Pratt walked through a set of double doors and into a large room.
Spread out in front of him should have been one of the country’s great orchestras. On the podium should have been one of the best young conductors in the world. Great music should have been filling the space.
Instead people were spread about the room, talking in small groups. Seventy-six pairs of eyes looked up at the detective. He knew he needed to look deeply into all of them at the same time. That first glance often tells so much, and this time the opportunity was being wasted. Somewhere in this room was the person who knew exactly what had happened two floors above. Someone in this room had committed a cold-blooded murder.
He needed to say something-but what?
The two uniformed policemen stationed in the room, one male, one female, walked over to him.
“What’s up?” the male asked in a low voice. “They’re getting antsy.”
“Have you kept them from using their cell phones?” Pratt asked, ignoring the question.
“Of course,” the female officer answered, “but it’s been hard.”
“They don’t want to listen to what we’re telling them,” the other added.
Pratt felt like telling them, “Of course! They’re musicians.” He refrained. At this point he needed all the help he could get. “Other than staging the largest mass confession ever, has anyone offered further information?”
“No-except for permission to use the restroom.”
“Has anything happened that I should know about?”
“We were told to keep them here, accompany anyone who wanted to use the restroom, and keep our mouths shut. We’ve done that. As for anything suspicious, well, no.”
Pratt nodded. “Fair enough. I’m going to talk to them, and there are too many for me to watch at once. While I speak, one of you watch the left-hand side of the group and the other the right. I want to know anything odd you see. Can I count on you? Good.”
He walked over to the conductor’s podium and stepped up. It seemed like the best place to make a speech. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?”
Being disciplined musicians, all chatter stopped immediately. Several moved to their regular seats and sat.
“I am Detective Pratt and-”
“When are we going to be able to leave?” someone called out. “I have students this afternoon.”
“When is someone going to tell us what’s going on?” said a voice from the back.
Pratt put his hands up. “I only just arrived. Surely you understand how serious this matter is.” Then he stopped and fixed them with a stare. “And just how seriously your behavior is being taken.”
“What do you mean?” a younger man near the front asked.
“I know you’re doing this to protect the murderer. It won’t work. We will find out who did this. My best suggestion is for that person to come forward now. Then the rest of you can go home.”
Pratt really didn’t expect someone to just leap to their feet-but it would have been nice.