by Gerald Elias
‘One second,’ Jacobus said, stopping. ‘You two do me a favor. Go a little bit more into the woods – fifty, a hundred feet. Tell me if you find a path.’
‘Must we?’ Lilburn protested.
‘I’m sorry that you’re not comfortable with the concept of outdoors, Lilburn, so let me ask in a way an urbanite would understand: Would you be kind enough to escort Yumi into the woods and protect her from the muggers hiding behind every tree?’
Yumi laughed.
‘If you insist,’ Lilburn said. ‘But if I ruin my shoes, I’ll bill you for them.’
‘I’ll give you mine.’
‘No, thanks. I would first walk barefoot over hot coals.’
Jacobus heard Yumi and Lilburn move off into the woods, the former light-footed and nimble, the latter clumsy and lumbering. They returned in a few minutes. He heard Lilburn grunt when he tripped over a root, snapping twigs as he regained his balance.
‘There’s nothing there,’ Yumi said.
‘Did you see anything, Lilburn?’ Jacobus asked.
Lilburn, panting, could offer no reply.
‘Never mind,’ Jacobus said.
‘Does nothing mean something?’ Yumi asked.
‘It could.’
TEN
The drizzle intensified.
‘Could we please continue our discussion elsewhere?’ Lilburn pleaded. ‘Preferably indoors?’
‘There’s a pub just off campus where all the music students hang out,’ Yumi suggested. ‘It’s called Chops.’
Jacobus, Yumi, and Lilburn retraced their steps to the house, where they reiterated their condolences to Sybil Baker-Hulme. She thanked them for coming and squeezed Jacobus’s hand. He handed her his soggy yarmulke.
Sunday normally would have been a busy day at Chops. The one day of the week the students were free of classes and concerts, if not of practicing, was usually bustling in the afternoon. But since classes didn’t resume after the week-long spring break until Monday, the place was almost deserted. Jacobus heard a few young people chatting in a booth nearby, and instead of March Madness, a broadcast of Live from Lincoln Center came through loud and clear.
At the shivah feast, none of them were particularly hungry. Even so, when the waiter arrived for their order, Jacobus asked what was good on the menu.
‘Chops,’ the waiter replied.
They ordered coffee.
‘So what’s with all the hush-hush, Jacobus?’ Lilburn asked when they were seated. ‘Why did we have to go out in the woods?’
‘I was just thinking about that group Yumi encountered and what I’ve learned about them this past week. You’ve got Charles Hedge, the dean of the conservatory, who’s obsessed with raising money and who’s trying to get a ninety-million-dollar check from the Feldstein heirs or the conservatory will go kaput. You’ve got Elwood Dunster, the over-the-hill violin teacher whose sole raison d’être for remaining on the faculty seems to be that he’s well connected with donors. Then you’ve got this Cooney gal who’s bankrolled the conservatory and the hospital. And finally you’ve got the director of the hospital itself, Dr Pine, who says he likes to “run things.”’
‘So what’s your point, Jacobus?’ Lilburn asked.
‘I don’t have a point!’ Jacobus barked. ‘Why must I have a point? All I know is, it doesn’t pass the smell test.’
‘Are you suggesting some kind of conspiracy? There’s nothing to suggest that. Some people got sick a week ago from food poisoning, and several days later a man who didn’t take care of himself died of chronic diabetes. Sad, but hardly the stuff of—’
‘And don’t forget the girl!’
‘The girl?’
‘Audrey Rollins, the reluctant violin student. She was there, working at the party with her loverboy, Lucien. Then, the masterclass. Inexplicable attitude.’
‘Jacobus!’ Lilburn said. ‘I’m surprised at you. You, of all people, know how headstrong and vexing students can be – no offense intended, Miss Shinagawa. No doubt, the girl was out of her depth – clearly – and simply found a way out to protect herself that happened to make you feel bad. It has been the standard modus operandi for the recalcitrant prodigy since time immemorial.’
Jacobus noted that Yumi didn’t jump to his defense. Then again, she didn’t endorse Lilburn’s opinion, either.
