The Mozart Conspiracy

by Phil Swann

  The monsignor turned to walk away. The girl stopped him. "Father, wait."

  The priest turned.

  “I tell you what. Why don’t you grab me one of those hats over there. I’ll scan it and multiply the purchase by thirty. You go ahead and pay, then leave with me. I pass the storage room on the way out the employee exit, and I know we have plenty of those hats down there.”

  “Bless you, dear. As long as it won’t get you into any trouble.”

  “Nah, I’m the assistant manager, it’ll be okay. I’ll just tell security you’re my priest. Go on, you get the hat while I lock up the front.”

  As the girl walked to the front of the store, Petrovic slipped on latex gloves and put his hands in his pockets.

  »»•««

  “Do you remember where he lived?”

  “I remember,” David answered, his voice low and almost monotone.

  David’s face was stone. He showed no emotion as he drove through the town of White Plaines. He looked straight ahead, as if refusing to acknowledge the existence of anything that wasn’t five feet directly in front of the car. He came to a stop sign and for the first time looked around. “That didn’t use to be there,” he said, nodding at a small strip mall.

  He turned right and entered a tree-lined residential area where small houses sat a respectable distance off the street, and front lawns sprawled all the way to the street in the absence of any sidewalk. He began slowing and pulled over to the curb just before reaching the end of the second block.

  David sat back in his seat and let out a heavy sigh. “That’s it.”

  It was a modest, white wood-framed two-story with a large screened in front porch. It was small and old but far from being a run-down shanty.

  Neither got out of the car. Dani waited as David stared at the house.

  “It’s nice,” Dani whispered.

  “It’s…smaller.”

  Dani smiled, suddenly understanding. “Yeah, I know. I feel that way too every time I go home.”

  David looked at Dani, nodded with a sad smile, and opened the car door.

  At first, Dani thought David had stopped because he decided he couldn’t go through with it. But then she saw what he saw. Across the front door was strung yellow tape that read WESTCHESTER COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT.

  “I didn’t even think of that,” David said.

  “Is there a back door?”

  David nodded, and Dani followed him around the side of the house. The backyard was huge, and the grass was green and trimmed. There was no fence, but a flower garden was planted up and down each side of the back yard, and a vegetable garden bordered the rear of the property. They came to three wooden stairs that ascended to a back door—there was no yellow tape.

  “Now, how do we get in?”

  David walked up the stairs and looked around. Potted geraniums, desperately in need of watering, were clustered together on the wooden planked platform. David tipped each pot and looked underneath. He found the key under the fourth pot. He inserted the key and opened the door.

  »»•««

  “You sure are working late,” Charlie said as Paul handed him his ID.

  “No rest for the wicked, Charlie.”

  Charlie smiled. “Where’s Dr. P?”

  “I put her on a plane for New York a couple of hours ago.”

  “Well, she didn’t say nothing to me about no vacation.”

  “No, it’s business. She’ll be back tonight,” Paul said, taking his ID card. “Listen, Charlie, I have some reports I want to leave on Dani’s desk, and I also want to pick up my email. The computer in my office is down, so I thought I’d just use hers. Think that’ll be all right?”

  “Don’t see why not. You need me to let you in?”

  “No, I have a key,” Paul said, jangling a key chain.

  “Them dang computers. That’s why I refuse to get one.”

  Paul grinned. “You may be on to something, Charlie. I’ll be down in a few minutes.” As Paul got onto the elevator, Charlie saw a single sheet of paper fall from a file folder and land on the floor.

  “Dr. Rogers, you lost a—” It was too late, the elevator doors had shut.

  Paul stepped off the elevator and walked down the empty corridor to Dani’s office. He was within ten feet of her door when he noticed it was ajar and the light was on. “Dani, you lame-brain,” he muttered, pushing open the door.

