Pomerleau stepped back and the door swung in. I entered. The air still stank of mothballs and must.
Pomerleau closed and locked the door. She was wearing black jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt.
“Is Tawny all right?” I asked.
Pomerleau rotated with zombie slowness. Behind her the door chain swayed like a pendulum.
“Is ‘D’ all right?” I corrected.
“She’s frightened.” Hoarse whisper.
“May I?” I undid my zipper.
Pomerleau circled me as I removed my parka. When she turned toward the hall, I hung the jacket on the knob and flipped the door latch to open.
Pomerleau led me to the parlor Catts had christened with his brains. I followed.
Catts’s couch was now draped and shoved against the secretary. A single brass lamp cast the room in pale amber.
Tawny McGee was in one of the armchairs, knees up, head down as when I’d seen her in the dungeon. She was covered by the same blanket she’d clutched that day.
“Tawny?”
She didn’t move.
“Tawny?”
The frail body contracted.
I took a step forward, alert for the slightest sign of a third presence. The house was eerily still.
“It’s Dr. Brennan, Tawny.”
McGee flinched, nudging the end table. The lamp crystals wobbled, and tiny yellow points danced on her hair.
Kneeling, I laid a hand on her foot. Her muscles tightened.
“You’re going to be all right.”
She didn’t move.
I reached for her hand. Through the wool, my fingers felt something hard and sinuous.
At that instant, rapid-fire pounding split the silence.
McGee recoiled.
Pomerleau went rigid.
The front door creaked, then a voice carried from the foyer.
“Hello?” Anne called out. “
Pomerleau’s lips drew back. “You lied,” she hissed.
Before I could reply Anne appeared in the hall, cell phone in one hand, car keys in the other.
“What are you doing here?” I snapped to my feet.
“You got a call. I thought you’d want to know.” Anne looked from me to Pomerleau to the catatonic shape cowering under the blanket. “I thought you’d all want to know.”
“It could have waited,” I said, annoyed past politeness.
Knowing she’d make a mistake, Anne pushed on, eager to rectify. “Charbonneau left a message at CUM headquarters.” She held up the phone. “The switchboard phoned your cell.”
I noticed Pomerleau recede into the darkness at the end of the hall.
“Stephen Menard is dead,” Anne continued, her eyes tugging at mine for forgiveness. “He’s been dead for years. Catts killed him.”
A sound rose from the huddled form behind me. Half moan, half whimper.
“I’m sorry,” Anne mumbled. “I thought you’d want to know. I’ll go back to the car.” Anne hurried toward the foyer.
I squatted and placed a hand on McGee’s foot.
McGee’s back rose and rounded. The blanket slipped and her face came up like a pale winter moon.
McGee’s lips were trembling.
“You’re safe, Tawny. You and Anique are both safe.”
McGee bucked a shoulder. The blanket opened at her lap.
A rope coiled her wrists.
The image didn’t compute. A rope. Why a rope? Was it tied?
I heard the front door open.
