Richard Montanari (46 page)

    He
had met earlier in the day with a man named Robert Cole, a man who ran an
independent lab that sometimes took contracts from the department when rush
forensic services were needed. He had seen Cole testify a number of times. He
was good, he was thorough and, above all, he was discreet. Cole had promised
Byrne a rush job on what he wanted.

    Byrne
flipped through the case file. He looked at his signature at the bottom of the
form. A much younger man had wielded the pen that day. A man who had his whole
career, his whole life, ahead of him.

    Byrne
didn't have to look at the time of arrest, the moment he had placed
Christa-Marie Schönburg in custody. He knew.

    It
was 2:52.

    
In
the night, when hotel guests are asleep in their beds, the dead
roam the
halls. They ride the elevators, take the back stairs, slip into rooms and stand
at the foot of your bed. They sit on the edge of the sink when you take your
shower. They watch as you make love, as you stuff the free toiletries and soaps
into your luggage, thinking yourself so clever. They watch as you view
late-night porn.

    
Stacy
Pennell walks these hallways, her small feet barely making an impression on the
soft carpeting. Guests come and go, but Stacy stays on, her final words
circling in Room 1208 like sorrowful little birds.

    
Soon
she will be set free.

    Saturday,
October 30

    Jessica
jogged down third street. at this early hour the running was not as bad as
she'd thought it was going to be. Traffic was sparse, and the only people on
the streets were those opening their bakeries and coffee shops, city crews,
other joggers and cyclists. The hard part of running through a city was the
uneven sidewalks, the curbs, the occasional stray dog.

    There
was a light drizzle, a condition that the weather report said would end by
mid-morning. Jessica wore her rain gear and an Eagles ball cap. She was wet,
but not soaked. The temperature was in the high forties. Perfect jogging
weather.

    As
she turned the corner onto Wharton she thought about her and Byrne's meeting
with Frederic Duchesne. She thought about the photograph on the wall of the
Prentiss Institute, the picture of Christa-Marie Schönburg wearing the bracelet
they had seen in Joseph Novak's apartment.

    This
morning they would get the background information on
Carnival of the Animals
,
and they could begin to work on what might be the killer's twisted method.

    She
turned the corner and saw someone standing in front of her house. Again. She
slowed up.

    This
time it was not Dennis Stansfield. It was Kevin Byrne. As Jessica approached
she got a better look at him. She had never seen him look worse. His face was
drawn and pale. He hadn't shaved. He was wearing the same clothes he'd had on
yesterday. And he was just standing in the rain. He didn't seem to be looking
for her, didn't seem to be doing anything. He was just standing in the cold
rain, holding a large envelope in his hands. Just a few feet from where he
stood was an awning that would have provided him shelter.

    Jessica
came to a stop, then walked the last few yards.

    'Hey,'
she said, catching her breath.

    Byrne
turned to look at her. 'Hey.'

    'Want
to come in? You're getting soaked.'

    Byrne
just looked up at the sky, letting the rain fall on his face.

    'Come
on inside,' Jessica said. 'I'll make some coffee, get you a towel.'

    'I'm
okay.'

    Jessica
took him by the arm, led him under her neighbor's awning. She shook the rain
off her ball cap, brushed some of the water from Byrne's shoulders. 'What's
up?'

    Byrne
was silent for a few moments. He pointed across the street, at a novelty sign
in the window of a row house. It read
PARKING FOR ITALIANS ONLY
.

    Jessica
offered a smile. 'South Philly. What are you going to do?'

    Byrne
turned the envelope over and over in his hands. The moment drew out. 'I don't
think I know how to do this anymore, Jess.'

    He
looked down the street, remained silent. Lights flickered on in some of the
windows. Another morning in Philadelphia.

    Jessica
turned him to face her fully. 'There are two dozen people working these cases. Every
resource available is on this. We're going to shut him down. Take the day. I'll
call you every hour on the hour. If something breaks I'll—'

    'We
heard from the lab,' Byrne said, interrupting her. 'From Irina. We have a fix
on the murder weapon.'

    'Well,
that's good, right? That's a good thing.'

    'The
killer is using strings from an instrument.'

    'An
instrument?'

    Byrne
looked down the street, back. 'The wire is a string from a cello, Jess. He's
strangling them with a string from a cello. That explains the animal hair on
the wire. It's horsehair from the bow.'

    The
implications of this were deep, and Jessica knew now why her partner had been
up all night. There could no longer be any excuse for not bringing
Christa-Marie Schönburg in for questioning. There were too many connections.

