I raised my Glock and went to the house's back door. I wanted to get a warning to Rachel but there was no way to do it without revealing my own position and possibly compromising hers. I just had to keep moving, going further into the darkness of this place until I came across her or Backus.

The door was locked. I decided I would go around, catch up to Rachel from the front. But as I turned, my eyes fell back on the body and I was struck with a possibility. I moved to the couch and patted down the old man's pants. And I was rewarded. I heard the jingle of keys.

Rachel was surrounded. Stacks and stacks of books lined every wall in the front hallway. She stood there, gun in one hand and flashlight in the other, and looked into the living room to her right. More books-Shelves lined every wall and every shelf was rilled to capacity. Books stacked on the coffee table and the end tables and every horizontal surface. Somehow it made the place seem haunted. It was not a place of life but a place of doom and gloom where bookworms ate through the words of all the authors.

She tried to keep moving without dwelling on her rising fears. She wavered and thought about turning back to the door and leaving before she was discovered. But then she heard the voices and knew she must press on.

"Where is Charles?"

"I said sit down.'"

The words came to her from an unknown direction. The pounding of the rain outside, the rage of the nearby river, and the books stacked everywhere combined to obliquely camouflage the origin of sounds. She heard the voices but could not tell where they came from.

More sounds and voices came to her. Murmurs mostly and every few moments a recognizable word, sculpted in anger or fear.

"You thought…"

She bent down and left the flashlight on the floor. She had not used it yet and couldn't risk it now. She moved into the deeper gloom of the hallway. She had already checked the front rooms and knew the voices were coming from somewhere further into the house.

The hallway led to a foyer from which doors opened in three different directions. As she got there she heard the voices of two men and thought for sure that they came from somewhere to the right.

"Write it!"

"I can't see!"

Then a popping sound. A ripping sound. Curtains being pulled off a window. "There, you see now? Write it or I'll end it right now!"

"All right! All right!"

"Exactly as I say it Once upon a midnight dreary…"

She knew what it was. She recognized the words of Edgar Allan Poe. And she knew it was Backus, though the voice was different. He was using the poetry again, re-creating the crime taken from him so long ago. Bosch had been right.

She moved into the room to the right and found it empty. A billiard table stood in the middle of the room, every inch of its surface taken up by stacks of more books. She understood what Backus had done. He had lured Ed Thomas here because the man who lived here-Charles Turrentine-was a collector. He knew Thomas would come for this collection.

She started to turn in order to retreat, to check the next room off the foyer. But before she had moved more than a few inches she felt the cold muzzle of a gun pressed against her neck.

"Hello, Rachel," Robert Backus said with his surgically changed voice. "What a surprise to see you here."

She froze and in that moment knew that he could not be played in any way, that he knew all the plays and all the angles. She knew she only had one chance. That was Bosch.

"Hello, Bob. It's been a long time."

"Yes, it has. Would you like to leave your weapon here and join me in the library?"

Rachel put her Sig down on one of the stacks on the billiard table.

"I sort of thought the whole place was a library, Bob." Backus didn't respond. She felt him grab the back of her collar, press his gun against her spine and then push her in the direction he wanted her to go. They left the room and went into the next, which was a small room with two high-backed wooden chairs arranged to face a large stone fireplace. There was no fire and Rachel could hear rain dripping down the chimney into the hearth. She saw that it was creating a puddle there. Windows on either side of the fireplace had rain washing down them, turning them translucent.

"We happen to have just enough chairs," Backus said. "Have a seat, won't you?"

He roughly brought her around one of the chairs and pushed her down into it. He made a quick check of her body for other weapons and then stepped back and dropped something onto her lap. Rachel looked into the other chair and saw Ed Thomas. He was still alive. His wrists were held to the arms of the chair by plastic snap-cuffs. Two more cuffs had been joined and then used to hold him by his neck to the back of the chair. He had been gagged with a cloth napkin and his face was overly red with exertion and lack of oxygen.

"Bob, you can stop this," Rachel said. "You've made your point. You don't-"

"Put the cuff around your right wrist and lock it to the chair's arm."

"Bob, please. Let-"

"Doit!"

She wrapped the plastic cuff around the arm of the chair and her wrist. She then pulled the tab through the slide lock. "Tight, but not too tight. I don't want to leave a mark."

When she was done he told her to put her free arm on the other arm of the chair. He then moved in and grabbed the arm to keep it in place while he looped another snap-cuff around it and locked it. He stepped back to admire his work.

"There."

"Bob, we did a lot of good work together. Why are you doing this?"

He looked down at her and smiled.

"I don't know. But let's talk about it later. I have to finish with Detective Thomas. It's been a long time coming for him and me. And just think, Rachel, you get to watch. What a rare opportunity for you."

Backus turned to Thomas. He stepped over and yanked the gag out of his mouth. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a folding knife. He opened it and in one swift movement sliced through the cuff holding Thomas's right arm to the chair.

"Now, where were we, Detective Thomas? Line three, I believe."

"More like the end of the line."

Rachel recognized Bosch's voice from behind her. But when she turned to look for him the chair back was too high.

I held the gun steady, trying to figure out the best way to handle him.

"Harry," Rachel called out calmly. "He's got a gun in his left and a knife in his right. He's right-handed." I steadied my aim and told him to put the weapons down. He complied without hesitation. This gave me pause, as if he was moving too quickly to plan B. Was there another weapon? Another killer in the house?

"Rachel, Ed, you all right?"

"We're fine," Rachel said. "Put him on the ground, Harry. He's got snap-cuffs in his pocket."

"Rachel, where's your gun?"

"In the other room. Put him down on the ground, Harry."

I took a step further into the room but then paused to study Backus. He had changed again. He no longer looked like the man who had called himself Shandy. No beard, no hat over gray hair. His face and head were shaved. He looked completely different,

I took another step but stopped again. I suddenly thought about Terry McCaleb and his wife and his daughter and his stepson. I thought about the shared mission and what had been lost. How many bad men would roam the world free because Terry was taken away? A rage as strong as the river built inside me. I didn't want to put Backus on the ground, cuff him and watch him driven away in a patrol car to a life behind bars of celebrity attention and fascination. I wanted to take from him everything he had taken from my friend and all of the others.

"You killed my friend," I said. "For that you-"

"Harry, don't," Rachel said.

"I'm sorry*" Backus said. "But I've been kind of busy. Who might your friend be?"