“Seven weeks, give or take a day.” All business now.
“You’re familiar with the case?”
“You might say so. Tell me something, counselor. This have anything to do with the missing child?”
“Possibly.”
“What about the still pending investigation into the demise of Charlie Hayes?”
Angry sorrow ground down his voice. “I sincerely hope so.”
“Not to mention the murder-one beef that brought the big-city detective barging around?”
“You don’t miss much.”
“This is a small town with mostly small-town problems. Happens I like it that way. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“The answer is,” Marcus replied, “I’m calling to hopefully find out that very same thing.”
“Well, now. That’s an answer I like.”
“Why is that?”
“Happens the two gents are still locked up next door.”
“What?”
“Garland Perry was off fishing the day they came for arraignment. We got us a hotshot district judge, young fellow who was a state prosecutor in an earlier life. This judge was willing to listen when I pointed out the pair had a mess of prior felonies and seven parole violations between them. He invited them to remain our guests until the trial.”
Marcus was already up and moving. “You think I could come down and have a word?”
CHAPTER 46
Kedrick Lloyd’s secretary was not in the cramped outer office when Kirsten departed. She slipped into the hallway and decided to wander.
But around the first corner she was halted by a voice from behind. “Can I help you?”
Kirsten turned to face a young man in tank top and linen drawstring pants and sneakers. A sweater was bundled around his neck. His smile was lustrous, his poise dancer-perfect. “I was hoping to meet the senior conductor.”
“Are you supposed to be back here?”
“I’m meeting with Kedrick Lloyd.”
His flirtatious attitude vanished. “Right. Sorry, with all these security scares we’re supposed to be extra careful.”
“It’s fine.”
“The orchestra has just finished rehearsals, so you’ll probably find the maestro up toward the stage somewhere.”
She followed the hall up a flight of stairs and around a corner. She stepped to one side as a stream of people poured through the stage door. Up ahead she spotted the maestro reading over the shoulders of three women. The ladies held thick scores with both hands. Violin cases stood at their feet. The conductor had on a herringbone flannel shirt and fitted Cerrutti jeans, and displayed the swept-back hair of a dedicated Romeo. He wiped his face with a thick hand towel as he studied the music.
“Do you still have a fermata after the second beat?”
“It was taken out, Maestro.”
“Fine, fine, just so long as I know.” He had an odd mixture of accents, Italian and something heavier, a liquid German or Eastern European. “Let’s hold to the rigid beat throughout, then. I’ll inform her majesty at the dress rehearsal that she is not permitted to breathe through the entire aria.” He smiled them on their way.
Only when he faced her was his age evident. And the strain of the rehearsal. “Yes?”
“I was wondering if I might ask you a question, Maestro.”
“Did I not see you upstairs in Kedrick’s office?”
“That is correct.”
“And he sent you down?”
Kirsten was unable to hide behind a lie. “He probably would be furious to discover us talking.”
That brought out a smile. “Well then. Perhaps I can find a moment.”
“I’m trying to obtain some information about a singer.”
“Dirt, you mean.” When she did not contradict him, he inquired, “Are you a journalist?”
“I work for a lawyer. We are involved in a very serious court case.”
“Another singer is in trouble with the law?” He shook his head in sorrow. “There is nothing magical about the Met for those of us fortunate enough to work here. Our job is to create magic for those out front. We work the backstage magic machine. One of my predecessors used to ride home by subway after every performance. He had a limo paid for and waiting outside, but he went by subway. Why? Because he felt it was important to remind himself just how mundane and ordinary his backstage world truly was.” He had a most attractive smile. “Myself, I would prefer a note card attached to the door of the limo.”
She realized he was coming on to her, and smiled in reply. “Positioned just above the champagne bucket.”
“You like champagne. Excellent. A sign of good breeding and fine moments to come.” He gave her a moment to continue the flirtation, then shrugged his acceptance of her distance. Another time. “So. Which singer is of interest to you?”
“Erin Brandt.”
His good humor vanished. “But Ms. Brandt is most decidedly dead.”
“That is correct.”
“Still her problems go on?”
“I’m afraid so. And a very good man risks losing everything.”
He inspected her. “Do I want to know more?”
“Probably not, Maestro.”
“Bene.” He glanced in both directions, then drew her over to one side. “We are not having this discussion.”
“I understand.”
“We would not be talking at all, except for the fact that Ms. Brandt is now lost to us all.” He scouted the hall once more. “You know I came from the Zurich opera house, did you not?”
“No.”
“Indeed. And from your expression I see you have heard the story of Erin Brandt’s debut. Yes. I was intendant there before coming to the Met. Erin made her debut at a performance that I conducted.”
“How did she sing?”
“Magnificently. Erin Brandt’s singing was never the issue. Nor her acting. It was the person I refused to work with.”
“Can you give me something more precise?”
“Not for the record. You understand? I have nothing for you if you wish to make notes or write something public.”
“I am working on background information for a court case, Maestro. Nothing more.”
“Then with you I will share my secret. The diva scheduled to perform that night, she was a friend. A very, very good friend. You understand?”
“Perfectly.”
“She also had a cast bronze stomach. She had many problems. Her voice, her age, her hearing, her legs, her circulation, her … Never become involved with a singer, my dear. They are a most taxing group of ladies. But her stomach was never a problem. Never, never, never. Do you understand?”
“You think Erin poisoned her?”
“Not poison. My friend recovered. She was very ill for three days, then it was gone.” He wagged his finger between them. “And you will remember what I said, yes?”
She offered her hand. “It was very nice not meeting you, Maestro.”
He bowed over her hand, not quite drawing it to his lips. “You really must come by and introduce yourself some other time, signorina. I am certain I would be delighted to make your acquaintance.”
CHAPTER 47
The DA caught Marcus on his cell phone just as he was turning onto I-95. “Wilma Blain, counselor. You someplace where you can give me your full attention?”
Marcus tucked himself behind a lumbering Freightliner doing an easy sixty. “Fire away.”
“I’ve done some checking.” The tiny phone turned her voice flat as cold iron. “The fellow who represented the accused at the arraignment is still listed as their attorney.”
The lawyer would have to be notified of Marcus’ arrival, as he was required to be present for all questioning by the authorities. “Do you know him well enough to get him down on short notice?”
“Can’t say. Seeing as how they’re represented by a courtroom rat from up Raleigh way.”
Marcus braked sharply, causing the SUV on his tail to swerve and honk and shout something he could not be bothered to hear. “Not Hamper Caisse.”
“On the money. The fact he’s still involved brings two critical questions to mind.”
“You want to know why two lowlifes involved in a simple B amp;E are being handled by a guy from Raleigh. And you want to know why Hamper agreed to take the case.”