Dead Ringer (3 page)

I let out a breath and finished my sentence. “I overheard Jeremy arguing with someone earlier today.”

“Do you know who that someone was?”

I still didn't want to say Hans's name, but there was no getting out of it. “Maestro Hans Clausen.”

Bachman's eyes flickered with interest but his expression otherwise remained neutral. “And what was it they argued about?”

“I'm not sure. I didn't hear much of what was said. But Hans—­” I checked myself and started again. “Maestro Clausen did ask Jeremy if he was threatening him.”

Salnikova's pen moved swiftly across the page of her notebook. I wanted to say more, to defend Hans, but I bit my tongue. I doubted that my opinion would mean much to the detectives, and they would find out soon enough that there was no significance to the argument.

“How angry would you say Maestro Clausen was during this argument?”

“Not particularly angry. When I asked him about it, he brushed it off as no big deal.”

“I see,” Bachman said. “And he didn't tell you what the dispute was about?”

“No, he didn't.”

Detective Bachman heaved himself to his feet. “Perhaps the maestro himself can enlighten us.”

 

Chapter 3

W
HEN
D
ETECTIVE
B
ACHMAN
stood up, my hope was that I'd be allowed to go home. I wanted nothing more than a hot bath and my bed. I wasn't sure that I'd be able to sleep after the evening's events but I at least wanted a chance to rest.

“Detective Salnikova will take your official statement,” Bachman said as he straightened his suit jacket.

I'd been about to get up from my pew but now sank back into it.

So much for going home.

With a departing nod in my direction, Bachman lumbered out of the nave.

Salnikova shifted back one pew, taking the spot vacated by her partner so she and I sat directly across the aisle from one another. Her body turned toward me and her pen poised, she invited me to once again recount my story.

I did so, in as much detail as possible.

Once we finished with that, I provided Salnikova with my contact information.

“Thank you,” she said as she snapped her notebook shut. “That's all we need from you at the moment.” She handed me a business card. “If you remember anything else, please give me a call.”

I accepted the card, glancing at it before slipping it into my pocket.

“You can go home now if you'd like.”

There was nothing I wanted more.

Relieved to be free, I stepped out into the narthex. The scene of the crime was now cordoned off with police tape, and technicians were searching for evidence. Detective Salnikova pointed me in the opposite direction, telling me to use a different route to get to the basement where I'd left my belongings.

With one last, uneasy glance at the scene of Jeremy's death, I parted company with the detective. As I went in search of the basement's other access point, I passed Hans. He sat on a wooden bench between the two parallel stairways leading to the second floor. His face took on an expectant expression when he saw me, as if he thought I would approach. I gave him a weak smile but kept moving without a word. I could hear the detectives coming in our direction and didn't think they would appreciate it if I stopped to chat with another witness before they had a chance to question him.

Moving on, I found a narrow hallway leading to a descending stairway. I was about to head down to the auditorium when I heard Detective Bachman address Hans.

“Hans Clausen?”

“That's correct,” Hans replied.

As Bachman introduced himself and Salnikova, I walked softly back along the hallway, stopping when I was around the corner from Hans and the detectives. I knew I shouldn't eavesdrop on a police interview. Maybe I'd even get dragged off in shackles if I was discovered. But I couldn't help myself. As sure as I was of Hans's innocence, I wanted to know what he and Jeremy had argued about.

I breathed as quietly as possible as I listened in on the conversation around the corner. At first I thought I wouldn't learn anything of interest. The detectives started out by asking Hans how well he knew Jeremy and how he had happened upon the scene of the crime. I already knew the answers to those questions. Patience wasn't always one of my dominant traits, but I managed to remain still until the conversation turned toward more interesting matters.

“I understand you argued with the deceased earlier this evening,” Bachman said.

My ears perked up.

“I . . . well . . .” Hans seemed taken aback by the detective's knowledge of the argument, maybe even a bit flustered. He recovered quickly enough, though. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. However, I didn't kill him.”

“What was the argument about?” Salnikova asked, ignoring Hans's last statement.

Hans let out a sigh loud enough for me to hear all the way around the corner. “It was nothing of consequence, really. Mr. Ralston wanted a permanent place in the orchestra. I told him I couldn't oblige, as our current opening was only temporary. Ms. Ellison—­the cellist he was replacing—­has an injured wrist, but will return to the orchestra in due time.”

