'Let's go.' Before Jessica could grab her coat her phone rang. She answered. It was Ingrid Fanning again.
'Yes, ma'am,' Jessica said. 'Did you remember something else?'
It wasn't something else Ingrid Fanning had remembered. It was something else altogether. Jessica listened for a few moments, a little incredulous, and said, 'We'll be there in ten minutes.' She hung up the phone.
'What's up?' Byrne asked.
Jessica took a moment. She needed it to process what she'd just heard. 'That was Ingrid Fanning,' she said. She gave Byrne a brief recap of her earlier conversation with the woman.
'Does she have something for us?'
'I'm not sure,' Jessica said. 'She seems to think someone has her granddaughter.'
'What do you mean?' Byrne asked. He was on his feet now. 'Who has her granddaughter?'
Jessica took another moment before responding. It wasn't nearly enough time. 'Somebody named Detective Byrne.'
58
Ingrid Fanning was a tough seventy-thin, wiry, vigorous, dangerous in her youth. Her cloud of white hair was tied into a ponytail. She wore a long blue wool skirt and cream cashmere turtleneck. The store was empty. Jessica noticed that the music had changed to Celtic. She also noticed that Ingrid Fanning's hands were shaking.
Jessica, Byrne, and Ingrid stood behind the counter. Beneath the counter was an older model Panasonic VHS machine and a small black- and-white monitor.
'After I called you the first time I began to straighten up a bit behind here, and I noticed that the videotape had stopped,' Ingrid said. 'It's an old machine. It's always doing that. I rewound it some, and I accidentally hit PLAY instead of RECORD. I saw this.'
Ingrid played the tape. When the high-angle image appeared on the screen it showed an empty hallway leading to the back of the store. Unlike most surveillance systems, this was nothing very sophisticated, just an ordinary VHS cassette machine, set on SLP. It probably provided six hours of real-time coverage. There was also audio. The view of the empty hallway was underscored by the faint sounds of traffic passing on South Street, the occasional car horn, the same music Jessica recalled from her visit.
After a minute or so a figure walked up the hallway, peering briefly through a doorway to the right. Jessica immediately recognized the woman as Sa'mantha Fanning.
'That's my granddaughter,' Ingrid said. Her voice was trembling. 'The room on the right is where Jamie was.'
Byrne glanced at Jessica, shrugged. Jamie?
Jessica pointed to the baby in the crib behind the counter. The baby was fine, fast asleep. Byrne nodded.
'She would go out back to smoke a cigarette,' Ingrid continued. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Whatever was coming was not good, Jessica thought. 'She told me she quit, but I knew.'
On the tape, Sa'mantha continued down the hallway to the door at the end. She opened it, allowing a wedge of gray daylight to spill down the corridor. She closed it behind her. The hallway remained empty, silent. The door stayed closed for forty-five seconds or so. It then opened about a foot. Sa'mantha poked her head in, listening. She closed the door once more.
The image remained static for thirty more seconds. Then the camera shook slightly, and changed positions, as if someone had tilted the lens downward. Now all they could see was the bottom half of the door, and the last few feet of the hallway. A few seconds later they heard footsteps, saw a figure. It appeared to be a man, but it was impossible to tell. The viewpoint showed the back of a dark coat from the waist down. They saw him reach into his pocket, retrieve a light colored rope.
An icy hand grabbed Jessica's heart.
Was this their killer?
The man put the rope back into his coat pocket. A few moments later the door opened wide. It appeared that Sa'mantha was checking on her son again. She was a step lower than the level of the store, visible only from the neck down. She appeared startled to see someone standing there. She said something that was garbled on the tape. The man spoke in response.
'Could you play that again?' Jessica asked.
Ingrid Fanning hit REWIND, STOP, PLAY. Byrne turned up the volume on the monitor. On tape, the door opened again. A few moments later the man said, 'My name is Detective Byrne.'
Jessica saw Kevin Byrne's fists clench, his jaw tighten.
Shortly after, the man stepped through the doorway, closed the door behind him. There were twenty or thirty seconds of agonizing silence. Just the sound of the passing traffic and the thump of the music.
Then they heard a scream.
Jessica and Byrne both looked at Ingrid Fanning. 'Is there anything else on the tape?' Jessica asked.
Ingrid shook her head, dabbed at her eyes. 'They never came back in.'
Jessica and Byrne walked down the hallway. Jessica looked at the camera. It was still pointed downward. They opened the door, stepped through. Behind the shop was a small area, perhaps eight by ten feet, bordered by a wooden fence at the back. The fence had a gate that opened onto an alley that cut behind the buildings. Byrne called in a request for officers to begin a canvass of the area. They would dust the camera and the door, but neither detective believed they would find fingerprints belonging to anyone other than an employee of TrueSew.
Jessica tried to construct a scenario in her mind in which Sa'mantha had not been drawn into this madness. She could not.
The killer had visited the store, perhaps looking for a Victorian dress.
The killer knew the name of the detective who was chasing him.
And now he had Sa'mantha Fanning.
59
Anne Lisbeth sits in the boat, wearing her dress-a midnight blue. She has stopped struggling against the ropes.
It is time.
Moon pushes the boat down the tunnel that leads to the main canal-the 0STTUNNELEN, as his grandmother used to call it. He dashes out of the boathouse, past the Elfin Hill, past the Old Church Bell, all the way to the schoolhouse. He loves to watch the boats.
Soon he sees Anne Lisbeth's boat come into view, floating past the Tinder Box, then beneath the Great Belt Bridge. He recalls the days when the boats passed by all day-yellow and red and green and blue.
The Snow Man's house is empty now.
It will soon be occupied.
Moon stands with the rope in his hands. He waits at the end of the last canal, by the little schoolhouse, surveying the village. So much to do, so many repairs to make. He wishes his grandfather were there. He recalls those cold mornings, the smell of the old wooden toolbox, the damp sawdust, the way his grandfather would hum 'I Danmark er jeg fodt,' the glorious aroma of his pipe.
Anne Lisbeth will now take her place on the river, and they all will come. Soon. But not before the last two stories. First, Moon will bring the Snow Man. Then he will meet his princess.
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