Tess Gerritsen - The Mephisto Club

“It’s my job to ask,” said Jane. “I would have.”

Yes, she would have, thought Maura, looking at Jane’s unyielding expression and remembering the relentless questions that had been asked of her yesterday morning. No mercy, no holding back. God help you if Jane Rizzoli decides you’re guilty of something. Maura looked down at the photo of Peter Saul. “There’s no picture of Lily. We don’t know what she looks like, either.”

“Actually, there is a photo,” said Sansone. “And you’ll find it very interesting.” He flipped to the next photocopied page and pointed to the article.

DOCTOR’S FUNERAL DRAWS MOURNERS FROM ACROSS COUNTY

Friends, co-workers, even strangers gathered at Ashland Cemetery on a beautiful August afternoon to mourn Dr. Peter Saul, who died last Sunday of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. It was the third tragedy to befall the Saul family in the past two weeks.

“There she is,” said Sansone, pointing to the accompanying photo. “That’s Lily Saul.”

It was an indistinct image, the girl’s face partly obscured by two other mourners flanking her. All Maura could see was the profile of her bowed head, veiled by long dark hair.

“That doesn’t show us much,” said Jane.

“It’s not the photo I wanted you to see,” said Sansone. “It’s the caption. Look at the names of the girls standing beside Lily.”

Only then did Maura understand why Sansone had been so insistent on sharing these pages. The caption beneath the photo of a grief-stricken Lily Saul included two startlingly familiar names.

Lily Saul is comforted by friends Lori-Ann Tucker and Sarah Parmley.

“There’s the link that wraps it all up,” said Sansone. “Three friends. Two of them are now dead. Only Lily Saul is still alive.” He paused. “And we can’t even be sure of her status.”

Jane plucked up the page and stared at it. “Maybe because she doesn’t want us to know.”

“She’s the one we have to find,” said Sansone. “She’ll know the answers.”

“Or she could be the answer. We know next to nothing about this girl Lily. Whether she got along with her family. Whether she walked away with a nice inheritance.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Maura.

“I have to admit, Mr. Sansone here said it earlier. Evil has no gender.”

“But to kill her own family, Jane.”

“We kill the ones we love. You know that.” Jane regarded the photo of the three girls. “And maybe these girls knew it, too. Twelve years is a long time to keep a secret.” She glanced at her watch. “I need to ask around town, see what else I can learn about Lily. Someone must know how to find her.”

“While you’re asking questions,” said Sansone, “you might want to ask about this, too.” He slid yet another photocopy to Jane. The headline read: South Plymouth Boy Takes Top 4-H Honors.

“Uh…I’m supposed to ask about prizewinning bulls?” asked Jane.

“No, it’s the item under the Police Beat, ” said Sansone. “I almost missed it myself. In fact, I wouldn’t have seen it at all, except for the fact it was on the same page, below the story about Teddy Saul’s drowning.”

“You mean this one? Barn Vandalized, Goat Missing ?”

“Look at the story.”

Jane read the article aloud. “‘Police received a complaint from Eben Bongers of Purity that vandals broke into his barn last Saturday night. Four goats escaped and three were recaptured, but one remains missing. The barn was also defaced with carvings of’”-Jane paused and looked up at Maura-“‘crosses.’”

“Keep reading,” said Sansone.

Jane swallowed and looked back down at the article. “‘Similar carvings have been found on other buildings in the area. Anyone with information is asked to contact the Chenango County Sheriff’s Office.’”

“The killer was here,” said Sansone. “Twelve years ago, he was living right in this county. And no one realized what was walking among them. No one knew what was living in their midst.”

He talks as though this killer isn’t human, thought Maura. He doesn’t say who, but what. Not a someone, but a something.

“Then two weeks ago,” said Sansone, “this killer returns to the house where the Sauls once lived. Draws the same symbols on the walls, pounds nails in the floor. All in preparation for his victim. For what he’s going to do to Sarah Parmley.” Sansone leaned forward, his gaze focused on Jane. “I don’t think Sarah Parmley was his first kill. There were others before her. You saw how elaborate Sarah’s death scene was, how much planning, how much ceremony was involved. This was a mature crime, by someone who’s had months, even years, to refine his rituals.”

“We requested a VICAP search. We looked for earlier kills.”

“Your search parameters?”

“Dismemberment. Satanic symbols. Yes, a few cases showed up from other states, but nothing that matched to our satisfaction.”

“Then widen the search.”

“Any wider, and it becomes useless. It’s too general, too big a net.”

“I’m talking internationally.”

“That’s a pretty big net.”

“There’s no net too big for this killer. Look at all the clues he’s left. Latin inscriptions. Drawings made with red ocher from Cyprus. A Mediterranean seashell. He’s practically announced to you that he’s lived abroad. And probably killed abroad. I guarantee you, if you search the Interpol database, you’ll find more of his victims.”

“How can you be so…” Jane paused, and her gaze suddenly narrowed. “You already know. You’ve checked.”

“I took the liberty. This killer has left distinctive tracks everywhere. He’s not afraid of the police. He’s utterly confident in his own ability to stay invisible.” He pointed to the photocopies. “Twelve years ago, the killer was living here. Already having his fantasies, already drawing those crosses.”

Jane looked at Maura. “I’m going to stay here at least another night. There are other people I need to talk to.”

“But I need to get home,” said Maura. “I can’t stay away that long.”

“Dr. Bristol can cover for you, can’t he?”

“I have other things I need to attend to.” Maura did not like the look Jane suddenly shot her. Other things being Daniel Brophy?

“I’m driving back to Boston tonight,” said Sansone. “You can ride with me.”

“Detective Rizzoli didn’t look too happy when you took me up on my offer,” Sansone said.

“She’s unhappy about a lot of things these days,” said Maura, staring out at fields covered in a snowy white skin. Although the last light of day had faded, the moon was rising, and its reflection was bright as a lantern on the snow. “Me included.”

“I noticed the tension between you two.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“She doesn’t try to hide much, does she?” He shot her a glance in the dark car. “You two couldn’t be more different.”

“I’m finding that out more and more.”

“You’ve known each other long?”

“About two years. Since I took the job in Boston.”

“Has it always been this edgy between you?”

“No. It’s only because…” She fell silent. Because she disapproves of me. Because she’s on her moral high horse, and I’m not allowed to be human. I’m not allowed to fall in love. “This has been a stressful few weeks” was how she finished the sentence.

“I’m glad we have this chance to talk in private,” he said. “Because what I’m about to tell you is going to sound absurd. And she’d dismiss it without a second thought.” Again he glanced at her. “I’m hoping you’ll be more willing to listen.”