‘Why did you ask Mr Lilburn and me to explore the woods?’ Yumi asked.
Their coffees arrived. Jacobus kept his own counsel until the waiter left.
‘Last week, in order to evade Sybil’s musicological clutches, I hid in the woods. It was evening. I heard people walking, one of whom was talking. I suppose there could’ve been more than two, but it sounded like two. They couldn’t have come from the veranda because they would have passed by me. If you had found a path coming from the house and going through the woods, I would have thought nothing of it. But since there was no path, it’s curious that anyone would have gone that way at night.’
‘Was it a man or woman talking?’
‘Man.’
‘You said you suppose there could have been two or more people,’ Lilburn asked. ‘But how can you be sure there was more than one?’
‘Because I assume the man wasn’t talking to himself. Any more intelligent questions?’
‘I was going to ask if you heard what the man was saying, but perhaps I’ll refrain.’
‘You do that.’
‘So what do we do next, Jake?’ Yumi asked.
‘It might not be a bad idea to find out who the janitor was that found Schlossberg’s body in the practice room. I’ve got a few—’
‘Someone’s coming, Jacobus,’ Lilburn interrupted. ‘From the table in the corner. Perhaps we should change the subject for a moment. Weather or something.’
‘Excuse me,’ said a voice. Male, early twenties, sotto voce but slightly nervous.
‘What do you think of the weather, son?’ Jacobus asked him.
Yumi kicked Jacobus under the table.
‘It’s OK, I guess. A little rainy,’ the young man answered, sounding confused. ‘Kinda warm for the season. Why?’
‘Never mind. What do you want?’
‘I heard you talking about Aaron Schlossberg.’
‘Are you a student at the conservatory?’ Yumi asked.
‘No, ma’am,’ he said. ‘CCCC.’
‘Yes, yes, yes, yes?’ Jacobus replied.
‘Cornwall County Community College. We call it 4C. I’m in the medical assistant program. My name’s Chase. Chase Anderson.’
‘Isn’t the college a bit far from here?’ Yumi asked.
‘Yeah. But I’ve got a work study at Cooney. To pay my tuition. I empty the trash cans and get rid of the used needles and change the sheets. Stuff like that.’
‘So now that we know your bona fides,’ Jacobus said, ‘why were you eavesdropping on us?’
‘I didn’t mean to. Really! It’s just so quiet today. I couldn’t help it.’
‘Jake, leave him alone,’ Yumi said. ‘What would you like to tell us, Chase?’
‘I was there when Aaron Schlossberg was brought in. Man, it was not a pretty sight.’
‘Thank you for confirming that he was dead,’ Jacobus said. ‘Now that he’s buried I’m sure it will provide great comfort to his widow to know this.’
‘Jake, let Chase talk,’ Yumi said. ‘Can you join us for coffee?’
‘No, ma’am. Gotta get back to work. But I thought you should know something.’
‘Go ahead,’ Jacobus said. ‘Ma’am said to let you talk.’
Yumi kicked him again. Harder.
‘Well, it’s just that they said Aaron Schlossberg died of complications from diabetes.’
‘Is that not true?’ Lilburn asked.
‘Oh, yes. It’s true,’ Chase said. He hesitated.
‘Chase, my boy,’ Jacobus said. ‘You’ve got something to tell us, spit it out. We won’t bite you. Or at least, they won’t.’
‘Well,’ said Chase,
‘they weren’t the kind of complications I’ve seen before.’
‘No kidding. The guy was already dead for days.’
‘Yes, I know. That’s what makes it a little confusing. You see, they’ve got a dialysis unit at the hospital. So I’ve seen lots of patients with diabetes coming in for their treatments. Some of them two, three times a week, six hours each time. Some are in really bad shape and come to the hospital in wheelchairs. I help get them in and out of their chairs and set them up in bed. I bring them magazines while they’re connected to the dialysis machines and try to make them as comfortable as possible. I’ve seen a few of those same patients brought in to the ER unconscious. I’ve even seen them die. But none of them ever looked anything like Professor Schlossberg.’
‘In what respect?’ Jacobus asked.
‘Professor Schlossberg was worse. Much, much worse.’
