'This is Darby McCormick from the Boston Crime Lab.' She spoke loud and clear. 'I'm calling to report an intruder at four-six-two Commonwealth Avenue. I need you to send multiple backup units. Have them cover all of the exits.'
Shoving the phone back inside her pocket, she climbed the remaining steps. She stepped into the hallway, stopped. No movement, no sound. She spoke into the silence.
'Put your hands behind your head and step into the hallway, nice and slow.'
'I have no intention of harming you.'
The deep, male voice had a slight accent – British or Australian, she wasn't sure which. It came from inside the room down the hall.
'Step into the hallway with your hands behind your head,' Darby said.
The door opened and the intruder moved into the square of light, his hands clasped behind his head. The man stepped back, his face covered in shadows. He was tall, well over six feet, and wore a long topcoat and black shoes.
'You're much taller than I expected, Miss McCormick.'
'Do I know you?'
'We haven't officially met.'
'What's your name?'
'I'm not ready to share just yet.'
'How do you know me?'
'You're Boston's Persephone, the queen of the dead. Or is it queen of the damned?'
His topcoat was open. Underneath his suit jacket Darby caught a glimpse of a shoulder holster under his left arm.
'This is what you're going to do,' Darby said. 'With your left hand, I want you to take out your weapon. Make a sudden move and you'll be on a feeding tube for the rest of your life.'
The intruder wore black leather gloves. He slipped a finger inside the handgun's trigger and slowly lifted it out of the holster – a nine-millimetre. He dropped it to the floor.
'Now kick it over to me.'
He did.
'Keep your hands behind your head and kneel down on the floor. Then you're going to lie on your stomach.'
'I hope you're not going to shoot me in the back of the head.'
'Why would you think that?'
'I understand Emma Hale was shot in the back of the head.'
'Why are you interested in Emma Hale?'
'I might be inclined to answer your question if you answer one of mine.'
'You're not in a position to trade.'
'Then I'm afraid I'll have to leave.'
'That's not going to happen.' Darby cocked the trigger and stepped forward. 'Down on the floor. I'm not going to ask you again.'
'I saw you this past weekend at your parents' gravesite. Were you asking your father the beat cop for advice? Or were you seeking inspiration from your mother, the coupon-clipping housewife? I bet it was your mother. She kept a lot of secrets hidden underneath her apron, didn't she?'
Darby heard sirens. A moment later, flashing blue and white lights reflected off the windows and walls.
His hands clasped behind his head, the intruder stepped forward, into the street light shining outside the bedroom door. Darby got a good look at his face and her breath caught.
12
The man's eyes were completely black, devoid of colour. His facial skin was unnaturally pale, stretched tightly across the bone.
'Stay where you are,' Darby said.
The intruder kept walking. Darby backed up into the doorway of the bathroom.
'Emma is fortunate to have someone so dedicated working on her behalf,' the intruder said. 'You could be sitting at your new home in Beacon Hill, and yet here you are searching through the dark for answers. I wonder why that is.'
He stepped into the spare bedroom and gently shut the door as if he was retiring for the night. She heard him click the lock.
Next she heard a rattling sound – the window, he was opening the window. Why? There must be a fire escape.
Darby made her way down the spiral staircase. When she reached the living room, she saw a thin sliver of light near the bottom of the front door. The hallway lights were on. He must have tripped the circuit breaker.
She took the stairs. Marsh was sitting behind the desk, reading a magazine, when he looked up and saw Darby racing down the stairs.
'Where does Emma's fire escape lead?'
'To the alley around the corner,' Marsh said, standing. 'What's going on?'
Darby didn't answer. She was already out the front door, running down the steps and through the heavy snow. Patrol cars were trying to edge their way through the traffic. She ran around the corner, past the ramp for the building's garage. The alley was empty. Snow whipping across her face, she shielded her eyes as she moved down the alley, the SIG out, ready to fire.
When she reached the end of the alley she saw the fire-escape ladder rattling in the wind near a dumpster. Fresh footprints were in the snow under the ladder. Darby followed them as they curved to the right onto Arlington Street.
Cars were stuck in traffic, drivers and passengers gawking at her as she moved into the street, looking through the blowing curtains of snow for the intruder. Darby couldn't see him. The man with the strange eyes was gone. Jimmy Marsh said the electrical box for Emma's penthouse was inside the walk-in closet. Armed with a flashlight borrowed from a patrolman, Darby pulled back the row of dresses and found the main circuit breaker. She flipped the switch. The lights were back.
The closet was long and narrow, packed with seemingly endless rows of clothes and shoes meticulously arranged in professionally crafted organizers made of polished oak. The jewellery boxes were actually four small cabinet drawers lined with red velvet.
In the second drawer Darby discovered an empty space between two stunning diamond necklaces. She flipped to the page in the murder book, found the listing for the contents of the jewellery box. The antique locket and chain was listed between a gold diamond necklace and another necklace with a platinum chain. The necklaces were here; the locket and chain were missing.
Still, she wanted to see the pictures CSU had taken of the jewellery boxes.
Darby called Coop. He was still at the lab. She explained what had happened and what she needed. Coop offered to wait at the lab until someone from ID came to unlock the office and retrieve the pictures. He promised to deliver them to the Hale building.
Tim Bryson didn't answer his phone. Darby left a message about the missing necklace, hung up and then went to work on the spare bedroom where the intruder escaped. The door was locked, so she had to crawl up the fire escape to enter the bedroom. There was no sign of forced entry on the window. She searched around the floor and through the snow for any evidence the intruder might have dropped.
13
