by Alexie Aaron
Music had comforted me in England when I felt I was truly alone. There had been Father Michael, Noelle and others to help me through, but in my most desperate hours it was music that kept me sane.
What about Harry? I guess he was my karma payback. He had needed me, and I gave him all I knew how to give. And now that I needed him, he was there for me. There wasn’t any complicated explanation to make. I needed Harry, and Harry needed me. We fed off of laughter, and each of us had an inside source to share. Oh Lord, speaking of sharing, I wondered how Tony had found out about what we had been up to.
“Looking at the stars?” Sergeant Dave’s voice broke through my ruminations.
“Can’t see them because of the parking lot lights,” I answered.
“That was a nice piece of detective work.”
“Miles?”
“Yes, Miles. I think Tony is smarting a bit. I think he hoped to wrap up Miles and send him up the river tonight.”
“Actually, you gave me the idea. You said, ‘Like a cat shows his love by leaving dead mice.’ I didn’t fully understand what you were saying till just recently. Now it scares me.”
“Maybe I’m not right,” Dave said, trying to sooth me.
“I don’t have a problem with anyone else in the band,” I said. “With no one to kill and leave on my doorstep, will he come after me or, worse, will he come after the ones I love?” I shivered in the nighty-degree night air.
“I don’t know, maybe that high-priced profiler can shed some light on this.” Dave helped me up. “I think that Harry wants us to move on to the events of Tuesday.”
“Yes, he’s convinced...”
“That it’s the old farts,” Dave completed and laughed.
We met Harry on the way back. He all but pulled me into the coffee room. Miles was sitting beside officers Pete and Bob. He seemed more at ease. I snaked around Tony and grabbed another cup of coffee before we started up.
I sat in the corner by the cookies, and those nasty calories were calling to me: “Cin you can still be a pretty hot babe with a big butt.” I refused to believe the lies of baked goods and stayed with the black coffee. I had fallen for those lies before, poor gullible me.
Tony walked into the room and cleared his voice to get our attention. “Let’s continue. Tuesday, Bernice Marks calls Cin on her cell phone because she is concerned over a message left on her answering machine. She replays the message. I have it on tape.” Tony nodded to the officer who played the recording for the group.
“We have already determined that Miles did make the call,” Tony said glancing at his notes. “The theater’s coffee room was booked three weeks in advance for this potluck, according to the college. It was booked using a money order and a typed letter on what looked like Coconut Palms Concert Band stationary. We have since found it to be a forgery. The paper was the same paper used in the printing of the music Cin received on Tuesday. It was also printed on the same printer. Miles remembers the request was on the band’s stationary, but he didn’t notice that it was a forgery. His copy was removed between three, when he called Tobias Green and Manfred Tuttle, and five when Cin went crashing into the coffee room.”
“I fell, I didn’t crash,” I corrected.
“Cin and Harry were already en route to the theater to pick up Harry’s paycheck. Cin arrived at 4:57 PM. I arrived minutes later and Harry moments after I,” Tony finished.
“How did Cin get here before Harry?” Dave asked.
“We were stuck at the railroad tracks. Gate down. Cin jumps out of the car, runs over the tracks and through the bushes on the west side,” Harry explained.
“Manfred and Tobias were alerted prior to Cin arriving by Bernice Marks. According to them. They went into the audience and sat there and waited till someone official came,” Tony added.
“I have some problems with their story.” Harry stood up. “May I?”
Tony nodded.
“One: the stage is dark. Miles, was the stage lit when you opened the stage door at four?” Harry asked.
“I left the light on at the door and the backstage lights on so that the band personnel wouldn’t trip crossing the stage. The hall light was on and the coffee room door was open. In the coffee room I’d set up four tables and pulled in two carts of chairs.”
“Yes would have been enough. Okay, Two: the old farts, ah Manfred and Tobias, arrive with their instruments. Why? Three: Cin said when she came through the stage door, it was dark until she got to the coffee room. If the audience lights were on, wouldn’t they illuminate the stage at all? And even if they didn’t, wouldn’t the old men have seen her run across the stage to the coffee room? Or heard her call them? The stage is built to project sound for cripes sake! Four: the old guys are sitting in the audience, watch Miles walk through the auditorium and say nothing to him about Bernice’s warning? She said don’t touch, eat or drink anything!” Harry looked around and raised his hands. “Does anyone have a problem with Manfred and Tobias now?”
“Good points. Anyone have anything to add?”
“Miles came in and was about to drink from the punch bowl when Detective Curtis stopped him. Where was the poison?” I asked.
“The poison was in the punch. The food was clean. The punch bowl was made of glass, the ladle and the cups plastic. We don’t have any leads on the maker of the punchbowl. It’s made of molded glass made to look like a crystal-cut bowl,” read Officer Pete.
“What was the poison?” Dave asked.
“Arsenic, in white powder form,” Pete answered.
“So we have curare, oleander and arsenic. Poison. Usually a method used by little old women,” commented the profiler.
“What about little old men?” jumped in Harry.
“Doctor?” Dave looked over at Botticelli.
