Wednesday, 7:45 P.M.
Nearly an hour of watching Yuri Grigorvich gaze at the three detectives with a meditative air had passed before Jane had made the executive decision to do rotations instead of their current plan of having all three of them in there with him. Using hour-long blocks, she was sure that they could break him into giving up a confession. Or, at the very least, give up a word…the guy has been silent this entire time. Invoking the Fifth is one thing, but it's kind of hard to interrogate someone who's not receptive. We have to keep trying though. If I can just get him talking about himself, I know he'll make a mistake. As she opened the door to the interrogation room, Jane knew she had to find something to use that would get that mistake to present itself. The silent man had shown her the kinks in his armor several times already, now it was all about taking advantage of those weaknesses.
Yuri's eyes remained closed, her entrance gaining nothing but a slightly noticeable flutter of his red eyebrows. All remained still as Jane stood motionless, scrutinizing the flexible man as he continued to sit cross-legged in the chair, his limbs tapping out a rhythm only known by him. Music and ballet, he clearly has a strong connection to those two things…let's start with that since the direct approach of asking him about the murders, clearly isn't going to get me anywhere.
Moving over to the control for the air-conditioning in the interrogation room, Jane turned the air off, clanging filling the space briefly as the ventilation reluctantly shut down. Heat immediately began to settle into the room as the cool air gradually began to seep away. It had been awhile since she had used this technique during an interrogation but she had to use anything to get an advantage with this guy. If that meant literally sweating the confession out of him, then so be it. Yuri opened his eyes at the sudden loss of the blasting air-conditioning, pupils dilating in response to Jane's actions.
Walking over to the chair opposite the red-haired man, Jane sat down and casually relaxed her arms and legs. "Sorry about that. My boss hates when we waste energy. He claims it's because of the money, budget-cuts and all that."
His answering silence was complete, showing no signs of lifting. Jane ignored the complete silence, continuing onward. "But I'm sure you don't know anything about that, do you? I mean, come on, an artistic director has money coming out of his ass with all of the dignitaries that give you donations and what not. I bet you can afford to run the air-conditioning in those studios all day if you wanted, huh?"
For the first time since they started interrogating him, Yuri's eyes opened, revealing navy-blue irises that looked curiously at the brunette detective. "Yes, I guess so. Money is not my problem. My job is to lead, not to ponder the miniscule details of the company."
"I understand," she said with a knowing nod, struggling to keep up the friendly charade, earnestly looking for an opening she could exploit. "How did you get to be an artistic director, anyway? Someone with your obvious talent should be dancing on the stage, not directing others."
Yuri's eyes subconsciously drifted to the side for a fraction of a second before returning his focus back to Jane. Gotcha, Mr. Grigorvich. "I don't know why it would interest you, but I moved from Russia in my late-twenties to work as a choreographer for a small dancing company in the States. They were badly in need of some quality instruction and I needed to get away. I kept moving around to different companies for a couple of years until I ended up in Boston."
"Couldn't find the shoe that fit, could you?"
Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, Yuri looked away. "I'm not very good with your American idioms, but yes, I guess I couldn't find the shoe that fit for my skills. Far too many American dancers are used to being coddled, unduly praised, and loved for the smallest glimmer of talent. It's sickening given that most of them lack the discipline to properly manifest that talent into skill."
"And that's the only reason why you constantly floating from company to company?" Jane released a hearty laugh, causing the crimson haired gentleman to flinch in shock. "I didn't know you were so trivial. You sure you didn't leave because you'd broken too many hearts?"
For a second time, his eyes twitched uncomfortably away from Jane. I'm heading in the right direction, that's a start. "I am hardly what you would call a playboy, Ms. Rizzoli. My life revolves around my dancers and providing them with the best environment to showcase their skills. When would I have the time to obsess over a woman, in the middle of the night, staring into her window from my balcony? Is this not what Americans call 'creeping'?"
"Come on…I'm sure some dancers have been able to maintain relationships while still retaining their level of skill. What about Alina?" Jane asked, taking out a folder and placing a picture of the first victim's face on the table. "You said she was a bit of a party-girl but still managed to be a great dancer, regardless."
"I never said it was impossible," Yuri's mask slowly beginning to fall away as his words got progressively more emotional. "Many of dancers can compartmentalize their personal life from their dancing and lead productive relationships but it is extremely difficult. The strain it creates on a ballerina's ability to properly enthuse the emotional ranges of a character can lead to lackluster performances, resulting in expulsion from the company. No dancer who respects their craft would ever sully it by involving themselves with another person. It's incredibly rude to the tradition of ballet, the audience, and the company to not give everything in the portrayal of a character. It is the ultimate impropriety."
