Murder Makes Music: An Amy Bell Mystery

By David Schwinger

Tony Capadora was in big trouble. He had been charged with the shooting murder of pop singer/songwriter Filip Beron, and the evidence against Tony appeared to be overwhelming. To start, Tony had publicly accused Filip of taking credit for writing a hit song that Tony had actually composed. Then, the murder weapon had been found buried in Tony's backyard. Finally, Filip had been able to write, in his loose-leaf, the first four letters of Tony's last name, just before he died. Tony was innocent, but he had no alibi and very little hope of avoiding decades in prison. Then, superstar detective Amy Bell was hired to try to clear Tony and find the real killer. With the encouragement and assistance of her husband, Jeremy, Amy slowly but surely uncovered various aspects of Filip's dark side. She identified many people who had reason to wish that Filip were dead. But it would take more than just finding other possible suspects to save Tony from the nearly airtight case against him. A police detective told Amy she was pursuing a ten-million-to-one long shot. But the vivacious and witty Amy was not one to give up, regardless of the odds. Author David Schwinger, when not writing Amy Bell mysteries--there are now eleven--enjoys composing songs, playing pickleball, and traveling the world with his wife, Sherryl. He first met Sherryl when she was his student in a mathematics class he taught at City College of New York. Their secret romance became the inspiration for his first Amy Bell mystery, The Teacher's Pet Murders.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781645840930

Book preview

Friday, July 8, 2016

Filip Beron sat at a desk in the modest one-story building which was the corporate headquarters of Acme Melodies, in Woodside, Queens, New York. Filip smiled as he pondered his good fortune.

It was after seven in the evening, and everyone else had gone home. But Filip enjoyed being alone in the office of the man who had changed his life forever. That man had provided Filip with a spare key so that he could lock up the building when he left. Sometimes, on an occasional Friday, Filip even stayed at the office overnight, slept on the sofa, and didn’t head home until midday Saturday.

In spring 2014, Filip had been a twenty-seven-year-old low-level postal employee in Sofia, Bulgaria, living alone in a dingy two-room apartment.

He had not gone to university and had no serious prospects of advancement or of getting a better job elsewhere. His relationships with women had all ended after several months at the most, and he knew it was mainly his own fault.

Filip had, for many years, enjoyed composing songs, both words and music. He had no formal training, and when he sang his songs for friends and relatives, they responded kindly but not enthusiastically. However, Filip enjoyed listening to himself singing, and that brightened up his otherwise dull life.

His song lyrics were usually written in Bulgarian, but he had a modest knowledge of English and sometimes wrote in that language for his nonexistent international audience.

Filip had made a CD recording of him singing nine of his English-language songs, and he sent copies of the CD to twenty music companies in the United States and England. He received no response whatsoever from nineteen of them.

But Morton Glassberg, the president of Acme Melodies, did respond. Morton absolutely loved one of Filip’s songs, entitled I’ll Never Believe It. Morton also raved about Filip’s singing voice and said he would help Filip come to America to professionally record and perform this and other songs.

Filip initially assumed that this was some kind of scam, but as it turned out, Morton was on the up-and-up. The faith that Acme’s president had in Filip’s song and singing voice was vindicated, beyond Filip’s wildest dreams. With the help of a top-notch arranger, and with Morton’s assistant somewhat modifying the lyrics, I’ll Never Believe It became a smash hit, and Filip obtained many bookings to perform in various US cities. He now lived in a four-room apartment in Forest Hills, in a luxury building with lots of amenities, and he had a second hit single, It’s Not in My Power, which had been released in March of the current year.

Sexy young women—usually teenagers—waited after his shows to get his autograph and, in some cases, to try to get something more from Filip.

Filip was relaxing in a comfortable cushioned chair on the visitor’s side of Morton Glassberg’s impressive desk, occasionally glancing at the photos on the wall of music celebrities posing with the man who had given Filip his big break and made him something of a star. On a page in a loose-leaf notebook, he was writing some possible lyrics to go with a melody he had recently composed.

