Wolf Tones (Standalone Psychological Thriller)

by JJ Marsh

  “Good evening, Herr Jaro. I very much enjoyed your performance, although I cannot say the same for what I saw of the programme. Many of us feel your talents were wasted on such avant-garde material. Tell me, do you have any regrets at all about leaving?”

  Up close, Rolf saw that Hofmeister was wearing a ridiculous suit, with tipped collars, white tie and even jewelled cufflinks. In his hand were two glasses of champagne. Before Rolf could reply, he handed him a flute. “Let us toast your performance! What an achievement!”

  “Where is Leonor?”

  Hofmeister’s lupine grin spread. “As she said, we had heard quite enough.” He leaned in to speak into Rolf’s ear. “She’s a very persuasive woman. That is why I have agreed to sponsor your transfer to Chicago. Her argument is correct. Under a conductor like Jurgen Wilk, there is no way you can develop into a world-class cellist. Of all the musicians who have attracted my attention, I do believe you are the one with most potential.”

  Rolf couldn’t believe his ears and stared at the abhorrent figure, his brain assessing the implications of what Hofmeister was saying. Was it possible that he’d lived in a parallel reality all this time? The apparent provision of proof caused his heart to cry out. He had his doubts, but at the core of it, he’d always known Leonor was lying. Rolf moved away but Hofmeister’s hand caught his upper arm as he growled into his ear. “This orchestra is soon to lose its conductor and undergo a major shake-up. You should consider your position. It’s extremely vulnerable, you know. You could lose everything.”

  Rolf stared at the hand on his arm and met Hofmeister’s boastful eyes. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Weissmann was standing near the main door with a functionary of the orchestra. When he spotted Rolf, he approached. They exchanged pleasantries about the concert and Weissmann confirmed they had indeed missed Leonor. “We understand Frau von Rosenheim returned to the Hotel de Ville after the interval. Two of my officers are on their way to invite her for an interview. She must have left shortly after I received your message. An unfortunate coincidence. Why would she leave halfway through a concert?”

  “Inspector, when I called you, I had no idea she was planning to leave and I certainly didn’t warn her about your arrival. Are you going to arrest her?”

  “I cannot discuss the developments of the case, Herr Jaro. Congratulations again on your performance. I’ll let you get back to your party.”

  When Rolf returned to the downstairs bar, neither the maestro nor Jun were there. The party had dwindled to around forty people, and a quick scan of the room showed fewer than ten members of the orchestra. He said his goodbyes to the rest of the guests and returned to the dressing room. Hofmeister’s offer weighed on his mind as he paced the empty backstage corridors. He wondered if history was repeating itself. Would he always be at the mercy of someone else pulling the strings?

  At his locker, he yanked off his bow tie and checked his phone, glowing with new messages. One from Jun, saying she and the maestro were going back to his house to digest the news. One from Bertrand, saying “We kicked ass tonight!” and another from Trudi with an emoji, a single green heart. He packed up his cello, changed into jeans and called a cab.

  The maestro’s house was in darkness, and although Rolf was curious as to what Jun meant by ‘digest the news’ he was glad of the opportunity to go straight to bed. He’d had more than enough drama for one day.

  27

  Sunday mornings were usually Rolf’s favourite time of the week. But that morning he lay in bed, staring out at the garden and thinking about Anton. I can’t tell you what a difference it’s made having you and Leonor upstairs. It feels like a home now.

  He forced himself out of bed and went to the kitchen. Jun sat at the table and gave him a quick smile. In the morning sunshine, Rolf noticed the reddened eyes and streaked mascara. He avoided asking why, unsure if she had heard the news about Anton, so instead he inquired about Trudi. Nothing but a shrug and a mumbled ‘still in bed’ was the answer. He had never seen Jun so deflated. Leonor’s words echoed in his head. Your maestro is almost done with his second violinist. Next in line for Jun is the chairman of the board, or she gets the boot. Sunday morning, everyone changes partners.

  The maestro entered the room.

