by Phil Swann
“David, it’s not your fault. You had no way of—”
“No, that’s not what I’m talking about,” David interrupted, his voice calm and in control. “I remember when the police came to my apartment, Ryan told me one of the ways they determined the time of the murder was because Henry had ordered breakfast—I think Ryan said it was around five thirty.”
“Okay, so?”
“He said Henry had ordered strudel and coffee.” David looked at Dani. “Henry hated coffee.”
Chapter Forty
Petrovic sat in his car and watched as Thomas Fowler pulled out of the underground parking structure of the J. Edgar Hoover building. Keeping a three-car distance, he followed the federal agent across Constitution, under the Ninth Street tunnel, and onto the 395. He followed him across the Virginia state line, into the small township of Alexandria, and to the gravel driveway of a two-story white-framed house.
Petrovic continued on two miles past the house before he deemed it safe to pull over. He picked up the newspaper in the seat beside him and read the story again. Moments later, a Virginia state trooper rolled by. He shifted the car into gear and prepared to head in the opposite direction. Suddenly, he stopped. He looked back and watched the police cruiser turn into a parking lot. The officer got out of the car and walked into the diner. Petrovic smiled, turned the car around, and headed back to the restaurant.
»»•««
On Anthony’s urging, Kathryn went back to bed. Anthony, the ever so attentive husband, prepared her a warm cup of milk with a shot of rum. Kathryn sipped the concoction and waited until she was sure Anthony had left.
She’d known about the hidden safe for years. She even knew the combination, though she never had the need, nor the least bit of interest in using it. She waited for the green light to appear and turned the handle to the safe. She saw the thick brown accordion folder sitting by itself in the safe. She retrieved the parcel and set it on Anthony’s piano. Her heart pounding, she unwound the nylon twine and opened the folder. She knew what she’d find, but it didn’t matter, it still was a shock, still unthinkable. First was a photocopy of the letter Henry had sent to her, the letter where Henry apologized for his sins of the past and asked for her assistance. Then the return letter from her saying, any apologies should come from me, and accepting Henry’s offer. She caught her breath and squeezed the folder when she saw the stack of papers—her report. She picked up the bundle and stared. It was still paper-clipped, still in order, the postage on the envelope never cancelled. She gasped for air and started slowly pounding on the piano lid. “He never saw it.” The blows getting harder each time. “Never!” She yelled as tears rolled down her face. “You son of a bitch. You never let him see it.”
She saw one other object in the folder. She wiped her eyes and withdrew the envelope—it was addressed to her. She removed its contents and looked at the photocopied piece of music. On top of the piece, Henry had written, Kathryn, this might help. Yours, Henry.
She fell across the piano and sobbed.
»»•««
Except for the hum of the computers and the click of the printer, the room was quiet. Dani sat on the edge of a swivel chair, periodically rolling from one terminal to another, downloading data from various private servers at the National Archives, the Museum of American History, and Georgetown University, printing those documents, while reading other documents, while downloading yet still more documents from another computer. It was the paragon of a high-tech assembly line.
David lay sprawled on the floor, surrounded by textbooks and all of the notes Kathryn had given to Agent Fowler before returning to New York. God, she still is good, David thought to himself as he poured through the mounds of information she had accumulated on Henry’s behalf. He was amazed at how she not only gave the facts as they were—dates and locations—but speculated on Mozart's state of mind at the time. If she ever so desired, he mused, this was a book in and of itself.
It was the afternoon, and the two had been working nonstop for over five hours. They’d hardly said a word to each other, both preoccupied with the work, so preoccupied neither heard Fowler when he came into the room.
"Henry went to L.A. to see Dr. Raymond Sullivan," Fowler proclaimed, forgoing any salutation.
"Are you sure?" David asked from the floor.
"Yeah, I'm sure."
"Was he who Henry had breakfast with?"
"I don’t know, we couldn't find Sullivan.”
“What?” Dani asked.
“The university said he retired a few years ago after his wife was killed."
"Is that related to this?" Dani asked.
