The Mozart Conspiracy

by Phil Swann

  “So what’s your plan?”

  “I wish I had one, Bob.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Kathryn leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. Her back ached and the words on the computer screen were getting blurry. She looked at the clock—it was eleven thirty. She’d been working for over ten hours.

  Daddy's clout had gotten Kathryn Depriest, then Kathryn Whitebridge, admitted to Juilliard. But it was an accidental epiphany that kept her there. An average mezzo, Kathryn discovered her true calling her second year at the conservatory. As a researcher, she possessed an almost psychic ability to know where to look for information others couldn’t find. It was Professor Henry Shoewalter who first recognized the talent when he begrudgingly brought the eager sophomore on as his research assistant for a paper he was commissioned to write for inclusion in a book published by Cambridge University. As it turned out, her work on Franz Liszt for the book, A Comparative Study of Composers from the Romantic Period, was brilliant by anyone’s standards, including those established by older and far more experienced researchers. Her gift was simple common sense. While eggheads, as she called them, spent their time mulling through letters, examining and then reexamining famous works for insight into composers’ lives, Kathryn would look at a subject’s life outside of music. What were their hobbies? What were their loves? “That’s where you discover the gold," she used to tell Henry. And more often than not, she was right.

  Kathryn printed out the page on her computer screen. She’d gone over her notes for the last assignment Henry asked her to undertake, Mozart circa 1778, and compiled them into a single page. It has to be here, she thought, walking downstairs to the kitchen. She saw the light on in Anthony's study.

  "I didn't hear you come in," she said, sticking her head into the room and seeing Anthony sitting at his desk.

  "I came home after the concert. You looked busy, so I didn't want to interrupt. What were you doing?"

  Kathryn walked into the study. "Going over the notes on Henry's project."

  "Find anything?"

  Kathryn sighed. "I don't know. It all seems so trivial. I can't imagine what Henry found so interesting about this period in Mozart's life. It was one of Mozart's least prolific."

  "When was it?"

  "1778."

  "Hmm." Anthony thought for a second. "Why don't you tell me what you found? I doubt if I can come up with anything new, but if nothing else, it might help if you speak it out loud."

  "Okay." Kathryn scanned her page. "Well, let's see, first of all, Wolfgang had left Salzburg the previous September and had been traveling through Europe with his mother, Anna-Maria."

  "His mother was with him?" Anthony inquired.

  "Leopold knew his son’s lesser attributes and refused to let him go alone."

  "How old was Mozart at that time?"

  "Twenty-one, but Daddy still held quite a bit of dominion over him. When he resigned from the Court of Salzburg, Leopold said in essence, ‘get a job.’ You know how Mozart was with nobility. He hated crawling to them. It drove Leopold nuts, and he was constantly urging Wolfgang to be more polite to important people—something I can relate to. Anyway, he went to Munich, and in true fashion, pissed off an Elector there and thus failed to find employment. He had to go on to Mannheim. That's where he started out the year 1778. Mannheim."

  "Okay, I'm with you. How was Mannheim to him?"

  "Actually, pretty good. Wolfgang loved Mannheim."

  "Of course, the Mannheim Orchestra," Anthony said.

  "At the time, the greatest orchestra in the world. They changed eighteenth century music completely. So, with his mother keeping him out of debtors’ prison, Wolfgang filled his life with composing and partying with friends."

  "But he didn't stay."

  "No, he didn't. Leopold again.”

  "Why?"

  "Why do you think? A woman—well actually, a girl. Just after his twenty-second birthday, Mozart fell madly in love with fifteen-year-old Aloysia Weber."

  "Excuse me, dear, don't you mean Constanze Weber?"

  "No," Kathryn chuckled, "Aloysia. Constanze was her sister. She came along much later after Aloysia dumped Mozart. Can you believe that he fell in love with one and ended up marrying the other?"

  "Oh, I can believe it," Anthony replied.

  Kathryn realized what she had said the moment it came out of her mouth, but she tossed off Anthony’s comment and quickly moved on.

