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# The Maestro Murdered

# Terence O'Grady

Copyright 2014 Terence O'Grady

Cover image from Dreamstime

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to persons living or dead are coincidental.

# Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

# Chapter One

Sean McGill sighed quietly as he began to trudge up the long stairway to the third floor office of the orchestra manager. He didn't know any of the details concerning this case, one that appeared to be no more than petty theft, and he had a feeling that it would take most of his morning to find out that there was little he could do about it in any case.

Not much of a building, he thought as he scanned the ancient staircase. But of course there weren't very many not-for-profit musical organizations that could afford luxurious accommodations. He knew that this particular orchestra—the little brother of the famous Philadelphia Orchestra—probably had a fairly modest budget. Still, in the few years it had been around, it had acquired something of a reputation as an up-and-coming young orchestra and was at least solvent, which was saying quite a bit these days.

Nevertheless, he wasn't quite sure why he was here. He knew that the uniformed officer who had first responded to the call from the orchestra had already asked most of the relevant questions so he wondered exactly why he was about to spend the whole morning in duplicating that effort.

Of course he had a pretty strong hunch about why he was given the job. He was the most junior detective in the district and, even more to the point, he had trained as a musician when he was younger. So if there was a music-related crime anywhere in Philadelphia, he would naturally be assigned to cover it, no matter how trivial it might be.

And he had to continually remind himself that no crime was trivial to its victims. The fact that the victim in this case was actually an institution didn't change the fact that the people concerned would be outraged and indignant and would want him to focus his entire attention on their misfortune.

Arriving—slightly out of breath—at the third floor office entrance, he was met at the door by a slender young man, perhaps thirty-years old or a little less, with a healthy shock of thick, black hair and a slightly pained expression on his face.

"Mr. Winston, I assume?" McGill said, reaching out his hand. "I'm Detective Sean McGill."

"Yes, Alan Winston," replied the young man, giving Sean's hand a cursory shake. "I'm hoping you'll be able to clear up this mess quickly."

"This mess?"

"Well, actually it is a mess," said Winston, gazing around him at the over-turned chairs and music stands, "but I should have said, clear up this problem of ours."

"I'll certainly do what I can, Mr. Winston. Now could you please start at the beginning? I'm told that you discovered the problem when you came in this morning."

"Yes, I've already explained the whole thing to the officer who responded to our call."

"I'm sure you have, Mr. Winston, but we like to check things over more than once just to make sure we haven't missed anything."

"If you insist. I got here this morning at about a quarter after eight. I'm usually the first person to show up on weekdays. Anyway, when I got here the place was in utter confusion. Somebody had made a fine mess of things," Winston said, sweeping his hand over the room. "I keep this storage room in perfect order, but as you can see, it's an unholy mess at the moment."

"Was the door locked when you got here?"

"The main door to the building was locked. However, the door to the back, the one that leads up the back stairway, was unlocked."

"And I assume that it's usually locked."

"I assume so as well. The fact is that the backdoor is almost never used. All the staff enters and leaves by the front."

"Could you put a value on the items that were taken from the orchestra?"

Winston shook his head. "That's going to be a little bit of a problem. A couple of old instruments are missing, a pair of violins."

"Does old imply valuable in this case?"

"Well, no. Not particularly. It's hard to put a price on them."

McGill nodded, smiling slightly. "Would you prefer that I talk to someone else on the orchestra staff about this?"

Winston sighed. "No, I'm the manager. I know more about these things than anyone else. It's just that these instruments were seldom used. They were donated, you know. Old instruments that belonged to someone's grandfather and their kids now have to get rid of them so they give them to us."

"And you take old instruments like that? Donations?"

"We do, although the quality is seldom such that we can actually use them...not for the real orchestra. The musicians all have their own instruments, of course. Often quite valuable ones. But we use the donated ones for the youth orchestra. If some high school student in our youth orchestra is having her instrument repaired, they're free to use ours."

"I see," the detective said, putting down his note pad. "So it was some of these donated instruments that are missing?"

"Along with some of the orchestra's music, although strangely enough just some of the conductor's scores, no individual parts."

"Conductor's scores? So would those be valuable?"

"I suppose they would...to some extent. We're only missing five or six. It'll cost a few hundred dollars to replace them. But why a non-musician would want them is beyond me."

"So you're thinking that the thieves, whoever they were, were not musicians and they didn't really understand what it was they were stealing?"

"I can't be sure of course, but most musicians would know that there's not all that great a market for the things that have been stolen. In other words, I'm not sure a musician would take the risk, considering that this stuff is just not that valuable."

"I see," McGill said. "So this is not really a big deal for the orchestra."

Winston shook his head vigorously. "I didn't say that! We consider this a major violation! The maestro is furious! Not everything can be measured in money, detective..."

"McGill. Sean McGill."

"Of course. But look...our building has been entered illegally. Things have been taken. We need to find out who would do this to the orchestra."

"I understand, Mr. Winston. It would be a shock to anyone. But I'm going to need a little more background information. I'm not a complete neophyte here since I was once a music student in the dim and distant past, but I'd like you to tell me a little about the orchestra. It's a fairly new one in the city, is it not?"

"Well, let's say that it's been recently reinvented. For years the city had only one orchestra. One of the greatest orchestras in the world with a storied past, of course, but over the years some people thought it had gotten a little out of touch with its audience."

"I see."

"So about eight years ago, this orchestra—the Philadelphia Philharmonic Orchestra— was first formed. The musicians were on the young side and so was the audience. We struggled the first couple of years but then we had a great stroke of luck—we managed to lure the great Auguste Hauptmann out of retirement in Germany to conduct the orchestra. All of a sudden we were news—not just local news, but international news."

"Hadn't he conducted the Vienna Symphony for some time?"

"Over twenty years. And he had been retired for eight or nine years when he was convinced to come here to breathe life into our new, very young orchestra."

"And did he?"

"Absolutely. He provided the orchestra with instant credibility and brought a new sense of repertoire. Audiences quickly learned that they could hear things at our concerts that they might not hear elsewhere."

"New works? Contemporary?"

"Well, not really. Hauptmann was a champion of the late Romantic German and early 20th century French traditions. Occasionally he would he would perform Schoenberg and Berg, but mostly Strauss and Mahler. A little Bruckner. And he was fond of Ravel."

"So all was well? And the orchestra became profitable?"

"We even secured a major label recording contract, and you know that's almost impossible these days."

"So I'm told."

"Yes, the orchestra did become profitable. It helped that our labor costs were low. I mentioned that most of the musicians were young and they almost all had early-career contracts."

McGill chuckled. "I'm sorry, but it never ceases to amaze me when musicians are referred to as labor costs."

Winston offered a thin smile. "Well, that's what they are. They're talented of course, but they are, after all, employees who can be replaced. There are an awful lot of talented musicians out there looking for a job. Our orchestral members are on the whole happy to be here."

"I see," said McGill, nodding gently. "So we can eliminate the possibility of disgruntled musicians being the perpetrators here?"

"Well, yes...I suppose so. Although things have gotten a little stickier lately, ever since Hauptmann retired."

"Oh, really? And when was that?"

"A couple of years ago. That was when Loreen Stenke took over, our new conductor."

"Yes, I've heard the name."

"The maestro—Herr Hauptmann—decided that it was time to step down. He felt the orchestra was on a firm footing and it was time for a younger conductor. That turned out to be Maestro Stenke."

"She received quite a bit of publicity when she first arrived, didn't she? Some national press as I vaguely recall?"

"Yes, she's considered to be one of the best of the new generation of conductors."

"Ms. Stenke is quite a bit younger, is she not?"

"She's in her late 20s. But the orchestra's Board of Directors decided that she was ready. Even Maestro Hauptmann approved, although he didn't take an active role in the recruiting process."

"But you say there have been some problems since that time?"

"Well, not huge problems...but yes. Things have not gone as smoothly."

"In what way?"

"Attendance at the concerts has fallen off rather significantly. Some of the orchestra members have complained and a few have made a fuss."

"What exactly has been the problem?"

"I'm not in a position to comment on gossip, and I certainly don't put the blame on Maestro Stenke. But it is true that our audience numbers have taken a hit. Our business manager, Mr. Jonathan Clemens, can tell you more about that if it's important, although I can't see why it would be."

"I see. So in general, things are not going quite as well these days. Are there more changes on the horizon?"

Winston paused. "Well, you're going to be hearing about this in the newspapers in a couple of days, but Maestro Stenke is going to be taking a leave of absence for the rest of the concert season."

"Really? What brought that on?"

"She's expecting...just made it public last week. And after the baby is born, she'll be taking a few months of maternity leave."

"And her pregnancy would prevent her from conducting the last few concerts?"

Winston shrugged. "It's her decision of course but, personally, I'm surprised that she made it. She did mention to me that her doctor apparently hinted at the possibility of a difficult pregnancy. Still, at this early stage I see no reason why she couldn't come back and conduct those final two concerts."

"What is the orchestra going to do without a conductor?"

"That's the surprising thing. We just found out that Maestro Hauptmann has agreed to come out of retirement once again and conduct the orchestra for the rest of this year's season. And after that, who knows?"

McGill's eyebrows lifted. "So he'll come out of retirement for the second time?"

"He's done a few guest conducting stints in Europe in the last couple of years but, yes, he's been keeping a low profile around here. Bur naturally we're all delighted that he's agreed to step in."

"Right the ship, eh?"

Winston winced slightly. "We're not exactly a sinking ship, Detective. But yes, it will probably help at the box office."

"When is the official announcement for the big switch?"

"Things are moving fast. Ms. Stenke will be announcing her departure tomorrow at a Friday afternoon press conference. And Saturday night there'll be a big gala reception to welcome back Maestro Hauptmann."

"That is fast! Is this switch permanent? Is Ms. Stenke coming back next season?"

"As I said, I have no idea. I am merely the orchestra manager. I deal with instruments and music and performance logistics. To plumb the depths of orchestral policy, you might again want to consult Mr. Clemens, or even Mr. Wilfrid Carter, the chair of the Board of Directors. I must say, though, that I'm not sure how all of that is relevant to the lifting of a couple of old instruments and a few scores."

McGill smiled. "Mr. Winston, at this point I have no idea about what is or isn't relevant. I've been directed to investigate the case thoroughly and that's all I'm trying to do."

Winston nodded. "Whatever. Speak to anybody you like, as far as I'm concerned. Just don't say I suggested it. There is one person who might be helpful. Sam...Samantha Gibbons...she works as a part-time librarian for the orchestra. It's possible that she may have been the last one to leave the building last night."

"I'll certainly check on her, Mr. Winston. "Thanks for the suggestion."

# Chapter Two

Chief Inspector Simmons twirled the pencil between his fingers as McGill took a seat in front of his desk. "So, Detective McGill, what did you discover?"

McGill quickly dug out a small notebook. "Well, I've pretty much determined the basic facts of the case. A couple of old instruments—neither of them particularly valuable—are missing, along with a handful of musical scores."

"And?"

"And not very much else at this point. I talked to the manager who described what was missing. He seemed a little surprised that anyone would bother to steal a couple of old instruments and a handful of scores."

"Is there a sense that this wasn't a simple robbery?"

"The manager, a Mr. Winston, didn't go that far. He just made the point that whoever did this is not going to have much of a payday when he tries to unload the stolen goods."

Simmons frowned. "Look, Detective McGill, I assigned you to this case because I assumed you knew something about these music people. I've heard rumors about the possibility of an inside job."

"If you don't mind me asking, sir, what was the source of those rumors?"

"Not that it's really your concern, Detective, but I'm told that the chair of the orchestra's Board—a Mr. Wilfrid Carter, I believe—has suggested to somebody in the Deputy Commissioner's office that the perpetrator might be somebody who has a vendetta against the orchestra."

McGill shook in head in amazement. "I'm flabbergasted that someone in the Deputy Commissioner's office would give the time of day to something like this. This looks to me like petty thievery conducted by some not-particularly-bright criminals."

"Well, this Mr. Carter apparently has some friends in high places, not to mention being very wealthy and a major donor to the mayor's last campaign."

"Do we have any idea at all as to why Mr. Carter would make such an allegation?"

Simmons frowned. "It's not exactly an allegation, McGill. It's just something to keep in the back of your mind. Apparently there's been some in-fighting lately...some bad blood between different factions of the organization."

"I heard a little about some tension regarding the new conductor, who's just about to step down—presumably a temporary thing."

"Yeah, well that's the kind of thing I want you to keep your ears open to. How far has your investigation proceeded to this point?"

"So far I've only spoken to Winston. He seemed to have all the salient facts. But I've got a list of other possible contacts that I can pursue. Apparently the music librarian, a Samantha Gibbons, was the last person to leave the orchestra's building the night before so she might have heard or seen something."

"How about the stolen goods? Any sign of them?"

"I have done some checking around— pawn shops, music stores. I spent a few minutes on EBay. So far nothing suspicious has turned up."

"Keep at it, please. I would like to be able to report something more than that in case somebody over my head starts making some noise."

"Whatever you say, Inspector Simmons."

# Chapter Three

Auguste Hauptmann, a distinguished-looking man in his early-eighties with an impressive mane of thick, white hair reaching almost to his shoulders, walked slowly to his old desk. Yes, this was familiar territory for him—the same room, the same desk he had studied scores at for five years. All of it looked essentially the same as it had when he had left this building, a little over two years ago.

He collapsed wearily into his chair and stared at the score lying on the desk in front of him.

He was tired, but he would never allow anyone to know that. He knew that they all relied on him to be strong, to shrug off his advancing years.

The orchestra he was rejoining did not have a heroic past—no long standing traditions to draw on. The Philadelphia Philharmonic was a young orchestra, and—from the beginning—it had only one great asset—he himself. He had been lured from Germany to conduct the fledgling ensemble just seven years earlier and he had quickly succeeded in establishing the young orchestra as one of the top new orchestras in the country, despite the formidable competition provided by the city's other major orchestra, which had been considered one of the top orchestras in the world for decades. But that venerable institution had suffered mightily during the recession and the Philharmonic Orchestra was younger, less encumbered by high salaries and long term contracts. And it was hungrier. The young musicians rallied around their veteran conductor and the result was magical.

Soon their concerts were selling out while other major orchestras of long-standing were playing to half-full concert halls. He himself had been featured in a series of articles in several national newspapers and magazines, but he did his best to keep his focus on the young musicians that actually produced the music. As he reminded the interviewers again and again, a conductor can only lead the way; it was up to the group of phenomenally talented and inspired musicians to translate the conductor's vision into sound.

It had all been remarkably successful for five years. And then there was not a doubt in his mind that it was time to stop...to step down and hand the reins of this fine young orchestra to a younger conductor.

And so he did. They had begged him to help pick his successor but he had refused. It was up to them—the orchestra and the business manager, Mr. Clemens, and the Board of Directors— to choose the new conductor. He had not always completely trusted Clemens or the Board, but he had trusted the young orchestra, or in this case the interviewing committee made up of some of the orchestra's brightest stars, to pick a worthy conductor to lead the orchestra into the future.

Had his trust been well placed? Perhaps not completely. The orchestra had auditioned half a dozen conductors—mostly young ones—and their final decision was one that he did not completely understand. They had chosen a young woman, Loreen Stenke. She had fairly limited experience, but had already made something of a name for herself by programming and conducting works by contemporary American composers.

Of course that was not a bad thing in and of itself. The orchestra's repertoire was perhaps overly entrenched in the late nineteenth century European classics. He himself was famous for his conducting of Mahler symphonies, but he also frequently conducted works from the twentieth century French repertoire. And in deference to the youthful enthusiasm of so many of his orchestral members, he had broadened his repertoire to include a few late twentieth-century American composers as well. The orchestra had seemed satisfied with his choices. The orchestra Board—most of whom were generous donors to the organization—also seemed pleased. The critics were mixed of course, but that was to be expected. He did not have a great deal of respect for the Philadelphia music critics, but that was to be expected as well.

But the young American conductor who had replaced him—she had been in place for a little over year and a half now—took a very different approach, focusing almost entirely on new American music. This surprised him. The orchestra had been so successful under his guidance that it seemed to him dangerous to chart completely unknown waters.

And of course it had not gone that well for the new conductor, at least not in his opinion. There had been a honeymoon period, of course, when everyone had welcomed Ms. Stenke with open arms, and enthusiasm for her early concerts ran high. But the enthusiasm level soon waned. She had programmed more and more "difficult" music—music that was either too dissonant to please the average concert-goer or was too cartoonish, too "pop" sounding, to be taken seriously. It was clear that the audience was at times simply puzzled by the pieces that the orchestra was playing. Soon attendance was down. The Board of Directors and major donors were grumbling. The budget was beginning to take a hit.

But of course he was officially retired at that point and kept a low profile. He had made a series of polite comments about the new conductor and the orchestra's apparent new direction to the press, but some had criticized him for what they described as his "lukewarm" endorsements of the new regime. But there was nothing he could say that would help the new conductor or the orchestra. They seemed to be suffering from a backlash against Ms. Stenke's programming choices. And there was nothing he could do to change that.

But recently, just as the rumblings of discontent had begun to peak, Ms. Stenke had announced that she would be stepping away from the orchestra for maternity leave. That she was pregnant had been widely known for a while, but it was assumed that after a brief hiatus she would return to conduct the orchestra. Now it appeared that she would not be coming back to finish the season.

In some ways, the timing was almost ideal. Stenke's critics would back off and the negative publicity would cease...at least most of it.

And of course because she would be unable to conduct the final concerts of the season, he had been called out of his retirement to take over those final two concerts. An astounding number of well-wishers had come forward to tell him how pleased they were that he was again assuming command. But he was quick to remind them that it was only for two concerts. He certainly had no interest in encroaching on Ms. Stenke's position as the chief conductor of the orchestra. When next year's orchestral concert season started up again, he assumed Ms. Stenke would once again be at the helm.

Besides, he was tired. He was a month away from his eighty-third birthday. And some of the pieces he was being asked to conduct were not to his taste. But he would never let anyone know that, especially not the orchestra members. They had nothing but the fondest of feelings for him; it was he who had engineered their phenomenal rise to fame in just a few short years. He was their driving force, and everyone knew it.

Yes, he would take the orchestra and, by the strength of his will, return it to its previous glory for these last two concerts. The public would fall in the love with the orchestra once again. The donors would open their wallets. The orchestra would again be known as one of the up-and- coming American orchestras.

Everyone would be overwhelmed with gratitude of course. They would entreat him to take up his baton and resume permanent leadership of the orchestra. But he would refuse. His time had passed. As much as it pained him to see the orchestra in decline, and even in danger due to the unfortunate decisions that had been made since his departure as conductor and music director, there was only so much he could do. He could play the savior only temporarily.

He sighed loudly and took up his marking pencil and stared into the first page of the score—Strauss's "Till Eulenspiegel," an old favorite. He had conducted it at least a dozen times, most of those times in Europe, before he had even considered coming to America to close out his career.

Tempo! Most conductors took the opening measures far too quickly. No, they were something to savor. Time for brilliance later in the piece. He started to write a note in the margin, when he heard someone enter the room.

"Maestro Hauptmann?" came a quiet voice in back of him. "It's that policeman. He's here to see you now."

The Maestro turned slowly in his chair and smiled at the young, somewhat frantic-looking secretary. "Of course, Linda, show him in."

Sean McGill entered slowly, careful not to brush against the many antiques balanced on the ornamental tables by the door. He smiled politely as Hauptmann rose to greet him and extended his hand.

"Hello, Maestro Hauptmann. Back in familiar surroundings I take it. I've been informed that you're once again assuming the reins of the orchestra."

