Deadly Overtures: A Music Lover's Mystery

by Sarah Fox

  Still, even if the detective didn’t seem to appreciate anything I’d already told him, I wouldn’t feel right holding back what I’d overheard. Maybe it meant nothing, but maybe it was the vital clue that would put the police on the track of Pavlina’s killer.

  With a heavy sigh, I decided to make a trip to the police station the next morning. Once again I wished Detective Salnikova was in charge of the murder investigation. Even if I had a tendency to exasperate her with what she probably viewed as nosiness, I knew she would at least listen to me. I wasn’t sure if I’d get the same consideration from Van den Broek. Nevertheless, I would pay the detective a visit in the morning and tell him what I’d heard.

  I TOSSED AND turned that night, jumbled thoughts bouncing around in my head, thumping out an irregular beat against my skull. Even when I did manage to sleep, a confused muddle of dreams kept me from truly restful slumber. I awoke in the morning with a groan, pulling the blankets up over my head, wishing I could turn back the clock and give the night another try. Since that, unfortunately, wasn’t an option, I soon forced myself to push back the covers and leave the warmth of my bed.

  Yawning, I stumbled my way to the bathroom and took a quick shower. By the time I’d toweled off and dressed I was as awake as I could be after the night I’d had. I made myself a quick breakfast of toast and strawberry jam and washed it down with a cup of green tea. Although I would have liked to lounge about reading a good book while enjoying another cup of tea, I remembered my decision from the night before and got bundled up in my coat, slouchy knitted hat, and gloves. Then I rode the elevator down to my building’s underground parking lot and set off in my car for the police station.

  I had to circle the block before I could find a parking spot and when I finally did get my MINI Cooper tucked up next to the curb, I remained in the driver’s seat, reluctant to get out. While I couldn’t be completely sure of the reception I’d receive from Detective Van den Broek, I figured the odds were pretty good that he wouldn’t be enthralled by what I had to tell him. Then again, maybe I didn’t have to talk to Van den Broek. Maybe I could ask to speak with Detective Chowdhury instead. Whether he’d be any more interested in the information I had to share than his partner had been with my insights the other night, I didn’t know, but speaking with Chowdhury appealed to me more than another round with Van den Broek.

  Finally leaving the warmth of my little car, I hurried along the street to the police station, the cold air stinging my cheeks. Inside the reception area, warmer air greeted me and I pulled my hat from my head. I immediately regretted the action, realizing that my hair was probably all staticky and sticking up in every direction. Feeling self-conscious, I ran my hand over my hair, trying to smooth it down as best I could as I approached the reception desk.

  I asked the middle-aged woman behind the desk if I could speak with Detective Chowdhury and she requested that I wait a moment. As I did so, I wandered over to the posters adorning one of the walls, but barely noticed any of them except one. A missing person’s poster showing a teenage girl with hair the same length and color as Pavlina’s caught my attention, shifting my focus back in time to the terrible scene Mikayla and I had stumbled upon in the theater’s washroom.

  For the briefest of moments it was as if a flag were waving at me from the back of my mind. But as soon as I tried to grasp on to what my brain was trying to tell me, the thought slipped away. Staring at the posters without really seeing them, I sifted through my memories, trying to find what it was that I’d almost remembered. I had a feeling it related in some way to Pavlina’s body, or the scene of the crime.

  Had I seen something significant without realizing it at the time? But what?

  I tugged on my left earlobe, picturing all the details I could recall from the moments following the discovery of Pavlina’s body. But the harder I tried to figure out what was nagging at me, the farther away it seemed to slither.

  When the woman behind the reception desk called for my attention, I turned away from the posters, annoyed with myself, but deciding to forget about the matter for the time being. Whatever it was that I was missing, maybe it would come back to me later.

  “Detective Chowdhury will be out in a moment,” the woman told me when I returned to the reception desk.

  I thanked her and wandered over to the nearest chair. I’d barely had a chance to sit down before the door next to the reception desk opened and Detective Chowdhury stepped through it.

  “Ms. Bishop?” His eyes settled on me, the only person in the waiting area.

  I jumped up and hurried over to meet him. He offered his hand and I shook it. Then he ushered me through the doorway and into a hallway I’d been down several times before.

  “I presume you’re here about the investigation into Ms. Nicolova’s death,” Chowdhury said as he led me to an open area at the end of the hall where several detectives worked away at their desks.

  My eyes quickly scanned the room, but I saw no sign of Detective Salnikova’s familiar face. “Yes,” I said as Chowdhury offered me a seat by his desk.

  “You’ve remembered something since you spoke to Detective Van den Broek the other night?”

  I settled into the offered seat, resting my purse, hat, and gloves on my lap. “No, but I overheard something after I spoke to him. It might not be important, but it sounded suspicious to me and I thought you should know about it.”

  Detective Chowdhury dug around in one of his desk drawers and produced a pen seconds later. As he flipped through the pages of his notebook, a shadow fell over me. Chowdhury and I both looked up at the same time. Detective Van den Broek loomed over us, appearing even taller than his six and a half feet from my low vantage point.

