Tuesday, 11:45 A.M.
Traffic was, as Jane had predicted, miserably slow going. If it wasn't for Korsak's experience with unused back-roads and Frost's control over the GPS unit that had been installed last fall, they would have been sitting in traffic for several hours. While Frost and Korsak argued bitterly about whose method was more efficient, Jane dressed in the backseat, ignoring the odd looks from passerby who clearly needed to focus more on driving.
Korsak pulled into a parking space near the dance hall and, for once in her life, wished she had brought Maura along. The Boston Opera House reeked of history, tradition, and old money. She had gone to one of their annual productions of "The Nutcracker" as a child on a field trip, but it was one thing to be in the audience and quite another to be investigating a potential serial killer. As much I hated my mother for forcing me to take ballet lessons instead of spending that money on, hell, anything else, I always did enjoy watching those dancers jumping around effortlessly. Now was not the time to be amazed, however, as they entered the building and were directed toward one of the main entrances leading to the stage. Stay focused, Jane scolded herself mentally. We're here to talk to the artistic director about the victim, not to watch the tutus and leotards.
Upon entering the raised audience seating area looking down upon the stage, Jane felt the same stirrings of awe that had impressed itself on her as child. Male and female dancers were leaping, twirling, and bouncing around the stage with emotion swelling out from their extended arms toward the imagined enraptured audience. Never had she seen such self-control before. Maybe I should apologize to Maura about laughing at her being a ballerina if she looked like this.
"How are we going to handle this, Jane?" Frost asked, his eyes searching the mass of dancers on the large lighted stage. "I don't think running up and picking out dancers to ask them questions is a good idea."
Before Jane could respond to Frost, a man who couldn't have been much older than 35 with shocking red hair and facial features that appeared as they were carved from marble, walked down from a raised balcony with a megaphone in his hand. Her detective senses tingled immediately as he approached but Jane knew that could have been a result of the man's unusual charisma. Looking over at her fellow detectives, she saw they had also raised their guard slightly in response to the man's sudden arrival. It was hard to pinpoint what exactly about the red-haired gentleman gave her such an uneasy feeling; he was dressed in a tailored suit that looked to be designed to be able to come off at a moment's notice, a dancer background evident in the lightness of his gait but those eyes were mildly disconcerting. Not enough to cause alarm but…just enough to make someone feel mildly inadequate.
"You'd be right, sir." The middle-aged man stated with little inflection in his voice. "Interrupting the corps while they perform, even in practice, is completely unacceptable. When one is on stage, nothing else matters but the audience, the music, and the performance. It is a sacred bond of the utmost importance to the danseur and danseuse of the company, no matter the level of skill. Even the suggesting an unscheduled interruption…it makes me slightly sick to my stomach. If you wish to talk to me or my company, learn some basic manners, first."
Taken aback, Frost frowned slightly as his instincts told him to protect his masculine pride from the middle-aged man with a serious superiority complex. Jane willed him to hold back by placing her hand out and taking over the conversation.
"We're sorry for even suggesting it then, aren't we?" she asked, hoping Frost would relax. Gratefully, Korsak came up and took Frost away from the cause of the tension now spreading in the air before they had even started the questioning process. The red-haired man smirked in amusement as the two men walked toward the seats nearest the stage, maintaining his focus upon the dancers still floating around the stage.
"Do not patronize me," he ordered out like a tyrant before turning his head away from the stage to glare at Jane's guarded appearance. "Miss Detective. You have no more understanding of what I have said than the black man I have offended. The popular American idiom, 'fake it until you make it,' has no place in the precise world of ballet. If you don't understand something, it would be best if you said so."
His eyes turned back to the stage, leaving Jane feeling as if discussion was an unnecessary formality. Who does this guy think he is? The Lord of Dance? God, why didn't I let Maura come with me? This is going to be another long day… But before Jane could regain her bruised confidence, the man had raised the megaphone to his lips in the direction of the stage.
"Stop the music, please." He ordered and immediately the dancers on stage stopped to look up at the man, giving the brunette beside him a brief questioning look before their focus returned to his mesmerizing blue eyes. "I feel like I've been watching two groups of dancers bump into and around each other as if the other group is not present. This is not an easy sequence but, right now, you all are making simple mistakes that are inexcusable. I have told all of you, not to get lazy with your working leg in the pirouette. Several times while watching, I felt nearly obligated to end the practice out of safety concerns. Some of you are wobbling around like children on their first day en pointe."