"No. It was a carjacking in Los Angeles. The kid that did it was caught. He's serving thirty-five to life. The old guy’s had a tough few years, though. He also lost his only child about the same time.”
“Oh, the poor man,” Dani said.
“Yeah.” Fowler paused, and his eyes drifted off to the side.
“Anything wrong, Mr. Fowler?” David asked.
Fowler quickly refocused. “No…just something I need to check out. Anyway, we got an address. No Sullivan, and none of the neighbors have seen him in a week."
"A week?" David said, standing up. No one needed him to say more. Everyone was thinking the same thing.
"So how do you know that Henry—”
Fowler jumped on top of David’s question, "They went through the house. It's not what they found as much as what they didn't find."
"What do you mean?" Dani asked.
"Nothing, the agents found absolutely nothing pertaining to Henry or Mozart. But while the agents were there, Sullivan's cleaning lady showed up. They questioned her and learned several interesting little tidbits."
"Like what?" David asked.
"Sullivan was very excited about a project he'd been working on. He told her he was about to be validated for all his years of work. She also said Sullivan had instructed her to take last Friday off. He said he had an important appointment that morning."
"I'll be damned," David uttered, almost to himself.
"Now, if he was working on a Mozart project, where's the research? There was nothing pertaining to Mozart, or Henry, in his house. See what I mean?"
"Yeah, Henry's house was the same way," David replied.
Fowler looked off again. “It was, huh? Hmm, I wonder?”
“Wonder what, Mr. Fowler?” Dani asked, leaning back in the chair and stretching her arms above her head.
Fowler re-engaged. "Nothing. Just something else I need to check out. You two are probably hungry. I got some sandwiches in the kitchen. Let’s move in there, and you can both bring me up-to-date on what you've learned.”
»»•««
Nicholas Depriestiano sat with his elbows on his desk and his fingers massaging his temples. Jimmy and Uncle Bernie sat on the couch, and Anthony sat directly in front of the old man with his legs crossed. After a long silence, Old Nick leaned back in his chair and spoke in a soft but firm voice, “So how did Webber learn of Winfield?”
“It’s my guess, Uncle, that Webber didn’t learn of him, but rather the other way around. You remember Winfield said it was a contact of his who informed him of the old man’s death and Webber’s arrest? I think we can safely assume that Winfield made contact with Webber.”
“And you believe they’ve been working together ever since?”
“I do. Kathryn told me the FBI was very interested in a piece of music Webber had in his possession. It was then I remembered Shoewalter had given Webber a Mozart sketch when we graduated from Juilliard. I believe Shoewalter decided that sketch held the key to finding the missing requiem and that’s why he went to Los Angeles. I think Webber killed the old man over a grudge he held against me, and that Winfield convinced him to partner-up to further his vendetta. I’m sure Winfield made taking us down sound very attractive. I think Winfield either knows where the piece is, or already has it in his possession.”
“How can you be sure?” Bern
ie Freeman asked from the couch.
“Because of this.” Anthony tossed a copy of the Washington Post on the desk. “I think they got Webber to roll on his new buddy.”
Nicholas picked up the paper. When he finished reading, he threw it down. “If this is true, they’ll be picking up Winfield.”
“Yes, which is why we must move fast.”
Nicholas leaned forward in his chair. His face was tight and red. “Nobody does this to me, Jimmy,” Old Nick barked. “Call your friends.”
»»•««
“Okay, what have we got?” Fowler said, leaning against the counter and unwrapping cellophane from around a turkey sandwich.
Dani and David sat on stools at a breakfast bar. Dani swallowed her mouthful of chicken salad and picked up her notes. “Well, I started with trying to put Dr. Cook with Thomas Jefferson.”
“How’d you do?” David asked.
Dani smiled. “I think I did it. Wilbur was right, there are not many records on slaves before the Civil War. I went through everything the National Archives had on the Cook family and George Beall, who was supposed to have owned Dr. Cook when he was a child. I came up with the same thing Wilbur did. Actually, Wilbur had more. Then I remembered slaves were counted as property. So I started looking into the property records of Thomas Jefferson.”