  Their eyes met. But the man kneeling at the safe said nothing. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. His face was relaxed, his breathing calm. Paul’s attention was diverted by a high-pitched muffled cry. He turned toward the sound. The girl was sitting on the floor in the corner of the office with tape across her mouth. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Fear swept through Paul’s body, and he began backing out the door.

  The stranger finally spoke, “Don’t move.”

  Paul looked back at the man. He was a priest. And he was pointing a gun three feet from Paul’s head.

  “We’re leaving.”

  Paul swallowed and answered the statement with only a nod.

  Petrovic motioned for Paul to turn around and start walking. As Paul turned, he heard a loud spit. His head involuntarily spun to the noise—he wished it hadn’t. The girl had fallen onto her side. She’d stopped crying. The bullet had entered her skull directly in the center of her forehead.

  “Walk,” the voice behind him commanded.

  There was no floor—he had no feet. He was completely numb with fear. They were still several feet from the elevator when Paul heard its ping as it arrived at the floor. When the doors opened, he saw the barrel come over his shoulder.

  “Charlie, no!” Paul yelled, grabbing the man’s arm.

  The hard concrete walls caused the spit of the weapon to reverberate through the corridor. Paul’s grip on the assassin’s arm was short lived, and he felt himself being shoved to the floor. As he fell, he saw Charlie, his weapon drawn and in a firing position. Paul’s mind raced. Shoot, Charlie, shoot! Why aren’t you shooting? As Paul hit the floor, he looked back for the assassin and understood why Charlie wasn’t returning fire. The man wasn’t standing any longer—he was lying on the floor behind Paul using him for cover.

  Petrovic fired twice, one bullet hitting Charlie in the shoulder, causing the security man to spin to his right. Petrovic stood and fired again, this time hitting Charlie in the chest. As the priest started walking toward his target, Paul swung out his leg, catching Petrovic in the back of the knee and causing him to stumble. Petrovic regained his footing and turned to Paul. His eyes were steel, cold and dead. Paul had never believed in the concept of the devil before, but at that moment, he knew he was looking at the face of pure evil.

  Paul stopped breathing as he watched the killer point the gun at his head. This is it, he thought. This is where the mystery ends. Paul closed his eyes and waited for the sound. He heard it, but it wasn’t the lethal spit. It was a loud blast from several feet away. Paul opened his eyes and saw the priest falling backward. He looked down the corridor and saw a completely blood-soaked Charlie sitting on the floor, his back against the wall with a smoking gun in his hand. The old man’s eyes were wide, and his head was frantically shaking up and down. “The gun,” he moaned.

  Paul looked on the floor beside him and saw it—a gun.

  Paul lunged for the weapon and felt a sudden dull pain in his side. He saw the priest raising himself off the floor. Paul grabbed the gun but couldn’t lift it. It was like a nightmare; no matter how hard he tried, his body wouldn’t obey. Suddenly, he realized he was no longer able to move at all, the pain in his side overtaking him. He looked back for the demon. The priest was now on his feet and standing directly over him. Paul watched the killer lean closer. He felt the pressure from a hand pushing on his back. The corridor started spinning. The killer said something, but all sounds had become distorted and slow. He was drifting, and there was no connection to his own body as he watched the priest return upright and wipe the blood off
the knife. Then there was darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Nothing had changed. The veneer curtains, the braided rugs, the flannel slipcovers, and the tarnished brass lamps were all in their place just as David remembered. The walls were still cluttered with the same strange paintings by artists no one had ever heard of—just as they were twelve years ago—probably as they were ever since Henry moved in. He stood in the small living room and silently took it all in. The old wallpaper was peeling in places, and the hardwood floors were in need of waxing, but the old place still looked pretty good.

  “Is this you?” Dani asked, picking up a picture frame off a dusty old TV set in the living room.

  David walked up behind and looked over her shoulder. “Yeah, that’s me.”

  Dani started laughing. “Look at all that hair. And look how skinny you were.” She set the picture down and scanned the others clustered together. “Oh my, they’re all of you.” Dani heard David trying to catch his breath. She turned and looked at him. She could tell he was doing his best to hold it together.

