Troubles in the Brasses (12 page)

Hoping it was the hood with the tommy gun, Madoc laid the book back on the bed and went back to watching Lucy finish her soup.

L
UCY SHADD LOOKED ALMOST
as rosy as the corpse in the barber chair. The rest must be doing her good despite the way she’d earned her right to take a day off. The silk scarf she’d wound around her neck prevented Madoc from seeing whether the red line had faded any. However, it couldn’t be bothering her too much; he made his Holmesian deduction from the fact that she was eating the crackers dry instead of dunking them in the soup.

She cleaned up everything he’d brought, including the two pink petits fours. “Thanks, Madoc, that tasted really great. I must have been hungrier than I realized. But please don’t go spreading the word around that I’m feeling better. This is the first day off I’ve had in ages. It’s a tradition in orchestral touring that the head of operations never sleeps. And, believe me, we never do. What’s happening downstairs?”

Madoc filled her in on the morning’s developments, adding that suitcases were now accessible and that he’d bring hers up if she wanted it.

“I don’t, actually. If I could get at my clothes, I’d begin to feel guilty about not putting them on. Once I’m dressed, my holiday will be over. So that old man heard on the news that our plane had turned up missing? Was there anything about Wilhelm, did he say?”

If Lucy Shadd was resilient enough to beguile her recovery from a near-strangling by reading about a nubile redhead getting her throat slashed, Madoc decided she probably had the stomach to be told now what she’d have to learn sooner or later anyway. “Yes, there was. I don’t know how much stock to put in anything Bulligan told us, but from what I could piece together out of his ramblings, Ochs has been found to have died from ricin poisoning.”

“Ricin? What’s that? I’ve never heard of it.”

“As it happens, I have. We had a case back in Fredericton last year. Ricin is one of the potentially lethal vegetable alkaloids like taxine and digitalin. The only source for it I can think of offhand is the castor bean.”

“And what’s a castor bean? I only know castor sugar and casters on furniture legs.”

“Well, surely you’ve heard of castor oil?”

“Ugh, did you have to remind me? God, that stuff is awful. Does castor oil come from castor beans?”

“Yes, it does. They in turn come from a rather handsome plant that’s often grown as an ornamental in people’s gardens.”

“Whatever for? That sounds like an awfully stupid thing to do, but then, I’ve never been much of a gardener. Wilhelm was, though. At least he used to buy little potted plants to take with him when we went on long bus tours. I should think he’d have known better than to swallow a castor bean.”

“Mere swallowing wouldn’t have killed him. The beans would have simply passed through his digestive tract. They must have been ground up and mixed in with his food or something of the sort. I’m told Ochs was a fairly enthusiastic trencherman.”

“Lord, yes. Poor Wilhelm ate like a pig, even though he had all kinds of ghastly stomach problems. Didn’t anybody tell you that?”

Madoc nodded. “I’ve heard.”

“From Frieda, I’ll bet. She always hated Wilhelm’s guts. Oh, God! I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I just meant she hated having to cope with his stomach. You can imagine what it’s like to be jammed up in close quarters with somebody who’s always belching or breaking wind. And of course it’s been worse since Sir Emlyn took over as guest conductor.”

“Good Lord, why? Was he allergic to my father?”

“No, but it means we’re doing all those choral pieces. You can’t fit a chorus onstage without squeezing the musicians closer together than usual. Frieda’s prissy in some ways, and Wilhelm did have a pretty gross sense of humor.”

“You and he were good friends, though, I’m told. Wasn’t it you who got him promoted to first chair?”

“After I couldn’t blow my own horn anymore, sure. Actually I like what I’m doing now a lot better, but that’s beside the point. Yes, I did put in a good word for him, which was about all I could do. It’s not the musicians who carry the clout, as any of them will be only too willing to tell you. Wilhelm would have been the logical choice anyway. He’d been with the orchestra almost as long as I had, he was a really fine player, and he knew the Wagstaffe sound.”

“Your sound?”

“Every major orchestra—minor ones too, I suppose—has a distinctive way of playing. Some go for a big, grand noise; others are crisper, lighter. It’s hard to explain to somebody with a tin ear; your father could probably tell you better than I. Anyway, if you’ve got somebody in the orchestra who’s capable of playing first position, it makes sense to protect him rather than bring in somebody new who’ll need time to play himself in. Not that it wouldn’t be the fair thing to do anyway, but fairness isn’t always a conductor’s primary consideration.”

