Murder in E Minor

by Robert Goldsborough

  Milner colored slightly. “I suppose you’d have to ask others about my ability, but I feel I’ve been doing well. I’m one of the newer members, though; this is only my second season with the Symphony.”

  “And before that?”

  “I was with the Indianapolis Symphony for four years; previously, I had taught music for two years, right after getting a graduate degree.”

  “Mr. Milner, did you tell anyone you were going to Stevens’s apartment?”

  “No, nobody. I live alone, and my family are all in the Midwest. I have no really close friends, so there would have been no one to tell except Maria, and I thought it best not to say anything at all to her about it.”

  “I’d like to go back,” Wolfe said, “to the day you told Stevens you wanted to marry Miss Radovich. Can you recall precisely when that was?”

  “The police asked the same question, and I had to think about it for a while; it was the day we were rehearsing Tchaikovsky’s Fourth Symphony, which would have been three weeks ago yesterday.”

  “As I understand it, his reaction was violent.”

  “That’s putting it mildly, Mr. Wolfe,” Milner said, combing his hair with his fingers again. “I stopped him in the corridor that leads back to his dressing room which was a mistake. He was in a hurry to begin with, and became irritated when I asked if I could speak to him. But that was nothing compared to what followed.” Milner shifted in his chair and looked at Wolfe, who nodded his head an eighth of an inch.

  “I blurted out right there in the hallway that Maria and I wanted to get married. He started shouting and telling me that under no circumstances would he allow his niece to become the wife of a musician, let alone one of what he called ‘my caliber.’ People who were walking by turned to stare at us. It was terrible.”

  “Had Mr. Stevens criticized your work before?” Wolfe asked.

  “No more than other members’. You must remember that he was very hard to please, and frequently became impatient with individuals or whole sections of the orchestra. But he had never indicated to me in any way that I wasn’t competent.”

  “Did you respond to him after his tirade?”

  “No, I was so taken aback I couldn’t think of anything to say. Besides, after he got done, he turned away and went straight to his dressing room. I just stood there feeling foolish and watching him.”

  “How did he behave toward you after that?”

  Milner bit his lip. “A few times in rehearsals lately—since that day in the hall—he’s made sarcastic comments about me, even though they weren’t called for. Things like ‘If we can have Mr. Milner’s attention, maybe we can continue now.’ Even though I was paying attention all the time. Others noticed it too. One of the other players stopped me in the hall after a rehearsal and asked, “What’s up? Why’s the Old Man got it in for you?’ The situation was getting very uncomfortable.”

  “Had you ever encountered Mr. Stevens when you picked Miss Radovich up at their apartment?” Wolfe asked.

  “Oh, no!” Milner said in a tone that suggested Wolfe had no understanding of the situation. “Until that day in the hall, he didn’t know we were seeing each other—Maria wanted it that way. I only went to the apartment to get her when he wasn’t there. Otherwise, we would just meet somewhere.”

  “Knowing something about Stevens’s personality and his proprietary feeling about his niece, should you have been surprised at his reaction?” Wolfe asked.

  Milner shrugged. “I suppose not; it was a stupid thing to do. I should have listened to Maria and let her break it to him, but I felt it was my responsibility.”

  “Pride of the male,” Wolfe said. “Let us get to the fateful night. Am I correct that you didn’t call the Stevens apartment before going there?”

  “No—that is, yes, I didn’t call. I stayed in Manhattan all day after rehearsals, rather than going home—I live out in Queens. Maria had rehearsals of her own, so we didn’t see each other, which was just as well. I was terribly nervous about that night, and I hardly had anything to eat for lunch or dinner.”

  “I repeat an earlier question: Did you tell anyone where you were going?”

  “No, nobody. The police asked me what I did all day, and I guess you want to know too. I stopped in several bookstores to browse. That usually takes my mind off my troubles, but it didn’t help, so I went up to Central Park and walked a lot and sat on benches. I tried to do some thinking, mostly about Maria and what I’d do if I lost my job with the orchestra. It was cold, but I hardly noticed it. I must have been in the park three hours or more.”