  Rolfs eyes darted from him to Jun, who kept looking at her cup. Jurgen Wilk positioned himself in the middle of the room and addressed Rolf almost formally. “I’m afraid there are some changes coming our way. The board informed me last night that my personal relationship with our principal of the second violinists is inappropriate and an embarrassment to the City Orchestra as a whole. My choice was either to resign from my position as conductor or dismiss Jun as second violinist and encourage her to seek a position with another orchestra.” He looked down at Jun, who didn’t meet his eyes and shook her head.

  In that instant, Rolf’s mind was made up. He just couldn’t stand for this. For once, he had to do the right thing. As he spoke, his voice sounded more aggressive and louder than intended.

  “That sounds like some kind of terrible joke. How can the board decide about the personal life of the orchestra members? How can you take part in such a dirty game, maestro?”

  “If I refuse to do either, both of us will be fired and publicly shamed.”

  Anger narrowed Rolf’s mind, he was lost for words. “That is absolutely outrageous”.

  The maestro sat down. “Such is my choice. Our choice.” He reached a hand across the table to take Jun’s. “My decision is made, and we have no reason to grieve. I choose to leave Salzburg and I have asked Jun to join me. What lies ahead in terms of my career, I have no idea, but we are celebrating the fact that the woman I love is willing to jump into the unknown by my side. Ms Jun Takei is the bravest person I have ever met.”

  Jun’s tears fell freely and Rolf passed her a kitchen roll, tears of relief pressing at his own eyes. Never had he been filled with such pure happiness to be an idiot. But he was right and Leonor was wrong. These people were in love.

  “When? When will you leave?” he asked.

  “At the end of the season and before the tour. They told me last night to give me time to decide. I know they have every expectation I will offer my resignation and they get to keep Jun. They’re in for a shock. We shall both depart the city in September for pastures new. In a way, it’s quite exciting.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Rolf, with absolute sincerity. “Congratulations to you both. To your courage and freedom!”

  Jun’s laugh chimed around the kitchen, despite her tears and they raised coffee cups to the future.

  Relief hovered in the air. He had a hundred questions about the future, but a strong and not entirely unhappy feeling of ending unfolded in his mind. This chapter was coming to a close.

  His phone rang. It was Inspector Weissmann. “Herr Jaro, sorry to disturb you on a Sunday morning. Have you heard anything from Frau von Rosenheim?”

  Rolf frowned. “No. I thought you were taking her into custody.”

  Wilk and Jun looked at him with concerned expressions.

  “Unfortunately not. It appears she left for Bratislava last night. Could you come to the station?”

  Half an hour later, Rolf sat in the inspector’s office.

  “We have the coroner’s report. The person involved in the scuffle before Anton Berger’s shooting was Leonor von Rosenheim. We haven’t found the murder weapon yet, but there’s forensic evidence that the fatal shot was fired in the living room upstairs. She is now officially wanted for homicide. I must inform you that any information you withhold from this point on will make you an accessory to murder.”

  Calm poured into Rolf like sand into a jug. “Am I accused of anything?”

  “Unless new facts emerge, no. Nothing points to your involvement for now. As long as you remain available and in Salzburg, you are free to go about your daily life.”

  All Rolf could hear was his own low exhalation. This was it. Everything came to a close now. It was ov
er. He would be on his own, and that wasn’t a bad thing. His mind was clear.

  He asked a question. “The premises at Gerhardstrasse – do you know when I can move back in?”

  “The upstairs apartment will remain sealed for at least another week and the garden is out of bounds, but you are free to use the ground floor.”

  That was his intention, as soon as he was able. “Anything else? Am I free to go?”

  The inspector blinked and almost smiled. “Just one more thing before you go. I believe you were looking for a cat.”

  28

  Rolf was glad of his own space. The maestro was unhappy Leonor was still at large but he was reassured that the Slovakian police intended to place her under arrest. Jun made Rolf promise to come with her to visit Trudi on Monday.

  Sunshine and blue sky seemed to mock the past days with their pristine beauty. It would have been a perfect Sunday afternoon to hang out in the garden, but Rolf couldn’t bring himself to even look at the white forensics tent. He let Blue out of the cat carrier and watched as he prowled around the kitchen. He was haggard and skinny and his fur was a state but there was nothing wrong with his appetite. Rolf worked it out. That Sunday when he was supposed to deliver Blue to Anton, the cat carrier had disappeared. Leonor threw him out of their apartment and took a box outside to a taxi, wearing her riding gear. She must have dumped Blue at the stables, but the cat made his own way home.