  “Come here.” Dani put her arms around his neck.

  “You know,” David said, clearing his throat, “I’m not really a crier.”

  “What?” Dani whispered.

  “I’m not a crier. It's…just something I don't do.”

  “Oh, so you’re the strong silent type?”

  A soft chuckle was forced out. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Well, should you become one, it's okay. I cry at AT&T commercials.”

  David gently pulled back. He was smiling. He looked in her soft hazel eyes and said nothing for a long moment. Dani was sure they were going to kiss. She felt her lips being pulled to his. Her heart was racing, and then David said, “I guess we should go check out Henry’s office. It’s across the hallway.” Her arms fell to her sides as David pulled away and started across the room. She closed her eyes and exhaled, still teetering.

  The room was a cluttered mess. It was also how David remembered it. Books everywhere on the floor, the desk, the windowsill, and stacked three high in the bookcase itself. As David stood in the doorway and surveyed the small office, memories flooded his mind. He looked at the old Steinway sitting in the corner and could still see a little him practicing scales as Henry graded papers. He remembered every time he was sure Henry wasn’t listening, Henry would shout out of nowhere, legato, Davey, legato! David could still see the old man surrounded with books and music at the huge mahogany desk in front of the only window in the room. Reading and making notes and then reading some more, or on the telephone, giving an interview to some academic publication, or advising a fellow professor, or as was often the case, on the telephone encouraging some petrified student who was about to perform his final in front of Henry’s jury. Henry loved his work, and only now did David realize just how much he enjoyed watching Henry love it. Yes, it was a cluttered mess. But this was the inner sanctum of a scholar. This was who Henry was. This was Henry’s life. This was David’s home.

  “This isn’t going to be easy, is it?” Dani said, looking at the chaos.

  “Whenever Henry was working on something, he always kept that project on his desk.” David entered the room and went behind the desk, taking a seat in an old and cracked high-backed leather chair.

  Dani followed David’s lead and starting thumbing through the stacks of papers and books piled on the desk.

  “Here’s a text book on Gregorian chant—don’t think that’ll be any help. A book on Copland—a biography on Ellington, I’d like to read this.” Dani continued to lift items off the desk and place them on the floor. “This looks like the first draft to a letter of recommendation for a student. I have about a half dozen here, all different students.”

  “Yeah, I’ve found a couple of those myself,” David added, carefully sifting through the rubble.

  “Was Henry ever married?” Dani asked, digging into a new pile.

  “Yes, to his work.”

  “You know what I mean,” Dani said, lifting a stack onto the floor.

  “No, he never married. He dated a little but nothing serious that I know of. Then again, I was pretty much into myself by the time I would have understood that sort of thing. But as far as I know, there was only his work.”

  “Must have gotten lonely.”

  David didn’t reply, but wondered why he had never considered that.

  For the next twenty minutes the two meticulously went over everything on the desk and in each of the four drawers. Neither found anything remotely pertaining to Mozart. The desk was almost cleared off when David leaned back in his chair and looked around the room.

  “What?” Dani asked.

  “Hang on.” David walked to the bookcase and ran his hand over all the titles. Then he walked to the other side of the room and repeated the process. He canvassed the room, scanning the titles of the books scattered around. He stopped and did a three-sixty, looking in all directions. “Okay, this is weird.”

  “What’s weird?”

  David walked to the piano, opened the lid on the bench, looked in, closed it, and sat down behind the piano.

  “David, what’s weird?”

  “Not only are we not finding anything on Henry’s desk about Mozart, I can’t find anything in this office about Mozart.”

  Dani shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe this isn’t where he was working.”

  “Whether he was working on a Mozart project here or not, he still would have books on Mozart. I mean, come on. Henry loved Wolfy. Besides, Henry was a music scholar. How many music scholars do you know who don’t keep a vast array of material on the greatest composer who ever lived? No, this is wrong. It’s almost like someone has come in here and removed anything pertaining to Mozart. I can’t even find so much as a piece of sheet music.”

