The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 (39 page)

“You’re right, Harry.  Okay, if you’re going to be my friend
then you are going to have to learn to put up with me.  I am not used to
relying on anyone.  I just do what I think is best because, basically, there
was no one around to ask.”

“Fine.  Now let’s go into the den and wait for Tony’s
call.”  Harry got up and walked in all dignified.  It took all my control not
to giggle.  He sat down at the desk and took out the letter opener and pushed
the letter around the blotter.  The phone rang and Harry answered it.  “Lathen
residence.  Yeah, okay.” He hung up the phone.  “Get dressed.  We are going to
the Sheriff’s Office.  A car is coming for us and the letter.”

“Great. Just great.  I haven’t even showered yet.  Don’t
touch that!”  I left Harry, took off my gloves and picked up a beer from the
kitchen.  I drained it on my way to the bedroom.  Dressing was a bit difficult,
considering the scratches, and the alcohol from the beer had gotten to my
fingers. I ended up throwing on a long sundress and slid my feet into a pair of
flats.  I grabbed a sweater just in case the air-conditioning was chilling.  I
arrived at the front door before the deputy had time to knock.  He brought with
him a plastic evidence bag, and I pointed his way to the den where Harry was
still poking at the envelope.

The ride was a quiet one.  Harry sat pouting next to me in
the backseat.  I knew he wanted to be up front with all those gadgets.  I was
just sobering up when we arrived.  Deputy Harris showed us to an office where
he produced two coffees and asked us to wait there.

“Pretty nice digs for law enforcement,” I commented, looking
around the office with new furnishings.  The coffee smelled better that it
tasted, but it was still welcomed.

“Talk about decadence.  How about the county lockup back
there overlooking a golf course?” Harry sniffed.

“Now to be fair, the golf course wasn’t put in till well
after the prison.  But it seems that crime pays, doesn’t it.”  I leaned back in
the chair and just about fell asleep by the time the deputy returned.

“We had it x-rayed, and there doesn’t seem to be anything
but paper in the envelope.  Sergeant Buslowski said to go ahead and open it but
he wants the envelope and the contents sent down to the lab.”

“Might as well open it here?”  I looked over at Harry who
nodded.  I put on the cheap plastic gloves that Deputy Harris brought back with
him and slit the envelope using a letter opener also provided by the deputy. 
Several pages were carefully folded into the business envelope space.  I caught
the fold with the letter opener and carefully extracted the paper.  Pages of
sheet music hung across my blade.  I lowered the paper to the desk and began
smoothing them out.  In front of me was Tchaikovsky’s
Overture “1812”.
 
It was a carefully reduced copy of the first and second bassoon parts.  I
examined each page and found nothing amiss, no stamp identifying the ownership
of the music and, oddly enough, no editing marks at all.  When a band rehearses
an intense piece of music like this one, the conductor frequently has the
players make notes or changes to the music to suit the conductor’s
interpretation.

“What is it?” asked the deputy over my shoulder.

“Music, just music. 
Overture“1812”
by Tchaikovsky. 
The bassoon parts.”

“Who would send you this music?”

“The killer,” Harry supplied.  He came over to the desk. 
“It has to mean something, otherwise why risk coming over and placing it in
your mailbox?”  He plopped his behind down on the desk, jostling the remainder
of our coffees.

“Careful, Harry,” I warned.  “I know it has something to do
with Manfred and Tobias, obviously, because it’s the parts they would play if
we were performing the music.”  I looked at the deputy who was lost.  He
probably had no knowledge of the case beyond the task of the letter. Harry
popped off the desk.

“Cin, the War of 1812 was between us and England?” 

“I guess we had a war between Britain and the United States
in 1812.  There was a war going on between France and Russia during that time. 
Wait.  The “1812 Overture” was commissioned as a ceremonial overture to
celebrate the 70th anniversary of Russia's victory over Napoleon in 1812.  I
read that in program notes somewhere.”

“Napoleon.  Wasn’t there something in the Post recently
about them doing tests on his remains?”

“You’re right, Harry.  Go on, I see what you’re saying.”

“They found that he had been slowly poisoned over the
years.  Poisoned by…”

“Arsenic.  Deputy Harris, is there a way I could talk to the
lab people who are testing the food taken from the Avery Theater?  No, better
yet, let me call Detective Curtis.”

Deputy Harris punched an outside line, and I dialed his
number.

“Curtis here.”

“You sound tired, Tony.”

“Cin, what did you find out.  What was in the envelope?”

“A message, I believe from the killer.  A very vague message
but the meaning came through.  The lab will find that the food at the theater
was poisoned with arsenic.”

“Is Dave with you?”

“No, a Deputy Harris.”