Hauptmann chuckled. "Yes, it all seems very familiar to me. Take a seat please," he said, gesturing to the straight-backed chair across from his desk.

"Thank you," McGill said, taking his seat quickly. "I won't keep you long today."

"I understand that this is about our missing instruments," Hauptmann said. "I'm afraid that I'm not going to be much help on this matter. I didn't come into the office at all yesterday so I know nothing of the affair. As you probably know, I'm not officially taking over for Loreen Stenke for a few days."

"I understand, sir. I've come mostly to let you know that we are continuing to investigate the situation but we haven't made much progress yet. I am aware that the orchestra is very concerned about this matter."

Hauptmann smiled. "Well, financially speaking, this is not a major problem for the orchestra. The value of the instruments was minimal."

"And yet Inspector Simmons has informed me that some members of the organization have expressed a strong concern about the theft."

Hauptmann sighed. "I think I can guess to whom your Inspector is referring. Some members of the orchestra's Board have a tendency to see intrigues behind every door."

McGill suppressed a smile. "So you don't think there's a sinister plot involved here?"

"Behind the pilfering of some old and mostly useless instruments? No, I don't. I certainly don't want to get in the way of your investigation, of course, but I really don't think I can be of any help. I don't know why anyone would want the instruments, but I surely don't think that their theft should in any way be interpreted as an attack on the orchestra. The orchestra is in excellent shape. I've agreed to help out the organization by re-assuming my old role of conductor as Ms. Stenke prepares to have her baby. After a reasonable leave of absence, I'm quite confident she'll resume her role and that will be that. And, in the meantime, you'll probably want to speak to her as well, although I doubt whether she knows any more about the theft of the instruments than I do. I don't believe she's quite vacated her office, which is on the second floor close to the orchestra's business office."

McGill rose to his feet. "Well, in that case, there's no reason to take up anymore of your time. It's been a pleasure talking to you."

#  Chapter Four

Loreen Stenke stuffed a handful of papers into her briefcase. She sighed, her eyes sweeping the room for a final time. Clearing out one's desk wasn't usually a lot of fun, she thought, but somehow there was something particularly painful about this occasion.

On one level, she was happy to be leaving the orchestra. Very little of the last year and a half had been memorable—at least in a pleasant way. The early months conducting the orchestra had been exciting enough, of course. She had met with some resistance—the mostly young musicians had been fiercely loyal to Maestro Hauptmann, whom many of them clearly saw as a father figure. But most of them had come around, and by the first concert of the season she felt that she had melded them into a tight-knit, well-coordinated unit. Those early concerts had actually been quite successful. The local critics had carped a bit about her repertoire— too modernist in their opinion— too many trendy new American composers. But what did they expect? She was young, probably the youngest American woman to lead a major-city orchestra, and she felt that the only way that American concert music was to survive—not be dismissed as a complete anachronism— was to embrace the present moment. The orchestra's sixty year-old supporters would soon enough be seventy- and eighty-year olds and stop coming to the concerts. If a modern orchestra couldn't stir up some interest among the younger intelligentsia, well, there was simply not going to be much hope for the future. Nothing in the world was clearer to her than that.

But, try as she might, she couldn't ever convince the orchestra's Board of that. It didn't help that the Philadelphia critics had piled on her, even if some of the more sophisticated New York critics seemed to value what she was doing. And—much worse—attendance among the older audience members had started to decline even after the second concert. Many of those opting to stay home, or migrate back to the more famous Philadelphia orchestra with which they were always competing, were also the biggest donors to the young Philadelphia Philharmonic Orchestra.

The decline in attendance and donations wasn't steep, at least not initially, but it was noticeable by the third concert. It was then that the first murmurs appeared—bring back Maestro Hauptmann—they suggested. Save the young orchestra from a fate worse than death.

At that point, the honorable thing for Hauptmann to do would have been to declare his support for her and insist that he had no interest whatsoever in returning to conduct the orchestra. But when asked—by some members of the Board and some from the press—he said very little. He occasionally offered some half-hearted words of support, but usually he simply declined to say anything. She could just imagine the smug look on his face as he smiled and said that it would be "inappropriate for him to comment." The right sort of response from Hauptmann could have nipped many of her problems in the bud. But he remained all but silent, and the calls for her to step down increased in number and urgency.

It wasn't long after that when she became pregnant. God knows that was a surprise. She had always wanted to be a mother...someday. Nothing wrong with becoming a mom in your late thirties. But she had not expected to find herself pregnant at that point. Not in the middle of a concert season when she had her hands full keeping the orchestra committed to her and fending off her critics, both on the Board and off of it.

But she never considered for a moment not keeping the baby. And in fact, it was in some ways a Godsend. It gave her something else to concentrate on...other thoughts to turn to late at night after a particular difficult meeting with members of the Board, who seemed to take the declining concert attendance as a personal affront.

And of course they were all businessmen...all managers who felt it was her personal responsibility to somehow "manage" her way out of these difficulties. About music, they understood nothing. But really...what had she expected?

Well, for the time being it was over. Or at least it would be over soon. The baby would arrive and she could retire from the public's eye, at least for a time. But she still had the reception to go through, and she certainly wasn't looking forward to that. But at least her husband would be there to support her.

She knew her husband would be understanding, would help her through it. She had counted on it from the beginning of the pregnancy and knew she wouldn't be disappointed.

He had been supportive every step of the way, for years now—going back to their time together in graduate school. He had studied musicology, although not in her opinion with much enthusiasm. Of the two of them, she was the one who seemed to exude passionate intensity. At least that's what their friends would have said.

She had been a flutist in her undergraduate days. A typical woman's instrument of course, and she had bridled at that thought. She had played in concert bands and orchestras, even flute ensembles, although the high-pitched sonorities—all those overtones piling up—tended to drive her a bit crazy.

What she really craved were the full sonorities of the whole orchestra, especially in the later nineteenth-century Romantic works—the larger works that required the massive, powerful sounds of eighty or more musicians all contributing to a breathtaking intensity of sound.

So when it came to graduate school—and she knew all along it would come to that—she sought a master's degree in conducting at the state university where she met Greg, her future husband. She was not taken very seriously at first. It wasn't just because she was a woman. Increasing numbers of women had been taking up the baton for years now. But her personality—or at least the way many of her fellow students would have described it— was simply not forceful enough. At first her teachers would tell her that she had to become more assertive, even when standing up in front of the rest of the students in class, or in front of one of the university's lowlier ensembles that the graduate students were occasionally allowed to conduct.

But she knew what she wanted. And her tastes eventually changed, tipping her in the direction of a more modernist repertoire. There was a distinctive sound already formulated in her mind very time she stepped in front of an ensemble. Nobody prepared scores in advance as thoroughly as she had, and no one had a more fully realized concept of the sound she was after. Now, she thought, if she could only communicate that concept to an orchestra.

And Greg had been helpful. He had attached himself to her in her first year as a grad student and was nothing but encouraging. And he had always been her biggest supporter, urging her to continue on for her doctorate and, after that, to apply for the assistant conductor position in Minneapolis when she finished graduate school.

It was a long shot, but she had gotten the job and, from that time on, the musical fates seemed to smile upon her as she rose to the position of associate conductor at a couple of medium-sized Midwestern orchestras. And then the position with the Philadelphia Philharmonic came up and she had applied to that. No one was more surprised than she and Greg when she was accepted for the position. Still, at that point in her career, she felt as confident as she had ever felt in her life. It was as if nothing could stand in her way.

Loreen Stenke sighed deeply.

"Well, Maestro," said Alan Winston as he walked up to her desk." It's not going to seem the same without you."

She smiled. "I think we can drop the 'maestro' tag at this point, Alan."

Alan shook his head. "I know this is your choice but..."

"Alan, you know it's not completely my choice. Could I have held on through the rest of the season? Of course, although I have to admit I don't' actually relish being on my feet and waving my arms around these days."

"I think you should have stayed to the end of the season, Maestro. The orchestra needs you."

"I'm fairly certain that would depend on whom you talk to," she said, a tight smile crossing her face.

"Nonsense," protested Alan. "Most of the orchestra adores you."

"Some of them," she said. "Certainly not all of them. And a sizeable share of our audience might not agree."

"That's just a question of education, Maestro. The audience simply has to grow into the repertoire you've conducted. I can't help but think you were making progress."

She chuckled. "As to that point, I believe our business manager, Mr. Clemens, would have raised some objections."

"Art can't be measured by a spreadsheet," Alan demanded earnestly.

"Oh, Alan! How wonderfully naïve you are. How long have you worked for the orchestra?"

"For almost five years. I started when Maestro Hauptmann was still here."

"Ah yes, but those were the halcyon days for the orchestra. It was considered young and fresh. For a brief while, supporting the new orchestra was apparently the 'in' thing to do."

"I believe it still is, Maestro."

"Alan, your loyalty is truly heart-warming. But facts are facts and we both have to face them. The orchestra has not been doing well at the box office for the last few months and I'm partially to blame for that. We all know it. So it's just as well that the baby came along when he did. It gives me a graceful exit...or at least not an overly awkward one."

"But surely you'll be returning next year?"

"A great deal can happen between now and then, Alan. Time will tell. In the meantime, I daresay the orchestra will survive under the guidance of Herr Hauptmann."

"If you say so, Maestro."

"And now I think there's a visitor sitting in the outer office with whom I have an appointment. Perhaps you could show him in?"

"Of course, Maestro."

Sean McGill walked briskly into Loreen Stenke's office, now almost completely barren of furniture. "How do you do, Ms. Stenke? I'm Detective Sean McGill and I'd like to ask you a few questions about the robbery last night. It looks like I've caught you at a bad time, but I promise I'll be brief."

She smiled. "This is no worse a time than any other, Detective McGill, but I'm afraid I'm not going to be much help. I wasn't in at all yesterday. As you can see, I've pretty much cleared out my office in preparation for my maternity leave."

"Of course. I've just been to see Mr. Hauptmann and he warned me that you might not know any more than he does about this matter."

She smiled. "How gracious of him. But the fact is that I don't. My understanding is that a few music stands were thrown around and a few old violins were taken. Nothing of great value."

"And a few older scores as well?"

"Yes, apparently so. I'd forgotten them. Again, nothing of great importance."

"So you have no idea who might..."

"Detective McGill, I'll admit that I'm weary and I want to go home, but the main reason I have no ideas at all about this matter is that the orchestra is, quite frankly, the last thing on my mind right now. I certainly have not the faintest glimmer of an idea about how to help you do your job."

McGill smiled. "I understand perfectly, Ms. Stenke. So I'll leave you to it. I don't suppose that you can suggest anyone else I might speak to who might have any information about the robbery?"

"I have no ideas whatsoever, but I'll tell you what, Detective. There's a reception coming up tomorrow night—you've probably heard about it—where everybody who's anyone in this organization will be in attendance. You should probably come and perhaps there you can make more connections."

"Wonderful idea," said McGill cheerfully. "I'll make it a point to be there."

#  Chapter Five

McGill pushed up the collar of his jacket a little higher. It was a blustery day in March, all the more punishing because just a few days earlier the weather had been so comfortably spring-like. But at least he was done for the day and on his way to visit two good friends—Elizabeth McDermitt and David Currant—both of whom he had known for years, dating back to his undergraduate days.

They were both musicians—both pianists—with Elizabeth's career flourishing somewhat more so than David's at this point. Of course Sean had completely turned his back on music—at least as a performer— when he joined the Philadelphia police department. But he still loved to hobnob with musicians and Elizabeth and David were among his favorite people in Philadelphia. He could never quite figure out their relationship. They were a couple—on and off anyway. Right now and for the last month, both were in Philadelphia and they had taken up residence in a somewhat bohemian but none the less charming apartment on the west side.

At any rate, he was glad for the chance to get away from his boss on the one hand and the erstwhile staff of the Philadelphia Philharmonic Orchestra on the other. He would undoubtedly feel differently about the whole affair if he thought he was making any progress at all. Nobody knew anything about the theft, apparently, and only a few of them really seemed to care very much about it. And he couldn't really blame them. As robberies went, this was a pretty unspectacular one and the value of the missing items was apparently negligible. So why was he being told to spend so much time on what seemed like a blind alley? He really had no idea. But although he had been a detective for a fairly brief time, he knew enough to know that the seriousness of the crime—or lack of seriousness in this case—was not the reason why he was being asked to investigate the matter so thoroughly.

Just a few feet ahead of him was the entrance to Elizabeth and David's apartment. He had very much enjoyed a visit with them only a couple of weeks earlier but he knew that this occasion would be even more therapeutic.

Elizabeth smiled cheerfully as she carefully poured the glistening red wine from a small carafe and handed him a glass. Sean nodded appreciatively as he sank back into his shabby but comfortable chair.

"So now you've got a real musical mystery to solve, I take it," David said, grinning broadly.

Sean grimaced lightly. "I guess so. It's a musical something anyway. The real mystery is why I've been assigned to this case in the first place."

"Come, come now, Mr. McGill," said David. "You're probably the only musical cop your district has to offer. Of course you'd be given plumb assignments like this one."

"What I want to know," Elizabeth said, "is why you haven't solved it yet? I mean, think about it...we're talking about two or three hundred dollars' worth of crummy old violins. I should think that you'd have plenty of suspects cornered by now."

"Enough, please," Sean said. "I've suffered enough for one week."

"Ah, but you've just begun to suffer," said Elizabeth. "And now that I know that you've been invited to the big reception, the fun's just beginning."

Sean sighed. "No one is more aware of that than I am. I don't mind questioning witnesses but I have always despised that sort of reception."

"Well it's your lucky day, Sean," David said gleefully, "because Elizabeth and I are going to be right beside you throughout the whole ordeal."

"The reception? What exactly are we talking about?"

"It's quite simple really," Elizabeth said. "You may not be aware of it, but David has served as the occasional pianist for the Philadelphia Philharmonic on and off for a little over three years now. He's still on the invitation list for these things! It came in the mail today."

"You're kidding," said Sean, shaking his head slowly. "At least I hope you're not kidding because I would love some help with this. It's difficult for me to know how to approach some of these people, especially at what is supposed to be primarily a social event."

"It's not really necessary to approach them," said David, a sly smile covering his face." It's more a question of observing the endless variety of human nature, at least the kind associated with the bizarre world of orchestral politics."

"I think it may be more helpful to think of it as encountering the animals in their natural habitat," Elizabeth added gaily.

"So you've gone to these things in the past?" asked Sean.

"Once or twice," said David. "The orchestra doesn't really call on my services that often so I've never really felt myself to be a full-fledged member of the club. But you can be sure that I'll be there this time, with Elizabeth as my guest."

Sean brightened. "That's terrific. How about giving me a quick 'what to expect' summary on some of the major characters I'm going to encounter at the reception?"

"Well, you've already met some of the major ones," David replied. "Herr Hauptmann, our former conductor and soon to be our present conductor, is an interesting old fellow. Very dedicated to music. Very dedicated to the orchestra and certainly successful with it."

"Anything suspicious about him stepping down when he did?" Sean asked.

"Nothing that anyone was aware of," said Elizabeth. "At least nothing we ever heard about."

""No scandals, if that's what you mean," added David. "He just felt that he was getting up there in years and had the orchestra in a secure enough position to bring in a new conductor."

"And what about the new conductor, Ms. Stenke? What did you hear about her?"

"That's a little more complicated," David said. "I don't think anyone would question her musical ability, but her chemistry with the orchestra has never been quite as good as Hauptmann's."

"And why was that?"

"Personality differences, I guess. And Hauptmann already had a big name in Europe before he came here. So maybe the orchestra was more inclined to yield to his wishes because of his reputation."

"No such reputation for Ms. Stenke?"

"Well, she was considered an up-and-coming young conductor to be sure. But her accomplishments didn't match Hauptmann's. No one would have expected them to—she was just too young for that."

"I think that there were other factors at work as well," added Elizabeth.

"Namely?"

"The obvious ones. Hauptmann's an older man who projected a sense of confidence and could easily be seen as a father figure by the mostly younger members of the orchestra."

"And Stenke?"

"A woman...a young woman at that. Perhaps she had more difficulty projecting a sense of authority."

"I've been told that the critics sometimes gave her a hard time as well," said Sean.

"True," said David, "but that might have had more to do with the more contemporary repertoire she favored. Critics like to be thought of as progressive in their tastes, but the reality is often quite different."

"Even with the critics, I think gender had something to do with it," Elizabeth said. "They were just not used to deferring to a young female on aesthetic matters."

"And how about the orchestra hierarchy? The Board of Directors and the wealthy donors?" Sean asked.

"They had loved Hauptmann to death," said Elizabeth. "And why not? He almost single-handedly transformed a young orchestra that no one had ever heard of into a top-flight ensemble that was doing remarkably well at the box office."

"And is that the key point?" asked Sean.

David nodded. "Well, of course no one would want to admit that it was all about the money. Orchestras often run at a deficit these days and couldn't survive without their major donors. But in this case you had a young orchestra that was getting great press—even on a national level—and was actually making a profit. What's not to like?"

"So is Stenke taking a leave of absence because of the pregnancy or because she was being forced out by the Board or the rich donors?"

"Who can be sure?" said Elizabeth. "The pregnancy would have forced her to slow down a bit and eventually take some sort of leave of absence to be sure, but most people expected that leave to begin after the current season. The fact that she's stepping down now—with a couple of concerts to go—that's what's surprising."

"What do you think, David?" asked Sean. "Pressure from above?"

"Some, I suppose," said David. "Wilfrid Carter, the president of the Board, was known to be fairly unhappy with the way things were going. Was there some specific conversation between him and Ms. Stenke that drove her to make this decision? We may never know."

"You don't expect any important information to be revealed at this upcoming reception?"

"Of course not, you foolish man!" snapped Elizabeth, smiling cheerfully. "I can say with complete confidence that absolutely nothing of any consequence will be revealed and all the speeches will be completely innocuous."

"How about the cocktail chat after all the speeches?"

'Now that," said David, "is quite another matter."

# Chapter Six

Sean looked at his watch. He noticed that he was one of a small number of people at the reception that actually had one, most people merely catching a glimpse of their phones from time to time. Elizabeth had, naturally, been right about the speeches. Jonathon Clemens, the business manager, had spoken briefly, but most of the time was dominated by Wilfrid Carter. He of course spent a fair amount of time singing the praises of Loreen Stenke and expressing the view that the orchestra's 'family' would welcome her back with open arms after she discharged the obligations of new motherhood.

As he glanced around the room, Sean saw Elizabeth and David, both chatting eagerly with a group of young people whom he assumed were musicians from the orchestra. "Thank God," he thought, and walked quickly over to join the two of them.

Elizabeth's eyes brightened as Sean approached. "There he is! We've been looking for you."

Sean smiled. "It shouldn't have been difficult. I'm the only one here standing by myself and looking forlorn."

"Oh, come on now," said David cheerfully. "It can't be that bad."

"I guess not," replied Sean. "I've got a chance to hear Jonathon Clemens and Wilfrid Carter."

"And?"

"Well, they said pretty much what you would expect them to say under the circumstances. Many thanks to Loreen Stenke. Hail to the new, old Maestro. What are they like in private?"

"Clemens is pretty much the same, private or public, as far as I've heard," said David, reaching for a glass of wine from a near-by waiter. "Very business-like. Very devoted to the orchestra, or at least he comes off that way. You've got to remember that I haven't had many direct dealings with these people so I'm mostly passing on hearsay."

"Hearsay is better than nothing," Sean said, "although I've got to admit that I don't really know what I'm looking for anyway."

"So you haven't talked to Clemens yet at all?" asked Elizabeth.

