A momentary chill raced up my spine.
I picked up the case and examined it. The clasp was undamaged; no sign of forced entry. The hinges moved as they always had. Whoever had opened it had opened it in the ordinary way.
Someone had lifted the original out with care. They placed the new one in the channel and returned the case to its position on the table.
I thought about the gunshot. That violation had come through glass, from outside and from a position in the dark.
This latest interruption happened in the room. At the table.
I set the case on the piano lid and thought through the sequence of events.
Someone had placed the sheet music on the bench before the shot. I’d established that much in the dark of the previous night. Someone had been inside before the glass broke. The placement required timing, knowing when Dominic would step away fromthe piano and the podium. It occurred in a single, precisely calibrated window.
The baton signaled a return. Was it only two visits? If they could return without notice, exactly how many times had they been in the house. When did they begin planning the events? Last week? Last month? A year ago?
We had assumed the gunshot was an opening move, a statement. Now it felt more like an announcement that the violations had already occurred and would soon surface.
Someone was piecing together a performance for us to follow. They had been planning it for some time and now pegged it all to the anniversary concert.
I remembered Dominic’s words from the night before:Whoever this is, they’ve been living with it for a long time.
Eleven days to go.
Thiago came in from the courtyard. He looked around the room, then at Dominic, and finally at me. “What happened?”
Dominic picked up the replacement baton and handed it to Thiago. “It’s not mine.”
Thiago rotated it slowly and held it at different angles. He couldn’t feel what was wrong, but he accepted Dominic’s judgment. He set it down on the piano lid.
“When was it last used?”
“Thursday rehearsal,” Dominic said. “Four days ago, but I pick it up every day, working through pieces in my mind.”
“Has the case been on that table since?”
“It lives there.”
Thiago walked to all the room’s access points in succession. “Who knew where it was kept?”
“Anyone who has spent time in this room,” Dominic said.
“Which is.”
Dominic looked at me.
“Everyone,” I said. “Colleagues. Board members. Some musicians. Celeste. I paused. “And Bridget Marchand. She handles rehearsal logistics, and she is the concertmaster for the celebration concert. She’s been in this room more than anyone outside of Dominic and me.”
Thiago absorbed the information without a change in his expression. “The case was unlocked?”
“It doesn’t lock,” I said. “It latches.”
“No damage to the clasp.”
“No.”
“So whoever did this either had plenty of time, or they’d done it before and already knew how long it would take.”
“Yes,” I said.
