"What did you say?"
"I said I ain't helping you out, copper, unless you help me out."
"That's not how it works, son." He said that like he meant it though we were probably of similar age, only he wore it like a crumpled suit, and me, well I wore it like a fine dinner tux. "The police investigate homicides and the public, which includes you, help us."
"You've mistaken me for someone who believes in the NYPD," I said.
"Just hand it over and stop pissing around with us."
I shook my head. I kept smiling at him. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Simms looking at me expressionless. His hands still thrust in his pockets. He was fondling the change in them. It didn't look good.
"We'll get it with a subpoena," said Cooper.
"If I'm still in town by the time you get it signed," I said.
"Let me talk to him," said Simms, looking at Cooper with a knowing nod. "Why don't you start on the interviews."
Cooper stared at his partner for a bit. Then he nodded and walked over to Frank and started asking him about the members of the orchestra.
"Could I have a moment of your time?" asked Simms, walking over to me.
He led me to a far corner of the stage. When we were alone he smiled at me and offered his hand.
"You look familiar," he said.
"I get that a lot."
"No really, you do. Were you on the job?"
"A while back yeah, in LA."
"What's your name?"
"Anthony Carrick."
Simms nodded and his smile broadened.
"I thought so," he said. "You boxed in the finals of the ninety-eight police games. You took the middleweight title from an NYPD narc named Steve Little."
I grinned at Simms. I remembered the bout well. One of the hardest I'd ever fought. And that was saying something. I could've gone pro but Racquel wouldn't stand for it at the time. She's now my ex.
"That's right. Hardest fight I ever fought."
"Steve still talks about it."
"You don't ring a bell though," I said.
"That's alright, I was in Little's corner, one of his seconds."
I nodded. I already liked Simms. I could tell he was a good cop. Better than his pal Cooper. Not just because he was stroking my ego. He knew how to find the inside track to someone. That was gold in my opinion.
"So you're no longer on the job then?"
I shook my head.
"Got out due to politics."
"Tell me about it. Listen," said Simms, "I'd like to help you. I really do, but Cooper over there is a stickler. I tell you what though. If you get Sonia Varnier to talk to the Police Commissioner we'll get you riding shotgun in no time."
"I appreciate the tip. I'll get on it," I said. "In the meantime, what can you tell me about the crime scene?"
Simms looked over at Cooper who was engrossed talking with Patrick. He huddled closer to me like we were deciding on a play.
"The missing persons was called in this morning," said Simms.
I nodded my head.
"So we sent some unis over just to do a knock and see. When they got there the neighbor met them, said the place had started smelling bad. The neighbor hadn't seen Klee since Thursday. Unis knocked on the door and got no response. They said it reeked. Smelled like shit and rotting garbage. They called it in to their sergeant. He figured that smelled like a dead body so he got a search warrant while they waited outside."
"I see where this is going," I said.
Simms nodded.
"Yeah, so the search warrant comes through. By this time there's a couple more unis at the place and the sergeant. They break down the door. First thing they see is Klee on the couch watching television. Loud, but not annoyingly loud for the neighbors. Just enough to distract you from a couple of suppressed gunshots. Klee's been tapped twice in the chest. Bam, bam."
Simms taps himself on the left chest, just above his heart.
"They were accurate."
"Was the place ransacked?" I asked.
Simms nodded.
"A total mess."
"Have you found prints?"
"A bunch, but we're not hopeful they're of the perp. It just looked really well done."
"I'd like to take a look."
Simms nodded.
"Speak with Sonia," he said. "She's got pull. She's your ticket inside."
I nodded slowly.
"So what do you make of it?"
"One of two things. Either this was a hit made to look like a robbery or it was a robbery, though it doesn't look like much, if anything at all was stolen."
"Did you find a violin?"
"We found a few actually."
"I mean an expensive violin. A Stradivarius?"
Simms shrugged.
"Dunno yet, we haven't catalogued everything yet. Why're you worried about a violin?"
"It might be nothing, but I've heard an interesting story about one of the vic's violins. He had a Strad, that was given to him by his grandfather."
"Doesn't mean much to me," said Simms.
"Didn't mean much to me either, until I heard it was insured for ten mil."
Simms turned his mouth down, raised his eyebrows and bobbed his head up and down.
"Yeah, I know," I said. "I never knew a piece of wood was worth that much. But it gets more interesting. This violin was apparently stolen from a woman by Klee's granpappy who was a guard at one of the concentration camps during the war."
"That's weird. Is this legit?"
"I don't know yet. I've heard it from a couple of the other musicians. I'm going to check it out. If it is, then it could be someone was after the violin."
Simms looked down at the floor and nodded thoughtfully.
"Could narrow down the suspects then. I bet not many know how valuable a violin like that is."
"That's what I figure. Though it could be a hit like you say. This Klee guy was a ladies man. Heard he was banging a couple of the married ladies in the orchestra. Had an altercation with both husbands just a few weeks ago."
Simms nodded his head for a bit, and looked at me.