  "Anyway, Aloysia's father was only a poor music copyist with little chance at prosperity and a huge family to support. Leopold was mortified. He wrote Wolfgang a slew of angry letters and commanded him to go on to Paris.”

  “Which, of course, Wolfgang did.”

  “Of course.”

  “Is this when he wrote the Paris Symphony?”

  “Very good, Anthony, you remember your music history. Yes, he did, and that was about all he composed. Wolfgang hated Paris. He despised the pretense of the wealthy and pitied the lot of the poor. His heart was back in Mannheim with Aloysia, and on top of that, his mother had fallen gravely ill.”

  “Was that before or after the Paris Symphony?”

  “During. The only reason he wrote the symphony was because he needed the money to take care of Anna-Maria. A man named Jean Le Gros commissioned the piece. He was the director of the Concert Spirituel, and from what I can gather, a real opportunistic shmuck. He knew Mozart only by reputation, but because Mozart was Austrian, as was the queen…”

  “Marie-Antoinette?”

  “Bingo. Well, Mozart got the job, and the world got the Paris Symphony.”

  “When did his mother die?”

  “A few weeks later, July third. After that, Mozart left Paris and returned to Salzburg. Eventually, he got his old job back as concertmaster with the Archbishop Colloredo. The rest of the year Mozart did more arguing with his father than composing.” Kathryn put down her notes. “That’s it. Any thoughts?”

  “Yes.” Anthony got up and walked around the desk to where Kathryn was sitting and gently kissed her on the head.

  “What was that for?”

  “My way of saying I’m sorry again.”

  “For what?” Kathryn asked, totally confused.

  Anthony leaned against the desk in front of her and smiled. “Back in school when you did this sort of thing for Henry, I thought it was because of David. I was wrong, Kathryn. This is a brilliant piece of work.”

  This was the first time Anthony had ever complimented her on anything other than how she looked—and he hadn’t even done that in years. “Thank you,” she replied.

  “So what’s next, Miss Marple?” Anthony said, returning to his desk.

  Kathryn sighed. “Tomorrow I want to go back to the library and triple check these facts. Then I have to find out why Henry wanted them.”

  “How do you plan to do that?”

  Kathryn thought for a moment. “I think…I need to go to Henry’s.”

  “In Westchester?”

  “Yes. Maybe I can learn what he was working on.”

  “Good luck,” Anthony said.

  Kathryn stood to leave. Halfway out of the room she stopped. “Anthony?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For understanding why I need to do this.”

  Anthony went to his wife and they embraced. “If there’s anything I can do…”

  “You’re already doing it,” Kathryn said.

  Anthony smiled and squeezed her tighter.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The first words out of Paul’s mouth when he picked Dani up the next morning were, “Well, is it him?” Dani confirmed that indeed it was the same David Webber he’d heard about when he was at Juilliard, and then she told him not to bring it up because David didn’t like to talk about it. After Paul made a few disparaging remarks about David’s sanity, he promised he wouldn’t.

  But the first order of business before picking up David
was the museum. Dani retrieved both original manuscripts from her office safe and took them downstairs to the lab. Meanwhile, Paul took a photocopy of each piece to the department’s ProTools studio located in a small room below the Ripley building. An hour later, Paul and Dani met up and went to get David.

  When men are with other men, they are lions, boastful and fearless; battles are never lost, ground seldom given, and never do they give up a chance to prove whose king of the jungle. When men are with women, they are fine gems, dazzling and coveted, carved so close to perfection they appear flawless to the untrained eye. But when men are with men in the company of a woman, they are neither animal nor mineral, they’re definitely vegetable, corny as a Kansas back forty, and as ridiculous as broccoli for breakfast. Dani pondered this truth as she sat in the back seat of Paul’s minivan and observed the two men in front.

  “Nice car,” David said.

  “Thanks. It’s a straight six,” Paul replied.

  “Really?” David came back.

  “Yep, she’s got some power,” Paul proclaimed. “What do you drive?”