“Surely you can’t call my father unfair?”

“He wouldn’t have any say in the matter unless he was the permanent music director. Guest conductors usually make the best of what they get except for choosing the big star soloists who aren’t normally members of any orchestra. We knew Sir Emlyn would be bringing his own singers with him, but who cares about singers? They’re not interested in us, they’re just along for the laughs, as you may have gathered. Naming no names, you understand.”

Lucy picked up the empty tray to set it aside. Madoc leaped up from the windowsill where he’d been perching and took it from her.

“Did Ochs complain to you about not feeling well either yesterday or the day before?”

“Wilhelm was always complaining about not feeling well. I can’t say I remember particularly. But why the day before?” Lucy was sharp, no doubt about that.

“Apparently ricin can take quite a while to act after it’s been ingested.”

“Surely not a whole two days?”

“What about late evening of the previous day?” Madoc pointed out. “That would be only a twenty-four hour span, perhaps even less. Don’t the orchestra members ever go out for a late supper after a concert?”

“Oh yes, often, particularly the horns and the winds. We—they, I suppose I ought to say—tend to eat lightly beforehand. And playing a full symphony concert is desperately hard work, in case you didn’t know, so one’s often starving by the time it’s over. Wilhelm was always hungry anyway. He claimed he ate to quiet his ulcers down which no doubt would have happened if he’d chosen his food sensibly, but he never did.”

“What sort of food was Ochs likely to have ordered?”

“Chili dogs, curries, fried fish, fried potatoes, fried steak, fried chicken, fried anything. Mexican food when he could get it, Chinese food, Italian food—he loved that. Giant hamburgers with lots of raw onion. You know, macho he-man stuff, though he’d even eat quiche in a pinch. And douse it with ketchup, no doubt. He was great for Worcestershire sauce, piccalilli, mustard, all that stuff.”

“Did he drink much?”

“Liquor, you mean? A fair amount of beer and wine if it was on the table, but seldom anything stronger. Wilhelm was basically an eater, not a drinker. If he was in fact poisoned on purpose and not by accident, I expect you’re right about its having been put in his food. It wouldn’t be hard to fool him. He’d order shrimp cocktail, for instance, and doctor the sauce up with so much tabasco and horseradish that he couldn’t possibly have tasted anything else unless it was strong enough even to overcome the horseradish. Wilhelm would eat horseradish by the spoonful.”

“So what you’re saying, Lucy, is that he must have pretty well paralyzed his taste buds long ago.”

“I should think so, yes. But why would anybody want to murder poor old Bill?”

“Why should anybody want to murder you, for that matter? I’m sorry to bring it up again, Lucy, but when an attempt is made on somebody’s life, it’s usually for a reason, even if the reason is a totally insane one. Can you think why anybody connected with the orchestra might have wanted to kill either of you?”

The middle-aged woman in the shabby twin bed stared up at Madoc for a long moment, then shook her well-groomed gray head. “God, Madoc, what a question! I suppose I get under a few people’s skins now and then. I’m the one who has to keep nagging them after all, about things like not stuffing their personal junk in the wardrobe trunks and being on time to make connections. And paying their hotel charges before they leave. I’m sure everybody thinks I’m a pain in the neck, but I find it hard to believe I’ve managed to make anyone mad enough to kill me.”

She shifted her position, as though the sagging mattress had grown too uncomfortable to tolerate any longer. “As for Wilhelm, the only reason I can think of is that one of the other horn players might want his chair. But there’s no guarantee they’d get it even if they did bump him off. Surely any player must realize that. I’ll grant you it would have been physically possible for one of the musicians who went on the train to have slipped him the poison either at supper the night before or any time yesterday. Maybe even in a candy bar or something. Would that work?”

“I suppose so,” Madoc replied, “if you were clever enough to pull it off. Invite him to a movie, perhaps, and sprinkle ground-up castor beans on his caramel corn in the dark.”

“Or take him for a walk and buy him a hot dog, and mix the poison in with the piccalilli and chopped onion. Wilhelm always ordered raw onion when he could get it. He used to say that was the only way he could bear hanging out with Cedric Rintoul. Cedric eats onions by the bucketful. Ugh, this is scary to think about! You don’t suppose there’s any chance somebody dumped ricin into that soup I just ate?”

