by Gerald Elias
‘Why do you say that, Mia?’ Yumi asked. Jacobus was surprised Yumi didn’t disagree outright with Mia and make it clear it wasn’t her fault at all. That the fault solely belonged to Schlossberg, the arch-manipulator. But he respected Yumi’s instincts and trusted her ability to navigate the emotional minefield. She’ll make an even better teacher than I ever was, he thought.
‘“Give to get,”’ Mia replied.
‘What do you mean?’
‘That’s what my former parents used to say to me when they made me keep working after six hours of practicing. “If you want to succeed you have to give to get.” Succeed at all costs. Do whatever it takes. Please the teacher. Give to get.’
Mia began to sob.
‘They gave away my sister! I can’t believe they gave away my sister.’
Jacobus heard Yumi rise from her chair and move to the bed, where Mia was sitting. She must have put her arm around Mia or done something to comfort her because Mia said, ‘I’m OK. I’m OK.’
‘This is a hard question, Mia, but to your knowledge,’ Yumi asked, ‘were there other students who Schlossberg abused?’
‘You’re making this sound like I’m at a trial!’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Yumi said, and she was crying now. ‘It’s hard to think of the right words.’
‘Never mind. OK. He had a harem. We called each other Aaronites. Our funny little secret codename. OK? When the cat was away, the mice would play. He had orgies at his house. And if a girl wanted out, sometimes he’d offer her more rewards but sometimes he’d make these threats—’
‘Threats?’ Jacobus was aghast.
‘Not physical threats. Never physical threats. He was too smart for that. Subtle. Like not being sure it was the right thing for him to use his influence to get you into graduate school or a summer program. Or asking if you hoped you’d have your scholarship renewed. And when he’d finished harvesting graduating seniors he’d start over again with a new crop of freshmen. His continuous supply of playthings.’
Jacobus asked a question even though he knew immediately he shouldn’t have. ‘But didn’t anyone go to the administration? Didn’t anyone file a complaint?’
‘Against God? You’re going to file a complaint against God? Aaron Schlossberg ruled the conservatory. What Aaron wanted, Aaron got.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’ Too harsh.
‘Jake!’ Yumi said.
‘OK. You want to know?’ Mia said. ‘I did file a complaint. In graphic detail. They said, “Thank you so much for coming forward,” and that they would follow up internally. They were so concerned. They just wanted to make sure they got the facts right and got all sides of the story, and they’d issue a report. After two months they sent me a letter. You know what they told me? I hadn’t presented any physical evidence. They told me it was my fault. My behavior was inappropriate. My behavior! It was a total whitewash.’
‘Who is “they”?’ Yumi asked. ‘Who wrote that letter?’ Those would have been Jacobus’s next questions.
‘Who do you think?’ Mia replied, her voice edged with bitterness. ‘Hedge.’
A silence fell upon the three of them. A clock ticked. A car drove past the inn. Down the corridor a door closed and the ice machine rattled. Normal life. It seemed far away.
‘You called it off,’ Jacobus said. ‘Audrey Rollins didn’t.’
‘Yes, how do you know that?’
‘She’s the one who got selected to play “Spring.”’
‘Yeah.’
‘Schlossberg must have heard about your complaint. That’s how he knew you weren’t going to be under his control anymore.’
‘He knew before that.’
‘How?’
‘I bit. Hard.’
EIGHTEEN
Jacobus didn’t know what infuriated him more, Schlossberg’s crimes or Hedge’s cover-up. His instinct was to confront Hedge head on. To badger him until he confessed to having shielded a sexual predator. He knew, though, that his natural inclination in this situation would probably backfire and accomplish precisely the opposite result. Nathaniel often reminded him there were always two sides to a story and usually more. But even if there were a grain of truth to all this, a single grain, Hedge should be locked up. And what about Audrey Rollins? Where had she disappeared to? Mia had said that Schlossberg’s threats were never physical, but Jacobus feared for her well-being.
‘Have you been getting counseling?’ Yumi, ever the sensible one, was asking Mia.
