gestured to a chair on the other side of the desk. Both men sat down.
'Can Charlotta get you anything? Coffee? Tea?'
'I'm fine, thanks.'
Curtin nodded. The door behind Byrne was closed.
'So, what brings you here to visit Ms. Schцnburg, detective?'
'I'm afraid I can't really get into anything too specific, but I will say that she may have information about an open investigation being conducted by the Philadelphia Police Department.'
Curtin looked slightly amused. 'I'm intrigued.'
'How so?'
'Well, as I'm sure you're aware, Ms. Schцnburg no longer lives a public life. She is by no means a recluse, but, as I'm sure you can appreciate, she does not circulate in any of the social circles to which she once belonged.'
'I understand.'
'She has almost constant companionship here, so I'm afraid I don't see how she could possibly be involved in anything that has taken place recently in Philadelphia.'
'That's what I'm here to determine, Mr. Curtin. But I have a few questions before I meet with her.'
'Is she suspected of a crime?'
'No,' Byrne said. 'Absolutely not.'
Curtin stood, walked to the window, looked out. He continued to speak without turning around. 'I must tell you that in the few years she has been out of prison there have been no fewer than a hundred requests for interviews with her. She is still very much the object of fascination not only with people in the world of classical music but also with the basest denizens of the tabloid world.'
'I'm not here to write something for the Enquirer,' Byrne said.
Curtin smiled again. Practiced, mirthless, mechanical. 'I understand. What I'm saying is, all these requests have been presented to Christa-Marie and she has categorically turned them all down.'
'She contacted me, Mr. Curtin.'
Byrne saw Curtin's shoulders tense. It appeared that he had not known this. 'Of course.'
'I need to ask her a few questions, and I want to know what her general mental state is. Is she lucid?'
'Most of the time, yes.'
'I'm not sure what that means.'
'It means that much of the time she is rational and fully functional. She really would not have any problem living on her own, but she chooses to have a full-time psychiatric nurse on the premises.'
Byrne nodded, remained silent.
Curtin walked slowly back to the desk, eased himself into the sumptuous leather chair. He placed his forearms on the desk, leaned forward.
'Christa-Marie has had a hard life, detective. From the outside, one might think she led a life of glamour and privilege and, up until the incident, she did enjoy the many rewards of her talent and success. But after that night, from the interrogations and subsequent allocution, to her eighteen months at Convent Hill, to her incarceration at Muncy, she-'
The words dropped like a Scud missile. 'Excuse me?'
Curtin stopped, looked at Byrne.
'You said Convent Hill?' Byrne asked.
'Yes.'
Convent Hill Mental Health Facility was a massive state-run mental hospital in central Pennsylvania. It had been closed under a cloud of suspicion in the early 1990s after nearly one hundred years of operation.
'When was Christa-Marie at Convent Hill?'
'She was there from the time she was sentenced until it closed in 1992.'
'Why was she sent there?'
'She insisted on it.'
Byrne's mind reeled. 'You're telling me that Christa-Marie insisted on being sent to Convent Hill? It was her choice?'
'Yes. As her attorney I fought against it, of course. But she hired another firm and made it happen.'
'And you say she was there for eighteen months?'
'Yes. From there she went to Muncy.'
Byrne had had no idea that Christa-Marie had spent time at the most notoriously brutal mental-health facility east of Chicago.
While Byrne was absorbing this news a woman walked into the room. She was about forty and wore a smart navy blue suit, white blouse.
'Detective, this is Adele Hancock,' Curtin said. 'She is Christa- Marie's nurse.'
Byrne rose. They shook hands.
Adele Hancock was trim and athletic, had a runner's body, close- cropped gray hair.
'Miss Schцnburg will see you now,' the woman said.
Curtin stood, grabbed his coat, his briefcase. He rounded the desk, handed Byrne a linen business card. 'If there is anything else I can do for you, please do not hesitate to call me.'
'I appreciate your time, sir.'
'And give Liam my best.'
Sure, Byrne thought. At the next curling match.
Benjamin Curtin nodded to Adele Hancock and took his leave.
Byrne was led down a long dark-paneled hallway past a room that held a grand piano. On that night twenty years ago he had not visited this wing of the house.
'Is there anything I should know before I meet with her?' Byrne asked.
'No,' Hancock said. 'But I can tell you that she has not spoken of anything else since your call.'
When they reached the end of the hallway, the woman stopped, gestured to the room at the end. Byrne stepped inside. It was a solarium of sorts, an octagonal room walled by misted glass. There were scores of huge tropical plants. Music lilted from unseen speakers.
Have you found them? The lion and the rooster and the swan?
'Hello, detective.'
Byrne turned to the sound of the voice. And saw Christa-Marie Schцnburg for the first time in twenty years.
Chapter 52
Jessica looked out at the throng of police gathered in the parking lot across from Joseph Novak's apartment. There were now two scenes to process — the murder scene, and the scene where a police detective had been assaulted. Out of the crowd walked Nick Palladino, notebook in hand. He spoke to Dana Westbrook for a few moments. Every so often they glanced over at Jessica. Dino did most of the talking. Westbrook did most of the nodding.
Dino came over when they were done, asked after Jessica's well- being. Jessica told him that she was all right. But she could see by the look on his face that things had just gotten worse.
'What's up?' Jessica asked.
Dino told her.
Jessica discovered that she was mistaken about there being two scenes to process. There were three.
Lucas Anthony Thompson's body had been found dumped in another parking lot, three blocks away. His body was nude, roughly shaved clean, and there was a band of paper around his head. It appeared that he had been strangled. On one of the fingers of his right hand was a small tattoo of an elephant.
It didn't take long to determine the significance of the crime scene.
Lucas Anthony Thompson's body was found in the parking lot where Marcia Kimmelman's body had been found. It fitted the killer's pattern. Another murderer dumped at the scene of his crime.
