The Mozart Conspiracy

by Phil Swann

  "Okay, then. Hey, where'd your boys go to? I wanted to say goodbye." Dani asked, looking around.

  Charlie looked down. "Oh lordy, where'd those rascals run off to?"

  Paul pointed to the stage. "There they are, by the tympani."

  Charlie took off for the stage. "Jeremiah, Zechariah, you boys get away from there. That's not a toy for you two hoodlums. I'll be seeing you, David. Nice to have met you."

  David allowed a smile. "You too, Charlie, and thank you."

  "Call me when you get home, okay, Dan?" Paul said, looking at David.

  "I will," Dani replied with a kiss on his cheek. "And, Paul, you did great. I'm sure Beckman is very pleased."

  Paul let go of a smile. "Good afternoon, Mr. Webber, enjoy your stay."

  "Thank you," David replied without expression.

  "Well, shall we, Mr. Webber?"

  "Yes, thank you, Dr. Parsons."

  "Oh please, eighty-six the doctor stuff, call me Dani."

  "All right, I'm David."

  »»•««

  Dani had traded her black pumps for white Nikes. David struggled to keep up with her runner’s pace as the two exited the garden on the east side of the castle behind the Arts and Industry building.

  "Okay, David, what can I do for you? Who's this friend of ours?"

  "Could we slow down? This cello isn't exactly light, and I'm in no shape for a sprint."

  Dani stopped. "I'm sorry, old habit. I'm usually late for something or another, so racing around this place feels very natural to me."

  "Yeah, so I hear."

  Dani shot David a questioning look, and David responded quickly, "Charlie."

  Dani nodded. "Got it."

  "Dani, uh…" David stumbled, not knowing how to start as they began walking again—this time much slower. "I'm a friend of Henry Shoewalter."

  David held his breath.

  "Yes?" Dani came back.

  David's heart began beating faster—it was time to go for broke. "Dani, I'm afraid I have some very bad news. Henry is dead."

  Dani stopped. "That’s terrible. I'm very sorry."

  "Yeah, it is terrible. Dani…I need to know what you and—“

  Dani interrupted, "But I don't know any Henry Shoewalter."

  David was silent for a moment, and then he looked hard into Dani's eyes. "You don't understand. I'm a friend of Henry's. You can trust me."

  Dani looked back just as hard. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  A volcano began churning in the pit of David's stomach. This couldn't be a dead end. He wouldn't accept it, not after what he'd been through.

  "I know Henry was in contact with you," David said with more edge.

  "In contact with me?"

  "Yes, I know Henry was in contact with you."

  "David, I'm sorry for your loss, but I don't know—”

  "He had your number when he died," David shouted, his jaw clenched, his eyes turning to fire. "What were you two working on? You’ve gotta tell me."

  Dani's mouth dropped. She widened the space between her and David and began looking around to see if there were people nearby.

  David felt all control slipping away. Why is she lying? He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His mind began flashing on snapshots of Henry and J.P., the police, and the interrogation. He spoke softly, "I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted, I just…uh, Henry was, uh…and you and he were…an address book with your number." He was shocked when he heard his own voice shouting again. He wasn't doing it, the voice wasn't connected to his body, but it was his voice. "I’ve got to know! I’ve got to know!"

  Dani flinched. "Look, I don't know who you are, but this is getting weird. I told you, I don't know your friend, and I certainly don't know why he had my phone number. I swear I've never spoken to a Henry Shoewalter before in—”

  "Stop lying!" David shouted, dropping the case and falling to the ground.

  He rubbed his hands over his face. Why was this happening? He looked up at the young woman. He could see from her expression he’d scared her.

  When Dani spoke, it was almost comically calm. "So, listen, David, I'm sorry I can't be of more help, but…it was nice meeting you…." She moved closer, and once she got within inches of her instrument case, she snatched it and began backing up again. "There's no need for you to walk me to my car, I’ll take it from here. So, good luck…I hope you…have a nice…goodbye, Mr.… David."

  David said nothing as Dani hustled away. Twenty yards into her escape, he saw her glance back at him. Then to David’s surprise, she stopped, turned, and came back.

