Anthony Carrick Hardboiled Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3)

by Jason Blacker

  Frank nodded his head.

  "Those two women from the orchestra. Were they single?"

  I had a suspicion that at least one of them might have had a lover or husband. That's just the way these things generally turn out. Frank looked at me and raised his eyebrows just above his nose.

  "They were both married," he said. "Actually, I believe they still are. We had an incident a few months back."

  "What kind of incident?"

  "Lauren's husband came in quite upset and he and Paul got into it. They had a bit of a scuffle. He said he'd kill Paul if he didn't stop sleeping with his wife."

  "And did he?"

  Frank pinched his mouth closed into two blistered rolls of skin.

  "No, I don't think he did. Like I said before, some of these musicians are quite temperamental, Paul being one of them."

  "I'll need their names. I'd also like to speak with any of the musicians who were friendly with your concertmaster."

  Frank nodded.

  "I'll get Christina to give you that information," said Frank.

  "I assume they'll be here today?"

  "They should all be in shortly after lunch. Practice starts at two and we have the concert at six tonight. If you'd like to come back then, I can arrange a room for you to interview them if you'd like."

  "That won't be necessary, I'll just take them aside."

  "As you wish."

  I stood up to leave. Frank got up and came around to the other side of the desk. He walked me out to the reception area and asked Christina to get me a list of the names I needed and a forwarding address for the assistant they let go.

  "I've put in a police report on Paul," she said to Frank, "they'll be sending someone around shortly to take the information down and then pay a visit to his apartment."

  Christina looked at me through her blue eyes. Looked to me about as deep as the shallow end of a pool. You could get hurt jumping into them if you weren't careful.

  I left them at the reception desk. I was off to roam the mean streets of Manhattan. More truthfully, I found myself cocooned in the soft leather of the Maybach on my way back to the hotel for a rest and some lunch.

  THREE

  Chapter 3

  I decided to walk back to the Philharmonic. Terry had given me a card with his private number on it. He'd said he was at my disposal for the rest of the day. I told him thanks and left it at that. But I felt like a walk. I wanted to clear my head, start thinking about all the ways a guy like Paul Klee could get lost, abducted or worse.

  I decided to walk through Central Park up to West 63rd Street. The park was nice. Busier than I thought it would be, but then New York is a big city. The views were great. It was late summer and the trees were in full foliage and the women were fit and sparse of clothes.

  I figured that after I'd had a talk with some of the artsy, moody musicians, I'd see if I couldn't get a key to Paul's place. If Sonia Varnier had wanted me here, I was certain she'd have a key for me to get into his apartment. Which dollars to donuts she most likely paid for. I had a bad feeling about this whole thing.

  I was starting to think Paul might be dead. He'd gone missing at least a day and a half now and there'd been no ransom demands. That only meant one thing. He hadn't been kidnapped. And I couldn't swallow the idea that he'd just taken some personal time. As much as I chewed it it wouldn't go down. He'd been in New York for a long time. He'd spent over twenty years with the Phil. A guy like that didn't seem to me to be a guy that just got up and left one day because he had an itch on the soles of his shoes.

  I left the Ritz at just around two and I arrived at the Phil just before twenty after. I made my way up to the third floor where I was greeted by Christina. She was very pleasant and very flirty. I got to thinking I should talk to her about Paul. I was pretty sure he'd plowed those fields before.

  But instead she led me back to Frank's office. When I arrived, Frank was looking out the window over a shallow pool with two black sculptures that looked like turds dropped in and called art. Maybe I was being unkind, but I was in no mood for art appreciation.

  Frank turned and looked at me. He wore a tired smile, almost as tired as the tie around his neck which hung limply a couple of inches too low.

  "That's Henry Moore's Reclining Figure," he said, following my gaze out of his window.

  "One of several reclining figures," I said.

  "You know his work."

  "I studied art," I said. "Though it seems to me that Moore either went blind or crazy in his latter years. Being generous I'd say he went blind."