  “Ms. Bishop, isn’t it?” he said, peering down at me from his great height.

  “That’s right,” I confirmed.

  He pulled out the chair that was tucked under the neighboring desk and sat down. It seemed I’d be talking to both detectives.

  “Ms. Bishop has something to tell us regarding the murder investigation,” Chowdhury said, bringing his partner up to speed.

  Van den Broek fixed his eyes on me.

  Determined not to shrink beneath his gaze, I sat up straight and focused on Detective Chowdhury, clearing my throat before speaking. “As I said, I’m not sure if it’s significant, but last night after the rehearsal I overheard Jeb Hartson talking on his cell phone. He said something was all taken care of and nobody suspected a thing. He didn’t know I’d overheard him and I’m pretty sure he thought he was alone, since most of the orchestra had already left the theater.”

  Even though I remained facing Detective Chowdhury, I could still feel Van den Broek’s intimidating gaze boring into me. I clasped my hands in my lap to prevent myself from fidgeting and cleared my throat again. “Anyways, it sounded suspicious to me so I thought you should know.”

  “Did he say anything else?” Chowdhury asked.

  “Not that I heard.”

  The detective wrote something in his notebook before flipping it shut and setting down his pen. “All right. Thank you, Ms. Bishop. We appreciate you coming in to share this with us.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said as I stood up.

  “Ms. Bishop,” Van den Broek said as he got to his feet. “You seem to overhear quite a few conversations.”

  I met his dark blue eyes straight on. “What are you implying?”

  “I simply hope you aren’t wasting police time.”

  Heat flared in my cheeks as the full implication of his words hit me. “You think I made this up?”

  It was Detective Chowdhury’s turn to stand up. “Nobody’s saying that.”

  “Really?” I knew that was exactly what Van den Broek was saying. A fire of anger and indignation flared to life inside of me, heating my next words. “The community at the Abrams Center is a small one. I overhear things accidentally al
l the time. Most of it is of no importance, and maybe this information isn’t either, but I thought it was my duty to share it with you. If you’d rather not know what goes on at the theater when you’re not around, just say so and I won’t bother you again.”

  “We do appreciate the information you shared,” Chowdhury hurried to assure me, but I barely heard him.

  Van den Broek’s impassive expression hadn’t changed and I was ready to storm out of the police station. I’d even spun around, prepared to leave without another word, when a familiar voice stopped me before I’d taken a single step.

  “Midori?”

  Detective Salnikova had arrived at some point during my conversation with her colleagues and now stood next to her desk, only a stone’s throw from those of Detectives Chowdhury and Van den Broek.

  “Detective Salnikova. It’s nice to see you again.” Although I managed to get the words out, my voice was still stiff with anger, my tone not matching my words. “I was just on my way out.”

  “I’ll walk with you,” she said quickly, halting Detective Chowdhury, who was about to carry out the task.

  My teeth gritting together, I walked briskly across the room and turned down the hallway that would take me to the reception area. It was only once we were out of sight of the other detectives that Salnikova put a hand on my arm to stop my progress.

  “Is something wrong, Midori?”

  I spent a second or two fighting against the storm of angry emotions raging inside of me. As I let out a breath, I tried to expel some of my frustration with it. It helped, although only slightly.

  “I came here to share some information I thought might be pertinent to a murder investigation. I was only trying to be helpful, but Van den Broek seems to think I made everything up. Maybe he thinks I want attention or that I have a couple of screws loose. But when I overhear something that could be a clue, am I supposed to keep quiet? Is that really what they want me to do?”

  Despite my attempt to calm down, the storm inside of me was back to gale force. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to regain my composure.

  “Why don’t we sit down for a moment?” Salnikova opened a door and indicated that I should precede her through it.

  Embarrassment now mingling with all my other emotions, I entered the small interview room and plunked my hat, gloves, and purse on the table before sitting down on one of the two chairs.

  “I’m sorry,” I said as Salnikova took the other seat. “The suggestion that I’m an attention-seeking liar got me riled up.”

  “I’m guessing this has to do with the Nicolova murder case.”

  “Yes.” I told her about the conversation I’d overheard between Jeb and Olivia, as well as Jeb’s suspicious telephone conversation. “Should I really have kept that to myself?”

  “No,” Salnikova replied. “You were right to share that information.”

  “For all the good it’ll do,” I muttered. “If Detectives Chowdhury and Van den Broek think I made it all up, they might ignore everything I told them.”

  “That won’t happen. Detective Van den Broek might not be the most personable man on the force, but he’s good at his job and he won’t leave any stone unturned, despite what he might have led you to believe. And Detective Chowdhury is a sharp investigator too. Everything you told them will be checked out, I can assure you of that.”

  I was willing to believe what she’d said about Detective Chowdhury, but I wasn’t quite as convinced about Van den Broek. Still, her reassurances had at least snuffed out the dancing flames of my anger and frustration.

  “How come you’re not working this case?” I asked.

  “I was tied up with another investigation when the call came in.”

  That was unfortunate.

  “How’s Detective Bachman?” The last time I’d seen Salnikova’s older partner, he’d been off duty, recovering from surgery.

