Death Dance by Linda Fairstein Page A

"I'll voucher them if she
doesn't show up for dinner tonight."
    Straight ahead was a T-shaped intersection. "The corps has
lockers in another part of the building. This area is just for the
stars," Dobbis said. "There's even a pecking order in here. In opera
season, the soprano and the tenor have the center rooms. The baritone,
the mezzo, and the bass are off to the side. So Natalya had this room,
of course."
    He ushered us into a private suite, bare of any personal items
except an index card tacked to the door with Natalya's name in black
marker, and her clothes hanging on a rack inside. I checked the
bath-room and stall shower, but saw nothing. Dobbis offered me the
chair in front of the mirrored dressing table.
    There was a piano against the opposite wall, where Vicci
seated himself. Dobbis perched on the edge of a sofa, while Mike and
Mercer remained standing.
    "There aren't many windows in this joint," Mike said. "What
are we looking out at?"
    Except for the five glass arches that faced the plaza, the Met
seemed completely encased in its marble skin.
    "That's Amsterdam Avenue behind me," Dobbis said. "It's
actually the only window that opens in the entire building. Rudolf Bing
was the general manager when the company moved to Lincoln Center back
in 1966. His favorite diva was Renata Tebaldi, and she wanted fresh air
whenever she sang. So, voila, a window."
    Dobbis thought Mike was interested in the history of the
house, but I knew he was only studying means of entering or exiting the
building.
    "You mind getting up off that sofa?" Mike said, motioning to
the director and then speaking to Mercer. "Let's get this sill dusted
and see if there are any footprints on the couch."
    Mike picked up the phone on the wall next to the piano.
    "That's just an intercom, detective. You can't ring out,"
Dobbis said. "The stage manager calls in to give the artist her cue.
It's a three-minute walk to the wings from this room, almost six to get
to stage left for an entrance."
    Mercer turned to the door and called back to Mike. "You want
the guys from the Crime Scene Unit to come down and process this next?"
    "Yeah."
    "Easier for me to see what they're up to."
    "So what's the story with this guy Joe Berk?" Mike asked as
Mercer walked out. "How'd you know he was in here with her last night?"
    "The Wizard? He'd be hard to miss."
    "Wizard of what?"
    "That's what he likes to call himself. The Wizard of the Great
White Way."
    "More like a lizard," Rinaldo Vicci said. "The venomous kind."
    "What does Berk do?" Mike asked. "He's a producer?"
    Chet Dobbis laughed. "Joe Berk owns Broadway. That's what he
really does. Everything else flows from that."
    "You gotta explain that to me. How does somebody
own
Broadway?"
    "The theaters themselves, detective. There are four families
in New York that control every single one of the legitimate theaters."
    "You mean, like the Shuberts?" I asked.
    "Exactly. The Shuberts, the Nederlanders, the Jujamcyns, and
the Berks. There are thirty-five Broadway theaters. You want to bring a
show to town? You got the next
Cats
or
Phantom
in your back pocket? Nothing happens unless you get through to the head
hon-cho of one of these families. There are nice guys and smart guys
and decent guys in this business, and then there's Joe Berk."
    "What's his relationship with Ms. Galinova?" Mike asked.
    Vicci wanted to do the spin on this. "Joe has been courting my
client, but strictly in the professional sense," he said, rolling his
r's for what he must have thought was dramatic effect. "He's got an
idea for a project that she might be able to star in."
    Dobbis interrupted him. "Rinaldo, you're talking to the
police. Try telling the truth, for a change."
    "Why don't you give him a hand?"
    "The fact is that it's Talya who's been chasing after Joe
Berk, Mr. Chapman. She's gotten to the age when most dancers have to
give some thought to the next phase of their careers. By the time these
ladies reach forty, it becomes harder and harder to