  “Listen, are you okay? Can I do anything? Call anybody?"

  David shook his head.

  "But, are you okay?" she asked again.

  David nodded. "Yes."

  "Do you need a lift somewhere, or anything like that?"

  "No,” David answered. “I'm sorry I uh—”

  "Freaked out?"

  She wasn't trying to be funny, but her honesty forced him to smile. "Yeah, I guess that's what I did, didn't I?"

  "Yeah, I think that's what they call it."

  David looked at the pretty young woman. Her face was open and honest. She wasn't lying. She wasn't hiding anything. He had a sense that for this person deception was completely unknown. Unfortunately, that also meant she truly didn't know Henry, and he had come to Washington, DC, for nothing.

  "Have you eaten lunch?" Dani asked.

  "Lunch?" David thought for a second. "No, I haven't eaten for a while."

  "Well, that's your problem. I tell you what. I was going to grab a salad at this little place at the museum. Would you like to join me?"

  David was about to decline when—

  "If you’d like, we can talk more about your friend I'm supposed to know."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. I mean he had my phone number, so maybe we can figure out why."

  David let out a breath. “That'd be great."

  "Let me drop this elephant off at my car first. I promise to keep it to a jog."

  David started to stand.

  "By the way, how did your friend die?"

  "He was murdered," David said bluntly as he lifted himself off the grass.

  Dani's face went flush. "Oh my. Murdered? By who?"

  "The police don't know, but they think me. Lead the way."

  Dani swallowed hard as the two started walking across the Mall.

  ∙•∙

  "Her name is Dr. Dani Parsons. She's a curator at the Museum of American History," said the voice over the radio.

  Fowler listened as he sat in his car on Jefferson Drive and Fourteenth. "Any sign of a Depriestiano, Agent Sanders?"

  "Negative, sir."

  "How about our other friend?"

  "Negative. No sign of Petrovic."

  "Well, from what I understand, he could be sitting on your lap and you still wouldn't notice him. Are you getting pictures of the perimeter?"

  "Affirmative, everybody within two hundred yards of Webber."

  "Good. Okay, here's the drill. Sanders, I want you to stay on Webber and the girl. I want Stevens back at the office to download the pictures. Mr. Woo is waiting—he'll assist in analyzing the photos. Got it?"

  "Yes, sir. Stevens is on his way now—out."

  Fowler’s cell phone rang.

  "Fowler."

  "Tom, it’s Bob."

  "Long time no talk. What can I do for you, Assistant Director?"

  "Any sign of Petrovic?"

  "No, not yet. But we got Webber covered like a blanket. We'll find him."

  "Find him fast, Tom.”

  Fowler could hear the tension in the man's voice.

  "What's happened, Bob?"

  "An LAPD lieutenant who was investigating the Shoewalter murder. He was killed yesterday evening—car bomb. The Los Angeles DA is on his way to DC right now. He's asked for the bureau's help."

  "Lord,” Fowler breathed.

  "Yeah. They want Webber.”

&
nbsp; "Bob, I don’t think Webber has anything to do with a car bombing, or the Shoewalter murder for that matter."

  "Tom, pictures don't lie. He is connected to Petrovic somehow."

  "Yeah, if he knows it's Petrovic."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I have a suspicion David Webber is the proverbial unlucky man in the wrong place at the right time."

  "How about Depriestiano? Have you connected Webber to the family?"

  "Only that he and Anthony Depriest were in college together.”

  "So, when do we decide to bring him in?"

  "When we're sure. Right now he's all we got to get Petrovic."

  "Okay, but it means we come clean with the DA. It’s the only way to keep the DC police from picking up Webber themselves.”

  Fowler sighed. “All right, we tell the DA. Just make sure it’s hands off Webber. One other thing, Bob. How well do you know Douglas and Woo?”

  “Woo not at all. Douglas has been around for years. Typical bureaucrat, a real beltway operator. Why?”

  "Because I have a feeling they weren’t exactly forthcoming with us."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Call it a hunch, Bob. Just a good old-fashioned hunch."

