Chapter Twenty
Sean McGill walked quickly down Chestnut Street. It was almost a pleasant spring day, the first really nice day for a couple of weeks, and he was feeling surprisingly optimistic. Of course the little errand he was on would probably not prove to be a major break in the case. In fact it was more than likely a waste of his time.
But at least it gave him a chance to take some sort of action. The owner of a local pawn shop had called earlier in the day and reported that an earlier overnight shift had brought something in—a couple of old violins—that might be of interest to him. All the pawn shops in the city had been notified of the theft from the orchestra when it had first occurred, but McGill had heard nothing at all for days and had pretty much given up hope that anything would turn up. Most thieves would know better than to try to pawn any recently stolen item in a local store, so these two "old "violins might be perfectly innocent.
Of course the theft of a couple of virtually worthless instruments was nothing compared to the two murders that had now taken place within days of each other. But he certainly hadn't come up with any brilliant ideas yet about those more important crimes, so it was worth his while to try to make progress somewhere...anywhere.
Besides, maybe Wilfred Carter was right. Maybe it was all a conspiracy by some people who somehow wanted to deal a death blow to the orchestra. Still, it was a huge jump from petty theft to murder. No, he couldn't quite make himself believe that all three crimes were connected. But that didn't mean that he shouldn't try to get to the bottom of the theft if he had a chance to do so.
He saw the shop ahead. Not one of the city's most elegant to be sure, but maybe that was an advantage for a thief who wanted to sneak in under people's radar.
As he entered the dimly lit store, an older man with white hair tied back in a ponytail came up quickly to meet him. “Detective McGill, I assume? I’m Sam Ferrego,” he said, reaching out to shake Sean’s hand briskly.
“Yes, Mr. Ferrego, thanks for the phone call” replied McGill.
Ferrego shrugged. “Could be nothing.”
“It’s certainly worth a look.”
“Sure. Let’s go in the back.” Ferrego grinned. “Some of my customers get nervous when I spend too much time talking to the police.”
McGill smiled weakly and followed Ferrego to a large room cluttered with several rows of shelving, all packed to the brim with various objects and packages. Ferrego walked to his desk and lifted one of the two violins sitting on top of it. “This is one of them,” he said, handing it to McGill.
“Right,” said McGill, taking the instrument in his hand. After examining it briefly, he reached in his pocket with his other hand to pull out a notebook. Sean glanced back and forth between the violin and his notebook. After a few seconds, he nodded his head. “No serial numbers per se, but these fit the description. You can see that somebody has tried to scratch out the orchestra’s ID number inside the sound board.”
“Hadn’t noticed,” Ferrego said.
“When did these come in?
“A couple of nights ago.”
“I wish you could have let me know a little sooner.”
“What can I say? Night shift...new kid. I guess he just wasn't paying any attention to the bulletins. I made a point of telling all my people when I was first notified but...you know...time passes. Other things come up.”
“Were these pawned or sold?”
“Sold, but my kid only gave him twenty-five bucks apiece.”
“Not much, is it?”
Ferrego shrugged again. “I tell my people that I don’t really want a bunch of old instruments in the shop so they should only take them if they’re real cheap.”
“How did he know these weren’t valuable?”
“He didn’t. He was just following orders.”
“I presume you’ve got a name of the seller.”
“Sure, looked it up before you showed up. And it’s his real name too…we know the guy.”
“You know him?”
“Sure, Willie Bascom. He spends most of his time on this street.”
“He’s a panhandler?”
“On and off. I’ve also seen him washing windows for a couple of shops down the block. He’s been in here a few times, usually selling watches. I was surprised to hear he had come in with something like this.”
“You mean something stolen?”
“Right. I didn’t know he was into that kind of stuff.”
“I don’t suppose he gave a valid address?”
“No, but I know where you can find him at noon. Most days he eats lunch at the ‘People’s Spoon,’ a soup kitchen only a few blocks down the street.”
“Is this guy a street person?”
