Prelude to murder, p.14
Prelude to Murder, page 14
Julia turned her head and spied a rock escarpment with symbols engraved on it. She motioned to Larry, who raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment.
“As you drum, close your eyes and think of yourself as unbound from your mental turmoil.” Miles demonstrated a slow, gentle rhythmic tapping. “Clear your body and mind, that you can contemplate who you are and who you have always wanted to be. Remove the toxins from your soul. All things around you—rocks, trees, air, birds, even your blankets—are alive, mindful, and voicing their being to you.”
Miles continued to drum. He nodded to Larry.
“You try, Julia,” Larry said. “You’re the musician.”
“We are all musicians of the spirit,” Miles said. “Mother Earth responds most generously to collective communication from all of us.”
Julia, eyes closed, imitated Miles’s example. After a moment, Larry tentatively joined them. Soon, the sounds of their beating punctuated the mountain air.
“A mind preoccupied with thoughts and worries will hinder your understanding of the Spirit. Divest yourself of the debris that litters your mind, Julia. Think about your traumas. Not only recent ones but those from times past. What hunger at your soul level needs to be satisfied?”
As Julia further immersed herself in the hypnotizing rhythm of her drumming, she became cognizant of her obsession with her work responsibilities. Visions played in her mind: she with her violin, Abel, her father, and Sidney, all hovering over her, love and caring in their regard. An unexpected emptiness began to ache inside of her. She was grieving for the loss of her father, of Abel, of Sidney. She was worried about losing Marin. She felt broken. Then, a desire overcame her to connect more deeply with Larry, to know him, and to better understand their relationship. Profound sobs that seemed as if they would never end surged up from her core.
“Be in touch with your pain, Julia,” Miles said. Give it back to Mother Earth.”
Larry stopped drumming and glared at Miles. “This is not helping,” he said. “I don’t like seeing her so upset.”
“On the contrary, Larry. It is all part of the process. By healing herself, she is healing the Earth, returning the Earth’s gifts to the living creatures around us.”
Julia was too engrossed in her personal experiences to be aware of the conversation. In her mind, she could see the approval in her father’s and Abel’s expressions that soothed her soul.
We’re always with you.
Then, the specter of a man in a tuxedo holding a baton entered the image and gave her a penetrating stare. At first, she was confused, but when she recognized him from the photos she had seen of John Crosby in his conductor’s attire, she gasped.
Is he trying to tell me something? Is he distraught over all the violence in his company?
The true identity of the mysterious figure she had seen lurking in the shadows behind the opera house still eluded Julia, but whether or not it actually had been the ghost of Crosby seemed less important than the message that came to her over the divide:
Find the killer.
* * *
After what seemed like hours, Julia’s visions started to fade. She felt a profound sadness, but ultimately, she was filled with a tranquility deeper than any she had ever known. The wound in her side no longer hurt. Her fears and feelings of emptiness inside were replaced with what could only be the Spirit that Miles had described. She knew she was on her way to healing, ready for anything life was going to hand her from that point onward. Then she opened her eyes to the most exquisite sunset she had ever seen, a golden orb that seemed to melt into the horizon.
“When the Native Pueblo Indians briefly overcame the Spanish in the Revolt of 1680,” Miles said, “A dying Spanish priest prayed to heaven for a sign. The radiance of the sky as it turned crimson was what he had yearned for. He died with the words, ‘Sangre de Cristo,’ ‘The Blood of Christ,’ on his lips. That’s how these mountains got their name.” He gave Julia a penetrating gaze, focusing on her half-heart locket at her throat and the tiny gold Star of David visible behind it. “But perhaps your ancestors date back much further than that? From the Spanish Jewry who persisted in practicing their religion in secret despite persecution and danger, somewhere between the tenth and eighteenth centuries?”
“I…I’m ashamed to say I know very little about the Crypto-Jews, though I am aware of their success culturally in New Mexico,” Julia said. “But you’re right. They undoubtedly are a part of my heritage.”