But Filip Beron was blissfully unaware that this would be his last musical composition, and an unfinished one at that. There was a second person, who had recently stepped into the Acme Melodies headquarters building and who had quietly entered Morton’s office through the open door. This person approached Filip from behind, removed a handgun from a shopping bag, blurted out a few very unpleasant words, and then fired four shots at Filip at close range before departing unobserved by human or camera.

The killer thought that Filip had died instantly. However, although mortally wounded, Filip was able to write four letters onto his loose-leaf page before he died.

Within a few days, the police had arrested a suspect in Filip’s murder. But it took a perceptive private detective—who loved I’ll Never Believe It—to identify the real killer and bring that culprit to justice.

Wednesday, August 3, 2016, afternoon

At 2:15 p.m., Amy Bell was sitting in her office at Spy4U Services Inc., where she was vice president for sensitive investigations. She was still basking in a feeling of pride and exhilaration with regard to the events of the previous week in Philadelphia, where history had been made.

She looked down at her blouse to confirm that she was indeed wearing her blue I’m with Her, Hillary 2016 button. It was important for Amy to show solidarity with the first woman presidential nominee of a major party, and—as the Republicans had nominated Donald Trump a few days prior to the Philadelphia Democratic Party convention—beyond a doubt, the next president of the United States.

Amy’s family had a long tradition of progressive political liberalism, and Amy had preserved that tradition, although it had become tarnished by something she never would have dreamed could happen until it did occur—namely, Jeremy Green.

She had first met Jeremy at Marty’s, an East Side singles bar, on a Friday evening in March 2007, when she was twenty-one years old and Jeremy was three years older. Amy was immediately struck by Jeremy’s classical good looks, wavy brown hair, and hazel eyes. At five foot eleven, he was seven inches taller than her.

Amy left her best friend Cathy at the table where they had been sitting and led Jeremy upstairs to a quieter table for two. He was rather shy, but their conversation went well until she asked him what twentieth-century figure he most admired. Jeremy responded by naming Ronald Reagan, and Amy was not pleased, to say the least.

In the political debate that followed, Amy called Jeremy some choice names such as reactionary and self-hating Jew. But she remained very attracted to him and planned to ask him to return with her to the apartment she shared with Cathy. However, when she left the table to get her coat, Jeremy departed Marty’s through a back door and went home. He had decided that the very attractive City College senior and political science major with whom he had been talking was a nutcase and hated his guts to boot.

Luckily, Eddie Mitchell—with whom Jeremy had gone to Marty’s and who had hit it off with Cathy, whom he eventually married—persuaded his friend to give Amy a second chance. Jeremy phoned Amy the next day, and that was the start of a torrid affair which lasted a couple of months. Amy and Jeremy then agreed to date other people while still being friends with benefits. Finally, two and a half years later, they realized they had loved each other all along, and they married in January 2010.

When people asked Amy how she could have married a conservative like Jeremy—whom Amy usually called Jerry—she often responded that sometimes life smacks you in the ass and screws up everything. But politics aside, Jeremy meant everything to Amy, and she was always aware of how lucky she was that her ass had been smacked.

Jeremy was a freelance actuary who usually worked out of their two-bedroom, two-bath co-op apartment in Greenwich Village. In addition, he often assisted his wife with her tough detective cases. Amy felt that there were several murder cases she probably would not have solved without Jeremy’s input.

Amy’s contemplations regarding Hillary and Jeremy were interrupted by the ringing of her office phone. It was Chester Murray, the founder and president of Spy4U. Chester had hired Amy part-time in August 2003 and full-time upon her graduation from CCNY. A few years later, Amy solved the murder of three students in an adult education class she was taking and became, for a while, a minor celebrity. To avoid losing her, Chester promoted Amy to her current VP title, a decision he never regretted. In the years since then, Amy had become a star at Spy4U, and in addition to supervising several subordinates, she had solved numerous difficult cases, including more than ten murders.