“According to recorded history, murderesses preferred poison, but there were plenty of poison users that were male. It’s a detached way to kill. But the posing of Carl was anything but detached.”
“Thank you, Doctor. We still have some more loose ends to look into before we tackle the suspects, so please bear with me. Early Tuesday morning, our killer stole a white 1998 four-wheel drive Dodge truck from the town of North Palm Beach. He broke the front glass door and calmly walked in while the alarm was sounding and took the keys off the rack. He walked out, found the truck and drove off. He proceeded down Dixie Highway, stopping along the way to cut off white oleander flowers and some of the evergreen from bushes growing in parking lots and, in some cases, homeowners’ yards. No one heard anything. The killer drives all the way out west to the village and deposits the flowers on Cin’s front lawn, sidewalks and driveway.” Tony looked over to Dave. “Anything to add?”
“The truck was found at the strip bar on Military Trail. No witnesses. Cotton fibers found on the discarded clippers in the bed of the truck.”
“How did he manage so many flowers?” I asked.
“No idea or evidence to tell us,” Dave answered.
“Tuesday night,” Tony resumed, “after Cin and Harry returned home, Cin retrieves her mail of the last two days from the mailbox. In the middle, she finds an envelope written in blocked script. She notices that there isn’t a post office stamp or a postage cancellation. She alerted me, and I called Sergeant Buslowski.
“Fingerprints?” Harry asked.
“None. But the same cotton fibers were found along the seal of the envelope. Cin used rubber kitchen gloves when she brought in the mail,” Tony added.
“So, we have a tie into the three crimes, four including the theft of oleander and the truck and the papers. Cotton fibers, poison and Coconut Palm Concert Band members killed or targeted.” Dave paused. “We have how, where and when. Let’s start working on who and why, people.”
“Can I add Miles to the list of intended victims?” I asked.
“Why do you feel Miles was a target?” Tony asked.
“Carl, Cheryl and Miles had my ill will in common, Manfred and Tobias also to a small degree.
The killer seems to either share my feelings or thinks he knows my feelings. He has taken a great risk to turn all of this into a game. A deadly game, and I was an unknowing player. Not anymore. I’m not going to sit back and give this monster free reign!”
“She may be right,” Doctor Botticelli spoke up. “A why might be to impress Cin or to improve the band or to play benefactor.”
“Why Cin?” Harry asked.
“When I look at a crime scene, I usually run a list and fill in the blanks. When there is an additional murder, I first make sure there is a common bond. The third attempt, whether it was an attempt on Miles and/or the bassoonists, I linked the three. The common bonds in all three are the use of poisons. Plant poison or poisons used around plants. All three were planned. The third attempt was planned weeks in advance as were the two successful murders. Another common bond is this theater. The killer gave us a sense of the dramatic with the specter of Carl forever running late.”
The profiler stopped and let the image of Carl sink in before continuing, “Cheryl, the copycat, dared try to imitate the best and the beautiful, whether it was musical or personal. How dare she even try to play as well as the first oboist? How dare she even shadow the beauty of Ms. Fin-Lathen? Although a poser in life, the killer gave her a very original death. The killer gave the most beautiful part of the poison to Ms. Fin-Lathen. He showered her with the flowers. He courted her. And what did she do? She stopped his next tribute. Spurned his love. He won’t try to kill Miles, Manfred and Tobias again. He will try to kill Ms. Fin-Lathen.”
“Why me? Why am I the object of his attention?” I echoed Harry’s thoughts, keeping my voice even.
“You found Carl. Why not?” Botticelli said simply. “You tried to save Cheryl. You are a player. You saved Miles, Manfred and Tobias. In his eyes, you’re his equal. You’re beautiful, original, humorous and, for the most part, alone and vulnerable. Because of your recent divorce, you are on your own. Your admirer wants to ease your grief. He has taken the people who cause you angst away. Now he will either take the ones you love away or kill you so you can be his always.”
“This isn’t making me feel any better,” I said.
“What if you’re wrong?” Harry questioned. “What if it’s just a sick game, and Cin has been chosen to be one of the players?”
“He still will have to kill her to win the game.”
“But only after he takes away her loved ones?” Harry took a deep breath. “He can’t get to Luke and Noelle because they’re out of the country. Alex is away at college, and we can make sure he stays there.”
“What about you?” Botticelli asked.
“Me?” Harry’s voice squeaked.
“You’ve taken the role of her protector.”
“Damn straight. So he’s going to come after me next?”
“Looks like it.” The profile rolled his neck as if he was now bored.
“We have to find this guy and stop him before he ups the stakes,” Tony’s serious tone rung through the quiet room. “Let’s go out to the stage and work on this. Miles, thank you, you can go home. Please don’t eat anything that you yourself haven’t cooked. Please refrain from any social contact with any band member.”
“What about Carl’s funeral tomorrow?” Miles asked.
“Did you really want to go?” Tony questioned.
“No,” he admitted.
“Then don’t,” Tony put very clearly. “I have Buck’s keys so I will lock up.”
Miles looked over at me and mouthed a thank you. I nodded and he left. Tony signaled an officer to follow Miles out.
“So they still suspect him,” Harry hissed in my ear.
“Maybe it’s for his protection?”