“You can get those?” David questioned.
“They’re part of the National Archives. They house any and all important records pertaining to the federal government. Jefferson was a president, his records would be important.”
“Go on,” Fowler urged.
“In February of 1817, Jefferson was experiencing severe financial difficulties. So he had a garage sale at Monticello. In other words, he sold off assets—slaves. George Beall is listed as one of the purchasers at that sale.”
“He bought Cook,” David said.
Dani grinned. “I think he did.”
“Good,” Fowler said, returning Dani’s grin. “That’s very good work.”
“I’m not done,” Dani said, looking at her notes. “I decided to go ahead and try and put Mozart and Jefferson at the same place at the same time.”
“And?” Fowler asked.
“I can’t. Jefferson wasn’t in Europe until 1785 when he was named ambassador to France. He never got near Austria, Germany, Poland, or anywhere else Mozart was from ’85 to his death in ‘91.”
“Damn,” David said.
“No, that’s okay. It’s still information, and that will eventually lead to the truth. And that’s all we’re looking for, isn’t it?”
David wasn’t in the mood to be scholarly. “How did he get that music and learn it well enough to teach it to Cook? That’s all I’m looking for.”
Fowler broke in, “How about you, David? You come up with anything?”
David let out a frustrated breath. “I’ve been going over Kathryn’s notes. She’s right, the only thing interesting about that year is Mozart’s mother died. But I still can’t believe Henry actually thought Wolfy wrote a requiem for her. In fact, I know Henry didn’t, we’d talked about it too many times.”
“He could have changed his mind, David. People do change their minds.”
David shook his head defiantly. “Not that much.”
“Sure they do,” Dani responded. “I did about you.”
David’s hostility was instantly squelched. He smiled in spite of himself and then broke into a slight chuckle. “Okay, you might have a point. Maybe Henry did change his mind, but I’d like to know what changed it?”
“How about your piece of music?” Fowler asked.
“No, he’d had that music for years before he gave it to me. Besides, he and I went over the piece and the prosody isn’t there for a requiem.”
“The what?” Fowler said, narrowing his eyes.
Dani clarified, “David means it doesn’t fit into any of the sections a requiem is supposed to have.”
“Right,” David said. “A requiem mass is musically unique. The tension and release, the texture, the harmonic structure, the mode of a requiem is singular. It has to be, given the weight of its subject matter.” David continued, “Look, a requiem is a setting of the Latin text of the ‘mass for the dead’ and begins with the word requiem, meaning ‘rest.’ All requiems are pretty much the same on one account—the libretto. The sections of all requiems are first the introit, it says…” David closed his eyes and searched his memory banks, “requiem aeternam dona eis Domine, that means…Eternal Rest Grant Them, O Lord. The second section is the Kyrie, meaning Lord Have Mercy. Then comes the Dies irae, the Day Of Wrath, then the Offertory, Domine Jesu Christe, O Lord Jesus Christ, King Of Glory. Then we get to the Sanctus, Holy, Holy, Holy, next, Agnus Dei, meaning Lamb of God, and finally the Communion, Lux aeterna, My Eternal Light Shine Upon Them. Also there’s sometimes a Libera me section, meaning Deliver Me O God From Death Eternal, and an In Paradisum, Into Paradise May The Angels Lead You.
“Now folks, I know I’ve been out of the longhair academic world of music for a while, but believe me, the sketch I have, the one Henry gave me, just doesn’t fit any of those movements.”
No one responded. Fowler, and even Dani, knew they were outmatched when it came to this man’s knowledge of music.
“Come on, Dani,” David added, “surely you can see that.”
Dani smiled. This was not the boorish and crude lounge piano player she had first met. This was David Webber, the brash and confident musical phenom from Juilliard Paul had heard about. And she liked this David Webber very much. She nodded, “You’re right, David. It doesn’t seem to fit.”
David let his head drop. “Finally.”