  “A Honda,” David mumbled.

  “Hot hatchback?” Paul asked.

  “Accord,” David replied.

  “Oh, I had one of those when I was younger.”

  “Yeah, this is nice, especially if you have children.”

  Dani was sure Paul sensed her growing interest in David. Despite everything before, the previous evening had turned out to be one of the most enjoyable nights she'd had with a man in years. After eating their weight in king crab legs, they continued walking around the promenade for another two hours. To her surprise, she found David very easy to talk to. She told him about growing up in Oklahoma, her father, and her work at the institution. David even opened up, telling her about his parents, how they were killed in an automobile accident when he was nine, and how foster families in Indiana raised him until he went to live with Henry. He even talked a little about his life in Los Angeles and J.P. She asked about why he and Henry hadn’t spoken for such a long time but didn't press it when David sidestepped the issue. By the end of the evening, Dani realized she wanted to know David better, much better. She had a sense David felt the same way, and that concerned her. There were still too many secrets. And until she knew what those secrets were, she had to keep her emotions in check.

  The minivan rounded the hill, and Paul pulled into the parking lot alongside of the university library.

  “Who are we meeting here again?” David asked.

  “A friend of mine on staff here at the university.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Wilbur,” Dani said, drawing out the name.

  “Wilbur?” David said with a smile.

  Paul shot both Dani and David a look.

  The trio entered the library, and Dani and David followed Paul to a circular staircase in the middle of the first floor rotunda leading to a glass-enclosed lounge on the second floor. Once reaching the comfortable lounge, where people talked freely behind soundproof glass, Paul went to the information desk. He returned a minute later.

  “Wilbur’s on his way,” Paul said, taking a chair.

  Less than thirty seconds later the double glass doors flung open.

  "Pauly," the high-pitched voice rang out.

  “Wilbur,” Paul replied, getting up and reaching for the large, fleshy hand.

  "You look good, Pauly."

  "As do you, big guy.”

  At six-five and tipping the scales at three hundred seventy plus pounds, Wilbur the librarian filled every doorway he went through. Riding atop the huge African-American’s size seventeen shoes were thighs the circumference of a waist. The man’s belly was large but hard and only equaled in enormity by his chest. He defied his girth, however, by moving with the ease of a dancer as he followed Paul across the room.

  “Let me introduce you to a couple of friends. This is David Webber, and this is Dr. Dani Parsons."

  "Pleasure, ma’am," Wilbur said, gently taking Dani's hand.

  "You're Wilbur Wallace," David said as he stuck out his hand.

  The large man shook David's hand with a smile.

  "You two know each other?" Dani asked, looking at both men.

  "Well, he doesn't know me, but I know him. What was it, five years ago?"

  Wilbur smiled. "Nah, eight."

  "Eight years ago, has it been that long?" Paul interjected, knowing exactly what Wilbur and David were referring to.

  "Sure was,” Wilbur said. “Can you believe it? It seems like yesterday."

  David said, "I remember watching you in Pasadena."

  "Somebody want to fill me in here?" Dani asked, feeling completely left out.

  "Wilbur Wallace," David explained, with a grin. "Defensive lineman for the Michigan Wolverines. Three-time All American, rated one of the nation’s best nose guards and a sure bet to go in the first round of the NFL draft."

  Wilbur smiled. "Oh, I don't know if I could have made it in the pros, don't think I was fast enough."

  Paul broke in. "Bull. You were the quickest lineman in the NCAA before the injury."

  "What injury?" Dani asked, feeling very much like a woman doing the backstroke in a pool of testosterone.

  "Homecoming game against Ohio State my senior year. Fullback went one way, I went after him, my knee stayed where it was—which happened to be in the way of a two hundred and fifty pound guard. Busted it up pretty bad."

  "Ooo, I'm so sorry," Dani said, wincing.

  "Oh, don't be. Things turned out all right for me."

  Paul interjected, "After graduating from Michigan, Wilbur went on to get his masters and doctorate here at Georgetown. Today, Wilbur's one of the foremost authorities on African-American history in the country."

