Richard Montanari (44 page)

    'What
did they say?'

    'I'm
fine. No concussion. They said I'll have a headache for a day or so. They want
to see me again in two weeks.'

    Byrne
drove slowly before pulling into the small temporary parking lot. He put the
van in park. 'Tell me more about this.'

    Jessica
tried to organize her thoughts. It was a little difficult after getting her
brain scrambled. She told Byrne what she remembered about Joseph Novak's diary.

    'He
wrote that he was beholden to someone,' she said.

    'His
word? Beholden?'

    
Jessica
nodded. 'He wrote: All Saints Day. It is done. I know now that I will be
forever beholden to him
.'

    'All
Saints Day. November 1st.'

    'Yeah.'

    Jessica
also told him about the photograph in the back of the journal.

    'Any
idea who the woman was or where it was taken?' Byrne asked.

    'None.
I didn't recognize the place.'

    'And
the word
hell
was on the back?'

    'Yeah.
Just that. Hell.'

    They fell
silent.

    'Now
it's your turn,' Jessica said. 'What happened up in Chestnut Hill?'

    Byrne
told her about his conversation with Christa-Marie. Jessica had the feeling
that her partner was not telling her everything, but that was his way. He would
tell her only what she needed to know at this moment.

    'She
said there are going to be more killings,' Byrne said. 'She said that she could
help us.'

    'And
that was it? No details?'

    'No
details.'

    'Did
she sound ... how do I put this ...'

    'Nuts?'

    'Yeah.
That.'

    'I'm
not sure,' Byrne said. 'Yeah, I suppose she did. A little. But I'd like to talk
to her one more time before all hell breaks loose with her. You know as well as
I do that the second I put this on the record they're going to send a
half-dozen shrinks up there. She'll shut down completely.'

    The
rain picked up again. For a few moments there was only the sound of the music
from the stereo and the staccato impact of raindrops on the roof of the van.

    Byrne
turned in his seat, put his hand on hers. 'You sure you're okay?'

    'Good
to go,' Jessica said. 'Never better.'

    Byrne
just stared.

    'Okay,
I may have been better once. I think it was the summer my cousin Angela had
that Thai stick.'

    Byrne
smiled. He squeezed her hand, put the van in reverse. Jessica leaned forward,
turned up the stereo. 'This is beautiful. Is this who I think it is?'

    Byrne
reached behind her seat, picked up the CD case, handed it to her.

    'This
is what we're listening to?'

    Byrne
nodded. 'Yeah. Christa-Marie's nurse gave me that. She said Christa-Marie
wanted me to hear it.'

    Jessica
looked at the CD player, saw it was track two. She looked at the case. Track
two was
Nocturne in G Major
by Chopin.

    'It's
incredible,' she said.

    When
the track was over she played it a second time.

    'This
was recorded here in Philly, you know,' she said. 'At the Prentiss Institute.'

    'That's
the music school, right? The conservatory over on Locust?' 'I think so.'

    Jessica
looked at the back of the CD. At the bottom was a brief list of credits.

    'Kevin.'

    Byrne
looked over. Jessica handed him the CD, pointed to the last line of the liner
notes.

    Once
a stately mansion, the Prentiss Institute of Music was an impressive
early-1900s Georgian sandstone building, across from Rittenhouse Square on
Locust Street. In the world of classical music it was considered by many to be
Philadelphia's version of the Juilliard. Many members of the Philadelphia
Orchestra had studied at Prentiss. While most of the courses of study were at
the college level, they also maintained a prep school. A number of principal
players of major orchestras around the world had gotten their training at
Prentiss.

    Because
of the prestige of the school, and the late hour, Byrne had put in a call to
the DAs office. The office had then placed a call to the school and gotten
Jessica and Byrne an appointment to speak with someone.

    On
the wall was a large framed copy of the school's charter. Duchesne offered
coffee, which Jessica and Byrne declined. They sat.

    'We
appreciate you taking the time to talk to us,' Byrne said. 'I hope we're not
keeping you too late.'

    'Not
at all. I sometimes don't leave here until midnight. Always something to do.'
He absently straightened some papers on his desk, then stopped, perhaps
realizing it was hopeless. He turned back. 'It's not often we get a visit from
the police.'

    'We
just have a few questions,' Byrne said.

    'I
assume this has something to do with Joseph Novak.'

    'It
does,' Byrne said.

    Duchesne
nodded. 'I saw it on the news.'

    'What
can you tell us about Novak?'

    'Well,
as I understand it, Mr. Novak was loosely associated with Prentiss for ten
years or so.'

    'He
was an employee?'