Jacobus became aware of Haydn’s cheery String Quartet in D, Op. 76 no. 4 being played over the restaurant’s PA system. Ingenious composer, he thought. To be so creative and so fresh with such an economy of material. To have elevated the string-quartet genre almost single-handedly – yes, with an assist from Mozart later on – and doing it while composing literally hundreds of other gems. One of the handful of composers who were rich, famous, and happy. Schlossberg had until so recently been one of those, and though, in Jacobus’s opinion, Schlossberg wasn’t fit to shine Haydn’s shoes, the guy did have a following. And now he was dead and this kid, Chase, was taking it upon himself to tell them something that troubled him about it.
‘Son,’ Jacobus said, ‘you said you’re a student, right?’
‘Yes, sir. At 4C.’
‘Thank you for reminding me. Son, having taught many students over the years, and understanding how their minds work or do not work, I am compelled to ask my next question.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘You tell us that a corpse looked worse than it should, as if maybe there are good-looking corpses? What do you base that on? What the hell do you really know? You’re just a student.’
‘Jake, please!’ Yumi said.
‘No, it’s OK,’ Chase said. ‘You make a good point, sir. I’m not familiar with cadavers. All I can say is that his skin looked kind of blue and like he had a hard time dying. I know that’s not much, but …’ His voice trailed off.
Jacobus waited for more. With none forthcoming, he asked, ‘Is that all you have to say?’
‘You don’t need to believe me. I just thought you might want to know.’
‘Well, at least you’re honest.’
Jacobus pondered for a moment.
‘I tell you what, son. I’ll give you a chance to back up your wildly speculative suspicions.’
‘How’s that, sir?’
‘First, stop calling me “sir.” I haven’t been knighted. Yet. Now, it seems to me you have a knack for getting around the hospital.’
‘Part of my job.’
‘So I’m thinking it wouldn’t look too out of the ordinary if you got your hands on, what do they call it, the coroner’s report?’
‘You mean the death certificate?’
‘Whatever.’
‘Jake,’ Yumi said, ‘that could get Chase in trouble. If he’s caught doing something he shouldn’t, he could lose his job and get kicked out of school.’
‘Hey, don’t worry about that!’ Chase piped up. ‘I’d like to give it a try. It was my mom who wanted me to be a medical assistant. What I really want is to be a detective. I’ll be really careful.’
Chase had the bit in his mouth, said goodbye, and ran off to fulfill his inner Philip Marlowe, but Jacobus wasn’t sure where to go next. Yumi solved his problem for him.
‘Tomorrow’s my regular teaching day here,’ she said, ‘and it’s the first day after spring break so I can’t miss it. I’m thinking it’s too late to drive back to the city if I’m just going to have to come back in the morning, so maybe you can go back to New York with Mr Lilburn.’
‘Excuse me,’ Lilburn said, ‘but delighted as I would be to have Mr Jacobus accompany me, I, too, have to stay here in order to interview Schlossberg’s colleagues for my piece.’
With little choice, Jacobus agreed to stay another night at the Campus Inn.
‘It might break Nathaniel’s heart, though,’ he said.
Yumi offered to call Nathaniel with the change in plans. She assured Jacobus she would break the news gently and try to convince him it would all be for the better.
ELEVEN
Monday, March 30
The next morning, Yumi knocked on Jacobus’s door at the inn and invited him to sit in on her half-dozen lessons – as long as he kept his comments to himself – to help him pass the time.
‘You think they practiced over spring break?’ he asked.
‘They could be a little rusty,’ Yumi conceded.
‘Then I’ll let you have fun on your own.’
At his request, Yumi dropped Jacobus off at Stuyvesant Hall, the music building where Schlossberg’s body had been found. She asked him if he needed her to help show him around and he told her no, getting lost there was part of his plan. She pointedly did not ask what the rest of the plan was.
Once inside, Jacobus wandered aimlessly, not caring whether he was seen or not. He heard footsteps and chatter pass him in both directions. Some students asked if he needed assistance, but he consistently declined. He smelled coffee and heard multiple conversations at one end of the main foyer and assumed they emanated from a canteen or café. He went in the opposite direction.