  Dani said nothing in response. David was right; it didn’t make sense.

  Dani was glancing over the last few remaining items on the desk when she heard the music. David was playing the piano.

  She got up and walked over. A piece of music was on the music stand, but David wasn’t reading it. His eyes were closed, and he swayed as he caressed the keys. The melody was beautiful and hypnotic. The line flowed through the lush yet simple chords like a bird, never trying to be sentimental or emotional—it just was incredibly sentimental and powerfully emotional. David came to the final retard, ending with a chord progression played softer than Dani ever thought a piano could be played.

  “Oh my God,” Dani whispered.

  David looked up and smiled. His eyes were red.

  “That was amazing—you are amazing. What was that?”

  “It’s a concerto I wrote for Henry my first year at Juilliard. I gave it to him for Christmas. It was sitting here on the piano. I haven’t played it in years.”

  Dani walked around the piano and sat beside David on the bench.

  He looked up from the music and saw she was staring at him. “What?”

  Dani didn’t immediately respond. She only smiled and looked into his eyes. “Who the heck are you, David Webber?”

  They didn’t hear the back door open or the intruder walk through the house. Dani saw her first. She was standing in the doorway. When David saw the startled look on Dani’s face, he turned around. He almost threw up.

  “Hello, David,” Kathryn Depriest said.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “I’m sorry. The door was open, so I just came in…I, uh, I thought you might be the police and…” Kathryn realized she was babbling, stopped mid-sentence, and smiled at Dani. “Hi, I’m Kathryn Depriest.”

  Dani recovered from the shock and returned the smile. “Dani Parsons,” she said, extending her hand.

  Kathryn shook the woman’s hand and then looked at David. He wasn't smiling. His face was drawn, and his left hand was flexing. “So, David, not even a hug for an old friend?” Kathryn asked, doing her best to keep the tremble out of her voice.

  David hesitated before he got up and
mechanically put his arms around Kathryn. He had yet to say a word.

  “I’m fine, David, thanks for asking,” Kathryn said.

  Dani didn’t need to be hit over the head. Though she didn’t know who this Kathryn Depriest was, she knew from David’s face what she was. If ever a graceful exit was in order, it was now.

  “Uh…listen,” Dani said, “you two look like you have some catching up to do, so I’ll just go…uh…I know, I’ll go find the kitchen and make us all some coffee.” Kathryn and David just stared at each other as Dani continued, “And you know what, David? I forgot to call Paul and tell him we made it. I should do that too.” Dani could tell no one was listening to her, so she smiled and walked out of the room without saying anything else.

  Kathryn let out a nervous laugh. “Whew, this is…awkward.”

  David said nothing.

  “You know, I always wondered what it’d be like when we saw each other again. I sure didn’t expect it to be like this.”

  He was still silent.

  “You look good, David.”

  David nodded. There was another prolonged pause.

  “She’s pretty. How long have you two been—”

  “She’s a friend, haven’t known her long,” David finally said.

  “Oh.”

  “How’s Anthony?” David asked on top of Kathryn’s response.

  “He’s fine.”

  “Yeah, so I read.”

  Kathryn looked confused for a moment and then smiled. “Oh, you must mean the magazine article. Yeah, that was a little too much. I didn’t want Anthony to do it—photographers coming into the house and following—”

  “What are you doing here, Kathryn?” David interrupted.

  She smiled. “Same old David Webber, get right to the point.”

  David didn’t respond.

  Kathryn’s face became serious, and she looked David in the eye. “I heard about Henry…and you. I guess I’m here to try and help.”

  Just then Dani stuck her head into the room. “Sorry, I can’t find any coffee. I hope tea will be all right. I have some water boiling.”

  Kathryn looked at Dani and smiled. “Tea will be fine, thanks.”