But when he lifted his head, he saw Dani looking at him. Her soft hazel eyes were glistening. He felt a warmth go through his body and an overwhelming feeling of joy in his soul. He’d never felt anything like it. He returned her gaze. For a moment, all the evil that had fallen upon his life vanished. It was just the two of them.
“So what is it?”
David heard the words as if they were coming from another world.
“David, hey, you with me here? What is it?”
David snapped back and saw Fowler looking at both of them. “Uh, I think it’s a symphony,” David said, his mind still not completely in the room.
“A symphony?”
“Yeah, a symphony.” David collected himself. “I need to see the music again, but that’s what I think it might be, part of the adagio section of a symphony. That’s usually the middle movement of three movements. After going over Kathryn’s note, it’s the only thing that makes sense. Mozart was into symphonies at the time, and it works musically.”
Dani too had gone away. She pulled herself back and added, “We need to get Marcus Burg over here.”
“Who’s that?” Fowler asked.
“He runs the recording studio for the Smithsonian. We need to hear what he’s come up with. He also has photocopies of both pieces.”
“I’ll have him over here in two hours.”
“Umm, Mr. Fowler,” Dani said.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Marcus…I just want to warn you, he’s a real sweet guy, and brilliant but…” Dani smiled, “not your typical Smithsonian employee.”
Chapter Forty-One
Exactly two hours and seven minutes later, Marcus Burg was sitting in a swivel chair staring at a computer monitor. He was hitting keys on an adjacent synthesizer when Fowler ushered Dani and David into the converted garage located off the main house. Marcus turned, peered over his round John Lennon specs, and stood with a smile. “Hey, Dan, dig the hang, babe.”
“Marcus,” Dani said, extending her arms to the six-foot bag of bones with stringy blonde hair. “Great to see you, honey.”
“You too, babe,” Marcus replied as the two hugged.
“This is my friend David Webber. He owns the sketch.”
“Dude, awesome piece, man, really kicks major classical butt.”
David looked at
Dani as he took Marcus’s outstretched hand. “Uh…yeah, thanks. What’s your T-shirt say? I can’t make it out.”
“Hendrix, dude! You know, excuse me while I kiss the sky.”
“Oh,” was the only reply David could offer.
Fowler broke in, “We’ve set up his unit out here so both you and he can work independently and undisturbed.”
“Man, this place rocks, Dan. Check it out. I could live here. It’s even got a kitchen? Fridge is poppin’. I’m talkin’ major score.”
“Yeah, it rocks,” Dani said with a chuckle as she looked at David’s bewildered face. “Marcus, did you bring the two works Paul gave you?”
“Yeah, got ’em right here,” Marcus answered, handing Dani the two copies she’d copied in her office in what now seemed like a lifetime ago.
"Can I see them?" Fowler asked, taking the music from Dani.
“I heard about Pauly, bad thing, man, real bad. How is he?”
“So far so good,” Dani replied.
“I’m sending out positive energy, Dan, lots of it.”
“Thanks, I know he appreciates it.”
“So, this is it?” Fowler asked, showing David the sketch.
David nodded. "Yeah. You read music, Agent Fowler?"
"Third chair trombone in high school marching band. I've also been told I play a respectable 'Unchained Melody' on the organ. So, Mr. Burg," Fowler continued, handing Dani the music, "do you have anything we can hear?”
“Sure, have a seat and let me entertain you.”
As David, Dani, and Fowler sat down, Marcus entered commands into the computer.
“My grandson has this same thing,” Fowler said.
“Not like this, G-man,” Marcus replied, talking as he typed. “This ProTools system looks like any other PC, but the software’s anything but. Basically, it’s Abby Road all tucked into thousands upon thousands of beautiful gigabytes. And the editing capabilities are totally bitchin’. Ain’t nothin’ I can’t do.”
“Meaning, if I sing off key, you can make it so I’m on key,” Fowler said.
Marcus chuckled. “That’s child’s play, dude. You give me fifteen minutes, and I can make you sound like freakin’ Pavarotti.”