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Bobby stuck a yellow sticky tab on the page, for future reference. He was confident that the crime scene at Mattapan was the work of Annabelle’s uncle. Having decided that, he was equally confident that somewhere at some time, Christopher Eola had performed his own “vile acts against God.” Regardless of the resolution of the Mattapan case, he had a feeling the task force would agree to continue tracking down Mr. Eola.

He skimmed through other patient files, waiting for something to leap out at him. A neon Post-it screaming,
I am the madman.
A doctor’s note:
This patient is the most likely to have kidnapped and tortured six girls.

Many of the patients came with notes documenting a history of violence, as well as extensive criminal activity. At least half, however, had no background at all. “Admitted by police,” “Discovered vagrant” were very common phrases. Even before the homeless crisis made headlines in the eighties, it was clear the homeless were in crisis in Boston.

Bobby made it through the whole stack and realized it had become one long, depressing blur. He stopped, backed up, tried again.

“Whatya looking for?” Sinkus asked.

“Don’t know.”

“That makes it hard.”

“What are you doing?”

Sinkus held up his own bulging file. “Staff.”

“Ah. Any of them look good?”

“Only Adam Schmidt, the perverted AN.”

“Bummer. Track him down yet?”

“Working on it. What about age?”

“What?”

“Age. You’re looking for a patient who might be Tommy Grayson, yes? You said he was seven years younger than Russell Granger. Had been in and out of prison and/or hospitals since he was what, sixteen?”

“That Russell knew of.”

“So, if he was admitted to Boston State Mental, you’re talking a young man. Teens to early twenties.”

Bobby considered the logic. “Yeah, good guess.”

He started sorting through the patient sheets again, culling down the entire file to fourteen men, including Eola and another case Charlie Marvin had told him about, the street kid named Benji who’d attended Boston Latin while living in the dying mental institute.

Now what?

Bobby glanced at his watch, winced. He’d already burned up an hour and a half. Time to find a dog-friendly hotel and return to Annabelle.

He picked up the fourteen sheets. “Mind if I make copies of these?”

“Be my guest. Hey, didn’t you say Charlie Marvin worked at Boston State Mental?”

“He was an AN,” Bobby supplied. “During his college days. Then volunteered his time as a minister until it closed down.”

“Sure about that?”

“It’s what the man said. Why?”

Sinkus finally looked up. “Bobby, I got decades of payroll ledgers in front of me. Nineteen-fifties till closing. I’m telling you, no Charlie Marvin ever made a dime.”

W
OULD YOU LIKE
some help?” Charlie called down to me.

“Oh, ummm, that’s okay. I’m coming up.” Bella was already bounding up the stairs. Whereas I found Charlie’s sudden appearance disquieting, she was overjoyed to see her newest best friend.

She hopped, leapt, and licked. I lugged the three bags up the stairs, thinking fast. Last I knew, Charlie didn’t have my address. Where in God’s name had I put my Taser?

Then I remembered. I’d set it down. On the shelf. Inside my storage unit, while I’d pulled out the suitcases. My locked storage unit. I almost turned away, headed back down the stairs. Almost.

“Sounds like you had quite a morning,” Charlie commented cheerfully as Bella and I emerged into the gray light of the building’s lobby. I saw now that one of my neighbors had propped open both front doors. Unloading groceries, no doubt. It would make an excellent headline for the
Boston Herald:
“Young Woman Brutally Stabbed to Death While Fellow Tenant Stocks Fridge.”

I needed to calm down. I was jumping at shadows again. According to Bobby, Charlie had spent last night at the Pine Street Inn. Meaning he couldn’t have delivered my latest gift. At eye level again, I realized that Charlie wasn’t really that tall, nor large, nor, at his advanced age, threatening. In fact, as I gingerly set down my luggage so I’d be free for defensive measures, Charlie was kneeling and scratching my dog under the chin.

“Some officer called at the shelter, asking about me,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Did he? Sorry about that.”

“Gave me a chuckle,” Charlie said. “Being a ‘person of interest’ at my age. Anyhoo, one of the guys who runs the shelter has a police scanner. Naturally, we tuned in after that. Dispatch mentioned this address, and being a busybody and all, I thought I’d stop by and check on you for myself. I can’t help thinking some of this is my fault.”

“Your fault?”

“I’m being followed,” Charlie said bluntly. “Least, I’m pretty sure I am. Started the day I met up with Sergeant Warren and Detective Dodge in Mattapan. Wasn’t sure at first. Just kept getting a kind of hinky feeling between my shoulder blades. I think maybe I was being followed again the night I ran into you. And I think the same person who is following me knows something about the mass grave. And maybe something about you.”

“Why something about me?”

“Because you’re the key to that grave, aren’t you, Annabelle? I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but everything that’s going on, it’s all about you.”

