—thebell.

    Herbell. Her special bell.

    Lucyfelt calm, completely at peace. She knew what she had to do, what she mustdo. She walked to the hotel room door, propped it open. Then she entered thecloset, closed the door, sat on the floor.

    Onceinside she smelled apples, pipe smoke, the essence of George Archer, theessence of evil. But this time she was not afraid.

    Asfootsteps passed by the closet - two sets, a few minutes apart - the nightclosed in around her, and Lucy Doucette remembered it all.

    'It'sokay, Eve, ' he said. 'There's been an accident. I will take care ofyou.'

    Heheld out his hand. On it he wore a ring in the shape of a snake. The air wasthick with smoke, the sky darkened from it.

    'What kind of accident?' she asked.

    Mr.Archer opened the door to his car. Lucy got in. 'A plane crash,' he said. 'Abad plane crash.'

    'Where'smy mom?'

    'Shewants me to watch after you. She's going to go help the people where the planecrashed.'

    'Mymom is?'

    'Yes,Eve.'

    Mr.Archer started the car.

    Heled her down the narrow wooden steps, through a small door into a draftyroom with stone walls. The room was lit only with candles. It seemed as thoughthere were hundreds of them. The room smelled like bad perfume and fermentingapples. Even the dust and cobwebs were cold.

    WhenMr. Archer left, and Lucy heard the door at the top of the stairs lock, she sawthat there was another girl sitting there. She was about Lucy's age, eleven orso, but she was wearing a grown-up dress. It was spangly and short, and hadstraps over the shoulders. The girl's face was smeared with make-up. She hadbeen crying for a long time. Her eyes were red and puffy.

    'Whoare you?' Lucy asked.

    Thegirl shivered.

    'I'm... I'm Peggy.'

    'Whyare you here?'

    Thegirl did not answer. Lucy looked at the girl's arms and legs. There were deeppurple bruises on them. Then she looked over and saw a second dress hangingfrom one of the pipes in the ceiling.

    Along time passed. Hours and hours of which Lucy had no mind, no memory.Days of darkness.

    Onthe third day she took a bubble bath. The bathroom was in a small room off thecellar. The walls were a pink enamel. The sink had gold-colored faucets.

    Whenit was dark Mr. Archer came downstairs to get her. He brought her up to thedining room for the first time. The table was set for grown-ups. Wine glassesand more candles. Lucy found herself in her own grown-up dress, and wearinghigh heels that were too big for her. Mr. Archer was dressed up like a man inan old movie. He had on a white bow tie. He walked to the kitchen.

    Lucylooked at the window. She walked across the room, edged it open, slippedthrough.

    'Eve!'Mr. Archer yelled.

    Lucyran. She ran as far and for as long as she could, through endless appleorchards, tripping and falling, scraping her knees and elbows, mushing therotting apples beneath her. She looked over her shoulder, watching for Mr.Archer. She didn't see him. She soon came to a large pipe that emptied into alake, crouched down inside, waited. She didn't know how long she was there.Hours and hours. She must have cried herself to sleep, because the next thingshe knew there was a light in her face.

    'It'sokay,' the man with the flashlight said.

    Butit wasn't. It wasn't okay.

    Theytalked to her for hours, but Lucy didn't say a word. What happened to her waslocked away inside.

    Hermother took her home. Time passed, and the man with the ring in the shape of asnake faded from her mind but took up faceless residence in that nest of fearinside her, flying overhead in the darkness of her dreams.

    Atnight she would hear him humming, she would hear the sound of the car doorslamming, the creak of the old wooden steps, the softness of his voice, she wouldhear—

    Thebell.

    Thebell rang again.

    Itseemed to come from far away, as if it were at the end of that long drainagepipe in which she had crawled. For the briefest of moments she smelled the sewage,felt the dampness of the air. Then it was gone.

    Lucylooked around. It took a while for her to realize where she was. She was in thehotel. Le Jardin. She knew every inch of this place. She looked around the darkcloset, felt overhead.

    How muchtime had passed? She didn't know. She stood, opened the closet door, steppedinto the room. The air had changed, changed in a way you could only know frombeing in a place day after day, knowing its walls, it ceilings, its corners,its very presence.

    Thedoor to the hallway was closed. Lucy looked at her watch. She hadn't been gonelong. She had to get out of this room. Mr. Archer could be back any second.

    Sheturned to leave, but suddenly felt lightheaded. She sat on the edge of the bedfor a moment. Her mind began to clear, but something was wrong. Something feltwet underneath her. She got up, looked at her hands. They were coated inbright, glossy scarlet. She turned around and saw, in the dim light, the formunder the blood- soaked sheets.

    Lucyfelt the contents of her stomach come up inside her throat. She backed away,certain that her heart was going to explode. She could no longer hold it in.She vomited on the floor.

    Thenshe looked at the telephone on the desk. It seemed a mile away. The smell ofher own vomit reached her at the same time as the metallic smell of blood. Shewas going to be sick again.

    Sheran to the bathroom.

Chapter 76

    Jessicawatched the show from the back of the Crystal Room. The speaker at the lecternwas a pathologist from Toledo, formerly with the Ohio Bureau of Investigation.He was talking about a cold case that took place in a suburb of Toledo in 1985,a case involving a woman and her elderly mother who were bludgeoned to deathwith a long piece of steel, believed to be the support beam of a single bedframe.

    Behindthe lecturer, photographs of the crime scene were projected on a screen.

    Jessicawatched the photographs come and go. She realized that the man could have beenfrom Tucson or Toronto or Tallahassee. In some ways it was all the same. Butnot to the families of the victim. And not to the investigators whose task itwas to root out the people responsible for the crime and bring them to justice.She had been at it long enough, and knew enough people in her line of work, toknow that an unsolved crime eats away at your soul until it is either closed orreplaced by a new horror, a new puzzle. And even then it does not disappear,but rather makes room.

    Shethought about Joseph Novak's diary.

    Whatwas his connection? All she could find on Marcato LLC was that it had beenformed nearly fifteen years earlier, and listed as its primary business thepublishing of music. Joseph Novak, by all accounts, had a partner. But no oneat any bank had any record of anyone other than Novak.

    'Detective?'

    Aman's voice. Close. Jessica spun around. It was Frederic Duchesne, the dean ofPrentiss Institute. He had approached without a sound. Not good. She wasdistracted, which meant she was vulnerable. She took a deep breath, tried tofashion a smile.

    'Mr.Duchesne.'

    'I'msorry if I frightened you,' Duchesne said.

    Frightenedwasn't the word, Jessica thought. Provoked would be a better term. 'Not aproblem,' she said, meaning something else. 'What can I do for you, Mr.Duchesne?'