  ∙•∙

  The man with the ponytail and ball cap lay prostrate on the grass. As David and Dani neared, he placed his camera to his side and rolled over. David and Dani passed, giving no attention to the lounging tourist.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Los Angeles police detective Stuart Gilbert stood at the outermost end of the Santa Monica pier tossing bread crumbs from a plastic bag into the cold gray water below. A stubborn marine layer hung over the ocean, explaining the unseasonably brisk spring morning and the reason why the otherwise bustling pier was almost deserted. Except for the honking armada of gulls swarming above his head, the policeman was alone.

  He didn't turn around when he heard the clacking of the wooden planks behind him. He was expecting the arrival. Gilbert glanced at the man and smiled. The portly man's nose was completely covered with tape and bandage.

  "Look at the bright side," Gilbert said, staring out at the crashing waves.

  The man looked at him bewildered.

  "The ocean these days is nothing but sewage. At least you can't smell it."

  "I thought this was supposed to be paradise? I'm freezing my ass off."

  "No, paradise is Hawaii. This is California, land of fruits and nuts."

  "Huh, you got that right. I hate this fucking place. You Gilbert?"

  "Yeah."

  "All right, whatta ya got for me?"

  "Well, that depends. Whatta ya got for me?"

  The man withdrew a bundle wrapped in deli paper and set it on the wooden railing. "You need to count it?"

  "Nope. Old Nick's never screwed me before," Gilbert said, stuffing the package in the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. "Doubt he's going start now."

  Gilbert scanned the pier. "Would you mind?"

  The man rolled his eyes and raised his arms. Gilbert went down the man's body with his hands, giving special attention to his abdomen and chest area.

  "Satisfied?" the man said, lowering his arms.

  "Thanks." Gilbert turned back toward the ocean. "Everyone is loony over Ryan's murder. The chief is personally overseeing the case. DA’s involved too."

  "Where's Webber?"

  "DC—at least I think he is. Before Ryan was blown to smithereens, he gave explicit orders not to touch him, no matter what. So we didn't. He boarded the plane and was off before we knew anything about Ryan getting toasted."

  "That was stupid."

  "Yeah, not one of our finer moments. We're coordinating with the FBI."

  "That's it?"

  "That's it."

  "Any idea why he's in DC?"

  "Haven't the faintest."

  The man nodded. "Okay, I'll pass it on. I'm sure Old Nick will still want you to keep your ears open. This could turn out to be very profitable for you."

  "Hey, I didn't get myself assigned to this case for nothing. Tell Old Nick I'm here for him. Does it hurt?" Gilbert asked, looking at the man's nose.

  "Only my pride. I could've beaten the shit out of that faggot, but—”

  "Yeah, I know. Old Nick does have a way, doesn't he?"

  "Yeah, he does," the man said, rubbing his thumb and middle finger together. "I'm going home. I got a real business to run."

  "Where's that?"

  "Joplin. You ever need ball bearings, look me up. Name's Harshbarger."

  »»•««

  Anthony delicately spread butter over a small slice of sourdough and listened to his cousin's report. The cafe, as usual for a Sunday afternoon, was busy, so Jimmy was forced to lean across the table to keep from being heard by surrounding diners.

  "That's it. Harshbarger says Webber's in DC."

  "Are they going to arrest him when they find him?"

  "They can't connect him to the cop’s death, so—”

  "So they just want to make sure they know where he is."

  "Yeah, that's what it sounds like."

  "That's all you have?"

  "That's everything."

  "Okay, Jimmy, good work. Now get lost."

  "Hey, the least you could do is buy me a freakin’ lunch. I'm starvin'."

  "Another time, James. Did you drive your car here, or did you take a cab?"

  "It's Jimmy, and I drove myself. Why?"

  "Good. I want you to go to your car and wait. Kathryn will be here shortly. When she leaves, follow her, and I mean follow her, cousin, wherever she goes. Don't lose her, and don't let her see you. Do you understand?"

  "Yeah, sure, but where do you think she'll go?"

  "Just do it, Jimmy. You got it?"

  "Yeah, I got it."

  "Good. Also, see who your father knows at the FBI."

  Jimmy nodded.

  "There she is, now beat it."

