Chapter 13

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Alice knew the concert hall would be crawling with press and photographers for the first concert since Richard’s death. Only a couple of days had passed, but the orchestra had prepared a special work in memory of their beloved bass player. Mahler’s Fifth Symphony was one of Richard’s favorites, and Sir Gregory felt they needed to open the program with the Adagietto movement from the symphony. Alice would say a few words to the audience, remembering she would be quoted by the press. And she would suggest a moment of silence, followed by the work performed “in memoriam.”

Richard’s widow and family had been invited to attend, but as the funeral had not yet taken place, they did not want to leave home. They asked Alice to thank everyone for their kind support.

There was tension among the orchestra members, and the sadness in the group was palpable. At five to eight, when the first warning bell sounded and the lights dimmed quickly, nearly everyone in the audience was seated. The concert was sold out, and Alice wondered if the terrible news had prompted people to buy more tickets than usual.

She was just offstage, rehearsing her scripted words. She had dressed in a black suit and beige blouse, and looked somber.

Among the few people rushing in at the very last moment were Cynthia and Karl. They slipped quickly into their aisle seats, Karl happy to be there, while Cynthia wasn’t thrilled with the thought of an entire evening of classical music. Secretly, she hoped somebody would call her out halfway through the first piece. She had her phone set on vibrate.

As they sat down, the hall went dark and the orchestra tuned.

Karl pointed out the music critic, Jefferson Sadlers, who slipped into his seat opposite Cynthia’s, on the other side of the aisle, a minute after she and Karl did. He knew there would always be a couple of extra minutes. Cynthia was glad to know where he was, and would question Sadlers as soon as she could. She was counting on him to help, as he would certainly understand how things worked inside an orchestra. He pulled out a small notepad. She decided that she would approach him at intermission.

After tuning, the orchestra was silent, and Alice Landersol walked onstage. Nobody applauded. She put her notes on a small podium near center stage. “As you know,” she began, “we have had a sad and difficult week. Tonight, we must fondly remember one of our musicians, the wonderful bass player Richard Warren, who was brutally murdered on Monday evening. Our deepest condolences to his family, and to the orchestra - his musical family. The Warren family has asked me to extend their sincere appreciation to the orchestra and the many audience members who have sent flowers, condolences, and words of support.

“The orchestra will open tonight’s program with one of Richard’s favorite pieces. The Adagietto from Mahler’s Fifth Symphony will be played in Richard’s memory. First, let’s have a moment of silence.” Alice left the stage quietly, and sat in a chair just off stage. She sighed. By the time she was seated, Sir Gregory was onstage and the orchestra began playing. She realized she should have scheduled the moment of silence after the piece, as the audience was not sure whether to applaud or not. Some did but most did not.

The first scheduled work on the program was an overture, Beethoven’s “Leonore No. 3”. Sir Gregory felt that the orchestra was playing beautifully and following his direction closely. The audience sensed that the trauma of the past couple of days had had a strong effect on the emotions of the orchestra members. It was hard to imagine that they could have sounded more unified. And it continued that way during the next work, Beethoven’s Piano Concerto Number 3 with the famed Russian pianist Vladimir Berlinsky. This set of programs was part of the orchestra’s Beethoven festival, which presented all-Beethoven programs several times during the concert season.

Gregory had scheduled the popular Fifth Symphony of Beethoven to be on the second half of the program. Despite the circumstances, the audience seemed high on the music. Jeff Sadlers was taking more notes than usual, scrawling across the printed program and putting notes in the margin and on his notepad, about the feeling in the hall, as people shared “the sadness of Richard Warren’s death with the heights of emotion reached under Langhorne’s inspired direction.” He thought he might be more poetic than usual in his review.

At the end of the piano concerto, the audience stood and cheered. As the lights came up, Cynthia was about to introduce herself to Jeff when she discovered that he had already dashed up the aisle and disappeared. She was annoyed, realizing he would probably leave the minute the concert ended to write his review.

“This is a wonderful concert,” Karl said. “God, the orchestra is just great. Thank you so much for getting an extra ticket. I’m enjoying every minute.”

Although Cynthia didn’t share his enthusiasm, she thought an occasional concert might be good for their relationship. She would try to meet Karl halfway. “It’s okay, honey. I’m glad you’re here. Maybe we can go out to eat at José’s afterwards. I think I’ve done all the work I can do today.” They spent intermission in the lobby, and Karl bought a couple of CDs in the gift shop.

As the orchestra was tuning for Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, Jeff slipped back into his seat. Cynthia might have to contact him officially through the paper, or get a phone number from his editor. The oboist played an ‘A,’ followed by the concertmaster, and a short cacophony of tuning, until the sound died down. Then silence, followed by applause as Sir Gregory walked onstage briskly, stepped onto the podium, and raised his baton.

Even Cynthia recognized the opening notes of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony - da da da dahhhhh, da da da dahhhhhhh. The orchestra was only a moment past the familiar opening when there was a loud thud in the violin section. The assistant concertmaster fell to the floor. The orchestra continued playing a few notes further. As soon as Sir Gregory realized what had happened, he silenced the orchestra. A female violist looked over at Elizabeth Levin and screamed. Sir Gregory turned around to the audience. “We need a doctor, quickly. And call 911.” Two men and one woman, coming from different parts of the hall, raced toward the stage.

