by Liz Bradbury
I got to the Music building just before 10:00 AM. The door was locked, but one of the Bouchet’s passkeys fit it. I let myself in, locking the door behind me. I took the stairs. My steps echoed as I made my way to the recording studio floor where Jimmy Harmon had said he’d meet me.
“Jimmy?” I called out when I opened the door to the big room. Nobody there. It was dark. Empty as a tomb I thought and then shivered at the allusion.
The padlock was still in place on Carl’s office door. Inside, I decided to snag Carl’s high sensitivity microphone and try to use it with his laptop at home. I unplugged it and put it in my shoulder bag. I sat at Carl’s desk for about 10 minutes, straining to pick up a vibe. I tried to imagine what happened the day he got on the elevator and went up to the balcony. The students had heard a phone ring. So suppose somebody called him and told him to come up to the sixth floor.
I closed my eyes. “Ringggg,” I whispered. I groped for the phone, picked it up and held it to my ear. “Carl Rasmus,” I said.
What would the voice on the other end say?... Maybe: “Carl this is so and so, listen, I have something to show you”...no they wouldn’t say show you... How about: Carl, I have something to talk to you about, alone. Come to the sixth floor... I’ll be waiting at the door? Well sure, that would work if it were someone he knew.
So I got up, still with my eyes closed and began to move toward the door. But Carl would do this much more easily than I could, so I opened my eyes.
I jumped, gasping. There stood Jimmy Harmon in the doorway. I may be a big tough private eye, but I’d be fibbing to say the look on his face wasn’t frightening. He looked downright maniacal. I instinctively stepped back.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded in a loud rasping voice.
“Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?” I said with equal force.
“Just get to the point OK, what do you want me to say?”
“Jimmy, you’re kind of starting in the middle of the conversation. Let’s ease up.”
He was so red in the face it looked like he had either been running a mile, was pissed as hell or about to cry. His face could have adequately expressed all three. Abruptly, he spun on his heel and walked out. I called his name but he didn’t answer.
I quickly locked up Carl’s office and followed Jimmy, but by the time I got to the stairs, he was nowhere in sight. The building seemed eerily quiet. Where had he gone? Maybe up? And then, as if to confirm my suspicion, I heard a noise in the stairwell above.
I went up. I could see a light coming from the window in the sixth-floor-landing door. I opened it as carefully as possible and distinctly heard another door, somewhere on that level, click shut. I reached under my jacket into my shoulder holster and drew out my gun. Flattening myself against the wall in a shadowy corner, I moved slowly along the corridor, my parka making a swishing noise against the wall. “Jimmy,” I called quietly.
There were doors to various music rooms to my right. Some had choir risers; others were smaller rooms with upright pianos or groups of music stands.
I passed the glass doors to the balcony where Carl had fallen. The curtains were drawn, but clearly one of the doors was open. A cold wind was luffing the door curtain like a sail turned into the wind. No question about it, someone had just opened this door. The wet, foggy, outside air hadn’t made the hallway cold enough for it to have been open very long. I didn’t want to lean out there to see if someone was hiding around the balcony corner. I waited, listening.
Several minutes went by. I figured either I was alone, or the crazed maniac who wanted to kill me simply had more patience than I did. If it turned out to be the latter, it would mean I had less patience than a crazed maniac. Not exactly something to include on a resume.
The empty hallway had many windows but all were curtained, making the area dim. Across the hall from the balcony door, double doors to a small dark practice room were open. In it I could make out an upright piano, two metal folding chairs and two black metal music stands.
The stillness was getting to me. Time for action. I pushed the balcony door open as quietly and as slowly as I could. I drew the curtain back and looked out. I couldn’t see anyone, but there could still be someone hiding to the side of the door. Shit, I hate this kind of stuff. I got down lower and duck-walked onto the balcony. The wind was briskly blowing icy December cold through my clothes. There was nobody out there.
Suddenly, I heard a sound like a huge bowling ball rolling down an alley. It was a runaway piano headed right toward me at full speed, whatever full speed for a piano was, aiming to crush me or push me over the edge of the balcony.