My neighbor picked that moment to jog up the stairs, four plastic grocery bags in hand. He gave us a brief nod—what was there to notice, a young woman, an old man, a blissed-out dog—and headed up the central stairs.

Charlie’s eyes tracked the man’s movements, though his fingers never stopped caressing Bella’s ears.

“You know something about Mattapan,” I told Charlie, a statement now, no longer a question.

Very slowly, he nodded.

“Something you haven’t told the police.”

Another slow, thoughtful nod.

“Why are you here, Mr. Marvin? Why are you stalking me?”

“I want to know,” he said quietly. “I want to know everything. Not just about him, but about
you,
Annabelle.”

“Tell me,” I demanded suddenly, a foolish mistake.

Charlie Marvin smiled. “All right. But seeing as we’re now friends, you have to invite me into your apartment.”

“And if I say no?”

“You’ll say yes, Annabelle. You have to, if you want to learn the truth.”

He had me and we both knew it. Curiosity killed the cat, I reminded myself. But the truth was too powerful a lure. Slowly, but surely, I nodded my agreement.

I
MADE HIM
go up the stairs first. Seemed slightly less stupid that way. Kept him in my line of sight. I had the suitcases to carry, I told him. If he followed me, I’d probably whack him with one of them accidentally. He had no idea how clumsy I was, I said.

Charlie accepted my explanation with his cheerful smile. Understanding completely. Not at all challenging.

The long hike up five flights of stairs—lugging suitcases, no less, gave me plenty of time to curse myself. Why had I forgotten the Taser? And how in the world did I end up with a dog who was such a rotten judge of character?

Because I was pretty sure Charlie Marvin was a threat. I just wasn’t sure how.

In the good-news department, I had fitness and youth on my side. By the time we hit the fifth-floor landing, Mr. Marvin was breathing hard and holding his side.

He stood back. I worked the first lock on my door. Second. Third.

“Cautious girl,” he commented.

“You never know.”

My door opened. Once again, I let him do the honors of going first. Then I propped open my door with the giant suitcase.

“In a building structured like this one,” he commented, “seems like our every word might echo down the staircase.”

“Oh, they will,” I assured him. “Screams, too. And we know at least one of my neighbors is home.”

He smiled more ruefully this time. “I spooked you that bad?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you want to say, Mr. Marvin?”

“I’m not the real threat,” he said quietly. I thought he looked a trifle grieved, even sad.

“Mr. Marvin—”

“He is,” Charlie said, and pointed behind me.

B
OBBY WAS WALKING
. Very fast. D.D. was talking. Very angrily.

“You didn’t run a background check on Charlie Marvin?”

“We checked on him. Sinkus followed up on the man just this morning. He does volunteer at the Pine Street Inn. He did have an alibi for last night.”

“Oh yeah, and how do you know the Charlie Marvin volunteering at the Pine Street Inn is the same as our Charlie Marvin?”

“What?”

“You gotta go in person. You gotta show a picture. Of all the stupid, rookie mistakes!”

“I didn’t make the call,” Bobby protested again, then gave up the matter. D.D. was too pissed off to listen. She needed someone to grind up and he was the lucky body standing closest. That would teach him.

They’d put out an APB for a man matching Charlie Marvin’s description. Since they had to start with what they knew, officers were converging upon the Pine Street Inn, as well as Columbus Park, Faneuil Hall, and the former site of Boston State Mental, all known Charlie Marvin destinations. With any luck, they’d pick up Marvin within the hour. Before he ever suspected a thing.

“It still doesn’t make sense,” Bobby grumbled as they hustled through the lobby. “Marvin can’t be Uncle Tommy. Too old.”

“My car,” D.D. said, pushing through the heavy glass doors.

“Where’s it parked?”

She told him, he shook his head. “Mine’s closer. Plus, you drive like a girl.”

“That would be Danica Patrick to you,” D.D. muttered, but followed him swiftly toward his Crown Vic. Then, as they were getting in: “Charlie Marvin lied. That’s good enough for me.”

“He doesn’t fit,” Bobby insisted, firing up the engine. “Uncle Tommy would be around fifty. Charlie Marvin looks to have jumped that hurdle at least a decade ago.”

“Maybe he just appears old. That’s what a life of crime will do to you.”

Bobby didn’t answer. Just swung his vehicle out, hit the lights, and headed full steam for the Pine Street Inn.

I
WHIRLED AROUND
toward my open door. Saw nothing. Jerked back around, hands out, feet spread for balance, expecting the counterattack.

Charlie Marvin still stood there, that beatific expression on his face. I thought I was starting to figure it out. Mr. Marvin heard voices when nobody was home. To give credit where credit was due, Bella also seemed to have figured it out. She sat down now, between us in the tiny kitchen, and whined nervously.