The sigh of being underwhelmed filled the space and the dancers visibly lowered their eyes as a group. "This is your first time working on the stage together, but you can't let nerves overwhelm. Becoming a soloist or even a principle has nothing to do with being some sort of creative virtuoso. It is all about shining in a group, becoming the character being portrayed in every part of your body. A soloist is no longer a ballet dancer. She or he is the manifestation of the character needed for the production. Right now, upon this stage, none of you are shining or keeping my attention. You think I became a principal by simply showing up on the day of the performance? I practiced until my body was literally spent, every day for twenty years. But it is unfair to hold all of you to such a high standard of skill that has little chance of being reached in this lifetime. Good first effort, everyone, but there is clearly room for improvement. Rebecca…your chaînés are looking very well controlled. Given the speed of the allegro, that is something to be proud of. We are done for today. Fifteen minute break and meet back in the practice hall at the school for small group work with Madame Alexandra."
Sweat glistened from the dancers exposed arms as they bowed their heads in respect before separating into giggling groups of men and women. The girlish laughs and pre-pubescent high-pitched groans of frustration reminded Jane that the dancers were nothing more than just children. One small girl who was clearly shier than the rest grabbed Jane's attention, her similarity to Maura catching the brunette off guard. Methodically, the blonde girl retrieved a pair of shocking pink and purple legwarmers with the name "Rebecca" written down the sides in gold thread. Before putting them on, she looked up at the red-haired man with a marvelous smile. Jane's face released a smile in response, the girl's joy infectious at receiving a compliment, but the man remained closed. If I didn't think this guy was a jerk before, I do now. Come on, she can't be much older than fifteen, give her a break, Mr. I-Eat-Nails-For-Breakfast. However, his face must have reacted in a way that was enough for the small girl because she brightened even more before leaving the stage like a deer.
"I'm not a jerk, detective." He said, finally giving Jane his full attention. "Some of these dancers come to the company as children and leave as adults. When I was in the academy, I spent all day dancing and all night with my fellow students in the dormitories; this lasted from my ninth birthday to my 18th birthday. I literally forgot what my parents looked like. Every serious dancer experiences this loss, making them stronger as a result. It would be highly inappropriate for me to take a position of father in their lives."
"How can you say that?"
Red bushy brows raised in confusion. "I release air into my vocal cords which create syllables processed by your ears as words. Why would you even ask that? Do they not teach basic science in American schools?"
Ass… "You know what, how about we just get to business before I do something I'll regret. We need to talk to the artistic director about a dancer's whereabouts. Do you know where we can find him or her?"
"Look no further than what is in front of your very own eyes. Yuri Grigorvich, artistic director for the Boston Ballet and former principal of the Mariinski Ballet Company." Yuri responded with fake happiness, extending his hand in greeting. "And you? I'd feel more comfortable giving out information regarding my company if I knew who I was speaking to."
Finally having a name to place with the face, Jane found herself softening to Yuri's seemingly genuine efforts to charm the detective with kindness. Sensing an opportunity, she pounced. "Jane Rizzoli, detective of the Boston Police Department. Now, what do you know about Alina Bobrova's whereabouts in the last week?"
"Alina?" he asked before sighing heavily in annoyance. "What did that difficult woman do now?"
"You don't like her?"
"No, I would not use those particular words. Alina is one of our most magnificent ballerinas on loan as part of an international exchange dancer program with several major countries but…she is particularly strong-willed and impetuous. She acts without thinking, Ms. Rizzoli. However, her skill as a character artist is second-to-none and one of the few reasons I put up with her endless nonsense." Yuri complained. "Let me guess, she's in jail for running some toddler over in a crosswalk while high on some illegal substance. I swear she does these things to spite me. If there is one thing I can't tolerate is substance abuse by my dancers, especially my principles."
Jane listened to Yuri moan over his principal ballerina but his slight upturned lips told her that he really truly enjoyed Alina's supposed antics. It must be difficult to constantly go after someone who's physically an adult but has the maturity of a child, but if the girl was as difficult as Yuri claimed there could be motive for his involvement in her murder. I've seen people kill for far less.
"Ms. Rizzoli, please tell me why you are here asking me about Alina Bobrova. If she was in jail, you would have just called. So…why?" His eyes lowered in sadness as his mind processed what was still left unsaid by the detective. A surge of compassion surprised Jane, his sadness affecting her much more than she thought possible given his perceived self-importance. As much as her heart ached to see his pain, the experienced brunette understood that emotions could be easily faked by a man who had spent more than half of his life on the stage.