  The Burmese emptied his bowl and yowled for more. Rolf gave him a little and poured some water. He watched, smiling, until Blue finished eating, washed himself and curled up in a patch of sunshine. The cat certainly had style, he thought.

  He wandered into Anton’s bedroom and looked out at the street. His mind empty of thoughts or emotions, he stared out at nothing in particular, listening to the muffled sounds of the summer city. The ringtone of his phone dragged him back to reality. He searched the room for his mobile before remembering he’d packed it in his suitcase.

  “Rolf Jaro here. Hello?”

  On the other end of the line, there was an intake of breath.

  “Hello? Who’s calling?” It surely couldn’t be a sales call on a Sunday afternoon.

  “It is you! I can’t believe I’m hearing your voice.” The speaker was young, male and had an unusual accent.

  “I’m sorry, who is this?”

  “Rudolf, it’s me, Dmitry. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

  Rolf sat on the bed, feeling as if all the blood had drained from his body. He couldn’t speak.

  “Dmitry Fedorov, remember? A blast from the past, no? I’ve been thinking about you all those years and last night, I was in my hotel room in Salzburg, flicking through the TV channels and there you were! Rudolf Jaro onstage, playing a cello! I gotta tell you, I know nothing about classical music, but I watched the whole thing and gave you a standing ovation. You were amazing, Rudolf. Amazing!”

  Rolf swallowed. “Dmitry? Is that really you?”

  Another pause. “Last time I checked. Hey, man, I know you’re a big star and all, but have you got time for a beer? How long has it been since we were in the same city? Rudolf Jaro, I can’t believe I’m talking to you on the phone! This rocks!”

  “Sorry ... I’m confused. I thought ... Dmitry, I thought you were dead.”

  This pause lasted longer and Rolf understood why. The court case, the sentencing, the whole media drama around the death of a rent boy – how do you explain that?

  “Mistaken identity, man. The kid who died was some kind of drifter, but they thought it was me. I kept my head down and went away for a while. When I crept out of my hiding-place, most of the old gang had moved on. It hurts, you know, losing your mates. That’s why I’m so pleased to find you again, Rudolf! Listen, I’m flying out this evening, but how about a drink for old times’ sake this afternoon? What about the castle? They got a bar up there, I saw it when I did the tour.”

  For all these years, Dmitry’s death at the hands of a pervert had overshadowed Rolf’s life. Guilt and shame and incoherent memories of that nightmare would never leave him. Yet the murder victim was alive and asking him out for a beer. Rolf attempted to speak but could not find the words.

  “Rudolf? You there? Want to meet me at the castle?”

  “You mean Festung Hohensalzburg?” He glanced at the clock. 14.35. “I could be there in an hour. We have a lot to talk about.”

  “Ain’t that the truth! OK, see you at the castle bar at half past three. Beers are on me!”

  “See you then. So good to hear from you.”

  But Dmitry had rung off.

  Lightheaded and dizzy, Rolf chose to take the funicular to the iconic castle that towered over the city. He’d visited the 900-year-old edifice on several occasions, attending concerts, browsing the museums and taking endless photographs of the city panorama below. Always with Leonor. This would be the first time he’d travelled there alone. The funicular was filled with tourists, taking photos from every window and exclaiming over the view.

  The journey was brief and he walked straight to the castle tavern, searching the sun-dappled terrace for a man who looked anything like his old friend. There were no single men waiting with anticipation at any of the tables, their eyes focused on the entrance. It was all couples and families, dressed in summery clothes and posing for selfies with the spread of the city below as backdrop.

  He looked inside the tavern, in case Dmitry had opted for the quieter section, but the only people he saw were two elderly gentlemen playing cards and members of staff preparing drinks. He walked out into the sunshine and heard the sound of trumpets. Of course, on Sundays at half past three, a fanfare rang out from the Trumpeter’s Tower. He stood in the courtyard to listen, along with all the other people raising phones to record the event. The moment transported him and he blocked out the sounds of other visitors to focus on what this combination of breath and brass had meant for the occupants of Salzburg over centuries.