“Better late than never,” I told her. Sarcasm is totally lost on dogs.

“You’re very beautiful,” Charlie said.

“Oh, I blush.”

“Too old for my taste, though.”

“And that quickly, the moment is lost.”

“But you’re the key. You’re the one he really wants.”

I stopped breathing again, feeling my mouth go cotton dry. I should do something. Grab a phone. Yell for help. Run back downstairs. But I didn’t move. I didn’t want to move. I honestly, God help me, wanted to hear what Charlie Marvin had to say.

“You knew,” I whispered.

“I found it. One night a few years back. When they first announced they were going to raze the buildings to the ground, I came back for a farewell tour. One last
adios
to a place to which I’d vowed never to return. But then I heard a rustling in the woods. Got curious. I’d swear to God there was someone out there, then
poof,
he’d simply vanished. It was almost enough to make you believe in ghosts. ’Course, I’m not that superstitious.

“Took me another four nights of scouting before I spotted the glow in the ground. I waited beneath the trees. Until I saw the man rise from the earth, bank the lantern, and disappear into the woods. I got a flashlight after that. Returned right before dawn. Found the opening, descended into the chamber. I never would’ve imagined. It took my breath away. The work of a master craftsman. I always knew it couldn’t last.”

“Who did it, Charlie? Who came out of the ground? Who killed those girls?”

He shook his head. “Six girls. Always six girls. No more, no less. I kept checking, kept waiting for something to change. But year after year. Two rows. Three bodies each. The perfect audience. And I never ran into the man again, though Lord knows I tried. I had so many questions for him.”

“Did you kill them? Is it your work that was discovered on the grounds?”

He continued as if I’d never spoken: “Then, of course, I saw the story of the grave’s discovery on the news. Another victim of urban growth. But that’s when it came to me. This would force him into the open, make him want to check on his work one last time. So I started hanging out again, hoping to catch a glimpse. But all I saw was you. And you are a liar.”

For the first time, his voice dropped, grew menacing. I took an instinctive step back.

“Who are you?” I asked him. “Because you’re certainly no minister.”

“Former patient, fellow aficionado of mass graves. Who are you?”

“I’m dead,” I told him bluntly. “I’m the ghost that haunts the grounds. I’m waiting for that monster to return so I can kill him.”

Charlie’s blue eyes narrowed. “Annabelle. Annabelle Granger. Your name was in the paper. From the pit. You really are dead.”

And then, a heartbeat later, his face broke into a smile. “You know, I had my heart set on your blonde sergeant friend,” he said slyly. I saw the wink of the blade in his hand. “But come to think of it, Annabelle dear, you’ll do just fine.”

B
OBBY HASTILY DESCRIBED
Charlie Marvin to the young Latino who greeted them at the Pine Street Inn. Juan Lopez agreed that BPD’s Charlie Marvin was indeed the shelter’s Charlie Marvin. Had been volunteering there for the past ten years, in fact. Score one for the good guys.

Except Mr. Marvin wasn’t currently on the premises. Had taken off about an hour ago. No, Lopez didn’t know where. Mr. Marvin was a volunteer after all. They didn’t track the man. However, Mr. Marvin was known to work the streets, visiting with the homeless. The police might want to try some of the parks.

Bobby assured him they already had officers on the way. Marvin was wanted for immediate questioning.

Lopez seemed doubtful. “Our Charlie Marvin? Bushy white hair, bright blue eyes, always got a grin on his face,
Charlie
Marvin? What’d he do, man? Steal from the rich and give to the poor?”

“It’s official police business. In regard to a murder.”

“No way!”

“Yes way.”

“Well, score one for AARP.”

“Just give us a call if you see him, Mr. Lopez.”

“Okay, but now that you got me thinkin’, I’d head to Mattapan. Check out the grounds of that old mental institute. You know the one they’ve been digging up? Charlie’s been hanging around there day and night ever since…Hey, you don’t really think…”

“Thanks, Mr. Lopez. We’ll be in touch.”

Bobby and D.D. headed toward Mattapan, while Bobby got out his cell phone and dialed Annabelle.

I
ANTICIPATED CHARLIE’S
first reckless lunge, sidestepping on auto-pilot while my brain tried to sort out many things at once. Charlie Marvin was a former patient at Boston State Mental. Charlie Marvin had discovered the pit. Far from being horrified, Charlie Marvin had been impressed.

It would seem Mr. Marvin had a little violence in his past. He certainly knew how to move with a switchblade.

After his first failed lunge, we neatly exchanged places within my tiny kitchenette. Before I got too far in congratulating myself, I realized Charlie’s move had worked perfectly. He was now positioned between me and my open doorway.

He watched my gaze dart past his shoulder to my best hope at escape, and grinned broadly. “Not bad for an old guy,” he offered. “I confess it’s been years, but I think I got some magic left.”