She remained in position, trying to make sense of what was going on. She had followed a Maine State Police cruiser from the Portland headquarters to the vicinity of the house, in the hope that Matt would show up. He and Sebastian must have left before the cruiser, so she had been lucky to locate him in this manner. Since Sara didn’t think much of luck, she certainly didn’t want to rely on it again. That meant she had only one course of action-to get off the roof and up close and personal with Matt. She put the binoculars in her rucksack and took out the switchblade. It was time to put the surveillance skills to the test. Maybe there would be a chance to use her other more lethal abilities, too.
The Soul Collector avoided the group of rubber-neckers in the street leading to the burning house and slipped into the cover provided by a line of trees. Even though her eyes moved constantly from side to side, she failed to notice the tall form crouching behind a black Grand Cherokee.
Mary Upson had been given a blanket by a fireman. She still had it round her shoulders in the interview room back at the State Police building. I pushed a cup of coffee toward her.
‘It’ll warm you up,’ I said. The smile I gave was hesitant. She hadn’t yet shown any sign of hostility to me, but she had other things on her mind. ‘Have you any idea where your mother might have gone?’
She kept her eyes off me. ‘I already told the FBI men I didn’t.’
I’d asked for some time alone with her, though I knew Sebastian would be observing us on the other side of the glass.
‘I’m not with the FBI, Mary.’
‘How do I know they’re not listening?’ she demanded, her eyes wide. Suddenly, she wasn’t the smart but naive grade-school teacher who had helped me get out of Maine in the autumn. Then again, she and her mother had been questioned at length after the cathedral debacle-that might have taught her how to stand up for herself.
‘Whisper, if you like.’
She laughed bitterly. ‘Whisper sweet nothings? I’m not an idiot, Matt. I know you’re working with them even though you’re not an agent.’
‘We’re trying to find a killer.’ I was aware the words sounded melodramatic. I needed to personalize things. ‘Your mother’s a suspect.’
‘What? My mother? She’s a retired schoolteacher.’
‘Has she been away from home in the last three weeks?’
She turned away. ‘I’m not gracing that with an answer.’
‘Do you watch the news?’
‘Of course. We’re not hillbillies up here.’
I smiled to pacify her, but got nowhere-she stared at me with undisguised dislike. ‘So you know about the murders in New York, Michigan, Boston and Philadelphia?’
‘Are you seriously suggesting my mother was behind those? You must be out of your mind.’
I knew Nora Jacobsen hadn’t killed those people-for a start, she wasn’t strong enough to have hoisted Jack Notaro to the ceiling in Philadelphia. I wasn’t proud of myself, but pressuring Mary was the only way to find out whether her mother knew where Heinz Rothmann was.
‘Then why did she run? Why did she blow up the house?’
‘I don’t know!’ she screamed. ‘I don’t…’ The words tailed away in a long moan.
‘Look, Mary, there was a knife in the bag she brought back from the Morton place. The technicians will soon know if the blood on it-was human.’
She was weeping silently, her head bowed and her shoulders shaking.
‘There are human remains in the old house.’
The sobs grew louder. This was going nowhere. I leaned forward and took her hands from her face.
‘Just tell me, Mary. Has your mother been away from home?’
She shook her head, her eyes still down. ‘Of…of course not. She…we haven’t got money for traveling.’
‘Okay.’ I lowered her hands to the table and let them go. ‘That’s good.’
She looked up at me hopefully. ‘Is that it? You believe me?’
I nodded. They could verify whatever Nora Jacobsen’s recent movements were said to be easily enough. But she still had a link to Rothmann via the Antichurch, and her behavior suggested she had plenty to hide.
‘You remember you told me about the Antichurch of Lucifer Triumphant and your mother’s involvement with it?’ Mary had done so when we were heading out of Maine. I’d never been sure why.
‘The old cult? She didn’t take that seriously.’ Mary was watching me now, her eyes glistening with tears but unwavering. ‘She hasn’t had anything to do with it for years.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure. After the FBI dragged us over the coals, she told me she wished she’d never got involved. It was in the sixties, when that kind of thing was popular. The people who ran it were hippies. Most of them are in retirement homes now. They had nothing to do with the Nazis who revived the cult recently.’
That had been Nora Jacobsen’s line during questioning. She had apparently been credible enough-until last night.
‘Look, Mary, this is important. It’s likely that Heinz Rothmann is involved in the murders. There’s no telling how many more innocent people may die. We have to find him.’
‘What’s that got to do with my mother?’ She shook her head. ‘You’re crazy, all of you.’
I looked at her until she returned my gaze. ‘Mary, you have to accept that your mother has been hiding things from you. Jesus, she blew up your home-what does that tell you? She’s become a willing fugitive. Where do you think she is?’
‘I don’t know!’ The scream resounded against the hard wood walls.
‘All right.’ I kept my voice low. ‘Is there anywhere else she might have hidden things?’
Mary shook her head, and then wiped her sleeve across her eyes. Even though her face was lined and tear- stained, she was still an attractive woman. I remembered what had happened to us in the motel near West Point. She had taken me to bed and I had almost gone along with it. I caught her eye and saw immediately that she was thinking of that time, too.
‘Matt,’ she said softly. ‘Why are you doing this?’
I felt revulsion at what I was about to hit her with, but there seemed to be no other way. She didn’t deserve to be burdened by the deaths of Karen and…our son-Christ, his name had gone from me already and I couldn’t bring it back, our son…
‘Matt?’
I heard her voice, but I had gone elsewhere, into a silent world of shadowy figures with their arms outstretched. They were begging, not for forgiveness-they weren’t sinners, they were the pure of heart-but to be remembered…
‘What is it, Matt?’
I felt her touch on my hand and I came back to my vacant self.
‘I…I’m sorry…’ Then I took a deep breath and told her about Karen and our son-and about Rothmann’s responsibility for their deaths.
Mary was crying before I finished. She got up and came round the table to take me in her arms. I felt her tears on my forehead, and my own tears running down my cheeks.
The minutes passed and I shook her off gently. She went back to her chair and wiped her eyes again.
‘You…you really think my mother is in contact with him?’
I nodded.
‘I think you’re maybe right. But I don’t know what I can do to help.’
I gave her time, feeling that I’d betrayed her again. She was a good person at heart and I was taking advantage of that.
And then she remembered.
‘Fred Warren,’ she said, looking up at me. ‘I heard her say that name several times recently. She’s begun talking to herself quite a lot, especially when she’s in the kitchen…’ Mary broke off as the loss of the house hit her. ‘In the kitchen,’ she repeated. ‘I even wondered if she’d got herself a man, after all these years. Fred Warren.’ She shook her head. ‘I never heard of him before. Oh, and something else-there was a year as well, she would say it after the name. “Fred Warren 1943.” I suppose it was the year he was born. That would make him sixty-eight. Five
