'Whoam I speaking to?' Jessica asked.

    'Myname is Robert Cole. I'm trying to reach Kevin Byrne. He gave me this number asa backup.'

    'I'mhis partner, Detective Balzano. Is there something I can help you with?'

    'Ihave that report he wanted.'

    'Thereport?'

    'Hehad me red-ball a DNA test. Cold case.'

    'I'msorry,' Jessica said. 'What agency are you with?'

    Colewent on to tell her that he ran a private, independent lab, and the work he haddone for Byrne was off the record. He also told her that the job was thetwenty-year-old homicide case of Gabriel Thorne.

    'Howmuch of the file do you have?' Jessica asked.

    'Ihave copies of everything.'

    'The crime-scenephotos?'

    'Yes.'

    'Canyou send me the DNA summary and the photos of the crime scene?'

    'Sure,'Cole said. 'I can send the photos now, but it will take a few minutes to scanthe DNA summary. It's on another computer.'

    Jessicagave him her email address. Thirty seconds later the file arrived on heriPhone. Jessica tapped the file, opened it.

    Colehad sent her four photographs. The first photograph was of the hallway in whichshe now stood. The fact that it had been taken twenty years earlier, in theprecise space she now occupied, gave her a chill.

    Thesecond photo was of the kitchen. And it was a horror show. Gabriel Thorne'sbody was supine on the white tile floor, lying next to the kitchen island, apool of blood beneath him, his chest butchered.

    Jessicawalked down the main hall, stopped at the kitchen, turned on the light. Theroom had not changed. Same island, same white tile, same light fixtures. Shescanned the photo and the real room, item by item. They were eerily identical,right down to the color of the kitchen towels on the rack next to the sink.

    Theother two photos were of the floor leading into the pantry, which was just offthe kitchen, and the music room just off the pantry. The music room too wasidentical, except that now the cello in the corner did not have blood on it.

    Accordingto the brief summary attached to the photographs, it was believed thatChrista-Marie Schönburg had stabbed Gabriel

    Thornein the music room, then followed him into the kitchen. When he collapsed, shehad continued to stab him in the chest.

    Jessicatried to imagine the scene that night. She could not. But she knew what she hadto do. If she was leaving shortly, locking the house behind her, she had bettersnuff out the candles in the music room. One by one she blew out the dozen orso candles, the scent of burned paraffin filling her head.

    Whenthe room was dark, lit only by the gas lamps on the deck at the rear of thehouse, she walked back into the hall, checked her watch. Where the hell isJosh? She called him, got his voicemail.

    Jessica'sphone rang again. She answered, but the call began to drop out. She ran downthe hall toward the front door, but was still unable to get a signal. By thetime she made it across the great room, she was able to hear. It was RobertCole.

    'Didyou get the photos?' he asked. 'I did.'

    'I'mhaving some trouble scanning the DNA report. I could keep trying, or I couldjust read it to you. Which do you prefer?'

    'Readit to me.'

    Coleread her the report. As he did, Jessica felt a cold finger run up her spine. Itturned out that, in addition to Gabriel Thorne's and Christa-Marie's blood onthe murder weapon and the floor of the kitchen, there were two other distinct DNAprofiles found.

    Inother words, two other people had been present on the night of the murder.

    Whatdid it mean to the case? What did it mean to Christa-Marie's guilt on thatnight so long ago?

    Jessicafelt gooseflesh break out on her arms as she listened to the rest of thereport.

    Shethanked Cole, hung up, her mind spinning.

    Thischanged everything.

    Shestepped back to the front doors, opened them, fully expecting to see a sectorcar from the Fourteenth District at the gate. There was none. This was strange.The house would not be searched for evidence and cleared for at leasttwenty-four hours, and a police presence was standard procedure.

    Shekeyed her two-way handset, spoke into it. No response.

    Whatis going on?

    Sheclosed the doors, walked back into the main hall.

    Thatwas when Jessica Balzano heard the music.

Chapter 99

    AsJessica moved across the great room the music grew louder.

    Ittook her back to the first time she'd heard this piece in Byrne's van, thenocturne by Chopin.

    Shesoon realized it was coming from the music room, but it sounded live,not recorded. It sounded like someone was playing the cello in that room.

    'Thehouse is clear, ma'am.'

    Fromacross the hall she noticed candlelight illuminating the room, candles she hadjust put out. As she approached the entrance, peering around thedoorway, she saw someone sitting in a chair at the opposite side of the room.It was Christa-Marie. She held the beautiful cello between her legs and wasplaying the nocturne, her eyes closed.

    Itmade no sense.

    Whyis she back? Who let her come back?

    Jessicadrew her weapon, held it at her side, rounded the door- jamb, and saw a second figurestanding in the shadow of the short hallway leading to the kitchen.

    Itwas someone she knew very well.

Chapter 100

    Thefigure in the hallway did not move. Christa-Marie continued to play, the notes risingand falling with the sound of the wind outside. As the piece came to acrescendo Jessica stepped fully into the music room.

    'Isit now?' the figure in the hallway asked.

    Jessicadid not know how to answer. Too many things could go awry with the wronganswer.

    Thefigure emerged from the shadows.

    MichaelDrummond had changed his clothes. He now wore a navy suit with thinner lapels.It was a style that might have been popular with fifteen-year-old boys whenDrummond had been a guest, and probably a student, in this house.

    Therewas something bulky in one of his suit-coat pockets. Jessica watched his hands.

    'Teacheris mad at me,' Drummond said softly.

    Jessicaglanced at Christa-Marie. She was lost in the music.

    'Isit now?' Drummond asked again.

    'No,'Jessica replied. 'It's then, Michael. It's Halloween night, 1990.'

    Thenotion registered on Drummond's face. His features softened in a way that toldJessica that his mind was returning to that night, when all things werepossible, when love burned brightly in his heart, not yet tempered by thehorror of what was to come.

    'Tellme about that night, Michael,' Jessica said. She began to inch closer to him.

    'Wewent to the concert. Joseph and I.'

    'JosephNovak.'

    'Yes.When we came back, he was here.'

    'DoctorThorne?'

    'DoctorThorne!' Drummond spat the name like an epithet, glanced into the kitchen, thenback. Jessica circled closer.

    'Whathappened?' she asked.

    'Weargued.'

    AsJessica closed the distance by another few inches, she noticed a shadow to herleft, right near the entrance to the kitchen, just a few feet from whereMichael Drummond stood. She looked over. So did Drummond. Someone was standingthere.

    'Joseph?'Drummond asked.

    Butit wasn't Joseph Novak, of course. Somehow, Lucinda Doucette was standingthere. Lucinda Doucette from the Hosanna House and Le Jardin.

    Inone fluid motion Michael Drummond reached for Lucy, pulling her close to him.He now had a straight razor in his hand. He flicked it open.