Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sean McGill sank deeply into the over-stuffed chair in David and Elizabeth’s apartment. He smiled as they looked expectantly toward him.
David spoke first. “Did Hermann admit to the murders?”
“He said not a word on the way to the station. Once we got there, he sat, stony-faced for half an hour. The only time he spoke was to say he didn’t want a lawyer.”
“And then?” said Elizabeth.
Sean sighed. “I think I was as uncomfortable as he was, and it probably showed. Eventually, he sort of smiled at me…a smile of resignation, I guess. The he said, ‘I can speak now.’”
“And so he confessed to both murders?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes. Ironically, he seems not to feel much guilt about his brother’s death. He still seems to feel that in some way Auguste deserved to die the way he did. After I spoke to you yesterday, David, I went back to Linda Eggert and asked whether she, as music librarian, had ever seen any of Hermann’s works—whether anything of his had ever been rehearsed by the orchestra? It turns how she had. On two different occasions, when Auguste was still conducting the orchestra, the parts for one of Hermann’s compositions had been distributed to the orchestra for rehearsal purposes.”
“So what happened? Did they ever rehearse the work?” David asked.
“They did. On one occasion for about a half an hour.”
“But it was never performed publicly?”
“No. According to Linda Eggert, who was present for both rehearsals, the piece didn’t go well. In the second rehearsal, Auguste just cut the work off in the middle, slammed his baton down, and announced—in a particularly disgusted tone of voice if Ms. Eggert is to be believed—that the work was a waste of time and ordered Eggert to collect all the parts on the spot.”
“My God!” Elizabeth said. “That must have been a traumatic moment for Hermann—to have his own brother disparage his work in front of the whole orchestra.”
Sean nodded. “I’m sure it must have been very upsetting. But from what Eggert said, it was by no means the last time that Hermann tried to get his brother to perform one of his pieces. And once, right before Auguste retired from the orchestra for the first time, he had apparently dropped some hints to his brother that perhaps one of his newer works might be performed on Auguste’s last concert before retirement.”
“And was it?” asked David.
“No. Eggert said that the parts for the new work were distributed to the orchestra but Auguste ignored the work in all of the rehearsals and the last concert came and went with no trace of Hermann’s composition.”
“Another huge disappointment,” Elizabeth said.
“And when Loreen Stenke took over the reins of the orchestra?” David asked.
“From what Linda says, Hermann went out of his way to ingratiate himself with the new conductor, stopping in for chats, sometimes several times a day. Then, after the first concert season, he began serious attempts to convince her to perform one of his pieces.”
“How did she respond?” asked Elizabeth.
“Well, we can’t be too sure,” Sean said, “but for whatever reason, none of his works were performed. In fact, according to Linda, none of Hermann’s works were ever distributed to the orchestra, even for rehearsal purposes.”
David nodded. “So poor Hermann was having no better luck with Stenke than he had with his brother.”
“So it seemed. But when Loreen was being encouraged to set up this big memorial concert after Auguste’s death, it appeared briefly that the situation might be changing. It was in the planning for that concert that Loreen apparently dropped a hint to Hermann that she might program one of his works if Hermann could come up with something appropriate to the occasion.”
“That takes some nerve,” David said, “writing a special commemorative work for the brother whose death you were responsible for.”
Sean shrugged. “From Hermann’s point of view, it was probably just an ironic twist of fate. And appropriate, too. After all, if Auguste hadn’t stubbornly refused to perform Hermann’s works—works that he himself obviously considered masterpieces—then Auguste would still be alive.”
“So Hermann was finally happy? Right?” Elizabeth asked.
“He was initially,” Sean replied, “but when he provided Loreen with the new manuscript that he wanted to have played at the concert, Loreen started developing cold feet.”
“And why was that?”
“Hermann hinted at it in the rehearsal and expanded on it a bit more in his confession. Apparently, she all but insulted the work, implying that it may have had entertainment value, but that it wasn’t weighty enough for a serious occasion.”
“And that was just the sort of thing that Hermann hated to hear,” David said. “Even back in the 1980s, when Hermann enjoyed a brief surge of popularity, there were plenty of critics who said that about his work.”
“Exactly. Now Loreen was becoming persona non grata every bit as much as his brother had been. Still, I think that Hermann still had every hope of changing Loreen’s mind. And Loreen was at least allowing him to say a few words at the concert to commemorate his brother. So it came as a huge shock to Hermann when, after she had suffered the miscarriage, she had informed the Board of Directors and everybody else that she was done—she would not conduct the memorial concert and wanted nothing more to do with it.”
“And with that, Hermann’s final lifeline disappeared…his final chance to get recognition…any sort of recognition,” said David.
“Unfortunately so. And yet, I think Hermann’s decision to bludgeon Loreen to death was a last-minute thing. He had approached Loreen several times in that last week—his name was all over those little scraps of paper that she used to note down appointments—and I believe he still thought that he could change her mind—even at the last minute. But something clicked in his mind during that last visit…he looked at her and he realized she would never see things his way…would never help him to get his works performed. And that’s when—right there and then—he decided to kill her.”
“I still don’t know how you could have been so sure it was Hermann when you arranged that little charade,” David said, shaking his head gently.
“I wasn’t so sure, not by any means. But his name showed up more than anyone else’s and he was the only one who even vaguely fit the profile. So I thought I’d play my only ace. The bit about the fingerprints was a bluff, of course. There’s wasn’t anything readable on the Beethoven bust. But since Hermann took the trouble of sneaking it back into Loreen’s office, I knew he was worried about it.”
“What, by the way, was the profile you arrived at?” David asked.
“Nothing complicated. Someone who had the sort of emotional relationship with both conductors that might have provoked such a strong reaction.”
“But,” Elizabeth objected, “he’s a seventy-seven year old man…how could not having your composition played provoke such a violent act? How could that be enough to kill someone...even two people?”
“It was a grievance that he had been nursing for decades. After that early success as a young man, he had labored for years trying to recapture that sense of euphoria that comes when the artistic world all of a sudden takes notice of you and gives a stamp of approval to your work. Now, in his late seventies, he had become desperate to recapture that feeling. So when his brother denied him, putting him off so many times…and then Loreen Stenke appeared to be subjecting him to the same treatment, he felt trapped and betrayed. The musical world had turned against Hermann once, and he needed allies to show the world that it was wrong. His brother, and then later Loreen, refused to be those allies.”
“But how can you kill a person because of that?”
Sean shook his head. “People have killed before when they believe they’ve been robbed of their identity or whatever it is that validates their presence in the cosmos. If they’ve had that taken away from them, some people might be drive
n to do anything.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Two lives tragically taken.”
“And an orchestra ruined,” added David. “But at least your inspector will finally be pleased with you.”
“Do you think so? Sometimes I wonder. Frankly, he never seems to really want to see me until something comes up that involves some poor Godforsaken musicians.”
Elizabeth smiled slyly. “Fortunately, musicians almost always keep to the straight and narrow as we know.”
Sean smiled. “From your lips to God’s ears.”
***
If you’ve enjoyed The Maestro Murdered, you might want to check out other musical mysteries by the author—The Mephisto Mysteries and The Beethoven Quandary, available from all major eBook sellers.
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