I watched and listened, making sure the hallways of Mary of the Angels were quiet and no one was coming or going.

I didn't mind the wait. Detective Gould was with me.

I cuddled him. I tasted him in his state of simulated death.

Then I retrieved the gurney from the basement.

It was the perfect way to move deadweight. I only had to drag his limp body onto the stainless steel surface, then pop the release lever, raising him off the floor.

Before leaving, I laid down a confusion trick in the doorway so no one would be able to follow.

I double-checked the hall.

Empty.

My heart was beating madly as I silently wheeled him down the strip of carpet. I pushed the black button and hoped no one else summoned the elevator.

We made it to the basement with no trouble. I quickly pushed Detective Gould through a dimly lit room to the tunnel entrance. I lowered the gurney and removed him, dragging his body through the opening, then following with the collapsed gurney. In the weak glow of a small lantern with Detective Gould lying near my feet, I replaced the bricks.

I'd become fascinated with the tunnels years ago while exploring my house, poking around in the secret rooms. Closed doors had always held a curiosity for me, and a sealed-up wall was an even bigger attraction. A few nights of digging and I'd made a hole big enough to crawl through. That had led to years of off-and-on exploration.

I put Detective Gould back on the gurney. Time to be on our way. I bent close and brushed my lips across his.

So still.

So silent.

Was he breathing?

I laid my cheek against his mouth, and was eventually rewarded with a soft stirring of air.

Why did I like my men so docile? I often asked myself. Helpless and at my mercy?

My answer was always the same. Why would anybody want them any other way? That and the fact that the state of death had always attracted me. A shrink might say it was all those years spent in a house that had once been a morgue. I don't think so. The fascination was something that came from deep inside, from my DNA.

The tunnel was darker than night, and the light cast by the lantern could illuminate only a few yards ahead.

I like the dark. It has always been my friend. Even as a child, when others whimpered and cried for their mothers, I embraced the dark. At night, when I entered a room, I would never reach around the corner for the switch. Why have light when you can have dark?

"There was a waning moon the night I killed her," I told David Gould as I pushed him up an incline. "I coaxed her out of bed and out of the house. We were both wearing white nightgowns. What a pretty picture we must have made as I took her hand and walked with her to the fountain. At first we just sat on the edge with our feet dangling in the water. I said, 'Look at the reflection of the moon on the water.' Then I told her to pick up the image."

I was a little out of breath, my voice ragged.

The detective was heavier than he looked.

We'd reached a junction, which gave me the opportunity to pause. To the left was the cemetery, to the right the house.

"She slipped into the water," I said, continuing with my story. "And when she had the moon in her hand, I pushed her under and held her there until she was still."

In her office, Elise examined the first section of map that Adam Pascal had faxed. He'd been right about the tunnel system going to both Strata Luna's house and the Hartzell, Tate, and Hartzell Funeral Home.

Had Strata Luna drowned her own daughter? Had her other daughter really committed suicide, or had the woman killed her too? Did Strata Luna start her house of prostitution in order to have a handy place to feed, to satisfy, her strange death obsessions while at the same time perpetuating her own mystery?

They would never admit it, but half the cops in Savannah were afraid of her. That fear created a distance, gave her the ability to nurture her sickness.

Elise had enough evidence to justify a search warrant for Strata Luna's house. While Audrey sat at David's desk doing homework, Elise called the judge and put in a request for a warrant. While she was on the phone, the fax machine kicked in.

"Doesn't David live at Mary of the Angels?" Audrey asked when Elise hung up. She was holding another fax from Adam Pascal.

Elise removed her jacket and shoulder holster, checking the weapon. "Yes. Why?"

"I think one of the tunnels goes to his place."

Elise frowned and came closer. "Show me."

Audrey let her feet drop and sat forward, placing her finger on a small black square. "Here."

She was right.

Elise picked up the phone and dialed David's number. She got his voice mail. "Call me when you get this."

She hung up and shrugged into her Kevlar vest, attaching it snugly with Velcro fasteners. When it was secure, she replaced her holster and gun. That was followed by her jacket.

Audrey watched with vague unease. "Where are you going?"

"Serving a search warrant."

"Why are you wearing a bulletproof vest? Will it be dangerous?"

"It's routine, sweetie."

