Lucyran. She tried to get her bearings. The river was just a few blocks to herleft. Ahead was Chestnut, Market, Arch, Cherry.

    Cherry.

    Therewas only one place for her to go.

    Lucy stoodin front of Apartment 106, her breath coming in hot, painful waves. She had runnearly six blocks and her sides ached. She tried to calm herself, to catch herbreath. She could hear the sound of a television coming from one of the otherapartments on this floor. Somewhere a dog was barking. She knocked softly, butthere was no response. She tried again. Nothing.

    Shetried the doorknob. It turned in her hand. She pushed open the door, andstepped into Mr. Costa's apartment.

    Theflat was completely empty. This time, even the Dreamweaver booth was gone. Thefloor had been swept, the walls were bare. She could smell the cleaningproducts - Spic 'N Span, Lemon Pledge, Windex, Scrubbing Bubbles.

    Lucymoved slowly through the living room, glanced into the tiny kitchen. The oldappliances remained, but that was it. There was no dinette table, no chairs, nodishes in the sink, no strainer. She turned back to the living room. On theright was a door that she figured led to a bedroom. She stepped lightly, butthe old wooden floor still creaked under her weight. She stopped, waiting forthe light to go on, for Mr. Costa to appear suddenly as he was likely to do.But it didn't happen. Lucy inched open the door to the bedroom. It too wasempty. No furniture, no clothing, no personal items of any kind. There was asingle window overlooking the street. That was it.

    Butit wasn't.

    Therewas something on the wall. A small picture in a frame. Lucy reached over,flipped the light switch, but it didn't work. She crossed the bedroom, pushedthe curtain to the side. A wedge of illumination from the street lights acrossthe road spilled into the room. She took the small picture from the wall,angled it toward the borrowed light. The photograph was old, kind of blurry. Itwas a picture of a little girl, no more than two years old. She sat on a beach.In front of her was a bright red plastic bucket. In her hand was a smallshovel. She squinted at the sunlight. She wore a floppy flowered sun hat.Chubby cheeks, chubby knees.

    Lucyknew the face, the eyes. The last time she had seen those eyes they had beenred with crying.

    Itwas Peggy van Tassel.

    Lucy'shands began to shake. She tried to plug it into everything that had happened inthe past few days and she could not. Then she tried to put the picture in thepocket of her coat but it wouldn't fit.

    Sheknew what she had to do. She would get to the nearest phone and call DetectiveByrne. The longer she waited, the worse it was going to get for her.

    Beforeshe could take a single step, she heard the floorboards creak, felt the warmbreath on her neck. Someone stood right behind her.

    'Police,'the man said. 'Get down on the floor and put your hands behind your back. Do itnow.'

    Lucyfelt her legs go soft. The photograph slipped from her grasp. It crashed to thefloor.

    'Now,'he repeated.

    Lucygot down on the floor, next to the shattered glass, put her hands behind herback. She felt the man take her arms by the wrists, then slip a plastic bandaround them, tighten it.

    Heleft her there like that for a full minute. She dared not turn to look at him.She heard him pace around the room. Then he spoke.

    'Canyou hear them?' he asked softly.

    Lucydidn't know what he was talking about. She tried to listen hard, to figure outwhat he meant, but there was only the roar of terror in her head.

    'Thedead are all over the city,' the man continued. 'Tonight it belongs to them. Italways has.'

    A fewmoments later the man shone a flashlight on the broken photograph on the floor,spotlighting the little girl's face. He held it there for a long time.

    'Youcould have saved her,' the man said. 'You could have saved her and you didnothing.'

    Lucy'smind began to spin. This man was not the police.

    Shewas pulled roughly to her feet. She felt the man's breath right near her ear.

    'You'reas guilty as George Archer.'

Chapter 81

    TheSt Demetrios Orthodox Church was a long rectangular building with a singlecupola. Behind it was a graveyard, a small neighborhood cemetery, easily ahundred years old. There was a waist-high brick wall surrounding the courtyard,which was accessible by a double wrought-iron gate. In the light thrown fromthe headlights of the sector cars and departmental sedans, the headstones castlong shadows over the grounds, as well as onto the walls of the row homes oneither side. The flashing lights projected images nearly ten feet tall, giantspecters overseeing the dead.

    AsJessica approached the scene, Nicci Malone came jogging up to her side. Niccipointed to a young couple standing near one of the sector cars. They lookedterribly frightened.

    'Thesetwo were walking up the street about a half-hour ago. They said they were notreally paying attention but when they got here to the edge of the block theysaw someone walking in the shadows to the center of the cemetery. They said itwas a man carrying something heavy over his shoulders.'

    'Didthey get a good look at the guy?' Jessica asked. Nicci shook her head. 'Toodark on that side. But they still watched what he was doing. They said hedropped the parcel to the ground, unwrapped it. When they saw that it was abody, they froze. Then they saw the man position the leg, propping it up on oneof the low headstones.'

    Jessicaknew what came next. She remained silent.

    'Then,according to our witnesses, the man jumped high into the air and came down onthe leg. The woman said she heard the sound of the breaking bone all the way onthe other side of the cemetery.'

    Anews helicopter roared overhead. Jessica wondered what this grotesque displaymight look like from above.

    'Whatabout the vehicle? Did they get a look?'

    AgainNicci shook her head. 'They were both pretty much over the edge at this point.We were lucky they had the wherewithal to call us.'

    Jessicaglanced at the street corners. She did not see any police cameras. This was nota high-crime or high-drug-traffic area. She looked at the walls of the stonechurch. She did not see any surveillance cameras there, either.

    Whenshe stepped into the gated graveyard, Jessica saw the corpse, the now-familiarsignature. The body was nude, a white middle-aged male, shaved clean. There wasa band of paper around his forehead. The left foot rested on the headstone.Jessica crossed over to the plot, aimed her Maglite at the dead body, and sawthe sharp bone protruding from the skin, just above the left knee. She thoughtabout the line from Danse Macabre.

Zig, zig, zig, each one is frisking,

You can hear the cracking of thebones of the dancers.

    ThenJessica leaned in, moved the victim's left leg a few inches, directed the beamof her flashlight at the headstone. At the top she saw:

O THEOS NA TIN ANAPAFSI

    Thename of the person in the grave was Melina Laskaris.

    Sheangled the light to the victim's right hand, which was on the ground, palm up. Onthe ring finger she saw a small tattoo of a donkey. It was the seventh animal,which meant there was one more to go.

    BeforeJessica could stop her - and she didn't really want to stop her - Nicci Malonestepped forward, knelt down, pulled off the bloodied white headband. WhenJessica saw the victim's face, the triangle was complete.