Although his hair was combed straight back, with a razorlike parting on the right side, Jessica recognized him immediately. It was Will Pedersen. Or the young man who had said he was Will Pedersen. The brick mason they had questioned the morning Kristina Jakos's body was found. The man who had come to the Roundhouse-Jessica's own shop-and told them of the moon paintings.
They'd had him, and he had walked away. Anger twisted Jessica's stomach. She needed to calm herself. "Thank you," she answered.
"Is it cold out there?"
Jessica nodded. "Very."
"Well, you're welcome to stay here as long as you like." He turned to a large Victrola to his right. "Do you like music?"
Jessica had been here before, at the border of such madness. She would play his game, for the moment. "I love music."
Holding the rope tautly in one hand, he turned the crank with the other, lifted the arm, placed it on an old 78 rpm record. A scratchy rendition of a waltz began, performed on a calliope.
"This is 'The Snow Waltz,' " he said. "It is my absolute favorite."
Jessica closed the door. She glanced around the room.
"So, your name isn't Will Pedersen is it?"
"No. I apologize for that. I really don't like to lie."
The idea had needled her for days, but there had been no reason to chase it down. Will Pedersen's hands were too soft for him to be a brick mason.
"Will Pedersen is a name I borrowed from a very famous man," he said. "Lieutenant Vilhelm Pedersen illustrated some of Hans Christian Andersen's books. He was truly a great artist."
Jessica glanced at Nicci. She still couldn't tell if she was breathing. "It was clever of you to use that name," she said.
He smiled broadly. "I had to think quickly! I didn't know you were going to talk to me that day."
"What is your name?"
He thought on this. Jessica noticed that he appeared taller than the last time they had met, broader through the shoulders. She looked into his dark and penetrating eyes.
"I have been known by many names," he finally replied. "Sean, for one. Sean is a variation of John. Just like Hans."
"But what is your real name?" Jessica asked. "That is, if you don't mind me asking."
"I don't mind. My birth name is Marius Damgaard."
"May I call you Marius?"
He waved a hand. "Please call me Moon."
"Moon," Jessica echoed. She shuddered.
"And please put down the gun." Moon pulled the rope tight. "Put it on the floor, and kick it away from you." Jessica looked at the crossbow. The steel arrow was aimed at Nicci's heart.
"Now, please," Moon added.
Jessica lowered her weapon to the floor. She kicked it away.
"I'm sorry about before, at my grandmother's house," he said.
Jessica nodded. Her head throbbed. She had to think. The sound of the calliope made it difficult. "I understand."
Jessica stole another glance at Nicci. No movement.
"When you came to the police station, was that just to taunt us?" Jessica asked.
Moon looked hurt. "No, ma'am. I was simply afraid you would miss it."
"The moon drawing on the wall?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Moon circled the table, smoothing Nicci's gown. Jessica watched his hands. Nicci did not respond to his touch.
"May I ask you a question?" Jessica asked.
"Of course."
Jessica searched for the right tone. "Why? Why have you done all this?"
Moon stopped, his head down. Jessica thought he hadn't heard. Then he looked up, his expression sunny once more.
"To bring the people back, of course. Back to StoryBook River. They're going to tear it all down. Did you know that?"
Jessica found no reason to lie. "Yes."
"You never came here as a child, did you?" he asked.
"No," Jessica said.
"Imagine. This was a magical place where children came. Families came. Memorial Day through Labor Day. Every year, year after year."
As he spoke, Moon slightly loosened his grip on the rope. Jessica glanced at Nicci Malone, saw her chest rise and fall.
If you want to understand magic, you have to believe.
"And who is this?" Jessica gestured toward Nicci. She hoped this man was too far-gone to know she was just playing his game. He was.
"This is Ida," he said. "She will help me bury the flowers."
Although Jessica had read "Little Ida's Flowers" as a child, she could not remember the story's details. "Why are you going to bury the flowers?"
Moon looked vexed for a moment. Jessica was losing him. His fingers caressed the rope. Then he said, slowly, "So that next summer they will bloom more beautifully than ever."
Jessica took a small step to her left. Moon did not notice. "Why do you need the crossbow? I can help you bury the flowers if you like."
"That is kind of you. But in the story, James and Adolphus had crossbows. They could not afford guns."
"I'd like to hear about your grandfather." Jessica edged to her left. Again it went unnoticed. "If you'd like to tell me."
Tears immediately rimmed Moon's eyes. He looked away from Jessica, perhaps in embarrassment. He wiped away the tears, then looked back. "He was a great man. He designed and built StoryBook River with his own hands. All the amusements, all the displays. He was from Denmark, you know, just like Hans Christian Andersen. He was from a small village called Sonder-Oske. Near Aalborg. In fact, this is his father's suit." He gestured to his costume. He stood straighter, as if at attention. "Do you like it?"
"I do. It's very becoming."
The man who called himself Moon smiled. "His name was Frederik. Do you know what that name means?"
"No," Jessica said.
"It means peaceful ruler. That's what my grandfather was. He ruled this peaceful little kingdom."
Jessica glanced past him. There were two windows at the back of the room, one on either side of the stage. Josh Bontrager was working his way around the building to the right. It was her hope that she could distract the man long enough to get him to drop the rope for a moment. She glanced to the window on the right. She didn't see Josh.
"Do you know what Damgaard means?" he asked.
"No." Jessica took another small stride to her left. Moon followed her with his gaze this time, angling himself slightly away from the window.
"In Danish, Damgaard means 'the farmstead by the pond.' "
Jessica needed to keep him talking. "That's pretty," she said. "Have you actually ever been to Denmark?"
Moon's face lit up. He blushed. "Gosh, no. I've only been out of Pennsylvania once."
To get the nightingales, Jessica thought.
"When I was small, StoryBook River was already on hard times, you see," he said. "There were all these other places, big noisy ugly places where families went instead. It was bad for my grandmother." He tightened the rope. "She was a hard woman, but she loved me." He gestured to Nicci Malone. "This was her mother's dress."
"It's lovely."
A shadow by the window.
"When I went to the bad place, after the swans, my grandmother came to see me every weekend. She took the train."
"You mean the swans in Fairmount Park? In 1995?"
"Yes."
Jessica saw the outline of a shoulder in the window. Josh was there.
Moon placed a few more dead flowers in the coffin, gently arranging them. "My grandmother died, you know."
"I read it in the paper. I'm sorry."
"Thank you."
"The tin soldier was close," he said. "He was very close."
In addition to the river killings, the man standing in front of her had burned Walt Brigham to death. Jessica flashed on the immolated corpse in the park.
"He was smart," Moon added. "He would have stopped the story before it was over."
"What about Roland Hannah?" Jessica asked.
Moon raised his eyes slowly to meet hers. His gaze seemed to bore right through her. "The Snow Man? There is much about him you do not know."