  Franks face drooped like a wilted lily. You might have suspected me of stealing his childhood teddy bear.

  "Yes, well, I suppose we're all entitled to our opinions. Though I'll have you know that that sculpture is worth millions."

  "I won't doubt it," I said, "seems to me that here in the Big Apple a fool and his money are easily parted."

  "Have you always been so acerbic, Mr. Carrick?" asked Frank.

  "Only when I'm in a good mood," I said.

  "Alright then. If you don't have a kind word to say, perhaps you'd rather speak with the musicians. I'm sure they'd be rather entertained with your disconsolate outlook on life."

  He came around and walked out of his office. I followed him into the reception area where he told Christina he was taking me to Avery Hall. What I didn't realize was that Avery Hall was part of the building we were already in. The one that looked like a leftover Stalinist building with more lights and windows.

  We had to go around the building on the northwest side and enter from the south side. The hall looked very much like any other orchestral hall you might find yourself in. Lots of warm, soft yellow woods and three tiers of balcony. The orchestra of course being at the far end. I couldn't help but think how quickly a place like this would burn down with all that dry, parched wood.

  But that thought was short lived. My attention was caught by the musicians at the far end. They were in casual dress and making a cacophony of sound that was best described as a collection of feral cats screaming at varied states of duress.

  Two women were bickering about something when we came up and walked onto the stage. They shut up when they noticed Frank amongst them.

  "As you know," said Frank, once he'd got everyone's attention. "Paul has been missing for about two days now. We've put in a police report and New York's finest is looking into it. In the meantime, we've brought in a private investigator from LA, Mr. Anthony Carrick."

  He gestured towards me with open arms as if I was about to step up as the lead baritone in The Marriage of Figaro. One of the women who had been bickering looked me up and down as if she were at the butchers. I couldn't tell if she wanted my flanks or my loins.

  "You mean there was nobody in New York qualified to look in on our very own dilettante?" asked a man holding a trumpet.

  "No one with Mr. Carrick's qualifications. Mrs. Varnier would personally consider it a kindness if you'd treat Mr. Carrick with the respect and candidness that he deserves. Mr. Carrick, would you like to say a few words?"

  I hadn't come prepared with a speech as I hadn't realized this was a wedding. But I'm pretty good off the cuff. I stepped forward and drifted my gaze upon all of them. I paused here and there, mostly on the more attractive women. I was buying time.

  "No," I said, and waited. All the long faces looked at me with blank stares. "I'm kidding." That got a few snorts and chuckles. "I have a few of you I want to speak with personally, but I'd also like any of you to speak with me afterwards if you have any information, however trivial, that you think I might like to hear. I'm especially fond of gossip."

  A hand shot up from the back. It was a woman's hand. Somewhat chubby like boiled chicken sausages.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Do you know what's happened to our dear Paul?" she asked.

  There were a few eye rolls around the room that started to make me dizzy.

  "No, we don't," I said, and paused, thinking
how much I should tell them at this stage. "However, in my experience, if you haven't heard about a ransom within forty-eight hours, you're usually not dealing with kidnappers."

  "He probably just went on a bender again like he did before," piped up a grumpy young man.

  I looked at him and nodded.

  "That's exactly the sort of thing I'd like to hear," I said. "Come and speak with me afterwards if I don't call you up."

  He raised his eyebrow and nodded as if I was wasting his time. He was a small thin man who for some reason reminded me of a court jester. His hair was an unruly mess of brown thatch and his nose was beaked. His lips were razor thin and the teeth I did see were small and sharp.

  "I'd like to see Lauren Alcantara first. Lauren?"

  I looked around at the faces and the women with cellos. There were only three of them. I fancied the slim blonde woman. The most attractive of them, and I was right. She stood up.

  "I'm Lauren," she said.