I leapt up on top of it without thinking twice and grabbed hold of the door lintel. The piano slid smoothly under me, crashing into the balcony’s cement railing, dislodging a huge chunk that went tumbling down the side of the building. It made an echoing clunk noise on the sidewalk below. The piano dangled one wheel over the edge, but the opening in the railing wasn’t big enough to let it fall.
I dropped to the floor, rolling to the far wall of the hall. I could distinctly hear someone running. Jumping up, I ran to the stairway at the other end of the building. I could hear footsteps far below. I threw open the door and followed, staying as close to the wall as possible, keeping myself from being an easy target. If this was the killer, why had he used a piano rather than the gun... maybe he was out of bullets?
When I got to the ground floor, I had to give up. Whoever had just tried to flatten me was gone. There were too many paths leading in too many directions to figure out which way.
It was 10:45 AM. Cars were lining the streets, parking for Carl’s memorial service. I made my way to the Chapel along with dozens of people. Students were everywhere. Some had stayed on campus for the funeral, others had come back just for the day. All of them looked sad missing Carl and feeling the terrible, incomprehensible loss and despair that suicide makes people, especially young people, feel. I wondered how their feelings might change when they learned this was a case of murder not suicide.
Worming my way through the crowds and into a side door, I found stairs to a choir balcony overlooking the sanctuary. The crowd coming in was growing. People were desperately looking around for friends or acquaintances to sit with. Nobody wants to sit by themselves at a funeral. I climbed to the choir loft.
In my bag was my small pair of high-powered binoculars. My father and stepmother had given them to me when I went to Europe in my junior year of college. I still carry them with me everywhere. They’ve come in handy more times than I can count. The choir loft was a perfect vantage point to see everything at once without anyone seeing me. I stepped into a dark corner and studied the room.
Max Bouchet came in with his lovely wife Shanna. He walked down the aisle with her, encouraged her to sit in a pew near the front, then went back to the entrance to greet people. Miranda Juarez was already in place there, to help Bouchet remember names. I could see Bouchet reaching in his pocket for his cell phone. My phone vibrated in my pocket; it was Bouchet calling me.
“Maggie, are you here?”
“Yes, I’m in the choir loft. I have a pretty good view.”
“Excellent. I received the report on the attack on Rowlina from the police. We should go over it after the service. You can come to the mansion, can’t you?”
I said, “I have people to speak to after the service, but I’ll come over right after I do.” Bouchet agreed and resumed his meet and greet.
Daniel Cohen came in with an attractive woman I recognized as his wife, from the picture on his desk. They sat near the back row. Soon after, several younger people came in and sat in Cohen’s row, greeting Daniel deferentially. Must have been his current students. Immediately after that three more young people came in and greeted Cohen affectionately. They must be graduates who were now making a ton of money based on the skills Cohen had taught them.
A large crowd pushed through the door with Jimmy Harmon in the lead. A woman and thr
ee redheaded kids, obviously his family, were with him. A group of music students and musicians followed, including Jack Leavitt and Mike Jacobsen. I stared at Jimmy with the binoculars. Did he look like a guy who’d use a piano as a deadly weapon? He looked agitated, but then that was his general song and dance.
The numbers of people entering began to swell. It was five minutes to eleven. I saw Farrel and Jessie come in a side entrance, with their friend Judith Levi. Kathryn was with them. Her presence made my heart leap and other parts of my body tingle.
Farrel and Jessie found a seat halfway along the aisle. Kathryn took off her coat and placed it next to them, but walked to the entrance to say a few words to Max. She clasped his hand and nodded while speaking. Judith Levi had seen Cora Martin, they were long time chums and about the same age. Judith sat down with Cora and Doug Scribner, another friend who’d be at the brunch later. Sara and Emma were sliding into a pew two rows behind Farrel and Jessie. They sat with some other people; I recognized them as other members of the Arts Commission. Leo Getty came in by himself. He shook hands with Max, and then walked slowly down the aisle. His face was still as red as it had been when I’d seen him last. Spying an empty seat, he stooped to cross himself before he slumped into it.