‘My parents would kill me if I did,’ she replied.
Jacobus was about to ask her why their approval still mattered to her after having disowned them, but Yumi pre-empted him by moving the conversation forward.
‘But why would they?’ she asked. ‘After all you’ve gone through.’
‘Because getting counseling means you’re a failure.’
Jacobus was again ready to argue but suddenly realized that, much to his shock, until that moment he might have agreed with that statement.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Mia continued. ‘What Schlossberg did to me makes me sick. But now he’s dead. He can’t touch me or anybody else anymore. I’ll get over it. I’ll survive.’
‘What would you like us to do?’ Yumi asked.
‘I don’t know. Nothing. I don’t care. I have to go practice.’
‘Sure, Mia,’ Yumi said. ‘Just call me if you need to talk. Anytime.’
Mia Cheng left the room without another word.
Jacobus and Yumi sat in silence, each waiting for the other to speak first.
‘So what do we do now?’ Jacobus asked.
‘Kill him,’ Yumi said.
‘He’s dead already,’ Jacobus said, but he knew whom Yumi meant, and he knew she wasn’t joking.
‘Hedge. I could kill Charles Hedge. What he did is almost as bad as Schlossberg.’
‘I’ll be your accomplice if we include Connie Jean Hawkins, but let’s wait until tomorrow. OK?’
Yumi called Chase Anderson to tell him that he could take the rest of the night off. Anderson reported that he had received two phone calls, one from Professor Schneidermann and the other from Professor Shames, Lucien Knotts’s culinary arts instructor. Yumi handed her phone to Jacobus. Shames, Anderson said, would be happy to answer any questions Jacobus might have about Lucien Knotts, but since everyone was on spring break it wouldn’t be possible to determine whether he had dropped out until classes started up again.
‘And Schneidermann?’ Jacobus asked.
‘He has some information he wants to share with you. In person. I told him it might be too late for today.’
‘Why the hell did you tell him that?’ Jacobus barked.
‘Sorry. That’s just the impression you gave me.’
‘Next time when you feel an impression coming on, just say to yourself, “Chase, maybe I should ask first.” OK? Where did he want to meet?’
‘He said he’s babysitting his grandchildren at a miniature golf place just outside of town on Route 16. Family Putts. Can I take you there?’
‘Yumi will. As she said, you’ve got the rest of the night off.’
Jacobus could feel Anderson bristle through the phone.
‘Don’t worry,’ Jacobus added. ‘You’re still my number one assistant. I have an idea how I might need you for our investigation. But not quite yet.’ That was as much reassurance as Jacobus cared to offer.
Yumi spotted Schneidermann sitting on a bench next to a five-foot-high, green ceramic frog that hid an internal plastic tube extending from its rectum up to its mouth, from which a carefully aimed golf ball could conveniently drop and land inches from the cup.
‘Over here, over here, Mr Jacobus,’ Schneidermann called. ‘I’m glad you could make it to our tournament. So far, Yehuda is six under par and ahead by two strokes, but Ashira has been mounting a comeback since Pirate Cove. I understand from Mr Anderson that you’ve had a busy day. He has only the best things to say about you. Are you hungry?’
‘Haven’t had time to eat,’ Jacobus said. All he wanted was whatever information Schneidermann had and then leave.
‘You’re in luck, then,’ Schneidermann said. ‘The reason I always sit at Froggy Hollow is because of the hotdog stand next to it. They make the best hotdogs in Cornwall County. And kosher! Why don’t you and Miss Shinagawa go help yourselves and then we’ll talk. And I recommend the hot sauerkraut highly.’
Jacobus took a deep breath. Contrary to his own nature, he understood that other people took their time. If he was going to optimize Schneidermann as a resource, he would have to let him proceed at his own pace. So he and Yumi bought hotdogs at Frank’s Franks and returned to the bench, where they chatted aimlessly while they ate.
‘I had a chance to speak to Doctors Pine and Dahl today,’ Schneidermann said, finally easing into the subject at hand.
