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afraid he’d break a finger, and he nearly did once,” the doctor said with a smile. “But his parents wanted him to have a normal childhood and they sent him out to play with us. He wasn’t much of a hitter, but he could catch pretty well. I mean in the field, not behind the plate. And we played other games besides baseball—stoopball, handball, stickball. We managed to break a few windows while we were at it. And paid for them, God help me. Joe went to Music and Art.”
    “Is that a high school?”
    “Yes, in New York. He took the subway every day, carrying his violin back and forth. He went to Juilliard when he graduated and got himself auditioned for professional playing. He picked up jobs here and there and then landed the big one with the New York Philharmonic, and he’s been there for his entire career. I’ve gone to some of his recitals. He’s very good. He’s taught students in the past but he hasn’t been well lately.”
    “I gathered that from your notes.”
    “It’s cancer. He’s in remission now. I hope it lasts another twenty years.” He spoke with great sadness.
    “What was his relationship with Arthur Wien?”
    “As a matter of fact, I think Joe admired Artie for not being a scientist or a lawyer or a businessman. Artie may not have been to literature what Joe was to music, but hewas a creative person and Joe loved that. I believe they had a friendly relationship, the way Dave Koch and I do. When Artie came to town, they saw each other.”
    “And that’s it.”
    “I would say that’s it. They were friends.”
    “What about Mr. Meyer’s wife?”
    “Oh they’ve been married forever. Judy was a young singer when they met. She’s had parts in operas at the Met and she’s done work in Broadway musicals. They’re a wonderful combination. Their daughter is a fine cellist and their son plays the viola, I believe.”
    We had gone through every boy in the original picture. I had a question that I didn’t look forward to asking, but I knew I had to. I had to let Dr. Horowitz know where I was heading if I continued to look into Arthur Wien’s murder. “Dr. Horowitz, did the group or some of the group get involved when you were younger in something that was illegal or unethical or could cause you problems today if it were discovered?”
    He looked at me as though he didn’t understand or believe the question. Then he laughed. “I think you watch too many dramas on television, Chris. You think the group killed some poor girl that we met on a night on the town? We didn’t even know what a night on the town was till we had scattered. Our idea of fun was a malted at Shulman’s Drugstore on 174th Street. You think we got together and stole a national treasure? I don’t know if we had the imagination to do something like that. No, there are no great secrets that some or all of us share, nothing in our background that would embarrass us or our families, that might put us in prison or cost us our jobs or lose us our wives. That one of us could have murdered Artie Wien is so impossiblefor me to believe I have all but eliminated it as a possibility.”
    But I hadn’t because I couldn’t. What he felt with his heart, I would have to learn with my head if the facts were there. “When was your last reunion, Dr. Horowitz?”
    “Let’s see, it’s been a few years. I’d say three, maybe three and a half. I seem to remember it was earlier in the year than June.”
    “I’m sure I’ll have more questions as I sit and think about all this,” I said.
    “I’m sure you will. The police have been bothering me since Sunday night. It’s my impression that they have nothing or at least very little.”
    “Do you have any objections to my calling these men and their wives?”
    “None whatever. If you can find out who did this, we’ll all be grateful.”
    Except, I thought, the man who did it. “I’ll keep you informed.”
    “And I almost have your address list ready. How was lunch?”
    “So