Kathryn walked slowly back down the aisle. She had on a dark suit, with a skirt that reached just below her knees. I realized that seeing her formally dressed was stimulating, but then, everything about Kathryn was stimulating. She’d stopped to talk to someone. It was Connie Robinson wearing a short winter jacket over a dark blue dress that was a little too tight for her. She was talking earnestly to Kathryn, then she hugged her. Kathryn hugged Connie back in a consoling way, patting her back. Connie was crying.
Back at the entrance, Bart Edgar came in with Nancy. She led him to a pew on the left aisle and they slid into place. I would talk to them after the service.
I saw Adam Smith, Georgia’s husband, sitting with her two sons. He looked tired, but not as tired as he had when I’d seen him in the hospital.
No sign of Carl’s sister, Eileen Crenshaw. I doubted whether she or Carl’s brother Kevin Rasmus would bother to attend. So far they were the most unpleasant characters in this scenario and they had the best motive because of the money they thought they’d inherit. Unfortunately, there was no way I could pin the crimes on them. Everything that had happened really required someone who was on the spot and they were just too far out of the picture.
Sweeping the crowd with my binoculars I picked out Janie Rasmus, way in the back in a dark corner, sitting with an older woman and a blond young man. I was glad she was there, for Carl’s sake. I wondered if Janie had actually walked out on Kevin yet and I speculated on who the people she was sitting with were. I noticed Vice Principal Goldenberger of Hadesville High sitting right behind them. Good for him for showing up.
Everyone was settling down now. Kathryn sat next to Jessie, who had Farrel on her other side. I yearned to know what Farrel and Kathryn had talked about on their trip to the antique markets.
Max Bouchet came back up the aisle and sat with Shanna, signaling that things would begin soon. Amanda Knightbridge came through the entrance as the ushers were closing the doors. She sailed down the aisle not seeming to notice anyone until she stopped next to Kathryn. Kathryn invited her to sit down next to her, bidding Farrel and Jessie to move over. I watched with the binoculars in fascination as Amanda Knightbridge, who seemed to be quite pleased, spoke to Kathryn. I would swear Kathryn blushed as she shook her head. Amanda asked her something else and Kathryn shook her head no again.
Amanda looked around the room for just a second, then peered toward the choir loft directly at me, even though it was so dark where I was standing it must have been impossible for her to actually see me. Amanda bent her head to Kathryn’s ear. Kathryn leaned forward and looked up to where I was standing in the balcony. I leaned into the light for just a second so she could see me. She didn’t wave or give me away; she just smiled, then turned to face the front of the church. I noticed Amanda Knightbridge’s face had taken on an attitude of sublime satisfaction. That woman was downright scary.
The College Chaplain spoke from the heart about Carl. Unlike many funerals the person delivering the eulogy had really known the one who died.
I flashed on the main doors again, one was opening slightly to let in Rowlina Roth-Holtzmann. I was wondering if the hospital would hold her; there hadn’t seemed much reason to. Thank goodness she wasn’t wearing that dead animal on her head. Her new overcoat billowed as she twitched into a pew at the back. The police must have kept her bullet-pierced one as evidence.
Doors behind the Chaplain sprang open and an orchestra entered. Not a quartet, or a small band, but a full fledged strings and brass orchestra. There was even a grand piano being pushed in. I gulped. Rolling pianos had suddenly become my new phobia, I wondered how long that would last. A hundred people, all toting their instruments, chairs, and music stands clattered themselves around the apse and waited.
Jimmy Harmon got up from his seat and walked slowly down the aisle to lead the group. He turned to the audience and said simply, “Carl wrote many fine pieces of music. We will play one of his sonatas; the “Sonata in E Flat,” his “Concerto for Piano,” and a contemporary piece called, “I Can See”.”
Jimmy was total concentration. He became one with the group and they played the sweetest music I’ve ever heard. Each of the pieces was honest and pure. The song at the end was sung by Caitlyn Zale, who’d been at the recording studio the day Carl died. She sang like an angel, holding the listeners in the palm of her hand.
