A Cadenza for Caruso (19 page)

Amato shrugged, started to explain, but then decided not to bother.

Gatti-Casazza told Lieutenant O'Halloran about the Bible. “So this letter you wrote to Mr. Amato,” the police detective said to Caruso, “was by way of being retaliation for a practical joke he played on you? Is that it?”

“Yes,” Caruso said miserably, “and I am filled with shame at what I do! I am through playing tricks—forever!”

Toscanini brightened. “Swear!”

Right then and there Caruso took a solemn oath to abstain from playing practical jokes for the rest of his life, and a few people even believed him. “So you see, Lieutenant O'Halloran, it is all a stupid mistake. I have no
reason
to suspect Pasquale—he has done nothing he could be blackmailed for!” He would take his friend's guilty secret with him to the grave.

“Which leaves Sigrid,” O'Halloran said pointedly.

The already pale Swedish woman turned even whiter, her mouth working noiselessly. She swallowed and said, “I? You think I killed a man?”

“I do not know,” Caruso said in anguish. Now that it had come to the point of actually accusing the woman outright, he was having all sorts of doubts.

“But you thought she might be vulnerable to blackmail,” O'Halloran cut in sharply. “Why, Mr. Caruso? What did you find out that made you write her that letter?”

Caruso wished he were any place in the world other than where he was at the moment. He didn't like Sigrid any more now than he'd ever liked her, but when it came down to calling her a murderer—Caruso decided right then he just wasn't hard-hearted enough to make a good detective.

But Lieutenant O'Halloran was insisting upon an answer.

Caruso directed his reply to Sigrid. “I find out about your illegitimate child,” he said in a tone of apology. “The little girl in Sweden you are supporting.”

“Oh no!”
Emmy Destinn shrieked before Sigrid could say a word. “Not that ugly story
again!
Rico, you should know better than to listen to backstage gossip! Shame on you!”

Caruso looked at her in bewilderment. “You know about it?”

“I know about the child,” Emmy snapped, “and I also know she is neither illegitimate nor Sigrid's. Sigrid is supporting her widowed sister's child—her
niece
, you fool, not her daughter!”

Caruso groaned as a murmur ran through the crowd. Sigrid pressed her lips together and lifted her chin defiantly.

“Rico, why didn't you ask
me?
” Emmy went on. “I could have told you. Sigrid was with me in London when the girl was born—
in Stockholm
. This story about the ‘illegitimate' daughter has appeared before—spread by idle, no-good servants who have nothing better to do than make up malicious lies about a good woman! And you listened! Rico, I could kill you!”

Caruso wanted nothing more than for the stage floor to open up and swallow him whole. What an injustice he had done the woman! How quick he had been to suspect her—just because they had never gotten along well together! He rushed over to Sigrid and started pouring out his apologies.

Sigrid listened to his final appeal for forgiveness and then rewarded him with an icy smile. “I will think about it.” Caruso envisioned long years of doing penance to Emmy Destinn's maid.

“That's what comes of meddling,” Amato whispered. The crowd divided as Emmy and Sigrid made a regal exit from the stage.

Puccini stepped up and placed a hand on Caruso's shoulders. “You are in this predicament because of me,” he said. “I want you to know that whatever happens, I will always be grateful to you, Caruso.”

O'Halloran took off his derby, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, replaced the derby. “From now on I think you'd better stick to singing, Mr. Caruso. Leave the detective work to the police. Don't meddle.”

Caruso nodded emphatic agreement. “My career as a detective is finished.” The crowd of people on the stage was beginning to thin out; the show was over. Toscanini left, followed by a shaky Gatti-Casazza leaning on David Belasco's arm.

Martino came up to Caruso. “Are you all right, Rico?” Ugo and Barthélemy and Mario crowded around them; everybody wanted to go home.

“As a point of curiosity, Rico,” Amato said, “what would you have done if I had brought the money?”

“Eh? What money?”

“The money you ask for in the letter.”

“I do not ask for money in the letter.”

“Of course you do. Look here.” Amato took one of the letters from Lieutenant O'Halloran. “See—right there.”

