by Alexie Aaron
“Great. Just great. I haven’t even showered yet. Don’t touch that!” I left Harry, took off my gloves and picked up a beer from the kitchen. I drained it on my way to the bedroom. Dressing was a bit difficult, considering the scratches, and the alcohol from the beer had gotten to my fingers. I ended up throwing on a long sundress and slid my feet into a pair of flats. I grabbed a sweater just in case the air-conditioning was chilling. I arrived at the front door before the deputy had time to knock. He brought with him a plastic evidence bag, and I pointed his way to the den where Harry was still poking at the envelope.
The ride was a quiet one. Harry sat pouting next to me in the backseat. I knew he wanted to be up front with all those gadgets. I was just sobering up when we arrived. Deputy Harris showed us to an office where he produced two coffees and asked us to wait there.
“Pretty nice digs for law enforcement,” I commented, looking around the office with new furnishings. The coffee smelled better that it tasted, but it was still welcomed.
“Talk about decadence. How about the county lockup back there overlooking a golf course?” Harry sniffed.
“Now to be fair, the golf course wasn’t put in till well after the prison. But it seems that crime pays, doesn’t it.” I leaned back in the chair and just about fell asleep by the time the deputy returned.
“We had it x-rayed, and there doesn’t seem to be anything but paper in the envelope. Sergeant Buslowski said to go ahead and open it but he wants the envelope and the contents sent down to the lab.”
“Might as well open it here?” I looked over at Harry who nodded. I put on the cheap plastic gloves that Deputy Harris brought back with him and slit the envelope using a letter opener also provided by the deputy. Several pages were carefully folded into the business envelope space. I caught the fold with the letter opener and carefully extracted the paper. Pages of sheet music hung across my blade. I lowered the paper to the desk and began smoothing them out. In front of me was Tchaikovsky’s Overture “1812”. It was a carefully reduced copy of the first and second bassoon parts. I examined each page and found nothing amiss, no stamp identifying the ownership of the music and, oddly enough, no editing marks at all. When a band rehearses an intense piece of music like this one, the conductor frequently has the players make notes or changes to the music to suit the conductor’s interpretation.
“What is it?” asked the deputy over my shoulder.
“Music, just music. Overture“1812” by Tchaikovsky. The bassoon parts.”
“Who would send you this music?”
“The killer,” Harry supplied. He came over to the desk. “It has to mean something, otherwise why risk coming over and placing it in your mailbox?” He plopped his behind down on the desk, jostling the remainder of our coffees.
“Careful, Harry,” I warned. “I know it has something to do with Manfred and Tobias, obviously, because it’s the parts they would play if we were performing the music.” I looked at the deputy who was lost. He probably had no knowledge of the case beyond the task of the letter. Harry popped off the desk.
“Cin, the War of 1812 was between us and England?”
“I guess we had a war between Britain and the United States in 1812. There was a war going on between France and Russia during that time. Wait. The “1812 Overture” was commissioned as a ceremonial overture to celebrate the 70th anniversary of Russia's victory over Napoleon in 1812. I read that in program notes somewhere.”
“Napoleon. Wasn’t there something in the Post recently about them doing tests on his remains?”
“You’re right, Harry. Go on, I see what you’re saying.”
“They found that he had been slowly poisoned over the years. Poisoned by…”
“Arsenic. Deputy Harris, is there a way I could talk to the lab people who are testing the food taken from the Avery Theater? No, better yet, let me call Detective Curtis.”
Deputy Harris punched an outside line, and I dialed his number.
“Curtis here.”
“You sound tired, Tony.”
“Cin, what did you find out. What was in the envelope?”
“A message, I believe from the killer. A very vague message but the meaning came through. The lab will find that the food at the theater was poisoned with arsenic.”
“Is Dave with you?”
“No, a Deputy Harris.”
“Put him on the phone.”
I did as I was told and listened while the deputy was questioned about what we found. He must have been asked questions he couldn’t answer because he repeated them looking over at Harry and me a couple of times, and we filled in the puzzle as best we could.
“He wants to know when you received the letter?” He handed the phone back to me.
“The thing is. I didn’t check the mail Monday because I was with you all day and didn’t get home till late in the night. And today, well, you were with me all day.”
“Where was the envelope?”
“In the mail box.”
“No, where was it in the stack of mail? On top, on bottom?” Tony asked impatiently.
I thought for a moment, trying to visualize the dining room table. “It was under four bills, one junk mail and a Victoria’s Secret catalog. In the middle. It might have been in the mailbox today and the mailman put more mail on top of it. Or...”
“It could have been put in the middle purposely,” Tony supplied.
“Hold on a minute.” I turned to the deputy. “Can we put this on speaker? I would like Harry involved with this conversation.” I spoke into the phone, “Is that alright with you?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
Deputy Harris shut the door to the office and put the phone on speaker and adjusted the volume so Tony could hear all of us.
“Okay, I have some questions first,” began Tony. “How do you know we’re dealing with a copy?”