“An important part. Inquisition trial records clearly show that they not only could be found among the New Mexico colonists in the mid-1600s, but with few exceptions, their presence did not attract attention from the authorities. They made huge efforts to keep alive their achievements in science, philosophy, and the arts after they were expelled from Spain and Portugal and managed to gain a foothold in North America, coming from across the continent.”
“So much of the culture here seems dominated by Spanish, Mexican, Native American, and Jewish influences,” Julia said. “Can you imagine what it’s like to grow up in such a multicultural atmosphere?”
“Actually, yes,” Larry said. “It’s called New York City. This is like a small slice of it, but much more laid back.”
“You’re right, Larry. And when it comes to the Crypto-Jews, symbols of their struggle for aesthetic identity appear even today, all over our lands,” Miles said. “You might find a menorah engraved on a tombstone in a Catholic burial ground or evidence of the oral histories of the Jews’ roots in the Hispanic villages where hereditary groupings speak to Jewish ancestry. Knowledge of a Jewish past has been handed down through the generations to the present time. Even if you don’t have the opportunity to explore this on your own in person, Julia, it’s worth contemplating to keep your personal vision quest, your individual struggle alive, and ask Mother Earth for enlightenment about it.”
Miles allowed Julia several minutes of deep reflection. Then he stood up. “Let’s join hands and thank Mother Earth for her endowments.”
He hummed softly for a long moment. Then he let go of Julia and Larry’s hands and handed them each a small red stone. “This is a gift of your retreat. Keep it as a reminder of the love and constant presence of the Spirit.”
He gave them each another hug. Julia wasn’t sure, but she thought that the hug she received from Miles was longer and more intense than the one he gave Larry.
In any case, she was now ready to tackle the job at hand: to pour her heart and soul into performing opera. To exonerate Marin and obtain her release. And to find out who was behind the brutal murder of a recalcitrant soprano.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ich glaube, es ist schon lange her, dass er gefangen ist?
Er muss ein grosser Verbrecher sein!…
oder er muss grosse Feinde haben
I believe he has been imprisoned for a long time?
He must have committed a huge crime!…
Or he must have great enemies
—Beethoven, Fidelio, Act 1
D.A. Cordero sat at the table in the county jail interrogation room opposite Marin and her defense attorney, Elaine. Marin had lost so much weight that her prison jumpsuit hung off her body. Elaine had informed Marin that Henry had fast-tracked the trial date in order to secure swift sentencing. What Marin didn’t know was that the D.A. had been coordinating with Stella Peregrine, who had been frequenting the forensics lab at the New Mexico Department of Public Safety, making note of their results and consulting with them about providing their expert testimony in Marin’s trial. Stella also had questioned Deborah, who had confirmed Marin’s deep-seated resentment about Deborah’s transferring her affections to Emilia.
Elaine had been conferring with the DPS lab and with the lab’s assigned analyst to keep track of the case’s status and to arm herself with as much information as possible, anything that might mitigate Marin’s situation.
Unfortunately, there was little evidence to favor Marin. Subsequent testing confirmed the initial findings, and no other evidence was available. The Latent Print Unit had processed the knife and the crime scene for the presence of invisible prints. Elaine knew they used the latest scientific chemical and illumination techniques in their search efforts and, when relevant, also used AFIS, aka the Automated Fingerprint Identification System, to compare prints with other records in their database. They also would offer testimony if needed.
The Biology Unit had analyzed the weapon and the scene for DNA and compared it with Marin’s. The fact that none of Marin’s DNA was evident on Emilia’s body was the only factor in Marin’s favor. Other than that, there was nothing to help plead Marin’s case, aside from her being a first-time offender. With so little to go on, Elaine was at a loss when Henry made his plea offer.
“Twenty-five years to life,” he said.
