Summary: A concert goes horribly wrong... Sam and Dean have to deal with a murderer and the man he killed.
Thank you so much for the kind reviews. Now on we go…
Chapter Two
Dean woke to the sound of the hotel room door opening. He closed his eyes again, however, hearing the usual noise his brother made as he moved into the room. Sam sat down on the opposite bed and Dean caught the always welcome smell of coffee. Accompanying the sound of the mattress springs shifting was the crackle of a newspaper being folded.
"So you want the good news or the bad news?" Sam asked, turning on the bedside lamp.
"Neither," Dean grunted and pulled the blanket up over his head in response.
"Ok," Sam sighed. "The good news is that the gas station coffee is actually pretty good. The bad news is that you made the front page of the paper."
Dean's eyes popped back open and he threw the covers back, sitting up and snatching the newspaper from Sam in one swift motion.
Sure enough. He was on the front page, in full color. The picture had been taken such that the dead violinist couldn't be seen, only Dean kneeling over him, his expression distant, while a group of horrified musicians stood behind him looking down at their fallen colleague. The caption read, 'An unknown bystander leapt to the stage in an effort to assist, orchestra members said.'
"Stupid photographer," he grumbled, "Didn't even get my good side." Dean looked up to see Sam wearing a vaguely amused expression. "Wipe that smile off your face," Dean scowled. "I wasn't the only bystander leaping to assist."
"But you are the only one who made the paper," Sam replied dryly. "Way to stay low-profile."
Dean's mouth quirked up on one side. "Photographer must have been a woman."
Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm sure. You see the headline?"
Dean studied the paper and his eyes widened. "Crap."
"Yeah," Sam said meaningfully. "That was the third violinist to be killed in two weeks." Dean started scanning the article while Sam kept talking. "Apparently the earliest guy to die was the First Violinist."
Dean raised an eyebrow in question.
"The highest ranking violinist," Sam explained. "He's the one who comes out and everyone else tunes to him."
Dean smiled. "Nerd ranking system. Cute." Sam gave him a warning glare and Dean's smile grew to Cheshire Cat proportions. "Must bring back your glory days, huh?"
Sam narrowed his eyes. "Dean…"
"You thought I forgot about when you joined the band?" He shook his head. "Dude, I had to sit through that whole concert. Dad was out of town and he ordered me to go."
"I needed the music credit to qualify for the honors program," Sam said defensively.
Dean snorted. "You were in one of your 'I'm pissed at Dad, so I'm going to do something time-consuming and non-violent just to annoy him' modes. You just picked band that year."
"I did not!"
"Sam, the year before that you picked… what was it?"
Sam muttered something unintelligible.
"What was that?" Dean said all mock-innocence, gesturing for Sam to speak up.
"Sunshine Society," Sam said loudly, through clenched teeth.
"Right," Dean smiled. "That was it. Made cards and cookies. Sam. My very own little ray of sunshine."
"Heather Parker was in that club, I…" Sam shook his head, annoyed at being drawn in yet again. "Can you stay on topic just once?" he almost begged.
"Fine… Band. Did you have to pick the flute?" Dean grimaced.
Sam glared at him. "It was half-way through the school year when we moved. It was all they had left."
"That's your cover story, huh?" Dean raised a disapproving eyebrow.
"Hey, I got to meet with five girls every day to practice," Sam said, a knowing expression spreading across his face. "Nice thing about flute players. The girls are… dexterous."
Dean couldn't help it. He had to laugh. The very idea of Sam's shy, awkward high school alter-ego leering at girls was too funny. They'd probably organized a bake sale. "So the violinist?"
"Right," Sam cleared his throat. "Signs of asphyxiation, neck was snapped. His apartment appeared to have been broken into, but there was nothing taken. As for the other two, the second guy died inside his own locked apartment. Nothing was disturbed. We saw what happened to the third guy last night."
"So someone real killed the first guy," Dean observed, "but it was a ghost that killed the guy last night."
Sam nodded. "Probably the second one too if his apartment was locked. Thing is, the other two… when the guy before them died they made First Violin."
"Seriously?" Dean asked. "So the First Violinist who was murdered doesn't like anyone in his chair?"
"Something like that," Sam shrugged. "We need to talk to the other violinists or we'll have another dead one on our hands as soon as the promotion or whatever it's called has been handed out."
"How do we do that?"
Sam pointed to the newspaper Dean was still holding. "Dead guy number two is being buried today. We should go."
Dean sighed in resignation. "It's not a party until the Winchesters have to visit a cemetery."