Caruso looked at the letter. The part arranging for a meeting in the art museum had been crossed out. At the bottom of the page one sentence had been printed in block letters:

Leave $10,000 wrapped in newspaper in the properties room of the opera house Saturday night and you will never hear from me again
.

“But I do not write this!” Caruso cried. “What I write is up here—with the line drawn through it! I ask for a meeting, that is all! I know nothing about this demand for ten thousand dollars!”

“I was wondering why part of the letter was written and part printed,” Amato scowled.

“Both letters are like that,” Lieutenant O'Halloran pointed out. “Except that this other one asks for only a thousand—that must be Sigrid's. Mr. Caruso, are you saying somebody else added this sentence about the money?”

“Yes! I do not even know about it until right now!”

“But who?”

“Who indeed? I write the letters last night and then …” And then? Caruso's eyes automatically turned to Ugo—the only other person who knew about the letters.

Ugo bolted.

“Stop him!” O'Halloran shouted. “Stop that man!”

A few lingering chorus members turned to see what this new fuss was about and unwittingly blocked the exit. Ugo skittered to a stop and turned to dash back across the stage. He ducked away from Amato, pushed Puccini aside, and tried to jump into the orchestra pit—but Lieutenant O'Halloran got a hand on him. Ugo pulled away and next tried to dart past Caruso. The tenor deliberately stepped into his path, and the resulting collision took both men to the floor.

Caruso prevented Ugo's escape by the simple expedient of sitting on him.

“Oof!
Dio
, you are crushing me! Get up, Rico!”

“Ugo,” Caruso said sadly, “you have been very naughty. Trying to extort money from my friend! For shame.”

“I think maybe he's been more than naughty,” Lieutenant O'Halloran said, hunkering down by the fallen valet. “All right, you—what's your name? Ugo? What do you know about all this?”

“Rico, I am dying! Let me up!”

“I let you up when you tell the truth. Answer Lieutenant O'Halloran.”

“Did you add that sentence to the letters, Ugo?” O'Halloran asked. “The one asking for money?”

“Yes! Yes! Now let me up!”

“Do you go in for blackmail a lot, Ugo?”

“This is the first time! My bones are breaking!”

“But you don't mind helping yourself to other people's money? Maybe you even steal a little?”

Ugo sobbed. Caruso gave a little bounce. “Yes, yes—I steal!”

“From Mr. Caruso here?”

“For six years I steal from him! And he never suspects a thing!”

Caruso's mouth dropped open. “You steal from
me?
”

“Ugo,” O'Halloran said in an ominously quiet voice, “did you kill Luigi Davila?”

Ugo didn't answer. O'Halloran and Caruso exchanged a look, and the police detective nodded. Caruso shifted his weight.

Ugo cried out. “Yes, yes, I kill him! Why do you torture me! I kill him! I say so!”

“Cielo!”
Amato whispered.

Caruso was so stunned that O'Halloran had to tell him twice to let Ugo go. The tenor moved his buttocks to the stage floor; Ugo rolled over on his back, gasping for air. Puccini walked over to stand by Ugo's head, looking down at him but saying nothing.

Martino didn't understand what had just happened. “What is it? What does he say?” Barthélemy patted him on the shoulder and spoke low into his ear. When Martino understood, he began to cry.

Caruso felt like crying himself. “Ugo, how could you? How could you kill a man?”

Ugo struggled up to a sitting position. “I do not intend to kill him—it was an accident!”

O'Halloran used one thumb to push his derby to the back of his head. “An accident. The knife just accidentally went off in your hand?”

“He attacked
me
,” Ugo said sullenly. “I must defend myself, yes?”

“So now it's self-defense. Let's back up a little. Davila was trying to blackmail
you
—is that the way it was?”

“Something like that,” Ugo mumbled. “He wanted half of everything I got.”

“But I do not understand,” Caruso protested. “How were you able to steal from me? I write down everything I spend!”

“And you think that is all there is to it!” Ugo sneered. “You write down a number on a piece of paper, and everything is magically taken care of! Rico, what do you do with those pieces of paper after you write your little figures on them?”

“I give them to you,” Caruso said heavily.

“You give them to me.
I
have to pay the bills,
I
am the one who keeps track of where the money goes! You have never appreciated how hard I work for you, Rico!”