  In his pocket, his mobile vibrated. The same unfamiliar number.

  Come up to the Gun Tower while the plebs are watching the shiny things.

  Rolf read the message twice. His first thought was that Dmitry had changed. He would never have used the word ‘plebs’ because he and Rolf were as plebeian as it got. His life, like Rolf’s, may have changed for the better, but neither should forget where they came from. He followed the signs to the Gun Tower, although he remembered the route from previous visits. His mind drifted back to the days when he and Dmitry had schemed and planned and dreamed and scored. They’d been the best of friends until Rolf abandoned him to his fate. How could he even face this person after what he’d done?

  The steps were empty, as everyone was in the courtyard listening to the trumpeters. He climbed the stairs, hot and nervous, preparing to meet the man who in his mind was no more than a ghost. When he got onto the platform, puffing with the effort, there was no one there. He climbed onto the viewing area and stared out at the panorama below. A solid clunk came from below and footsteps ascended the viewing area. Rolf turned, trying to imagine Dmitry’s face ten years older, holding his breath. But a far more familiar face emerged from the steps: that of Leonor von Rosenheim.

  His insides seemed to liquify, all hope draining from his mind. Like tumblers aligning in a lock, Rolf realised three things. Dmitry was still dead, Leonor had lured him here using the cruellest of all tricks, and she had locked the entrance to the platform so they were alone. This was the trap and he’d walked straight into it. The Gun Tower. Of course.

  She walked towards him wearing a summer dress with stiletto heels and a bright smile on her face. A stranger would see someone pretty and sweet. Until she spoke.

  “Aww, Rolf, are you disappointed? Did you really expect to see the kid you left for dead at Sokolov’s villa? That kid whose body disappeared so that only bloodstains could be used in evidence against a paedophile ring? That kid you left to die at the hands of those brutal sadists?”

  Her words struck like whiplashe
s on an open wound. It was no one’s fault but his own. She had offered hope, redemption and even absolution, but on her own terms. Which meant she knew everything and would use it as a weapon against him whenever it suited her.

  “Dmitry died that night, as you well know. The guy who called you was a friend of mine in Odessa. I fed him the lines and dear, sweet, guilty Rolf couldn’t help himself. You fell for one of the simplest ruses in the world.” The hardness in her tone melted and she gave him a sad smile. “No surprise there. You’re as innocent and vulnerable as a baby bird. Without protection, you’ll fall in with another perverted set of predators. I’m here to help you, and I had to use extreme methods to get you out, don’t you see? They will abuse you until they get bored, just like before, then toss you on the bonfire. You just watch. Tomorrow, the maestro will fire his second violinist, leaving her exposed to the next vulture. In the next week, you’ll be offered the chance to stay in Salzburg and become part of the inner circle. Believe me, neither of us wants that.”

  Rolf finally found his voice. “You know nothing. Leave me alone, Leonor, I don’t want anything more to do with you. From here on, I’m making my own way.”

  Her face relaxed and she tilted her head to one side. “Oh, Rolf, my darling man. This is part of your problem. You lack a realistic perspective on the world, and all I’m trying to do is open your eyes.” She gazed at him with a soft tenderness and moved closer as her voice became more intimate. “We’ve had a rough time recently and I take my share of responsibility for that. But it’s behind us. Now is the time to look forward. You and I are the dream team and we’re going to come back stronger than ever.

  “Salzburg was a bad move. I suspected it from the start and now I’m sure. In your heart, I think you do too. We’re leaving this weird dysfunctional bunch and moving to Chicago. All paid for by Max Hofmeister. I was telling the truth about him. He is interested in you, sexually as well as professionally, but I’ve convinced him you’re worth more as a player than a plaything.” She took two paces closer and Rolf retreated to the wall. The wind up on the hill was cooler than the streets below, ruffling his hair. Cold and fear made him hunch his shoulders and shake his head.