Devoted in Death (In Death 41)

“Understood. Accepted.”

“Do you really think I could have done what was done to him. Torture?”

“No,” Eve said easily, watched Chamberlin blink in surprise. “But it’s early in the investigative process. You tell me who could have done this to him.”

“I don’t know.” The admission had him fisting his hands on the table. “I know a great many of his friends and acquaintances. I know every member of my orchestra. And I don’t know.”

“He was, by your own words, always brilliant, and thought of like a son by the conductor. That could easily foster jealousy, resentment, rage.”

Chamberlin shook his head. “He’d work with anyone who might be having difficulty. He’d come in early, or stay late. He lived for music and for people. Is there competition, conflict, drama, in the orchestra? If not, there’s no passion, and without passion there can’t be brilliance. But I know my orchestra, and no one in it would have done this.”

He leaned forward. “What was done to him? Will you tell me? What did they want from him? If they’d wanted money, he’d have given it to them! What did this maniac want from Dorian?”

His pain, Eve thought. His blood. His death. But she only said, “It’s early in the investigation. I can promise you Dorian has all my attention, and we’re actively pursing all angles.”

“That’s double-talk.”

“It’s truth, and all I can give you. When did you last see Dorian?”

“Two nights ago – three come tonight. At the performance. Mina and I had a late supper afterward with some friends. When we realized the next day he hadn’t come home, we weren’t alarmed, but we were when he missed his call for the next night’s performance. He had never – would never. I explained all this to the detective when we reported him missing.”

“Tell me now.”

“We asked if anyone had seen him. Theo Barron, oboe, said he and a couple others were going to meet Dorian at this club downtown. After Midnight. He often went there to jam, to unwind. But he hadn’t shown up. Theo thought he’d probably just ended up with someone. Drinks, sex. Dorian had a varied sex life. Theo had tried his ’link, left a couple messages, but didn’t think much of it. But then he still didn’t answer, and he hadn’t come home at all.”

“Why didn’t they go down together? This Theo and Dorian?”

“Theo was in a flirtation with one of the altos in the opera company, and he wanted to wait until she’d changed as he’d convinced her to go with him. Theo said Dorian went on ahead.”

“How would he get downtown, generally?”

“A cab. He’d have taken a cab.”

“Okay.” She made a note. “What do you know about Earnestina?”

“Ah.” Chamberlin let out a half laugh. “Pompous little twit. She interviewed me and some of the others – both orchestra and stage – for a paper she claimed to be writing. Earnest was a kind word. Pompous, as I said, overbearing, extreme. Dorian was kind to her, likely considered sleeping with her, but she caused a scene at that club he enjoyed. I don’t know the details as I wasn’t there, but she annoyed him. He would never have gone anywhere with her after that.”

“Do you have her full name?”

“Tina R. Denton. I remember it as she insisted on the full name – including initial.” He sat back, pressed his fingers to his eyes briefly. “Lieutenant, she was like a mosquito. A woman who buzzed around until you wanted to give her a good slap, but wasn’t capable of doing more than making you itch a little.”

“Every angle,” Eve reminded him. “Go back to Dorian’s mother now. When Dr. Morris has him ready, you’ll be contacted. If you think of anything else, any detail, I want to hear it.”

As she escorted him out, she saw a woman – early thirties, long blond hair yanked back in a tail, exposing a lovely face, a face splotchy from tears, and deep blue eyes swollen and red-rimmed.

She said, “Maestro,” in a voice that broke.

Chamberlin turned to her and, when she hesitated, held out his arms.

“Maestro,” she said again, flung herself at him to press her face into his chest. “Is it a terrible dream? Can you tell me it’s a terrible dream?”

“No. He’s gone, Ellysa.”

“How?” She reared back, grief and fury warring on her face. “No one will tell us how, no one will tell us why.”

“I will. Ellysa Tesh?”

“Yes. Who are you?”