Jessicasuddenly felt a paralyzing wave of sadness. She fought it.

    'CanI have this?' she asked Carlos.

    Carlosnodded.

    'Standup tall - let me look at you.'

    Carlosstood at attention. His hair was combed, his face scrubbed. His sweater andpants looked new.

    'Thisis a beautiful sweater,' Jessica said.

    Carlosgiggled, looked down, toyed with a button, perhaps thought better of messingwith it. He was two. He knew his limitations.

    'Wheredid you get your new clothes?'

    Carlosturned toward the table, held out his tiny hand. Jessica walked over, hand inhand with Carlos. He sat down and tucked into a new drawing.

    'Hi,'Jessica said.

    Theyoung woman at the plastic picnic table looked up. 'Hi.'

    Jessicapointed to the drawing in her hand. 'This is pretty good for a two-year-old. Icouldn't draw a straight line then. Still can't.'

    Theyoung woman laughed. 'Join the club.' She looked over at Carlos, smoothed hishair. 'He's such a beautiful boy.'

    'Yes,he is,' Jessica said.

    'I'dkill for those eyelashes.'

    'Areyou a counselor here?'

    'No,no,' the young woman said. 'I just help out. I volunteer one day a week.'

    Jessicanodded. The young woman had about her an air of competence, but also an air ofsadness. Jessica felt the same way about herself sometimes. It was hard to seethe things she saw every day and not be affected. Especially the kids. Jessicaglanced at her watch. Her tour was starting.

    'Itwas nice talking to you,' Jessica said.

    'Samehere.'

    Jessicaextended her hand. 'My name is Jessica, by the way.'

    Theyoung woman stood, shook her hand. 'Lucy,' she replied. 'Lucy Doucette.'

Chapter 47

    WhenJessica got to her car she felt another wave of melancholy. The drawing thatCarlos had given her hit home. It would probably be a long time until thosememories passed from his life. Was it too much for her and Vincent to be takingon?

    Asshe unlocked the car door she turned to see someone approaching. It was MarthaReed, the director of Hosanna House. Martha was in her early fifties, plump butenergetic, with clever blue eyes that missed nothing.

    'Carloslooks well,' Jessica said. 'He looks ... happy.' It was a stretch, but Jessicacouldn't think of anything else to say.

    'He'sadjusting,' Martha replied. Martha Reed had seen a lot of children in her time.

    Thewoman then rummaged in her bag, took out her BlackBerry. She tapped around, gotto her calendar. 'Can you and your husband be here today at around eleven?'

    Jessica'sheart thundered. They were getting their adoption interview. She'd known thismoment was coming, but now that it was here she wondered how she was going tohandle it. 'Oh yeah. We'll be here.'

    Marthalooked around conspiratorially. She lowered her voice. 'Between you and me, itlooks really good. I'm not supposed to say that, but it looks good.'

    Jessicadrove out of the Hosanna House parking lot on a cloud. Before she could turnonto Second Street her cellphone rang in her hand. It was Dana Westbrook.

    'Morning,boss. What's going on?'

    'Ijust got the report on the Joseph Novak surveillance.'

    'Okay.'

    'Wehad a detective from West on him all night. Experienced guy, used to be inanti-gang, and did some task-force work with DEA. He sat on the apartment hiswhole tour. He said that from the time he came on until six this morning, therewere no lights on in the place, no activity. About eight o'clock this morninghe put on a Philadelphia Water Department jacket, grabbed a clipboard, got thesuper to let him in, and knocked on Novak's door. He got no answer, so he wentaround back, climbed the fire escape, looked in the window.'

    'WasNovak home?'

    'Hewas,' Westbrook said. 'He was sitting at his desk. It looks like, after he leftthe Roundhouse yesterday, he went home, shredded all of his sheet music andnews clippings, and somewhere between six o'clock last night and eight o'clockthis morning put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.'

Chapter 48

    Theamount of blood was staggering.

    Jessicastood next to the stacks of crystal CD cases. The clear boxes were sprayed withblood and brain matter. Bits of shattered skull stuck to the valance over thecurtains.

    JosephNovak's body was in the desk chair at an unnatural angle - the force of theblast had twisted his body in two directions. The upper third of his head wasmissing. Not missing, exactly, Jessica thought. It was dispersed aroundthe wall and drapes behind him. The bullet had blasted out the window. Therewere two CSU officers across the street at that moment searching for the slug.

    WasJoseph Novak their killer? He'd seemed unshakeable when he had been in forquestioning, but why had he run the previous day? What did he have to hide?

    Thebody was removed at ten a.m.

    Jessicawatched the CSU officers go through the motions. Now that the body was gone, theapartment-management company would soon contact one of the cleaning crews thatspecialized in crime-scene cleanup, a mini-growth industry during the past tenyears. The world would move on.

    Thedeath had all the earmarks of a suicide, so there was probably not going to bea full-blown investigation. The weapon, a Colt Commander, had still been inJoseph Novak's hand when he was found, his finger curled inside the triggerguard.

    Jessicawould present her report to her boss, who would pass it along to the DA'soffice, who would then make a ruling. Unless there was any compelling evidenceof foul play, this would be ruled a suicide and the homicide division of thePPD would not be involved any further.

    Butthat didn't mean there was not a connection to the serial murders going on inthe city.

    Jessicagot the attention of the two CSU officers who were dusting the doors and tablefor fingerprints.

    'Canyou guys give me a few minutes?'

    Theofficers, always ready for a break, set aside what they were doing, walkedthrough the door into the hallway, closed it.

    Jessicaslipped on gloves, turned the laptop to face the other side of the desk. Thescreen displayed a default screen saver. She touched the space bar, and in asecond the screen came back to life. It was a Word document, with three shortsentences.

Zig, zig, zig.

What a saraband!

They all hold hands and dance in circles . . .

    Jessicawas not familiar with the passage. Was this a suicide note? she wondered. Shescrolled down on the trackpad but there was nothing else. The document was justthe three lines. She glanced at the corner of the window. It had not beensaved.

    Wasthis a work in progress? Was this some sort of message from Joseph Novak, someriddle left behind for friends and family by which they might make some senseof his final, violent act?

    Jessicahad no idea. As much as she would have liked to take the laptop with her, shehad no jurisdiction over it. Not yet, anyway. She would lobby the DAs office toestablish a material-witness status for the late Joseph Novak, and perhaps shewould get a chance to go through it.

    Shelooked around the place. The silence was thick and oppressive.

    Jessicahad to be careful about looking through the contents of the computer. Thehomicide unit had recently received directives from the DA's office aboutneeding court approval for doing anything with a computer that involvedclicking a mouse or touching a keyboard. If there was something on the screento be seen, in plain view, that was one thing. If it involved maximizing aminimized window, launching a program, or visiting a web page located in ahistory on a browser, that was something else.