This story started here.
I turned to Pete and Mac. "Who rents the rooms?" I asked. "The same band?"
Pete looked at Mac, who said, "The whole space is rented by the Blaydz, and they usually practice in here. This is the better room. The PA is better, and there's a bathroom. They rent time in the other room to other bands; and sometimes in this room, too, when they're not using it."
"Was he here alone? What about the rest of the band?"
"He practices in here during the day. I mean, he used to."
I leaned over and looked out the window at a small, scrubby back yard. "They close the window when the whole band practices, and they put up that big baffle thing," he said. "I think Barney usually left it open. He mostly practiced with pads anyway." He gestured at the black rubber pads on the tops of most of the drums.
Barney had had his drums set up with his back to the window, but it was difficult to figure out what direction he'd been facing by the way he'd fallen, even apart from the fact that they'd rolled him over. And, of course, the padded drum stool didn't face in any particular direction. I pressed it with my fingertip and it seemed to spin easily.
So, somebody could have come up to the uncovered window and shot him, but how would you ever figure out who? And how would starling be treated while suspicion fell mostly on her? And how would she react to that?
I thought I knew the answer to the last question.