"That's good intel," he said. "They might've known Klee had an expensive violin. Either of them could have set it up so as to look like a robbery."
"That's the thing," I said. "Just when you think it starts to look like you can narrow it down, there's a twist that opens it all up again."
"Ain't that the truth. Thanks for that," said Simms. "You're a good guy."
Cooper walked up to us.
"You ladies gonna stand around and talk theater or do you wanna help me with the interviews."
Cooper was looking at Simms. Simms patted me on the shoulder.
"Remember what I said," said Simms. "Better to stay out of this one. The NYPD doesn't like outsiders poking their noses into our business."
"I gotcha," I said.
Simms walked off with Cooper.
"I think he's good," said Simms. "We might even be able to use him."
He was talking to Cooper.
"He can give us his notes if he's got any. That's what he can do."
That was the last I heard of them. They split up and took different musicians to interview. Frank came up to me.
"I'm sorry about that," he said. "The police get quite territorial I guess."
"Looks like it," I said.
"But Sonia is close friends with the Commissioner. I'm sure she can have them soften their stance. She's really looking forward to meeting you. She's preparing dinner for you at her place tonight if you don't mind. She'll send the car round."
Frank looked at his watch.
"In fact, the car should be here for you any moment."
I looked at my watch. It was coming on five thirty. Frank stayed with me as we waited. And I decided to make a good time of it.
"This whole thing has turned as bad as I had feared," said Frank.
"It's a dog's breakfast," I said.
"Why do you think anyone would want
to murder Paul. I just can't fathom that. I mean, I know he could be difficult at times, but that doesn't condone murder."
I turned to look at Frank.
"How did you manage to get your position?"
"I knew Sonia. We go back many years. In fact, she and I graduated high school together."
"Where was that?"
"Eau Claire in Wisconsin. Look, I know a lot of people aren't happy with me being here having taken over from Doug. But what's wrong with using the influence you have?"
"Nothing wrong with it," I said. "But having people fired so you can get it, seems a little unethical."
"What do you mean?"
"Doug was pushed out so you could come in as the musical director."
"That was Sonia's decision along with the board. I don't take responsibility for it."
"Do you take responsibility for firing John Stampley?"
I looked at Frank, he looked away. I followed his eyes as he watched the detectives interviewing his musicians.
"Yes, I take responsibility for that. You just don't understand, Mr. Carrick. Sonia is a powerful woman and she gets what she wants. She wanted Paul in the first violin section and so she got him in there. I was made the fall guy."
"And why was Paul chosen amongst all the others for that role?" I asked, looking at Frank as he looked at his musicians.
He didn't look at me right away. He crossed his arms across his chest and looked down at something on the floor. Maybe he was admiring the fine detail in the wood. I figured he was trying to come to terms with disagreeable thoughts. After some time, he looked at me.
"I think you know why. One of the musicians must have told you."
"I've heard a bunch of things," I said, "most of which I don't like. But I'd like to hear your take on it. If you hear something often enough it starts to feel like the truth, even if it isn't."
"Why would we lie?"
"That's an easy one. Because people don't want the truth to come out."
"Look, Anthony," said Frank, now at ease with my first name again, "I don't feel comfortable telling you about that."
"That's alright," I said, "maybe I don't feel comfortable working on this case anymore."
He looked up at me with a frown on his brow.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I might as well go back to LA and enjoy the last vestiges of summer before the cool wind comes in and I hibernate at my favorite watering hole. If the people who hired me to figure out this goddamn mess aren't going to be honest with me, I might as well stop before I've even started."
"Now, that's not necessary," said Frank, still frowning at me like I'd spilled milk on the floor.
"Your choice, Frank. You start being candid or I'm on the first plane back to LA this evening and you can explain it to Sonia."
Frank shuffled from foot to foot. He looked down and sighed. Then he looked back at me.
"Alright, Jesus," he said, "you can be an asshole." I grinned at that. "Sonia is a powerful woman like I said before. She tends to get what she wants. And she got Paul the position because he gave her what she wanted."
"And what did she want?"
"She wanted companionship after her husband died. Paul was very charismatic and charming and as you can probably tell from the photo of him you saw, he's also good looking. At least to a lot of woman from what I can tell."
"I'm not buying the companionship," I said.
"You know what I mean when I say companionship. I'm sure intimacy was involved too, though I don't know for sure and I don't care to know. But it certainly seemed like that was part of the deal. Listen, this wasn't just Sonia getting her way, I think Paul was quite into it too. Sonia was a good looking woman, still is, but fifty years ago she was still clinging to the ends of youthful vigor."
"I get that," I said. "Paul's sleeping his way to the top, and Sonia's getting whatever it is she wants out of the deal, and you've been put in place as the rainmaker to make it happen. But things had soured lately right?"
"Well, they started souring about ten years ago. Sonia kept getting older and Paul started getting put off by it. Not that he told me, but I overheard him expressing his revulsion with Sonia as she got older. He managed to hide it well until about three years ago, just after he got the concertmaster position. Since then he's been less inclined to play ball."