Dean hated suits. He felt constrained. If he had to fight, he wouldn't be able to move properly. And since they were visiting the funeral of a murder victim, he did like to be prepared for those kinds of things. Sam, on the other hand, looked to be right at home in his. Dean was almost jealous. Almost. Sam had the ability to look comfortable whether he was wearing his oldest, crummiest pair of jeans or a tux. Still, the suit seemed to be a chick magnet and Dean couldn't fault that.
The graveside service was just breaking up. It had been fairly typical. Taken before his time, he'll be sorely missed, kind to animals and small children, blah, blah, blah.
Luckily for them, the remaining violinists had been asked to play at the close of the service, allowing Sam and Dean to distinguish them from the rest of the funeral-goers. Sam and Dean followed as the three violinists walked together toward the cars.
"Pardon me," Dean said, stepping into their path. "I know this isn't the best time, but my partner and I need to ask you a few questions."
The three musicians stopped and stood in a line opposite them. There were two men, one in his mid-thirties, the other mid-fifties. The third person was a short, frumpy looking woman who could have been anywhere from 25 to 40. She stood open-mouthed staring up at Sam like he was Zeus come down from Olympus, or maybe Adonis.
"Ma'am?" Dean said, looking from his brother to the woman. Must be nerd pheromones. Sammy had come to the right place. Dean waved his hand in front of her face and she blinked as if coming out of a daze and finally looked at him.
"You two," she said. "You're the ones who jumped onto the stage last night."
"We're private investigators. We've been hired by a family member to look into the recent deaths. They're not happy with how little progress the police are making," Dean explained, doing his best to look professional.
The woman looked like she was going to faint. Apparently nerd pheromones plus a hint of danger really worked well for her. Sam, Dean noticed, was shifting uneasily from foot to foot under the woman's awestruck scrutiny.
"Whose family?" the younger man asked suspiciously. His body language was downright hostile.
"I'm afraid we're not at liberty to tell you that," Dean said. Especially since he couldn't remember any of the dead guys' names.
"Look, we've all already talked to the police," the same man said belligerently. "We haven't seen anyone odd hanging around, no one has made any threats against us, nothing. Now if you'll excuse us…" He moved to walk around them.
Dean sidestepped into the man's path again. "Is this all of you?"
The man stopped, but refused to say anything. Dean looked to the other two violinists and for just a second, he saw a look of worry pass across the older man's face. "No," he said. "Marcus should have been here today."
The younger man snorted derisively. "He's probably out celebrating."
"Now, Peter, you shouldn't talk like that," Ms. Frump scolded.
"Why would he be celebrating?" Sam asked.
"Because he's going to be the big man on campus now," Peter frowned.
"You don't think he deserves it?" Dean inquired, keeping his voice as non-committal as possible.
Peter's eyes narrowed fractionally. "That's up to the Conductor." His tone said how little he cared for his boss' judgment. The woman and older man looked away in embarrassment, but didn't seem surprised by their colleague's attitude.
"Ok," Sam said, "But Marcus should have been here?"
"Yes, he should have," the older man answered. "He can be flighty, but Marcus would not have missed this."
"Maybe we should go and check on him then," Dean suggested. "Any of you have an address?"
"I could show you," Ms. Frump said almost hopefully. "It's…"
"I'll show them," Peter cut her off, ignoring her crestfallen expression. "It's not far from here." He looked at Dean. "You'll have to drive me home. The three of us came together."
"No problem," Dean said. He nodded to the older man who put his arm around the woman's shoulders and gently led her away. Dean gestured for Peter to follow him and then led the way back to the car, Sam walking beside him. Peter followed several steps behind, lagging as he stopped to shake a few hands.
"What do you think?" Dean asked quietly.
"I think I don't like this guy," Sam replied, also keeping his voice down. "He's just coming to keep an eye on us."
"Still need to find out about this Marcus guy," Dean said and his brother only nodded.
Dean got into the driver's seat and started the car. Without having to be asked, Sam got in the back seat. Peter would ride in the passenger seat.
Dean hated having a murderer in the car. It made him angry. It went against everything he represented and thus that his car represented. He fought evil. He didn't drive it around.
But there was no doubt in his mind. Peter was a murderer. It was as old a story as they came. Cain and Abel. Salieri and Mozart. O.J and… whatever that dude's name was. Killing someone out of jealousy. They have what you want, or they're getting the glory and you're in the shadows. Kill them in a rage or kill them in cold blood, it was all the same. You were still a murderer and they were still dead.
Peter had killed the First Violinist, because when it came down to it… no one liked to play second fiddle.
Sam knew too. That was why he was in the back seat. If Pete gave them any trouble, he was surrounded.
Dean hated having a murderer in his car.
I know, I know… the whole Salieri-Mozart thing is fictional. Still fit the bill. More tomorrow…