The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 (43 page)

“Sure.” He got up, and Harry tossed him his keys as he
walked by.  “Thanks.”

Tony then invited the officers and profiler up on the stage
where he went through the facts collected.  I hung back having been through
this again and again with Tony before.  I listened to make sure nothing had
been added to shine an unfavorable light on myself. 

Tony summed up, “In short Carl was lured backstage, killed,
and posed by someone that knew him and his habits well.”

“Someone working with or in the band,” Dave clarified.

 “That’s the theory right now.”  Tony rolled his neck. 
“Let’s take a break and let this sink in before we talk about Tuesday.  Plus,
we have to go over suspects.  And the information my team has come up with.”  Tony
looked over at Harry and me.

“I understand the two of you have been busy today?” Tony
asked, already knowing the answer.

“We might have something to share” is all I would commit to.

With trepidation, I accepted the coffee that was handed to
me.  The police officer, one of whom I had not yet met, told me not to worry,
the department had brought the percolator and snacks, all of which had been
under the supervision of one of the officers all evening. I still smelled it. 
I knew that was rude, but I think totally understandable under the
circumstances.

Harry was in a deep conversation with the young
policewoman.  I think he was using his charm to get her phone number.  I
decided to make myself scarce.  I grabbed another cup of coffee and went in
search of Miles.  I found him sitting in his office with his back to the door. 
I knocked lightly, and he spun around ready for an attack of some kind.

“Sorry, just me.”  I reached out and handed him the coffee. 
“Thought you might need some.”  I sat down.  “Don’t worry, the police made
it.”  I took the cup back and sipped it, smiled and put it back down.  “Can’t
be too careful.”

“I have been going out of my mind lately,” Miles said before
he sipped the coffee.  His face showed the stress he was under.

“Miles, I started off suspect number one.  It isn’t a great
feeling knowing you’re innocent and someone is setting you up.”

He looked at me warily.  “You don’t think I’m the killer do
you?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?  The police had me fingerprinted and they took DNA
samples.”

“So what, Harry and I were fingerprinted, my clothes were
stripped off me, and this chick took cheesy pictures of me.  I’m sure old horny
Tony enjoyed those.  Just because you and I don’t get along doesn’t mean I’m
going to lay these murders at your feet.  I know you were fixing the door
because of the thread.  And if you were guilty you would have the pieces of
bamboo.  I know you called Manfred and Tobias under instruction because when I
walked in here Tuesday, when you were trying to find the paper that must have
been taken, I saw this.”  I walked over and picked up the band personal listing
and the page was open to Tuttle.  “If you were plotting their murder you would
have their numbers already.  You called them in the order the note requested so
you looked them up alphabetically.  That is why it was left on T.”

“That’s what I did, but I have another problem.  One I
didn’t tell Detective Curtis.”  He got up and began absent-mindedly
straightening the books on his shelf.  “Tonight when they talked about the
water bottle...  You see, I took Cheryl’s bottle away. Someone in the audience
has probably told the police that.”

“Why?”

“Because you band members are always spilling or leaving
coffee or water behind.  Plus it looks pretty bad from the audience, especially
the balcony, when there is anything but the players onstage.  Cheryl’s area
looks like a teenager’s bedroom, crap all over the floor.  She made me so mad. 
I went back and took the water.  Let her be thirsty.”

“What did you do with the bottle?” I asked.

“Put it on the stage desk.  I forgot all about it.”  Miles
stretched out his hands. “My prints would be all over it.”

“I think you have to tell them.”

“Sure, how is that going to look?  I just now remembered?”  Miles
kicked over the garbage can.  “Phony as hell.”

“Let me ask you and look at me when you answer.”  I waited
until he sat down and looked at me.  “Did you kill Carl?”

“No.”

“Did you kill Cheryl?”

“No.”

“Did you attempt to poison Manfred and Tobias?”

“No.”

“Do you think I’m a pain in the ass?”

“Yes.”  He broke into a smile.  “And I wouldn’t mind getting
my hands on horny Tony’s pics.”

“I believe you’re innocent, a pervert but innocent.  You
know you’re innocent.  So go in there and tell them what happened with the
water bottle.  But first tell me how you knew about it.”

“Easy, Tony left the mic on.  I can hear it through the
speaker over by the door.”

“Miles,” I said leading him out, “make sure you tell him
that first.”

“Why are you doing this?”  Miles asked as we made our way
into the auditorium. 

“Because I think you were supposed to die Tuesday.  Maybe
all of you were supposed to die.  Or, as Harry thinks, the old farts set you
up.”

“Why me?”

“Because I don’t - or didn’t - like you.  And someone is
trying to impress me.”

“You have some ego for an alto clarinet player.”

“I know.  Believe me I know,” I said with a smile.

~

Dave, Tony and his team went into an immediate huddle after
Miles unburdened himself.  Harry had disappeared with the policewoman.  That
left Dr. Botticelli and me to make small talk which made me very uncomfortable.

“I understand you’re staying at the Breakers,” I started
clumsily.

“Yes I am.  My wife and I try to get down here every year to
recharge.”

I looked around me.  That was the extent of my skills.  “Dr.
Botticelli, I’m horrible at small talk,” I admitted.

He laughed.  “Ms. Fin-Lathen, you don’t have to entertain
me.  We aren’t at a social function.  Small talk wastes time, don’t you agree?”

“A man after my own heart.  Please call me Cin.”

“Cin it is, and since my parents are still paying for my
education we better stick to Doctor,” he said and raised both of his eyebrows.

“Snob.”

He just shook his head and laugh at me.

Tony walked over and took the doctor’s arm.  “I need to
borrow the doctor a moment.”

“Sure go ahead.”  Relieved, I walked out of the coffee room,
down the hall, crossed the stage and out of the loading dock door over to the
cement steps to sit down. I was tired and wanted my old ego-driven life back. 
I wanted to sit in my bathtub full of fragrant bubbles and read an Elizabeth
Peters book.  I hadn’t practiced since Monday, and I wanted to make music
again.  Would I ever make music again?  Had I caused all of this?  Who was I to
dictate what was or wasn’t music, who was or wasn’t productive?  Was I trying
to eke out an existence in the volunteer band world because I never had the
gumption to try to turn professional?  Or was it because deep down I knew I
wasn’t good enough, dedicated enough?

I had raised two children, worked jobs when we needed the
money, and put my husband’s career first, always.  True, I was left alone a
lot, but I did enjoy my periods of being on my own.  Music made me feel good,
and it brought good quality people into my life.  I was never a soccer mom.  I
wasn’t cut out to be one.  And now with my children and husband gone, I guess I
needed music more than ever.  It was always there waiting.  Waiting until I
would need it.

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?”