“You’ve got to be kidding, Henry. Marin has never so much as killed a cockroach. Five years and a fifteen thousand dollar fine.”
“What you’re proposing is a sentence for a first-degree felony. A fine is not part of the picture when it comes to murder. She’s committed a capital crime.”
“You’ll have to prove it first. The jury will side with her for sure.”
“What makes you think so? She bumped off a famous opera singer, with whom she had a known dispute that resulted in witnessed heated discussions on more than one occasion.”
“Marin’s famous, too. Or have you forgotten?”
“Then there’s her jealousy over the stolen lover,” Henry added hastily. “Whose identity, by the way, we’ve confirmed.”
Marin tried to suppress her tremors of fear. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’m right here.”
“No judge is going to sentence a woman as severely as you’re proposing,” Elaine said.
“I disagree. Women’s incarceration rates have exploded over the last few years,” Henry said. “If she takes the plea, at least she’ll have the possibility of parole.”
Elaine flashed an inquiring look in Marin’s direction.
Marin shook her head. “I’m innocent,” she said through her teeth.
“I know you are,” said Elaine. “We’re done here, Henry.”
“Suit yourself. But don’t wait too long. The offer will get cold before you know it.”
* * *
Sex. Violence. To Julia, at times, that seemed to be all that opera was about. It certainly was true in the current Santa Fe Opera season.
By the time Julia had returned to work, she already had missed two days of rehearsal for the next opera, Lucia di Lammermoor. One of the most famous of the so-called “bel canto” operas, with a legendary mad scene for the coloratura soprano, Lucia was about jealousy and sexual manipulation and featured one of the most brutal murders in the opera repertoire, albeit one that thankfully took place offstage.
Larry, who had gotten permission to attend the rehearsal, accompanied Julia to the pit to make sure she was psychologically ready to handle being back at work after her recent traumas and the intense vision quest experience. He could tell from her general mien that she was apprehensive.
“Are you positive you’re up for this?” he asked her.
“Oh, sure. Blatchley’s been on my case since day one. Between him and ‘Lurching Lenny’ behind me, I’ve got enemy eyes and ears waiting for me to screw up,” Julia said. “Other than that, I’m golden.”
“It won’t be long before you develop a thick enough skin to be resistant to Blatchley’s criticisms and reproaches and to Lenny’s nonsense,” Larry said. “At least you’re done with Lulu and all its butchery.”
“Lucia may be in Italian, which sounds less violent than German. But even if the murder happens offstage, the opera’s almost as bloody as Lulu.”
“Point taken.”
Having determined Julia was in possession of her faculties enough to perform, Larry ensconced himself in the second row of the theatre: at a respectful distance from the conductor but close enough to keep a watchful eye on her.
Julia received warm greetings from her orchestra colleagues, with the exception of Lenny who, predictably, looked none too thrilled to see her. Matt was especially attentive with smiles and sympathetic gestures.
As the musicians entered the pit, Paul, the flutist who had hinted at having seen John Crosby’s ghost, whispered to Julia. “I’m surprised to see you back so soon. How did you manage such a speedy healing from your injury?”
Julia wasn’t sure she knew Paul well enough to confide in him. But he did seem more open to so-called “spiritual” phenomena than other orchestra members.
“I went on a vision quest,” she said softly.
“Wise choice. I applaud you. A vision quest is the best way to neutralize negativity.”
“You’ve done it?”
“Many times. Most of us musicians have outside interests to handle performance stress. The second clarinetist studies astronomy and archaeology. The timpanist solves math problems in his extra time. The first trombone likes to fish. And then there are our softball matches,” said Paul. “For me, it’s vision quests. They can help you cope. Especially if you’re sensitive to the spirits haunting this part of the world. And there are too many to count around here.”
Julia winced, remembering her unsettling encounters, both in her room at the inn and in La Posada’s “Julia Staab Suite,” not to mention her sightings of what looked like Crosby’s ghost.