  “And then?”

  “More walking, and finally I stopped in a coffee shop on Lexington, where I mainly sat and stared at my dinner. By then, it was past eight, and I had to take a cab to get to the apartment on time.”

  Wolfe looked at Milner, but said nothing. He still wanted beer, but he wasn’t going to ask me to get it for him, and I wasn’t about to offer.

  The silence and the gaze made Milner uneasy, so he went on: “I got to the apartment and asked for Mr. Stevens in the lobby. Now, this is what I don’t understand: The hallman called upstairs and said I was there, and Mr. Stevens told him to send me up. But two or three minutes later, when I got there …”

  “Go on,” Wolfe said.

  “I think you pretty much know the rest. When I got off the elevator, the apartment door was standing open. I said ‘Anyone home?’ twice, or maybe three times, and then I knocked loudly. No answer, so I walked in and called Mr. Stevens’s name again. And Maria’s too, on the chance that she might be home. There was a light on in the living room, but nobody there. Then I walked into the library and saw him lying in the corner.”

  “And you fled the apartment at that point?”

  “No, I went over to him, and when I got there, I saw the blood, and the knife on the floor—I guess it was really a letter opener. I knelt next to him, feeling for a pulse. There wasn’t any, though, and I was sure he was dead.”

  “Mr. Milner, I’m confident you would describe yourself as a responsible citizen, reared with a respect for the law,” Wolfe said. “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  “As I told Inspector Cramer, I panicked. I guess I was thinking about how bad it would have looked for me, although I can’t reconstruct what was going on in my mind at the time—and I’ve tried. All I remember is leaving the apartment, taking the elevator down, and walking out the front door.”

  “Other than the hallman, did you encounter anyone in the building?”

  “Nobody. I was alone in the elevator going up and coming down, and there was no one else in the lobby or the upstairs entrance hall.”

  “Where did you go after you left the building?”

  “I just walked again, this time up and down Fifth and Madison and Park and Lexington, all over Manhattan until past midnight. I tried to sort things out. I knew I was in big trouble—I’d given the hallman my name and all, but I couldn’t face up to going to the police, and I certainly couldn’t call Maria. I finally took the subway to Queens, and on the way I decided to call the police when I got home. But as you know, they were already there, waiting outside for me.” Milner took a deep breath and slumped in the chair, looking like he’d just completed the Boston Marathon.

  Wolfe didn’t look so hot himself. For the last several minutes, he’d been in a pout, and rather than risk having him quit in the middle of the evening, I decided to play the man of action. “Look,” I said, “you two have been at it for well over an hour, and I think drinks are in order. Mr. Milner?”

  “Yes, yes, I will have something now, thanks. Do you have sherry?” I told him we did, both dry and sweet, and he said he’d take dry. I went to the liquor cabinet and poured him a glass, which I placed on the small table at his elbow. Then, without a word, I left the office and went down the hall to the kitchen, where I got two cold bottles of beer from the refrigerator and a tall glass from the shelf. I put all three on a tray and went back, trying to imitate Fritz’s
walk as I entered the room. I placed the tray in front of Wolfe with what I thought was a suitable flourish. He glowered at me, and his “Thank you” had icicles all over it. I shrugged and went back to the liquor cabinet, where I poured myself two fingers of bourbon before getting settled again.

  After he’d drained about a half-glass and dabbed his lips with his handkerchief, Wolfe considered Milner again. “You have proclaimed your innocence; would you care to speculate on Mr. Stevens’s killer?”

  Milner set his glass down and stared at it. “I really can’t,” he said. “I’ve thought about it a lot the last couple of days, as you might guess. But I simply don’t know who would have wanted to kill him.”

  “What about other members of the orchestra? Were there any who might bear him a special grudge?”

  “A special grudge? I don’t know,” Milner said between sips of sherry. “Musicians often resent their conductor, particularly if he pushes them hard, as Mr. Stevens did. I never heard more than what I think of as the usual amount of grumbling, though. Except …”

  “Yes?” Wolfe prompted.