Cynthia jumped up and dashed backstage to the security desk. “Have your staff guard every door...and don’t let anyone leave.” Alice went back to the wings and grabbed a microphone, turning it on. “Ladies and gentlemen, please remain in your seats until further notice,” she said. Cynthia quickly phoned Johnson. “I’m in the concert hall. We need as many officers as you can round up in the next five minutes. See if you can get ten officers here immediately. It’s possible that we may have another murder on our hands.”

There was no sign of foul play. One of the physicians checked the violinist’s pulse at her neck. There was none. The female physician immediately began CPR, and continued for what seemed like an eternity but was in reality about fifteen minutes. The paramedics arrived while she was working on her, took over and tried to revive Elizabeth, consulted with the doctors, and determined there was no hope. “I believe this could be an allergic reaction,” one of the doctors said. “There should be an autopsy. It’s hard to say what might have happened,” he added.

Members of the orchestra began to move offstage in small groups. Cynthia came to the front of the hall, walked up the side of the stage, and showed her badge. Most of them remembered her from the other day, but she wanted to quickly establish her identity, as she was dressed much more conservatively this evening, in blue slacks and a sweater.

“Sir Gregory, we will need you and the orchestra to remain onstage until my officers arrive and can escort everyone to the lounge.” Five officers were in the hall. Cynthia addressed the orchestra. “Ladies and gentlemen. My name is Cynthia Masters, and I’m the detective in charge of Richard Warren’s murder. Please don’t be alarmed, but I must ask you to remain here for a short while until we know what happened to the violinist. My officers may need to speak with some of you.”

The one musician who refused to move from his spot was the concertmaster, Evan Mark Greene. He came up to Cynthia. “My God! She was murdered--anyone can see that. Someone has killed Elizabeth.” He was shouting, and was still holding his violin and bow, both in his left hand, although his hands were shaking so violently that Cynthia was sure he would drop both on the floor. “You have to solve this. Any one of us could be next!”

“Please sir, we need you to move back from the body.” She tried gently to move him from the spot where he was planted.

“Don’t touch me. Stop pushing me. And don’t call her the body. You’re talking about Elizabeth Levin, and we all loved her. She has a name--she’s not the body!!” He was close to shrieking. Cynthia was glad others were there to see that she had not pushed him at all, but had tried to guide him away from the area. Cynthia knew he was right. “The body” sounded so cold and clinical.

“Sir, this is a shock for everyone in the orchestra. We’re trying to work. We need to focus on our investigation. Did you see anyone backstage who would not normally be there?”

Cynthia was deliberately trying to distract him from his own hysteria. She doubted he would have any useful information for her.

“No. Nobody was there. Just the orchestra and the stage crew. Why? Do you think one of the musicians could have murdered her? That’s impossible. Everyone adored Elizabeth. She is...was...the best, kindest person. Nobody could have wanted to harm her.”

“We don’t have any evidence that this was a crime, Mr....”

“Greene...Evan Mark Greene. I’ve been concertmaster for eighteen years. We’ve never had anything like this before.” Greene was close to 60, and looked tired to Cynthia. Tired in general, not just from the stress of the situation. He had a small amount of hair, grey and white, and appeared slightly disheveled even in concert dress.

“Thank you, Mr. Greene. She may have had a heart attack. We won’t know the cause of her death until there’s an autopsy. Please...I must ask you to join your colleagues in the lounge. I’m sure they will need your help and support to get through this. I will come and speak with you in a little while. Here’s my card, in case you think of anything later this evening.”

He retreated from hysteria back to panic, and followed his colleagues to the orchestra lounge down the hall. Cynthia was glad to see him go, and would not forget to speak with him before leaving the concert hall.

Cynthia knew this scenario would be a nightmare. An audience of 2,500 people, an orchestra of 85. She needed to have her officers go through the hall quickly, look for anything unusual, and then send the entire audience home.

Cynthia had almost forgotten that Karl had come to the concert and was still there. She made her way quickly to his seat. “Karl, let’s go outside.” Once through the side door and onto the street, she said, “This looks pretty bad. It could be a heart attack, or possibly another murder. It’s too early to say for sure. I think you should take a cab home, honey. I’ll call you later when I know more.”

“I’m sorry. Let me know what’s happening, or if there’s anything you need.” He kissed her goodbye and walked to the corner, spotting a line of cabs on Broad Street. By the time he turned back, Cynthia was inside the hall. Karl wished he could have offered her more support.

She stopped for a moment before heading back toward the stage. The Medical Examiner had just arrived and greeted her matter-of-factly. “Hello Dave,” she said. “Tell me it’s a heart attack - please. If not, we’ve just turned a corner and the orchestra is being targeted.”

They walked inside. Pandemonium in the audience. “Why are we being held?” a man in his seventies shouted to Cynthia. “Is this another murder?”

She knew she would have to go back onstage and make another announcement to keep things calm. She stepped up to the podium quickly.

“Ladies and gentlemen - thank you for your cooperation. We cannot tell you much at this point, but we should be able to let you go home very soon. If you have seen anything we should know about - anything suspicious - please give your name and phone number to one of the officers in the hall. Again, thank you for your cooperation.”