EVE 3

 One day after I received the disturbing message that kept me awake all night, a woman came to my office. She looked rich, beautiful and hiding her smile behind her glowing eyes. I was certain it was a husband thing. She sat on the chair in front of me and made herself comfortable.

     “Good morning Miss. How can I help?” I asked in a welcoming tone.

     “My husband died minutes ago.”

     “And you’re here because you think it was a murder.”

     “It was.”

     “Did you see it?”

     “I heard it, he wasn’t alone when he died. Someone talked to him, killed him and made it look like a suicide. I was in the kitchen preparing breakfast, the piano room was close, and I could hear everything.”

     “Did you say the piano room?”

     “Yes, he was playing Mozart. It was supposed to be romantic.” She rolled her eyes. “His killer ruined our moment.”

  No longer able to stay calm, I called Steve and urged him to come to my office.

      “Give us the address ma’am, your husband’s case is our responsibility, you can trust us.”

      “I have no doubt.” She said making her way out of the office.

      “You can’t leave this place until the case is solved.”

      “Do you seriously think I killed my husband?”

      “Staying here is for your own safety. But now that you mention it, that too…”

  We drove to the address right away, entered the room, and to my dismay, his family were in the midst of taking the body out. In a last attempt to protect whatever evidence remained on the corpse, we flashed our badges at them, which seemed to have stopped them from fiddling with the body.

       “Where is the weapon?” I asked

       “My baby killed himself with it. We threw it away. Had it stayed here, it would have brought nothing but problems to my family.” Wide eyed, the victim’s mother whispered. “It’s cursed.”

    I ignored her words. Anger pumps through my veins whenever I hear such absurdities. Steve went hunting for the weapon as I stayed behind in the crime scene searching for evidence.

       “Not a suicide… Your son was left handed. His coffee mug handle is pointing to the left, his pen and paper are on the left side of the phone. And it’s highly improbable that a left handed man shot himself in the right side of his head.”

        “How could you see all that in seconds?” someone asked, startled.

        “It’s my job.”

    On our way back to work, my phone buzzed again. Shocked that we were only given one day to solve the puzzle instead of the last murder’s two, Steve and I looked at one another in terror. I grabbed my phone and read the message out loud “Plaudite, amici, comedia finita est.”, meaning “Applaud, friends, the comedy is over.” A quick search on the web and we found out that Beethoven was next, and we only had 12 hours to figure out the identity of the next victim. With no hint to who their next target might be, I felt we were going to lose this one too.

    Precisely one hour past our deadline, a young woman showed up to my office. Steve and I had been waiting for her. As she sat on the chair in front of us, I said:

     “Your husband died, and he was playing Beethoven right before he shot himself. Oh sorry, you don’t think it was a suicide right? Because your dear husband would never do such a thing.”

    She blinked twice in shock.

     “That’s true. How did you…?.”

    The next message arrived right as we finished our discussion with her, a recording this time: “the Mazurka in G minor”, the last piece that Chopin played before his death.

     “This time we need to win the game.” I told Steve

     “You mean save a person’s life right? Someone will die in the next six hours if we don’t find them.”

     “Yeah sure, that too. I’m more interested in the mind behind these murders though.”

     “They are quite genius actually, look what I found. The first victim was forty one years old and he played Bach who died in 1750. Add his age to the year, it gives us 1791, the year when Mozart died. The next victim was thirty six, add it to the year and that’s the year when Beethoven died, 1827. That’s why I asked this woman how old her husband was. He was twenty two, and when added to the year when Beethoven died, low and behold, it gives the year when Chopin left our world. Still, none of this helps our investigation. The murderer just wanted to distract us with this flood of information.”

      “Seems like you’re the genius here.” I gave him a bear hug and a kiss on the forehead for the work he did.

    In six hours, a man informs the police that his best friend was killed. The victim lived alone, and he only had one friend whose call was still open the moment of the murder. He sent us the call recording. His killer wasn’t stupid enough not to notice that his target was on a call. They wanted us to hear it, it was a message for us, more precisely for me.

    “Did you forget about her? I thought you were smarter.” Eve had never left my mind, so I barely winced when hearing his words. Sleep deprived and in dire need for some coffee, we started towards the nearest Starbucks when another symphony, “the Hungarian Rhapsody”, reached my phone. It was composed by Franz Liszt, and this time the message was signed. Eve.

       “Who is Franz Liszt?” I asked Steve

         He coughed out his coffee.

       “A pianist, he was Chopin’s best friend.”