  “Well, a while back, there was a lot of talk around the lounge backstage that Mr. Hirsch, the associate conductor, had wanted the job as music director when Mr. Stevens was named. But that all happened a few months before I joined the orchestra. If there’s any bad feeling between them, I haven’t been aware of it.”

  For another hour-plus, Wolfe pumped Milner on the orchestra and its people, but he didn’t get enough out of him to fill a small bucket. It was evident that Milner was right about himself in at least one respect: He was for down the totem pole at the Symphony, and had little knowledge of its movers and shakers.

  “Mr. Milner, it’s getting late,” Wolfe said, “and we’ve covered those areas that interest me. Have all of your own questions been answered?”

  He managed a weak smile. “Yes, I think so, although I still wonder who wrote those notes to Mr. Stevens. The police of course insist it was me.”

  “That’s what they want to believe,” Wolfe said. “And since the notes were neither typed nor handwritten, but printed, proof of authorship is difficult. Now, if you’ll excuse Mr. Goodwin and me, we need to talk for a few minutes. Archie, show Mr. Milner to the front room. The others must be down by now.”

  I refilled Milner’s sherry glass and steered him across the hall, where Lily and Maria were drinking coffee. Maria popped up when she saw her man, and started right in asking him questions before I cut in. “Pardon me, but Mr. Wolfe and I need to confer. Has Fritz been good to you?”

  Lily spoke. “We just came down from the plant rooms, and I think Maria was as impressed as I always am. And yes, Fritz has been a dear.” Maria gave me an obligatory smile and then shifted her attention back to Milner. No accounting for taste, I thought, closing the door behind me.

  “Well?” Wolfe demanded as I lit in my chair.

  “Well, what?” I shot back. “Well, am I tired? Hell, yes. Well, has Milner been a help to us? Not much. Well, do I think I can steal Maria away from him? Maybe, given a little time. Well, are we—”

  “Confound it, stop blathering. You know very well what I’m asking.

  I shrugged and turned my palms up. “I’ll hold my odds at nine-to-two against, unless he’s a far better actor than he seems. I think the guy would find it tough to stomp on an ant, let alone carve up a maestro. But the law’s feeling a lot of pressure on this one.”

  Wolfe nodded. “That pressure is undoubtedly intense, and Mr. Milner provides a convenient solution, which is precisely what the murderer planned on.”

  “Yeah, it looks that way. But who? And how did the killer get into the apartment?”

  Wolfe ignored the questions. “Call Miss Radovich in. She’s entitled to know our position, and that we’re prepared to go on.”

  I got Maria from across the hall, and Wolfe gave her the good news—at least it was good compared to most of what she’d been getting lately. She was so happy about someone else believing in Milner’s innocence that I thought she was going to start the waterworks right there, which would have sent Wolfe running to his room. But she got herself under control and tried again to bring up the subject of fees. Wolfe deflected it and said the best thing she could give us was total cooperation all along the way. His first request was that she persuade Milner to stay with us, at least for the night. “Bond has been posted,” he said, “and neither the police nor the district attorney’s office should have any need for him for at least a few days. If he remains here, he’ll be away from the press and their probings, and he’ll also be readily available should we have any further questions about the workings of the orchestra.”

  I thought he was laying it on a little heavy, but it sold Maria. When he was finished, she said she’d go right in and talk to him about bunking with us.

  “You really think it’s necessary to keep him here?” I asked after she had left the room and closed the door behind her. The last person to stay in the South Room had been blown apart by a bomb concealed in an aluminum cigar tube, but I could see no reason to mention that now.

  “Why not?” Wolfe answered with a shrug. “It gives us better control of the situation. And indeed, as we go on we may have need of Mr. Milner’s opinions concerning his fellow musicians. Miss Radovich will be back quickly, telling us that he has agreed to stay. After you escort the women to the door and get Fritz to take Mr. Milner to the South Room, I have some instructions.”