  Beautiful and fashionable people are not in short supply on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. But when Kathryn walked through the upscale Central Park cafe, heads turned. She moved like a runway model, eyes fixed, walking with purpose. Her blonde hair was pulled up, showing off her evenly tanned shoulders, and her aqua-green sundress danced around the tops of her smooth long legs.

  Jimmy stood just as Kathryn arrived at the table.

  "Not leaving on my account are you, Jimmy?"

  Anthony spoke before Jimmy could respond, "Jimmy was leaving anyway."

  "Sure you can't stay for lunch? I see you didn't eat."

  Jimmy started to answer, but again was interrupted.

  "I tried, dear. Seems my cousin is in demand these days. Jimmy, do try to make some time to dine with Kathryn and me. It's been such a long time since the three of us have had a chance to catch up."

  "Yeah, I'll do that. Well, I gotta get going. Good to see you, Kathryn…you sure look righteous."

  Kathryn smiled. "Thank you, Jimmy, that's very sweet."

  "Yeah…well…see you guys."

  "So long, cousin," Anthony replied.

  Kathryn continued to smile until Jimmy left the table. Her face fell as she sat down and picked up the menu.

  "How’s the swordfish today?" Kathryn asked from behind the menu.

  "I didn't ask, but I'm sure it's splendid as usual."

  "I think I'll just have a Caesar," Kathryn said, putting down the menu."

  Anthony dabbed the edges of his mouth with his napkin. "You didn't sleep well last night. You got up more than once."

  "Sorry if I woke you."

  "Don't be. I didn't sleep well, either."

  Kathryn didn't respond. She looked out the picture window overlooking the park. A young couple holding hands walked past with a dog. The sweet, innocent image filled her with sadness.

  "Dear, could the reason for your sleepless night and your lack of appetite have anything to do with Henry Shoewalter and David Webber?"

  Kathryn adjusted herself in her chair. The very ment
ion of the names ripped at her. "Don't be ridiculous," she lied, realizing she would have made a terrible actress. "Sure, it's disturbing. Henry was a very sweet man, and David was—”

  "Someone you were once in love with. Someone who you were going to marry if you hadn't—”

  "Someone who I used to know," Kathryn interrupted with as much casualness as she could muster. "But that was many years ago. Good lord, I haven't thought about David Webber in…really, Anthony, don't be so melodramatic, it doesn't become you."

  Anthony reached across the table and took Kathryn’s hand. The physical contact with her husband took her by surprise.

  "It's okay," said Anthony softly. "I understand. For heaven's sakes, if I were you, I'd be upset too. It's only natural. You needn't hide it from me."

  Tears began to well in her eyes. She tried to stop them, but it was no use. She dropped her head as the first tear rolled down her cheek. "I'm sorry, Anthony."

  "It's okay, I understand. Go ahead, let it out."

  Anthony reached in his pocket, retrieved a handkerchief, and handed it to her. The waiter stepped up to the table, and Anthony ordered for both. Afterward, Anthony said nothing, patiently waiting for his wife to gather herself.

  "Why are you being so understanding about this? It's not like you," Kathryn asked, dabbing her eyes.

  Anthony leaned forward and wiped a tear from her cheek. When he spoke, his voice carried a gentleness Kathryn had seldom, if ever, heard. "I know, Kathryn, I know." Anthony slowly sat back in his chair, letting his shoulders fall and his strong square chin melt into his chest. "Oh, Kathryn, I am so sorry." Anthony looked up, revealing two moist eyes. "I guess it wouldn't matter if I said I know I've been a terrible husband? My, doesn't that sound trite?"

  Kathryn watched as the cockiest and most pretentious man she'd ever known struggled for words.

  "What happened to us? It wasn't always like this—we weren't always like this. Do you remember…the beginning…back when we were in school?"

  Kathryn whispered, "I try very hard not to remember that time."

  Anthony nodded. "I understand.”

  Kathryn avoided her husband’s gaze and took a drink of water.

  "But, I'm talking about the very beginning when we first…connected. Can you remember that time, Kathryn? It was good. It was so—”

  "You didn't see his face," she whispered.

  "I know. But there was a time before that when…"