The Vienna State Opera was alive with energy that cold December evening. The city’s elite had gathered in their finest attire to witness Abella Rossi, the world-renowned violinist, perform her much-anticipated solo. Her Stradivarius violin sang through the grand hall during the first act, leaving the audience breathless. But when intermission ended, and Abella failed to return to the stage, a ripple of confusion spread through the crowd. By the time Inspector Klaus Douser arrived at the opera house, panic had set in. Abella Rossi had vanished from her locked dressing room without a trace.
Klaus Douser surveyed the scene with practiced eyes. The dressing room was small but luxurious—plush velvet chairs, gilded mirrors, and an ornate armoire filled with designer gowns. The door had been locked from the inside, and there were no signs of forced entry. Abella’s belongings were untouched: her coat draped neatly over a chair, her handbag still on the vanity table. Only one thing was missing—her priceless Stradivarius violin. Klaus turned to Theodor Lenz, the opera house’s stage manager, who stood wringing his hands by the door. “Who was the last person to see her?” Klaus asked.
“The makeup artist,” Theodor stammered. “She left just before intermission ended. Abella said she wanted a moment alone.”
“And no one else entered after that?”
“No one,” Theodor insisted. “I swear it.”
Klaus frowned. A locked-room disappearance was always tricky, but in a place like this—with its labyrinth of backstage corridors and hidden passages—it became even more complicated. Klaus began his interviews with those closest to Abella.
Tony Weber – the orchestra’s conductor, was first. A tall man with sharp features and an air of arrogance, Tony seemed unbothered by Abella’s disappearance. “She’s always been dramatic,” he said dismissively. “Wouldn’t surprise me if this is some kind of publicity stunt.”
“Why would she do that?” Klaus asked.
Tony shrugged. “She thrives on attention. Besides, she’s been… difficult lately.”
“Difficult how?”
“She’s been pushing for more control over her performances—demanding changes to my arrangements, questioning my authority.” Tony’s jaw tightened. “She forgets that I’m the one who made her career.”
Next was Greta Hoffman – Abella’s understudy. A petite woman with nervous energy, Greta seemed genuinely distressed by the situation—but there was something guarded in her demeanor.
“I looked up to Abella,” Greta said softly. “She’s everything I’ve ever wanted to be.”
“And yet you’ve been stuck in her shadow,” Klaus observed.
Greta’s face flushed. “I would never hurt her,” she said quickly. “I owe her everything.”
Klaus made a mental note of her defensiveness.
Then there was Maxillus Gruber – a wealthy patron of the opera and an obsessive admirer of Abella’s work. Maxillus greeted Klaus with a glass of brandy in hand and an air of indulgence.
“Abella is… extraordinary,” Maxillus said dreamily. “A true artist.”
“When did you last see her?” Klaus asked.
“During intermission,” Maxillus replied. “I stopped by her dressing room to wish her luck for the second act.”
“And did she let you in?”
“No,” Maxillus admitted, looking sheepish. “She said she needed privacy.”
Klaus studied him carefully. Maxillus’s infatuation with Abella was well-known—was it possible his obsession had turned dangerous?
Finally, Klaus spoke again with Theodor Lenz – the stage manager. Theodor seemed nervous—too nervous—and Klaus suspected he wasn’t telling him everything.
“You’re hiding something,” Klaus said bluntly.
Theodor paled but shook his head vehemently. “I swear I don’t know what happened!”
“Then why are you sweating like a man caught in a lie?”
Theodor hesitated before finally blurting out, “Fine! I owe money—to some dangerous people—but I swear I didn’t hurt Abella! I wouldn’t!”
It wasn’t much to go on, but Klaus couldn’t rule him out just yet. As Klaus pieced together the timeline of events, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t adding up. He decided to examine Abella’s violin case more closely—it had been left behind in her dressing room, empty except for a folded piece of sheet music tucked inside. The sheet music wasn’t part of tonight’s program; it appeared to be an original composition written in Abella’s handwriting. But as Klaus studied it more closely, he noticed something odd: certain notes were circled in red ink.
“What are you trying to tell me?” he murmured aloud.
He brought the sheet music to a friend at the conservatory who specialized in musical cryptography—a niche field but one that occasionally proved useful in cases like this.
“It’s a code,” his friend confirmed after analyzing it for an hour. “The circled notes spell out coordinates.”
Coordinates? Klaus felt a thrill of excitement as he plugged them into his map app—and discovered they pointed to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Vienna. Klaus arrived at the warehouse late that night, his heart pounding with anticipation. The building was dark and silent except for the faint sound of music drifting from within—a haunting melody played on a violin. He followed the sound through the maze-like interior until he found himself standing before Abella Rossi herself. She looked up at him with wide eyes as she lowered her bow.
“Inspector Douser,” she said softly. “You found me.”
“What is this?” Klaus demanded. “Why did you disappear?”
Abella hesitated before answering. “I didn’t have a choice,” she said finally. “They threatened me.”
“Who?”
“The people who want my violin,” she explained. “It’s worth millions—and they’ll stop at nothing to get it.”
Klaus frowned. “Why not go to the police?”
“I couldn’t risk it,” Abella said urgently. “They said they’d kill me if I told anyone.”
“And yet you left me clues,” Klaus pointed out.
“I hoped you’d figure it out before they did,” she admitted.
Just then, there was a noise behind them—a group of men burst into view, armed and dangerous-looking.
“Hand over the violin!” one of them barked.
Klaus stepped forward protectively as he reached for his gun—but before he could act, Abella surprised everyone by smashing her violin against the ground with all her strength.
“No!” one of the men shouted as splinters flew everywhere—but when they examined what remained of the instrument, their faces fell in disappointment.
“It’s fake!” another man growled angrily before turning back toward Abella with menace in his eyes—but by then Klaus had already subdued him with a well-placed punch while backup officers swarmed into view moments later (he’d called them earlier just in case). Back at police headquarters later that night (after ensuring both Abella and himself were safe), Klaus finally got answers: years ago someone had swapped out Abella’s real Stradivarius for an imitation without anyone realizing until recently when she’d discovered discrepancies during routine maintenance checks…and ever since then she’d been trying desperately (and secretly) to track down whoever stole original instrument while simultaneously dodging criminals who’d caught wind situation themselves hoping exploit opportunity profit illicitly somehow too.
Leave a Reply