  He was showing off, although in this case it hardly required a crystal-ball gazer to predict the result. Maria took about forty-five seconds to talk Milner into staying with us—I found out later from Lily that she handled it like a major general giving orders to a corporal. And it was no problem having Fritz get our new guest settled in the South Room, which is two flights up, on the same floor as my bedroom and directly above Wolfe’s. But I wasn’t about to abandon two lovely women at our front door, so the three of us walked all the way to Eighth Avenue before I reeled in a cab and sent them off with fond farewells.

  This meant it was at least twenty minutes before I got back to the office, where Wolfe had found refuge in a book. He glared as I slipped into my chair, and then proceeded to outline the next day’s plans. They were skimpier than I had hoped, but compared to the last two years, they were downright invigorating. In fact, as I took notes, I almost began to feel like a working man again.

  11

  FRIDAY WAS AMONG THE MORE memorable days in the recent history of the old brownstone, for a variety of reasons. It started out in a frustrating way, which I attribute to the rustiness of idle machinery, and Wolfe and I had been idle for a long time.

  To start with, I slept longer than I should have, but I was still catching up on what I’d lost two nights ago. At eight-forty-five I hit the kitchen after having stopped in the South Room, where our guest was not only in one piece, but was working on a breakfast tray nearly as well filled as Wolfe’s. I told him to stay in his room until further notice, as we might be having visitors, and he nodded between bites of a blueberry muffin.

  The phone rang when I was barely halfway through my first cup of coffee and still on page one of the Times. Fritz answered on the kitchen extension and cupped the receiver: “For you, Archie. Mr. Cohen.”

  I said a word that made Fritz blush and told him I’d take it in the office. The top item on my instructions from Wolfe had been to call Lon. “You’re not going to believe this,” I said into the phone at my desk, “but right here in my notebook is a numeral ‘one’ and after it a notation to call Lon Cohen first thing Friday morning.”

  “You’re right, I don’t believe it,” came the reply. “Archie, how long have we known each other? Don’t I rate a few breaks from you?” I started to say something, but Lon went right on. “One of our beat guys—admittedly a few hours late—discovered this morning that Milner’s out on bond and that the bail was posted by your old friend Nathaniel Parker. More than coincidence, I’d say. Milner’s not at his apartmen
t in Queens. And we’ve already tried to reach Parker, too, but there’s no answer at his office and his wife says he’s already left home for work. So, on the off-chance you might know something about this, I decided to—”

  “Okay, all right, I get your point,” I said. “If you’ll let me have a turn now, maybe you’ll get something that satisfies you. First, I apologize for not calling you earlier this morning. I know you’re on deadline and that you get to work at an inhuman hour of the morning. End of apology. It’s true that we sprung Milner; Parker got him out yesterday afternoon. Wolfe’s convinced he didn’t kill Stevens, and we’re continuing the investigation for our client, Miss Maria Radovich.” Following my instructions from last night, I gave Lon a few more sentences, including a couple of quotes from Wolfe. It was enough for a solid second-day lead on the story. Of course Lon also wanted to know where Milner was, and I suggested Maria might have the answer. “But we can’t find her, either,” he complained. “Where’ve you got them stashed?”

  “You already have yourself a good story,” I said. “And by the way, if you’re planning to use our pictures again, I’ve got some more recent ones here of both Wolfe and me. If you send a messenger over, I’ll have them ready.”

  Lon’s response also would have made Fritz blush, and he hung up before I was able to tell him the rest of my instructions under “one” were to talk only to the Gazette. As I walked back to the kitchen to inform Fritz that I wasn’t home to any reporters, the phone rang again. When I got there, he’d already answered. “It’s for Mr. Wolfe,” he whispered. “A man named Remmers.”

  I shook my head and blinked. My second notebook item was to call Jason Remmers. I did an about-face to the office. “Keep breakfast warm,” I said over my shoulder. “I’d like to eat it before lunch.

  “Nero Wolfe’s office, Archie Goodwin speaking,” I said into the receiver.

  “Yes, Mr. Goodwin,” came the deep response, “this is Jason Remmers of the New York Symphony. Is Mr. Wolfe in?”

  “I’m sorry, but he’s not available right now. However, I can speak for him. And coincidentally, I was going to call you this morning.”