Chapter 18

September 22, 2011

Now Cynthia was stuck in the concert hall with 2,500 people who were either angry or upset, along with an orchestra, her police officers, and very possibly a murderer. This probably confirmed Daniel’s cries of innocence, assuming Elizabeth Levin had not died of a heart attack. But now there would be two unsolved murders in the space of three days, just as Cynthia believed she was losing her touch as a detective and contemplating diaper-changing as her next career.

Why does the audience need to be held prisoner? she wondered. She would get them all out as soon as she could. She decided against moving the orchestra to headquarters again for questioning. It would have been standard procedure, if it was murder, but she had the option of conducting interviews on-site. She called for tape recorders and determined there were enough private rooms and officers to hold six interrogation sessions simultaneously. One of the musicians must have seen something or somebody unauthorized backstage. Still, at this point there was no proof it was murder.

Det. Johnson approached her offstage. Cynthia said, “Let’s shortcut this and get the audience out of here. Have the team eyeball them and pull aside anyone who looks suspicious. Don’t give me any old ladies to interrogate---please!” Cynthia said. Johnson laughed. He knew exactly what she meant about the witnesses who hadn’t really seen anything but wanted to talk at length. In his experience they weren’t at all limited to elderly women.

His team was already asking each section of the hall to speak to Cynthia if they had seen “anything suspicious.” They let the audience leave, row by row, to avoid more chaos than they already had. People were visibly shaken. The officers took a second look at anyone who seemed unaffected by the violinist’s death, but nobody stood out. Cynthia had the best of them on her team. Some of her colleagues swore that Cynthia could see flashing lights above the heads of suspects.

She was now off the stage and walking slowly around the concert hall, talking to people. It seemed like she was making casual conversation, but she was using her instincts in the hope that something or someone would jump out. Nothing. She quietly told her officers to escort everyone out of the hall. She had a feeling the killer was there, but nothing specific enough to hold all of these people hostage.

She looked once more for Jeff Sadlers, hoping he could provide some help, but he wasn’t in his seat. She found him in the wings, speaking with Alice. He was taking notes on his pad.

“Mr. Sadlers?” Cynthia said. “I would like to speak with you.”

“Of course,” Jeff said, excusing himself from Alice. “I was getting some information for my story. Would you say this was another murder, or possibly a heart attack?”

“We aren’t certain, of course, but I have my suspicions.”

The scene was too chaotic, threatening her ability to function properly. She needed the audience out. The orchestra would have to stay. It was hard to concentrate with this mob scene. She was relieved that the M.E. had arrived quickly, had already cleared a large area around the body, and had begun his preliminary examination. He would need to transport Levin’s body as soon as possible, to complete his autopsy under proper conditions.

“I’m sure you have a deadline, but would you mind staying behind for a few minutes? I think you may be able to help our investigation,” Cynthia said.

“Of course,” Jeff replied. “Anything I can do to help.”

A short time earlier, a musician had found a white tablecloth and covered Levin’s body. The M.E. was disturbed to see that, and concerned about contamination. The scene had not been properly secured.

The orchestra was moved to a lounge while waiting to be interviewed by the officers, leaving Jeff on stage right, two officers at the back of the stage, a body in the middle of the violinists’ chairs, with another officer now assigned to guard the area, and the conductor sitting on a chair, looking older than he had just a couple of days earlier. Alice was not in view.

Finally, Cynthia found walked over to join the M.E. “Poison?” she whispered. She thought it might be some sort of poison that acted instantly on the respiratory system. She waited for the M.E. to answer, and wondered why he took so long. “Possibly,” he answered after a ten-second pause. “Or an allergic reaction, which looks more likely. Look at this,” he said, pointing to hives on her neck, and swelling around her mouth. “I can’t give you a definitive answer without a full autopsy,” he said.

Levin’s violin was not damaged, but had fallen with her and landed on her left arm. She was still holding it. Cynthia took her flashlight to examine all sides of the violin and the bow, without releasing it from Levin’s grip. A tiny thread, clear and almost invisible, caught her eye. It was attached to the bridge of the violin and seemed to have fallen inside through one of the acoustical holes.

“Not again” Cynthia whispered to herself, removing tweezers from her bag. If she had thought it through in a less chaotic atmosphere, she probably would have seen it coming. Very gently, she pulled the plastic thread out of the hole. A piece of paper, one inch square and folded, was tied to the other end of the thread. “2/10,” she read aloud. “It is number 2 of 10,” she whispered under her breath. There are going to be ten murders. Not on my watch! she thought.

Now it was clear to Cynthia what was going on. The murderer thought of his work as a series of masterpieces, numbering them like fine lithographs or prints, in a limited edition.

She left Johnson with the M.E. and walked over to speak with Jeff. Now she was sure it was murder, although it was too early to declare it. “Mr. Sadlers, assuming this is murder, do you have any idea why a killer would have selected these two musicians? Do you know them?”

“Yes, I do. Both were well-loved, and excellent players. They would not have been selected for their wrong notes, or their personalities.” He realized his little joke about wrong notes had gone right over her head.

“Then why, in your opinion?”

“Well, Ms. Masters. I’m not the detective here, but looking only as a music critic, I would have to say that, if it’s murder, it could be somebody with a grudge, or a point to make. Or perhaps doesn’t like Philadelphia.”

“Right,” she said. “a grudge. Thank you,” she added. “I shouldn’t make you miss your deadline.”

“Thank you.” He dashed toward the side door. Two murders now - two in the space of a week. He dialed Debbie while he was walking. “Sweetie, you won’t believe this, but there has been another murder in the orchestra. Elizabeth Levin, a violinist.”

“Oh my God! Not again. You must come home. It’s too dangerous for you to be there. Please...come home now,” she begged.

“I have a deadline. I’ll be a little late, but don’t worry about me. I’m sure I’m not in any danger.”

The orchestra was scheduled to play through the weekend, Thursday through Sunday. When Cynthia told Alice what she found, Alice thought the orchestra should cancel the rest of the weekend’s concerts. Cynthia agreed with her, and said that she would attend the administrative meeting in the morning to help decide what should be done about the scheduled concerts. The killer was targeting the orchestra.

“Why is Daniel still being held if there has been another murder? He couldn’t have killed Elizabeth.” Alice asked.

“Not directly, unless he has a partner. It’s not yet clear who has committed the murders. We need to be sure that Daniel isn’t involved before we release him.”

For the time being he would have to remain in ‘homicide hotel,’ as her fellow officers called it.