The Maestro Murdered

  Chapter Six

  Sean looked at his watch. He noticed that he was one of a small number of people at the reception that actually had one, most people merely catching a glimpse of their phones from time to time. Elizabeth had, naturally, been right about the speeches. Jonathon Clemens, the business manager, had spoken briefly, but most of the time was dominated by Wilfrid Carter. He of course spent a fair amount of time singing the praises of Loreen Stenke and expressing the view that the orchestra’s ‘family’ would welcome her back with open arms after she discharged the obligations of new motherhood.

  As he glanced around the room, Sean saw Elizabeth and David, both chatting eagerly with a group of young people whom he assumed were musicians from the orchestra. “Thank God,” he thought, and walked quickly over to join the two of them.

  Elizabeth’s eyes brightened as Sean approached. “There he is! We’ve been looking for you.”

  Sean smiled. “It shouldn’t have been difficult. I’m the only one here standing by myself and looking forlorn.”

  “Oh, come on now,” said David cheerfully. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “I guess not,” replied Sean. “I’ve got a chance to hear Jonathon Clemens and Wilfrid Carter.”

  “And?”

  “Well, they said pretty much what you would expect them to say under the circumstances. Many thanks to Loreen Stenke. Hail to the new, old Maestro. What are they like in private?”

  “Clemens is pretty much the same, private or public, as far as I’ve heard,” said David, reaching for a glass of wine from a near-by waiter. “Very business-like. Very devoted to the orchestra, or at least he comes off that way. You’ve got to remember that I haven’t had many direct dealings with these people so I’m mostly passing on hearsay.”

  “Hearsay is better than nothing,” Sean said, “although I’ve got to admit that I don’t really know what I’m looking for anyway.”

  “So you haven’t talked to Clemens yet at all?” asked Elizabeth.

  “I’ve left some messages for him. I was told that he wasn’t in the city at all the day of the theft so I doubt if he can provide any first-hand knowledge about it. But I’ll track him down eventually. What’s your impression of Wilfrid Carter?”

  “Smooth,” said David. “But, if my sources can be believed, absolutely ruthless.”

  “Really?” said Sean. “How does ‘ruthless’ translate to the orchestral world?”

  “These guys are rich businessmen, Sean,” David said. “The chances are that they didn’t get that way by being overly genteel.”

  Sean nodded. “Sounds like an interesting type.”

  Elizabeth put her hand lightly on Sean’s shoulder. “It looks like you’re going to get a chance to find out in person. He’s walking this way,” she said, gesturing to her left.

  Sean looked over to see Wilfrid Carter, a tall, handsome man in his mid-fifties, striding purposely toward the three of them.

  “And this must be Detective Sean McGill,” said Carter brightly as he extended his hand.

  Sean smiled. “I guess it’s always obvious when a policeman is at a reception,” he said, reaching out to shake Carter’s large hand.

  “Nonsense,” said Carter. “You look fine. Nobody expects a cop to look too elegant. You were just pointed out to me, that’s all.”

  Sean offered a thin-lipped smile. “I’ve actually been trying to get a hold of you. I’m hoping that perhaps you can find some time tomorrow to answer a few questions regarding the robbery.”

  “Hell, I’m available now,” Carter replied. “I can tell you everything I know in two minutes, and it’s not very much.”

  “Well,” said Sean, “I’m assuming that it’s a simple enough burglary by people who really had no idea what was valuable and what wasn’t.”

  “Look here, Mr. McGill,” Carter said, the smile fading quickly from his lips. “I know next to nothing about the details of this matter but I think it’s more than a simple theft, as you put it.”

  “Really, Mr. Carter? And why…”

  “I don’t get paid to do your job, Detective. But I’ll tell you directly…there’s more here than meets the eye. This is no petty heist by some incompetent bungler. Remember, there was some malicious mischief involved in this as well. Somebody who has it in for the orchestra, or some person who resents the orchestra, is trying to deliver an object lesson. It’s your job to find out who that is and nip it in the bud before something worse happens.”

  “Well, Mr. Carter, I can assure you that I’ll continue to give the matter a lot of attention.”

  Carter’s smile reappeared quickly. “That’s just what I want to hear, Detective McGill. And I trust that you’ll keep me informed of your progress.”

  Sean nodded. “When I have something worth passing on,” he said.