"I've left some messages for him. I was told that he wasn't in the city at all the day of the theft so I doubt if he can provide any first-hand knowledge about it. But I'll track him down eventually. What's your impression of Wilfrid Carter?"

"Smooth," said David. "But, if my sources can be believed, absolutely ruthless."

"Really?" said Sean. "How does 'ruthless' translate to the orchestral world?"

"These guys are rich businessmen, Sean," David said. "The chances are that they didn't get that way by being overly genteel."

Sean nodded. "Sounds like an interesting type."

Elizabeth put her hand lightly on Sean's shoulder. "It looks like you're going to get a chance to find out in person. He's walking this way," she said, gesturing to her left.

Sean looked over to see Wilfrid Carter, a tall, handsome man in his mid-fifties, striding purposely toward the three of them.

"And this must be Detective Sean McGill," said Carter brightly as he extended his hand.

Sean smiled. "I guess it's always obvious when a policeman is at a reception," he said, reaching out to shake Carter's large hand.

"Nonsense," said Carter. "You look fine. Nobody expects a cop to look too elegant. You were just pointed out to me, that's all."

Sean offered a thin-lipped smile. "I've actually been trying to get a hold of you. I'm hoping that perhaps you can find some time tomorrow to answer a few questions regarding the robbery."

"Hell, I'm available now," Carter replied. "I can tell you everything I know in two minutes, and it's not very much."

"Well," said Sean, "I'm assuming that it's a simple enough burglary by people who really had no idea what was valuable and what wasn't."

"Look here, Mr. McGill," Carter said, the smile fading quickly from his lips. "I know next to nothing about the details of this matter but I think it's more than a simple theft, as you put it."

"Really, Mr. Carter? And why..."

"I don't get paid to do your job, Detective. But I'll tell you directly...there's more here than meets the eye. This is no petty heist by some incompetent bungler. Remember, there was some malicious mischief involved in this as well. Somebody who has it in for the orchestra, or some person who resents the orchestra, is trying to deliver an object lesson. It's your job to find out who that is and nip it in the bud before something worse happens."

"Well, Mr. Carter, I can assure you that I'll continue to give the matter a lot of attention."

Carter's smile reappeared quickly. "That's just what I want to hear, Detective McGill. And I trust that you'll keep me informed of your progress."

Sean nodded. "When I have something worth passing on," he said.

"Excellent! And now I'll leave the three of you to it. I've got a few more people I've got to check in with."

"Thanks for your time, sir," said Sean as Carter pivoted and walked quickly away.

David smiled. "You'll remember I said he was smooth. I didn't say he was charming."

"I guess charm is in the eye of the beholder," Sean said. "Is there anyone else here I should make a point of talking to?"

"There's one gentleman," said David," who I always thought was an interesting type, although he may not be worth questioning about the robbery."

"And who might this be?"

David pointed demurely to a nearby corner where an older man was in active conversation with two younger women. "That's Hermann Hauptmann. Brother, as you might have guessed, of Auguste, the conductor."

"Ah, I see," Sean said, casting a glance in Hermann's direction. "Is he a musician too?"

Elizabeth chucked. "Some would say, even better—he's a composer."

"A composer?" Sean asked. "Should I feel guilty for not knowing his name?"

"Probably not," said David, "although he did enjoy a bit of a European vogue in the late 1980s. He was considered one of the foremost European 'New Romantics' for a time."

"For a time?" asked Sean.

"A fairly short time, actually," said Elizabeth. "For a brief while, Hermann and a group of fellow Germans were getting a fair amount of attention for providing what some people thought was a refreshing alternate to minimalism."

"I see," Sean said. "But this attention was short-lived?"

Elizabeth nodded. "I'm afraid so, much to Hermann's chagrin, I would imagine. Some of his music was recorded in the 1980s and I've heard a few examples. It's okay, but—at least in my opinion—nothing remarkable."

"I assume that Maestro Hauptmann has programmed some of his brother's compositions with the Philadelphia Philharmonic?"

"You'd be assuming incorrectly, I'm afraid," David said. "As far as I know, the Maestro has never performed a single piece by his brother...not previously in Europe and not in Philadelphia."

"Ouch," said Sean. "That couldn't have gone down too well with Hermann. Is he a younger or older brother?"

"A few years younger," David said. "And no...rumor has it that Hermann has not been happy with his brother's neglect of his music. Always the courtly gentleman of course—I had a brief conversation with him once a couple of years ago at another one of these receptions—but one gets the feeling that the neglect bothers him a bit."

"It is surprising...I mean, if Hermann's work was once well thought of," Sean said.

David shrugged. "Vogues change quickly in contemporary composition, I'm afraid. It's not just his brother who had neglected Hermann's recent works. I don't think any orchestra has played a single one of his recent compositions for years, although apparently some of his 'classics" from the 1980s continues to pop up on an orchestral program once in a while, especially in Europe."

"But not here?"

"No, never here. My understanding—and remember that this is second or perhaps even third-hand information—is that the Maestro made some vague promises to Hermann in the years that Auguste conducted the Philadelphia Philharmonic but nothing ever came of it."

"Poor guy," Sean said. "How about Maestro Stenke? Was she inclined to play any of Hermann's compositions? Doesn't she have a reputation for playing contemporary works?"

"She does," Elizabeth said, "but for whatever reason she has never played any of his works either. I've never heard if he even approached her. She tends to go for more recent works by Americans."

"So a composition from the 1980s might be considered too old by Stenke?" asked Sean.

"I don't know if 'old' is the right word," David explained, "but works even of that fairly recent vintage can be thought of as out-of-date if they're in a style you're not sympathetic with. And remember, nobody seems to want to play his newer works either. Why? I just can't be sure."

Sean shook his head. "Sort of sad, really. At any rate, I guess it's not essential for me to talk to him right now since he has no official capacity with the orchestra."

"Probably not," Elizabeth said, "but I see somebody over there who does have an official capacity with the orchestra, although a somewhat limited one. And you even mentioned earlier that she's on your short list of people to interview. It's Samantha Gibbons, orchestra librarian and quite a character. I'll call her over."

With a demure wave, Elizabeth heralded Samantha, a pert redhead in her early thirties, who was chatting merrily with an older gentleman a few feet away. Samantha glanced over and, seeing Elizabeth and David, quickly made an excuse to her gentleman friend and trotted over.

"David...Elizabeth...what a pleasant surprise! I haven't seen either of you for months!"

"Samantha..." began Elizabeth.

"Please...just Sam," she interrupted, a broad smile breaking out.

Elizabeth smiled back. "Sam...this is Sean McGill, Detective Sean McGill. He's here to get the lay of the land as he investigates the robbery the other day."

Samantha's eyes grew wide as she pivoted to extend her hand to Sean. "Really?" she bubbled. "How exciting! And I can see that the Philadelphia police department was thoughtful enough to send us one of their handsomest detectives."

Sean blushed slightly, and mumbled a greeting as he took her hand.

Elizabeth laughed. "Samantha! You're in an awfully good mood tonight! Was it the speeches that put you in such a cheerful state?"

Turning toward Elizabeth, Samantha shrugged. "The speeches were crap, but what do you expect? The wine isn't bad, I'm just happy to have a chance to wear a dress. My life is usually spectacularly boring!"

David smiled. "Well, here's your chance to make it even more exciting by telling Sean here who might have had the nerve to break in and steal some not particularly valuable instruments from the orchestra."

Samantha looked back to Sean. "I've no clue about anything," she said brightly, "but I'll do whatever I can to help. But you've got to remember, I'm only part-time with this organization. I usually only come in three or so times a week to stuff music into the folders or put it back into the cabinets or hand out parts. I'm just a poor, badly-underpaid, struggling working girl."

Sean smiled. "I'm sorry you're underpaid, Ms. Gibbons, but I still think you may be able to help me."

"I left the building at about 8:30 or so," she explained. "I think I was the last to leave. But—as they say in detective novels— I didn't see anything that looked suspicious."

Sean nodded. "And you left by the front door?"

"Everyone comes and goes by the front door. I don't even have a key to the back door. It's really only for deliveries of equipment or, in our case, large instruments."

"So you were careful to lock the front door carefully when you left."

"Scout's honor, Detective McGill. I always give it a tug after I lock it if I'm the last one to leave for the day."

"I never asked you, Sean," said Elizabeth, "but was there any sign of a break-in?"

Sean shook his head. "The patrolman who initially responded to the call said that the front door was reported to be locked when the orchestra's manager, Alan Winston, showed up the next morning. However, the back door—what everyone is describing as the utility or delivery door—was unlocked. The problem is that I can't find anyone who'll admit to having unlocked it."

"Not surprising," Samantha said, "since, as I just mentioned, almost nobody ever uses that door."

"Who might have a key to that back door?" asked Sean.

"I'm just guessing now—Alan Winston, I suppose. Maybe the secretary, Linda Eggert," replied Samantha.

"Ms. Eggert told the investigating officer that she left a couple of hours earlier than you, by the front door," said Sean.

Samantha again flashed a coquettish smile. "And I'm sure she's telling the truth, Detective McGill. She's the earnest sort. Transplanted Midwesterner, I think."

Sean smiled back. "I'm afraid that Midwesterners can be devious on occasion just like everyone else, but I agree that we should give Ms. Eggert a pass on this one."

"So is that it, Detective McGill? I think the reception is fading to its dying embers and there are a couple of people I want to catch up with before everybody goes home."

"That's it for now, Ms. Gibbons—er, Sam. But please let me know if you later think of anything that might help us out."

"You'll be on my mind every hour, Detective," Samantha purred as she turned to go.

Seconds later, Elizabeth grinned at Sean. "See, I told you you'd have fun at this reception."

Sean smiled back demurely. "Actually, I don't remember you saying anything about fun. I thought you were pushing this as sort of a sociological experiment."

"Well, of course...that too. And has it been a rewarding experiment?"

"I'm not sure what I was expecting, but—yes—I suppose I picked up a couple of ideas."

"But the question is...what kind of ideas?" Elizabeth said, following Samantha with her eyes as she cut across the room on the way to pick up another glass of wine.

"Time will tell," said Sean. "But I think I may have exhausted the possibilities for this evening."

David walked up to join them quickly. "And what kind of possibilities are we talking about?"

"The kind that I get paid to investigate," said Sean.

"Perhaps," said Elizabeth. "But at the very least you can't say the evening was a complete bore."

"I would never say that about one of your suggestions, Elizabeth."

"Delighted to hear it," Elizabeth said. "Now seeing as you're the only one of us who actually has a car, I'm hoping that you're about to offer to take David and me home."

Sean smiled. "Exactly what I was about to do."

Simon Anders sipped his glass of wine slowly as he watched Wilfrid Carter slide from one small group of musicians to another, flashing his ingratiating smile and pressing the flesh. The evening was winding down and it seemed clear that Carter wanted to make sure that he had exerted his charm on as many clusters of guests as possible.

Anders was the concertmaster of the Philadelphia Philharmonic Orchestra. At the age of thirty-three, he was one of the young orchestra's "senior citizens" and had played with the orchestra from its inception. This reception, he believed, had been an enormous waste of time, especially for the orchestra members. No one had said anything of any relevance to the actual musicians who made up the ensemble. So it was time to go 'back to the future,' was it? Bring back Maestro Hauptmann and with him, supposedly, the 'golden days' of the orchestra? Well that was clearly not going to happen.

Didn't anyone else realize that they were just getting jerked around...again?

Anders walked quickly over to Susan Kim.

"Susan," he said. "Can I get you some more wine?"

Susan, flicking her long black hair away from the side of her face, smiled wanly. "No thanks. I think I've had about enough."

"I've had more than enough," said Simon. "I mean, this whole thing—this exercise in futility."

"I'm not sure I would go that far."

"Susan, we've sat next to each other in the violin section for...what is it? Three years?"

"Something like that."

"You can't tell me that you're not sick of the way the musicians have been treated."

"Well, I'm not sure..."

"And as long as we sit around passively and refuse to take action, the longer it's going to continue."

"Honestly, Simon, I'm really not sure what you're talking about."

"Well, first of all, this conductor business. Now I'm not saying that Hauptmann was a bad conductor..."

"Mr. Hauptmann is the reason that this orchestra found success, Simon. We were unknown, unproven, with a large cast of talented but unseasoned professionals. He taught us how to play as a real orchestra. And people noticed. That's why we've got a job while a lot of fine orchestral musicians around the country don't."

"Sure, sure. I realize all that. Hauptmann had his uses and he was able to get people to pay attention to us. But we're the ones who made the orchestra worth listening to."

"With an awful lot of help from his musicianship and knowledge of the repertoire..."

"Yes, yes, but did it have to come with all of that paternalism? It didn't take me long to get sick and tired of genuflecting before Hauptmann's elevated reputation."

"He never asked for that, you know. At least I never felt that he did."

"Well, I'm not the only one who considered him over-bearing."

"And how about Loreen Stenke? Did you consider her an improvement when she took over the orchestra?"

Simon paused. "Yes...initially. She was a breath of fresh air. Fresh repertoire and a fresh approach."

"So...you admire her?"

"Initially, yes. Until I realize she was just terrible at playing the game. Attendance dropped off. I don't think the Board was happy with her at all. Some of the big donors just dried up."

"And you think that was all her fault?"

"Do you think it was our fault? We did everything that we were asked to do."

"I'm not sure if it was anyone's fault. When the orchestra first came on the scene, it was big news. After a while we no longer had novelty value. Enthusiasm fades eventually. But we're still surviving. Not every orchestra is."

"But we were promised an increase in compensation. That never happened."

"It may happen yet. With Maestro Hauptmann back in charge our fortunes may improve."

"Maybe, but Hauptmann is not the answer. He's a dinosaur. He was the first time around and it's even truer this time. The orchestra will never reach its potential under Hauptmann. Trust me; I know what I'm talking about."

Susan shook her head. "Listen Simon, I've listened to your little speech and while I certainly respect you as a musician, I can't say that I agree with a single word you've said. I think we're lucky to have Hauptmann. I certainly had no objection to Ms. Stenke, but I'm looking forward to working with Maestro Hauptmann again."

Simon sighed audibly. "If you say so, Susan. But I'm telling you, there's no future with Herr Hauptmann."

# Chapter Seven

Auguste Hauptmann glanced quickly at his watch. Eleven o'clock. There were probably still a few people hanging around at the reception but he had decided to duck out early. These things went on forever and he had work to do.

He looked down at his computer. Hauptmann hated email. He wanted to hear—directly— what people had to say to him. If they said yes to something, he wanted to hear whether they really meant it. If they told him no, he wanted to hear what kind of "no" it was.

But he had come to realize, particularly in the last few months, that people—especially those whom he didn't know well—weren't always going to return his calls. The recording technicians, for example. He wanted to make sure that the upcoming concert was to be recorded on their finest equipment. And he wanted them to show up for the concert at least a couple of hours early to test their equipment in the special acoustics of their performance hall. He wanted to be very clear about what he expected from them.

But he had called them twice with no response. His secretary had urged him to send them an email. They'd be sure to answer an email, she said. So apparently he had no choice.

He turned away from the computer keyboard and sighed.

He was frustrated. And he was tired. He could still—at his age— conduct a full orchestral rehearsal and have energy left to spare. He could even outlast the young musicians in the orchestra if necessary. He knew he could concentrate longer than they could, and he could keep up physically as well. It took a lot out of him of course—conducting demanded a great deal of physical energy, something only real conductors truly knew. He had been up to the task as a young man and was still up to it now.

But that reception...that was exactly the sort of thing that fatigued him immensely. Those speeches—cascades of meaningless words from people who didn't themselves mean half of what they said. Listening to endless speeches could sap the life energy out of anyone.

And then the meaningless chit-chat, always with a glass of cheap white wine as your only defense against people who wanted to get too close. My God! All that was as bad as the speeches. It was that sort of thing he was too old for. Not making music—not conducting. The question was not one of endurance, but one of patience. Did he really have the patience to get back into all this?

And now these damn technicians would never get back to him.

As he lifted his fingers to the keyboard, he thought he heard a sound behind him. He turned in his chair.

"Oh, it's you," he said quietly. "I'm afraid I can't talk right now. I've got to get something settled with the recording technicians."

He turned back to face his computer and put his hands on the keyboard.

A shot rang out.

Hauptmann slumped forward, his head crashing into the keys.

# Chapter Eight

Chief Inspector Simmons glared intensely across his desk at Detective Sean McGill. "This is exactly why I wanted you to get on top of that robbery, Detective McGill."

"I can understand that, Inspector. It's certainly a tragedy, but not one which anyone could have predicted. I can't really see any possible connection between this murder and the third-rate burglary I've been investigating."

The inspector shook his head slowly. "But isn't that the point? Didn't I warn you all along that there might be more to that 'third-rate burglary,' as you put it?"

"Yes sir, you definitely made the point that I should try to penetrate under the surface."

"And did you?"

"No, sir, I haven't made much progress, although I must have interviewed more than a dozen people."

"Well, it looks like you're going to have to interview them all over again and the matter is one hell of a lot more serious this time."

"Of course sir, it's just that..."

"It's just what?"

"Maybe I'm just being dense about this, but I still don't think that there's a necessary connection between the two crimes. I interviewed several people who didn't think that the theft of a couple of old and mostly worthless violins was worth worrying about too much."

The inspector grunted. "But there were also some people who seemed to think that it was a more serious matter...am I right? A matter that showed that someone had a deep-rooted hostility against the entire orchestra? Isn't that what the orchestra's business manager—Clemens, I think—is implying? And how about Carter, the chair of the Board and—unfortunately for us—one of the mayor's greatest pals? Wasn't that on his mind as well?"

"I haven't seen Clemens yet. We had an appointment set up for yesterday, about the same time that the murder of Maestro Hauptmann was discovered. Wilfrid Carter said some mysterious things about possible plots against the orchestra but, to tell you truth, I didn't take them very seriously at first."

Inspector Simmons nodded. "I think the time has come to take them seriously, Detective McGill. Look... my point is simple enough. Is it possible that someone has a serious vendetta against the Philadelphia Philharmonic Orchestra and has now taken it one fatal step further?"

"Up until now I haven't considered it likely, sir. I was aware of course that there was some tension over the matter of Loreen Stenke stepping down and Hauptmann taking over, but I didn't really see what that might have to do with the earlier robbery. But I guess everything has to be on the table now."

The inspector leaned forward. "Look, Sean, I asked you to be sensitive to the dynamics here and it doesn't look like you've been very sensitive. And now we've got a very serious matter on our hands."

"I understand, sir."

"So what are your thoughts? You must have some preliminary notions on how to proceed."

"It's very early, Inspector, but based on the first statements given to the investigating officer, we are once again in a situation where everyone is totally in the dark. Once again, no one admits to being anywhere near the vicinity when the shooting took place. Everybody agrees that Hauptmann left the reception early, but that's about it. Nobody saw or heard anybody, although the owner of a restaurant next door who was cleaning up at about 11:30 said he might have heard the shot."

"But he did nothing."

"I said, 'might have' heard something. It could have been a car, could have been something else. He was tired, wanted to go home. But he was willing to admit this morning that it was probably more than that."

"A single shot killed Hauptmann?"

"In to the back of the head. Pretty close range apparently. The slug was probably a .22 based on the entrance wound. We'll hear more later today."

"And everybody—absolutely everybody—had cleared out after the reception? Nobody left around at all? Nobody thought to check on the elderly conductor?"

"Apparently Maestro Hauptmann was not the kind of man who liked to be 'checked up' on. He was a bit of a loner, you know."

"How about the caterers? Presumably they hung around for a while after everyone else left?"

