The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3

by Alexie Aaron

  The sound of our fall brought the security guys from the orchestra seating up on the stage.

  “Oh, my lord, what have we here,” exclaimed Buck Murphy. He backed up and collided with Eddie Simpson who was lost for words for a moment.

  “Is that real or.” was all Eddie could manage.

  “Don’t touch anything,” I advised from the floor. “Hey, guys, could you help? Hello. Down here.”

  Buck looked down at me and back at Carl. He was either mesmerized or in shock. Fortunately Eddie’s prior career in law enforcement kicked in. “Wake up, Buck, let’s help this woman and then we will deal with the corpse. They shifted Miles’ weight so I could get on my feet.

  I lay there a moment. In my haste to get up, I tried to use my previously injured left arm which couldn’t hold my weight, and I fell back. I rolled to my side and used my right hand to push me to a sitting position. I stared up at Carl and could have sworn he smiled at me. I started to lose my wits and pushed myself away with my feet.

  Buck cooed, “He can’t hurt you now, miss.” He reached down and helped me up and over to a chair. “There, just sit down and let Eddie and I sort this thing out.”

  “Buck, I’m going to have to call this in. I don’t know exactly what to call it, but I better get started.” He left the stage, and I could hear his feet pound down the stairs and as he made his way up the right aisle the sound of the entrance doors being pulled shut. He circled around and did the same for the other side of the theater. I heard him order the ushers to not let anyone in as he left the dress circle seating. The door closed behind him with a clank.

  I heard more clanks from the balcony as they closed off the interior of the Avery theatre to the viewing public.

  Chatter and hushed responses started coming from the walkie talkie Buck had secured to his belt. Retired police officer Eddie Simpson was issuing orders.

  “Buck, you there?”

  Buck clicked a button, “Yes, Eddie, I’m still here.”

  “Get the band secured in the break room. We got officers and EMTs coming in. Do not let anyone leave.”

  “Gotcha, buddy. What about the corpse?”

  “He ain’t going anywhere. Get the scene secure, you comprehend?”

  “Yes, sir.” Burt clicked off and looked at me a second before repeating my words to him back to me, “Don’t touch anything.”

  I nodded. He seemed satisfied with that, mentally checking me off a hurriedly penned list in his head before he ran off stage left. I turned in my chair and watched him corral tux adorned sheep off the stage and back down the hallway with the precision of a collie, barking orders, and taking on the persona of a television cop.

  Miles just lay there. I wondered for a moment if the shock had killed him. I saw his chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. His color looked good. I breathed a sigh of relief that I was only in the company of one dead male.

  Eddie returned to the stage and put two fingers to Miles’ neck.

  “He’s alive,” I said from my perch.

  Eddie looked over at me and blushed, admitting, “Forgot to check before.”

  I winked at him. “It’ll be our secret.”

  “Miss.”

  “Ms. Ms. Fin-Lathen,” I supplied.

  “Are you alright?”

  I tried to smile although I didn’t think I succeeded. “Eddie, under the circumstances, I’m just peachy.”

  “I’m at a disadvantage here. Back in Maine, where I’m from, I never had anything like this happen before.”

  “Don’t worry, from what I’ve seen, you’re doing just fine.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “Well, you have a news reporter roaming around. David Thebes. You may want to contain him.” I nodded my head to the right dress circle door where a valiant battle was being fought to keep the door closed by an elderly female volunteer and the announcer. I saw the petite, brave soul manage to get several kicks to his shins while holding the door.

  Buck shouted, “You there, stop!” He left the stage, and I saw him run up the aisle shouting orders into his walkie as he approached the scene.

  The volunteer lost her hold on the door, and Thebes burst in and started to make his way down to get a better look. Buck waved his hands.

  “Stop right there and leave the theater,” he ordered.

  “Do you realize whom you’re talking to?” Thebes’ arrogant voice echoed across the empty seats.