“Put him on the phone.”

I did as I was told and listened while the deputy was
questioned about what we found.  He must have been asked questions he couldn’t
answer because he repeated them looking over at Harry and me a couple of times,
and we filled in the puzzle as best we could.  

“He wants to know when you received the letter?”  He handed
the phone back to me.

“The thing is.  I didn’t check the mail Monday because I was
with you all day and didn’t get home till late in the night.  And today, well,
you were with me all day.”

“Where was the envelope?”

“In the mail box.”

“No, where was it in the stack of mail?  On top, on bottom?”
Tony asked impatiently.

I thought for a moment, trying to visualize the dining room
table.  “It was under four bills, one junk mail and a Victoria’s Secret
catalog.  In the middle.  It might have been in the mailbox today and the
mailman put more mail on top of it. Or...”

“It could have been put in the middle purposely,” Tony
supplied.

“Hold on a minute.” I turned to the deputy. “Can we put this
on speaker?  I would like Harry involved with this conversation.”  I spoke into
the phone, “Is that alright with you?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Deputy Harris shut the door to the office and put the phone
on speaker and adjusted the volume so Tony could hear all of us.

“Okay, I have some questions first,” began Tony.  “How do
you know we’re dealing with a copy?”

“This is Chappell’s Army Journal No. 495.  I have played
this arrangement, and it is normally oversized, let’s say ten or eleven by
fourteen inches.  The paper would be of a yellow or parchment bond.  This
appears to be high white printer paper, 20 pound, and you would have to test
it, but I imagine it was printed off an inkjet printer.”

“Why not laser?”

“Laser doesn’t smudge, and this has a smudge trail on the
second page.”  I used to be the band librarian and made numerous
copyright-infringed copies.  I didn’t think I needed to admit that to a law
officer.

“Might be from a home copier,” Harry suggested.

“We’ll have the lab look at all that. Second, who has access
to the band’s music?”

“It’s kept at the Coconut Palm community center.  They give
us air-conditioned storage space.  The music is kept in old filing cabinets and
locked.”

“Who has access?  Who has keys?”

“The band librarian, Edith, and she’s still out of town as
far as I know.  The conductor, Doctor Sanders, and the band president, Tom
Waverly.”

Harry walked over and looked at the music again.  “What if
the bassoon players kept their music?”

“It is possible that it was never turned back in.   But I
think that Edith would have tracked it down before now.  We played this piece
two years ago for the Fourth of July.  I think though you may want to consider
that most every college, community and a good many high school bands have this
piece in their repertoire.”

“I still think those old goofs staged all this.”  Harry
crossed his arms.

“But they were almost killed.”  I looked at Harry.

“The word is almost.  And Miles could have been the target,
not a suspect.”

“What makes you suspect the bassoon players, Harry?”  Tony
asked.

“First of all, they are too chummy.  Second, they brought
their bassoon cases to a social function.  Third, I think it would have taken
two people to pull off that oleander stunt last night,” Harry reasoned.

We were all quiet a moment.

“Tony, can you tell us anything about your interview with
Miles?”

“I don’t know how much you need to know.  Why don’t you ask
me questions and let me make a judgment on each question.”

“Fair enough.  Did Miles mention whether or not he asked
them to bring their instruments?”  I asked.

We heard him flipping through papers.  “Miles claims,
remember we still don’t have the note, that the typed note he had on his desk
requested him to call Manfred Tuttle and Tobias Green and inform them that, due
to an error, their names had been left off the invitation list for a potluck
supper at five o’ clock in the coffee room of the theater.  It also requested
that the doors be opened by four-thirty to accommodate the setting up of the
room.”  He paused.  “So I would say that the answer is no.”

“So why did those old farts bring their bassoons?  At least
the cases?” Harry asked.

“I can vouch for the cases because I fell over one, and when
Manfred and Tobias left they were pulling their cases.”

“Excuse me,” Deputy Harris’s quiet voice interrupted.  “Why
would the killer send you the music?  Why, Mrs. Fin-Lathen, are you involved in
this?”

“Right place, wrong time.” I sighed.

Harry addressed the deputy, “I think she’s either being set
up or she has become a player in some nasty little game.  I still think it’s
the old guys.  Did you see the way they just sat there watching us break our
necks looking for them?  Wouldn’t you think they could have answered when Cin
was calling them?  Old bas...”

“That’s enough.”  I grabbed his arm.  “There are other
suspects. Let’s not get tunnel vision.  Tony, have you interviewed any of the
others?”

“I have Doctor Sanders coming in tomorrow.  I wanted to get
a good background on the band before asking the other gentlemen.”

“Sounds like you have your favorite suspect.”  Harry
sniffed.