Hi, Amy, can you come to my office now? There’s a man here whom you may recognize from a previous murder investigation, and he wants to hire you regarding another murder.

Sure, Mr. Murray, I’ll be there in two minutes. Who’s the man?

I won’t tell you; see if you can identify him.

Intrigued, Amy proceeded down the hall and entered Chester’s office. Sitting next to Chester was a gray-haired man, dressed impeccably in a dark-brown suit, who appeared to be about sixty years old. He smiled broadly at Amy.

Hello, Amy, do you remember me?

Of course! You’re Steven Atwood, and you received three million dollars as one of the lucky beneficiaries in a will.

Steven laughed. Yep, you’ve got me dead to rights!

Chester provided wine for everyone, and after various pleasantries, Steven got to the point. Amy, in the previous case, where we first met, you solved a murder that I am positive no one else would ever have been able to solve.

Amy blushed. Aw, shucks!

Steven laughed. "I really believe that. You are one in a million. But anyhow, I want to tell you about Anthony Capadora—everyone calls him Tony. He’s the son of two good friends of mine, who are both, unfortunately, now deceased. Tony is thirty-five years old, and I’ve known him since he was a young boy.

"In all the years that I’ve known Tony, he has been a highly ethical, God-fearing person. Tony attends my church. He teaches high-school history, and he volunteers his time for several charities.

"Tony is single, and he lives alone in a rented one-bedroom bungalow in Elmhurst. He’s had a few girlfriends, and those relationships all eventually ended amicably.

On July 15 of this year, Tony was arrested for first-degree murder. I am one hundred percent certain that Tony is totally innocent. As the caring, decent person I know him to be, he is simply incapable of committing such a crime.

Steven, interrupted Amy, who has Tony allegedly murdered?

Filip Beron, a singer, originally from Bulgaria and now residing in Forest Hills.

Oh, my god! Do you mean the Filip Beron who sang ‘I’ll Never Believe It?’ I love that song!

Steven nodded. "Yeah, that’s him. I was doing very well, financially, for many years before receiving that three million, and I’ve decided that the best thing I can do now with some of my money is use it to try to exonerate Tony.

I paid Tony’s bail; he has to remain in New York City and wear a monitoring device. I also hired a first-rate criminal lawyer, Mark Traybert, to defend him. Mark has told me he’s not optimistic. Amy, I want to hire you and Spy4U to try to prove Tony’s innocence.

Why is the lawyer pessimistic? What’s the evidence against Tony?

Steven nodded. "I’m very familiar with the case, and I’ll lay it out for you. Tony writes songs as a hobby. About a year ago, he attended a live performance by Filip Beron. Tony waited after the show to speak to Filip and then asked him if he would be willing to listen to some of Tony’s song compositions and, if he liked them, maybe he could record one of Tony’s songs for his next CD.

"Filip suggested that Tony come to the Woodside headquarters of Acme Melodies, Filip’s record company, and he would listen to Tony’s songs. They agreed on a date and a meeting time of seven in the evening. Filip told Tony that he did most of his best songwriting at Acme’s office, after everyone else had left for the day.

"Tony had not recorded any of his songs, nor could he write musical notation or play music. So Filip agreed to listen to Tony sing his songs live and a cappella. Tony arrived for his appointment and sang eight songs for Filip, who then thanked Tony for coming but told him that, regretfully, he couldn’t use any of the songs.

"Then, about eight months later, Acme Melodies released Filip singing ‘It’s Not in My Power,’ and it immediately became a hit. When Tony heard it, he realized that Filip had stolen the melody, note for note, as well as many of the words, from one of the songs he had sung for Filip at the Acme office.

"Tony went back to Acme to complain, but he had no evidence to support his claim, so the company president refused to get involved, and when Tony saw Filip there, the singer brushed him off.

"So Tony went to the media. Some local newspapers published articles about the dispute. Tony managed to obtain one TV interview, as well as two on the