    Jessica
knew she had to tread lightly. 'How do you want to handle this?'

    Byrne
said nothing. A city street-sweeper trolled slowly by. They took a step back,
closer to the building. When it had passed Byrne turned to her.

    'When
I walked into that house, twenty years ago, I felt something, you know? It was
my first case as a lead investigator, and I had it all in my hand. I saw the
body, the weapon, the blood. I saw the suspect, I knew the motive. I saw it all
in one second. One big picture, no parts.' He looked at Jessica. He was on the
edge. 'I said to myself
this is what you were meant to do.'

    Jessica
wanted to jump in. It wasn't the right moment.

    'I
don't see it like that anymore,' Byrne said. 'Now it's all in pieces, and I'm
scared that I made a mistake. I'm scared I can't do it anymore.'

    'You're
wrong, Kevin. I have no doubt that you can do this. I don't know anybody who
does this better. But you know what scares
me?'

    'What?'

    'What
scares me is that this killer might go underground. That he might finish this
up and disappear forever.'

    'He's
not done.'

    Byrne
said this with such finality that it stopped Jessica cold. 'What do you mean?
How do you know?'

    Byrne
held up the large envelope. It was soaked. He didn't seem to care. 'This came
in at four o'clock this morning.'

    'What
is it?'

    Byrne
pulled the document out of the envelope. But he didn't look at it, didn't hand
it to Jessica. He just let it get wet. 'A body was found yesterday in a town
called Garrett Corners.' 'How does this concern us?'

    'It
looks like it's connected,' Byrne said. 'We have to go there. We're expected.'

    The
Dreamweaver was waiting for Lucy with his door open.

    He
gave her a start. Again, he looked different. Even younger than the day before.
He stood a little straighter, and his clothes looked new.

    'Lucy,'
he said, gesturing for her to step inside.

    She almost
gasped. The place was all but empty. The only thing left inside was the stand.
The Dreamweaver booth.

    'Are
you moving somewhere?' Lucy asked.

    'Yes.
Quite soon.'

    She
wanted to ask what this was all about. She had a million questions, but she
decided to wait. What was most important was to go back under, to slip back to
that horrible day in 2001 and see the man's face, the man who took her
somewhere and at the same time took her memory, her life. The man who was
staying in Room 1208. The man who knew her mother.

    'Today
we are going to sit inside,' he said. 'Is that all right?'

    Lucy
pointed to the booth. 'Inside there?'

    'Yes.
Today we go all the way back.'

    Lucy
took a deep breath. 'Okay.'

    Mr.
Costa opened the door. Lucy took off her coat and stepped inside. It was like a
confessional. Inside was a small bench. She sat down. When Mr. Costa closed the
door, it was pitch black. She heard him sit down on the other side.

    He
began to speak, and—

    —suddenly
she was back there. The darkness around her did not change. But she sensed that
she was under. It was different from the first two times because this time she
knew. It was like when you were dreaming and you
knew
you were dreaming,
and therefore you could not be hurt. For the first time in nine years, she felt
strong.

    No.

    
Who
is there with you
?

    Another
girl. A girl my age. Her name is Peggy.

    
Tell
me about her
.

    She
has on a spangly dress. And make-up. She's too little for make-up.

    
Are
you wearing make-up
?

    I
don't know. I can't see myself. But I am wearing high heels. They are big for
my feet.

    
What
is the other girl doing
?

    She's
crying.

    
Are
you crying
?

    No. I
don't cry.

    
What
else do you see
?

    I see
candles. Candles and moonlight.

    
Why
do you see moonlight
?

    Because
I am running now. I'm running through the trees. The smell of apples is
everywhere.

    
Is
it an orchard
?

    Yes.
It's an orchard.

    
Is
the other girl with you
?

    No, but
I see her. I see her up by the lake.

    
What
is she doing
?

    She's
not moving.

    
Why
is she not moving
?

    I
don't know.

    
Can
you see the man's face
?

    I
can't. But I know who he is.
Is he the man in Room 1208?
Yes. It's him.

    
You
are certain?

    Yes.

    
Did
you place the note in his room? The note you wrote here last time
?

    
Yes.

    
Good.
Now I'm going to ring a bell for you. Is that okay
?

    
Yes.

    
Can
you hear the bell
?

    
I
can hear it.

    
It's
a special bell, Lucy
.

    
A
special bell.

    
There
is no other sound like it
.

    
No
other.

    
When
you hear this bell at the hotel, there is something you have to do. Something
you have to do for me
.

    
Okay.

    
You
will tell no one about this
.

    
No
one.