Carl’s song, “I Can See,” had both the lines I’m a blind man and I’m a gay man in it. I was glad Carl’s true self was being celebrated on this day that had been set aside just for him. During each piece, I watched the room with the binoculars. By the end of the concerto, most people were teary. I saw Kathryn wipe her eyes several times. As Caitlyn progressed through Carl’s song, everyone was blinking back tears. Janie Rasmus and the woman and young man with her, were crying like babies. Farrel was too. She’s such a sap. Yet, I have to admit, I wiped my eyes a few times too. It was all very moving; beautiful, sad, and hopeful all at the same time.
At the end of the music, Max Bouchet was at the podium saying that we should all celebrate Carl’s life and strive to emulate his courage. I made another silent vow to Carl, I’ll find out who killed you, and bring him or her to justice.
Since this was the regular campus Sunday service, the Chaplain was up again telling folks they could all come up and receive communion. People began to queue.
Kathryn had told Farrel I was up here in the loft. Farrel caught my eye and gestured subtly with a slight head toss for me to come down and join them. I ran down the steps, then skirted the room coming around to the far side of the pew. A student had stopped to speak to Kathryn. She didn’t notice as I slipped in alongside of Farrel.
“Well?” I said impatiently.
Farrel grinned, then glanced at Kathryn who was still turned away. Jessie had noticed me and reached across Farrel to squeeze my hand, then she leaned a little forward making it impossible for Kathryn to see me. Allowing me and Farrel to talk for a moment without interruption.
“Well?” I demanded more urgently.
“OK, OK... she’s falling for you, honey, that’s pretty damn clear. So don’t screw this up, because she may be the one.”
“But what did she say?” I couldn’t help grinning either.
“I grilled her and frankly she grilled me right back. About you. Look we can talk about this some other time — but here’s the 60 second version: I think you two are very well suited...”
“But?” I asked.
“Well, she likes to be in control and I’ll bet she can be very stubborn. If you and she argue, it’s going to be pretty intense, and you aren’t going to win. Um... I think she’s going to need her own space... at least some space that’s all her own... and she may want a little more attention than
you have time to give her. And... this might just be my erotic imagination but, she seems to be extraordinarily hot for you.”
“Farrel, I can’t imagine not paying attention to her.”
“I can see that.”
“What did she say that made you think... I mean, that she’s... you know... hot?” I reddened a little.
Farrel snickered, “You don’t need me to explain that.”
Just then, Jessie leaned back and I found myself looking directly into Kathryn’s eyes. They were electric. Her half smile twitched for just a second. Causing me to feel instantaneous lust. I winked slowly at her, then turned back to Farrel exhaling.
I said, “Bouchet wants me to look at some papers, so could you please take Kathryn to your house after the service? I’ll see you all as soon as I can.” People were still going up the aisle for communion so I slid back out of the pew and worked my way around the inside of the building again, managing to find Bart Edgar and Nancy.
I sat down next to Nancy with Bart on her other side. I didn’t even bother to speak to him, I just asked her point blank... “What bottle did Bart pick up in the conference room?”
Nancy exhaled through her nose in an exasperated way. “He says he went to get coffee,” she spit out with supreme irritation. I figured he’d better hurry up and marry her or he’d lose her to annoyance.
“But the coffee pot is in the waiting room,” I pointed out.
“I know,” said Nancy flatly.
“But...” I began. Nancy just shook her head stiffly. This was Bart’s story and for now, he wasn’t going to budge. Maybe he really did forget where the coffeemaker was. I looked beyond Nancy into Bart’s foggy eyes. He nodded for no reason. Punching him in the nose fluttered through my mental suggestion box. I decided it wouldn’t help.
The line of people getting communion had almost ended. I left Bart and Nancy and made my way to Max and and his wife Shanna.
“Things seem OK here,” I said to Max after I’d slid into the pew behind him. I didn’t want to get into the piano incident right then.
