Around four, the receptionist announced a visitor. Landry walked to the lobby and was astonished to see Empyrion Richard, dressed up as usual. They went to a nearby conference room, where the man rested his walking stick against the table and took a seat. Landry sat opposite him.
"There's a lot we need to talk about," Landry said.
"So I hear. I understand your friend Mr. Blair is in a quandary."
"You have a penchant for understatement," Landry snapped. "But that's not what I mean. My questions go far deeper than that. Let's start with who you are."
"I understand the girl you hypnotized died inside my building. What motive would Mr. Blair have to kill her, do you think?"
"I asked you a question, dammit! Who are you? You're damned sure not Empyrion Richard. Who are you, and why are you here?"
"I was in the neighborhood, so to speak. The police finished their investigation, and I wanted to be sure my building was secure."
"Your building? It's not your building. It's administered by a trustee."
"You're correct, of course. A law firm handles my affairs. They have for years."
"Empyrion Richard lived more than a hundred years ago, and there are no other people by that name. That makes you an impostor. What is it you're after?"
The man stood and adjusted his suit jacket. He took his walking stick and said, "I apologize for bothering you, Mr. Drake. I thought perhaps I might be of help. You want to conduct another hypnosis in my building, and I came to discuss your request. But it appears I have offended you, so now I shall take my leave."
"Wait. Wait a minute," Landry sputtered. "You...how do you know I want to do another session?"
"It's true, isn't it? And wouldn't my permission help you accomplish your goal?"
"You can't give me permission. The trustee turned me down."
Empyrion put on his hat. "All right, then. It's been a pleasure speaking with you again. I apologize for my lack of hospitality at my house the other afternoon. I'm afraid your unannounced visit caught me off guard, and I was disrespectful." He turned toward the door.
"Please stay," Landry said, knowing he had to play along with this to find out more. The man took his seat again and flashed that infernal smile.
"Yes, I want to do another session, but are you really Empyrion Richard? My boss won't let us do this if I can’t get permission from the person authorized to give it."
"Who better to grant your request than he who owns the building?"
"The owner is a trust."
Richard looked at him and shook his head as if he was weary from beating a dead horse. "The owner is a trust. On the deed is the signature of Empyrion Richard, the trustee. There is a successor trustee now, but I swear that sitting before you is Empyrion Richard."
But if there was only one Empyrion Richard, was he saying —
"One and the same?"
"The one who can give you the permission you require, Mr. Drake. Now tell me about the girl's murder. It was distressing to learn such an unfortunate event happened in the building after all these years."
"You mean since the other murders? The ones back in 1832 and 1837?"
Empyrion replied without emotion. "I asked you to tell me about her murder."
In uncertain waters, Landry had to keep things moving in a positive direction to learn more. He talked about what had transpired since he first visited the building.
He said, "It's tragic about Tiffany's death, but Jack Blair had nothing to do with it. I hope to prove his innocence. I believe that your building really is haunted. Stories about it have circulated for years, but now we're finding out for ourselves that they're true. Some horrible things happened there a long time ago. You know what I'm referring to. Prosperine LaPiere killed at least four people there. You were present for Tiffany's hypnosis. She regressed to become Caprice, a house servant who witnessed Prosperine's crimes. It's Jack's contention that Prosperine killed her too."
The black man winced almost imperceptibly. "It's true I have a haunted building. If a ghost or two were its only issue, it wouldn't matter, as you say. But this recent murder raises one's eyebrows."
Landry pushed back. "Even more so when you consider the killer died — let's see, what was the date on her gravestone? Oh yes, I remember. She died in 1865."
Richard smiled just a fraction. "Is it your professional opinion that a woman who died in the eighteenth century committed a murder in the twenty-first, Mr. Drake? Isn't that a bit of bizarre thinking, even for a man in your profession?"
"Here's what happened that night. Jack called me when he found Tiffany. Cate and I were at the scene before the police. Jack says he walked into your building in a trance and saw Prosperine and Tiffany — who in his trance was Caprice — on the balcony. Prosperine called him Lucas and blamed him for forcing her to commit the other murders. Then she threw Caprice over the railing. When Jack ran down to help the girl, the trance ended. It was Tiffany and not Caprice who lay dead on the pavement, and there was no balcony. It was there during her hypnosis — you saw it — so you know Jack isn't lying."
"I know nothing of the sort. You told me what he claimed happened, but neither of us knows if he's lying."
Landry sighed. "I want to help him, Mr. Richard, or whoever you are. To do that, there has to be another hypnotic session, and