"Apparently the clean-up crew for the caterer had just finished packing up and were gone by 11:00. Nobody else was there. The orchestra's manager, Alan Winston, discovered the body this morning at 8:30. He was alone and claims that neither he nor anyone else had any idea that Hauptmann had decided to go back to his office last night after the reception. Winston couldn't imagine any reason why he could."

"Maybe not," said Simmons, frustration spreading across his face. "but—my God—you said that there might have been seventy-five people at the reception last night. I'll bet one of them knows why Hauptmann stuck around and if anybody else stuck around with him."

McGill nodded his head. "We can certainly hope so. I've got a long list of people to interview starting in about half an hour."

"Okay, no reason to sit around here with me, not if you haven't got anything to say. But I want results, Detective McGill, and I want them soon. We had people in city hall worried about this when it was a two-bit robbery. I can just imagine what we're going to hear from them now that one of the leading citizens in the city has been shot in the head."

# Chapter Nine

As McGill walked swiftly down the street toward the orchestra's rehearsal hall, he thought about how quickly and dramatically the situation had changed. A few days ago he had been investigating a minor theft. Now he was investigating a ruthless murder of a well-known and beloved musician.

As he drew closer to the building, he could see a small group of people huddled in front of it, carrying signs and apparently walking in circles in front of the large double doors that led into the building. Walking up to the man who seemed to be the leader of the small group, he tapped him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me," said McGill, "but do you mind telling me who you are and what you and your group are doing her?"

The man, dressed in an oversized black trench coat, stared at him for a few seconds. "My name is Lemense... Ashton Lemense. And as far as what we're doing here, it ought to be pretty obvious" he said, pointing to the sign he held, which read "No Free Ride for the Philharmonic."

McGill nodded. "I see your sign, Mr. Lemense, but I have no idea what it means."

"It means that this orchestra, as well as its even richer big brother, is being given huge tax breaks, grants and subsidies by this city when we can't even afford to provide a basic subsistence level for all its citizens. Anybody who cares a thing about this city ought to know that all of that money should go to the people....not some elitist organization that produces a product that no one really wants."

"So you're suggesting that the Philadelphia Philharmonic Orchestra is responsible for all the city's problems because they accepted a handful of small grants?"

"They're not single-handedly responsible, of course. It's just one of many cultural institutions that are coddled by our city, given special or preferential treatment while there are people starving."

"Okay," said McGill, "if that's the way you see the world, I'm certainly not going to try to talk you out of it, but in case you haven't heard, there has been a murder committed on these premises and I think it's a pretty safe bet to say that most of the people who work in this building are in shock or at the very least very upset. I don't think your signs are helping the matter much."

"So?" said Lemense indignantly. "Am I supposed to feel sorry for these over-bloated elitists? Their big-time conductor gets shot, so what? They probably won't even cancel the rest of their concert season. They'll probably just use this guy's death to raise more money. Somehow this damn orchestra will end up even richer while more people starve in the streets."

"I see" said McGill. "And I suppose you can account for your activities last night?"

"And what business is that of yours?"

McGill pulled out his badge. "I'm Detective McGill and I'm one of the people investigating the death. So if you don't mind..."

"Yes, Detective, as a matter of fact I can account for my whereabouts last night. I was home with my wife and a group of friends. I can provide you with names and addresses if you'd like."

"Very helpful of you. And where will I be able to get in touch you?"

"Here," he said, grabbing a card from his wallet. "Name, address and phone number all right there. The address is in case you might want to make a donation."

McGill forced a smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

Minutes later, McGill was sitting in Linda Eggert's office with the secretary trying to communicate between choking sobs.

"This is just totally impossible to believe," she said, dabbing her mouth with a handkerchief. "Just totally impossible. Why would this happen? And how could it happen? I just don't know where to start, Detective McGill. It's all so absolutely unbelievable..."

McGill nodded sympathetically. "I understand it must be a terrible shock, Ms. Eggert, but it's important that I gather as much information as I can as quickly as possible. So please tell me again—did you see Mr. Hauptmann leave the reception?"

"No, I mean at one point I guess I realized he was gone, but I really don't know when it was. Possibly 9:30? I really don't know."

"And were you surprised that he left?"

"Oh no, not at all. He was an older gentleman of course...although he could show remarkable energy when he was doing something he liked to do. He never seemed to tire when he was conducting, But receptions...no... he had little interest in the receptions. Perhaps when he was younger...still living in Germany. But not in recent years, not in the five years I've been working here."

"I see. So apparently he left the reception at around 9:30 and went up two flights of stairs to his office. But no one saw him go up there."

"Maybe someone else did, I suppose. But most people would have assumed that he was just tired and was going back to his apartment. It's only a couple of blocks away."

"So even if someone noticed that he was leaving the reception—by himself—no one would have gotten particularly concerned?"

"No. Even though Maestro Hauptmann was social enough in some situations, he wasn't always looking for company. It would not be unusual for him to simply disappear when he became bored and not necessarily tell anyone where he was going."

"So I understand. Now, can you tell me if there was anything unusual about the reception? Were you able to observe if Hauptmann seemed to be angry or agitated about anything?"

"I only spoke with him early in the evening—before the speeches started—but he already seemed bored to me...bored and restless."

"Restless? Was that unusual?"

"No, far from it. I told you earlier that he was not the type to enjoy receptions. He wasn't one for idle chit-chat."

"I see, so you saw nothing during the reception to suggest that he was angry or worried?"

"Not a thing. As far as I could see, he made the rounds as usual, chatting with members of the orchestra, the Board, and one or two of the donors. I think he probably checked in with the business manager, Mr. Clemens, but all that would have been perfectly normal at this sort of reception."

"Okay, thank you. That's helpful. I do have a couple of other questions, though. Is there anything you can tell me about the picketers out there today? A Mr. Lemense and company?"

"Yes, those obnoxious pests. They've been here before, at least a half a dozen times, starting last year. I'm shocked that they have the gall to show up now that Maestro Hauptmann's been murdered."

"Really? Have they expressed some antagonism toward him in the past?"

"They seem to be generally antagonistic to anyone who has anything to do with the orchestra. They're apparently convinced that we're the cause of all the social ills in Philadelphia."

"Just this orchestra?"

"Well, no....they've picketed other arts organizations as well, and at least a couple of museums. Any organization that has accepted a grant—even the smallest of grants—from the city."

"I see. Have they generally behaved themselves out there?"

"We've called the police on them at least twice, but apparently they're within their rights to harass us."

"What sort of harassment?"

"Well, nothing really physical, I guess. If you try to enter the front door while they're around, they try to intimidate you a little...you know...step in front of you and make you go around them. But they've never really laid their hands on anybody that I know of."

"And they've never threatened to escalate their activities? Become more belligerent?"

"No. Frankly, I think they're all talk. Surely they know that their stupid little demonstrations aren't really accomplishing anything. For the most part we just ignore them. Our Board of Directors chair—Mr. Carter—seems more disturbed by them than anyone else. He came to the office once when those people were picketing and seemed outraged by it."

"But you don't see the protesters as really representing a threat, is that correct? And Mr. Hauptmann was never directly threatened?"

"Oh no! Nothing like that," cried Eggert. "I could be wrong, but whoever did this horrible thing...well, I just can't believe the protesters had anything to do with it."

# Chapter Ten

"It's a tragedy of course," said Jonathan Clemens, sighing dramatically as he took a seat across from Sean McGill. "For this to happen just when the situation was beginning to brighten."

"Brighten?" asked McGill. "Could you clarify that for me, please?"

"I mean financially of course. I am the business manager after all. After a great start under Maestro Hauptmann, the orchestra had begun to lose momentum in the last year and a half."

"Was the orchestra actually losing money?"

"We certainly weren't making any," Clemens said, raising his eyebrows. "Of course we had built up something of a reserve...a few million dollars in fact. But we were going through it quickly. This season has not been a box office success by any means and we've never been as flush as some people have assumed."

"And do you blame Loreen Stenke for the recent problems?"

Clemens shrugged. "It's not that simple. People like Loreen well enough. I believe the members of the orchestra admire her talent as a conductor. Her programming is sometimes a bit difficult for our audience to follow."

"Too modernist?"

"Well, at least the wrong modernism. And some of the critics have jumped all over her, not that that necessarily always translates into dollars and cents."

"What does translate into dollars and cents?"

"Maestro Hauptmann was great with the members of the Board and with potential donors. He was able to make them feel important...make them feel as if he really cared what they thought of the orchestra."

"And did he?"

Clemens smiled. "Not particularly. And on some levels the donors must have understood that. But it's a game, you know, dealing with donors. We all play by the same rules, but some people simply do it much better than others."

"And Loreen Stenke?"

"She just didn't have that magic with donors that Hauptmann had."

"Would you have been pleased if Maestro Hauptmann had stayed in charge, not just through this concert season but into next year as well?"

"I truly doubt that would have happened. He was serious about retiring. He had plenty of offers from other orchestras to do guest conducting stints but he passed up most of them. He was happy to take over here for the last two concerts from Loreen because he knew that it was a limited engagement. And of course he was always very dedicated to this orchestra."

"Although I met the Maestro only once and that very briefly, I've heard only positive things about him. That, of course, makes his murder all the more difficult to understand."

Clemens shook his head sadly. "We are all at a loss as to why or how this could have happened."

"Wilfrid Carter, whom I've also met briefly, seems convinced that it's some sort of conspiracy directed against the orchestra."

"I'm not sure that I'd take that too seriously, Detective McGill. Wilfrid loves to hear himself talk, and if he can be dramatic about something, so much the better."

"So you can't think of anyone who might have done this to hurt the orchestra?"

"Actually murder someone? No, I can't think of anyone who would do that just to hurt the orchestra."

"Well, then, is it possible that someone may have had a personal vendetta against Hauptmann?"

"It's hard for me to imagine it. He was a gentleman who had, by all reports, grown mellower over the years. Perhaps as a young man in Europe, straining to make his reputation, he might have trod on some toes, but here, in Philadelphia, I just can't see it."

"Has there ever been any hostility demonstrated toward Hauptmann by any of the current staff?"

"No, nothing that I know about. He could be very...well precise in his instructions from time to time, but everyone always understood that he was acting in the best interests of the orchestra."

"How about the members of the orchestra? Anyone who might have resented the fact that he would be taking Ms. Stenke's place for the last two concerts."

"That was Loreen's decision, Detective McGill. I think everyone understood that."

"No mistreated orchestral member with a grudge?"

"I highly doubt it, but I wouldn't be the one to ask about that. Perhaps you might be able to look up some of the orchestra members themselves."

"Yes, I think I will."

Clemens rose to his feet. "I realize that I haven't been particularly helpful, Detective, but I can't tell you what I don't know and I hate to speculate foolishly."

"I understand."

"We're all terribly upset of course, but if I can think of anything important I've not told you, I can assure you that I'll get in touch with you right away."

McGill rose to shake Clemens' hand. "Thank you. I need all the help I can get."

# Chapter Eleven

McGill shuddered as he ducked in to the little coffeehouse. The temperature had dropped almost five degrees within the hour and the wind was getting nasty. If this indicated that winter was going to hold on a little longer, he was far from enthusiastic about it.

"There he is! Philadelphia's finest!" Elizabeth called out from her table nestled in one of the cozier corners of the small, somewhat dark room.

Sean rolled his eyes and smiled as he walked quickly over to where Elizabeth and David were sitting, each cradling a cappuccino.

"Thanks for taking the time to meet up with me," Sean said, pulling up the third chair at their little table. "I've got almost an hour before my next interview appointment and I wanted to pick your collective brains a little before that."

"Always happy to be of service," said a smiling David. "But I've got to admit that things have gotten a lot more serious all of a sudden. Poor Hauptmann. Why in the world would anyone want to kill an aging conductor?"

"Who seems to have had no enemies that anyone knows anything about," added Elizabeth.

Sean nodded his head. "Yes, everyone I've talked to so far makes a point of that. But really, what man in rising so high in his profession doesn't make a few enemies on the way?"

"Maybe when he was back in Europe," said David, "but really, I don't see who could feel threatened by him at this stage in his career. I mean, he's actually retired twice now, and he was just going to come out of retirement briefly this time to conduct the last two concerts of the current season."

"Or was he?" Sean asked. "How can we be sure that, once back on the podium, he wouldn't feel inspired enough to come back in earnest and maybe even replace Loreen Stenke for next year's season?"

"Really?" Elizabeth said, shaking her head. "What makes you think that would be a possibility? The speeches at the reception the other night seemed emphatic enough on the point that Stenke would resume her place at the head of the orchestra next year."

"Sure," Sean said, "but those were just speeches at a PR event. You say those things now and you simply unsay them later. You go to Loreen Stenke and strongly suggest to her that she extends her maternity leave though next year as well. That, or be summarily released from her contract of course."

"What a cynic you've become," Elizabeth said, a thin smile crossing her face. "I see no reason why any of that would ever happen."

David nodded in agreement. "And by setting up that scenario, you're basically suggesting that Loreen Stenke became resentful of all of this backroom negotiating and bumped off Hauptmann just to guarantee her job next year. Really now...how likely is that?"

Sean grunted. "At this point I can't worry too much about what is or isn't 'likely.' I've got my hands full with what is or isn't 'possible.' Besides, my scenario doesn't necessarily mean that it was Loreen Stenke who pulled the trigger. It might even have been someone who was so loyal to her that he..."

"Or she," Elizabeth interrupted.

"Or she...took matters in her own hands to guarantee that Stenke would be back as conductor of the Philadelphia Philharmonic Orchestra next year."

"And who exactly might these 'loyalists" be?" asked David.

"I can't say at this point. I'm just getting started. But I have to consider all the possibilities."

"Who have you talked to so far?" David asked.

"I just finished speaking to Jonathan Clemens before coming here. A bit cold, I thought. Very analytical...surprisingly unemotional. Nothing too helpful, although he provided some interesting background."

"I guess people react differently to a shock like this," Elizabeth said sympathetically.

"I had met Alan Winston earlier," Sean said. "He's basically a stage and equipment manager as far as I can determine. I can never be sure he's telling me everything on his mind, but he seemed very upset. He also seemed a little evasive to me, but my impression is that he was equally loyal to both Hauptmann and Stenke."

"He was certainly loyal to Loreen Stenke," David said. "I got the impression that he was following her around like a lovesick puppy dog the first couple of months she was here."

"Really?" Sean said.

"That's what I heard," David said. "But apparently the infatuation seemed to have run its course to some extent. I don't know...maybe Loreen said something to him. At any rate, he seems to be admiring her from somewhat of a distance in recent months."

"Very interesting," Sean said, nodding his head gently.

"Who else have you spoken with?" Elizabeth asked.

"I met briefly with Hermann, the Maestro's brother, but he was not terribly coherent. He, understandably, is extremely upset by the death of his brother. I also met with Linda Eggert, the secretary, earlier this morning. She was actually the one who called the police."

David nodded. "Did she see anything?"

Sean shook his head. "She didn't even see the body. She told me that Winston—who had arrived just minutes before she did— wouldn't let her. He said it was too horrible for her to see."

Elizabeth shuddered. "And I suppose it was?"

"Well, it wasn't pretty. The gun had been fired at close range."

David nodded. "So can we come to the obvious conclusion that the person in the room with him was someone he knew in order to get so close to him?"

Sean smiled. "I'm afraid not. He was shot in the back of the head and his desk was facing a wall on the other side of the room from the door. Someone might easily have entered the room quietly and dispatched Hauptmann without him even being aware of the presence of another human being. Hauptmann was at his desk, a score laid out in front of him. Apparently he was studying it and presumably lost in concentration."

David shook his head. "You certainly don't seem to have much to go on."

"No, I don't," said Sean. "And yet the Chief Inspector is anxious that I wrap all this up in record time."

"Is that likely to happen?" Elizabeth asked.

Sean smiled grimly. "Not a chance in the world."

# Chapter Twelve

Hermann Hauptmann stared down at his hands. Then he looked up at Loreen Stenke, eyeing her blankly for several seconds. His mouth twitched, and he finally spoke. "But I..."

Stenke nodded her head slowly. "So you see, Hermann, it simply won't work out...not on this occasion. This memorial concert for Maestro Hauptmann...it must be a very dignified affair. He was, after all, a great man. It's not that I don't understand your feelings on this matter."

"I'm not at all sure you do understand," he said slowly.

"Of course I do. We've both suffered a horrible loss, Hermann. I realize that it was your brother who was taken from us so suddenly and unexpectedly, but he was my friend as well."

"That is difficult to believe," Hermann said quietly.

Stenke's eyes flashed. "I don't appreciate your insinuation, Hermann. I never claimed to be close to Maestro Hauptmann personally, but I respected him a great deal...as a colleague and a fine conductor."

"That is not the point. It is important that I honor my brother's passing. And you have made promises...on other occasions."

"I've always been open to considering your work, Hermann. You know how much I respect you."

"Where is the evidence of that respect?"

"Hermann, listen to me. I believe it's important that you play a role in this memorial concert. I want you to give a speech...a little pre-concert talk...in which you can say anything you want to about your brother."

Hermann was silent for several seconds. "Anything? Am I allowed to say anything I choose to say?"

"Of course, Hermann. I know how much your brother meant to you."

"Thank you."

"We are on the same side, Hermann. We are both grieving. It is important that we grieve together."

# Chapter Thirteen

Simon Anders shifted uneasily in his seat. "I really have no idea how I can be of any help in your investigation, Detective McGill."

"You've been a long-time, respected member of the orchestra, Mr. Anders. As the concertmaster, I think you're in as good a position as anyone to give me a sense of the inner workings of the orchestra and its social dynamics."

Anders sneered. "Social dynamics? I guess you're not a musician."

McGill smiled slightly. "No, I'm no longer a musician, Mr. Anders. I was one—in my younger and fancy-free days—but I'm certainly no expert on orchestras, having never played in one. Besides every organization—musical or otherwise—is different and demonstrates its own nuances. I thought that maybe you could help me decipher some of those."

Anders nodded. "Very well, I'll do what I can."

"Thank you. Perhaps you can begin by telling me what it was like to play in the orchestra in the years when Maestro Hauptmann was conducting."

Anders paused. "Orchestras are complicated organisms, Mr. McGill. They're actually made up of a series of interlocking little societies. Brass players, for example, don't spend a lot of their time talking to violinists."

"I understand, Mr. Anders. But was there some general feeling—a mood or ethos that might describe how the orchestra reacted to Hauptmann's leadership?"

"It was on the whole positive. How could it not be? When the orchestra began, no one took us seriously. Why should they? We were the very little brother living in the shadow of that 'famous' Philadelphia orchestra, the one that's had a world-class reputation for several decades. And we were not a great orchestra. Most of the musicians were young—they still are—and at first the inexperience showed in our music-making. But under Maestro Hauptmann's firm grip, all of that changed. The orchestra matured quickly and within a year of him taking over we were making very serious—sometimes even profound music."

"And this resulted in some financial success as well?"

"The critics began taking us seriously first, and not just the Philadelphia critics. We were being praised to the skies, even by some of the hard-boiled New York critics. And Hauptmann, even though by no means a young man, turned out to be a charismatic figure who the feature writers loved to interview. And once we became 'trendy,' some big donors arrived on the scene. The rest is history."

"You refer to Hauptmann as 'charismatic.' By that do you mean to suggest that he was popular with the orchestra?"

Anders grimaced. "Things are seldom that simple in the orchestral world. The musicians saw that they were receiving a lot more attention with him at the helm than they had previously. Most members of the orchestra had to admit that the ensemble had grown musically under his leadership so, yes, I guess you'd have to say he was generally popular with the orchestra members."

"Generally popular?"

"Well, really, what can you expect? He had already made a significant reputation in Europe in his younger years and he exuded a sort of old world paternalism. Some of our younger players found that mixture to be very attractive."