“They were following us today. Remember the traffic cops at the airport. Do you think it was for our protection?”
“Really, those bastards. How did you find out?”
“Used a little charm and policewoman Andrea spilled her guts.” Harry gave me his plastic smile.
“And I thought you were trying to make me jealous.” I sighed.
Harry looked at me, and we both started laughing. The others in the room looked over at us, but it didn’t stop the laughter. Sometimes you just have to search for the humor and indulge in it.
Chapter Eighteen
Tony invited Harry and I into the conference room and shut the door behind him. He thought for a moment and began, “I don’t want you two to misunderstand me, but I see that my actions have left the door open.”
Harry and I looked at each other when he paused. Okay, here it comes, our tacit communication acknowledged.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Miss Marple and Hercules Poirot...”
“Hercule,” I corrected. “Hercule Poirot.”
His eyes bore into mine with impatience tinged with loathing. “Whatever. The point is, I have a report from my men that you have been busybodies in an investigation that you don’t belong in.”
“Dave said...” Harry started.
“Dave Buslowski is not in charge of this investigation. He has no say here.”
“Looked like he had a good handle on it out there,” Harry pointed out.
Tony’s blood pressure was making his neck bulge. “I repeat. Unless you want to find yourself in jail with an obstruction of justice charge, stay out of it.”
“So, you’re not curious?” I asked calmly, trying to smooth the waters.
“Curious?”
“About what we’ve found out?”
“No. I or my men will properly interview these men. Nothing you’ve done so far is helping. Can’t you see that?” Tony slammed his hand on the table. “I can’t take any of this into my case. It’s all hearsay.”
I had to admit that he was right. I grabbed Harry’s hand before he could say anything else. “I’m sorry we’ve gotten in your way. I just wanted to make sure that I could walk into the band room without tripping over any more bodies. I appreciate you including Harry and I this evening.” I got up. “I understand the strain you’re under. My advice - and you probably won’t take it - is, Dave’s got more of a handle on this than your profiler does. Brian Harrison isn’t worth your time. Billy, maybe.”
Tony blew out some air and he nodded. “Thanks for coming in. Don’t leave the area and don’t eat anything you haven’t cooked yourself.”
Harry rose from his chair, looked at me and over at Tony. His body language was hard to decipher. “You know, Dick-tective, you are over your head. Cin’s been through this before. Higher stakes than your precious ego. Don’t call us when you can’t find your ass with your elbow.”
“Harry!” I hissed.
He just walked out the door, ignoring my admonition.
“You blew it,” I said and turned on my heel before Tony could recover.
I caught up with Harry at the door. “Hold on, partner.”
He looked back at me and smiled. “Partner?”
“Oh yes, time to do things our way, Harry. I linked my arm in his. “Did you see how he addressed me as a suspect and a victim in one sentence?”
“Noticed.”
“Do they teach that at the police academy?”
“Nah, it’s dick behavior, learned on the mean streets.”
We started laughing as we walked through the open loading dock door overlooking the plushest landscaped street in south Florida.
~
Harry eased the car out of the parking space. I felt cramped, and the sunburn made me very uncomfortable.
“Harry, put the top down,” I instructed.
“You don’t have to ask me twice.”
Harry lowered the top, and we started to drive away. He slowed the car to a stop.
“That’s odd.” He backed the car up.
“What?”
“Miles’s car is still here.”
“Are you sure that is Miles’s car?”
“1999 red Ford Mustang. Not too many of those around.” Harry turned off the engine and got out. He lo
oked in the car. “It’s definitely Miles’s.”
“Where is he? Where’s the policeman that was following him?” I started looking between the cars.
“Careful, Cin. This doesn’t feel good to me.”
“Harry, get the flashlight from the emergency kit in the trunk.”
He opened the small trunk and dug beneath the shoeboxes from our afternoon adventure and found the flashlight. Harry turned it on and started flashing it around Miles’s car. I walked over to claim possession of the light when something over Harry’s shoulder caught my eye.
“Harry, I don’t have my driving glasses on. Can you see that?” I pointed to the front of the Avery Theater. I could just see something on the other side of the main stairway.
“That’s the flagpole. Miles probably forgot to take down the flag again.” Harry dismissed it with a glance.
“No, hang on.” I walked over and dug through my purse and could not find my glasses. I walked towards the flagpole. As I got closer my vision started to clear. The flag was flying limp, with this breeze? It was. Damn, I couldn’t see. I continued walking towards the front of the theater. The flag was wrapped around something. Someone! “Harry! Harry!” I shouted as I ran. “Get the police. Oh shit!” As I rounded the front of the building, I caught the full view. “Miles, shit.” I scrambled over the hedge and ran full out to help the police officer that I thought was trying to get him down. “How did this happen? Let me help you.”
The policeman’s skin was an all too familiar pale blue. His hands were tied into the ropes of the flagpole, and then tied to the pole. Miles was still. His hands were bound up in the rope over his head. Around his neck was a necklace of flowers. A picture flashed in my mind. It was devil’s trumpet. The flag was caught between his legs. I craned my neck up and felt a spray of moisture. Had the sprinklers started?