“Take me to this ballroom,” I said, rising out of my chair. “Now.”
Bloomfeld stuttered, “B-B-But I rounded up your suspects-don’t you want to interrogate them?”
I shook my head. “It’s the other one. Abbott. He’s Edgar.”
By the time I made it to the ballroom, I still hadn’t found Patrick, Darcy hadn’t returned, and it was barely ten minutes until midnight. Ten minutes.
Rachel! I wanted to scream out her name, but I knew that wouldn’t help, not in this earsplitting chaos. Please, God, don’t let me be too late. Don’t let me be too late.
Even though the Halloween party had not officially started, the ballroom was packed. I could see where Bloomfeld might’ve had difficulty finding one security cop in this swarm. I might have trouble finding myself in here. At least half the partygoers were in costume, many of them masked. If Edgar was one of them, how would I ever find him?
Think, Susan. Think!
He wouldn’t be out here mingling, would he? He has some tremendous master plan in the works, something wonderful, something terrible. Something involving Rachel. He couldn’t have her out here, whether she was costumed, dead or alive. Could he?
While I was trying to crawl into Edgar’s brain, I saw Chief O’Bannon enter the ballroom. I showed him the photo of Abbott.
“You’re sure it’s him?”
“Damn straight.”
He smiled a little. “Good girl. Knew you could do it.”
He took the left side of the room and I surged into the right. I saw the great façade of the cathedral of Notre Dame at the far end of the ballroom, a focal point for all the festivities. I moved toward it. I’ve never been to Paris, but it looked pretty damn real to me, except that it wasn’t quite finished. There was still some scaffolding, several raised platforms on wheels, off to the side. The ballroom was festooned with confetti and orange and black ribbons and banners. And where was the hunchback? He would emerge later, I guessed, probably from the top of the cathedral, ringing those four huge bells, two on each side of the central spire.
I moved toward the cathedral. It seemed like the place Edgar-Abbott-was most likely to be. And I knew Rachel had seen it before, right? That was the whole point of the clue.
Someone dressed in a jester costume fell into me, tumbling backward. I went for my gun. Jesus, was I on edge. I shoved him out of the way and tried to plow a trail through the dense horde. They were getting increasingly crazed, ebullient, nutty, which I suppose was to be expected as the clock approached midnight. I could smell alcohol breath every which way I turned. It made me sick.
Which was certainly a good sign.
Eventually I forced my way to the back of the room. It was a high-quality cathedral, made of some kind of molded fiberglass, stained to the proper shade of gray. Someone had spent some real money on this. After trying several false apertures, I found a door on the far side that worked.
I stepped into the cathedral, such as it was. It was dark back here, darker than I liked. The cathedral touched the ceiling and, despite the openings for the bells, little light crept through.
This was his place. I knew it, as sure as I’d ever known anything in my life. I could feel it.
I drew my weapon. I’d let IA argue later about whether I had cause or not. Right now, I wanted a gun between me and him.
I stepped into the darkness, marking a path I thought was parallel to the front of the cathedral. The entire area was small, close, silent. And dark. Did I mention that it was dark?
I took baby steps, inching forward, fighting the desire to rush ahead. I wanted to find Rachel. I had to find her before it was too late. But Edgar had proven how dangerous he could be, how smart. I had to be careful. I couldn’t save her if I were dead.
I kept moving forward, one dark step at a time.
Till I saw someone.
At first, I couldn’t make out who it was. His face was masked by shadows. He was sitting on the floor, looking up at me.
“Patrick!”
He was staring with a strange, vacant expression on his face. I holstered my gun and ran toward him. “Patrick!” I said, grabbing his arm. “Patrick! What are you-”
I gasped.
His head fell forward into my lap. Just his head.
I screamed like a siren, like a child at a horror movie, like the weakest sister who ever lived. Blood spilled all over my turtleneck, my pants. The head fell to the floor but didn’t roll. It just impacted with a sickening splat and lay there, staring up at me. It had been sliced clean-by a pendulum? I wondered-at the base of the neck.
My God, my God, Abbott killed Patrick, he killed him, and if he killed Patrick-
An even deeper horror clutched at the base of my spine.
It was so unlike him to be gone so long…
“Darcy!” I turned and ran back the way I came, feeling stupid, feeling powerless, terrified. He’d gotten to Patrick, he’d gotten to Patrick but please not Darcy please please please not Darcy…
That was when the bells began to ring. Did that mean it was midnight? Even with all the noise out front, the ringing of the huge bells was deafening. I was just beneath them, and the unrelenting clanging seemed to crush my skull. It was oppressive and mind-numbing. Why would the hotel want to-
I looked up.
My heart stopped. I couldn’t breathe. My fingers were cold, as if all the life had been sucked out of me.
Rachel!
Because the apertures were recessed, it wouldn’t be visible from out front, but back here I had a clear view of four young girls strung up one to a bell, tied to the clappers, dangling head-down. Swinging back and forth. Their heads smashing against the sides of the bells.
“Rachel!” I shouted, even though I knew she couldn’t possibly hear me. Even if she were alive. If the sound was killing me down here, what must it be doing to them?
“Rachel!”
I forced my brain to calm, slow down-think! There must be something I could do. The bells had to be activated by some sort of mechanism. I needed to find the controls. Maybe I could ask someone. If not, I could climb up on that scaffolding out front…
I raced toward the door. And I had almost made it when a hand burst out of the darkness. It grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against the wall. Before I could react, his other hand took my gun.
“Hello, Susan,” Edgar said, smiling. “Good to see you again.”
36
“Aren’t they magnificent?” His eyes rolled up in his head, even as his hand remained tight around my throat. “ ‘The throbbing of the bells! Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells!’ ”
I tried to speak but couldn’t. His grip was too tight.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed my little tableau. Your friend Patrick tried to spoil it, you know. But I couldn’t allow that. Not when I’m so close.”
He loosened his viselike fingers just enough that I could speak. “Why did you have to kill him?”
“I’m afraid I lacked the time for a more subtle response.”
“Those bells are killing Rachel. And the other girls.”
“Not killing. Translating.”
“Have you hurt her?”
“I haven’t put a mark on her.”
“I said, have you hurt her?”
“Not as much as you have.”
I thought I was going to explode. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Nothing you don’t already know. You’ve damaged that poor girl with your drinking, your temper, your self-indulgent weltschmerz, your flights of martyrdom. She’s felt alone in the world, unwanted. Forgotten by the only family she has.”
“Let me take her down.” The anger had left my voice. I was begging. “Let me save her before it’s too late.”
“You won’t be able to get to her.”
“And why the hell not?”
He removed a small radio transmitter from his jacket pocket and pushed the first button on the keypad. “Because the hotel is on fire.”
The building exploded. That’s what it seemed like. The sound was deafening, utterly drowning those bells, which had been unbearable only moments before. I couldn’t see them, but I could hear the crowd screaming, running, crying. I could imagine the pandemonium that must have descended. And even though I couldn’t hear it anymore, I knew Rachel was still getting her brains splintered by that damn bell.