  "Would you mind coming and speaking with me?" I asked, as I led her down the stairs of the stage and about half a dozen rows into the orchestra seating. I stepped in first, and took the second last seat from the exit. Lauren sat next to me. She smelled like spring rain and flowers. Her long blonde hair was done up in a clump behind her, highlighting her long, creamy neck. She was a delicious morsel. I could see how Paul might like her. She had green eyes and a small upturned nose. Her mouth was full and her teeth were straight and white like piano keys. She smiled at me shyly and I felt a tickle in my lower abdomen.

  "I understand you knew Paul quite well," I said.

  She nodded.

  "He was an exceptional talent."

  That's what everyone kept telling me. I couldn't tell if she was talking about his violin playing or his flute. I thought I'd ask.

  "Do you mean his musicianship?" I asked.

  She blushed and lowered her eyes. She was a tease and she knew it. She looked back up at me coyly.

  "Of course, whatever else do you think I might have meant?"

  She bit her lip and in heaven I could hear angels weep.

  "I thought you might have been speaking about his intimate powers."

  I gave her a roguish grin. She looked at me hotly, her eyes aflame with anger.

  "You are a coarse man, Mr. Carrick," she said, faking concern.

  "And you are an adulterer," I said. "In some parts they stone beautiful women like you."

  She looked up at me and squinted. I wasn't sure if she was trying to see through me or look angry. When she slapped me across the face I realized what that look meant. At least we were getting somewhere.

  "How dare you," she said, hissing like a viper.

  "I've only spoken the truth, Lauren. And as Frank said, I'd sure appreciate you offering the same. Now you knew Paul in the biblical way, didn't you?"

  She nodded.

  "I don't know what that's got to do with you."

  "Nothing interesting," I said, "I don't like seconds. But it might mean the world of difference for Paul."

  Her hand came up for another quick feel of my cheek. I stopped her this time. I was still stinging from the first smack.

  "The first one might have been free, but you'll have to earn another," I said.

  "I think I'm done here, Mr. Carrick," she said, standing up.

  I grabbed her arm and held it firmly. She winced and tried to wriggle out of it.

  "Let go of me!" she said. "You're hurting me."

  "If you sit down and behave like a good girl I'll let you go."

  She thought about it for a moment and sat down. I let her arm go and she rubbed it gingerly.

  "When did you start seeing Paul?" I asked.

  She looked down at her wrist, pouting like a spoiled child.

  "We've been seeing each other on and off for years."

  "Did your husband know?"

  "He's suspected for awhile but he confronted me about it a few months ago. I told him the truth. He told me to end it and he went to speak with Paul and tell him to back off."

  "I heard about it," I said. "I heard it was a nice and friendly hands-on conversation."

  She looked up at me and I could tell she was still angry. She didn't look as attractive when she was angry.

  "It wasn't like that."

  "That's not what I heard."

  "Perry went and spoke to Paul. They had a shoving match and Paul told him that he would end it."

  "But you didn't, did you?"

  "No, but I don't think Perry knew."

  "You certain about that?"

  "Yes, I'm certain. Perry would have said something if he didn't think I'd called off the relationship. There's something you have to understand, Mr. Carrick, it's not like Paul and I were exclusive…"

  "Clearly."

  Lauren huffed and blew air up at her bangs. That was cute, but it didn't derail me.

  "What I mean is, Paul wasn't the sort of man that would be happy with just one woman. What we had was an on again off again fling. He was a lot of fun to be around."

  "And your husband isn't?"

  More huffing and blowing of air. She was beginning to remind me of the three little pigs.

  "No, not like that. If you ever meet him you'll understand. Paul knows how to treat a woman special. He makes you feel special."

  "Help me understand something. If you're not really in love with your husband, and it sounds like you're not, then why did you even marry him?"

  "Perry is a good provider and I thought I loved him once. An orchestral musician, especially one that plays cello, and not first cello either, doesn't make a lot of money."

  "And how much isn't a lot of money?" I asked.

  "Forty-eight thousand a year. I spent four years in college getting my music degree and ten years before that practicing everyday. That kind of money isn't a lot to live on in New York, Mr. Carrick."

