by Rick Blechta
“What about his alibi?”
Ellis nodded and checked a page in his notebook. “Harvey was actually in full view of three other orchestra members for the entire break. We checked with each separately and they all had the same story. Here’s a theory. Do you think he may have had something to do with it? Maybe there were several people in on the murder. He supplied the cello string, someone else the timpani mallets and a third person did the deed. What do you think?”
“I suppose it could be something like that, but…I don’t think so.”
“You have some thoughts on how this thing went down?”
“I don’t want to lead you down the garden path.”
“What do you mean?”
“Being a good detective means sifting through a lot of evidence. It means keeping your eyes and mind open at all times. It means leaving no stone unturned. Do that, catch a little bit of luck, and you should get to the truth.”
“I know that.”
“You seem like a bright kid. I don’t want you getting wrong ideas on how this game is played.”
Ellis looked puzzled. “Sir?”
Pratt debated for a moment. This kid needed to go through the school of hard knocks if he had any hope of becoming a good detective. Acting on hunches was not part of that. It was risky, and you often wound up with egg on your face-or worse. This wasn’t the time to play fast and loose. Or was it? Everything about this case was out of the ordinary.
“Kid…sometimes, not always, you have to play a hunch, go with what you feel in your gut. Today might be one of those days.”
Unexpectedly, Ellis grinned. “I was hoping you’d say something like that.”
“Huh?”
“For the past half hour, I’ve been following up a hunch and uncovered some interesting information. I’ve been hesitant to tell you. They all say you play by the book.”
Pratt came to a decision. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking, and then I’ll do likewise.”
It surprised Pratt that Ellis had come to the same conclusions, but from a totally different starting point. Ellis had used technology. Pratt’s was based on observation and deduction.
“The only thing now is that we have to prove it or get the person to admit it,” Pratt said.
“I may be able to help there. Like I said, I’ve been doing some extra digging. I had to break a few rules though.”
Pratt’s expression tightened. “Meaning?”
“I, ah…Some of the information I got should have been accompanied by a search warrant.”
Ellis quickly sketched out what that information was.
“That’s always the sticking point in this racket. We’ll hold that information back and get the search warrants later.” Oddly, though, Pratt felt much better, more certain they were on the right track. “Now, here’s what I want you to do-and no improvising!”
They talked for a few more minutes, during which Ellis scribbled notes, nodding his understanding.
At the end, Pratt clapped Ellis on the shoulder. “Well, kid, either we’re going to kick this one through the goalposts-”
“Or they’re going to kick us to the street.”
“Something like that.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Pratt walked into the rehearsal room with Ellis. The orchestra was still eating, and the smells of the sandwiches and salads made his stomach rumble. Everyone looked up at them with unfriendly eyes.
Eliza Wanamaker wasn’t hard to spot. She was surrounded by other musicians. It looked like a meeting.
Pratt walked over. “I’d like to speak with you again.”
“Is this about letting us get the hell out of here sometime soon?”
The musicians around her nodded their agreement.
“I’m afraid not. I have some more questions.”
She got to her feet. “I suppose you want to do this in private?”
“That was the idea.”
As they left the room, Pratt could see Ellis in a far corner speaking with Sofia Barna, the piccolo player who’d spent the previous night with Spadafini.
Both had their questions to ask, and hopefully, they’d get the answers they needed.
Twenty minutes later, Ellis and Pratt met to share the information the two women had given them.
Pratt said, “Now it just remains to talk to Mr. Browne and see what he has to say.”
“I’m ready,” Ellis said with a nod.
“No, you’re not. I want you to call the captain and tell him that we want those search warrants-and to step on it. Are you clear on everything?”
The young detective nodded.
“Good. You’ll find me with Browne in his office when you’re done.”
Ellis grinned. “He’ll be thrilled to see me.”
“No doubt.”
Pratt found the orchestra manager still with his boss. Neither of them looked happy.
“Any news, Detective?” both of them asked.
“We’ve made some progress on the huge list of suspects,” Pratt answered. “Mr. Browne, I take it you’re the person most familiar with the members of the orchestra?”
Browne nodded. “I should hope so.”
“Great. I need to discuss some of them with you. It will help greatly in getting us closer to the answers we’re all looking for. Maybe we could use your office to talk?”
Behind his desk, Norris’s face brightened. “Does that mean I might finally be able to go home?”
“Could you stay around just a little bit longer? I’ve asked one of my detectives to come in and take your statement, go over a few things. Is that all right?”
“I suppose it will have to do.”
The uniformed cop stationed outside Browne’s office was gone. Browne and Pratt went inside and made themselves comfortable. On the desk, beside a computer monitor and the phone, was a photo of a rather plain woman and two children, a boy and a girl who looked to be in their early teens.
“Nice-looking family,” Pratt said.
“Thanks.” Browne rested his arms on the desk and leaned forward confidently. “Now, what can I do for you, Detective Pratt?”
“You told me earlier you don’t have much day-to-day contact with members of the orchestra.”