  The big man smiled. "I'm just very blessed to have the job."

  "Georgetown is darn lucky to have you, Wilbur. The administration should send a Christmas card every year to that Ohio State guard."

  Wilbur laughed.

  "So, Wilbur, were you able to come up with anything for me?" Paul asked.

  "Boy, I sure hope you folks didn't come out here for nothing. There are not many pre-civil war records on people of color. I was up late last night going over what the university had on Dr. Cook. It was practically nothing. The Georgetown Historical Society had a little more, but it's sketchy at best.”

  "Whatever you can tell us would be very helpful, Dr. Wallace," Dani said.

  "Call me Wilbur, please. Well, we have to go back to a man named George Beall,” Wilbur said, letting his bulk fall onto an overstuffed couch. “George Beall was the grandson of the man who owned much of the land Georgetown is now built on. When George died sometime in the early 1800's, an inventory of his property was made. Beall owned slaves, and of course, slaves were counted as property. The Society has that inventory in its database, and I was able to learn as part of Beall's property was a boy named J. Cook and a woman listed as his mother. We also know a free man of color named Henry Cook purchased them. Henry Cook was a tobacco merchant by trade, but was very active in the Pennsylvania abolitionist society.”

  “Was he related to James and his mother?" Dani asked.

  “Indeed. He was James’s father.”

  Paul chimed in, “You mean he bought his own wife and son?”

  “We don't know for sure if the woman was his wife, or even the mother of James, but in essence, yes, that's what he did—not all that uncommon. Even though some free blacks in the north did own slaves, more often than not the slaves were freed after they were purchased. In fact, records indicate Henry Cook purchased two other families, one including his daughter, who he freed listing her love as payment.”

  “That’s so sad,” Dani said.

  “Yes, it is," Wilbur replied. "But it was the way it was.”

  “What happened to James?” David asked.

  “As I said, the history is sketchy. What we do know is James became a doctor and was scheduled to immigrate to Liberia to
practice medicine. He changed his mind, along with many other free blacks who claimed the right to stake their family’s futures here in America.”

  “Why would he do that after all he’d been through?”

  “The same reason many other free blacks didn’t leave—the Underground Railroad. James was very involved in relocating Southern blacks to the north.”

  “We were told that Dr. Cook was a musician,” Dani said.

  “Yes, and quite a good one by all accounts. He taught violin.”

  Paul and David looked at each other, thinking the same thing, but it was Paul who spoke it. “How did he learn the violin?”

  “Well, this isn’t fact, but the story is Thomas Jefferson taught him.”

  »»•««

  "Wilbur Wallace, wow, could that guy play," David said, getting into Paul's minivan as Dani slid the rear door shut.

  "I bet the Rams would have taken him," Paul said, turning on the ignition.

  "You think? I would have thought the Bears."

  "Really, why?" Paul asked.

  "They would have liked his size. Also, with his speed you get the pass rush."

  "I don't think he would have stayed a nose guard in the pros. I think they would have moved him over to offense."

  David considered Paul's statement and nodded in possible agreement.

  Paul looked in the rearview mirror and saw Dani smiling. "What?"

  "Oh, nothing," Dani said with a smirk. "I'm just thinking what a lucky woman I am to actually witness the ancient ritual of male bonding in person."

  Paul pulled out of the driveway and negotiated traffic back onto M Street. Dani gave Paul the address to Sugarberry's, and he drove directly there.

  The Brink's truck Dani had called for was already parked in front of Sugarberry's when the three arrived, but the two couriers from the company were only standing beside the truck with their arms crossed. Paul came to a stop behind the truck, and Dani was the first out.

  "Hey, guys, I'm Dr. Parsons from the Smithsonian. There a problem?"

  The gray-haired man closest to Dani did all the talking. "Nobody's home.”

  Dani made a face. "She has to be, she knew you were coming. Did you ring the bell again? She's old and may not have heard you."