Jane raised her eyebrows as Yuri drove his hand through his hair in anxiety. She had clearly struck a nerve and decided to use it as her opening into the withdrawn man before he clammed up again. "Sounds like you have first-hand experience."
His eyes closed in memory, a single line of sweat marring his perfect ice-cold features. "My sister…died because of a stupid infatuation with a woman who didn't even love her enough to come to her funeral so, yes, I have firsthand experience."
The brunette's body tensed in response to this unexpected fact. She had expected nothing more than witty repartee to make her lose focus but certainly not this. Moving her chair closer to the table, Jane leaned slightly forward to show that he had her attention. "I'm sorry for your loss. How did she die?"
"She didn't die yesterday, detective, so there's no reason to waste your pity on a man who has since moved on." He said dismissively, ignoring her slight frown at his rudeness. "Officially, Matryona died of cardiac arrest, but I know it was because of a broken heart. She couldn't dance with her love and gave up on life like a weakling. That damn Ekaterina… She came and took my dearest sister's heart and blinded her so she knew nothing else but her devilish influence. Love is nothing but another instrument of evil to a ballet dancer. It detracts from the brilliance of the artist, makes them susceptible to whims that are unbecoming of an elite dancer."
Ignoring her impulses to wait, Jane leaned in even further, hoping to scare the now talkative man to confess. "Is that why you killed Alina, Irina, and Natalia, Yuri? They fell in love with something other than the stage and it killed you to see them turning into your sister, making the same mistake. Those women you killed, they represent your sister. That's why you dyed their hair red, ripped out their hearts, and blinded them. So they wouldn't turn into your sister, to protect them."
Despite his earlier anxiety, Yuri's face closed itself off from Jane, his eyes becoming dark with self-contained fury. He was angry but he was directing that anger internally instead of externally which meant Jane was stuck with nothing to exploit further. Damn it, I pushed him way too soon.
Jane struggled to retain control as he leaned forward toward the detective with the same piercing eyes that she had seen upon their first meeting together at the Opera House. They captured her attention, made it incredibly hard to focus, and mesmerized the detective like no other suspect or perpetrator had before. Liquid fear pumped into her immobile frame as each second passed with his stare locked on to her rapidly weakening one. Unlike before, there was nothing here for him to focus his gaze on but the detective; Jane knew that someone as manipulative as him understood this critical fact. I can't escape…
"Detective," Yuri whispered, their eyes continuing to duel for power, "I thought you were different than the old man who has had far too many rich sugars in his diet and the black man who's far too overzealous in proving his worth. You were the only one who bothered talking to me like I am a human and not a suspect you have no grounds to retain in your custody. I guess it was far too much to expect you to be different from all of those others. I'll hand it to you, Ms. Detective Jane Rizzoli, you are fantastically better looking than most women I deal with on a daily basis, but you're just as stupid. I refuse to talk to people like you because I find your stupidity to be contagious. Please…leave me alone, detective."
In response to his efforts to take control from her, Jane growled, attempting to release herself from his gaze. Frustration took the place of fear and, with a surprising amount of speed; the angered brunette reacted to the Yuri's hold on her by lifting her hands from underneath the table, grabbing the collar of the black leotard, nearly ripping it with her level of intensity. The world around her lost focus as his pupils dilated in response to Jane's rebuttal of his attempt to take away control. Her thoughts were nothing but flashes of words and colors, nothing more important than finally teaching Yuri Grigorvich that she was the boss. I'm not one of his dancers that he can just give scraps of affection whenever it best suits him. If he thinks I'm going to back down, then he can forget about it because I never give in, never.
"You're such a child, Jane." He groaned, sweat running down his brow as he continued to assert his authority over the detective.
"And you're a serial killer, Yuri." Jane growled in response, tightening her hold on the lithe dancer's leotard, wishing she could just move the table between them for just one second. "Now that we have that out of the way, I'd really appreciate it if you just confessed."
His piercing blue eyes darted away from Jane's eyes in submission, with a powerful shove, the detective pushed him back to his seat. "You have no evidence. Keep hounding me all night, if you have the time, but, in all honesty, shouldn't you be spending your time looking for the real murderer of my dancers? When the serial killer strikes again, you'll be kicking yourself for not focusing your attentions elsewhere."
Jane got up, grabbed the strewn about photos, and walked confidently toward the door of the interrogation room. "Maybe, but I like to live in the present, Mr. Grigorvich. And, right now, at this exact moment, I'd like to kick you in the face, several times. But, I'm not going to do that. You know why? Because I'm going to find the evidence I need that's going to put you away for a long time. When you get twenty-five years for each victim, you'll wish I had kicked your ass and I'll be smiling." Closing the door resoundingly behind her, Jane left Yuri in the same position upon her arrival, mute and alone.