“I said I don’t have time to attend most rehearsals. I am a very busy man. This organization would grind to a halt without me. Of course I had to make sure everyone knew the schedule for rehearsals and concerts. I had to-”
Pratt held up his hand. “Suffice it to say, though, that if anyone knew what was going on with the orchestra’s musicians, it would likely be you.”
Browne smiled. “Of course. It’s part of my job.”
“Obviously, you were also in daily contact with Spadafini.”
“When he was in town, yes.”
“So it’s safe to assume that you would have been aware of the goings-on between him and some of the orchestra’s female members.”
“If you’re referring to Annabelle Lee, I had no idea that anything was going on until she took her own life.”
“That’s not what I’ve been told.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The expression on the orchestra manager’s face was confused. Then he flushed angrily as the comment sank in.
“What exactly are you trying to say, Detective?”
Pratt pretended to soothe him. “It’s natural that you would want to protect the organization’s most valuable asset. Keeping things running smoothly is part of your job, isn’t it? And so is loyalty.”
Browne leaned back in his chair. “I suppose I wasn’t completely forthright with you at the beginning, and for that I apologize.” He sighed heavily. “Sometimes I feel like the father confessor around here. I have to listen to the board’s complaints, the conductor’s, the soloists’, the guest conductors’, and always the musicians’. It gets pretty wearing. Everybody expects me to sort out their problems.”
“I understand completely. So what exactly did you know about Spadafini’
s, ah, indiscretions?”
“Well…pretty much everything. A number of people in the orchestra, older women actually, complained about Spadafini’s carrying-on almost from the moment he arrived. I think they were bitter they couldn’t attract his attention, if you want to know the truth.”
Pratt chuckled. “I think I’ve met one of them.”
“Eliza Wanamaker?” When Pratt nodded, Browne added, “Damn woman thinks she’s the conscience of the orchestra.”
Someone knocked softly on the office door.
It was Ellis, as planned. “Sir, you wanted to see me?”
Pratt turned. “Yes. You take notes faster than I can, so come in here and take notes.”
Ellis sat on one of the chairs around a low table in a corner of the office, an informal meeting area. Crossing his legs, he pulled out his notebook. Pratt hoped he would play his part well.
The older detective continued, “So Spadafini confided in you?”
Browne noticeably swelled. “All the time.” Then he pursed his lips. “Luigi also constantly asked me to help clean up his little messes, as he called them.”
“Such as?”
Michael Browne considered for a moment. “I suppose it doesn’t make any difference now…Annabelle Lee gave me a letter to pass on to the orchestra’s board. It was after the last rehearsal she attended. She knew there was a board meeting the next day. On her way home, she jumped in front of the subway train.” He sighed. “I’m afraid I opened that letter. I, ah, never gave it to the board.”
Pratt leaned forward to speak. “What happened to it?”
“I gave it to Luigi and he tore it to shreds. Wouldn’t even look at it.”
“Just like the letter you told me she sent to him.”
Browne nodded. “Looking back, I guess it’s not my proudest moment.”
“What did it say?”
“She went on and on about how he’d seduced her, almost raped her after he took her out to dinner the first time. How he’d lied about his feelings for her. I don’t know if any of that was actually true, but she was obviously a very naive and hurt young woman. But what she was saying could have been very damaging for the orchestra.”
“Did she ever accompany Spadafini to a public function?”
“What?” A smile came over his face. “Oh, I see where you’re going with that. No. Everyone in the orchestra knew they were involved, just like that silly piccolo player he was boinking recently. There were a number of others in and out of the orchestra too, soloists, even an usher. Let’s just say he was an alpha male.”
“So you covered for Luigi Spadafini, smoothed the way for him over rough waters.”
Browne looked suddenly wary. “My job is to help make this orchestra run smoothly. Public scandals involving our conductor would not have been good for the orchestra. I did nothing illegal.”
“How would you describe your relationship with Spadafini?”
“Cordial. I got along with him better than most.”
“And he relied on you.”
The orchestra manager nodded. “I helped him a lot.”
“What did you get out of it?”
“The satisfaction of a job well done,” Browne replied almost smugly.
“Somehow I think that there was more to it than that.” Pratt turned to the younger detective in the corner. “Ellis, were you able to get more information about what we were talking about earlier?”
“Certainly.”
“And could you tell Mr. Browne about it? We don’t need the exact words. Just sum it up.”
Ellis consulted his notebook (for show), then cleared his throat. “At twelve eighteen, I was in the orchestra’s rehearsal hall and noticed a cell phone on the floor partially under the conductor’s podium. Further examination showed that it belonged to Luigi Spadafini. It must have fallen from the pocket of his overcoat. On its call history was a record of a dozen phone calls to Mr. Browne’s cell over the past two weeks. I also found a number of incoming calls, all from Mr. Browne’s cell phone, as-”
“How can you possibly find that suspicious?” Browne interrupted. “We were consulting about next season’s programming.”