  “Yes, sir. I do. I will ask you one more time to vacate the theatre before...”

  “What is happening up there?” The newsman started to run down the center aisle.

  Not to be outdone. The little old lady usher started running from her post and tackled Thebes with the energy of a Chicago Bear. She not only knocked him off his feet but held him face down until Eddie could reach him.

  A warm breeze blew by my legs. I forced myself to turn away from the spectacle and saw that, unnoticed by me, the police had arrived. They stood dumbstruck by Carl a moment before heading out into the audience to help Eddie secure Thebes.

  The paramedics arrived and started to work on Miles who received more attention than Carl did. They got him on his feet, and he left mumbling that he would be in his office.

  I stayed with Carl even though I hadn’t like him in life. Maybe this was why I felt I needed to even the karma after his death. His wife would need to be contacted, but I would leave that to the professionals. I turned my chair around and sat back in my seat facing Carl. With the sound curtain pulled back and the lights up, Carl finally had center stage.

  Chapter Two

  There comes a time in life when the knowledge gained by television watching and reading books comes in handy. It also allows us to separate ourselves from the horror around us. This is one of my explanations for continuing to sit on the stage watching Carl. The other, I was covered in blood, Carl’s blood.

  Two police officers dressed in motorcycle uniforms arrived first followed by the paramedics. After a cursory examination the EMTs pronounced Carl dead of an accidental fall. The Coroner was called.

  I pondered how the men could come to the conclusion that Carl had died accidentally. I calculated the odds of finding oneself impaled on an uncapped microphone stand. Adding to it the absence of horrific death cries. “There had been only one scream. I fought myself to keep quiet. I had just a few months before been in the presence of death, some I caused. This wasn’t accidental.

  They were going to move his body off the microphone stand when I spoke up. “Why was there only one scream?”

  “Excuse me?” The closest officer swung around and gave me his full six feet four inches of attention.

  “Why didn’t he call for help? We all heard the scream in Phantom.”

  “What’s Phantom. What scream?”

  “It was the piece of music the band was playing, and there is supposed to be a scream, but it wasn’t that scream. Hell, I will show you in the music.” I started to get up, and the officer now looming over me motioned me to stop. “Anyway I heard - everyone heard - Carl scream, once and then nothing else. No moans, nothing.”

  “You heard him scream and you did nothing?”

  “I didn’t know it was Carl. You see if you would let me get you the music...”

  “Ed, come over here,” the officer interrupted me again. One of the paramedics got up and walked over to us. The officer discussed my questioning the lack of screams coming from the victim with the EMT. He thought a moment before he walked back over to Carl. He got out his flashlight and started prodding around with a pencil in Carl’s open mouth.

  “Bill, get me a tweezers. No, something bigger,” Ed directed his partner. Bill came back with a needle-nosed pliers. Its well cared for long metal teeth, caught by the spotlight, shown viciously. Ed had Bill hold the light while he reached into Carl’s open mouth and probed. The EMT exhaled as he extracted an alto saxophone mouthpiece with reed and ligature intact. “There’s still something black down in his throat, but I can’
t get it.”

  “That would probably be the mouthpiece cover,” I said dryly. I wondered if they could tell I was screaming in my head. Oh why, oh why, didn’t they cover him up? The smell of the blood was making me nauseous. I so didn’t want to puke in front of these men. I was sitting onstage covered in Carl’s blood, thanks to Miles. I was tired, I never got my coffee, and I had to pee. What annoyed me most was that they were just standing there! They hadn’t even interviewed anyone. I was well aware that these were motorcycle traffic cops. I was puzzled as to why traffic cops responded to a murder. Aren’t they just supposed to pull over speeders and ticket people? I mean if they had a suspect would they drape them over the seat of the bike like in a western? Plus, these were babies, young men with the gleam of innocence in their eyes. Well, someone had to be the adult here. I ignored “Chips,” my new name for the officer in reminiscence of my visit to Los Angeles, and directed my question to the paramedics. “How did the mouthpiece get in his throat?”

