Tess Gerritsen - The Mephisto Club

Now I am watching it happen, and I can’t do a thing to stop it.

Sansone dashed back into the bedroom carrying towels, and Maura pressed a wadded washcloth to the neck. The white terry cloth magically turned red. O’Donnell’s hand gripped her wrist even tighter. Her lips moved, but she could produce no words, only the rattle of air bubbling through blood.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” said Maura. “The ambulance is almost here.”

O’Donnell began to tremble, limbs quaking as though in seizures. But her eyes were aware and fixed on Maura. Does she see it in my eyes? That I know she’s dying?

Maura glanced up at the distant wail of a siren.

“There it is,” said Sansone.

“The front door’s locked!”

“I’ll go down and meet them.” He scrambled to his feet and she heard him pounding down the stairs to the first floor.

O’Donnell’s eyes were still awake, staring. Her lips moved faster now, and her fingers tightened to a claw. Outside, the siren’s wail drew closer, but in this room, the only sounds were the gurgling breaths of the dying woman.

“Stay with me, Joyce!” urged Maura. “I know you can hold on!”

O’Donnell tugged at Maura’s wrist, panicked jerks that threatened to wrench Maura’s hand from the wound. With each gasp, bright droplets sprayed from her throat in explosive bursts. Her eyes widened, as though glimpsing the darkness yawning before her. No, she mouthed. No.

At that instant, Maura realized the woman was no longer looking at her, but at something behind her. Only then did she hear the creak of the floorboard.

Her attacker never left the house. He’s still here. In this room.

She turned just as the blow rushed toward her. She saw darkness swoop at her like bat’s wings, and then she went sprawling. Her face slammed to the floor and she lay stunned, her vision black. But she could feel, transmitted through the boards, the thud of escaping footsteps, like the heartbeat of the house itself, pulsing against her cheek. Pain throbbed its way into her head and grew to a steady hammering that seemed to pound nails into her skull.

She did not hear Joyce O’Donnell take her last breath.

A hand grasped her shoulder. In sudden panic she flailed, fighting for her life, swinging blindly at her attacker.

“Maura, stop. Maura!”

Her hands now trapped in his, she managed only a few weak struggles. Then her vision cleared and she saw Sansone staring at her. She heard other voices and glimpsed the metallic sheen of a stretcher. Turning, she focused on two paramedics who were crouched over Joyce O’Donnell’s body.

“I’m not getting a pulse. No respirations.”

“This IV’s wide open.”

“Jesus, look at all the blood.”

“How’s the other lady doing?” The paramedic looked at Maura.

Sansone said, “She seems okay. I think she just fainted.”

“No,” whispered Maura. She grabbed his arm. “He was here.”

“What?”

“He was still here. In the room!”

Suddenly he realized what she was saying, and he reared back with a look of shock and scrambled to his feet.

“No-wait for the police!”

But Sansone was already out the door.

She struggled to sit up and swayed, her vision watery and threatening to go gray. When at last the room brightened, she saw two paramedics kneeling in Joyce O’Donnell’s blood, their equipment and discarded packaging splayed out around them. An EKG traced across the oscilloscope.

It was a flat line.

Jane slid into the backseat of the cruiser beside Maura and pulled the door shut. That one brief whoosh of cold air swept all the heat from the vehicle and Maura began to shake again.

“You sure you’re feeling okay?” said Jane. “Maybe we should take you to the ER.”

“I want to go home,” said Maura. “Can’t I go home now?”

“Is there anything else you remember? Any other details that are coming back to you?”

“I told you, I didn’t see a face.”

“Just his black clothes.”

“Black something. ”

“Something? Are we talking man or beast here?”

“It all happened so fast.”

“Anthony Sansone’s wearing black.”

“It wasn’t him. He left the room. He went down to meet the ambulance.”

“Yeah, that’s what he says, too.”

Jane’s face was silhouetted against the lights of the cruisers parked across the street. The usual convoy of official vehicles had arrived, and crime-scene tape now fluttered between stakes planted in the front yard. Maura had sat in this vehicle for so long, the blood on her coat had dried, turning the fabric stiff as parchment. She would have to throw out this coat; she never wanted to wear it again.

She looked at the house, where all the lights were now blazing. “The doors were locked when we got here. How did he get in?”

“There’s no sign of forced entry. Just that broken kitchen window.”

“We had to break it. We saw blood in the sink.”

“And Sansone was with you the whole time?”

“We were together all evening, Jane.”

“Except when he gave chase. He claims he didn’t see anyone outside. And he churned up the snow pretty good when he went searching around outside the house. Screwed up any shoe prints we might have been able to use.”

“He’s not a suspect in this.”

“I’m not saying he is.”

Maura paused, suddenly thinking of something Jane had just told her. No sign of forced entry. “Joyce O’Donnell let him in.” She looked at Jane. “She let the killer into her own house.”

“Or she forgot to lock the door.”

“Of course she’d lock her door. She wasn’t stupid.”

“She didn’t exactly play it safe, either. When you work with monsters, you never know which one will follow you home. These killings have always been about her, Doc. With the very first kill, he draws her attention by calling her. The second kill is right outside the home where she’s having dinner. It was all leading up to this. To the main event.”

“Why would she let him into her home?”

“Maybe because she thought she could control him. Think about how many prisons she’s walked into, how many people like Warren Hoyt and Amalthea Lank she’s interviewed. She gets up close and personal with them all.”

At the mention of her mother, Maura flinched but said nothing.

“She’s like one of those circus lion tamers. You work with the animals every day, and you start to think you’re the one in control. You expect that every time you crack the whip, they’ll jump like good little kitties. Maybe you even think they love you. Then one day you turn your back, and they’re sinking their teeth in your neck.”

“I know you never liked her,” said Maura. “But if you’d been there-if you’d watched her die”-she looked at Jane-“she was terrified.”

“Just because she’s dead, I’m not going to start liking her. She’s a victim now, so I owe her my best effort. But I can’t help feeling that she brought this on herself.”

There was a rap on the glass and Jane rolled down the window. A cop peered in at them and said, “Mr. Sansone wants to know if you’re done questioning him.”

“No, we’re not. Tell him to wait.”

“And the ME’s packing up. You got any last questions?”

“I’ll call him if I do.”

Through the window, Maura saw her colleague, Dr. Abe Bristol, emerge from the house. Abe would be doing O’Donnell’s autopsy. If what he’d just seen inside had upset him, he did not show it. He paused on the porch, calmly buttoning his coat and pulling on warm gloves as he chatted with a cop. Abe didn’t have to watch her die, thought Maura. He isn’t wearing her blood on his coat.