Rick Blechta - Orchestrated Murder

“And what was he writing?”

“Can’t help you there. There was nothing on the desk, floor, wastebasket or on the body.”

“Maybe he wrote on a pad?” the doctor threw in. “You might get impressions from the paper underneath.”

Johnson shook his head and told him, “That only happens on tv.”

“Gut reaction, Johnson,” Pratt said, changing the subject. “Do you think you’re going to find anything more useful here?”

Johnson sighed heavily. “No. This murderer was smart. So unless he or she was also extremely unlucky, no, we’re not going to find anything. That’s not to say we won’t keep trying though.”

Pratt nodded. “I appreciate that.”

One of the other techs walked up. “We’re ready to move the body now.”

Pratt and the medical examiner stepped farther back in the hall to be out of the way.

“Will I see you at the autopsy?” he asked Pratt.

“Do you expect to find anything interesting?”

He shrugged. “Not really. But we always live in hope, don’t we?”

Both men turned to watch the removal of the body.

“Detective Pratt, Detective Pratt!” Browne shouted as he appeared at the end of the hall. “I have to speak to you!”

The orchestra manager was coming fast. Behind him, looking much more relaxed, was Ellis. His face had a bit of a smirk.

Browne stopped right in front of Pratt, puffing like a bellows. “Your assistant has barred me from using my office! How can I do what you asked me to do if I can’t use my office?”

Ellis shrugged. “I needed an Internet connection for my laptop.”

“You can use the secretary’s desk down the hall.”

Pratt looked at Ellis, whose face was now studiously blank. What was the kid up to?

“We’re all having to put up with a lot today,” Pratt said.

“But I have things I must be doing- right now!”

“I’ll make sure you can get back into your office ASAP. Okay?”

Browne looked as if he wanted to say something else, but Pratt returned his pointed glare. After a few seconds, Browne turned away and stomped off.

Pratt waited until he was well out of earshot before asking Ellis, “What was that all about?”

Now Ellis grinned. “Our friend Browne seemed a tad too eager to get into his office. He was the person who found the body, after all.”

“I like the way you’re thinking, my boy,” Pratt said with a smirk of his own. “Now have you got anything else for me?”

“I went down to the rehearsal hall to look for you. Spadafini’s overcoat was there, so I checked the pockets. His cell phone wasn’t there, but in looking around, I found it on the floor. It appears to have been kicked under the conducting podium.”

“I’m glad one of us is thinking,” Pratt muttered under his breath.

“I checked his call history. There were several recent calls to a number on the other side of the country.”

“And?”

“I did a reverse lookup of it. It’s the phone number of the president of a rival orchestra-one that’s currently looking for a new conductor.”

This is unexpected, Pratt thought.

“Did you call that number?” he asked Ellis.

“Naturally,” the younger man answered. “My mother always says I was born curious. And what’s more interesting, the phone number is for the chairman of the board’s home phone number, not his office number.”

“That’s suggestive.”

“I thought so too.”

“So tell me about your phone call,” Pratt said.

“The man himself answered on the first ring.”

“What was his response when you told him what had happened?”

“He already knew. One of the other board members had just called him with the news,” Ellis said.

“Lordy, that was quick.”

“This is a really big deal. Spadafini was the hottest young conductor on the planet. And I checked out the street. You wouldn’t believe the number of reporters and trucks out there.”

Pratt could feel the pressure rising several more notches. “So did you learn anything else helpful?”

“I think you should get this information firsthand.” Ellis handed over his cell phone. “I told him you’d call right away.”

The detective had to admit he was impressed with Ellis. The lad could think on his feet-not that he’d say anything. The last thing a green detective needed was too much praise. That route led to a big head and sloppy work.

Pratt took the offered phone. It was already ringing. “This guy’s name?”

“Julius Roseman.”

The phone line clicked to life. “Hello?”

“Julius Roseman, please,” Pratt said.

“This is he. Detective Pratt?”

“Yes. Would you be willing to answer some questions informally?”

“Certainly, although I have to say I’m still reeling from shock at what’s happened. I spoke to Maestro Spadafini just this morning, quite early.”

“May I ask what the conversation was about?”

“Well, there’s no use hiding it now. It’s all going to come out, I suppose. Spadafini was in talks with our orchestra’s board to become our conductor.”

Pratt opened his eyes wide at that news. Ellis flashed a quick smile and nodded.

“And does the management of his current orchestra know about this?”

“I know what you’re thinking, Detective Pratt, but I assure you this is all above board. Although we’ve obviously had to be careful to keep everything under wraps.”

“But did they know they were about to lose their star conductor?”

The phone was silent for a moment. “Spadafini was going to tell them,” Roseman finally answered carefully. “He felt their offer of a bit more money was, shall we say, an insult to his current international standing. Our orchestra was prepared to pay him what he wanted. It’s as simple as that.”

“So he was going to jump ship.”

“Well, you put it less delicately than I would, but yes. He was going to come to us.”

Pratt frowned. “Was a contract signed?”

“My secretary was here preparing it. That is, until we got the news. Now, Detective Pratt, unless you have any more pressing questions, I have an emergency meeting of our board to attend. I’m sure you understand.”

Pratt thought for a moment. “I will be asking your local police to come over and take a statement. They’ll contact you to arrange a time. I’d also like to ask you to keep this information to yourself for the moment.”

Roseman laughed. “Believe me, the last thing I want is our orchestra getting sucked into this mess.”

“I won’t keep you, then. Thank you for your help.”

The line went dead. Obviously, Pratt had been dismissed by his better. He handed the cell phone back to Ellis.

“So what did he say?” Ellis asked.

Pratt normally would have resisted telling the youngster anything. After all, it wasn’t as if they were partners. The older detective preferred working alone. This time, though, he felt thinking out loud might be of benefit, might help him order the facts in his mind, so he told Ellis.

“What’s the next step?” the kid asked.

Pratt was about to answer when his walkie-talkie squawked. “Pratt,” he answered simply.

It was the sergeant up at the stage entrance. “The chair of the symphony’s board of directors is here. He’s demanding to speak with you.”

“Just what I need,” the detective muttered to himself. “Tell him I’ll be there in a moment.” Pratt switched his walkie-talkie off and turned to Ellis. “I want you to dig around in Spadafini’s past. See if you can find any more dirt.”

“Got it,” Ellis said and trotted off.

“Now, let’s see what the big shot wants,” Pratt said to himself with a heavy sigh as he headed for the stairs.