  “Excuse us for a minute.” The group walked out of earshot. Finally Ed, I think it was Ed, by this time they all looked alike to me - men in uniform would no longer thrill me in line at the checkout - anyway, Ed walked over and said that they were going to call in Homicide and questioned who the hell let the audience leave. This may not have had been an accident.

  “Murder?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Can I go p...to the bathroom?”

  “Just don’t leave the building. And don’t wash.”

  “What?” I snapped.

  “Leave the evidence alone.”

  “Evidence. I didn’t touch him.”

  “The blood.”

  “Oh.” I walked across the stage to the dressing room where there were facilities for the performers and waited till I was in the bathroom in a stall before I let the tears flow. Then I puked. Thanks, Carl.

  ~

  I stood at the sink, looked in the mirror and surveyed the damage. My performing ensemble was ruined. The still wet blood had made dark patterns in the black tuxedo jacket and pants. Rust seemed to form were the blood was drying. I started to feel faint so I grabbed the counter and focused my brown eyes on my reflection. I felt if I could look at myself long enough I could get the image of Carl out of my mind. My long red curls had escaped my updo, and I do believe my hair was redder than I remembered on the ends.

  I walked to the sink and washed my hands in rebellion, savoring the feel of the warm water. A knock startled me, and I swung around to see Chips red-faced in the doorway. I didn’t know if his blush was caused by the embarrassment of being in the ladies room or anger at my being gone so long.

  “Yes?” I asked quietly.

  “Detective Curtis has arrived.”

  “So.”

  “He needs to talk to you.” Taking a bold step into no man’s land he grabbed my arm and guided me out the door. Once in the hallway, he nudged me forward and kept invading my personal space as we walked back out to the stage.

  “You can back off Chi… Officer, I’m not going anywhere,” I snapped at him.

  He didn’t, and by the time I crossed the stage I was really upset. Carl was still on his perch looking worse as time had not improved his condition. He did, however, have a couple of new guests to keep him company. A young blonde woman was taking pictures as a very large man with a clipboard directed her. The man stopped, looked at me and motioned me over to the side.

  “You are the person that found the deceased?” He puffed a little as if talking was an aerobic event.

  “Yes, I found him, er.”

  “Detective Curtis.”

  “Detective, I found him at the beginning of the intermission.”

  “What time would that have been?”

  “Oh lord, I don’t know exactly. We started at seven and played five arrangements, and there were announcements in-between?” I just looked at him and shrugged. “Seven fifty-five?”

  “And Officer Dudley here says you heard a scream when?”

  “A quarter of the way through Phantom of the Opera. Which was the third arrangement.” I started to count on my fingers. “First was the Star Spangled Banner. Oh let’s say, three minutes. Then the Barnum and Bailey March, announcer, blah blah blah, I would be guessing but I would say Seven forty-five? You could ask the conductor for his scores. They have time on them.” I saw the blank stare. I clarified, “How long the piece is. Did you say Officer Dudley?” I glanced at the mentioned uniformed man. Brown trousers hugged the muscled thighs of the man not unlike an equestrian, or a Canadian Mounted policeman.

  He looked up from his clipboard, locking his blue eyes on my face. “Yes, Officer Dudley. You said seven forty-five?”

  “As in Dudley Do-Right?” my lips twitched. I rolled my eyes and tried to contain the laughter that was bubbling to the surface.

  Detective Curtis shot me a stern look that sobered me instantly. “I need you to walk me through the events of this evening, step by step.”

  “Can I ask you a question first?”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The reason why I ask is. No one here has asked me my name. You haven’t used it. So I am a bit curious, who do you think I am?”

  Detective Curtis scanned his paper and pulled up several more papers underneath. Shaking his head he read off “tall middle-aged woman.”

  My sharp intake of air must have been quite audible because he took a step backward as if to create a secure space between him and my mounting anger.