“I’ve…seen a presence,” Julia whispered.
“I see,” Paul said. “Do you want to talk about it?” Seeing her hesitation, he said, “Most ghosts are easy, benevolent. Nothing to be afraid of. If you’d like to share any of your experiences, I’m happy to listen.”
“Some other time. But thanks for asking.”
Luckily there were no violin solos in Lucia, so Blatchley did not seem annoyed at Julia’s absence from work. In fact, he was surprisingly solicitous to her.
“Are you all right, Julia? Not in too much pain, I hope?” he asked after she had tuned the orchestra.
“I’m fine, Stewart, thank you for asking. Two days off were all I needed.”
“Good, good.”
Well, that is an unexpected relief.
Julia suppressed a sigh. The conductor’s effort at being concerned suddenly reminded her of the real difficulties that lay ahead. Somehow, despite the trials she had been through so far, she still would have to reestablish her abilities to handle the stresses of being the number one violinist and leader of the orchestra. In order to cope, she summoned up the spirit of her beloved mentor at the Met.
Please give me strength and courage, Abel. I could really use your help right now. I’m not sure I can do this.
To her surprise, in her psychic mind, she received a response.
I’m always with you, but you can do this on your own. Coraggio.
Hearing in her mind the Italian word for courage, perhaps the most oft-heard phrase in all of opera, Julia steeled herself. Abel was right. She was determined to prove herself up to the task at hand.
Stewart turned to the assembled musicians. “Act Two Sextet, please.”
Lucia was not Julia’s favorite Donizetti opera. She much preferred the composer’s comedies, especially the captivating Don Pasquale, which, she had been told, was one of the great diva Beverly Sills’s much-loved roles at the Met.
However, Julia had been a huge fan of Sir Walter Scott’s evocative novels when she was growing up. Scotland’s flamboyant—and bloody—history fascinated her. She had heard that the greatest operatic legend to sing the role of Sir Walter’s Lucy of Lammermoor was Dame Joan Sutherland. Julia wished she had been around to see Sutherland and Sills perform.
Alejandro Fernandez, the production’s South American director, made his wishes known to the ranks. “Places, please. Harold, collect everyone if you can.”
The stage manager shepherded chorus and ballet members who had been peppering the stage. Alejandro then arranged the players in formation for the wedding reception scene.
“Chorus, make this a celebration to remember. The contrast between it and the tragedy to come must be startling.”
Julia was surprised to look up at the stage and see Deborah take her place as lead soprano and protagonist Lucia.
“Deborah, again?” Julia said to Matt. “Isn’t that unusual for an apprentice?”
He nodded. “She’s been understudying everything. Her success story as apprentice-suddenly-turned-diva will go down in the annals of the company.”
That seemed a bit over the top to Julia. “I wonder what Rob has to say about that.”
“Ask him. I’m sure he’ll fill your ear, as always. In her defense, she did jump in at the eleventh hour last season as Norina in Don Pasquale and did a fantastic job. They appreciate that sort of thing here.”
“So I’ve learned.” Julia watched a male singer move close to Deborah. “Who’s that?”
“Adam Conrad, the comprimario tenor who plays Lucia’s arranged husband, Arturo,” Matt said. “Strangely enough, he’s not an apprentice.”
Julia lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “He’s terribly cute. I can’t imagine this ‘Bride of Lammermoor’ could object to being married to him, whether it’s diplomatically advantageous or not.”
Alejandro steered Adam and Deborah toward the apron of the stage, where Julia was close enough to catch the drift of the two singers’ conversation.
“SFeO’s catchphrase for Lucia is ‘a wedding to die for,’” said Adam.
“Well, that’s what the lead tenor Edgardo gets for going off to France to flirt with French girls and leaving me in the lurch,” Deborah said with a tinge of haughtiness. “Although a guy as hot as you could do worse, all things considered.”
