The Violin Conspiracy(4)

“Calm down,” the FBI guy said. Ray had already forgotten his name. “We’re looking into them. I know you’re upset. Just know we’re doing everything that we can do.”

Ray knew that whatever they were doing was not enough. If he couldn’t protect it, they sure couldn’t. For these cops, retrieving a missing violin was just part of the job—like finding a lost dog or a misplaced umbrella.

After the guy had left, Ray was too exhausted to even pace. He lay on the bed, hating himself.

Just before midnight Nicole returned and the police pulled her aside before she could do more than give him a hug. An hour later she returned to the room: her skin sticky, dark hair tousled and greasy. Neither showered: it was as if by showering they’d somehow be washing off some last trace of the violin. They lay together on top of the yellow satin hotel bedspread. Nicole held his hand as he stared up at the ceiling. It shone silver and gold in the midtown night.

At 3:07 a.m. he told her, “You know what? I’m rich.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When the insurance company pays out. But I guess I’m not that rich. Because of my family.”

“You still won’t be poor.” She squeezed his hand. “It’s not your fault. You need to know that. You did everything right.”

His own hand was suddenly sweaty and he pulled free, rubbed his eyes. “The Marks family is probably partying tonight. I bet they’re playing it right now. That fucking niece. What’s her name? Heather? Heidi?”

“It’s Holly, and, uh, the Marks family probably has about eighty FBI agents ransacking their house and bank accounts,” she said. “I doubt they’re partying. They’re definitely not getting any sleep tonight, either.”

“I hope they never sleep again.” He laughed, a harsh guffaw in the dark.

He imagined the violin dropped, damaged. He’d been entrusted with this instrument, this glowing talisman that possessed a sound unlike any other. His audiences drew in a collective breath when he played. Now he imagined it smashed under the wheels of a car, the shards of wood poking out like the feathers of a run-over bird.

He went over to the window, pulled the drapes fully closed. Now it was too dark, too stuffy, and he opened them again. The window looked out onto an air shaft.

“Have you even practiced today?” she told him.

“Are you fucking out of your mind? What am I going to practice with? The fucking bed?”

“Don’t be so shortsighted. They’re going to find it. In the meantime you still have a lot of work to do. That Mozart’s not going to play itself.”

“Nicole—”

“Ray. We’ve just got to find you another violin, just until yours is recovered. Unless you want to call and drop out of the competition? Nobody would blame you.”

He looked over at her, a shadow lost in shadow. “You think I should?”

“Should what? Get another violin? Fuck yeah, you should. We’re already in New York. Janice is coming. What’s the name of the guy that did the appraisal? Mike?”

“Mischa Rowland.”

“Yeah. He could help you find something. Just temporarily. They’re going to find your violin.”

He said nothing and she went on, “Ray, you’re about to make history. But you can’t do it if you don’t do it, dumbass. Just get the violin so you have something to practice on while they’re getting it back from Holly Marks. Let’s call Mischa Rowland first thing tomorrow. We can do this.”

“Can we talk about this in the morning?”

“Okay, but promise me that if your violin isn’t back by ten a.m., we’re standing on Mischa Rowland’s doorstep when he opens up.”

“I think he opens at nine.”

“Ten’s fine. Let me sleep in a little, okay? It’s almost four now,” she said. “If I were you, I’d be saying, ‘You need to do this. This is a temporary setback. You’re one of the best young violinists in the country. Maybe the world. This won’t stop you. This is your best opportunity to show everybody who always said you couldn’t.’?”

“But I—”

“Ray, there are no buts. This is it. This is your moment. You grab it. That violin is amazing but you’re even more amazing. And now you’re going to show everybody.”

“I’m going to win,” he said. “Even without the violin. How long will it take the insurance company to pay? Maybe I can get a message to the thieves, tell them I have the money and they can get it back to me early?”

“I have no idea,” she said, putting out her hand in the dark.

He took three steps toward her, reached out, grabbed the note, held on.


TRANSFER ON JULY 15 BETWEEN 12:00 PM EST–1:00 PM EST



“I want you to come with me,” he said.

“Of course,” she said. Her face was a smooth oval in the half-light. “I have a good ear for tone, and I think I know what will suit you.”

“No,” he said. The empty windows across from the air shaft gleamed at him, and he felt almost as if he were falling into them. “Not to get a violin. But I want you to do that, too. I mean to Moscow. I want you to come with me.”

“What?” She sat up. “Are you serious?”