Orchestrated Murder

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Pratt felt like pounding his head on his desk. Why couldn’t McDonnell just leave him alone today?

He felt every one of his fifty-four years as he walked past all the empty desks to the office of the man who ran the Homicide Division. His desk was as far away from the office as he could get it.

“What can I do for you?” Pratt asked.

Captain McDonnell looked up from the papers on his desk. “There’s a problem at Symphony Hall. A big problem.”

“What?”

“I’ve just had a call from upstairs. Appears someone’s murdered the damn conductor.”

“Luigi Spadafini?”

“Yes-if he’s the conductor. I thought it would be right up your alley. You like this kind of music so much.”

“Thanks,” Pratt answered glumly.

What he wanted at the moment was a good nap, not another job. The previous night he’d been wrapping up a tricky case and got exactly three hours’ sleep on a sofa in an empty office he’d found. He had the stiff neck to prove it too.

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