As Jessica moved across the great room the music grew louder.
It took her back to the first time she'd heard this piece in Byrne's van, the nocturne by Chopin.
She soon realized it was coming from the music room, but it sounded live, not recorded. It sounded like someone was playing the cello in that room.
'The house is clear, ma'am.'
From across the hall she noticed candlelight illuminating the room, candles she had just put out. As she approached the entrance, peering around the doorway, she saw someone sitting in a chair at the opposite side of the room. It was Christa-Marie. She held the beautiful cello between her legs and was playing the nocturne, her eyes closed.
It made no sense.
Why is she back? Who let her come back?
Jessica drew her weapon, held it at her side, rounded the door- jamb, and saw a second figure standing in the shadow of the short hallway leading to the kitchen.
It was someone she knew very well.
Chapter 100
The figure in the hallway did not move. Christa-Marie continued to play, the notes rising and falling with the sound of the wind outside. As the piece came to a crescendo Jessica stepped fully into the music room.
'Is it now?' the figure in the hallway asked.
Jessica did not know how to answer. Too many things could go awry with the wrong answer.
The figure emerged from the shadows.
Michael Drummond had changed his clothes. He now wore a navy suit with thinner lapels. It was a style that might have been popular with fifteen-year-old boys when Drummond had been a guest, and probably a student, in this house.
There was something bulky in one of his suit-coat pockets. Jessica watched his hands.
'Teacher is mad at me,' Drummond said softly.
Jessica glanced at Christa-Marie. She was lost in the music.
'Is it now?' Drummond asked again.
'No,' Jessica replied. 'It's then, Michael. It's Halloween night, 1990.'
The notion registered on Drummond's face. His features softened in a way that told Jessica that his mind was returning to that night, when all things were possible, when love burned brightly in his heart, not yet tempered by the horror of what was to come.
'Tell me about that night, Michael,' Jessica said. She began to inch closer to him.
'We went to the concert. Joseph and I.'
'Joseph Novak.'
'Yes. When we came back, he was here.'
'Doctor Thorne?'
'Doctor Thorne!' Drummond spat the name like an epithet, glanced into the kitchen, then back. Jessica circled closer.
'What happened?' she asked.
'We argued.'
As Jessica closed the distance by another few inches, she noticed a shadow to her left, right near the entrance to the kitchen, just a few feet from where Michael Drummond stood. She looked over. So did Drummond. Someone was standing there.
'Joseph?' Drummond asked.
But it wasn't Joseph Novak, of course. Somehow, Lucinda Doucette was standing there. Lucinda Doucette from the Hosanna House and Le Jardin.
In one fluid motion Michael Drummond reached for Lucy, pulling her close to him. He now had a straight razor in his hand. He flicked it open.
Jessica leveled her weapon. 'Don't do it, Michael.'
'Zig, zig, zag.'
Everything Jessica had seen in Drummond's face, everything that told her he might be ready to give all this up, was gone. What stood before her now was a feral, calculating killer.
'Let her go.'
Drummond held Lucy even more tightly. Jessica saw the young woman's legs start to sag.
'I have a little more work to do,' Drummond said.
'Not going to happen.'
Drummond brought the razor up in a flash. The gleaming blade was now less than an inch from Lucy's throat. 'Watch.'
'Wait!'
Drummond glanced at the clock. It was 11:51.
'There's no time left,' he said.
'Just put down the razor. Let her go.'
Drummond shook his head. 'Can't do it, detective. There's one note left to play.'
'We'll get you help,' Jessica said. 'It doesn't have to end this way.'
'But it does, don't you see? This must be completed.'
Jessica glanced again at the grandfather clock in the hallway. 'It's not midnight yet. Let her go.'
'Look how many unfinished symphonies there are. Beethoven, Schubert. I am not going to leave a legacy like that.'
Jessica looked at Lucy. The girl was going into shock. Jessica knew she had to keep the man talking.
'Why these people, Michael? Why did you choose them?'
'They got away with murder, Jess. Surely you can understand that. They won't be missed.'
'They had families,' Jessica said. 'Sons, daughters, mothers, fathers. It's not up to us.'
Drummond laughed. 'We can't do it all, you and I. I've watched it for years. Police do their jobs, prosecutors do their jobs. Still people get away with it. Tonight all these people dance with the dead. Eddie Robles, Kenny Beckman, his sow of a wife. So many more.'
'What about George Archer?'
Drummond smiled. 'I'm not guilty on that one, your honor. But believe me, it wasn't for lack of effort. I tracked him for years. Ever since I got out of law school.'
'Who, Michael? Who killed him?'
'Do your job, detective. I did mine.'
Drummond leaned away from Lucy, the razor moving away from her throat momentarily. Jessica sighted down her weapon. She had a shot.
'Then why Lucy?' Jessica asked. 'She's innocent.'
'No, she is not.' On the word not, Drummond pulled Lucy closer. Jessica no longer had a line of sight. 'It's because of her that Peggy van Tassel is dead.'
'I don't understand.'
'Little Lucy could have told the police about George Archer. She didn't, and who knows how many other little girls Archer killed? This little piggy is part of the problem.'
Drummond stopped at the doorway to the kitchen. 'That's far enough, detective. Put your weapon down.'
Jessica did not move. 11:54.
'Do it now.'
'Okay, Michael,' she said. She lowered her Glock to the floor. 'It's down.'
Jessica glanced to her left. Through the doorway she could see the bare feet and rolled-up trousers of a body
