Rick Blechta - Orchestrated Murder

“What can I do for you, sir?” he asked when he looked up.

Pratt sat down heavily at the other end of the sofa, not bothering to correct him.

“Get anything interesting out of Harvey?”

“No. He has his cousin’s cello to keep it safe. She didn’t have a will, and her mother and father are fighting over it. I had no idea the darn things were that expensive!”

“What about his alibi?”

Ellis nodded and checked a page in his notebook. “Harvey was actually in full view of three other orchestra members for the entire break. We checked with each separately and they all had the same story. Here’s a theory. Do you think he may have had something to do with it? Maybe there were several people in on the murder. He supplied the cello string, someone else the timpani mallets and a third person did the deed. What do you think?”

“I suppose it could be something like that, but…I don’t think so.”

“You have some thoughts on how this thing went down?”

“I don’t want to lead you down the garden path.”

“What do you mean?”

“Being a good detective means sifting through a lot of evidence. It means keeping your eyes and mind open at all times. It means leaving no stone unturned. Do that, catch a little bit of luck, and you should get to the truth.”

“I know that.”

“You seem like a bright kid. I don’t want you getting wrong ideas on how this game is played.”

Ellis looked puzzled. “Sir?”

Pratt debated for a moment. This kid needed to go through the school of hard knocks if he had any hope of becoming a good detective. Acting on hunches was not part of that. It was risky, and you often wound up with egg on your face-or worse. This wasn’t the time to play fast and loose. Or was it? Everything about this case was out of the ordinary.

“Kid…sometimes, not always, you have to play a hunch, go with what you feel in your gut. Today might be one of those days.”

Unexpectedly, Ellis grinned. “I was hoping you’d say something like that.”

“Huh?”

“For the past half hour, I’ve been following up a hunch and uncovered some interesting information. I’ve been hesitant to tell you. They all say you play by the book.”

Pratt came to a decision. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking, and then I’ll do likewise.”

It surprised Pratt that Ellis had come to the same conclusions, but from a totally different starting point. Ellis had used technology. Pratt’s was based on observation and deduction.

“The only thing now is that we have to prove it or get the person to admit it,” Pratt said.

“I may be able to help there. Like I said, I’ve been doing some extra digging. I had to break a few rules though.”

Pratt’s expression tightened. “Meaning?”

“I, ah…Some of the information I got should have been accompanied by a search warrant.”

Ellis quickly sketched out what that information was.

“That’s always the sticking point in this racket. We’ll hold that information back and get the search warrants later.” Oddly, though, Pratt felt much better, more certain they were on the right track. “Now, here’s what I want you to do-and no improvising!”

They talked for a few more minutes, during which Ellis scribbled notes, nodding his understanding.

At the end, Pratt clapped Ellis on the shoulder. “Well, kid, either we’re going to kick this one through the goalposts-”

“Or they’re going to kick us to the street.”

“Something like that.”

Pratt walked into the rehearsal room with Ellis. The orchestra was still eating, and the smells of the sandwiches and salads made his stomach rumble. Everyone looked up at them with unfriendly eyes.

Eliza Wanamaker wasn’t hard to spot. She was surrounded by other musicians. It looked like a meeting.

Pratt walked over. “I’d like to speak with you again.”

“Is this about letting us get the hell out of here sometime soon?”

The musicians around her nodded their agreement.

“I’m afraid not. I have some more questions.”

She got to her feet. “I suppose you want to do this in private?”

“That was the idea.”

As they left the room, Pratt could see Ellis in a far corner speaking with Sofia Barna, the piccolo player who’d spent the previous night with Spadafini.

Both had their questions to ask, and hopefully, they’d get the answers they needed.

Twenty minutes later, Ellis and Pratt met to share the information the two women had given them.

Pratt said, “Now it just remains to talk to Mr. Browne and see what he has to say.”

“I’m ready,” Ellis said with a nod.

“No, you’re not. I want you to call the captain and tell him that we want those search warrants-and to step on it. Are you clear on everything?”

The young detective nodded.

“Good. You’ll find me with Browne in his office when you’re done.”

Ellis grinned. “He’ll be thrilled to see me.”

“No doubt.”

Pratt found the orchestra manager still with his boss. Neither of them looked happy.

“Any news, Detective?” both of them asked.

“We’ve made some progress on the huge list of suspects,” Pratt answered. “Mr. Browne, I take it you’re the person most familiar with the members of the orchestra?”

Browne nodded. “I should hope so.”

“Great. I need to discuss some of them with you. It will help greatly in getting us closer to the answers we’re all looking for. Maybe we could use your office to talk?”

Behind his desk, Norris’s face brightened. “Does that mean I might finally be able to go home?”

“Could you stay around just a little bit longer? I’ve asked one of my detectives to come in and take your statement, go over a few things. Is that all right?”

“I suppose it will have to do.”

The uniformed cop stationed outside Browne’s office was gone. Browne and Pratt went inside and made themselves comfortable. On the desk, beside a computer monitor and the phone, was a photo of a rather plain woman and two children, a boy and a girl who looked to be in their early teens.

“Nice-looking family,” Pratt said.

“Thanks.” Browne rested his arms on the desk and leaned forward confidently. “Now, what can I do for you, Detective Pratt?”

“You told me earlier you don’t have much day-to-day contact with members of the orchestra.”

“I said I don’t have time to attend most rehearsals. I am a very busy man. This organization would grind to a halt without me. Of course I had to make sure everyone knew the schedule for rehearsals and concerts. I had to-”

Pratt held up his hand. “Suffice it to say, though, that if anyone knew what was going on with the orchestra’s musicians, it would likely be you.”

Browne smiled. “Of course. It’s part of my job.”

“Obviously, you were also in daily contact with Spadafini.”

“When he was in town, yes.”

“So it’s safe to assume that you would have been aware of the goings-on between him and some of the orchestra’s female members.”

“If you’re referring to Annabelle Lee, I had no idea that anything was going on until she took her own life.”

“That’s not what I’ve been told.”

The expression on the orchestra manager’s face was confused. Then he flushed angrily as the comment sank in.

“What exactly are you trying to say, Detective?”

Pratt pretended to soothe him. “It’s natural that you would want to protect the organization’s most valuable asset. Keeping things running smoothly is part of your job, isn’t it? And so is loyalty.”

Browne leaned back in his chair. “I suppose I wasn’t completely forthright with you at the beginning, and for that I apologize.” He sighed heavily. “Sometimes I feel like the father confessor around here. I have to listen to the board’s complaints, the conductor’s, the soloists’, the guest conductors’, and always the musicians’. It gets pretty wearing. Everybody expects me to sort out their problems.”