Роберт Голдсборо - Murder in E Minor

After polishing off six wheatcakes and five sausage links, I refilled my coffee mug and went to the office. My desk calendar had just the single notation for Sunday: I had penciled in “three from Symph.” at four P.M. Turning to the phone, I dialed Jason Remmers’s number, and for the second time in as many days, he answered himself. He was only too happy to provide what I asked for: thumbnail biographies of the three who were coming to see us today. I took down his comments in shorthand and thanked him for his trouble, then did my own editing. I typed out brief summaries of each of the three, and by single-spacing was able to fit it all on one sheet, which I put in the center of the blotter on Wolfe’s desk. Here’s how it read:

CHARLES MEYERHOFF: Age, about fifty. Has been managing director of the Symphony for six years. Home town, Pittsburgh. At one time a violinist with orchestras in Minneapolis and Cincinnati, later had management position with Pittsburgh orchestra before joining Symphony. Known to have quick temper, resented Stevens and his power in the orchestral structure. The two argued frequently. Divorced. No children. Lives alone in the Brompton Arms residence hotel.

DAVID HIRSCH: Age, early forties. Has been associate conductor of New York Symphony for five years. A top-notch violinist, he also is an aspiring composer, but has been unable to get Symphony to play any of his works. Was hostile to Stevens because of this and also because he felt he was passed over for the conductor’s job. Austrian by birth, moved to the States in his teens, Remmers thinks. Married, no children, lives in Ridgewood, New Jersey.

DONALD SOMMERS: Age, twenty-eight. Outstanding flutist, has been with Symphony three years, a soloist on numerous occasions. Juilliard graduate and native of Boston, he was a prodigy, played in concert with Boston Symphony as a teenager. Had a deteriorating relationship with Stevens, told Remmers he thought Stevens wanted to drive him out of orchestra. Single, lives on Gramercy Park.

Just as I got back to my desk, the phone rang. It was Lucinda. “Archie, I just remembered something that might be important — you know, on the subject we talked about yesterday.”

“Okay, shoot,” I said, poising a pencil.

“No, I’d rather not talk about it over the phone. Couldn’t you come up?”

I tried to tell her the telephone lines were perfectly safe, but it was obvious she was holding out for another personal visit. I looked out at the snow and shuddered, but said I’d be along as fast as I could. Leaving a note on Wolfe’s blotter next to the sheet of biographies, I pulled on overshoes and heavy coat and charged out into the mini-blizzard.

By some miracle I found a taxi within a block and was at Lucinda’s ten minutes later; all sane New Yorkers were at home and the streets were deserted. This time I didn’t get any of the boredom-and-snobbery routine from the lobby crew. They seemed to be expecting me, and the hallman even gave a fair impersonation of somebody trying to be friendly, which I halfheartedly returned.

Things also went more smoothly inside Lucinda’s apartment than the day before. This time I didn’t get a twenty-four-minute shuffle. In fact, she was waiting in the white-on-white-on-white sitting room, wearing a gauzy full-length number the color of raspberry sherbet when Miss Mouse ushered me in. “Archie, I’m glad you could come so quickly,” she said from a sofa, looking up to be kissed. I aimed discreetly at her cheek, but damned if she didn’t turn her face at the last instant and lay one square on my lips, with her own slightly parted.

I had to brace myself or she would have pulled me down on top of her, and for a second I came pretty close to letting her do it. But I finally broke the hold and slid, almost gracefully, onto the sofa next to her. “That was a four-star welcome,” I said, smiling and running a hand through my hair. “And as much as I’d like to find out what you do for an encore, I think we’d better get to business. For starters, what was it you remembered that’s so important?”

“Oh, Archie,” she said, returning the smile and putting an arm across the top of the sofa behind me, “I apologize if I came on so boldly, but I told you yesterday how good-looking I think you are. I guess I just let myself...” She trailed it off, and in too studied a way, I thought. “Archie, after you left yesterday, I got to thinking about all the times I had been with Milan, all the things he had ever said that had any connection with the orchestra. There was something once, it must have been close to a year ago. It seemed so unimportant at the time...” She really liked using the trailing-off trick.

“Tell me about it,” I said, lighting a cigarette.

“Well, as I remember it, we were right here in this room, having drinks. By the way, can I get you something?” I shook my head and she went on. “Milan was quite upset that evening. It seemed that he and Mr. Hirsch had a meeting in Milan’s office at Symphony Hall to talk over some orchestra matters, routine things. I gather they would meet often to do that. Anyway, this day there was a strong argument — I can’t even remember if Milan said what it was about. But Mr. Hirsch started the argument and became very agitated. Milan said that at one point he stood up, banged his fist on Milan’s desk, and said something like I’d kill before I saw this orchestra go to hell. And if things keep on this way, that’s where it will go.’ I may have the words a little wrong, Archie, but that’s basically what he said. And he used the word ‘kill,’ although you know how people talk sometimes.”

“And you don’t know what the argument was about?” I asked.

“I’m not sure Milan ever said. What I remember most was how upset he got about Mr. Hirsch’s temper.”

“Was he afraid for his own safety? Did he say anything about that?”

“Oh no, no, he never mentioned it. Milan didn’t ever seem to fear for himself. I think his main concern was for the orchestra. And he felt his associate conductor wasn’t supportive of him.”

“Not from the sound of it,” I agreed, drawing on my cigarette. “Tell me, why didn’t you tell me about this yesterday?”

Her answer was a coy smile. “You made me nervous, Archie. I guess you could say I wasn’t thinking straight... all those questions, all the strain after what happened.”

She was one hell of an actress, that was for sure. She knew where to make the pauses, which words to accent, how to tilt her head. It was almost like watching one of those British whodunit plays Lily drags me to every so often.

“While I’m here and we’re on the subject, do you happen to know Donald Sommers?” I asked.

“From the orchestra?” Lucinda paused and pushed back a stray hair. “I don’t really know him, but I’ve met him a few times.”

“Did Stevens ever say anything about him, anything negative?”

“You mean he’s another one who is suspected?” she asked, shifting to face me.

“I didn’t say that.” I grinned. “I was just curious because I’ve heard his name a few times.”

“I think perhaps he and Milan had fought over a solo once. But he is so young — he looks so young. I would think of him as just a boy.”

“A boy who’s pushing thirty.”

She shrugged. “Well, I somehow got the feeling that Milan wasn’t fond of him, that maybe he would be happier if he were not a part of the orchestra.”

“You seem to be remembering all kinds of things that you couldn’t yesterday,” I said lightly.

“Oh, Archie, please don’t tease me. I really can’t recite anything specific that Milan said about Mr. Sommers. It’s just an impression I got.”

“Okay, one last thing before I go. How would you describe Stevens’s relationship with Charles Meyerhoff?”