“No, not really.  The music points me in another direction
than I was going previously.  Please remember that Miles is a player in all
this.”

“He was going to drink the punch,” I brought up again.

“But he didn’t drink.  I understand other bands use the
theater.  He could have access to their music.  Or the music was bought for
this occasion.  Who knows, you probably can get it over the Internet.”

“That brings up the home office scenario.”

“Or the library,” added the deputy.  “The main county
library has computers, printers, copiers, you name it.”

“Harris, could you get me a list of who may have used the
library’s equipment in the last week or so?”

“I don’t think they keep any sort of list, but I could
check.  I’ll have to wait till morning.”

“Sure, let me know what you find out.  I also need the lab
to go over the paper, fingerprints.  That reminds me.  Deputy Harris, the lab
will need Ms. Fin-Lathen’s and Harry’s prints.”

Harry and I looked at each other and joined in, “Why?”

“To rule them out.”

“But I was wearing gloves,” I whined.

“Why were you wearing gloves?” Tony asked evenly.

“It was my idea.  I put the kitchen gloves on her before she
went out to the mailbox.  But I was thinking more of a snake in the mailbox,”
Harry explained.

“You sent me out there thinking that there might be a snake
in the box?” I exclaimed.  “Some protector.”

“Children!  You are going to get your fingerprints taken and
that’s final,” Tony ordered.

I stuck my tongue out at the phone, and Harry must have been
warming up one of his fingers because it was flashed at the phone with much
vigor.  Deputy Harris took the phone off of speaker and received some more
instructions.  He hung up the phone and took Harry and me to fingerprinting.

I wasn’t too thrilled that we had to actually go to the
lockup to get our prints made.  Harry stared wide-eyed at the other poor souls
that were waiting their turn at processing.  Tuesday night must be a big night
in Palm Beach County.  Deputy Harris left us briefly, and after much discussion,
we were brought to the head of the line and printed.  Harry thought we should
also have a couple of pictures done.  Then I reminded him that there might be a
cavity search involved with further processing, so he let the picture thing
go.  I was still trying to get the crap off my fingers when Sergeant Dave
showed up dressed in street clothes.

“Harris, you idiot.  Why did you bring them here?”

Harry held up his hands.  “Sergeant Dave, please excuse the
lack of a handshake but...”  He wiggled his fingers.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Fin-Lathen.  There were other ways this
could have been done.  I’m sorry that I wasn’t here earlier, but I was home
when Tony called.”  He glared at the deputy.  “I thought I was leaving you in
good hands.”

“It’s okay.  I figure Harry would end up here eventually
anyway.  Might as well get the tour.  I’m sorry that Tony dragged you in here
from home though.”

“Nothing on TV tonight but reruns anyway.”  He looked us
over.  “Let me point you to the restroom so you can wash that stuff off.  And how
about the three of us meeting back here.  I have lots and lots of information
you may be interested in.”

Harry all but ran to the bathroom, and I admit I was myself
lured by the carrot Detective Dave was holding out.  I finished cleaning off my
hands and checked out my reflection.  If you subtract the dark circles under my
eyes, I didn’t look too bad.  I caught myself.  Oh Lord, I am primping for a
cop, a married cop.  Heaven take me now.

Detective Dave was engrossed in something Harry was telling
him when I arrived.  He looked at me and started laughing.

“What?”  I looked down, making sure I hadn’t dragged toilet
paper out with my shoe.

“Necking at the beach?”  Detective Dave shook his head.

“I, we, Harry, what did you tell him?”  I put my face into
his.

“I never said necking.  I said we were parked,” Harry
confessed.

“Parked, as the car was stopped.  Put into park.  That kind
of parking.”  I knew I was red.  My face was hot, and I was thinking a thousand
tortures for my partner in crime.

“Calm down, I’m just trying to lighten the mood here,” the
sergeant said with a twinkle in his eye.  “Come on, time you got better
acquainted with the boys from the lab.”

“Do we get to see a dead body?”  Harry all but drooled.

“I said lab and not morgue.”

“I have seen enough dead bodies, thank you,” I mumbled.

My comment wasn’t lost on the sergeant.  He threw me an
understanding look before directing us to the bowels of the building.  We
followed him through corridors and stairways silently.  He waited until we had
reached the glass doors labeled “Crime Laboratory” before talking.

“This is the county’s lab.  They process most of the crime
scene data for Palm Beach County.  West Palm has the budget for their own lab,
but Coconut Palms and your village don’t, so they use us.  Bigger cities have
much more elaborate equipment, and there are times when we may send samples
down to Miami or up to Atlanta.”  He opened the door and we walked in.

