“That is so gross.”
“Well, yeah.” Nick reached into the shaft and tugged on the ropes, sending the platform and Alan Brewster halfway down to the next floor, then brought him back up. The squeaking echoed just as it had on the tape. “His time machine.”
Jen came over from Simon’s living corner where she’d been collecting samples. “What about the church?”
“It’s in the basement,” Vito said. “He partitioned part of the basement off to be the crypt. He’s got posters of stained-glass windows down there and everything.”
“So there was no church.” Jen sighed. “That was hours down the drain.”
“Jen, thank you,” Vito said and swallowed. “Thanks to both of you.”
“I’m glad she’s okay.” She cleared her throat. “I found what’s left of Simon’s lubricant. I’ll test it against what we found on Warren’s hands, but I’m sure it’ll match.”
“So what about the paintings?” Nick asked. “I mean, we’ll take them in as evidence, but what will the Vartanians ultimately want done with them?”
“Burn them,” Susannah Vartanian said from the stairs. “We want to destroy them.”
“We connected some dots of our own,” Daniel said, passing his sister on the stairs, then offering his hand to pull her the rest of the way up. “Our mother suspected our father had done some covering up of Simon’s sins, but she never believed he was alive. When Stacy Savard sent that picture to my father, my mother saw it and thought there had been a big mistake in identity, that Simon might not even know we’d thought he was dead. But when she and Dad got here, she started to put things together. The final straw was Dad trying to get information out of the old Russian man at the library.”
“She came to the same conclusion that Sophie did,” Susannah said. “She hired someone to watch my father. She realized he’d found Simon and never intended to tell her. She left us word that she planned to meet Simon to see for herself what had happened all those years ago. Her letter said if she never came back, that we had been right and Simon was as evil as we’d tried to get her to believe.”
“I’m sorry,” Vito said. “It’s too little, too late, and nobody wins.”
“Simon really is dead now. Who knows how much longer he would have gone on killing people.” Daniel looked at the paintings. “I mean, he’d been looking for that spark all his life. He finally found it, and he never would have let it go. He would have kept killing. So today, we all win.” He shook hands with the three of them, a forced smile on his face. “I’m going home and getting back to work. If you’re ever in Atlanta, holler.”
Susannah didn’t smile as she shook their hands. “Thank you. Daniel and I have been waiting for resolution nearly all our lives.”
Jen hesitated, then shrugged. “We found a bear trap, Daniel. We also found a drawing of you, stuck in it.”
Daniel nodded unsteadily. “So that was to have been my end. I’m not surprised.” He took his sister’s arm and started down the stairs.
“Wait,” Vito said. “I need to ask. Where will you bury Simon?”
“We won’t,” Daniel said. “We already decided that burying him will add to his notoriety. We don’t want hordes of serial killer aficionados descending on Dutton.”
Susannah nodded. “So we’re going to donate his body to the medical center in Atlanta. Maybe somebody can learn something useful.”
“Like about the brain of a sociopath?” Jen asked.
Daniel shrugged. “Perhaps. If nothing else, some med student can use him to learn how to save lives. We’re going to catch a ride back with one of the patrol cars, so don’t worry about driving us, Sergeant McFain.”
The Vartanians left. Gathered at the top of the stairs, Vito, Nick, and Jen could watch through the front door as the brother and sister stopped at the gurney that held Simon’s body. Susannah’s shoulders sagged and Daniel put his arm around her.
“This time, he’s really dead,” Vito said quietly. “And I’m glad he is.”
“Ahh, about that.” Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out three videocassettes. “Simon had the cameras on the whole time. You and Daniel did the right things, but…” He put the tapes in Vito’s hand. “You might want to keep these someplace safe.”
Vito started down the steps. “Thanks. Now, I’m going to get a shower, go back to the precinct to do the paperwork for shooting Simon, then buy six dozen roses.”
Jen’s jaw dropped. “Six dozen? Who for?”
“Sophie, Anna, Molly, Tess. And for my mom, because no matter how bad I ever thought she was, Sophie’s mother is a million times worse.”
“That’s only five dozen, Vito,” Jen said.
“The last dozen are for a grave.” He’d drive out to Jersey tomorrow, a week late, but it was the thought. Andrea would have understood that he’d had a busy week.
“Vito,” Nick sighed.
“It’s resolution, Nick,” Vito said. “And closure. But after that, I’m good.”
Sunday, January 21, 1:30
P.M.
“Harry, wake up.” Sophie shook his shoulder. He’d fallen asleep sitting up on the sofa in the little family room outside the cardiac care unit.
With a snap his eyes flew open. “Anna?”
“She’s sleeping. Go home for a while, Harry. You look beat.”
He tugged her down to sit on the arm of the sofa next to him. “So do you.”
“Just a few stitches.” It was more like fourteen stitches, and her side and tongue were sore as hell, but she was so happy to be alive that her words were barely a fib.
Harry rubbed his thumb over a bruise on Sophie’s face. “He hit you.”
“No, he didn’t. I did that diving for the sword. You should have seen me, Harry,” she added lightly. “It was the stuff of Errol Flynn. En garde.” She pretended to lunge.
Harry shuddered. “I’m imagining it just fine. I don’t ever want to see it.”
“Too bad. I understand there’s a tape. Maybe we can watch it together next time you have insomnia.” She grinned at him and he laughed in spite of himself.
“Sophie, you’re incorrigible.”
She sobered. “Go home, Harry. Stop hiding here.”
He sighed. “You don’t understand.”
At her own insistence, Harry had told her what had transpired between him and Freya. Sophie kissed the top of his bald head. “I understand you love me. And I understand you have a wife who you also love except for this one thing. I don’t need Freya to love me, Harry. It would be nice if she did, but if I were the cause of a rift between you two, I’d just die.” She winced. “Bad choice of words. So go home. Be with your family. Sleep in your easy chair, and if I need you, I know where to find you.”
He pressed his lips together. “It’s not right, Sophie. You didn’t do anything to her.”
“No, I didn’t, but I look at it this way: I have a dad and a mom-you and Katherine.”
“That’s not a real family, Sophie.”
She laughed softly. “Harry, my ‘real’ father was my grandmother’s lover and my ‘real’ mother is a thief. I’d rather have you and Katherine as parents any day of the week. Besides, I get to pick my family. How many people can say that?”
He put his arm around her, carefully hugging her to him. “I liked your detective.”
“I like him, too.”
“Maybe you’ll have a new family soon,” he said, wily again.
“Maybe. And I promise you’ll be the first to know.” She leaned close. “If I were you I’d be dusting off that tuxedo. You may need to be walking a girl down the aisle soon.”
Harry swallowed. “I always assumed it would be Alex. I guess now that he’s-”
“Sshh.” Tears sprang to Sophie’s eyes for the first time that day. “Harry, even if Alex were still alive, I still would have asked you. He knew that. I thought you did, too.” She pulled him to his feet and pushed him out the door. “Now go. I’ll stay with Anna a little longer, then I’m going home, too.”