  “Excellent! And now I’ll leave the three of you to it. I’ve got a few more people I’ve got to check in with.”

  “Thanks for your time, sir,” said Sean as Carter pivoted and walked quickly away.

  David smiled. “You’ll remember I said he was smooth. I didn’t say he was charming.”

  “I guess charm is in the eye of the beholder,” Sean said. “Is there anyone else here I should make a point of talking to?”

  “There’s one gentleman,” said David,” who I always thought was an interesting type, although he may not be worth questioning about the robbery.”

  “And who might this be?”

  David pointed demurely to a nearby corner where an older man was in active conversation with two younger women. “That’s Hermann Hauptmann. Brother, as you might have guessed, of Auguste, the conductor.”

  “Ah, I see,” Sean said, casting a glance in Hermann’s direction. “Is he a musician too?”

  Elizabeth chucked. “Some would say, even better—he’s a composer.”

  “A composer?” Sean asked. “Should I feel guilty for not knowing his name?”

  “Probably not,” said David, “although he did enjoy a bit of a European vogue in the late 1980s. He was considered one of the foremost European ‘New Romantics’ for a time.”

  “For a time?” asked Sean.

  “A fairly short time, actually,” said Elizabeth. “For a brief while, Hermann and a group of fellow Germans were getting a fair amount of attention for providing what some people thought was a refreshing alternate to minimalism.”

  “I see,” Sean said. “But this attention was short-lived?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “I’m afraid so, much to Hermann’s chagrin, I would imagine. Some of his music was recorded in the 1980s and I’ve heard a few examples. It’s okay, but—at least in my opinion—nothing remarkable.”

  “I assume that Maestro Hauptmann has programmed some of his brother’s compositions with the Philadelphia Philharmonic?”

  “You’d be assuming incorrectly, I’m afraid,” David said. “As far as I know, the Maestro has never performed a single piece by his brother…not previously in Europe and not in Philadelphia.”

  “Ouch,” said Sean. “That couldn’t have gone down too well with Hermann. Is he a younger or older brother?”

  “A few years younger,” David said. “And no…rumor has it that Hermann has not been happy with his brother’s neglect of his music. Always the courtly gentleman of course—I had a brief conversation with him once a couple of years ago at another one of these receptions—but one gets the feeling that the neglect bothers him a bit.”

  “It is surprising…I mean, if Hermann’s work was once well thought of,” Sean said.

  David shrugged. “Vogues change quickly in contemporary composition, I’m afraid. It’s not just his brother who had neglected Hermann’s recent works. I don’t think any orchestra has played a single one of his recent compositions for years, although apparently some of his ‘classics” from the 1980s continues to pop up on an orchestral program once in a while, especially in Europe.”

  “But not here?”

  “No, never here. My underst
anding—and remember that this is second or perhaps even third-hand information—is that the Maestro made some vague promises to Hermann in the years that Auguste conducted the Philadelphia Philharmonic but nothing ever came of it.”

  “Poor guy,” Sean said. “How about Maestro Stenke? Was she inclined to play any of Hermann’s compositions? Doesn’t she have a reputation for playing contemporary works?”

  “She does,” Elizabeth said, “but for whatever reason she has never played any of his works either. I’ve never heard if he even approached her. She tends to go for more recent works by Americans.”

  “So a composition from the 1980s might be considered too old by Stenke?” asked Sean.

  “I don’t know if ‘old’ is the right word,” David explained, “but works even of that fairly recent vintage can be thought of as out-of-date if they’re in a style you’re not sympathetic with. And remember, nobody seems to want to play his newer works either. Why? I just can’t be sure.”

  Sean shook his head. “Sort of sad, really. At any rate, I guess it’s not essential for me to talk to him right now since he has no official capacity with the orchestra.”

  “Probably not,” Elizabeth said, “but I see somebody over there who does have an official capacity with the orchestra, although a somewhat limited one. And you even mentioned earlier that she’s on your short list of people to interview. It’s Samantha Gibbons, orchestra librarian and quite a character. I’ll call her over.”

  With a demure wave, Elizabeth heralded Samantha, a pert redhead in her early thirties, who was chatting merrily with an older gentleman a few feet away. Samantha glanced over and, seeing Elizabeth and David, quickly made an excuse to her gentleman friend and trotted over.

