Blind Alley

“No, Aldo was in the shadows back then. Aldo's father, Guido.”

“What was his whole name?”

Trevor hesitated before answering, “Guido Manza.”

Joe swore. “Dammit, you've known Aldo's last name all this time and you've never told the police? Some of those women might be alive now.”

“I didn't know what the bastard was doing until he left Italy and went to England. I thought he was just running from me until I saw the photo in the Times of that woman he killed in Brighton. I made the connection as soon as I saw the resemblance and started backtracking.”

“Why would he run from you?”

He didn't answer. “And what good would a name do Scotland Yard? He was using fake ID and there was no way of using his friends or family to get to him. Aldo was a loner.”

“Descriptions. They could have run photos of him in the newspapers.”

“Aldo wanted to be an actor. He studied costume and makeup in Rome before his father jerked him away to the excavation. That's one of the reasons why he was difficult to trace when he started his killing spree. He's an expert at disguise. He's an expert at quite a few things. He's really brilliant.”

“You're making excuses.”

“No, I'm giving you reasons.” He shrugged. “But you're right. From your point of view I did everything wrong.”

“Because you wanted to catch Aldo yourself,” Jane said.

“Of course. I told you. He has to die.”

The matter-of-factness of the words sent a chill through Jane. He was right, he'd said those words before but in this moment they seemed more real, more frightening. Before she'd been excited, challenged, confident. She didn't feel confident now. She felt shaken, as if her entire world had been sent spinning.

“Why?” Joe asked.

“What?” Trevor's gaze was on Jane's face again. “Oh, because he deserves it. Why else?” He turned away. “She's had enough. Take her back to the cottage. I'll contact you later.”

“I want to know—”

“She's had enough,” Trevor repeated over his shoulder. “You'll get your answers but not until she's able to absorb them.”

“I'm fine,” Jane said. She was being stupid. Get a grip.

“Yes, you are,” Trevor said. “But there's no immediate urgency. You need time to digest what I've told you.”

“You haven't told me anything. This tunnel, where is it?”

He was striding away from them. “Later.”

“Where is it? You tell me now.”

“Don't get upset. I've no intention of keeping secrets. Well, perhaps a few. But that isn't one of them.” He'd already reached the trees. “Herculaneum.”

NINE

Cira.

Dead over two thousand years.

Herculaneum.

“Go lie down.” Eve's worried gaze was on Jane's face. “You're white as a sheet. Maybe Trevor was right to tell us to get you home.”

“Stop fretting. There's nothing wrong with me.” She gave her the ghost of a smile. “And Joe doesn't think he was right.” She glanced at Joe, who'd been on the phone with the department since they'd arrived back at the cottage, giving Christy the info Trevor had divulged about Guido Manza. “He hates delays. He doesn't like to be teased and then have the rug yanked from under him. He likes everything laid out in crystal-clear order.” She made a face. “And you can't say that anything Trevor told us was clear-cut.”

“It was clear enough to upset you.” She paused. “You nearly went into shock when Trevor mentioned that name.” She repeated it slowly, “Cira. And the tunnel was a little too coincid—”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Jane turned quickly away. She had to get out of here. She was holding on to her composure by main force. “Maybe I am a little tired. I'll go rest until it's time to fix dinner.”

“You can't run away from me, Jane. I'll let you delay but not bury whatever is bothering you.”

“I know that.” She headed down the hall. “But it would help if I knew what was bothering me. Right now, I'm all mixed up.”

“You're not alone. Trevor dropped a bomb and then just walked away. It's no wonder Joe's upset.”

“Herculaneum . . .” She frowned. “It's familiar, but where the devil is Herculaneum?”

“Italy,” Eve said. “It was destroyed by the Vesuvius eruption at the same time as Pompeii.”

“Weird.” Jane opened her bedroom door. “I'm sure Trevor won't leave us hanging long. I'll talk to you later.” She leaned back against the door as she closed it behind her. Dear God, her knees felt like spaghetti. She hated to feel this weak.

And there was no reason for it. It could be a coincidence.

Yeah, sure. Cira was such a common name.

Then what other explanation? She was dreaming about a woman who'd been dead two thousand years? She immediately rejected the thought. There was nothing ancient about the thinking processes of the Cira she knew. She'd never even questioned that Cira was not a present-day woman. Every thought, every instinct were ones that Jane understood perfectly.

Too perfectly?

That's right, question every memory and impulse. That was the way to really go around the bend. She didn't even know the story behind the woman Trevor called Cira. Who knows? Maybe she'd picked up some weird vibes from Aldo that filtered into her dreams.

But Aldo hadn't even appeared on her radarscope until weeks after the dreams had started.

So maybe she was psychic after all. She'd heard of long-distance telepathy.

She was really reaching, she thought in disgust. Next she'd be seeing aliens or those little green monkeys Eve had mentioned. There had to be an explanation, and however weird or pragmatic, it just had to be faced and handled, and everything would be okay.

And that was what Cira would have done.

No, that was what she, Jane, would do. Cira was a dream and had nothing to do with reality. She was already beginning to feel better, stronger. All she'd needed was a little time to get over the shock and realize that this was nothing she couldn't control.

She straightened and headed for the bathroom. She wasn't about to curl up in bed and “rest.” She'd wash her face and then she'd hit the computer and see if she could find any historical reference to a Cira in Herculaneum. It was entirely possible she'd run across information, maybe just a line or two that she'd absorbed and then forgotten and later reprocessed in those dreams. If that didn't work, she'd call the reference library downtown and see if they knew anything or could tell her where else to look. Before Trevor had thrown that bombshell she'd accepted those dreams with curiosity and fascination but she couldn't do that any longer. If there was any fragment of reality connected with Cira she had to know about it and how it was connected to her.

Two hours later she sat back and gazed in frustration at her computer. Nothing. And the reference librarians had not been able to access anything about Cira either. Okay, don't wig out. There had to be an answer. She just had to find it.

And the only knowledgeable source on Cira appeared to be Trevor, blast him.

Cira and Aldo.

She tried to quell her impatience. Keep busy. Go cook dinner. She'd always found if you concentrated on doing the little things right, the big things usually fell into place too.

So call me, Trevor, I'm ready for you.