"Can I assume from the tone of that statement that you were not one of the members who felt that way?"

"I'm not sure my personal views have much significance."

"Humor me."

"I thought he was over-bearing and insufferable."

"Is there some personal reason..."

"No. I did my job and never had any personal conflicts with him. At times he would insist on a musical interpretation that I considered archaic, but I was a good soldier. I played...the entire orchestra...played the way that Hauptmann wanted us to."

"So there were no conflicts with the orchestra?"

"I didn't say that! There were individual conflicts, some of them rather nasty."

"Any examples?"

"Sure. One time, I think it was his last year with the orchestra, we had to use a substitute second bassoonist for one of the concerts. This guy comes in, after just receiving the music less than a day earlier, and has some problems in some tricky passages—passages where the meter keeps shifting. Well, right in front of the whole orchestra in the middle of the rehearsal, Hauptmann simply dismisses him."

"Dismisses him?"

"Yes. Right there. He tells the poor guy to pack up his instrument and leave. Makes it pretty clear that the guy was incompetent."

"Well, was he?"

Anders shrugged. "He was a fine bassoonist. He'd even subbed more than once with the Philadelphia Orchestra. But for some reason he had a little trouble counting one tricky passage. So Hauptmann fired him...on the spot...in front of everyone. Obviously the poor guy felt humiliated."

"Did that happen a lot?"

"Not a lot...but it happened a few times. At least a couple of times every concert season."

"Isn't that sort of thing to be expected in a top-flight orchestra?"

"There are different ways of doing things and getting the same result. The fact is that Hauptmann liked exerting his authority and sometimes did so arbitrarily."

"Do think any of the other musicians resented this?"

"A few of them quit to join other orchestras. But the fact is that there are more good musicians out there than there are vacancies, so musicians are willing to put up with a fair amount of garbage to keep a good position."

"Are you suggesting that some musician might have been angry or disturbed enough to actually respond with a violent act?"

"No, that's ridiculous. None of the musicians would do that."

"I'm told that you yourself have expressed some hostility to Hauptmann from time to time."

Anders shrugged again. "I was not one of his worshippers and I think that was generally known. But, as I said, I kept a professional relationship with him at all times."

"I see, and I suppose you can give me some idea of what you were doing the night he was killed."

"Certainly. I was rehearsing with my string quartet right after the reception."

"In the orchestra's building?"

"No, my quartet is not affiliated with the orchestra. We practice in my loft downtown."

"You'll send me the names of the other quartet members?"

"Of course."

"Well, Mr. Anders, I appreciate your candor. Every little bit I can learn about Hauptmann and the orchestra is helping me to get a more complete picture of the situation. I don't suppose you have any theories about anyone outside of the orchestra who might have had it in for Hauptmann?"

"No, clue, Detective McGill. None whatsoever."

"Well, if anything occurs to you at any point, I need you to get in touch with me."

"I seriously doubt whether I'm going to have any epiphanies about this, Detective, but if I do, I'll let you know."

# Chapter Fourteen

Four days later, Loreen Stenke and her husband suffered a miscarriage.

Her husband issued a brief statement asking that everyone respect the couple's privacy.

Linda Eggert sat across the desk from Alan Winston, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "I think it's terrible," she said. "Poor Loreen. It was already a terrible time for her with Maestro Hauptmann's death, and now this. This is the worst possible thing that could've happened."

Winston nodded sympathetically. "It's very sad, but she's still young enough. She and her husband have time to recover and try again."

"Some people find that very difficult, Alan. It was her first baby. Who knows how long they had been trying?"

"Well, I just hope the damn police leave her alone now."

"Oh, I'm sure they will. She was interviewed at least twice after Maestro Hauptmann was killed. What more could they ask of her?"

"I agree completely, but they may not see it from that point of view."

"And why not?"

"Because she was the only person who in any way benefited from Hauptmann's death."

"What a terrible thing to say! You know that s just plain ridiculous."

"I know it, but I'm not sure everyone knows it. I mean, look...who else would have wanted to see Hauptmann dead?"

"What a ghastly thing to say!"

"I doubt if the police think she had any personal involvement, but could she be protecting anyone?"

"That's just nonsense. There's nobody to protect."

"Listen Linda, you know I think the world of Loreen, but somebody killed him. He didn't shoot himself in the head."

"I know, I know. But it's just outrageous to suggest that she had anything to do with it. It's terribly unfair to her and you know it. Loreen didn't want Hauptmann dead. She was grateful to him for..."

"She was hardly grateful!" Winston snapped. "She was all but pushed out the door so he could come back and play the conquering hero. Look...I admire Maestro Hauptmann as much as you do. I worked with him longer than you did...but you've got to admit that his presence—hovering over the orchestra like that—put her at a serious disadvantage."

"Alan, he was not hovering. He was out of the country for much of the last two years. He was hardly campaigning for the job."

"I realize he was not actively out to replace her, but I sometimes think he could have shown more support."

"Maybe...I don't know. All I know is that this is now a horrible situation. I don't know what the orchestra is going to do—especially now...with poor Loreen's miscarriage. Is she even going to conduct the memorial concert for Maestro Hauptmann now? My God, is it all just going to fall apart?"

"I have no idea, but I know that Wilfrid Carter's going to pay her a visit today."

"Is that wise?"

"When was that ever a concern for our beloved chair of the Board of Directors? But I'll bet we get some clarity about what's going to happen anyway."

"Carter should stay away from her. I'm sure she's in no frame of mind to discuss the orchestra. I shudder to think how that meeting is going to go."

# Chapter Fifteen

Loreen Stenke sat, emotionless, at her desk as Wilfrid Carter carefully took the seat opposite her.

He smiled gently at her. "I want to thank you for coming here to meet with me. You know, of course, that under normal conditions I would not dream of bothering you at a time like this, but we're in a very unusual and difficult situation here."

Stenke remained grim-faced. "We are not in the same situation."

Carter ignored her remark and leaned forward. "The fact is that we have something of an opportunity to salvage a rather less than successful concert season here. No one was more shocked than I was to hear that the Maestro had been murdered, especially after he so generously offered to step in and conduct the last two concerts of the season when you became...indisposed. So this is an important concert, a memorial concert for the Maestro. It's crucial that you make an appearance and conduct the orchestra, for at least one piece. Wasn't a special memorial composition written by Hermann to be played?"

"No," she said flatly. "I never agreed to that. And as far as the rest of it is concerned, it would not be a good idea for me to be involved."

"Now wait just a minute young lady...."

"You heard me. Get someone else. Cancel it. I don't care. This is simply not something that I intend to get involved with."

"Are you physically unable to conduct, or do you choose not to?"

"For God's sake, Wilfrid, I've just lost a child. There is no greater tragedy than that. And you want me to go on just as if nothing had happened...stand up there and perform like a trained seal."

"Your attitude is completely inappropriate."

"You know what's inappropriate? You and your God-damn meddling! From the time I first arrived here, you've been intruding into my business as the primary music director and conductor for this orchestra. I don't really think you ever wanted me here and, at this point, I could care less. You complained about my choice of music...not to my face of course, but through your various and assorted minions, all of whom wait on you hand and foot because they hope that someday you might toss them a crumb or two from your lavishly appointed table."

Carter sat up ram-rod straight. "So is that why you've always been so hostile toward me...because I'm wealthy?"

"No, Wilfrid, not because you're wealthy. Because you're obnoxious. Being wealthy just allows you to be obnoxious and get away with it. Do you think for a minute that each and every one of your underlings doesn't wish you dead...or at least far removed from this city?"

"This is outrageous! If you weren't so obviously in an emotional state of mind right now, I'd fire you on the spot!"

"Two problems with that, Wilfrid. First of all, the whole Board would have to vote on it. Second, perhaps it escaped your notice, but I already quit."

Carter sprang to his feet and paced around the small office. Seconds later he again took the seat across from Stenke.

"So you despise me. Fine. A lot of people do and it's never made the slightest bit of difference to me. It's never stopped me from being who I am and accomplishing what I've wanted to accomplish. And it won't stop me now." He paused and fumbled for a cigarette.

Loreen half-smiled. "There's no smoking in my office, Mr. Carter. I would expect you to honor my preferences about that even if in nothing else."

Carter glared at her and jammed the cigarette case back into his pocket. "All right, fine. I'm an easy target and if it gives you pleasure to insult me, be my guest. But when all is said and done, I have to do my duty to the orchestra and you have to do yours. And don't think for a moment that you have no duty to the orchestra. I don't care if after this memorial concert you walk out that door, leave Philadelphia completely and never look back, the fact remains that it is your duty to help us with this concert, a concert honoring the man who put this orchestra on the map."

"Look, Wilfrid, I'm not saying that Hauptmann doesn't deserve to be honored for what he accomplished, I'm only saying that I personally am not going to be involved in it. I'm physically exhausted. I'm mentally exhausted. I have no more to give, not at this point in my life."

"But one concert...just one concert. Surely in the arts the tradition makes it clear that the show must go on..."

"You're a businessman, Wilfrid. What you know about the arts could be inscribed on the head of a pin."

Carter rose again and took a deep breath. "So your decision is final? You refuse to help with the concert honoring Maestro Hauptmann?"

"I think I've made that clear enough."

"Fine. I think you'll see that we do very well without your presence." Carter quickly turned on his heels and walked from the room.

Loreen Stenke gazed at the blank screen in front of her, occasionally shuffling the papers on her desk, for several minutes. Then she shuddered, and began to scoop up some of the papers in front of her. "I guess that's the end of that," she said to herself. But she knew her time with the orchestra had actually ended months earlier, long before Hauptmann's death and her miscarriage.

It was never written in the stars, she thought. She and her husband had come to Philadelphia with such hope...the situation seemed ripe with promise. How had things gone so badly wrong? And now losing the baby...it was almost more than she could bear.

God, she thought, looking around at her dingy office, I'll not miss this place.

But she was not quite ready to go back to their apartment. Greg would be solicitous of course—he always was. But right now that was not what she wanted. She just wanted to be alone.

She reached into her briefcase and pulled out the biography of Bach that she had been carrying around for days. Why not? She knew that Bach and his two wives had lost several children over the years. And yet, he persevered and composed some of the most glorious music on the planet. She settled back in her chair and opened the book.

Several minutes later, thinking she had heard a sound, she paused, putting the book down on the desk.

She turned part way in her chair. "Wilfrid? Is that you?" Oh God, she thought. The last thing she wanted was another confrontation.

She began to turn her chair around to face the door. In that instant her head was crushed by a blow from behind and she slumped to the floor.

# Chapter Sixteen

Sean McGill nodded his head reassuringly. "I'm extremely sorry to have to bother you with these questions at such a terrible time, Mr. Stenke, but I'm sure you understand that it's crucial that we get as many questions answered as soon as we can so that we may begin to unravel this tragedy."

Greg Stenke sat on a long sofa with his hands folded. He stared blankly at McGill for a few seconds and then nodded his head slightly.

"Believe me, I'll be as quick as I can," McGill said. "First of all, did you expect your wife to be staying late at her office last night?"

"Yes," Stenke answered softly. "I knew she had an appointment with the chairman of the Board of Directors—what's his name—Carter, I think."

"Yes, Wilfrid Carter. The appointment had apparently been made for her by the secretary, Linda Eggert."

"She didn't like Carter. I know she wasn't looking forward to that meeting. I was particularly surprised that she agreed to meet with him in her old office in the orchestra's building."

"Did she say anything about it specifically beforehand?"

"Just in passing. But she's mentioned him before...never in a positive way."

"I will be talking to Carter tomorrow because he may have been the last...to see Ms. Stenke..."

Greg Stenke looked down at his hands. "Yes, I know."

"But anything you can remember about what your wife may have said about him would be helpful."

Stenke shrugged. "Nothing earth-shaking. She thought he was a typical rich philistine who poked his nose in places where it didn't belong."

"Where in particular?"

"She knew that he would pressure her to go ahead and conduct the concert...you know...the memorial concert for Maestro Hauptmann."

"And she had no interest in doing that?"

"For Christ's sake, Detective McGill, we just lost a child...the miscarriage upset her terribly. And physically she just wasn't herself."

"Yes, I'm very sorry. It must have been a great shock."

"The doctor had warned her that some things with the pregnancy had not been completely right, but we were both optimistic. The baby was very much planned...nothing accidental about it at all. Frankly, I think she was looking for something that would change her life."

"Her life as the conductor of the orchestra?"

"Yes. It had not turned out as she had hoped it would."

"In what way?"

"She was unhappy. It wasn't the music...not the actual conducting...it was everything else. All the politics."

"Could you explain?"

"Some people—even some members of the orchestra—couldn't get over the fact that Hauptmann had retired and Loreen had taken his place. Carter never really supported her. At least that's how she felt. Then some of the critics started finding fault and ticket sales slumped, particularly season tickets. That really bothered the business manager, Jonathan Clemens, and Carter. They wouldn't let her forget it."

"I see. So do you think they blamed her for the orchestra's financial problems?"

"She thought so, and that's the important thing."

"How did she get along with the former conductor, Hauptmann?"

"Fine, as far as I could tell. She never had anything negative to say about him. I know she respected him as a musician. Still, I got the impression that there were times when she could have used a little more support from him...when he could have been a little more vocal on her behalf."

"And yet she initially agreed to conduct the memorial concert planned to honor him?"

"Oh, of course. She was horrified when he was killed...couldn't believe it. She was eager to honor him with a memorial concert. Until we lost the baby...then she just couldn't go through with it. She couldn't appear in public as if nothing had happened. But Carter...he still wanted her to do it. So she knew that the meeting with him would be ugly. She was afraid of losing her temper...maybe she did. I'll never know. It's not possible, is it, that Carter...?"

"It seems highly unlikely, Mr. Stenke. He seems to have left the scene a few minutes before the incident took place."

"Really? Can you be sure? Is it possible to know exactly when...?"

"Not precisely, no. The meeting was scheduled for 8:00 but it was apparently a short one. Carter made a call to his business office a little after 8:30 saying he was done for the day. Your wife's body was discovered an hour and a half later when the watchman started his rounds and saw that the light had been left on in her office. The examiner is guessing that she died sometime after 8:30, apparently after Carter had already left. He may know more later."

"So someone else...?"

"Apparently. But nothing has been ruled out. I can assure you that we will question Mr. Carter closely on his meeting with your wife."

"The officer...who first informed me...said that she died from a blow to the head. Is that true?"

"Yes, sir. We believe that to be the case."

Stenke shook his head slowly. "I can't believe...I just can't..."

"Of course not, Mr. Stenke, a shock like this is almost possible to absorb. I'm so sorry..."

"So you say that it's probably not Carter?"

"It's hard to imagine what he'd gain by such a violent act."

"But who would gain by killing my wife? She's never harmed a single soul in her entire life."

"People see harm in different things, Mr. Stenke. Sometimes we harm people without being aware that we've done it. But those people see it as a purposeful act and sometimes hold a grudge."

"But who?"

"I realize that you have no ideas right now about who could have done this terrible thing. And I hate to make you dwell on this tragedy, but if anything...or anyone...comes to mind in the days ahead, it's very important that you inform me immediately."

Greg Stenke again hung his head. "I can't imagine. I just can't imagine..."

# Chapter Seventeen

Chief Inspector Simmons pounded his pencil on the desk in front of him. "I sure hope, Detective McGill, that the first thing that's going to come out of your mouth is that you've been making a hell of a lot of progress on Hauptmann's murder and you also have a pretty good idea of why and how Loreen Stenke was killed."

McGill nodded. "I've been giving this my full attention and have been making some progress."

Simmons sighed. "That's a remarkably non-committal statement, Sean. Can you do any better than that?"

"I do have some leads, or at least I've succeeded in crossing out some dead-end possibilities."

"Are you assuming that both murders were committed by the same assailant?"

"One was shot in the back of the head at close range. The other was bludgeoned to death. I'd say no, other than the fact that it would be such an unbelievable coincidence—two conductors of the same orchestra being killed within so short a period of time by two different assailants?"

"I assume you found the murder weapon?"

"No, we have not. Either the murderer took it with him..."

"Or her."

"Or her...although the fatal blow was delivered with a fair amount of force."

"Doesn't mean much in my experience. A woman might be a little less likely to bring the weapon with her, especially if the weapon in question is a heavy, blunt object."

"At any rate, we have nothing for the present. I've had the secretary, Linda Eggert, looking around to see if anything is missing from Stenke's office that might have been used for the crime. So far she's been too unnerved to do much looking, but she's going to get back to me about it."

"Do you have any meaningful leads at all?"

"I'm pursuing a number of ideas that could lead to something."

"Lead to what? To some witness who actually saw something worth reporting? We've now had two murders that have taken place in the same building and no one has seen anything. I find that very hard to believe. Frankly, I find it difficult to believe that Loreen Stenke ever set foot in the building. You'd think she'd be so spooked after Hauptmann's murder."

McGill nodded. "It's surprising. According to her husband, she didn't particularly want to be there. She was there meeting with Carter."

"The chair of the orchestra's Board of Directors?"

"Yes. He was hounding her to meet with him, right after she informed the Board—through an email—that she had no intention of participating in the concert honoring Hauptmann."

"Remind me why."

"She and her husband had just suffered through a miscarriage and she was in no mental condition to appear in public. She probably wasn't up for it physically either."

"That's right. But apparently Mr. Carter is not one to take no for an answer?"

"Her husband said that he absolutely insisted. Carter was willing to meet her at her apartment but she told her husband that she couldn't stand the idea of him coming to their home. So they agreed to meet in her office in the orchestra's building. Hauptmann's office is still cordoned off but Loreen Stenke's is on a different floor and was still available."

"The other thing that I find surprising is that there's never anyone around when these things happen. You'd think everyone on the staff would really be on their guard after the first murder."

"The problem is that there just aren't that many people on staff. Most of them leave promptly at five, probably even quicker now after Hauptmann's murder. The building janitor had left about an hour earlier. There is a watchman who comes in to do rounds later in the evening but he just got there in time to find the body."

"And I take it that the security system isn't much help?"

"The security camera by the front door doesn't really show that much. And once again it appears as if the murderer came in through the back door. But just as before, there's no sign of a break-in."

"So that means that as far as we know, the last person to see her alive was..."

"Wilfrid Carter, who had arranged the meeting with her."

"Well, it's highly unlikely that you openly arrange a meeting with someone and then kill them."

"It would be pretty obvious."

"And say what you like about Carter, he's nobody's fool. No, I think we can all but eliminate him as a possibility."

"I spoke to him immediately after the body was discovered of course. He was shocked, naturally. He admitted that their conversation had been neither friendly nor productive, but he didn't describe her as being in any way worried or fearful for her life."

"Does the security camera show Carter?"

"It show's Carter leaving at 8:30, no more than a half hour before Stenke was killed according to the medical examiner's best guess."

"Half an hour...that's cutting it pretty close."

"Right, and it may have been less than that. But as you said, Carter would have to be pretty brazen to have killed her after he had arranged the meeting. And, really, what would he have gained? I'm sure he was annoyed with her after she backed out of the concert, but you don't commit murder because you're annoyed with someone."

"Unless there's more to it than that."

"I will be talking with him again soon to try to go a little deeper about his relationship with Stenke."

"So no sign of anyone else?"

"Only one other possibility that we know about and it's a long shot. One of those protestors was seen in the vicinity around 7:30."

"And you're going to talk to him?"

"Right after I leave you."

"And that's it? There's really nothing else to go on? You said there was no sign of a break-in at the back door. So tell me again, how many people have keys?"

"There are only supposed to be three keys to the back door and—as before—they've all been accounted for, although one of them is displayed openly in Winston's' office, not a particularly secure location."