Usually, there was nothing Jacobus preferred to a good hotdog, but he found himself almost gagging on it. Whether it was because of the subject of doctors or whether it was because of his meeting with Mia, he didn’t know. Whatever the reason, he finished it, though his stomach protested, simply because he didn’t know how to get rid of it otherwise.
‘What did the good doctors have to say?’
‘In regard to Aaron Schlossberg’s death, everyone, including Dr Pine’s staff, followed protocol precisely. When the conservatory janitor discovered Schlossberg’s body, he immediately called campus security. They in turn contacted the local police, who arrived on the scene expeditiously. The officer in charge called the hospital to find out the name of Schlossberg’s personal physician, whom he then contacted. Schlossberg’s physician was quite adamant that he had warned Schlossberg on more than one occasion that if he continued to pursue his wanton lifestyle in the face of his chronic diabetic condition he was risking imminent death.
‘With that information, the officer contacted Schlossberg’s wife, Sybil Baker-Hulme, and notified her that her husband had died. She consented to having the funeral parlor Kaplan and Sons transport the deceased to their facility.’
The cadence in Schneidermann’s voice indicated finality.
‘End of story?’ Jacobus said.
‘End of chapter. Because then I contacted Dr Dahl, the medical examiner, and told him of your suspicions. If you don’t mind, I expressed them as my own concerns, since – and I’m not trying to be boastful – my name is known here and might carry some weight, and if I didn’t express them forcefully then Dahl probably would have dismissed them out of hand. You see, his office is quite understaffed and overworked, and they are six months behind even with cadavers they know for certain to be victims of violence. Budget, you know.’
‘And?’
‘I asked whether he would consider exhuming the deceased and performing an autopsy.’
‘And?’
‘He said he would think about it, but I had the feeling he was just being polite. Unless we can present something more compelling, it is my opinion this case will go the way of so many others.’
Jacobus was torn. He was sure there was something more to be learned and knew what it would take for him to get at the truth, but at the same time he would never willingly betray a confidence, especially one so recently and painfully sought. Yumi had asked for his silence – had demanded it – and he had agreed. A deal was a deal. But it left him feeling utterly incapacitated.
He felt Yumi’s hand pat his thigh. She whispered in his ear. ‘I appreciate what you’re thinking. Go ahead,’ she said. ‘It’s OK.’
And so Jacobus told Schneidermann about Mia Cheng.
NINETEEN
Thursday, April 2
Jacobus’s day began with a deflating visit to Dr Simons to have his ankle examined. The verdict: the ankle had not yet adequately healed for him to resume walking. Dr Simons assured him it wasn’t at all unusual to take this long, especially for someone of Jacobus’s advanced age. The doctor said he hoped Jacobus was keeping up with RICE. Jacobus lied, and said of course he was. Simons asked, ‘And what about the other thing?’ Jacobus ignored him, even after Simons also asked if Jacobus had been suffering a loss of appetite.
After calling the inn, Moshe Schneidermann managed to find Jacobus at the medical center, which was in the same complex as the medical examiner’s facility. Schneidermann had had a second conversation with Dr Dahl, who decided that after learning of Mia Cheng’s experience, in context with the other suspicions Jacobus had raised, an autopsy was in order.
Jacobus’s enthusiasm at Dahl’s decision was quickly tamped down by Schneidermann, who told him that even though Dahl felt an autopsy might be appropriate he might decide not to go ahead with it.
‘Why the hell not?’ Jacobus asked.
‘Because first of all, when Aaron Schlossberg was discovered in the practice room he had already been dead for some time. I don’t remember exactly how long they said. A day or two, at least. He has now been buried for a week and, by Jewish tradition, bodies are not embalmed. It is considered a desecration. But the longer it is before he is exhumed, the more difficult a revelatory autopsy will be. It might already be too late.’
‘Then let’s dig him up right away.’
‘If only it were that easy. With few exceptions, Jewish law doesn’t permit exhumation.’
‘What are the exceptions?’