“And Mr. Ralston wasn't pleased with your response?” The question came from Bachman.

“No, he wasn't. But, in all honesty, not many things pleased Mr. Ralston. He was an unpleasant sort of fellow.”

“Did he threaten you?”

There was a pause, and I guessed that Hans was again taken aback by how much the detectives knew. I hoped he wouldn't be angry with me for sharing the information.

“In a sense,” he said after a moment. “He told me he wanted a spot in the orchestra and that I had better make it happen. He was no more detailed than that, and that's where our argument ended.”

There was another pause, and I pictured Salnikova scribbling in her notebook.

“As I said before,” Hans went on, “I didn't kill Mr. Ralston. I've been working with temperamental musicians my entire career. I certainly don't go around killing them for being arrogant or annoying. If I did, half the musicians I've worked with would be dead.”

I couldn't help but smile a little at that. It was true that there were more than a few temperamental types among professional musicians. Jeremy was one of many.

“Thank you for that, Maestro,” Bachman said in a bland voice.

As much as I would have liked to hear more, I didn't want anyone to discover me lurking, and I decided it would be best not to push my luck. I eased away from the corner and made my way to the stairs as quietly as possible.

At the bottom of the staircase, I passed through a door and found myself in the corridor where Hans and I had kissed earlier. Where he and Jeremy had argued. As I made my way into the backstage room where I'd left my belongings, several of my fellow musicians swarmed around me.

“How was he killed?”

“Do they know who did it?”

“Was he really murdered?”

The questions came at me from all sides like balls from several pitching machines gone on the fritz. I covered my ears with my hands, overwhelmed by the bombardment.

­“People! Give me a break!”

The questions broke off, but I could tell the lull was only temporary. It was only natural that they wanted to know what had happened, but I wasn't in the mood to fill them in.

Relief and gratitude replaced some of my tension when Mikayla elbowed her way into the crowd surrounding me and took my arm.

“Leave her alone, guys,” she admonished. “Hasn't she been through enough?”

I let Mikayla lead me away from the others, over to my violin and my bag. I grabbed my bottle of water and took a long drink, only then realizing how thirsty I was. My fellow musicians still cast curious looks in my direction but they gave me a wide berth. That probably had something to do with the intimidating glare Mikayla sent in the direction of anyone who so much as took a step toward me.

I knew that Mikayla was as curious as everyone else, and I appreciated the fact that she held back with her questions.

“Thanks for that,” I said, nodding toward the cluster of other orchestra members now murmuring among themselves.

“Any time.”

I checked to make sure I'd loosened my bow earlier, then shut my violin case, fastening the clasps. “It's not like I really know a whole lot anyway. I mean, it was pretty obvious he was murdered, and I don't think the police know who did it, but I don't know anything else. All I want to do is go home.”

“Of course you do.” Mikayla put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a quick squeeze. “I get the creeps every time I picture his body on the stairs like that.”

“How come you're all still here?”

“The police wanted to talk to each one of us so we had to wait around. Those of us in here have already had our turn, but I think everyone's shocked and wants to know what happened. I didn't want to leave until I knew you were okay.” She picked up my music folder from the table and handed it to me. “Here, I brought this back from the stage for you.”

“Thanks. And I am okay. But I'd really like to get out of here.” I slid the folder into my bag before slinging the bag over my shoulder.

Mikayla grabbed her own belongings as I picked up my violin case. “I'm with you.”

With her intimidating glare clearing a path for us, we left the room and headed for the nearest exit.

I
WAS SURPRISED
the next morning when I woke up to sunshine streaming in through the crack in my blue and white curtains. It wasn't that I had expected bad weather, even though Vancouver was known for its rain. What surprised me was the fact that I'd slept soundly through the whole night.

I wasn't about to complain. The rest had refreshed me, and I was relieved that I hadn't spent the night replaying my discovery of Jeremy's body.

I took a quick shower, dried my hair, put on some makeup, and dressed for the day. After that I didn't know what to do with myself.