“This is Chappell’s Army Journal No. 495. I have played this arrangement, and it is normally oversized, let’s say ten or eleven by fourteen inches. The paper would be of a yellow or parchment bond. This appears to be high white printer paper, 20 pound, and you would have to test it, but I imagine it was printed off an inkjet printer.”
“Why not laser?”
“Laser doesn’t smudge, and this has a smudge trail on the second page.” I used to be the band librarian and made numerous copyright-infringed copies. I didn’t think I needed to admit that to a law officer.
“Might be from a home copier,” Harry suggested.
“We’ll have the lab look at all that. Second, who has access to the band’s music?”
“It’s kept at the Coconut Palm community center. They give us air-conditioned storage space. The music is kept in old filing cabinets and locked.”
“Who has access? Who has keys?”
“The band librarian, Edith, and she’s still out of town as far as I know. The conductor, Doctor Sanders, and the band president, Tom Waverly.”
Harry walked over and looked at the music again. “What if the bassoon players kept their music?”
“It is possible that it was never turned back in. But I think that Edith would have tracked it down before now. We played this piece two years ago for the Fourth of July. I think though you may want to consider that most every college, community and a good many high school bands have this piece in their repertoire.”
“I still think those old goofs staged all this.” Harry crossed his arms.
“But they were almost killed.” I looked at Harry.
“The word is almost. And Miles could have been the target, not a suspect.”
“What makes you suspect the bassoon players, Harry?” Tony asked.
“First of all, they are too chummy. Second, they brought their bassoon cases to a social function. Third, I think it would have taken two people to pull off that oleander stunt last night,” Harry reasoned.
We were all quiet a moment.
“Tony, can you tell us anything about your interview with Miles?”
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“I don’t know how much you need to know. Why don’t you ask me questions and let me make a judgment on each question.”
“Fair enough. Did Miles mention whether or not he asked them to bring their instruments?” I asked.
We heard him flipping through papers. “Miles claims, remember we still don’t have the note, that the typed note he had on his desk requested him to call Manfred Tuttle and Tobias Green and inform them that, due to an error, their names had been left off the invitation list for a potluck supper at five o’ clock in the coffee room of the theater. It also requested that the doors be opened by four-thirty to accommodate the setting up of the room.” He paused. “So I would say that the answer is no.”
“So why did those old farts bring their bassoons? At least the cases?” Harry asked.
“I can vouch for the cases because I fell over one, and when Manfred and Tobias left they were pulling their cases.”
“Excuse me,” Deputy Harris’s quiet voice interrupted. “Why would the killer send you the music? Why, Mrs. Fin-Lathen, are you involved in this?”
“Right place, wrong time.” I sighed.
Harry addressed the deputy, “I think she’s either being set up or she has become a player in some nasty little game. I still think it’s the old guys. Did you see the way they just sat there watching us break our necks looking for them? Wouldn’t you think they could have answered when Cin was calling them? Old bas...”
“That’s enough.” I grabbed his arm. “There are other suspects. Let’s not get tunnel vision. Tony, have you interviewed any of the others?”
“I have Doctor Sanders coming in tomorrow. I wanted to get a good background on the band before asking the other gentlemen.”
“Sounds like you have your favorite suspect.” Harry sniffed.
“No, not really. The music points me in another direction than I was going previously. Please remember that Miles is a player in all this.”
“He was going to drink the punch,” I brought up again.
“But he didn’t drink. I understand other bands use the theater. He could have access to their music. Or the music was bought for this occasion. Who knows, you probably can get it over the Internet.”
“That brings up the home office scenario.”
“Or the library,” added the deputy. “The main county library has computers, printers, copiers, you name it.”
“Harris, could you get me a list of who may have used the library’s equipment in the last week or so?”
“I don’t think they keep any sort of list, but I could check. I’ll have to wait till morning.”
“Sure, let me know what you find out. I also need the lab to go over the paper, fingerprints. That reminds me. Deputy Harris, the lab will need Ms. Fin-Lathen’s and Harry’s prints.”
Harry and I looked at each other and joined in, “Why?”
“To rule them out.”
“But I was wearing gloves,” I whined.
“Why were you wearing gloves?” Tony asked evenly.
“It was my idea. I put the kitchen gloves on her before she went out to the mailbox. But I was thinking more of a snake in the mailbox,” Harry explained.
“You sent me out there thinking that there might be a snake in the box?” I exclaimed. “Some protector.”
“Children! You are going to get your fingerprints taken and that’s final,” Tony ordered.
I stuck my tongue out at the phone, and Harry must have been warming up one of his fingers because it was flashed at the phone with much vigor. Deputy Harris took the phone off of speaker and received some more instructions. He hung up the phone and took Harry and me to fingerprinting.
Chapter Thirteen
I wasn’t too thrilled that we had to actually go to the lockup to get our prints made. Harry stared wide-eyed at the other poor souls that were waiting their turn at processing. Tuesday night must be a big night in Palm Beach County. Deputy Harris left us briefly, and after much discussion, we were brought to the head of the line and printed. Harry thought we should also have a couple of pictures done. Then I reminded him that there might be a cavity search involved with further processing, so he let the picture thing go. I was still trying to get the crap off my fingers when Sergeant Dave showed up dressed in street clothes.
