Pratt was interrupted by a knock on the door behind him. It was the sergeant from upstairs.
“Sorry to bother you. Five more detectives have arrived. You’re also to call the captain right away. And the media have shown up-in force.”
Pratt’s sigh was heavy. “Where’s young Ellis?”
“No idea.”
“Find him. Send the detectives along to the rehearsal room. And get me Browne.”
The sergeant started to turn away, then stopped. “Almost forgot. Someone sent these over. The captain wants everyone to carry one.” He handed Pratt a walkie-talkie. “They’re digital and encoded so the press can’t listen in.”
By the time Pratt got back to the rehearsal room himself, the detectives were coming down the hall. He outlined the situation as quickly as he could. The looks they passed among themselves told the story. They could see the mess they’d been dragged into.
Browne arrived, and Pratt asked him to arrange for each detective to have his own room to work in. By the time that was sorted out, they were down to storage rooms and even a broom closet.
Pratt addressed the newcomers. “This is all preliminary questioning. Just ask general questions. I want to know where everyone says they were during the break when Spadafini was murdered. Then we can cross-check that. I want your impressions of how truthful they’re being. Make note of anything interesting. And above all, be quick. The press hounds are baying outside, and the whole city is watching.”
“More like the whole world,” one detective muttered.
Several of the detectives were shaking their heads as they went into the rehearsal room to get the first group of musicians for questioning.
Pratt pulled out his cell phone. He hated the damned things. But they were a fact of life for detectives these days, same as computers-which Pratt also hated.
Surprisingly, the captain picked up on the first ring. “What’s the story, Pratt?”
“It’s a total mess down here.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Any progress?”
“Some,” Pratt answered and gave his boss a quick update.
“I just got off the phone with the chief. The mayor’s in his office, along with one of the symphony board’s big shots. The chief stressed how they all wanted this situation resolved quickly.”
Pratt rolled his eyes and felt a headache coming on. “The men just arrived, and I’ve given them their marching orders. The Scene of Crime team is also at work. We’re moving as fast as we can.”
“I’m counting on you, Pratt. Keep me in the loop. Understand?”
Captain McDonnell hung up before Pratt could even answer.
Ellis came hurrying down the hall. “I hear you wanted to speak to me.”
“What have you been up to?”
“I was just talking to one of the Scene of Crime guys.”
“And?”
“They’re not coming up with much. There are no fingerprints on the murder weapon. They doubt if they’re going to get any dna evidence, since the murderer was likely wearing gloves.” Ellis took out his notebook and read. “Preliminary findings are that Luigi Spadafini was knocked to the ground and strangled from behind. The murderer had his-”
“Or her,” Pratt interrupted. “Don’t forget that an active woman could have done it. Spadafini was not a big man.”
“Right. The murderer had his or her knee in the center of the conductor’s back and pulled upward.
“Was the murderer left- or right-handed?”
“What?”
“A joke, Ellis. I was making a joke.”
“Oh.”
“Now I have a question for you. You said that string used to strangle Spadafini was from a cello. Are you sure?”
“It’s too long for a violin or viola string and too short to come from a bass.”
“And you know that from your high school music class.”
“Yessir. My sister played the cello.”
“You also said those sticks were used for playing the timpani. Again, certain?”
“Ninety-five percent.” Ellis hesitated. “Why are you asking this?”
“I just had a very interesting conversation with a member of the orchestra. I do believe the murderer was trying to tell us something-or, more likely, muddy the trail.” Pratt put his arm over Ellis’s shoulder. “You had a satchel in the back of the car when we drove over. Am I right in thinking it contains a laptop computer?”
“Yes, it does.”
“I’ll bet a young buck like you is pretty good with them.”
“They say I am.”
“Can you do a little research for me?”
“Like what?”
“I’ve got two names: Mort Schulman, who played timpani for the orchestra, and Annabelle Lee, who played cello. They’re both dead. Find out everything you can about them. Okay?”
Ellis’s face brightened. “Sure. I’ll get my laptop and go online as soon as I can find a place to sit down.”
Pratt looked at Ellis. “Spare me the technical mumbo-jumbo. Just get me the information.” As Ellis took off, Pratt called after him. “And I need it yesterday! Got that?”
The young detective waved over his shoulder as he crashed through the door at the end of the hall.
CHAPTER SIX
Finding himself alone for a moment, Pratt stepped into a nearby men’s room to mentally catch his breath. He’d barely been here an hour, and so far he’d just been responding to the situation. The chance for the success of this investigation hung on whether he could begin to direct where things were going. He knew he would take the fall if this investigation went south.
At one of the sinks, he splashed several handfuls of water onto his face, enjoying the way it refreshed him. Looking at his reflection in the mirror as he turned off the water, Pratt felt depressed. He was developing jowls, the top of his head was shiny rather than covered with thick hair as it had been, and frankly, he looked terrible. Somehow his life was still on hold since his wife walked out on him over two years earlier.
Out in the hall again, he saw Browne leave the rehearsal room with the detectives and the first group of orchestra members to be questioned.
Pratt fell into step next to him. “I want to ask you a few questions.”
“Certainly. I want to do anything I can to help in this crisis.”
“Tell me what you know about Mort Schulman and Annabelle Lee.”
“Tragic, both of them. Mort had frankly been getting old, and he was definitely overweight, but it was a shock to us all when he suffered his heart attack right after a concert.”
“I heard Spadafini had been riding him for several months. Did he have something against Schulman?”
“That’s news to me. Actually, I don’t attend rehearsals all that much. My job also includes working with the conductor, guest artists, hall staff and, of course, the board members. All I know is, Mort didn’t complain to me about Spadafini.”
“And Annabelle Lee?”
“A lovely girl and one of our best young talents. Her passing was such a loss.”
“Cut the public relations crap,” Pratt growled. “I’ve got better things to do with my time.”
Browne didn’t answer. He showed each of the detectives the rooms they’d be using. Pratt waited, arms folded.
“All right, Detective Pratt,” Browne finally said. “My job is to help keep this orchestra running smoothly.