"So someone might have grabbed it while no one was looking?"

"Exactly."

"Well it's pretty obvious that someone keeps waltzing in and committing mayhem without anyone being the wiser. I don't suppose Wilfrid Carter has any ideas as to who could have done this?"

"No, but as you might expect, he's convinced that there's a conspiracy to destroy the orchestra and this is just the latest blow. As he has all along the way, he takes all of this very personally."

"And I'm sure he'll be on the phone to his friends in city hall if he hasn't been already. Great! Look, McGill, results...we need results quickly...or at least something I can point to when I'm pressed for information. I want you to check in with me at least twice a day from here on out."

As McGill got up to leave, Simmons motioned him back into his chair. "You've got a good record for a young detective, Sean, but unless I see real progress very soon, I'm going to have to replace you as lead investigator."

"I understand. I'm expecting to start getting significant results very soon and I'll let you know as soon as I do."

# Chapter Eighteen

Ashton Lemense glared intently at Sean McGill, who pulled out a small notebook and scribbled a few words into it.

"I really don't see the point to this discussion," Lemense said.

"I wouldn't have brought you down here if we didn't have something to talk about, Mr. Lemense," said McGill.

"So go ahead," said Lemense, settling back into his chair. "Enlighten me. What meaningful conversation could you and I possibly have?"

"Let's start with the fact that you were seen loitering outside the front door of the orchestra's building within an hour of Loreen Stenke's murder."

"That's it? That's the reason I'm here?"

"You were seen by a security camera and a couple of people."

"Well, I wasn't sneaking around. And I wasn't loitering."

"So you were there?"

"Sure I was there. One of my volunteers told me that she left a couple of our placards in front of the building. I told her I'd go over and pick them up."

"Was that really worth a trip downtown?"

"Hey, we're operating on a very limited budget."

"So why did you enter the building?"

"I didn't."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. And nobody saw me enter because I didn't enter. Check the security camera again."

"It only gives us a view of the front door, not the back door."

"Not my fault. I didn't even know there was a back door. We always mount our demonstrations on the main street where everybody can see us. We don't do back alleys."

"How admirable. So you're saying that you just picked up your signs and left?"

"No. The signs were gone. Someone else must have grabbed them. So after I looked around a few minutes, I left. I'm surprised your witnesses didn't tell you that."

"The building janitor saw you walking around. He didn't see you leave, but he was leaving about the same time and might have missed you."

"Once again, not my fault. Look, Detective, if I'm one of your main suspects here, you're in serious trouble. It just shows that you don't have a clue about either of these murders. I didn't particularly want either of these people dead, particularly the woman. This sort of tragedy will evoke a tremendous amount of sympathy for the orchestra. That may well translate into more donations and more seasons, at least in part on the public dole. I would like to see these cultural charities simply disappear from the city—or at least stop drawing on public funds that should be used to help the thousands of people who really need it."

"Yes, Mr. Lemense, I understand your perspective on all of this, but somehow I don't think it's all that simple. I think you personally resented these people and the attention they got."

"Me resent a pair of orchestra conductors? I don't care about them one way or the other. If they're considered important people by the cultural elite, fine...let the cultural elite have them. But they should stay away from public funding, because in the end there are more important things in the world than how the upper classes entertain themselves."

McGill smiled. "We'll be in touch, Mr. Lemense."

"Yes, I'm sure we will."

# Chapter Nineteen

"My God, this is horrible!" Elizabeth said as she opened the door for Sean McGill. "I didn't really know Loreen Stenke at all, but this new murder is almost beyond belief."

"Are you any closer at all to making sense of this?" David asked, taking Sean's jacket and placing it on a hook by the front door.

Sean sighed and silently made his way into Elizabeth's and David's apartment, flopping on to the sofa by the far wall as David handed him a glass of wine.

He looked up at Elizabeth and David. "Frankly, I've accomplished almost nothing. No witnesses of course, just like the last time. Two people were seen in the area. One is that political protestor—Lemense—whose group likes to picket the orchestra because they receive a few small grants from the city. But there's nothing to indicate that he was actually in the building, much less in Stenke's office."

"Lemense? Is he a likely suspect?"

"No, not particularly. Not the most loveable character in the world...incredibly smug and self-righteous. But without any serious motive and there's no evidence to place him at the scene of the crime."

"But Carter was there, right?" Elizabeth said. "That's what David heard."

"He was there, probably within a half an hour or so of when she was murdered."

"So he's a suspect?"

"Hardly," Sean said. "Inspector Simmons suggests that I should dismiss that idea right from the start."

"But you're not going to, are you?" David asked.

"Of course not," Sean replied. "But I've got to admit his behavior doesn't seem terribly suspicious. Many people knew he was meeting with Loreen that night. It was even marked on the calendar of the orchestra's secretary, Linda Eggert."

"Making it unlikely that he would do anything rash unless he's remarkably stupid," David said.

"Which, as Inspector Simmons is quick to remind me, he clearly isn't."

"So basically you've got nothing," David said, leaning back to take a sip of wine.

"Which is almost impossible to conceive of," Elizabeth said, shaking her head gently. "What happens if you just focus on motive? Who is better off with the two conductors of the Philadelphia Philharmonic Orchestra dead?"

"That's it!" David blurted out enthusiastically. "The famous Philadelphia orchestra...eliminating their competition."

"Oh, please!" protested Elizabeth, a pained expression spreading over her face.

"Somehow I don't think their 'competition,' as you put it, has anything to do with this," Sean said. "They'll survive pretty comfortably regardless of what happens to the Philadelphia Philharmonic."

"Oh, I don't know about that," said David, a slight smile coming to his lips. "It's a dog-eat-dog world out there in orchestra land."

"Get serious, David," Elizabeth said. "Two people have been murdered and Sean doesn't know which way to turn."

"That's true enough," Sean said. "And even though Wilfrid Carter and probably others continue to see all of this as somehow an assault on the very existence of the Philadelphia Philharmonic Orchestra, I just can't see it."

"But the alternative is that each of the two victims had completely different enemies, or one individual had a personal problem with both conductors...hated them so much that they wanted to eliminate them permanently," David said. "How likely is that?"

"It doesn't seem likely right now, but that's because I'm missing something," Sean said.

"Have you eliminated all the other staff members?" Elizabeth asked.

"Aside from the complete lack of motive—after all why should anyone act to put themselves out a job?—there's no evidence that any of them were around when either of the murders took place," said Sean.

"Yeah, but anyone could have sneaked up to Hauptmann's office the night of the reception," David said. "Hell, we could have snuck up there and done the deed."

"By re-entering the building through the back door?" asked Sean.

"Of course!" replied David brightly.

"But you had no key," Sean said.

"Maybe they left the back door open," Elizabeth said.

"Everyone insists it was locked," Sean said.

"Well," said David, "in that case somebody has a key you don't know about, which wouldn't be that hard to do. The keys are just sitting out there in one of the offices, right? You grab one someday when nobody is looking—which is probably most days—and you have a duplicate made. What could be easier?"

"It's certainly possible," Sean said.

"Which takes us right back to the other staff members," Elizabeth said eagerly. "Who do you trust least?"

Sean shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Alan Winston, the orchestra's manager, seemed authentically broken up over both deaths and he seems to have been particularly fond of Loreen Stenke. Clemens, the business manager, was a little more under control, but who knows? But what would he have to gain? Like I said earlier, he'd lose his job too."

David nodded. "You mentioned Linda Eggert, the secretary."

Sean grimaced. "Frankly, she strikes me as too spacey to do anything like that. I realize that could be an act and I haven't completely crossed her off my list."

"The librarian? Samantha Gibbons? Isn't she the one that was coming on to you at the reception?" Elizabeth asked, suppressing a smile.

"I'd hardly call it that," Sean said. "She's only got a part-time position and isn't around as much as the other staff members."

"So...more time to conjure up nefarious schemes," David said cheerily.

Sean sighed. "She is a bit on the coy side and didn't seem as upset by the first murder as everyone else. I've haven't talked to her since Loreen Stenke was killed. She's on my list for tomorrow," said Sean, rising to his feet and handing Elizabeth his half-filled wine glass.

"Look," said David, "I know you've got to get going and all that, but I just want to suggest that in my opinion, it's just got to be one of those staff members. Yes, I know that they'd be putting themselves out of a job—at least temporarily—by murdering the two conductors, but I can't think of anybody else who had connections—more or less intimate ones—with both people. The way I see it is that somehow both conductors managed to uncover some secret or perhaps even illegal activity on the part of one of the staff members and so they had to be eliminated."

"I've thought of that, of course," Sean said, "but nothing that even hints of anything like that has come to light yet. But I'll keep investigating that angle of course."

"If there's anything we can do," Elizabeth said.

"Sure," David chimed in. "I'm great at undercover work...striking up conversations with unsuspecting suspects."

"Very funny," Sean said. "But I'll let you know if I could use your help."

# Chapter Twenty

Sean McGill walked quickly down Chestnut Street. It was almost a pleasant spring day, the first really nice day for a couple of weeks, and he was feeling surprisingly optimistic. Of course the little errand he was on would probably not prove to be a major break in the case. In fact it was more than likely a waste of his time.

But at least it gave him a chance to take some sort of action. The owner of a local pawn shop had called earlier in the day and reported that an earlier overnight shift had brought something in—a couple of old violins—that might be of interest to him. All the pawn shops in the city had been notified of the theft from the orchestra when it had first occurred, but McGill had heard nothing at all for days and had pretty much given up hope that anything would turn up. Most thieves would know better than to try to pawn any recently stolen item in a local store, so these two "old "violins might be perfectly innocent.

Of course the theft of a couple of virtually worthless instruments was nothing compared to the two murders that had now taken place within days of each other. But he certainly hadn't come up with any brilliant ideas yet about those more important crimes, so it was worth his while to try to make progress somewhere...anywhere.

Besides, maybe Wilfred Carter was right. Maybe it was all a conspiracy by some people who somehow wanted to deal a death blow to the orchestra. Still, it was a huge jump from petty theft to murder. No, he couldn't quite make himself believe that all three crimes were connected. But that didn't mean that he shouldn't try to get to the bottom of the theft if he had a chance to do so.

He saw the shop ahead. Not one of the city's most elegant to be sure, but maybe that was an advantage for a thief who wanted to sneak in under people's radar.

As he entered the dimly lit store, an older man with white hair tied back in a ponytail came up quickly to meet him. "Detective McGill, I assume? I'm Sam Ferrego," he said, reaching out to shake Sean's hand briskly.

"Yes, Mr. Ferrego, thanks for the phone call" replied McGill.

Ferrego shrugged. "Could be nothing."

"It's certainly worth a look."

"Sure. Let's go in the back." Ferrego grinned. "Some of my customers get nervous when I spend too much time talking to the police."

McGill smiled weakly and followed Ferrego to a large room cluttered with several rows of shelving, all packed to the brim with various objects and packages. Ferrego walked to his desk and lifted one of the two violins sitting on top of it. "This is one of them," he said, handing it to McGill.

"Right," said McGill, taking the instrument in his hand. After examining it briefly, he reached in his pocket with his other hand to pull out a notebook. Sean glanced back and forth between the violin and his notebook. After a few seconds, he nodded his head. "No serial numbers per se, but these fit the description. You can see that somebody has tried to scratch out the orchestra's ID number inside the sound board."

"Hadn't noticed," Ferrego said.

"When did these come in?

"A couple of nights ago."

"I wish you could have let me know a little sooner."

"What can I say? Night shift...new kid. I guess he just wasn't paying any attention to the bulletins. I made a point of telling all my people when I was first notified but...you know...time passes. Other things come up."

"Were these pawned or sold?"

"Sold, but my kid only gave him twenty-five bucks apiece."

"Not much, is it?"

Ferrego shrugged again. "I tell my people that I don't really want a bunch of old instruments in the shop so they should only take them if they're real cheap."

"How did he know these weren't valuable?"

"He didn't. He was just following orders."

"I presume you've got a name of the seller."

"Sure, looked it up before you showed up. And it's his real name too...we know the guy."

"You know him?"

"Sure, Willie Bascom. He spends most of his time on this street."

"He's a panhandler?"

"On and off. I've also seen him washing windows for a couple of shops down the block. He's been in here a few times, usually selling watches. I was surprised to hear he had come in with something like this."

"You mean something stolen?"

"Right. I didn't know he was into that kind of stuff."

"I don't suppose he gave a valid address?"

"No, but I know where you can find him at noon. Most days he eats lunch at the 'People's Spoon,' a soup kitchen only a few blocks down the street."

"Is this guy a street person?"

"More or less, I guess. Frankly, I haven't been paying much attention. But he's easy to spot. Mid-forties, long gray hair, bright red jacket...at least that's what he had on last time I noticed."

"Thanks for the tip. I'll just take these two violins along for evidence and see if I can track down Mr. Bascom."

"Always glad to help the police," Ferrego said. "I run an honest business here."

"I'm sure you do," McGill said, flashing a smile as he turned to go.

It didn't take long for McGill to locate the "People's Spoon," a modest-looking little storefront with its front door wide open despite the coolness of the day. A number of men were milling around inside the front room, waiting for the lunch line to form, but it didn't take long to locate Bascom.

"Mr. Bascom?" said McGill, approaching him with his detective's shield openly displayed. "I'd like a few words."

"Huh?" Bascom grunted. "You mean me?"

"That's right, Mr. Bascom," McGill said, backing him into a corner of the dingy room. "I don't want you to be in any more trouble than you have to be over those violins."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Bascom said, turning away from McGill.

A man in a white apron came out from behind the serving counter and walked quickly up to McGill and Bascom. "Is there any trouble here?"

McGill turned to face him. "I appreciate your interest, but my name is Detective Sean McGill and I've got to speak to one of your customers for a few minutes."

A pained expression came over the man's face. "Can't you find somewhere else to do that?"

"Perhaps later, yes," said McGill, "but there are a few things I've got to determine first."

The man shook his head and walked back behind the counter.

"So Mr. Bascom, it's very important that you tell me right away how you came by these violins."

Bascom grunted. "They ain't worth much."

"Doesn't matter," said McGill. "Just tell me where you got them."

"I found them."

"Where?"

"In an alley, back of the orchestra building about ten blocks from here."

"Oh, I believe you got them from the orchestra building all right, but I think you had to go inside to get them."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about. Found 'em in the alley."

"You were seen leaving the building."

"Wasn't me."

"Sure it was. Look, Mr. Bascom, I don't want to play any games with you. Two murders have recently been committed in that same building. Since you came up with those two old violins, I guess that makes you a prime suspect."

"What? I had nothin' to do with anything. I don't know nothin' about any murders. This lady...she..."

"Yes, Mr. Bascom, tell me about the lady."

"I don't know her name."

"Sure, you do. Tell me about her."

Bascom looked around the room, his eyes seeming to glaze over.

"Did someone approach you?"

"Yeah, this lady. Called herself Sam...something like that. She said she'd leave the back door open. Told me to mess the place up...throw around some old sheet music."

"But you decided to take it a step further."

"She was only payin' fifty bucks. I had to get something for my trouble, so I lifted a couple of old instruments. I didn't want 'em so I sold 'em. Got peanuts for 'em."

"She paid you to mess up the place?"

"Didn't say why. Something about teaching them a lesson."

"How did she get a hold of you?"

"I was just around, that's all. Might have asked her for handout."

"So this woman who called herself Sam just came up to you one day and asked you to do this job. Offered you fifty bucks to come into the orchestra building..."

"The library, she said it was—the music library."

"And vandalize the place."

"That's about it."

"And you decided to take the instruments on your own?"

"I saw this room full of old instruments—cases just about fallin' apart—just off the music library. So after I threw some of the music around like I was told, I decided to grab some of the old instruments. Some of them were just sitting around under tables. Didn't seem like anyone really wanted them. So I took them. I could only grab a couple. I also took some old sheet music but nobody wants that stuff. Couldn't sell that to nobody."

"Did you ever go back into the building?"

"No. I left the key there like I was told. Never went back. Lady paid in advance. Never saw her again."

"This 'Sam' woman...could you describe her?"

"Thirties, I guess. Short red hair. Not pretty."

"All right, Mr. Bascom, we're going to have to take a little trip down to the district station. Those old violins may not have been worth much, but the orchestra wasn't giving them away."

# Chapter Twenty-One

Sean McGill sat at his desk, staring into Samantha Gibbons' eyes and shaking his head sadly.

"Look," she said, quickly crossing and uncrossing her legs in the uncomfortable chair across from him. "I realize it was a mistake."

McGill sighed. "I just can't imagine what you were thinking."

"Okay, well, I wasn't thinking. Not for a few minutes a couple of weeks ago. I mean...I had just asked for a raise, or at least a few more hours a week to do this job. They're always complaining that I don't get the music out into the musician's folders when it's supposed to be there, but the fact is they don't give me nearly enough time to get the job done right. Some of that music...some of those pieces haven't been played for years and all the parts are just thrown together in an old folder. Some of the pages are ripped, some are missing. I've got to repair the torn pages, sometimes make photocopies, erase all the old penciled-in markings for eighty or ninety parts for every piece they play. They may go over four or five pieces in one rehearsal and sometimes they don't even tell me what they're going to rehearse until a couple of days before. And I'm only part-time...they only pay me for twenty hours a week and that's never enough to get it done so I have to come in extra days, on my own. And I never get paid for that."

"And you reacted to that by hiring somebody to steal the orchestra's instruments?"

"No! I told the guy just to come in and mess things up...do a little vandalizing, knock over a few cabinets, mess everything up. That's all I told him to do."

"And you really thought that was going to get you a raise or more hours?"

"I told you, I wasn't thinking."

"What made you approach that guy, Willie Bascom?"

"I don't know...he was around outside the building a lot...you know, panhandling."

"And what made you think he would do something illegal?"

Samantha shrugged. "He was hungry. He seemed to be pretty desperate. I told him exactly what to do...gave him fifty bucks."

"How did you get the key to unlock the door?"

"Are you kidding? It's just sitting there on a peg behind the door of Alan's room. And Alan isn't there half the time. I don't care what anybody tells you—anybody could grab that key any time they felt like it."

"And when you came in the next day, what did you discover?"

"He hadn't done what I asked him to do...not really. He threw a few things around...but then I found out that he actually stole some things—some old violins and even a few scores. I certainly didn't tell him to do that."

"So what did you do?"

"There wasn't anything I could do. I could hardly say 'sorry guys but my thief was only supposed to vandalize the place...not my fault."

"So you said nothing."

"Look, the violins were low quality student instruments. Nobody around here really got that upset, although Carter—he's the chair of the orchestra's Board—he came charging around the next day bellowing like a wounded bull. But Alan didn't seem all that worried about it. The missing scores were a little more of a problem, but there was nothing we couldn't replace easily enough."

"Did you get back to Willie Bascom and complain that he had gone beyond the call of duty, swiping those violins?"

"I looked around for him the next couple of days but he was keeping out of sight. Then I figured the best thing I could do about it was lay low and play dumb."

McGill shook his head. "You didn't have to play dumb, you were dumb. Willie Bascom had prior convictions for one thing and eventually we would have questioned him about it. And Willie sure didn't seem to feel any loyalty to you. He came up with your name within a few minutes of having a little pressure applied to him."

"Oh my God! What am I going to do?"

"In the short run, you're coming downstairs with me and you're going to get booked."

"Am I going to jail?"

"I'm not the one who determines that."

"What if I can help you with your investigation...you know, of the murders?"

McGill frowned. "If you have something to tell me, you had better do it right now."

Gibbons hesitated. "I don't know how important it is..."