“Harris, you idiot. Why did you bring them here?”
Harry held up his hands. “Sergeant Dave, please excuse the lack of a handshake but...” He wiggled his fingers.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Fin-Lathen. There were other ways this could have been done. I’m sorry that I wasn’t here earlier, but I was home when Tony called.” He glared at the deputy. “I thought I was leaving you in good hands.”
“It’s okay. I figure Harry would end up here eventually anyway. Might as well get the tour. I’m sorry that Tony dragged you in here from home though.”
“Nothing on TV tonight but reruns anyway.” He looked us over. “Let me point you to the restroom so you can wash that stuff off. And how about the three of us meeting back here. I have lots and lots of information you may be interested in.”
Harry all but ran to the bathroom, and I admit I was myself lured by the carrot Detective Dave was holding out. I finished cleaning off my hands and checked out my reflection. If you subtract the dark circles under my eyes, I didn’t look too bad. I caught myself. Oh Lord, I am primping for a cop, a married cop. Heaven take me now.
Detective Dave was engrossed in something Harry was telling him when I arrived. He looked at me and started laughing.
“What?” I looked down, making sure I hadn’t dragged toilet paper out with my shoe.
“Necking at the beach?” Detective Dave shook his head.
“I, we, Harry, what did you tell him?” I put my face into his.
“I never said necking. I said we were parked,” Harry confessed.
“Parked, as the car was stopped. Put into park. That kind of parking.” I knew I was red. My face was hot, and I was thinking a thousand tortures for my partner in crime.
“Calm down, I’m just trying to lighten the mood here,” the sergeant said with a twinkle in his eye. “Come on, time you got better acquainted with the boys from the lab.”
“Do we get to see a dead body?” Harry all but drooled.
“I said lab and not morgue.”
“I have seen enough dead bodies, thank you,” I mumbled.
My comment wasn’t lost on the sergeant. He threw me an understanding look before directing us to the bowels of the building. We followed him through corridors and stairways silently. He waited until we had reached the glass doors labeled “Crime Laboratory” before talking.
“This is the county’s lab. They process most of the crime scene data for Palm Beach County. West Palm has the budget for their own lab, but Coconut Palms and your village don’t, so they use us. Bigger cities have much more elaborate equipment, and there are times when we may send samples down to Miami or up to Atlanta.” He opened the door and we walked in.
I was surprised by how many people were working that late at night. Sergeant Dave explained the departments as passed them. We walked by Biology, where the blood samples from the theater were sent. Criminalistics commanded the largest area. They were responsible for identifying the poisons used in all three instances and the truck tire impressions in my yard. Document Examination was over in the corner, and they were already working on the music. The sergeant pointed out Firearms in the back and Controlled Substance Analysis, located by Biology, both of which didn’t pertain to the case as of yet.
I was surprised that I didn’t recognize any of these people. “The men who collected the samples?”
“They’re part of the Crime Scene Search Unit, which is upstairs along with Photography and the Latent Fingerprint Unit. That’s where my deputy should have taken you.”
“When or even will we know what these units have found regarding the investigation?” I asked.
“I guess it is up to Tony. It’s his case. He makes th
e calls.”
“You’re being a pretty decent guy to show us around here,” commented Harry.
“I think that this case has caught my curious side. Also it’s a win-win for me. I can feel free to interject my ideas since it won’t be my butt on the line.”
“Okay, so here’s a free question for you to ponder. Why me? Why not send the music to Tony,” I asked.
“Remember my cat and mouse theory. I can see that the rules have changed a bit. The killer is so damn impressed with himself that he is sending you clues. The only problem is, when did he send the last one? Before or after the attempted murder?”
“And I can’t tell you that. Why would the timing make a difference?”
“If he sent it before, he wanted the thrill of the chase or not to poison those men.”
“I think it’s the old farts,” Harry insisted again. “For the record, I said it was the old farts first.”
Detective Dave smiled indulgently. “Noted. Now if it was sent after, the killer is taunting you. He’s acknowledging you as a player in his game. He invites you with the flowers, and you beat him in the next play. If I am right and he is playing with you, there will be more murder attempts. And, unfortunately, he may succeed.”
“Unless Cin gets there first.” Harry looked at me.
“So how am I going to sleep nights knowing that whether or not one of my contemporaries lives or dies depends on whether I am observant enough, smart enough or quick enough? What you’re not saying is this all depends on me.”
“Wrong, Cin,” Harry insisted. “It depends on us.”
I could hear Harry’s words from earlier this evening. You can’t control everything. This killer is counting on you to do your normal Fin-Lathen thing. You have to think different here.
“Well, if we’re going to be good players in this game, Sergeant, then I would strongly suggest you recommend to Tony that he shares his information and that includes the lab results.”
“Now, you’re treading in an area where what you were able to do in England isn’t going to happen here.”