  “This tall middle-aged woman is getting a bit pissed. I’m tired of babysitting your patrol cowboys. Dudley Do-Right has been pushing me around, which is all he is good for. Do you normally send out these brain trusts or did they just happen by?”

  “Miss.”

  “Ms. Ms. Cindy Fin-Lathen. F I N hyphen capital L A T H E N.”

  “Calm down. Ms. Fin-Lathen, I’m sorry if this looks like a dog and pony show to you, but dispatch didn’t quite get the whole story when they sent the officers. They were just here to help the paramedics with the accident.”

  “Does that look like an accident?” I pointed to Carl.

  “It’s really too soon to tell. I’ll wait for the coroner, Doctor Monitor’s, decision on that.” He absently pushed his callused hand through his graying sandy hair.

  “Come on Detective, he had a whole mouthpiece shoved down his throat!” I stuck my finger in my mouth and was rewarded with a gag.

  “Maybe that happened in the fall. After all he was carrying his instrument.”

  “I take it you don’t know much about musical instruments.”

  “No. Maybe you could enlighten me after I get your statement?” His eyes softened and this calmed me. I took a deep breath and walked him through the events of my finding Carl. Detective Curtis was very thorough and even let me show him where in the music the scream happened. I then pointed out where the scream was orchestrated to be. He asked to keep the music, and I said that I needed a copy of it because we only had one alto clarinet part. Nodding, he asked what an alto clarinet was, and I showed him my instrument. I held up my four foot long black Buffet Eb alto clarinet with pride. Not many people get to see an alto clarinet. Most think it’s a skinny saxophone. I usually have to explain what it is so I prepared myself and mentally loaded my mini lecture.

  The detective reached out and took the instrument from me. He held it not as to play it but to determine if it could be used as a weapon. He slid his hands down from the mouth piece across the silver keys and down to the silver bell at the bottom. “What is that silver rod for?” he pointed to the peg stand.

  “It holds the instrument up in playing position so I don’t have to with my arms. It’s heavy.”

  “You’re pretty healthy. Why would the weight be a problem?” he said picking up the alto and testing the weight.

  “Normally not, but I had an accident a year ago that left me without three inches of my
radius, one of the bones in my lower arm. It doesn’t connect into my elbow. I can’t support my own weight and turning it past this point is nearly impossible.” I demonstrated. “I can carry about ten pounds and no pushups. Not that I would want to do a pushup anyway.”

  Detective Curtis put my alto down. Reached out. I gave him my arm. He pushed up my blood-crusted sleeve.

  “Wicked scar, how did you do this?”

  “Knife fight,” I said which wasn’t a total fabrication. I had been in a nasty knife fight, but it didn’t damage my elbow.

  His right eyebrow went up mocking me.

  “I fell off a motorcycle.”

  More eyebrow action and his mouth twitched.

  “Okay, surgery scar. I fell off a ladder. I was painting.” I was unnerved at the attention I was getting. “I didn’t kill, Carl, detective.”

  He looked at me. “I didn’t ask you if you did.”

  “I just thought I would throw it out there, just in case you were curious.”

  He jotted something down on his clipboard. “Is this where you were sitting?” He nodded and pulled out my chair.

  “Yes.”

  “And when did you notice that Carl wasn’t sitting in the band?”

  I thought about it for a moment before answering, “We were almost at the end of the Phantom piece.”

  “Did you notice anyone else gone?”

  I sat down and thought a minute. “I could tell you who was here directly in front of me, but in all honesty you would have to ask someone like the conductor or someone in the audience about who was or wasn’t here.”

  “I intend to ask the band members. The audience is long gone, which distresses me. The whole way this was handled was poor, very poor.”

  “Most of them are season ticket holders. You could ask Miles for a list,” I said trying to be encouraging.

  “Miles?”

  “The stage manager. Wait a minute, sometimes they videotape a performance. I remember that we had that option as long as we brought our own tape.”

  “We?”