"Tell me what's on your mind."

"Well, it's Jonathan Clemens, the business manager for the orchestra. You know his office is at the end of the same hall where the music library is located and it's close to the washroom. So when I'm there, doing my job and just walking around, sometimes I overhear him."

"So?"

"So one day I heard him having an argument...a nasty one...with Ray Ridgway. He's a professional fund-raiser who works sometimes for Clemens. I don't really know Ray but he seems like a nice guy from what I've seen. But he and Clemens were really going at it. At one point, Clemens yelled at him to get out of his office."

"What were they talking about?"

Gibbons shrugged. "Who knows? I only heard the tail-end of the argument. But it was pretty heated."

"Does Mr. Clemens often lose his temper?"

"Well, he's not the most pleasant person, if that's what you mean."

"Would you like to explain that statement a little?"

"He can be pretty grouchy, even nasty at times."

"Have you had any run-ins with him?"

"Yes, from time to time. Alan Winston...he tries to help people. But Clemens just complains. And he's refused my requests for more time in the music library several times."

"Oh, I see. He's the one who refuses to increase your hours."

"Right, although you'd think he'd understand a little better how difficult my job is. Alan is always supportive, but never Clemens."

"I'm having a difficult time seeing how Clemens' argument with Ridgway relates to the two murders."

"Don't you see? There's obviously something that he's trying to cover up and it's something that Ridgeway knows about."

McGill sighed quietly. "Look, Ms. Gibbons, this is something I will check on but, honestly, there's a great chance that it doesn't have anything at all to do with the murders. I do, however, appreciate your bringing it to my attention. Now if you'll come with me, we've some business to take care of downstairs."

# Chapter Twenty-Two

McGill peered intently at the street signs as his car rolled slowly down the street. He had only a vague sense of where Naylor's Run Park was, although he was pretty sure it was off Garrett Road. Within seconds he saw to his left a large, open green area. This has got to be it, he said to himself. Now let's hope the trip is actually worth it.

He had walked down the central main path for almost five minutes when he saw Ray Ridgway, an angular-looking man in his mid-thirties wearing a dark business suit, sitting quietly on a bench a few feet off the path.

McGill nodded toward him. "Mr. Ridgway, I assume?"

"And you must be Detective McGill," Ridgway said, leaping to his feet and extending his hand.

McGill smiled. "Was it really necessary to meet this far off the beaten track?"

Ridgway grunted. "Let's just say my career opportunities are likely to contract rather than expand if I'm seen in the company of the local police too frequently."

McGill's eyes narrowed. "And why would that be?"

"It's probably just my personal neurosis, Detective," he said, gesturing for McGill to take a seat next to him. "It's just that I work for multiple clients and they're all dreadfully afraid that I am somehow revealing their most important trade secrets to each other or to the authorities."

"I was under the impression that you were a part-time fund raiser for the orchestra," McGill said.

"And so I am," Ridgway said, "but I'm also a part-time fund raiser for two other organizations."

"Is that kosher?"

Ridgway shrugged. "The companies I work for are very different from one another and I approach a different group of donors for each of the three. Still, they all like to think that I work only for them."

"And the reason you don't?"

"Simple enough. They don't pay enough. Normally I've got to cobble together two or three clients at any one time in order to make a decent living. Think of it as an advertising agency that handles more than one client."

"I see. Well, you can probably guess why I got in contact with you. Samantha Gibbons told me that she overheard you and Jonathan Clemens, the orchestra's business manager, having a pretty violent argument recently."

"I don't really know Samantha Gibbons, although I have run into her once or twice while in the orchestra's business office. I believe that the music library where she works is down the hall from Clemens' office. And of course I'm there quite a bit."

"I see. Are you suggesting that no such confrontation took place?"

"Not at all. I think Ms. Gibbons is probably referring to a meeting I had with Clemens a little over a week ago. The only thing that surprises me is why you or anyone else might ever think that it had anything to do with the two horrible murders that recently took place in that building."

"Mr. Ridgway, I'm not sure that it does. But I'd appreciate it if you could tell me everything you could about that meeting—what instigated it, what topics were discussed, and why there were raised voices."

"That's simple enough. I accused Clemens of fixing the books."

"What?"

"Of dishonest accounting practices, if you will. Understandably, he resented my accusation."

"You're going to have to back up and give me a little background here."

"It's not really at all complicated. It's my job to 'close the deal' with many of the orchestra's biggest donors. In a few cases, I'm actually the one who makes the initial contact with the donor and I handle the whole thing. But most of the time, somebody else—often Wilfrid Carter or one of the other members of the Board of Directors—makes the original contact and then I come in to actually get the donor to sign on the dotted line."

"Does Clemens ever do that?"

"Clemens? Not usually. I don't know if you noticed it, but Jonathan is not known for his 'people skills.' Most people, especially wealthy people, find him boorish. I'm better with the wealthy donors so I do most of the closing."

"Do you get a commission for that?"

"I work primarily on salary. Theoretically I might be able to get a commission but my revenue goals are set so high—absurdly high—that the commissions never kick in."

"Is it Clemens who sets these goals for you?"

"Yes, but under orders from Carter. He doesn't want the orchestra to pay out a penny more to anyone than it absolutely has to."

"Okay, I think I understand the process now. Where does the 'fixing of the books' come in?"

"As you might expect, I make meticulous records of how much money I process for the orchestra, how much each of the donors actually signs off on. I know exactly how much money is donated to the orchestra in a given year from these donors and I know the terms under which the money is given."

"And so?"

"So I recently came across the annual report to the orchestra's Board prepared by Clemens listing the amount of the donations for the year that just concluded. Almost a third of the donations made—donations that I was directly involved in securing— were not reflected in the report."

"How much money are we talking about?"

"Hundreds of thousands of dollars."

"Had you been aware of discrepancies of this sort before now?"

"I've been working for the orchestra for three years. I noted smaller discrepancies for the first two years as well but they didn't amount to that much so I didn't say anything. This year it seemed that quite a bit of money had been skimmed off."

"So you confronted him with that fact?"

"Yes."

"And he reacted violently?"

"At first it was more smugly than violently. He told me that I simply didn't understand complex book-keeping methods and I shouldn't be sticking my nose where it didn't belong. I replied that it wasn't necessary to know the details of his book-keeping system because the gross numbers should still have reflected the proper number and amount of donations regardless of how that money was manipulated after the fact."

"And what did he say to that?"

"Basically he said 'you're fired' and told me to leave his office. I had expected something like that and was more than prepared to terminate my relationship with the orchestra, but I wasn't going to let that arrogant son of a bitch have the last word. So I told him what I thought of him. And then he started screaming at me."

"Screaming what?"

"Frankly, he wasn't terribly coherent. Something about me not understanding the arts and not being sympathetic with 'creative temperaments' and so forth."

"Creative temperaments?"

"Yes, that's a joke, isn't it? Particularly coming from him. The guy doesn't have a creative bone in his body."

"And that was it? That was the gist of your conversation?"

"That was pretty much it. And, yes, it did get heated in the last few minutes and I'm sure we made a lot of noise. Ms. Gibbons may have heard it all the way from the music library."

"Okay, so now that you've had some time to cool down, would you still contend that there's been some shady bookkeeping going on here? Perhaps even something illegal?"

"Sure. I think that he—or somebody higher up for whom he's covering—is skimming off the top. But do I think that you or anyone else is ever going to be able to prove that? Absolutely not."

"And why is that?"

"You don't have the expertise, even if they would allow you to see their books, which they will most definitely not do. What are you going to do...get a search warrant so you can take all their ledgers and supporting documents back to the police station and then have one of your experts look at it? You'll never get a warrant for that...not in a million years. Maybe Clemens himself won't be able to stop you, but Wilfrid Carter certainly will. He's a big man, Detective McGill, and he's considered above reproach by most of the 'important' people in the Philadelphia governing hierarchy. No...neither you nor anyone else is ever going to get a chance to find out whether there's anything fishy going on here."

# Chapter Twenty-Three

McGill hurried down the street toward the orchestra building. He had agreed to meet with the secretary, Linda Eggert, to go over Loreen Stenke's electronic appointment book again and he was late. As he approached the building steps, his phone buzzed fiercely.

"Detective McGill!" came the frantic voice. "Someone's here...in the building!"

McGill quickened his pace, leaping up the stairs two at a time. "Is that you, Ms. Eggert? Come down to the main lobby right now. I'll meet you there in thirty seconds."

"I can't! I think he's just around the corner! I've got to stay here."

"Where are you?"

"Outside my office. You told me to meet you there."

"Fine, stay there. I'll be right up. It's probably nothing."

Within two minutes, McGill had arrived at the door to Eggert's office on the second floor. "Okay now, what's the problem?" McGill asked breathlessly.

"I heard a sound," Eggert said, visibly relieved. "I knew that no one else was supposed to be in the building and it spooked me."

McGill stopped briefly to listen. "I hear nothing. What made you think...?"

In that instant the quiet was interrupted by the metallic sound of closing doors and the rumble of a large motor.

"There! It's the service elevator! Someone's in the service elevator," said Eggert, panic again creeping into her voice.

"I've got to check it out," Sean said, moving down the hallway toward the service elevator at the back of the building.

"No! Don't leave me! It might be a trick! Somebody's pushing the buttons just to get you to go after the elevator."

McGill shook his head. "Miss Eggert...I've got to..."

"No!" she screamed, reaching out and grabbing his arm. "It's a trick! As soon as you're gone, they'll come at me."

"No, Linda, I'm sure that won't..."

"Please don't leave me!" she yelled, pushing her face close to his.

Sean sighed. "Alright, Linda. Don't be alarmed. I'm not going anywhere."

They stood together for the next two minutes until the sound of the elevator stopped and several seconds of silence had passed.

"Look, Linda, I'm sure you're going to be fine. I've got to get down there. If someone's been hovering around this building illegally, I've got to know about it."

"But..."

"I'll be back in three minutes," McGill said, moving swiftly toward the nearby stairwell. Picking up speed, he descended down the stairs and ran toward the service elevator at the back of the building. Arriving there a little over a minute later, he found the elevator door open but no sign of the intruder. He quickly stepped outside the back door and scanned the small parking lot in back. No people. No vehicles. McGill shook his head and started back upstairs.

"Did you see anyone?" asked Eggert, as he came quickly to meet her.

"No. I didn't really expect to. If there was someone, they were long gone."

"I'm sorry," she said, again clutching his arm, "but I thought it might be a trick. I didn't want to be the third murder victim."

McGill smiled weakly. "Of course not. I can understand that. But we don't know for sure that the intruder—whoever he was—has anything to do with the murders."

"My God!" gasped Eggert. "Why would anyone else be here? The building's been closed for three days! There's police tape everywhere."

"I know," McGill said. "But people are sometimes peculiarly attracted to crime scenes. Look, it doesn't matter. It's over now. Let's get to the business at hand."

Eggert carefully unlocked her office and they stepped inside. "Remind me what it is you wanted to see again?"

"The schedule you kept for Loreen Stenke. Anybody who came to see her in the last few weeks and any phone calls if you log those."

Eggert quickly went over to her computer and hit a few keys. "There, that's all I've got," she said, directing McGill's attention toward the screen. "Not that many visitors as you can see. But you've got to remember that it was almost a month ago when she announced she was going to take the rest of the concert season off to have her baby. From that point on the number of appointments drop off dramatically."

"Yes, I see," said McGill, studying the screen. "Still, I'm surprised there are so few."

"She was usually here in the mornings only and, after she announced her leave of absence, she only came in briefly for two or three days a week."

"Hm, I don't see any names that are really unexpected. I was hoping I might have missed some important information the last time you took me through this, but I'm beginning to think I probably didn't. That's too bad."

"Of course you've got to remember that people making appointments didn't always go through me."

"What?"

"Loreen would sometimes make her own appointments. People would call her directly and make appointments with her. She wasn't supposed to—she was always supposed to go through me—but she didn't always do it."

"Really? So she had her own appointment calendar? I don't remember seeing that when I came here before and went through her papers."

"You might have missed it. It wasn't really a calendar. In fact she tended to write appointments down on odd scraps of paper that she left strewn all over her desk. She wasn't particularly organized. And because of that, sometimes she'd forget all about some of the appointments she herself had made and miss them completely. Then people would blame me of course. I asked her again and again to always let me make her appointments. She'd always agree and then just keep doing it her way."

"So she didn't really have an organized system?"

"Not at all. Like I said before...odd scraps of paper. Sometimes they'd just fall off her desk and the janitor would throw them out with the trash."

"Shall we go to her office to take another look at it? Now that I know what I'm looking for, I might have better luck."

Eggert shrugged. "If you like. That place gives me the creeps now, but I'll come with you if you want me to."

Minutes later they stood at the door to Loreen Stenke's office. One of the police tapes covering the door had been broken and dangled to the floor.

"What's this?" McGill asked, picking up the length of yellow tape. "We may not be the first visitors tonight."

As they entered the room slowly, Eggert made a slight gasping noise.

"Something wrong?" asked McGill.

She stared intently at a file cabinet to the right of the doorway. "That bust," she said, pointing to a heavy, nine-inch metallic bust of Beethoven on top of the cabinet.

McGill turned to peer at the bust. "Has that not always been there?"

"No," she said, her eyes searching the rest of the room. "There! It used to be over there," she said, pointing to a coffee table standing in front of a small couch over to the left side of the room.

"Really? When was it moved?"

"I don't know. I think it was always there on the coffee table. But now that you mention it, I don't think that it was here at all the last time I was in the room. I came in here to examine the room with one of the uniformed officers a day after Loreen's death because you said you wanted me to. Only I forgot about the Beethoven statue. I forgot about it completely, and now I think it wasn't in the room that day."

"You're sure?"

"I'm pretty sure. I know that the Beethoven bust has never been on the file cabinet, not until today anyway."

McGill nodded his head and smiled. "Well, don't touch it. I think we've just discovered the murder weapon."

# Chapter Twenty-Four

Sean McGill threw himself into an overstuffed chair as David and Elizabeth took seats across from him. "I am definitely not looking forward to meeting with Chief Inspector Simmons tomorrow morning."

"How bad could it be, Sean?" Elizabeth said. "He knows you've been working hard on this case. You've left no stone unturned."

"And it's accomplished very little," said Sean.

"Well, that's not quite true," David said, passing Sean a cup of coffee. "You have eliminated some people."

"Actually, I've eliminated almost nobody. Most of the so-called alibis are proving difficult to confirm. And I'm as fuzzy as I was the first day about who might have a reasonable motive to kill both conductors. I've cleared up the robbery of the old violins but that was mostly luck. And the only other thing I might have uncovered is some dubious bookkeeping practices that I just know the chief inspector is not going to want to hear about."

David shrugged. "You know it wasn't the secretary, Linda Eggert. She was almost a victim herself yesterday when you were trying to chase down that intruder in the orchestra building."

"Well, that might be a little bit of a stretch. The whole thing could have been staged as far as I know. And I showed bad judgment by not immediately going after the intruder. I was being clutched at by a very upset young lady at the time, but I should have found some way to get to that elevator sooner. I might have wasted a big chance there."

"You did the right thing, Sean. How were you to know whether it was a trick or not? It could have been a diversionary tactic, just as Linda feared. What if you had left her standing there and the intruder came back to attack her while you were chasing an empty service elevator?"

Sean nodded. "That's true."

"And you found the murder weapon, right?" David said.

"It does look like it. It's being checked on now, but there's a good chance that Loreen Stenke was dispatched with a heavy Beethoven bust."

"Ooh," Elizabeth said. "Somehow I find that particularly disturbing."

"I know. I don't know why, but I think we're conditioned to think that being shot is somehow a cleaner, less brutal death than being bludgeoned by a heavy object. In the end, I'm not sure how much it mattered. The examiner said that death would have been nearly instantaneous in both cases."

"But the fact that the murderer just happened to pick up a nearby heavy object," David said, "doesn't that suggest that it was spontaneous? I mean, for the first murder, whoever did it brought a gun."

"It's certainly something to consider," Sean replied.

"So maybe a different murderer?" Elizabeth suggested.

"Maybe," replied Sean, "but I still don't think so. It staggers the imagination to think that two different conductors of the same orchestra have two different enemies who show up to dispatch them both in the space of two weeks."

"A reasonable point," said David. "But if it's a single murderer, why was the first murder planned in advance and the second seemingly spontaneous?"

"We can't really be sure it was spontaneous, of course, although I'll admit that there's a good chance it was." Sean said. "I think that the one thing we can be sure of is that the situation was different."

"But different in what way?" David asked. "Are you suggesting that the murderer had a different relationship with the two conductors?"

"Possibly," replied Sean. "If the act was spontaneous, and the killer didn't walk into the room knowing in advance that he was going to kill Loreen Stenke, it may be that he had some business to conduct with her."

"And it went badly?" Elizabeth said.

"Exactly. Something happened that he didn't expect, or that upset him..."

"Or her..." David interjected

"Or her...and as a result he or she lashed out."

Elizabeth shook her head gently. "I more or less understand what you're saying here, but I don't see how it gets us anywhere in terms of narrowing down the list of suspects."

Sean nodded. "I agree. I've got a lot more leg work to do." He rose to his feet. "And I just remembered there was something that I was supposed to do yesterday that I never did."

"At the orchestra building?" David asked.

"Right. I was so pleased with myself for discovering the murder weapon—the reappearing Beethoven bust—that I forgot the main reason that Linda Eggert and I were going back into Loreen's office."

"Which was?"

"To check if we could find any record of the appointments she herself made. Ms. Eggert reports that Loreen had a bad habit of scrawling down her own appointments on miscellaneous scraps of paper and then losing track of them."

"A typically unorganized artsy type, I guess," David said.

"I'm not sure about that," replied Sean. "She was organized enough in other facets of her life, but apparently she could be careless with recording appointments. Anyway, I've got to get back to her office and try to see what I can find. I'd appreciate it if you could come with me, David, because I might run into some names I wouldn't recognize."

"Do you mean orchestra members?" David asked. "I know some of them of course but certainly not everybody."

"Well, you're more familiar with those people than I am."

"Sure, happy to help. When do we go?"

"I'll meet you outside the orchestra building tonight at 8:00. First, I've got to have a meeting with the chief inspector to update him on my progress."

"I hope it goes well."

Sean grimaced. "It would make a nice change."

# Chapter Twenty-Five

Chief Inspector Simmons offered a thin smile as McGill sat down across from him. "I'm pleased that you've been able to clear up the orchestra theft problem. You say that there are a couple of people in custody?"

"There are. It turns out that Samantha Gibbons, the part-time music librarian who works for the orchestra, got fed up with what she considered insufficient hours and poor pay. She hired a street person and small-time crook to do a little mischief in the music library and he got a little carried away."

"So this Gibbons person hired somebody to break in?"

"Right. The idea was somehow to make the orchestra more appreciative of the job she did or perhaps to give her more hours to straighten out the mess."

"That's ridiculous. The girl sounds unbalanced."

"It was certainly a stupid thing to do, something she readily admits to at this point. But in her defense, I should say that, when she gave this guy his instructions, there was no mention of pilfering the violins."

Simmons grunted. "Still sounds like an idiotic thing to do. So the missing violins turned up in a pawn shop?"

"Pretty close by, as it turned out. The thief even gave them his real name and that's how we traced it back to Gibbons."

"He's not much brighter than she was."

"No, sir."

"Any chance that this young lady is involved in anything more serious?"

"The murders? I really don't think so. I'd be very surprised if she had anything like that in her."

"But if she blamed the two conductors...?"

"She seemed more angry at the business manager, Jonathan Clemens, who was insensitive to her plight, or at least so it seemed to her."