The tip of Jacobus’s cane slipped more than once on the corridor’s linoleum floors. Others might have appreciated that they had been newly waxed over the vacation, but for him it was an annoying and potentially dangerous hindrance that only served to slow him down. Alternating his cane tapping from floor to wall like a windshield wiper, he came to a recess in the wall and found a doorknob. He entered a room, not knowing what it was.
‘Can I help you?’ a young man asked in a quiet voice.
‘This the men’s room?’ Jacobus asked.
The young man laughed.
‘Sorry, sir. You’ll have to go to the end of the hallway for that. It’s right before the elevator. This is the Lievenstock Music Library.’
‘No kidding. You sure?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m sure.’
‘Damn. They must have given me wrong directions.’
Jacobus returned to the corridor and continued in the same direction he had been going, passing the men’s room and the elevator, until reaching a heavy door. After shouldering it open, his tapping on the floor resonated with a metallic bling, putting him on the alert for a stairway. His tapping continued to click like a typewriter in the industrial-style stairwell as he trudged upward to determine how many stories the building had. Thankfully, only two. He was already winded. Next time, he decided, he would take the elevator.
He wandered along the second floor. Offices with little embossed plaques on their doors enabled Jacobus to read the names of professors with his fingers. He was amused to find that Professor Gunter Braun and Professor Tanner Evans, the dueling theory teachers, had adjacent offices.
Jacobus returned to the stairwell and descended as far as the stairs would take him. The air was cooler than on the main floor. He heard the hum of the building’s innards and concluded he was in the basement. His cane soon found the object of his search, the students’ prefabricated practice modules. He was a student long before such things were invented, and never having taught at a music school, he had never been inside one. He put his ear against a thick glass door, and hearing only silence within, knocked. There being no response, he tugged it open, but only with great effort. The door was tightly fitted with thick gaskets, making the room impressively soundproof. Entering, he extended his cane in all directions, finding that he could almost reach the sides of the small room with little more than a step or two in any direction. There was no piano in this one. Only a music stand that he d
iscovered by knocking it over.
He left the room and continued down a wide corridor created by parallel lines of modules on either side of him. Some were large enough to fit a piano, which he determined by sliding the end of his cane along their width and length. As he went behind one of them, squirming in the narrow space between the back of the module and the concrete wall of the basement, his cane came in contact with a thick cable, lying snakelike on the floor. He slid his cane along it, which led to a fixture at the base of the module’s exterior, which he tapped with his cane and received a metallic ping in response. Sliding his cane in the other direction led to a junction box in the basement wall. The cable clearly served as an electrical umbilical cord, providing power to illuminate and ventilate the module. He considered what the consequences would have been, both to the module and himself, had he tripped over the cable. Considering himself lucky he hadn’t, he decided it would be smarter to restrict his exploration to the safety of the corridor, to which he backtracked. Passing by one module after another he imagined a line of aquariums, each with a different species of exotic, tropical fish in its own isolated little world: the solitary glimmering black Liszt Piano fish; a quintet of brilliantly golden Gabrieli Brass Canzoni fish; a shimmering pastel of Debussy Clair de Lune fish that floated effortlessly.
Having neglected to feel for switches in the previous module, Jacobus entered another. Inside, he found a pair of them next to the door. He turned the first one on and, as he expected, an internal fan, barely audible, started up. By making the modules soundproof, outside airflow was cut off, necessitating a ventilation system. Flipping the other switch, he heard a fluorescent light blink on and begin to hum. He then turned off the fan and waited for his body and the light, which was still on, to heat the room. Within a few minutes it was already stuffy.
Jacobus turned off the light and left the module. No doubt they were an effective and cost-efficient means to provide essential practice space for students. But they seemed so antiseptic and unnatural. So sterile. So uninspiring. So unmusical! Not the kind of place he imagined Schlossberg, the happy wanderer, would have wanted to visit, let alone die in. Jacobus retraced his path back upstairs to the main floor to pursue the next step of his plan. He heard a student walking in his direction.
