The detective fell silent for about three steps, mind obviously racing.
Honister finally looked up again. “Only one thing makes sense,” he began. “The fire, the murder and robbery, and the explosion were all aimed at the hospital expansion project. We could never come up with a motive for trying to destroy the project itself. It is popular, and it is needed; destroying it just didn’t make any sense. But what if they weren’t aiming at the project? What if they were aiming at the backers of the project?”
Gotthilf turned that thought around and over and around in his mind, examining it from every angle. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that Honister was right.
“And Schardius is involved with the group that got the contract for the hospital expansion?” Byron asked.
“His name is not on any of the proposals or contracts, no,” Honister admitted, who was starting to sound winded keeping the pace. “But it appears to be common knowledge that he provided much of the initial financing for it. I heard that from more than one source, including Mayor Gericke himself.”
“If he is the ‘money man,’ as up-timers might put it,” Gotthilf said, “then taking him down would probably destroy the consortium that has the contract for the expansion.” Byron gave him a questioning look. “If Schardius dies, his money gets tied up in his estate. The committee that oversees execution of wills will allow expenses to be paid to keep his household solvent and for day-to-day expenses in his business. Whether a project like this would be included in that day-to-day category would depend on the decisions of the committee. And the committee monitors the estate until the heirship is determined and validated, which could take anywhere from weeks to months.”
“Even if he’s contractually bound to provide it?”
“That depends on how the contract is written and on how the committee would interpret the contract. But even if it was ruled that the money had to be provided under the terms of a contract,” Gotthilf finished, “just a significant delay in receiving it could be enough to take the project down.”
“Lawyers.” Byron said the word like it was a curse. Gotthilf decided that now was not the time to tell Byron that his older brother was studying at Jena to become a lawyer.
Byron turned back to Honister.
“Makes sense to me. Keep an eye out for One-Eye, and arrest him if you see him.” Honister stopped at the bottom of the steps to the opera house portico. “And arrest Schardius if you see him, too.” That was thrown over Byron’s shoulder as he started up the steps two at a time. Gotthilf huffed and puffed as he trailed behind.
* * *
Franz unlocked a single door set off to one side of the foyer, motioned Friedrich and the others through, and closed it behind them.
“This way,” Franz said.
Friedrich fell into line behind the others as they went down some stairs and then along a dimly lit hallway with doors appearing along either side. “Where are we?” he heard one of his friends ask.
“This runs along below the lower bank of the box seats,” Franz replied from the front of the line. “It will take us to the service area under the stage, and from there we can climb up to the backstage area without being seen by the audience.”
And so it proved. The hallway opened into a very open space, with pillars interspersed across it that supported the massive beams that underlay the stage. Various pieces of equipment could be seen around the perimeter of the space, most shrouded in canvas. Stairways could be seen in various locations.
“This way,” Franz repeated. He led them to a stairway at the side of the space. The door at the top opened to the backstage.
The four of them just stopped in amazement to watch. Several people in bright costumes stood in front of them, chattering away in low tones. Young men and women dressed in muted brown bustled around, adjusting scenery and furniture, or carrying items from one side of the stage to the other while the curtain remained down.
One very large fellow in a resplendent costume and holding what appeared to be a very large sword stood near a small podium-style desk, laughing with Frau Amber and a short down-timer woman wearing some kind of contraption that covered one ear and had a short arm that curved around in front of her face.
“That’s the stage manager’s headset,” Franz muttered in his ear, obviously having noticed his interest. “It connects to the auditorium intercom—kind of like radio, only with wires. She gives instructions through the microphone to the people running the lights and curtains.”
Interesting. First electric lights, and now this. Friedrich wondered what other innovations were coming to theatres because of Grantville. Electric trap-doors, maybe?