"I see. So in reference to the major issues, we're not much further along...other than the discovery of the murder weapon."

"I'm afraid not, sir, but there is another matter I'd like to bring to your attention."

"And that is?"

"Ms. Gibbons told me that she overheard a rather heated exchange between Clemens and Ray Ridgway, who works as a fund-raiser for the orchestra."

"So?"

"Well, trying to pursue any possible lead, I went to talk to Ridgway, who—by the way—is no longer employed by the orchestra after that heated exchange."

"And the significance of that is what?"

"Ridgway said that the cause of their argument, which he admitted became quite nasty, was that he accused Clemens of failing to report a number of donations that Ridgway himself was involving in securing. In other words, Ridgway was pretty much accusing him of embezzling the funds or, at the very least, cooking the books to hide somebody else's improper behavior."

"Really? And why do you think this information is relevant to our case?"

"If there really is some financial funny business going on, whether it's on Clemens' level or higher up, and either or both of the conductors found out about it, that might be a motive for murder—to silence them before they could make a fuss about it."

Simmons frowned. "That seems like a huge stretch."

"It could be nothing, of course. Ridgway's charges may not be valid, although I can't see how it would serve his interests to invent them out of nothing."

"Maybe, but really...I still don't see how this leads us to our murderer."

"There may not be a direct link, sir, but if there is some illegal activity here, shouldn't we pursue it and see where it goes?"

Simmons shook his head slowly. "And how do you think that would work? We get the court's permission to look through their financial documents? Because I've got a pretty good idea that they'd scream bloody murder if we just ask for them politely."

"If necessary, sir."

"I'm surprised at you, Sean. Why would you want to go on a wild goose chase that would probably end up nowhere when you've got two unsolved murders at your doorstep?"

"But we've been stymied throughout this whole investigation because we haven't been able to come up with any possible motives. We've got one now. If the orchestra's business manager has been fixing the books, maybe even embezzling funds, and if first Hauptmann and then Stenke found out about it..."

"Is there any indication that either of them had discovered anything of that sort? I mean, is there even a hint that either of them gave any serious thought to the orchestra's budget?"

"Well, no. But they didn't live in some artistic vacuum."

"Really? Maybe they did and maybe they didn't. But the point is that we don't have any evidence to proceed on this, other than speculation by a disgruntled former employee. These things do get audited, you know."

"It wouldn't be the first time that auditors had looked the other way."

"I'm just not buying it, Sean, and I don't want you to waste any more time on it. Look, you said you found what you think is the murder weapon. What does forensics say?"

"The Beethoven bust was wiped pretty clean, but very small traces of blood were found on it. They're pretty sure that it's the object that killed Loreen Stenke."

"Okay, well, that's your starting point. Who was in there to grab that statue in the first place? And more importantly, who would have been able to get in a locked building to return it?"

"That part turns out to be less of a mystery than we originally thought. There aren't that many keys to the backdoor, but one of them was almost always just hanging out there on a hook in Alan Winston's room. And Winston often didn't lock his door."

"And everybody on the staff knew that?"

"Apparently."

"Alright, at this point you have to focus almost exclusively on the staff. I realize that we haven't determined yet why one of them would hate Hauptmann and Stenke so much he would kill them, but it seems clear to me that the staff members are likely the only ones who had a clear opportunity to do the deed in both cases."

"Yes sir."

"So that's it then. I want you to re-interview every one of them...multiple times if necessary. These are not hardened, career criminals, Sean. One of them is going to crack."

# Chapter Twenty-Six

"Right on time as usual," David said brightly as Sean walked quickly up to the front of the orchestra building. "How'd the meeting with Simmons go? Better than you expected?"

"Not particularly," said Sean, entering the lobby with David and starting up the stairs to Stenke's office. "He reacted in pretty much the way I thought he would when I said that some suspect bookkeeping on the part of the business manager might somehow be at the bottom of this."

"Well, something's got to break somewhere," said David.

Approaching Stenke's desk, Sean smiled grimly. "I wish I had a better idea of what we're looking for. Scraps of paper, I guess, with names, dates and times. Anything that looks like Loreen Stenke could be writing down appointments."

"One sheet or multiple sheets?" David asked.

"Could be either, I guess. Linda Eggert complained that Stenke would write things down on random sheets."

"Random sheets it is."

"Nothing on the top of the desk," said Sean after filtering through several sheets of paper. "Try the lower drawer on the left. I'll take the one on the right."

Seconds later, David pulled a clump of papers from the lower drawer. "Eureka! I think we've struck the mother-lode."

"What did you find?" Sean asked eagerly.

David placed the papers on the desk and began to sort them out. "A bundle of papers that may be relevant...about eight sheets, even paper-clipped together. Who said Loreen Stenke wasn't organized?"

"Great! Do they have names, dates and times?"

"Unfortunately, most aren't dated. They just say 'Wednesday, 9:00,' or 'Thursday, 10:00'."

"Names?"

"The ones on top only give first names or initials. Here," said David, handing half of the sheets to Sean," you take the bottom half."

The two carefully scanned each sheet. After a couple of minutes, Sean broke the silence.

"Hello! What's this?" he said, clutching one of the sheets in his fingers. "Here's something that shows up quite a bit."

David looked over. "What shows up?"

"One name in particular. Again and again, sometimes even twice in one day. And she's scribbled some nasty things beside it. Look, it may be something, it may be nothing. It's just too early to tell."

David shrugged. "Suit yourself, but Elizabeth always tells me I'm a good person to bounce ideas off."

Sean smiled. "I already know that, but I've got to wait for this one to ripen a little before I throw it at anyone. But in the meantime, there is something you can do for me."

"Sure, what is it?"

"I've got a hunch and I'm going to play it. It may make both of us look foolish, but I'm going to take the chance. I've got to go and see Linda Eggert one more time and, David, I want you to organize a chamber music rehearsal."

"A chamber music rehearsal? What are you talking about?"

"A rehearsal, for a small group of musicians from the orchestra. Tell them you've got a chamber music gig coming up at a nearby church—you know, one of those Sunday afternoon chamber music concerts that some of the wealthier churches occasionally sponsor as a fundraising event. Tell them that you're putting together a piano quintet for one of those concerts and you're going to be looking at a brand new work...you know, a world premiere."

"Ok, but..."

"Here's a list of people I want you to invite." He swiftly scribbled a series of names on a half sheet of paper and handed it to David, who scanned it quickly. "Unless I miss my guess," Sean continued, " everyone on this list will come, either because they could use a little extra cash—especially with the rest of the orchestra's season in serious jeopardy—or because they'll be curious."

"I guess so," said David, "but I don't really know everybody on this list that well. I'm not sure they will come."

"As I said, it's a hunch. It might work and it might not."

"Where do you want to have this rehearsal?"

"In the orchestra's rehearsal hall. Do you think you can arrange it?"

"I can try. I think Alan Winston owes me a favor. He's going to want to be there, though."

"Fine," Sean said, as he shoved the papers into his briefcase. "The more the merrier."

# Chapter Twenty-Seven

McGill walked quickly into the rehearsal hall. Seated in a semi-circle off to the side of David, who was seated at the piano, were the orchestra's concertmaster, Simon Anders, and violinist Susan Kim, along with the first violist and cellist from the orchestra and Hermann Hauptmann. All eyes quickly attached to McGill as he walked across the room to take a seat by the wall.

"What's he doing here?" asked an obviously annoyed Anders. "Is this a rehearsal or an inquisition?"

David smiled reassuringly. "Relax! Sean and I are old friends. He used to be a musician himself, you know. Graduated from the Institute a few years ago."

"That doesn't answer my question," Anders said. "Why is he here?"

David sighed. "Look, Simon. He's my friend. He's here to provide another set of ears. I've told you that I haven't yet decided what we're going to program for this concert."

"And he's going to help you decide?"

"Something like that. Now look, can we just get to work here? I want to get through the Brahms and get on to that new piece I told you about."

Anders frowned but nodded his head. "Alright. Let's get back to work. I don't have all night."

As McGill watched, the ensemble played through each movement of the Brahms quintet, stopping occasionally to discuss tempos and articulations. About forty-five minutes later, David rose to his feet. "Okay, that was fine. I think we've got a good handle on it. It's definitely in the program. Now wait just a minute and I'll get the new piece I wanted you to take a look at."

As David reached in back of him to the nearby table to pick up the string parts, Hermann Hauptmann broke the silence. "Young man, this piece...I've been here looking at the score...this is not a piece you want to have on a program with a great work like the Brahms."

"Oh, really? David said. "And why do you think that?"

"This just not a substantial piece, David. It will sound frivolous next to the Brahms quintet," said Hermann, tossing the score onto the table by his side.

"I'm surprised you would say that," said David. "This composer is young, but he's won several awards for his compositions."

Hermann grew heated. "Young man, I thought you invited me here tonight to give you my professional opinion on this new work. And I can tell you, as one of the most important composers of my generation, that this work is nothing. It has no substance. It..."

McGill suddenly rose to his feet. "But Hermann, don't you think it's important that young composers have a chance to hear their works performed?"

Hermann grimaced. "Being young is not always a great advantage, Mr...."

"McGill. We met a couple of weeks ago. At a reception, perhaps you remember? And then I interviewed you briefly...about the tragic death of your brother."

"Yes...yes, I remember." Hermann turned quickly to face David again. "But I tell you again, David, youth is not in itself an asset. A composer must have strength of character. That is the essential component."

"But Hermann," David said. "Shouldn't we all be searching for new ideas?"

"No!" roared Hermann, rising to his feet. "Novelty is nothing. It is character and passion that must shine through in music...and experience....composers must have experienced something of life and demonstrate that through the music."

"But surely," McGill said slowly, "time passes some composers by...they have their day and then they became irrelevant. And then young composers will..."

Hermann clenched his fists as his face reddened. "No! I won't have it! I was young...I was a young composer...years ago. And people admired my work. My compositions were played by some of the great orchestras of Europe. But then it faded...it all faded away and my works were forgotten. I was ignored."

"Perhaps styles just change Hermann," David said sympathetically. "Composers must change as well."

"My work has grown?" Hermann demanded. "I was a boy then. What did I know of life? But I became a man...my work became mature....my work grew and became more substantial...but still...no one...no one would..."

McGill started to walk slowly toward Hermann, unclamping the briefcase in his hand while he spoke. "But still no one would perform your works, would they, Hermann? Not your new works, not the works that showed how much you had grown as a composer...and as a man."

"That's right!" shouted Hermann, almost choking with rage as he took a step forward "They refused to acknowledge my works...they refused to see that I was now twice the composer I was as a young man!"

"But your brother told you he might play one of your works, didn't he?"

"Bah! He was toying with me. I knew it all along. I knew that he would never perform any of my compositions. And in the end he retired, retired before he could fulfill his promise." Hermann paused, a distant look in his eyes. "But then he came back to the orchestra, when Loreen Stenke decided to leave to have her baby," he said more quietly. "And I thought, surely he will not refuse me now! Surely he will fulfill his promise now!"

Hermann paused, sinking back into his chair. "But he wouldn't. I asked him again. I begged him...begged him to be fair with me...to be honorable....but he refused. He put me off again and again. I knew then he could not be moved."

Moving closer, McGill nodded his head gently. "So one night, when you came to see him, he turned away from you for the last time, didn't he, Hermann? And that's when you shot him, shot him in the back of the head and killed him."

Hermann's face grew rigid. He said nothing.

"But how about Loreen Stenke, Hermann? Why did you kill her? Did she refuse you as well?"

Hermann was silent for several seconds. Then he spoke quietly. "When she returned to conduct the orchestra after Auguste's death, there was going to be a memorial concert honoring my brother. She promised me. She said I could write a piece honoring my brother. And I did. I wrote a beautiful piece...full of humanity and grief...for my brother."

"Wouldn't she look at it, Hermann?"

"She looked at it...or at least she said she did. But then she changed her mind. She said it was not suitable for a memorial concert. She said it wasn't substantial...not fit for a serious occasion."

"And did you try to change her mind...convince her to play your piece?"

"Several times, but eventually she refused to see me. Then, after her miscarriage, she said she wanted no part of the concert honoring my brother. I went to her...to talk to her one last time...but I knew she wouldn't listen to me."

"So you thought you'd kill her as well, didn't you, Hermann?" McGill said evenly, reaching inside his briefcase. "And then you grabbed this!" He held up the Beethoven bust, shaking it slightly in his hand. "And you killed her with it, didn't you? The problem is, Hermann, you forgot to wipe off the fingerprints before you snuck back to Loreen's office to return it."

Hermann rose to his feet again, his mouth open. "I did...I never..." He turned as if to leave but saw a uniformed police officer standing in front of the door at the back of the room. Then he slumped back into his seat.

"I'm sorry," McGill said, "but you're going to have to come down to the station with me."

# Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sean McGill sank deeply into the over-stuffed chair in David and Elizabeth's apartment. He smiled as they looked expectantly toward him.

David spoke first. "Did Hermann admit to the murders?"

"He said not a word on the way to the station. Once we got there, he sat, stony-faced for half an hour. The only time he spoke was to say he didn't want a lawyer."

"And then?" said Elizabeth.

Sean sighed. "I think I was as uncomfortable as he was, and it probably showed. Eventually, he sort of smiled at me...a smile of resignation, I guess. The he said, 'I can speak now.'"

"And so he confessed to both murders?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes. Ironically, he seems not to feel much guilt about his brother's death. He still seems to feel that in some way Auguste deserved to die the way he did. After I spoke to you yesterday, David, I went back to Linda Eggert and asked whether she, as music librarian, had ever seen any of Hermann's works—whether anything of his had ever been rehearsed by the orchestra? It turns how she had. On two different occasions, when Auguste was still conducting the orchestra, the parts for one of Hermann's compositions had been distributed to the orchestra for rehearsal purposes."

"So what happened? Did they ever rehearse the work?" David asked.

"They did. On one occasion for about a half an hour."

"But it was never performed publicly?"

"No. According to Linda Eggert, who was present for both rehearsals, the piece didn't go well. In the second rehearsal, Auguste just cut the work off in the middle, slammed his baton down, and announced—in a particularly disgusted tone of voice if Ms. Eggert is to be believed—that the work was a waste of time and ordered Eggert to collect all the parts on the spot."

"My God!" Elizabeth said. "That must have been a traumatic moment for Hermann—to have his own brother disparage his work in front of the whole orchestra."

Sean nodded. "I'm sure it must have been very upsetting. But from what Eggert said, it was by no means the last time that Hermann tried to get his brother to perform one of his pieces. And once, right before Auguste retired from the orchestra for the first time, he had apparently dropped some hints to his brother that perhaps one of his newer works might be performed on Auguste's last concert before retirement."

"And was it?" asked David.

"No. Eggert said that the parts for the new work were distributed to the orchestra but Auguste ignored the work in all of the rehearsals and the last concert came and went with no trace of Hermann's composition."

"Another huge disappointment," Elizabeth said.

"And when Loreen Stenke took over the reins of the orchestra?" David asked.

"From what Linda says, Hermann went out of his way to ingratiate himself with the new conductor, stopping in for chats, sometimes several times a day. Then, after the first concert season, he began serious attempts to convince her to perform one of his pieces."

"How did she respond?" asked Elizabeth.

"Well, we can't be too sure," Sean said, "but for whatever reason, none of his works were performed. In fact, according to Linda, none of Hermann's works were ever distributed to the orchestra, even for rehearsal purposes."

David nodded. "So poor Hermann was having no better luck with Stenke than he had with his brother."

"So it seemed. But when Loreen was being encouraged to set up this big memorial concert after Auguste's death, it appeared briefly that the situation might be changing. It was in the planning for that concert that Loreen apparently dropped a hint to Hermann that she might program one of his works if Hermann could come up with something appropriate to the occasion."

"That takes some nerve," David said, "writing a special commemorative work for the brother whose death you were responsible for."

Sean shrugged. "From Hermann's point of view, it was probably just an ironic twist of fate. And appropriate, too. After all, if Auguste hadn't stubbornly refused to perform Hermann's works—works that he himself obviously considered masterpieces—then Auguste would still be alive."

"So Hermann was finally happy? Right?" Elizabeth asked.

"He was initially," Sean replied, "but when he provided Loreen with the new manuscript that he wanted to have played at the concert, Loreen started developing cold feet."

"And why was that?"

"Hermann hinted at it in the rehearsal and expanded on it a bit more in his confession. Apparently, she all but insulted the work, implying that it may have had entertainment value, but that it wasn't weighty enough for a serious occasion."

"And that was just the sort of thing that Hermann hated to hear," David said. "Even back in the 1980s, when Hermann enjoyed a brief surge of popularity, there were plenty of critics who said that about his work."

"Exactly. Now Loreen was becoming persona non grata every bit as much as his brother had been. Still, I think that Hermann still had every hope of changing Loreen's mind. And Loreen was at least allowing him to say a few words at the concert to commemorate his brother. So it came as a huge shock to Hermann when, after she had suffered the miscarriage, she had informed the Board of Directors and everybody else that she was done—she would not conduct the memorial concert and wanted nothing more to do with it."

"And with that, Hermann's final lifeline disappeared...his final chance to get recognition...any sort of recognition," said David.

"Unfortunately so. And yet, I think Hermann's decision to bludgeon Loreen to death was a last-minute thing. He had approached Loreen several times in that last week—his name was all over those little scraps of paper that she used to note down appointments—and I believe he still thought that he could change her mind—even at the last minute. But something clicked in his mind during that last visit...he looked at her and he realized she would never see things his way...would never help him to get his works performed. And that's when—right there and then—he decided to kill her."

"I still don't know how you could have been so sure it was Hermann when you arranged that little charade," David said, shaking his head gently.

"I wasn't so sure, not by any means. But his name showed up more than anyone else's and he was the only one who even vaguely fit the profile. So I thought I'd play my only ace. The bit about the fingerprints was a bluff, of course. There's wasn't anything readable on the Beethoven bust. But since Hermann took the trouble of sneaking it back into Loreen's office, I knew he was worried about it."

"What, by the way, was the profile you arrived at?" David asked.

"Nothing complicated. Someone who had the sort of emotional relationship with both conductors that might have provoked such a strong reaction."

"But," Elizabeth objected, "he's a seventy-seven year old man...how could not having your composition played provoke such a violent act? How could that be enough to kill someone...even two people?"

"It was a grievance that he had been nursing for decades. After that early success as a young man, he had labored for years trying to recapture that sense of euphoria that comes when the artistic world all of a sudden takes notice of you and gives a stamp of approval to your work. Now, in his late seventies, he had become desperate to recapture that feeling. So when his brother denied him, putting him off so many times...and then Loreen Stenke appeared to be subjecting him to the same treatment, he felt trapped and betrayed. The musical world had turned against Hermann once, and he needed allies to show the world that it was wrong. His brother, and then later Loreen, refused to be those allies."

"But how can you kill a person because of that?"

Sean shook his head. "People have killed before when they believe they've been robbed of their identity or whatever it is that validates their presence in the cosmos. If they've had that taken away from them, some people might be driven to do anything."

Elizabeth sighed. "Two lives tragically taken."

"And an orchestra ruined," added David. "But at least your inspector will finally be pleased with you."

"Do you think so? Sometimes I wonder. Frankly, he never seems to really want to see me until something comes up that involves some poor Godforsaken musicians."

Elizabeth smiled slyly. "Fortunately, musicians almost always keep to the straight and narrow as we know."

Sean smiled. "From your lips to God's ears."

***

If you've enjoyed The Maestro Murdered, you might want to check out other musical mysteries by the author—The Mephisto Mysteries and The Beethoven Quandary, available from all major eBook sellers.