I was surprised by how many people were working that late at
night.  Sergeant Dave explained the departments as passed them.  We walked by
Biology, where the blood samples from the theater were sent.  Criminalistics
commanded the largest area.  They were responsible for identifying the poisons
used in all three instances and the truck tire impressions in my yard. 
Document Examination was over in the corner, and they were already working on
the music.  The sergeant pointed out Firearms in the back and Controlled
Substance Analysis, located by Biology, both of which didn’t pertain to the
case as of yet.

I was surprised that I didn’t recognize any of these
people.  “The men who collected the samples?”

“They’re part of the Crime Scene Search Unit, which is
upstairs along with Photography and the Latent Fingerprint Unit.  That’s where
my deputy should have taken you.”

“When or even will we know what these units have found
regarding the investigation?” I asked.

“I guess it is up to Tony.  It’s his case.  He makes the
calls.”

“You’re being a pretty decent guy to show us around here,”
commented Harry.

“I think that this case has caught my curious side.  Also
it’s a win-win for me. I can feel free to interject my ideas since it won’t be
my butt on the line.” 

“Okay, so here’s a free question for you to ponder.  Why me?
 Why not send the music to Tony,” I asked.

“Remember my cat and mouse theory.  I can see that the rules
have changed a bit.  The killer is so damn impressed with himself that he is
sending you clues.  The only problem is, when did he send the last one?  Before
or after the attempted murder?” 

“And I can’t tell you that.  Why would the timing make a
difference?”

“If he sent it before, he wanted the thrill of the chase or
not to poison those men.”

“I think it’s the old farts,” Harry insisted again.  “For
the record, I said it was the old farts first.”

Detective Dave smiled indulgently.  “Noted.  Now if it was
sent after, the killer is taunting you.  He’s acknowledging you as a player in
his game.  He invites you with the flowers, and you beat him in the next play. 
If I am right and he is playing with you, there will be more murder attempts. 
And, unfortunately, he may succeed.”

“Unless Cin gets there first.”  Harry looked at me.

“So how am I going to sleep nights knowing that whether or
not one of my contemporaries lives or dies depends on whether I am observant
enough, smart enough or quick enough?  What you’re not saying is this all
depends on me.”

“Wrong, Cin,” Harry insisted.  “It depends on us.”

I could hear Harry’s words from earlier this evening.  
You
can’t control everything.  This killer is counting on you to do your normal
Fin-Lathen thing.  You have to think different here. 

“Well, if we’re going to be good players in this game,
Sergeant, then I would strongly suggest you recommend to Tony that he shares
his information and that includes the lab results.”

“Now, you’re treading in an area where what you were able to
do in England isn’t going to happen here.”

I grabbed Harry’s hand to stop him from talking.  I wanted
to hear and have Harry listen to what the sergeant had to say.

He continued, “You are a private citizen with no license for
investigation and really no business even being in this facility unless we are
questioning you or processing you, as you indeed are a suspect in the murder of
your band mates.”

“Come on,” Harry piped in despite the iron hold I had on his
hand.  “She’s smart.  She solved a half-century old murder with her brain.”

“Whoa, I’m not saying she’s not capable.  I’m saying she
isn’t allowed.”

I didn’t like being talked about as if I wasn’t in the room.
 It lessens me.  I was about to speak, but Dave turned to me and said, “You’ve
got blood on your hands, paperwork that says you are a person of interest.  I
suggest you lie low.”

“Maybe I should visit Alex?”

“No, you can’t leave town.  You are a ‘person of interest’
in an active crime investigation,” Dave said firmly.

“So what do you want me to do?  Sit around and watch my friends
get picked off one by one?”

“I can’t tell you anymore than to advise you to keep your
alibi,” he motioned to Harry, “close at hand.  But be assured, Ms. Fin-Lathen,
I will inform Tony of your wishes.  Now, how about you letting me give you a
ride home.”

“I call front seat!”  Harry gave me a
so there
look.

“Fine, but there is only a front seat in my Toyota 4x4.” 
Detective Dave looked at me.  “Did he think I was going to make him ride in the
back?”

“I think Harry was hoping for a police car.  But, on second
thought, it might not be a bad idea if Harry rode in back.”

“Hey, I heard that!  Can I drive?”

Dave looked at me. I shook my head warning him.  “Sure, why
not.”

“Big mistake, big mistake,” I mumbled.

“If he makes any mistakes, Ms. Fin-Lathen, I will just
arrest him.”  Sergeant Dave tossed Harry the keys as we walked out of the
building.  “Ms. Fin-Lathen, a thought occurred to me.  What if this is all a
musical composition?  An opera?”

“I hope not, because most operas end in tragedy.  And if
it’s the killer’s opus, then I better dig out my theory books because I am in
no way ready for this concert.”