“How hard you work at cheating him, you mean,” Amato said dryly.

“How did Davila find out?” O'Halloran asked.

“A cousin of his sells linens,” Ugo said. “The cousin tells him about the little arrangement he has with me. I order from him and he overcharges—then he and I share the overcharge, yes? The cousin, he is pleased with the way we do business and he wants to brag a little to his relative—you see?”

“Uh-huh. And maybe you had this same arrangement with a few other merchants? How many, Ugo?” Ugo did not answer, pouting.
“How many?”
O'Halloran roared.

“Seventeen, maybe twenty. I do not remember exactly.”

Caruso was outraged. So many people conspiring to cheat him out of his money! He was tempted to bang Ugo in the shin with one of his spurs.

“So then what?” O'Halloran went on. “Davila asked around, found out which merchants you deal with?”

“He must have,” Ugo said unhappily. “He knew the names of—oh, quite a few. But to demand half! It is too much. I go see him, I try to talk him into taking less. He is sitting there on his bed peeling a small apple with a large knife. He refuses to take less than half. He becomes angry, I become angry—we fight. He puts his hands around my neck”—Ugo raised both hands to his throat to demonstrate—“and I am afraid! I grab the knife and … I do not mean to kill him! I swear it!”

A long silence followed, broken only by an occasional sob from Ugo. Then Lieutenant O'Halloran said, “Did you take any letters or other papers out of Davila's office?”

“I take nothing. I think only of getting away—I do not think of
papers
.”

“No other blackmail victims, then,” O'Halloran muttered. “That's one good thing.”

“So I was wrong about that, too!” Caruso moaned. “What a hypocrite you are, Ugo! All that time, you are just pretending to help me look for the killer! First you pretend you have trouble remembering who Davila is, and then you pretend to search out his address—so
I
will be the one to find him dead! Then you ‘investigate'—while you know all along
you
are the one I am looking for!”

“You said there might be other people Davila was blackmailing,” the valet answered sullenly.

“And you look for one to put the blame on. First you blame Puccini, and then Sigrid. Ugo, believe me, I can understand how a man might kill in the heat of a fight—if he is frightened enough. But to allow another person to be punished for it—oh, Ugo! Of all the things you do—stealing from me, killing Luigi Davila, trying to blackmail Pasquale—I think the worst thing is incriminating an innocent person. For that, I never forgive you!”

“Ugo?” said a feminine voice from the side of the stage. “Ugo killed that man?” Caruso turned his head to see Emmy Destinn, now changed into street clothes. She looked straight at the tenor, still sitting on the floor. “
Your
servant is the killer—instead of
my
servant?”

“That's right, ma'am,” Lieutenant O'Halloran answered her. “Mr. Caruso's valet here is the one we've been looking for.”

Caruso groaned. “I harbor a criminal in my own household!” With a great straining of muscles he got up from the floor. “Emmy, I am so sorry I accuse Sigrid! I am desolate! I—”

“Don't.” She held up a hand to stop him and then walked over to where he was standing. “Do not apologize—I am no longer angry, Rico. In fact, I have come to thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“Yes. If you had not accused Sigrid, then I would never have been able to explain the truth about the child before the entire company. So you see, you have done Sigrid a favor!”

“Get up,” O'Halloran said to Ugo.

“And now that everybody knows the truth about Sigrid's niece,” Emmy continued, “there will be no more of that ugly gossip! I am grateful to you, Rico—thank you!” Emmy gave the astonished tenor a warm hug. She shot one appalled look at Ugo and started to leave. “Take care of your voice, Rico!” she trilled, and was gone.

“Well!” Amato said with a big smile. “That worked out nicely, didn't it?”

Puccini was talking to O'Halloran. “What is my status now, Lieutenant?”

“I'd say you were completely off the hook, Mr. Puccini. I have to talk to the district attorney, but I doubt he'll even need you to testify at the inquest now. And Mr. Caruso, I take back what I said. If you hadn't meddled in the case, all this would never have come to light. You helped me catch a killer, and you helped yourself, too—you're lucky to get this scum out of your house.” He took out a pair of handcuffs. “Come here, you,” he said to Ugo.