"I'm sorry to have to inform you, Mr. Grigorvich, but Alina Bobrova was found dead yesterday." His barely recognizable cry of anguish gave Jane pause before she continued. "I'm sorry for your loss. I'm sure she'll be missed."
"Damn right she'll be missed. Mariinski will have my head when I tell them about Alina's death." Yuri exclaimed before shaking his head and returning back to his unemotional demeanor. "They loved her much more completely than I ever could. Ballerinas of the Russian style tend to be a much more vivacious group than any other group, but my bias is obvious. This is a tragedy, but the show must go on. Alina didn't check in this morning or last night for individual instruction for her performance next week so I assumed that she was sleeping off another one of her hangovers. She always loves…loved to go to that club downtown. Alina always said it made her feel alive to dance there. What an idiot…"
Immediately, Jane's head perked up and her hands grabbed the smartphone in her jacket to write what she felt would be a lead down. "What's the name of the club?"
Yuri's face crinkled as his mind flipped through the pages of memory stored in his mind. "The Rosefern. All of the old money types go there to stare at each other for no other reason besides that they have the leisure time to do so. Unlike my former prima ballerina, I have no interest in showing my talents off for free for no other reason but to have fun. What a waste of time."
At this time, Korsak and Frost returned with looks of guilt painted on their faces for leaving Jane alone with the artistic director. As much as she wanted to punish the two detectives, she knew that now was hardly the time to assault her current and ex-partner. Ignoring their looks, Jane returned her focus to Yuri.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Grigorvich. Now if you don't mind," Jane said while motioning to Korsak, purposefully leaving Frost out in order to avoid trouble. "I'm going to leave two of my detectives here to tie up some last strings with you and talk to some of your other dancers."
"I really don't like the idea of having people traipsing around the school, Ms. Rizzoli. Dancers stem from a unique group of artistic individuals who are easily excited by the simplest of questions. Once they get flustered, it is next to impossible to calm them in a timely manner and I have little time for that sort of behavior. We have a week-long performance starting tonight for 'Don Quixote'."
The unexpected complaint made Jane turn back in mild amusement as she told her plan to Frost and Korsak. I don't think Yuri understands what exactly is going on here. I'm in control here, not him. The detective stepped towards the artistic director, her scorn towards the man finally allowed to show. "This isn't a negotiation. At the moment, I'm telling you what's going to happen but I can get rude and just straight up make you do what I want by charging you with obstruction of justice. But then I'd have to go to my car, get the handcuffs, walk back, and then chase you because everyone always likes to think that cops are obese and can't run much farther than a yard without giving up in exhaustion. Do I look like a fat, balding cop? Now, I'm sure you can understand the importance of allowing my detectives to do their jobs. I'd hate to have to tell my boss, who would then tell the feds, who would then tell the Russian Embassy that I couldn't properly do my job because of a cocky, arrogant, pompous asshole who thinks his dancers are made of glass. God that would suck for both of us, wouldn't it?"
As quickly as it arrived, Yuri's charm dissipated, revealing the cold man underneath the façade. His blue eyes darkened into a fierce shade of navy as his hard features tensed with the effort it took to restrain the fury running through his veins. Feeling slightly threatened by this sudden change in emotion, Jane readied herself for an altercation with the retired dancer. To her relief, Korsak and Frost stepped up to protect her back and Yuri reluctantly backed down.
"Fine," Yuri motioned for the men to follow him to the back-stage area of the opera house. "Follow me, gentlemen. We have about 250 dancers in our company, not to mention the permanent staff on call. This might take a bit of time. Have fun."
Korsak followed, leaving Frost to look at his partner. "You sure about this, Jane? One of us could go with you to provide backup."
"No, I need both of you guys on the director to make sure he doesn't try to run on us or kill anyone else. Even if he isn't the killer, I'd feel more comfortable having two people watching the other dancers than just one. If I need backup, I'll give you a call," she said with a smile before walking out, speed dialing Maura's number. The only way this plan was going to work was if Maura got on board with her. If she says no, I'll just tell her it'll be like going on a date…except we'll be undercover and potentially in the same room as a serial killer. Huh, that's really butch, even for me.
Within three rings, Maura had answered calmly. "Isles."
"It's Jane. You want to do something fun tonight?"