    'No,
no. He freelanced as an engineer for various recordings. The institute hires a
number of different technicians based on the project.'

    Byrne
held up the CD he had gotten from Christa-Marie. 'He worked on this project?'

    Duchesne
put on his glasses. When he saw the CD he smiled fondly. 'That was recorded
more than twenty years ago. Novak didn't record the original. He worked on the
remastering.'

    'Were
you acquainted with Joseph Novak?'

    'We
met once or twice. I never worked with him personally, no.' Duchesne shook his
head. 'Terrible tragedy what happened.'

    'When
was the last time you saw him?'

    Duchesne
thought for a moment. 'It must be two years now.'

    'You've
had no contact since?'

    'None.'

    'Do
you know how many recordings he worked on here?'

    'Not
off hand,' Duchesne said. 'I can get that information for you.'

    Byrne
glanced at his notes. 'I have just a few more questions. I'm afraid some of
them are probably going to seem pretty basic.'

    Duchesne
held up a hand. 'Please. This is a place of learning.'

    'Can
you tell us a little bit about the institute?'

    'You want
the tourist version or the potential-donor version?'

    'Tourist,'
Byrne said. 'For now.'

    Duchesne
smiled, nodded. 'The institute was founded in 1924 by a woman named Eugenie
Prentiss Holzman, and is known worldwide as one of the leading conservatories.
It's difficult to get into, but the tuition is free. A number of the current
members of the Philadelphia Orchestra are faculty here, as well.'

    'How
many students do you have?'

    'Right
now, around one hundred sixty.'

    'And
this is all free?'

    'Well,
not the private lessons.'

    'Expensive?'

    'Very,'
Duchesne said. 'The hourly fee can be quite high.'

    Duchesne
continued, relating how Prentiss recruited its students, what the general
curriculum was. He also name-dropped some of the more famous alumni. It was an
impressive list. When he finished he reached into his desk, produced a pair of
large full-color booklets, handed one to Byrne, one to Jessica. The publication
was called
Grace Notes.

    'Prentiss
publishes this quarterly,' Duchesne said. 'Inside you'll find all the
background you need.'

    Jessica
and Byrne thumbed through the booklets. Byrne held up his copy. 'Thanks.'

    Duchesne
nodded.

    'I do
have one last question, if I may,' Byrne added.

    'Of
course.'

    'When
it comes to orchestral music - symphonies - is there always a book?'

    'A
book?'

    'Like
in musical theater. Someone writes the book, someone writes the music, someone
else writes the lyrics.'

    'I think
I may know what you're asking. You want to know if symphonies have a
story
behind them. A narrative.'

    'Yes.'

    'It's
a difficult question,' Duchesne said. 'And one that's been a topic for
discussion and debate for a long time. I believe what you're talking about,
insofar as instrumental music is concerned, is called program music.'

    'Program
music has a story?'

    'Yes
and no. In its purest form, program music can be a mere suggestion of a
narrative.'

    'So a
piece of music that follows a narrative approach might not be particularly
coherent?'

    Duchesne
smiled. 'Tell me, detective. Where did you study music?'

    'A
little honky-tonk at the crossroads.'

    'With
the esteemed Mr. Johnson.'

    'Yeah,
well,' Byrne said. 'I made a different deal with the devil.'

    Duchesne
took a moment, thinking. 'To answer your astute question, yes. For the most
part. There are a few exceptions, one being Vivaldi's
Four Seasons'

    Jessica
tried to listen closely but the only sound she could hear was the conversation
flying over her head. She knew that Byrne took cryptic but detailed notes. She
hoped he was getting all this. She was completely lost when it came to
classical music. Whenever someone mentioned
The Barber of Seville
she
thought of Bugs Bunny.

    'Are
there any symphonic poems, program music, that involve the use of animal
imagery?'

    'My
goodness. Many.'

    'Specifically
a lion, a rooster, a swan, or a fish?'

    'Perhaps
the most famous of all.
Carnival of the Animals,'
Duchesne said without
a moment's hesitation. 'It is a musical suite of fourteen movements. Much
beloved.'

    'The
movements are all about animals?'

    'Not
all,' Duchesne said.

    'Who
was the composer?' Byrne asked.

    
'Carnival
of the Animals
was written by a great proponent of the tone poem. A French
Romantic composer named Camille Saint-Saens.'

    'Do
you have information on this that you might let us borrow?' Byrne asked.

    'Of
course,' Duchesne said. 'It will take me a little while to collate all of it.
Do you want to wait?'

    'Can
you fax it to us as soon as you have it all together?'

    'Sure,'
Duchesne said. 'I'll get right on it.'