developed since Dori walked out on their marriage. A diet of fast food will do that to you.
“What do you have for me, Cooper?” he asked the detective who’d called him.
“We found something in the instrument storage lockers.”
The room next door had lockers where the orchestra’s musicians could securely store their instruments if they didn’t want to take them home. The detective explained that they also used the lockers to store various odds and ends they might need, along with purses and the like.
“I hit on the idea of asking each musician we questioned to open their lockers for us before we talked. I thought maybe our murderer might have stashed something here.”
Two lockers were open as they entered the long, narrow room. One was large and on the bottom row. They went to that first.
Pratt asked, “Whose locker?”
“A trombone player.”
But there was a cello inside. Pratt crouched to look at it. The second-thickest string was missing.
“You said the stiff upstairs had been choked by a string from one of these.”
Pratt got to his feet. “So how did the trombonist explain this?”
“He claims it’s not his instrument. He’s only keeping it in here as a favor for someone else.”
“Whose cello is it?”
The detective flipped his notebook back a page. “An orchestra member who died last year.”
Pratt felt his heart beat faster. “Annabelle Lee?”
“You know about that?”
“Why does this guy have her cello?” Pratt shot back.
“Like I said: someone in the orchestra asked him to keep it in here.”
“Who?”
The detective consulted his notes. “Someone named Daniel Harvey.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“Not yet. That’s why I called you.”
Pratt’s mind was racing. He felt like a bloodhound that had suddenly picked up the scent. A real smile split his face for the first time that day.
He pointed to the other open locker farther down the room. “What about that?”
“That belongs to one of the percussionists.” “Let me guess: he’s missing a pair of his sticks.”
The other detective grinned. “Got it in one. Special ones too.”
Pratt already had his walkie-talkie out. “Johnson! You still here?”
It took nearly twenty seconds, but the walkie-talkie eventually crackled and the Scene of Crime tech’s voice said clearly, “Yeah. We’re still working over the room.”
“The evidence bag with the murder weapon, is that still here?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to send someone up for it, okay?”
“Just make sure I get it back promptly.”
“Sure, sure. I also need someone down here to work over the instrument storage room. There’s some evidence that needs collecting.” Pratt turned back to the detective with him. “Get one of the uniforms to go up two floors to the offices and fetch an evidence bag. In the meantime, bring that Harvey character in here. I want to hear what he has to say.”
While the detective was out of the room, Pratt found Ellis via the walkie-talkie. “So what do you need to tell me?” he asked.
“Well, based on stuff I found on news sites on the Internet, our boy seems to have been a regular Don Juan. The ladies all seemed to go gaga over him. There’s a fan page on Facebook, for pity’s sake. Anyway, he lost a chance at conducting one of the big European orchestras because of his habits with the females.”
“Anything else?”
“There’s not a peep anywhere about Spadafini possibly jumping ship.”
“I need you to do something else for me. Find out what phone numbers belong to James Norris. I-”
“The chairman of the orchestra’s board?” Ellis interrupted.
Pratt shouldn’t have been surprised that the kid knew. He was proving to be pretty sharp.
“Yes. Get his home and cell phone numbers, then cross-check it with any numbers that Spadafini has called recently.”
“I’ll also check his text messages. I may have missed something when I glanced at it earlier. Most of what is there is soft-core porn chatter with his current girlfriend.”
“That little thing? She seemed so darn innocent when I was talking to her earlier.”
“They’re the worst ones.” Ellis laughed.
“Whatever. Find me what I want and then meet me down here. We’re finally making some progress-I hope.”
“Right. I’ll be down ASAP.”
A tall, slender man with graying hair appeared in the doorway. Pratt looked at him for a long moment just to make the musician a bit more apprehensive. Satisfyingly, he glanced twice at the open locker.
“Are you Daniel Harvey?” Pratt asked.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Could I ask you to look at something for me?”
The man licked his lips nervously. “Of course. I’m happy to assist the police.”
He doesn’t look it, Pratt thought. “That’s good. Step this way please.”
Pratt led Harvey to the locker where the cello was. They both crouched down.
“Can you identify this instrument?” he asked.
Harvey started to reach for it, and Pratt grabbed his arm.
“Don’t touch that, sir. It’s evidence in our murder investigation.”
Perhaps that was laying it on a bit thick, but Pratt felt making the musician nervous would get the best-and quickest-results.
“It’s, ah, it’s…” Harvey was struggling to keep himself together. “It belonged to Annabelle Lee, who used to play in this orchestra.”
“I know. She committed suicide last year.”
“Yes. Yes, she did.”
“And why do you have her cello?”
Harvey looked at Pratt with very frightened eyes.
“She was my cousin.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Without a word, Pratt stood, and the musician collapsed to his knees.
“I did not kill Spadafini! You have to believe me. Much as I wanted to, I didn’t do it!”
“I’d like to believe that.”
“You have to. I…I was with someone during the entire break. I didn’t leave this floor.”
“Who?” the detective asked.
“Leanne Shapiro. I was with her the entire time. Other people saw me too.”
Now they had something to run with. “Ellis!” he barked into the walkie-talkie. “Where are you?”
“On my way down the stairs. What’s happening?”
“Just double-time it, okay? I need you.”
Pratt walked over to Detective Cooper, who was standing in the doorway, and said in low voice, “This Shapiro woman, if she’s already been questioned, find out what she said. If she hasn’t, do it now. Don’t tell her anything about what’s going down. Maybe, just maybe, we’ve gotten lucky.”
“Got it.” The detective angled his head. “What about this guy?”