Aside from playing second violin in the Point Grey Philharmonic, I also taught private violin lessons for a living. I did most of my teaching in the afternoons, after school hours. Although I taught a ­couple of adults and a few home-­schooled children, even those lessons were scheduled for the early afternoons.

I could have stayed home and cleaned my tiny apartment, or I could have gone to the grocery store and stocked up on food to fill my sadly depleted refrigerator, but I didn't feel like doing either of those things. What I really wanted was company, so I grabbed my cell phone, planning to get in touch with my best friend, JT Travers.

JT was a musician, composer, and sound engineer. He had his own recording studio in the basement of his house in Dunbar, and also rented out a room on the main floor to me where I taught my violin lessons. Even though we were friends, the business arrangement still worked out well. He charged me a reasonable rate, less than I would have to pay elsewhere, and I occasionally helped him out by playing my violin for tracks he was recording without charging a fee.

JT was an easygoing guy, and that was exactly the kind of company I needed right then. Even though my solid night's sleep had left me refreshed, I was still preoccupied by everything that had happened at the church. I wanted someone to talk to, someone who would have a calming effect on me.

I had a key to JT's front door so I could come and go from my music studio as needed, but I didn't make a practice of showing up unannounced at times when I didn't have lessons scheduled. Since I wasn't due to teach for several hours, I sent JT a text message, asking if he was busy or if I could come by. I received a response less than two minutes later.

Not busy,
his message read.
Come on over.

Smiling, I sent back a quick reply:
On my way
.

I shoved my phone in my shoulder bag and grabbed a granola bar in lieu of breakfast. Picking up my violin case, I headed out of my apartment, munching on the granola bar on my way to the bus stop.

Fifteen minutes later I disembarked from the bus onto Dunbar Street and walked two blocks into a quiet residential neighborhood. The leaves of the large trees lining the street waved in the gentle morning breeze, and bright flowers planted in front gardens scented the air with the sweet perfume of spring. Amid such beauty, it was hard to believe there could even be such a thing as murder. But as much as I appreciated my surroundings, Jeremy's death was never far from the forefront of my mind.

When I reached JT's white, two-­story house, I jogged up the front stairway and used my key to let myself in through the front door.

“I'm here!” I called out as I shut the door behind me.

I didn't receive a response, either from JT or his collie-­malamute cross, Finnegan. I passed through a set of French doors on my right, entering the front room I used as my music studio. After transferring my cell phone from my bag to the pocket of my jeans, I left the rest of my belongings in the studio and followed the main hallway toward the back of the house.

“JT?”

As I reached the kitchen, Finnegan bounded into the house through the back door, tail wagging enthusiastically as he bounced around me.

“Hey, buddy,” I greeted him, crouching down to give him a big hug.

He rewarded me with a sloppy kiss on the cheek and more wagging of his fluffy tail.

JT appeared in the doorway leading to the back porch, grinning as he watched Finnegan welcome me. “You'd think it was weeks since you last saw each other instead of less than twenty-­four hours.”

Giving Finnegan one last hug, I stood up. “It's nice to be missed.”

My smile faltered, suddenly struck by the thought of someone missing Jeremy now that he was gone. Even though he hadn't been the nicest guy, surely there had been someone in his life who cared about him. Parents, siblings, maybe a significant other. Now they would have to face not only the loss of Jeremy, but also the fact that he'd been taken away so violently.

JT must have noticed the change in my face. “What's wrong?” he asked as he shut the back door.

“A cellist was killed at rehearsal last night.”

“What? How?”

I perched on a stool at the dark granite breakfast bar, Finnegan settling on the floor by my feet. “He was murdered. I found his body.”

JT stared at me for a moment while he processed that information. Then he ran a hand through his brown hair, leaving it slightly mussed. “That must have been awful, Dori. Are you okay?”

“Yes. No.” I sighed. “I guess I don't really know. It
was
awful. I'd never seen a dead body before, let alone someone who was murdered.” I shuddered. “Plus, I knew him. That makes it even worse.”

JT came over to stand across the breakfast bar from me. “Do you know who killed him?”

“No. I think I just missed seeing the murderer, though.” I explained how I'd found Jeremy's body and heard retreating footsteps right before my grisly discovery.

“I'm glad you didn't get there any sooner. Otherwise, who knows what would have happened.”