Read Orchestrated Murder Online

Authors: Rick Blechta

Tags: #book, #Mystery, #FIC050000

Orchestrated Murder (6 page)

BOOK: Orchestrated Murder
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“Norris said he'd had to come down to thank the orchestra for coming in for the extra rehearsal. He talked about what a sensitive bunch they are, how they needed to be stroked all the time. Didn't he tell you about that?”

“No, he didn't,” Pratt growled. “And I'm going to find out why.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

P
ratt took the stairs back up two at a time. His tiredness was forgotten. He hated being played by someone.

He found Norris in his office with Browne. Both men looked up in surprise at the abrupt entry.

“Why didn't you tell me you'd already been down here this morning?” Pratt asked angrily.

“Look here, Detective! I don't like your tone.”

“I don't like people not being honest with me.”

“In case you don't remember our earlier conversation, you never asked me.”

“Well, I'm asking now.” Pratt sat on the other vacant seat in front of the desk and made a show of taking out his notebook and pen. “When were you down here and why?”

“I don't have to talk to you.”

The detective got to his feet again. “Okay. Play it that way. We'll talk downtown. Bring a whole law firm to hold your hand if you want. I don't care. But just remember that you're going to be escorted out of here in front of all those reporters outside.”

Pratt pulled out his walkie-talkie and turned up the volume again.

After looking at Browne for a moment, Norris got to his feet too. “Perhaps I spoke hastily, Detective. Please…take a seat.”

Knowing he had to keep the upper hand, Pratt nodded, then sat. “Tell me about this morning.”

“Our concert last night wasn't the best, at least in Spadafini's eyes. The man was a bloody perfectionist. Tonight's performance was going to be recorded for a radio broadcast, so he demanded an extra rehearsal. To keep him happy, I agreed. Of course, our musicians were furious, so it was up to me to placate them with a little pep talk before the rehearsal.”

“What time was that?”

“Nine o'clock. I spoke for about five minutes and promised them all a bit of a bonus as a token of thanks from the board. I departed immediately afterward.”

“Where did you go?”

“Directly home.”

In order to build up a little tension, Pratt made a show of looking back at several pages in his notebook. “You and the mayor were in the chief 's office before the press even got wind of what happened down here. How did you find—”

“From me,” Browne interrupted. “I called Mr. Norris right after my call to the police.”

Pratt turned to the orchestra manager. “Who else did you call?”

“Um…my wife to tell her I certainly wouldn't be home for lunch.”

“Oh really.”

“And where did you call Mr. Norris from?”

“I used my cell phone. As chairman of the board, he needed to know right away.”

“Your cell phone.”

“Yes.”

“Detective Pratt,” Norris said, “I appreciated that Browne was doing such a good job under very trying circumstances. I'm not sure I would have thought of something like that if I had been in his place. We're very lucky to have Mr. Browne.”

Pratt brought his attention back to Norris. “When you left, did anyone see you?”

“The security guard was at his desk, if that's what you mean.”

“I was with him too,” Browne added.

Pratt looked at Norris, again with a pause. “And you went right home.”

Norris returned the stare. “I went right home.”

“At home, who saw you?”

“My daughter and her boyfriend.”

“Anyone else?”

“I wasn't home long. Maybe our maid. I really don't remember.”

Seeing that there wasn't much more to be gained, Pratt got to his feet. “I see you're working on a press release,” he said, looking down at a sheet of paper on Norris's desk.

“We have to say something. The longer we wait, the worse it will be.”

“I have to ask you not to release this until I've taken a look at it. I'm sure you wouldn't want to compromise the investigation.”

“No. Of course not. Speaking of which, are you any closer to knowing what happened?”

“We've found out a number of useful things. I have hopes.”

Pratt left them and walked down the hall a short distance. Outside Browne's office, a uniformed cop was standing.

“Any problems with the locals?” Pratt asked.

“If you mean Browne, how about every ten minutes or so? Are you keeping him out of his office just to annoy him?”

“Maybe.”

The cop smiled. “Good. He's a jackass.”

Pratt's walkie-talkie had been turned off for nearly ten minutes, and as he took the elevator down one floor to the security desk, he listened to the wash of chatter. Seemed as if everyone wanted to talk to him.

“I'm at the security desk,” Pratt was saying as the elevator doors opened. “Sorry for being offline. Ellis—you there?”

Through a bit of crackle, Ellis said, “Live and in person.”

“Good. Do you know where the Green Room is?”

“I'm sitting in it right now.”

“Sit tight. I'll be there shortly.”

The security guard was standing just inside the stage door, talking to the two cops guarding it.

Pratt motioned him over to his desk. “You were on all morning?”

“I came on duty at seven am.”

“James Norris, do you know him by sight?”

The guard snorted. “Of course. Been working here five years, haven't I?”

“Did you see him arrive this morning?”

“I buzzed him in shortly before the orchestra started rehearsing.”

“When did he leave?”

“About fifteen minutes later. I let him out.”

“But he has a key.

“I suppose so. I've never seen him use it.”

“So he could have come back in again.”

“Why?”

Pratt wanted to throttle the man. “Let's just say he did, okay?”

“Well, I've been here all morning, but I did my rounds starting at ten-oh-five and was gone for twelve, maybe fifteen minutes. I suppose he could have come back in.” The guard looked down at his cubicle. “But we'd have a video record of it, wouldn't we?”

“Did the sergeant who was up here look through the security recordings?”

The guard nodded once.

“Did he look at the footage showing the stage door?”

Again the single nod. “I helped him.”

“And what did it show?”

“Nothing. The camera ain't been working for a week. I've called in for a repairman and complained to Browne.”

Pratt heaved a sigh as he headed down the hall to the Green Room.

When he got there, Ellis was sitting on a sofa, legs crossed, while he scribbled madly in his notebook.

“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.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

P
ratt 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.”

BOOK: Orchestrated Murder
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