“If they did, we’ll go together,” Madoc reassured her. “I ate soup from that same kettle and so did everybody else in the company. I shouldn’t worry about the soup, Lucy. It came out of tins which I opened myself, and my father was right there helping to stir it.”

“Sir Emlyn was working in the kitchen?” Lucy was gaping at Madoc as if he’d all of a sudden sprouted antlers. “Madoc, you can’t be serious!”

“Why not? Tad washed the breakfast dishes.”

“Don’t bother talking nonsense to me, Madoc. I have no sense of humor to speak of, and I never appreciate stupid jokes. Sir Emlyn did no such thing.”

“Oh yes he did, and quite capably, too. Why shouldn’t he?”

“Because it’s highly inappropriate. Conductors just don’t act like that. I’d better get up.”

“Whatever for? We’re managing perfectly well without you.”

That was unkind, but she had no business calling Sir Emlyn inappropriate. “Lucy, you can’t honestly believe my father would behave in an unseemly manner under any circumstances. We’re in a highly unusual situation. For however long we’re stuck here, everybody’s going to have to pitch in and help out. My father is setting an example which I sincerely hope the rest of the crowd are going to emulate, because I’m not finding it all that appropriate for me to get stuck with the dog work every time.”

“Oh well, that puts a different face on the matter.” Lucy pulled back the foot she’d stuck outside the blankets and resettled herself on the pillows. “I just hope they understand why he’s doing it.”

“If they don’t, I’m sure my mother will be glad to explain. Now let’s get back to the important stuff. Tell me about Cedric Rintoul.”

“What do you mean, tell you about him? What do you want me to say?”

“I shan’t know that till I’ve heard it, shall I? My work consists largely of gathering information that’s not going to do me any good, but I have to keep on asking silly questions because sooner or later somebody will give me the right answer. Since we have nothing else to go on, Lucy, we may as well act for the time being on the premise that the person who fed ricin to Wilhelm Ochs is quite likely the same one who tried to strangle you.”

“But suppose it isn’t?”

“Look at the facts, Lucy. It’s generally known among the orchestra members, is it not, that you and Wilhelm Ochs were old friends as well as close colleagues?”

“Oh yes.”

“It’s also common knowledge that you have a special advantage in being both an ex-player and the present director of operations. If anybody is in a position to have inside information or opinions about why or by whom Ochs was poisoned, you’re a likelier person than anyone else. Isn’t that what they’d think?”

“But I don’t.”

“But you might, Lucy. You see, the poisoner couldn’t very well come up to you and ask.”

“All right, Madoc, you’ve made your point.”

“So that rather whittles things down, wouldn’t you say? It has to be one of the people here with us now who put that violin string around your neck.”

“Yes, of course. I’m not altogether stupid. And they all knew Wilhelm and as far as I know, they all had plenty of opportunity to kill him. And you think it was Cedric who did it.”

“No, Lucy, I do not. At this stage, I have to suspect everybody alike, except myself because I have an airtight alibi. Ricin is a slow-acting poison, so Ochs must have got it quite some time before it began to work, as we’ve already discussed. I was working at my desk in the Fredericton RCMP headquarters until late afternoon day before yesterday. My wife drove me to the airport. My plane was late arriving in Wagstaffe, and I didn’t get to the concert until the orchestra was onstage tuning up. By that time, Ochs was already heading for the last roundup.”

“But the rest of us are all suspects. Even me, I suppose. What about your parents?”

“I can’t rule them out, can I? I will say they’re not likely suspects because they’re only temporarily connected with the orchestra, don’t have any guilty secrets, didn’t know Ochs well enough to hate him, and in any case, wouldn’t have had to kill him to get rid of him. I expect we can eliminate both the pilots because they had no connection with the orchestra and never even got to meet Ochs. Unless it turns out one of them is his long-lost cousin who’ll step into the family fortune now that Ochs is no longer in the way. You see, we mustn’t overlook any possibilities.”

“No, I suppose not. Okay, Madoc; I’ll play.”

“Good. So tell me about Rintoul. Have you known him long? Was there any friction between him and Ochs? Does he get on well with the rest of the orchestra? What about his personal life? As to why I happened to mention Rintoul first, don’t go getting any ideas. It’s just that he rather tends to thrust himself forward.”