  “He’s had an unfortunate health setback, but we’re hoping he’ll be back to work before long.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about the setback.”

  That was true, but part of me was also relieved he wasn’t present because he never shied away from suggesting I had a tendency to get mixed up in police investigations. Although Salnikova had been known to do the same. In fact, I was surprised she hadn’t already warned me about interfering with police business.

  “I hope you’ll be careful, Midori.”

  Maybe the thought had passed through my head too soon. “I’m always careful.”

  I figured it was a good thing JT wasn’t there to hear me say that. Salnikova looked skeptical enough, and JT wouldn’t have held back any of his disbelief. The detective didn’t, however, lecture me about keeping my nose out of the official investigation, and I was grateful for that.

  She might have decided I could do with a lecture if I’d told her about questioning Fred about his tools, but I didn’t need to go there. Actually, I didn’t think I needed to do anything more at the police station. As far as I was concerned, I’d done my duty by filling in Detectives Chowdhury and Van den Broek on what Jeb had said the other night, and—as long as Salnikova was right about their qualities as investigators—they’d likely track down the killer without any further input from me. In the meantime, I could focus on other matters, like the theft of JT’s equipment. Maybe that was a hopeless cause, but I wasn’t ready to give up on it yet.

  Thanking Salnikova for her time, I parted ways with her and left the police station, hoping I’d be able to steer clear of Detective Van den Broek in the future.

  Chapter Eight

  I MADE A quick stop at home to eat an early lunch and pick up my violin. Then I set off to JT’s house, where my studio was located. For several years now I’d rented one of the front rooms of his house for teaching purposes, and I enjoyed the fact that I got to hang out with my best friend far more often than if I’d worked elsewhere. Some days I didn’t see JT at all if he was working long hours down in his recording studio or off at a meeting about the science fiction TV show he composed music for, but most days I got to spend at least some time with him.

  Lately, however, spending time with him wasn’t always as easy as it had once been. In the past I’d been so at ease in his company, but now I sometimes found myself worrying that he’d catch on to the fact that my feelings for him had evolved. I knew there was only one way to erase that anxiety, but I wasn’t sure I was brave enough to do what was necessary. I was all too aware of what could go wrong.

  Fortunately, I didn’t have time to dwell on such thoughts right at that moment. Since my first lesson of the day was scheduled for noon, I didn’t have a chance to say much more than hello to JT before I had to get ready to teach. But once my last student of the day had left, I wandered toward the kitchen at the back of the house. I didn’t find JT or Finnegan there, but the door to the basement was ajar and the light above the stairway was on. After helping myself to a drink of water and putting the empty glass in the dishwasher, I made my way down the stairs. Before I’d reached the last step, Finnegan bounded my way, his fluffy tail wagging with excitement.

  “Hey, boy,” I greeted him, giving him a scratch on the head.

  “Finished teaching for the day?” JT asked as he emerged from his recording studio.

  “Yep. The rest of the day is mine. How about you?”

  “I just wrapped things up. The guys are coming over soon for an extra band practice. We need to iron out a few wrinkles before our next gig on Saturday night.”

  “Speaking of your band,” I said, “are you going to ask Cameron if he knows anything about the theft of your equipment?”

  “No. Why would I? He was inside the theater when the thief was at work.”

  “That’s what we assumed, and maybe he really was. But what if leaving the truck unlocked wasn’t an accident?”

  “What are you suggesting? That he was invol
ved?”

  “It’s possible,” I said, recalling Cameron’s skittish behavior.

  JT removed one of his acoustic guitars from its wall hanger. “Even if it’s a possibility—and I’m not saying it is—I’m not going to accuse him of anything when I don’t have any proof.”

  “Okay, I get that, but aren’t you suspicious?”

  JT strummed a random chord before hesitating.

  “You are,” I said. “You don’t want to be, but you are.”

  “All right. I’m suspicious,” he admitted with no shortage of reluctance. “But I really don’t want to believe he could have stolen from me.”

  As JT sat down and worked away at tuning the guitar, I flopped down into a beanbag chair. When Finnegan sat down next to me, I scratched his head, thinking.

  “You said Cameron lost his job recently and needs money, so that gives him motive. But what about opportunity? Did he have time to shift all the equipment from your truck to another vehicle when you weren’t around?”

  JT frowned as he considered that. “I’m not so sure. It’s possible, but he would’ve had to work fast. But if he was working with someone else . . .”

  I could tell he didn’t like saying those words.

  “That’s probably the most likely possibility,” I agreed. “There had to be another vehicle to transport the equipment. And if he was in cahoots with someone, the timing wouldn’t be such an issue. His accomplice could have transferred the equipment from one vehicle to another while you and Cameron were both inside the theater. All Cameron had to do was leave the truck unlocked.”

  “But we don’t know for sure that Cameron was involved,” JT reminded me. “And I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt. I have to.”

  I understood that. If JT gave his suspicions too much power, that could affect his friendship with Cameron. And if his friendship with Cameron was strained, that could seriously mess with the band’s chemistry. I, however, didn’t have to worry about that, and I wondered if there was any way I could figure out for certain if Cameron was involved in the theft.