  “David…Elizabeth…what a pleasant surprise! I haven’t seen either of you for months!”

  “Samantha…” began Elizabeth.

  “Please…just Sam,” she interrupted, a broad smile breaking out.

  Elizabeth smiled back. “Sam…this is Sean McGill, Detective Sean McGill. He’s here to get the lay of the land as he investigates the robbery the other day.”

  Samantha’s eyes grew wide as she pivoted to extend her hand to Sean. “Really?” she bubbled. “How exciting! And I can see that the Philadelphia police department was thoughtful enough to send us one of their handsomest detectives.”

  Sean blushed slightly, and mumbled a greeting as he took her hand.

  Elizabeth laughed. “Samantha! You’re in an awfully good mood tonight! Was it the speeches that put you in such a cheerful state?”

  Turning toward Elizabeth, Samantha shrugged. “The speeches were crap, but what do you expect? The wine isn’t bad, I’m just happy to have a chance to wear a dress. My life is usually spectacularly boring!”

  David smiled. “Well, here’s your chance to make it even more exciting by telling Sean here who might have had the nerve to break in and steal some not particularly valuable instruments from the orchestra.”

  Samantha looked back to Sean. “I’ve no clue about anything,” she said brightly, “but I’ll do whatever I can to help. But you’ve got to remember, I’m only part-time with this organization. I usually only come in three or so times a week to stuff music into the folders or put it back into the cabinets or hand out parts. I’m just a poor, badly-underpaid, struggling working girl.”

  Sean smiled. “I’m sorry you’re underpaid, Ms. Gibbons, but I still think you may be able to help me.”

  “I left the building at about 8:30 or so,” she explained. “I think I was the last to leave. But—as they say in detective novels— I didn’t see anything that looked suspicious.”

  Sean nodded. “And you left by the front door?”

  “Everyone comes and goes by the front door. I don’t even have a key to the back door. It’s really only for deliveries of equipment or, in our case, large instruments.”

  “So you were careful to lock the front door carefully when you left.”

  “Scout’s honor, Detective McGill. I always give it a tug after I lock it if I’m the last one to leave for the day.”

  “I never asked you, Sean,” said Elizabeth, “but was there any sign of a break-in?”

  Sean shook his head. “The patrolman who initially responded to the call said that the front door was reported to be locked when the orchestra’s manager, Alan Winston, showed up the next morning. However, the back door—what everyone is describing as the utility or delivery door—was unlocked. The problem is that I can’t find anyone who’ll admit to having unlocked it.”

  “Not surprising,” Samantha said, “since, as I just mentioned, almost nobody ever uses that door.”

  “Who might have a key to that back door?” asked Sean.

  “I’m just guessing now—Alan Winston, I suppose. Maybe the secretary, Linda Eggert,” replied Samantha.

  “Ms. Eggert told the investigating officer that she left a couple of hours earlier than you, by the front door,” said Sean.

  Samantha again flashed a coquettish smile. “And I’m sure she’s telling the truth, Detective McGill. She’s the earnest sort. Transplanted Midwesterner, I think.”

  Sean smiled back. “I’m afraid that Midwesterners can be devious on occasion just like everyone else, but I agree that we should give Ms. Eggert a pass on this one.”

  “So is that it, Detective McGill? I think the reception is fading to its dying embers and there are a couple of people I want to catch up with before everybody goes home.”

  “That’s it for now, Ms. Gibbons—er, Sam. But please let me know if you later think of anything that might help us out.”

  “You’ll be on my mind every hour, Detective,” Samantha purred as she turned to go.

  Seconds later, Elizabeth grinned at Sean. “See, I told you you’d have fun at this reception.”

  Sean smiled back demurely. “Actually, I don’t remember you saying anything about fun. I thought you were pushing this as sort of a sociological experiment.”

  “Well, of course…that too. And has it been a rewarding experiment?”

  “I’m not sure what I was expecting, but—yes—I suppose I picked up a couple of ideas.”

  “But the question is…what kind of ideas?” Elizabeth said, following Samantha with her eyes as she cut across the room on the way to pick up another glass of wine.

  “Time will tell,” said Sean. “But I think I may have exhausted the possibilities for this evening.”

  David walked up to join them quickly. “And what kind of possibilities are we talking about?”

  “The kind that I get paid to investigate,” said Sean.

