. They would check his alibi by calling the airline, and if he had indeed arrived in town after Harley had been killed, he was in the clear. But if he wasn’t…
“I have a flight booked tomorrow morning,” said the guitarist. “So if you can find my guitar before then, I’d be very much obliged. I would even give you a finder’s fee.”
“We don’t accept finder’s fees,” said Chase immediately.
“I’m prepared to offer one hundred thousand dollars for the safe return of my guitar,” said the man as he eyed Chase innocently.
Chase was impressed, but he still shook his head. “We can’t accept that kind of money. It could expose us to accusations of corruption, and we can’t have that. We’ll treat this case exactly as we would any other and do everything we can to recover your guitar—and it won’t cost you a thing.”
“All part of the service,” said Marva with a brilliant smile.
“Thank you very much,” said the guitarist and pushed his glasses further up his nose. “Do you… do you have any leads?”
“We are following several lines of inquiry,” Chase confirmed. “But obviously, we can’t discuss them with you.”
“No, of course,” said Daniel. “I watch crime shows all the time. I know how it works.”
The interview was at an end, and they all got up.
Chase got the impression that Marva wanted to ask the guy another thousand questions, but since they were on official police business, she couldn’t.
As they left, though, she handed the guy her card and said, “If there’s anything you can think of, give us a call. ”
“Thank you,” said Daniel as he studied the card, “Officer Prink. But I have told you everything I know.”
As they walked out, Chase asked, “You don’t happen to be a fan of this guy, do you?”
Marva’s cheeks flamed, and he had his answer.
“I didn’t want to tell you,” she said, “as it sounds so silly. I mean, I’m a grown woman.
I shouldn’t be a fan of anyone. That’s something for kids.
But yeah, I discovered them through my ex-boyfriend, who was a huge fan.
He went to all of their concerts in Germany.
I never went, and at first, I didn’t even like them all that much.
But they have grown on me over the years, and now I love them.
Not,” she quickly added, “fanatically or anything.”
He grinned. “It’s fine, Marva. You don’t have to apologize. I’ve been a fan of bands that nobody had ever heard of, and I totally get it. A great artist does something almost akin to magic.”
“Well, they do,” said Marva, becoming more animated.
“I mean, this guy that we just talked to? He is a bona fide genius, boss. The music that he makes? I don’t know how he does it, and if it’s true that he can’t compose anymore now that he doesn’t have his guitar?
That is a tragedy. And a big loss for the entire world. ”
“And especially for the fans,” said Chase.
He wondered if possibly the person who had killed Harley wasn’t a fan at all, but more an anti-fan. The kind of person who hates a band with all their heart.
“Does this band have enemies?” he asked. “Like, people who would go to any length to sabotage them?”
“Oh, I’m sure they have their detractors,” said Marva. “But mostly they bring so much joy to people that I can’t imagine anyone not liking that.”
He nodded, and as they crossed the lobby, he saw that Daniel Bozek had walked up to the reception desk.
Marva had noticed the same thing and said wistfully, “Oh, how I wish I could pick that man’s brain. I have so many questions!”
“Why don’t you go over there and ask if he wants to have a drink with you tonight?”
“Oh, but I can’t do that, boss. I mean, that would be so embarrassing.” She adopted a low voice. “Please, Mr. Superstar, can I harass you with a million fangirl questions, please?”
“Doesn’t hurt to ask, Marva. I mean, the guy is here now, and you will probably never get a chance to pick his brain again.”
Marva darted a longing look at the figure of the guitar hero, talking to the receptionist. She turned an excited face to her superior officer. “Do you really think I should?”
“Go for it, Marva. Go now!” he urged.
He watched as she hurried off, trying to look as normal as possible and failing. He saw as she approached the guitar player, and they chatted for a few moments. Then he nodded and smiled, and as she walked back to him, the smile on her face told him everything he needed to know.
“He said yes!” she yipped. “I’m going to have a drink with the best guitarist in the whole world!”
“Way to go, kid,” said Chase with a grin. “I’m happy for you.”
Maybe it wasn’t entirely aboveboard for a member of the investigative team to speak to someone involved in the case, but since Bozek wasn’t a suspect, he figured it would be fine.
It wasn’t as if Marva was going to attack the guy, was it? Or spill secrets from the investigation? She was a professional and would never do that. Besides, what was there to spill? They hadn’t really gotten anywhere yet, much to his frustration.