"With Sonia?"
"With everything. His flamboyant lifestyle, if I can call it that, started overtaking his professional life. He started taking more drugs and coming in late to rehearsals, finishing them early and becoming a pain in the ass generally."
"Right, so you and Sonia had words with him," I said.
Terry entered the hall and started walking down the aisle towards us.
"Your ride's here," said Frank, nodding his face towards Terry.
We waited until Terry came up stage and joined us.
"Are you ready, Mr. Carrick?" he asked.
"No," I said. "If you don't mind giving me a few minutes."
"Certainly."
Terry bowed himself away and went and sat in the audience seats, about half a dozen rows out from us. Frank looked back at me.
"Yes, Sonia and I had words with Paul about a month ago."
"What kind of words?"
"Frankly, Paul was given notice. He was told if he didn't get his act together by the end of the season, which is in six months time, then that would be the last season he'd play with us."
"And how did he take that?"
"Not well. He had a tantrum and told us that he was the sole reason that the Phil was so successful and that without him we'd be nothing. After he calmed down a bit, we told him we were serious. Then he stormed out. Later that day, Sonia had a private conversation with him and told me that he had promised her he was going to change. Sonia believed him, though to be honest with you, I didn't."
"Why not?"
"Because he had become irrational and unreliable. He'd always been spoiled with a big ego, and most of us knew how to cater to that, but lately, nothing seemed to reign him in."
"What do you think was going on with that?"
Frank shrugged his thin shoulders.
"He had all sorts of excuses. One day it would be the husbands of the women he was screwing, the next day it would be the drugs and then it would be his paranoia."
"The men who he alleged were following him?"
Frank nodded.
"When I came to see you, you told me Paul had never missed a rehearsal. Is that true?"
"No, what I meant to say is that we'd always been able to get a hold of him. This time was different, because we couldn't get him on the horn."
"Tell me about Paul's Strad," I said.
"What about it?"
"Was it as valuable as everyone is making it out to be?"
"Most certainly. He had it insured for ten million, and I'm sure it could have sold easily for that much if not more. It was very rare, with a storied pedigree."
"You mean his grandfather stealing it from a concentration camp woman?"
Frank looked at me steadily and the corners of his mouth smiled at me.
"You don't mess about, Mr. Carrick, do you? I can see you're proving to be well worth your money. I've heard rumors of that story. Frankly, I don't buy it."
"Why not?"
"Because most of the art, and you could call this Blount Strad art, that was stolen by the Germans was returned to its rightful owners. There are very few items still missing. In any event, Paul assured me this wasn't the case. His grandfather wasn't a guard at any concentration camps and he said he had the papers to prove who had owned the violin since Pope bought it for Martha Blount."
"And you saw these papers?"
"No, I didn't feel it was necessary. The authorities would surely have caught up with the violin by now if it had been improperly obtained."
"Where did Paul keep the violin?"
"Ah, that's the strange thing. We had offered him full use of our basement safe, which he
had used since we first became aware of the value of his violin after he joined us. But lately, about three weeks to a month ago, he had taken it from the safe and kept it with him at all times. I thought it was quite odd and tried to encourage him to put it back where it would be safer. He wouldn't hear of it, said he didn't trust anyone and he was being followed. I said that was even a bigger reason to keep it under lock and key. He said that's exactly what they'd expect and then they'd break into the safe and take it. He said this way, they'd have to kill him if they wanted to get it. I just thought he was paranoid. Maybe he wasn't that paranoid after all."
"We don't know that yet," I said. "The police are still cataloging what they found at the crime scene. Who had keys to this safe?"
"Only me, the caretaker and Paul. Though it's hardly relevant now I think."
"How long has the caretaker been with the Philharmonic?"
"Funny you should ask," said Frank, ironing out his frown. "This caretaker is new, only been here about three months I think. The previous one just stopped showing up, so we had to hire someone new. Worked out really nicely. This guy just happened to show up at the right time when we needed him. German fella, but speaks good English. They're detailed you know, he does a good job. Not me you understand, I didn't hire him, the management group of Lincoln Center."
I nodded my head slowly. Things were starting to fall into place, but I couldn't be sure of the reason that Paul was murdered. A violin seemed unlikely. What seemed more appropriate was jealousy and infidelity. That's the direction I was gonna head in first.
"How did this guy say he knew about the job?" I asked.
Frank shrugged.
"Said he heard some guys talking about the caretaker not showing up, so he thought he'd come in and see if we needed help. Perfect timing."
"What was this caretaker's name?"
"The new one?" Frank asked.
I nodded my head.
"Martin. Martin Maurer I think. Why do you ask?"
"It's what you hired me for. To ask questions of people, and I want to ask Martin a few questions. Who was the guy before him?"
"Wit Walczak."
I smiled at Frank.
"Really, you only hire caretakers that have the same initial in their first and last names?"
Frank didn't find that particularly amusing. He shrugged his shoulders in his big jacket.
Anthony Carrick Hardboiled Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3) Page 37