“More or less, I guess. Frankly, I haven’t been paying much attention. But he’s easy to spot. Mid-forties, long gray hair, bright red jacket…at least that’s what he had on last time I noticed.”
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll just take these two violins along for evidence and see if I can track down Mr. Bascom.”
“Always glad to help the police,” Ferrego said. “I run an honest business here.”
“I’m sure you do,” McGill said, flashing a smile as he turned to go.
It didn’t take long for McGill to locate the “People’s Spoon,” a modest-looking little storefront with its front door wide open despite the coolness of the day. A number of men were milling around inside the front room, waiting for the lunch line to form, but it didn’t take long to locate Bascom.
“Mr. Bascom?” said McGill, approaching him with his detective’s shield openly displayed. “I’d like a few words.”
“Huh?” Bascom grunted. “You mean me?”
“That’s right, Mr. Bascom,” McGill said, backing him into a corner of the dingy room. “I don’t want you to be in any more trouble than you have to be over those violins.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bascom said, turning away from McGill.
A man in a white apron came out from behind the serving counter and walked quickly up to McGill and Bascom. “Is there any trouble here?”
McGill turned to face him. “I appreciate your interest, but my name is Detective Sean McGill and I’ve got to speak to one of your customers for a few minutes.”
A pained expression came over the man’s face. “Can’t you find somewhere else to do that?”
“Perhaps later, yes,” said McGill, “but there are a few things I’ve got to determine first.”
The man shook his head and walked back behind the counter.
“So Mr. Bascom, it’s very important that you tell me right away how you came by these violins.”
Bascom grunted. “They ain’t worth much.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said McGill. “Just tell me where you got them.”
“I found them.”
“Where?”
“In an alley, back of the orchestra building about ten blocks from here.”
“Oh, I believe you got them from the orchestra building all right, but I think you had to go inside to get them.”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. Found ‘em in the alley.”
“You were seen leaving the building.”
“Wasn’t me.”
“Sure it was. Look, Mr. Bascom, I don’t want to play any games with you. Two murders have recently been committed in that same building. Since you came up with those two old violins, I guess that makes you a prime suspect.”
“What? I had nothin’ to do with anything. I don’t know nothin’ about any murders. This lady…she…”
“Yes, Mr. Bascom, tell me about the lady.”
“I don’t know her name.”
“Sure, you do. Tell me about her.”
Bascom looked around the room, his eyes seeming to glaze over.
“Did someone approach you?”
“Yeah, this lady. Called herself Sam…something like that. She said she’d leave the back door open. Told me to mes
s the place up…throw around some old sheet music.”
“But you decided to take it a step further.”
“She was only payin’ fifty bucks. I had to get something for my trouble, so I lifted a couple of old instruments. I didn’t want ‘em so I sold ‘em. Got peanuts for ‘em.”
“She paid you to mess up the place?”
“Didn’t say why. Something about teaching them a lesson.”
“How did she get a hold of you?”
“I was just around, that’s all. Might have asked her for handout.”
“So this woman who called herself Sam just came up to you one day and asked you to do this job. Offered you fifty bucks to come into the orchestra building…”
“The library, she said it was—the music library.”
“And vandalize the place.”
“That’s about it.”
“And you decided to take the instruments on your own?”
“I saw this room full of old instruments—cases just about fallin’ apart—just off the music library. So after I threw some of the music around like I was told, I decided to grab some of the old instruments. Some of them were just sitting around under tables. Didn’t seem like anyone really wanted them. So I took them. I could only grab a couple. I also took some old sheet music but nobody wants that stuff. Couldn’t sell that to nobody.”
“Did you ever go back into the building?”
“No. I left the key there like I was told. Never went back. Lady paid in advance. Never saw her again.”
“This ‘Sam’ woman…could you describe her?”
“Thirties, I guess. Short red hair. Not pretty.”
“All right, Mr. Bascom, we’re going to have to take a little trip down to the district station. Those old violins may not have been worth much, but the orchestra wasn’t giving them away.”