Murder at the Opera Read Online Free PDF

be held at Takoma Park. He’d just started arranging the supers into groups when a burly middle-aged man, coveralls over a white T-shirt, came through a gap in the scenery, a backstage worker of some sort, an electrician or grip. He stood a dozen feet back from everyone and seemed unsure of what to say, or how to say it.
    Zambrano noticed him. “I’m in the middle of a run-through,” he said. “I insist upon a closed stage.”
    The intruder looked around for someone with whom to speak. Not seeing anyone, he blurted loudly, “She’s dead.”
    “What?” Zambrano asked.
    “Who’s dead?” asked someone.
    “The young woman,” the stagehand said. “She’s dead. Upstairs.”
    “What young woman?” Zambrano demanded.
    “Oh, good God,” Genevieve said, her hand going to her bosom. “I have this feeling that…”
    Mac and Annabel looked at each other as Genevieve went to where the stagehand had now been joined by Zambrano, the Opera House’s manager, and the head of Kennedy Center Security, who’d been called by the stagehand immediately after discovering the body. He spotted Ray Pawkins and crossed the stage to him.
    “Hello, Raymond.”
    “George,” Pawkins said. “What’s this about a dead girl?”
    The security chief nodded. “Upstairs, above the house.” He pointed to the ornate ceiling high above the 2,300 empty seats. Mac and Annabel’s eyes went to where his finger indicated.
    The security chief started to say something else but stopped mid-sentence, aware that he and Pawkins weren’t alone.
    “This is Mackensie Smith and his wife,” Pawkins said. To Mac and Annabel: “George Jacoby. He and I go back a long way. He was MPD, too.”
    Mac nodded.
    “The attorney,” Jacoby said.
    “Right,” confirmed Mac.
    Jacoby lowered his voice and said to Pawkins, “Looks like a homicide. I’ve called First District. They’re on their way. I’ve got one of my people up there now. It’s pretty grisly. I thought…”
    “Show me,” Pawkins said.
    Mac and Annabel watched as Pawkins followed Jacoby into the wings.
    “A homicide?” Annabel said. “Here at the Kennedy Center?”
    “Is it true?” Genevieve said, joining them. “Someone has been murdered?”
    “We don’t know for sure,” Annabel said. “But someone is dead.”
    “Is it…?” Genevieve’s lip quivered. “Is it Ms. Lee?”
    “You know as much as we do,” Mac said.
    “Raymond has gone with Mr. Jacoby,” Genevieve said. “He was a detective.”
    “I know,” Mac said. “Why don’t we all just grab seats and wait until we know more. No sense speculating.” He saw two of the supers about to leave. “You might tell your flock not to take off until the police say it’s okay,” he suggested.
    “Good point,” Genevieve said, hurrying to head off their departure.
    Before going down into the house to sit and wait for further information, Mac glanced back to where the maroon spot darkened the stage—deck—floor. So much for my nosebleed theory, he thought as he escorted Annabel off the stage.

 

    FIVE

    A s Pawkins and Jacoby waited for a small backstage elevator to take them partway up to where the body had been found, Pawkins spoke with the stagehand.
    “You just discovered the body?” the former detective asked.
    “Yes, sir.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I never go up there, no reason to. Nobody does.”
    “Why did you go up this time?”
    “We have some cable up there. We needed it for Tosca. Mickey sent me up.”
    “Mickey?”
    “My boss.”
    The elevator arrived and the three men squeezed into its confined interior. After ascending two flights, the door opened and they continued their journey to the highest recesses of the house, more than a hundred feet directly above where thousands of opera lovers would sit in comfortable seats waiting to be transported by the soaring voices onstage. It was necessary to walk carefully along the narrow steel catwalks to avoid items stored on them, and to hunch over