"It still doesn't make sense," Bobby grumbled as they hustled through the lobby "Marvin can't be Uncle Tommy. Too old."

"My car," D.D. said, pushing through the heavy glass doors.

"Where's it parked?"

She told him, he shook his head. "Mine's closer. Plus, you drive like a girl."

"That would be Danica Patrick to you," D.D. muttered, but followed him swiftly toward his Crown Vic. Then, as they were getting in: "Charlie Marvin lied. That's good enough for me."

"He doesn't fit," Bobby insisted, firing up the engine. "Uncle Tommy would be around fifty Charlie Marvin looks to have jumped that hurdle at least a decade ago."

"Maybe he just appears old. That's what a life of crime will do to you."

Bobby didn't answer. Just swung his vehicle out, hit the lights, and headed full steam for the Pine Street Inn.

I WHIRLED AROUND toward my open door. Saw nothing. Jerked back around, hands out, feet spread for balance, expecting the counterattack.

Charlie Marvin still stood there, that beatific expression on his face. I thought I was starting to figure it out. Mr. Marvin heard voices when nobody was home. To give credit where credit was due, Bella also seemed to have figured it out. She sat down now, between us in the tiny kitchen, and whined nervously.

"Better late than never," I told her. Sarcasm is totally lost on dogs.

"You're very beautiful," Charlie said.

"Oh, I blush."

"Too old for my taste, though."

"And that quickly, the moment is lost."

"But you're the key. You're the one he really wants."

I stopped breathing again, feeling my mouth go cotton dry I should do something. Grab a phone. Yell for help. Run back downstairs. But I didn't move. I didn't want to move. I honestly, God help me, wanted to hear what Charlie Marvin had to say.

"You knew," I whispered.

"I found it. One night a few years back. When they first announced they were going to raze the buildings to the ground, I came back for a farewell tour. One last adios to a place to which I'd vowed never to return. But then I heard a rustling in the woods. Got curious. I'd swear to God there was someone out there, then poof, he'd simply vanished. It was almost enough to make you believe in ghosts. 'Course, I'm not that superstitious.

"Took me another four nights of scouting before I spotted the glow in the ground. I waited beneath the trees. Until I saw the man rise from the earth, bank the lantern, and disappear into the woods. I got a flashlight after that. Returned right before dawn. Found the opening, descended into the chamber. I never would've imagined. It took my breath away. The work of a master craftsman. I always knew it couldn't last."

"Who did it, Charlie? Who came out of the ground? Who killed those girls?"

He shook his head. "Six girls. Always six girls. No more, no less. I kept checking, kept waiting for something to change. But year after year. Two rows. Three bodies each. The perfect audience. And I never ran into the man again, though Lord knows I tried. I had so many questions for him."

"Did you kill them? Is it your work that was discovered on the grounds?"

He continued as if I'd never spoken: "Then, of course, I saw the story of the grave's discovery on the news. Another victim of urban growth. But that's when it came to me. This would force him into the open, make him want to check on his work one last time. So I started hanging out again, hoping to catch a glimpse. But all I saw was you. And you are a liar."

For the first time, his voice dropped, grew menacing. I took an instinctive step back.

"Who are you?" I asked him. "Because you're certainly no minister."

"Former patient, fellow aficionado of mass graves. Who are you?"

"I'm dead," I told him bluntly. "I'm the ghost that haunts the grounds. I'm waiting for that monster to return so I can kill him."

Charlie's blue eyes narrowed. 'Annabelle. Annabelle Granger. Your name was in the paper. From the pit. You really are dead."

And then, a heartbeat later, his face broke into a smile. "You know, I had my heart set on your blonde sergeant friend," he said slyly I saw the wink of the blade in his hand. "But come to think of it, Annabelle dear, you'll do just fine."

BOBBY HASTILY DESCRIBED Charlie Marvin to the young Latino who greeted them at the Pine Street Inn. Juan Lopez agreed that BPD's Charlie Marvin was indeed the shelter's Charlie Marvin. Had been volunteering there for the past ten years, in fact. Score one for the good guys.

Except Mr. Marvin wasn't currently on the premises. Had taken off about an hour ago. No, Lopez didn't know where. Mr. Marvin was a volunteer after all. They didn't track the man. However, Mr. Marvin was known to work the streets, visiting with the homeless. The police might want to try some of the parks.

Bobby assured him they already had officers on the way. Marvin was wanted for immediate questioning.

Lopez seemed doubtful. "Our Charlie Marvin? Bushy white hair, bright blue eyes, always got a grin on his face, Charlie Marvin? What'd he do, man? Steal from the rich and give to the poor?"

"It's official police business. In regard to a murder."

"No way!"

"Yes way."

"Well, score one for AARP."

"Just give us a call if you see him, Mr. Lopez."

"Okay, but now that you got me thinkin', I'd head to Mattapan. Check out the grounds of that old mental institute. You know the one they've been digging up? Charlie's been hanging around there day and night ever since… Hey, you don't really think…"

"Thanks, Mr. Lopez. We'll be in touch."

Bobby and D.D. headed toward Mattapan, while Bobby got out his cell phone and dialed Annabelle.

I ANTICIPATED CHARLIE'S first reckless lunge, sidestepping on autopilot while my brain tried to sort out many things at once. Charlie Marvin was a former patient at Boston State Mental. Charlie Marvin had discovered the pit. Far from being horrified, Charlie Marvin had been impressed.

It would seem Mr. Marvin had a little violence in his past. He certainly knew how to move with a switchblade.

After his first failed lunge, we neatly exchanged places within my tiny kitchenette. Before I got too far in congratulating myself, I realized Charlie's move had worked perfectly. He was now positioned between me and my open doorway

He watched my gaze dart past his shoulder to my best hope at escape, and grinned broadly "Not bad for an old guy," he offered. "I confess it's been years, but I think I got some magic left."

Bella backed into my legs. She had her hackles up, was regarding Charlie, a low growl in her throat.

Bark, I wanted to yell at my hyper dog. This would be a good time to make some noise! She, of course, continued to growl in the back of her throat. Which I couldn't really blame her for, because three minutes into my first confrontation with evil, I still couldn't manage a scream.

Fear sometimes paralyzes the vocal cords, my father had said. He really had done his homework.

Charlie stepped forward, I stepped back and bumped into my kitchen counter. The kitchenette allowed precious little room for maneuvering, but I already realized I couldn't let Charlie herd me deeper into my apartment. The open door, the exposed hallway were my best hope for escape.

I found my balance, prepared to take a stand. He was old, a switchblade wasn't as threatening as a gun. I stood a decent chance.

Charlie feinted low to the right.

I prepared to swing into an arcing kick.

Bella leapt up at the last minute.

And I heard my silly, heroic dog yelp as Charlie's blade buried itself in her chest.

PHONE RINGING.

Phone ringing.