  "I suppose it isn't. What does your husband do?"

  "He owns his own construction company."

  "So he's with the mafia," I said, cavalierly.

  She was about to blow my house down with her huffing and puffing.

  "No, he's an honest, hardworking businessman."

  "With a spendthrift, adulterer of a wife. He must think he's got the nuts."

  "I don't get your meaning, Perry is a good man."

  "It's a poker thing."

  "He plays poker," she said.

  "Badly, I bet," I answered.

  I was eager to meet this man who couldn't read his own wife. I wouldn't mind playing him in a high stakes poker game. But that was just crazy thinking.

  "I'd like to talk to him," I said.

  "You can find him at the job site everyday."

  "Even on the Sabbath?"

  "Even tomorrow. We're not particularly religious," she said with a straight face.

  "I hadn't mistaken you for a nun, darling."

  "Are we done?"

  "Hardly," I said, "I'm just getting through the foreplay. Where is Paul?"

  "I don't know."

  "You don't know or you don't care?"

  "I said I don't know. I tried calling him this morning and yesterday. I left a message for him yesterday but this morning his mailbox is full and I couldn't leave a message."

  "When was the last time you saw him?"

  In the background, the musicians were still strangling cats and making all sorts of awful sounds. I couldn't believe people paid for this. Yeah, I know, I'm being facetious. I've been to a concert or two.

  "I saw Paul on Thursday for rehearsal. Before that, we spent some time on Wednesday night."

  "How did he seem at rehearsal?"

  "He seemed agitated, he said there were some people out to get him."

  "Did he tell you who?"

  "No he didn't. I didn't give it much thought, you see he often got paranoid if he'd been on a bender."

  "So if he's been on benders before, why is everybody so worried about him this time."

  "Well, he's never gone m
issing. He's always come in to practice even if he was sent home. But he's never missed a practice yet."

  "When you say he's been on benders, what are you talking about. Booze or drugs?"

  "Both, Paul likes to party. He likes his alcohol and his cocaine."

  "And where does he get it from?"

  "We all go to Gary, Gary Johnson, when we need a pick me up," she said. "I mean, I don't, but those who need it find he's very helpful. Gary and Paul were quite close."

  "And where can I find this Gary Johnson?" I asked.

  She turned around and looked towards the stage.

  "He's the tall, thin one playing on the trombone."

  I followed her eyes and saw him right away. He looked like a doctor who took his own medicine. Only these weren't prescriptions. He was tall, and thin like she said. He had mousy brown hair, and he looked old. Even from this distance I could see his complexion was sallow and unhealthy. He might be the drug dealer but he could also be his own best client.

  "Did Paul seem worried about Gary at all?"

  "No, I don't think so. I've never seen Gary and Paul get into a fight. But Patrick Francis is not a fan of Paul. They've never liked each other, not since Paul got that first violin position just a year after he got here."

  "And who's Patrick?" I asked, looking out at the orchestra.

  "He's the one who spoke to you. He told you Paul was probably on a bender."

  I nodded my head. Yeah, I wanted to speak to him. And now I'd make sure I did just that.

  "You said earlier that Paul had a roving eye. Other than Rosanna, was there anyone else here who he was having an affair with?"

  "No, Paul was settling down more in his older age. At least he seemed more content with me taking care of his needs than the other woman. I think he was calling it off with Rosanna. He had tried to bed a couple of the other women here but unsuccessfully. Not everyone finds him as attractive as I do."

  "Right."

  "How was Rosanna taking it?"

  "Not well. I had a feeling she was willing to leave her husband for him, but he wouldn't hear of it."

  "Her husband or Paul?"

  "Both, but her husband especially. She came in with a black eye once."

  "How did she get it?"

  "She said she walked into a door, but we all suspected it was thanks to her husband. She acknowledged that he had found out about her and Paul and got really mad over it. That same week, Paul came in pretty beat up too. They had to give him a few days off just so that he didn't appear on stage in the shape he was."