Tess Gerritsen - The Mephisto Club

“I didn’t.” She looked at him. “I wanted no part of it!”

“Then why do you continue to seek it out?”

“What do you mean?”

Sansone glanced at Baum, who opened his briefcase and removed a sheaf of papers. “These are reports we compiled on your whereabouts these past years,” said Baum. “Interviews with people you’ve worked with. Museum curators in Florence and Paris. The tour group company in Rome. An antiques dealer in Naples. It seems you impressed them all, Ms. Saul, with your rather arcane expertise. In demonology.” He dropped the interview transcripts on the table. “You know a great deal about the subject.”

“I’ve taught myself,” she said.

“Why?” asked Sansone.

“I wanted to understand him.”

“Dominic?”

“Yes.”

“And do you now?”

“No. I realize I never will.” She met his gaze. “How can we understand something that’s not even human?”

He said, quietly, “We can’t, Lily. But we can try our best to defeat him. So help us.”

“You’re his cousin,” said Baum. “You lived with him that summer. You may know him better than anyone else does.”

“It’s been twelve years.”

“And he hasn’t forgotten you,” said Sansone. “That’s why your friends were killed. He was using them to find you. ”

“Then he killed them for nothing,” she said. “They didn’t know where I was. They couldn’t have revealed a thing.”

“And that may be the only reason you’re still alive,” said Baum.

“Help us find him,” said Sansone. “Come back to Boston with me.”

For a long time she sat on the bed, under the gazes of the two men. I have no choice in this. I have to play along.

She took a deep breath and looked at Sansone. “When do we leave?”

Lily Saul looked like some young druggie who’d been plucked straight off the street. Her eyes were bloodshot and her greasy dark hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. Her blouse had clearly been slept in, and the blue jeans were frayed to within a few washings of disintegration. Or was that just the style with kids these days? Then Jane remembered that this was no kid she was looking at. Lily Saul was twenty-eight years old, certainly a woman, but at the moment she looked far younger and more vulnerable. Sitting in Anthony Sansone’s ornate dining room, her thin frame dwarfed by the massive chair, Lily was painfully out of place and she knew it. Her gaze flicked nervously between Jane and Sansone, as though trying to guess from which direction the assault would come.

Jane opened a folder and removed the enlarged print copied from the Putnam Academy yearbook. “Can you confirm that this is your cousin, Dominic Saul?” she asked.

Lily’s gaze dropped to the photo and remained there. It was, in truth, an arresting portrait that stared back at her: a sculpted face with golden hair and blue eyes, a Raphaelite angel.

“Yes,” said Lily. “That’s my cousin.”

“This photo is over twelve years old. We don’t have any more recent ones. Do you know where we can find one?”

“No.”

“You sound pretty definite.”

“I’ve had no contact with Dominic. I haven’t seen him in years.”

“And the last time was?”

“That summer. He left the week after my father’s funeral. I was staying over at Sarah’s house, and he didn’t even bother to come tell me good-bye. He just wrote me a note and left. Said that his mother had come to pick him up, and they were leaving town immediately.”

“And you haven’t seen or heard from him since?”

Lily hesitated. It was just a few beats of a pause, but it made Jane lean forward, suddenly alert. “You have, haven’t you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What does that mean?”

“Last year, when I was living in Paris, I got a letter from Sarah. She’d received a postcard in the mail that upset her. She forwarded it to me.”

“Who was the postcard from?”

“It had no return address, no signature. The postcard was of a painting from the Royal Museum in Brussels. A portrait by Antoine Wiertz. The Angel of Evil. ”

“Was there a message?”

“No words. Just symbols. Symbols that Sarah and I recognized because we’d seen him cut them into trees that summer.”

Jane slid a pen and notebook to Lily. “Draw them for me.”

Lily picked up the pen. She paused for a moment, as though loath to reproduce what she had seen. At last she pressed the pen to paper. What she drew sent a sliver of ice through Jane: three upside-down crosses, and the notation: R17:16.

“Does that refer to a biblical quotation?” asked Jane.

“It’s from Revelation.”

Jane glanced at Sansone. “Can you look it up?”

“I can recite the quote,” said Lily softly. “‘And the ten horns which thou sawest upon the beast, these shall hate the whore, and shall make her desolate and naked. And shall eat her flesh, and burn her with fire.’”

“You know it by heart.”

“Yes.”

Jane turned to a fresh page and slid the notebook back to Lily. “Could you write it for me?”

For a moment Lily just stared at the blank page. Then, reluctantly, she began to write. Slowly, as though each word was painful. When at last she handed it to Jane, it was with a relieved sigh.

Jane looked down at the words, and again felt that sliver of cold pierce her spine.

And shall eat her flesh, and shall burn her with fire.

“It looks to me like a warning, a threat,” said Jane.

“It is. I’m sure it was meant for me.”

“Then why did Sarah get it?”

“Because I was too hard to find. I’d moved so many times, to so many cities.”

“So he sent it to Sarah. And she knew how to find you.” Jane paused. “It was from him, wasn’t it?”

Lily shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Come on, Lily. Who else would it be but Dominic? That’s almost exactly what he carved in that barn twelve years ago. Why is he searching for you? Why’s he threatening you?”

Lily’s head drooped. She said, softly, “Because I know what he did that summer.”

“To your family?”

Lily looked up, her eyes bright with tears. “I couldn’t prove it. But I knew.”

“How?”

“My father never would have killed himself! He knew how much I needed him. But no one would listen to me. No one listens to a sixteen-year-old girl!”

“What happened to that postcard? With the symbols?”

Her chin lifted. “I burned it. And I left Paris.”

“Why?”

“What would you do if you received a death threat? Sit tight and wait?”

“You could have called the police. Why didn’t you?”

“And tell them what? That someone sent me a biblical quotation?”

“You didn’t even think of reporting it? You knew in your heart that your cousin was a murderer. But you never called the authorities? That’s what I don’t get, Lily. He threatened you. He scared you enough to make you leave Paris. But you didn’t ask for help. You just ran.”

Lily dropped her gaze. A long silence passed. In another room, a clock ticked loudly.

Jane glanced at Sansone. He appeared to be just as baffled. She focused again on Lily, who steadfastly refused to meet her gaze. “Okay,” said Jane, “what are you not telling us?”

Lily didn’t respond.

Jane was out of patience. “Why the hell won’t you help us catch him?”

“You can’t catch him,” said Lily.

“Why not?”

“Because he’s not human.”

In the long silence that followed, Jane heard the chiming of the clock echo through the rooms. That sliver of a chill that Jane had felt was suddenly an icy blast up her spine.