Bobby crossed the small grey room, turned on the TV, pressed play on the VCR, and sat down, savoring the sounds that filled the small reverberous room. On the screen a tall lanky man was playing the violin and he was sweating bullets.
The tape began to play and the first movement of the Sibelius violin concerto filled the reverberous room. Just as the cadenza was about to start, the door opened and Bobby's partner guided a tall lanky man into the room.
"Here we go, Mr. Jones. Get comfortable," She said, un-cuffing him and motioning towards the seat across from Bobby, facing the one way mirror.
Mark Jones, or should I say James Karaka, had a look of total loathing on his face.
"You know, James, it was very clever of you to have inside help in establishing your new identity. Most criminals don't have the knowledge or the will. You covered your tracks very well," said Bobby.
Karaka said nothing.
"I was just watching this tape. It's remarkable what orchestras record," he said, turning to watch the tape for a moment. "Luke Masters- before he died he told us you played like a pro… wonder where he got that idea?"
"You shut your filthy mouth. You know nothing about music!" Karaka spat at him.
Bobby nodded. "Well, that may be true, but we do know a thing or two about lots of other stuff."
"For instance," Alex said. "We know that Jakes Karaka stole sales records from Michael Lusk, shortly after filing a police report for a stolen violin."
"And we know that this all took place after your audition for the Berlin Phil." Bobby paused the tape. "Who's that in the corner there, with the dark wavy hair? Is that… that's Claudio Abbado, isn't it? How could you embarrass yourself in front of him like that? Didn't you practice?"
"Of course," he answered calmly, though hatred filled his eyes.
"Then, how did you not get the job?" he asked.
"There were hundreds of auditions. Only one person made it, the odds were not in my favor."
"So, you're saying you weren't the best?"
"Perhaps not."
Bobby nodded and quickly adjusted his stance in the chair. "Tell me, when a person changes instruments on such short notice, how much does it affect their playing? I'm guessing tremendously. Although I'd also venture to say that the larger the instrument the greater the change. Is that right?"
"We are taught to adapt to change," Karaka said, remembering his conservatory days.
"Come on! You can never adapt to a change like that! I know what it's like to love something that much," he said leaning across the table. "That instrument was practically your lover! You'd kill to get it back!"
"I did no such thing!"
"Come on, James! We know about the stolen violin, we know about the stolen sales records, we know that you took the audition, we know when you came here, we know you killed Mary Steinman and those other girls, and we know that you killed Luke Masters!"
"I did not!"
"CSU found your fingerprints on Luke's papers, which were neatly arranged after you killed him," Alex piped up. "And it's because of Masters that we know you killed the other three."
"You couldn't keep your hands to yourself. How else is a busy musician going to keep track of everything that's going on around him? I've met professional musicians. They've got stacks upon stacks of folders and shelves for their music. It's all about keeping what's most important in your life in order. You had to have that violin back. It was 'the most important thing in your life.'" Bobby got up and rounded the table so he could stand behind Karaka.
"No, no…" James's lip began to quiver.
"What was it?" Bobby gently asked, bending down to Karaka's ear. "Was it that they didn't understand? These women, they didn't know what had been ripped from you- didn't appreciate it? And the judges- Abbado, he didn't understand what it was like to stand on stage and know that your only comfort in life was gone? Nobody believed in you? Those were the happiest times in your life- you'd never worked so hard for something so wonderful. And it was snatched! Right from between your fingers! Right through the window…" he whispered. "What could you do but get that back? What you wouldn't give to get that back. Your violin, your life… your dignity…" Bobby pressed play on the remote and the tape started back up again.
"You were so close to getting it all back," Alex said slowly. "And then Masters had to open his big mouth…"
Karaka watched himself on the video screen. Sweat was dripping down his 25 year old face. His bow was shaking. The look of intense concentration was matched only by a look of intense fear. "Stop it!" he finally yelled. He grabbed the remote from Bobby hands and threw it at the TV. The remote broke into 3 piece and the batteries went flying. Bobby reached over and turned the TV off.
"Did Masters know the significance of submitting the violin under the name Markus Darrin?" Bobby asked.
Karaka shook his head. "No," he whispered. "He was just supposed to do what he was told."
Bobby nodded. "Well, he did do what he was told, really," he said.
"But he ruined everything," Karaka said at last, leaning forward towards Bobby. "I was this close to getting it all back! And that stupid bastard had to open his big mouth!" He settled down as though a huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, though he knew what it all must mean.
"You killed Luke Masters?" Alex said.
"Yes, fat bastard that he was. He didn't deserve some of the things that passed through his hands…"
"And you killed those women."
"Yes," he said, letting out a shuttering breath.
"And the 2 French violins were decoys."
"Yes."
"Where are they now?"
"You've already found the one. I don't know where the other is. I sold it to a dealer."
"We'll need that name and address," she said, pushing a pad towards him.