‘To transfer a body for burial in Israel, or from a non-Jewish to a Jewish cemetery. Or if civil authorities demand an investigation into the cause of death. Or if the cemetery becomes inundated and remains underwater.’
‘Are the sages forecasting forty days and forty nights of rain?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘What about civil authorities demanding an investigation? Isn’t one out of four enough?’
‘Perhaps, but assuming we manage the exhumation, we then encounter the problem of obtaining permission for the autopsies, which the religion does not permit except under the most extreme circumstances. Surely you’re aware of that.’
‘No, I was not aware of that,’ Jacobus said, ‘not being a practicing cadaver. What’s the hangup?’
‘Autopsies in general violate the principle of respect for the individual, both of the body and the soul. As with embalming, an autopsy is considered a desecration, but may be performed if it may save a life. For example, if identification of the deceased’s illness might cure someone who is still living.’
‘Can the civil authorities demand an autopsy like they can an exhumation?’
‘Yes. That is possible.’
‘So get Dahl to tell Schlossberg’s widow he’s going to do a two-fer.’
‘I don’t think that’s the best way,’ Schneidermann said. ‘She might resist and refuse consent outright. After all, she’s still in mourning. If she contests it, then by the time Dahl does get official authorization, it could be worthless. Might I suggest a better way?’
As soon as Jacobus returned to the inn he called Sybil, following Schneidermann’s instructions. He asked if she remembered that at the equinox party, which now seemed so long ago, she had piqued his interest in her new book. He asked whether, notwithstanding the recent tragic circumstances, she could conceivably be in any mood to satisfy his intellectual curiosity, since he would soon be leaving for New York City.
She had responded even more positively than he had expected.
‘I would be perfectly delighted!’ she said. ‘The house is so very empty sans Aaron. I’m utterly at sixes and sevens.’ She explained that the only course she had scheduled to teach this semester was a seminar on Baroque vibrato that met once a week, and naturally she had cancelled that week’s class. And so on. ‘Do, please, come for tea,’ she concluded.
Which was how Jacobus and Yumi found themselves in Sybil Baker-Hulme’s library. As Lilburn had described to Jacobus, on one side were the products of Schlossberg’s creative legacy: the scores of his musical compositions and his books on foraging. The other side was Sybil’s: books of her authorship and her collec
tion of scores from centuries past.
Jacobus maneuvered himself as comfortably as possible in a leather armchair, elevating his injured foot onto a matching ottoman. Yumi, her ire at Schlossberg reignited by being in his library, was unable to sit. She paced fretfully. Sybil stood in the center of the room, a copy of The Emergence of Mezzo Piano in the Late Baroque and Its Implications for European Society in her hands like a prayer book.
For the next hour, Jacobus and Yumi endured a catechism on the ‘moral rightness of historically informed performance,’ and how the ‘liberation of the human spirit’ that was unleashed by the expansion of musical dynamics had, in a direct line from the concert hall to the royal chambers, led to the fall of kings and the rise of democratic institutions. Fortunately, Jacobus’s eyes were invisible behind his dark glasses, so Sybil would never know that he had slept through half of the soliloquy. When she eventually came to the crucial point at which gluttonous European aristocracy had finally been overthrown by the irresistible power of music, Jacobus had jumped in before she could begin another.
‘Fascinating!’ he said. ‘Utterly fascinating!’
Yumi, all too familiar with Jacobus’s sense of humor, faked a cough and ran to the veranda.
Sybil, euphoric, floated on air to the kitchen. By the time she returned with tea and homemade scones, Yumi had regained her composure and was, at that moment, investigating Sybil’s ancient scores.
‘What in the world am I going to do with Aaron’s collections?’ Sybil asked. ‘I suppose I should just give it all to the conservatory. They could certainly use it more than I, but then his shelves would be bare. I don’t know if I could handle that. Life is barren enough as it is at the moment. But I shouldn’t be maudlin. Should I? Stiff upper lip and all, we English! I can’t tell you how much your visit has cheered me up. The two of you are just dears to come all the way here.’