  “Perhaps,” said Elizabeth. “But at the very least you can’t say the evening was a complete bore.”

  “I would never say that about one of your suggestions, Elizabeth.”

  “Delighted to hear it,” Elizabeth said. “Now seeing as you’re the only one of us who actually has a car, I’m hoping that you’re about to offer to take David and me home.”

  Sean smiled. “Exactly what I was about to do.”

  Simon Anders sipped his glass of wine slowly as he watched Wilfrid Carter slide from one small group of musicians to another, flashing his ingratiating smile and pressing the flesh. The evening was winding down and it seemed clear that Carter wanted to make sure that he had exerted his charm on as many clusters of guests as possible.

  Anders was the concertmaster of the Philadelphia Philharmonic Orchestra. At the age of thirty-three, he was one of the young orchestra’s “senior citizens” and had played with the orchestra from its inception. This reception, he believed, had been an enormous waste of time, especially for the orchestra members. No one had said anything of any relevance to the actual musicians who made up the ensemble. So it was time to go ‘back to the future,’ was it? Bring back Maestro Hauptmann and with him, supposedly, the ‘golden days’ of the orchestra? Well that was clearly not going to happen.

  Didn’t anyone else realize that they were just getting jerked around…again
?

  Anders walked quickly over to Susan Kim.

  “Susan,” he said. “Can I get you some more wine?”

  Susan, flicking her long black hair away from the side of her face, smiled wanly. “No thanks. I think I’ve had about enough.”

  “I’ve had more than enough,” said Simon. “I mean, this whole thing—this exercise in futility.”

  “I’m not sure I would go that far.”

  “Susan, we’ve sat next to each other in the violin section for…what is it? Three years?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You can’t tell me that you’re not sick of the way the musicians have been treated.”

  “Well, I’m not sure…”

  “And as long as we sit around passively and refuse to take action, the longer it’s going to continue.”

  “Honestly, Simon, I’m really not sure what you’re talking about.”

  “Well, first of all, this conductor business. Now I’m not saying that Hauptmann was a bad conductor…”

  “Mr. Hauptmann is the reason that this orchestra found success, Simon. We were unknown, unproven, with a large cast of talented but unseasoned professionals. He taught us how to play as a real orchestra. And people noticed. That’s why we’ve got a job while a lot of fine orchestral musicians around the country don’t.”

  “Sure, sure. I realize all that. Hauptmann had his uses and he was able to get people to pay attention to us. But we’re the ones who made the orchestra worth listening to.”

  “With an awful lot of help from his musicianship and knowledge of the repertoire…”

  “Yes, yes, but did it have to come with all of that paternalism? It didn’t take me long to get sick and tired of genuflecting before Hauptmann’s elevated reputation.”

  “He never asked for that, you know. At least I never felt that he did.”

  “Well, I’m not the only one who considered him over-bearing.”

  “And how about Loreen Stenke? Did you consider her an improvement when she took over the orchestra?”

  Simon paused. “Yes…initially. She was a breath of fresh air. Fresh repertoire and a fresh approach.”

  “So…you admire her?”

  “Initially, yes. Until I realize she was just terrible at playing the game. Attendance dropped off. I don’t think the Board was happy with her at all. Some of the big donors just dried up.”

  “And you think that was all her fault?”

  “Do you think it was our fault? We did everything that we were asked to do.”

  “I’m not sure if it was anyone’s fault. When the orchestra first came on the scene, it was big news. After a while we no longer had novelty value. Enthusiasm fades eventually. But we’re still surviving. Not every orchestra is.”

  “But we were promised an increase in compensation. That never happened.”

  “It may happen yet. With Maestro Hauptmann back in charge our fortunes may improve.”

  “Maybe, but Hauptmann is not the answer. He’s a dinosaur. He was the first time around and it’s even truer this time. The orchestra will never reach its potential under Hauptmann. Trust me; I know what I’m talking about.”

  Susan shook her head. “Listen Simon, I’ve listened to your little speech and while I certainly respect you as a musician, I can’t say that I agree with a single word you’ve said. I think we’re lucky to have Hauptmann. I certainly had no objection to Ms. Stenke, but I’m looking forward to working with Maestro Hauptmann again.”

  Simon sighed audibly. “If you say so, Susan. But I’m telling you, there’s no future with Herr Hauptmann.”