“Why would you be using a cell phone at all?” Pratt asked. “Some of those calls came in the middle of the day when you were both here. We’ve checked. Why wouldn’t you just stroll down the hall to talk to him? If you were both that lazy, you could have used your office phones. Why talk on a cell every time? That’s what made us suspicious.”
“I don’t know. I’m just so used to using my cell, I suppose. I reach for that first, that’s all. Luigi too.”
“Really?”
“Yes, goddammit!”
Ellis got up and handed a scrap of paper to Pratt, who pushed it across the desk toward Browne.
“Recognize that phone number?”
“No. Should I?” Browne’s forehead now had a light sheen of sweat.
“We also found that number in the call history of Spadafini’s cell phone. Being curious, we dialed it. The person at the other end told us some very interesting things. Luigi Spadafini was planning on jumping ship. You agreed with my statement that he relied on you. Surely you knew about this.”
Browne looked at his watch. “James Norris told me about this not half an hour ago. It came as a very great shock. Luigi never said a word about it.”
“I’ll come back to this. Just before I came up here, I spoke with Eliza Wanamaker. I was curious as to why you told the orchestra about the murder. I think you told me you just blurted it out.”
“That’s correct. I was very upset.”
“Funny. Eliza got the feeling that you didn’t seem at all upset. She described you as outwardly calm and in control.”
“Appearances can be deceiving, Detective. Surely I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”
“Why then did you pick up Spadafini’s overcoat before you left the room? Ms. Wanamaker remembers that clearly. Everyone was in a panic, and you caused that. Were you trying to distract them so you could search for Spadafini’s cell phone?”
Now Browne was definitely sweating.
Pratt continued. “I think you wanted it to disappear along with the record of all those calls.”
“That’s a lie!” Browne shouted.
Pratt was about to hammer another nail into the coffin when the office door opened. Norris stuck his head in, and Browne used the interruption to leap to his feet.
“James! How fortunate you’ve shown up. The detectives here seem to want to drag me into this mess. Please come in. I want a witness to hear the outrageous accusations.”
Browne came around the desk and opened the door wide. Grabbing his boss by the arm, he whipped him into the room, directly where Pratt was seated. The two men collided hard, knocking over Pratt’s chair. In a flash, Browne was through the doorway. Equally fast, Ellis jumped right over the low table in front of him and disappeared out the door.
As he struggled to get up, Pratt heard a loud cry followed by a crash. By the time he got out to the hall, it was all over. The orchestra manager lay on his stomach with the youthful Ellis on top of him.
“Get off me! Get him off me!” Browne shouted.
Ellis grinned up at Pratt. “You wouldn’t happen to have any handcuffs, would you?”
He did. Handcuffs were his good luck charm and he always had his pair in a jacket pocket. Ellis placed them around the orchestra manager’s wrists with a satisfying click. They pulled Browne to his feet.
“Why did you do it?” Pratt asked calmly.
“Because Spadafini was a complete bastard! He deserved to die. When he told me he wasn’t taking me to the new orchestra, he laughed! I wasn’t going to let him screw me just like he screwed everyone else.”
As they led their prisoner to the elevator, Pratt said with a laugh, “Let me guess, Ellis. You were also a star on your high school track team. Hurdles, right?”
The young detective nodded. “Got it in one, sir…I mean, Pratt.”
All the six o’clock news showed was someone being led out the stage door, an overcoat pulled up over his head. There were a lot of loose ends to tie up, so all Pratt would say to the crowd of reporters was that someone had been arrested for the murder of Luigi Spadafini. There would be a news conference the next morning.
As the film clip played on the tv in the corner of the captain’s office, Pratt, Ellis and McDonnell were watching it carefully.
“Pretty slick bit of detecting, Pratt,” the captain laughed. He’d enjoyed telling the chief and mayor that the crisis was over.
“It’s because our young Detective Ellis is a nosy bastard with good instincts. He’s also a dab hand with a computer-and fast on his feet.”
The captain leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about it, Ellis.”
“It actually was lucky that I decided to use Browne’s office because that gave me access to his computer. I only needed his connection to the Internet for my laptop. I did happen to turn on his computer, though, since I was there. It had a password, but I figured that out on the first try. It was his wife’s name, and that was on the family photo on his desk. Amazing how many people do something that simple.”
When the captain started to say something, Pratt held up his hand.
“The lad knows how illegal that was. But it got us some important information. With that warrant they’re hopefully getting signed now, we can ‘officially’ find the information Ellis uncovered. It will make our case even stronger.”
“Which was?”
“Browne kept copious notes. There’s a ledger, I guess you could call it, that tracks who he helped, why and what he expected to get out of it. Spadafini had promised to take him to the new orchestra and become its manager. It was supposed to be payback for all the crap Browne had shoveled for him. Unfortunately, the conductor was a lying bastard. Last night he told Browne he’d never even told the other orchestra about their deal-and he wasn’t going to. The girl Spadafini was with last night heard one end of that argument. When we arrested Browne, he had his cell phone in his pocket. Since it was now evidence, we checked. Sure enough, in its history there was a phone call to Spadafini at precisely that time.”