They were supposed to have gone out to eat together. Mother and daughter. "I'm sorry," Elise said, torn between her concern for David and the fact that she was once again putting Audrey last. "You'll have to wait here until I get back."

"That's okay."

Audrey didn't seem nearly as upset as Elise had thought she'd be.

"Here's David's number." Elise jotted it down and tore off the piece of paper. "Try calling him every few minutes. If he answers, tell him about the tunnels." She folded the maps and stuck them in her vest pocket, then retrieved a spare flashlight from the cupboard.

"What if he wants to talk to you?" Audrey asked.

"Tell him I'm bringing Strata Luna in for questioning."

Normally everybody jumped at the chance to conduct a search. But as soon as Elise mentioned Strata Luna's name, her request for assistance was met with mumbled excuses and downcast eyes.

Finally someone stepped forward. "I'll go."

Starsky. He probably realized in another second she would have pointed out who was in charge and ordered him to join her.

His partner flashed him a look of irritation before also agreeing to participate. Two uniformed police officers rounded out the team.

They would take separate vehicles and converge on the house at a predetermined time. The crime scene investigators would arrive later, once the building was secure.

Elise tried to call David again.

Still no answer.

She assigned Starsky and Hutch the task of picking up the warrant, which allowed her the time she needed to stop by David's.

Ten minutes later, she pulled up in front of Mary of the Angels, immediately spotting his black car in the parking lot.

At the door, she rang David's apartment-and wasn't surprised when she got no reply. She rang the apartment manager and introduced herself. He buzzed her in and met her on the third-floor landing, a set of keys in his hand.

"I need to see your ID." He was white, about seventy, with gray hair and gray stubble on his jaw.

Elise pulled out her leather case and flipped it open. He nodded and she tucked it back in her pocket.

Down the hall, to David's apartment.

"I told him he had to be out by tomorrow," the manager said. "Don't know if he killed that woman or not, but everybody in the building's scared. Nobody likes being scared."

Somebody was baking a cake. Elise could smell it.

A small dog was barking.

The manager unlocked the door and stepped back. "I'm not going in there. Last time I unlocked a door for a cop, I found a dead woman. I tell you, I'm tired of this country. I'm tired of living a life of fear." He turned away from the door, arms crossed.

Elise stepped inside and immediately smelled the rotten-egg scent of sulfur.

"David?"

On the floor, she spotted a dusting of something that looked like fine brown powder.

A trick. A spell.

She stepped around the powder to avoid getting it on the soles of her shoes.

A few feet away was David's cell phone.

"Is he dead?" the manager whispered loudly from the hall.

The living room and kitchen were empty.

Elise reached inside her jacket, unsnapped her holster, and pulled out her handgun.

She checked the bathroom. Then the bedroom.

On the foot of the bed was an open suitcase, as if David had been interrupted in the middle of packing. She slipped her weapon back in the leather case.

David's cat, Isobel, appeared from under the bed, meowing pitifully. Elise picked her up.

"Don't allow anyone in the apartment," she said, stepping into the hall and closing the door behind her. "It could be a crime scene."

The manager stared at Isobel.

"Cats and crime scenes don't mix," Elise explained.

He shook his head. "I should never have rented a room to that guy. I knew he looked shifty."

She ignored his complaints. "When did you last see David Gould?"

"Let me see…… This morning, I think. I came up and told him he wasn't going to get his deposit back."

Isobel was purring loudly.

"Early morning? Late?"

"Late. Around eleven as I recall. But don't hold me to that. My memory's bad."

"I need to see the basement."

"Basement?" The shift in conversation clearly puzzled him. "I'd better call the owner-"

"Now!"

"Okay, but I'm not taking responsibility."

Inside the elevator, Elise punched the basement button. From their earlier ride, she knew the elevator was slow; she would have run down the stairs if she hadn't needed a guide.

They hit bottom with a jolt. The door clanged open and they stepped into the basement.

"Where's the oldest part of the building?" Elise asked.

The manager led her through a catacomb maze of stone and damp, crumbling mortar. In the final room she discovered a wall where bricks had been removed, then replaced.

"Here-" She handed the cat to him and began digging at the loose bricks, dislodging several, causing them to tumble at her feet.

She straightened, pulled the two sections of map from her vest, and unfolded them.

It was a poor image, and the basement was dim, but she finally located Mary of the Angels.

She ran her finger along the line indicating the tunnel. From where she stood, she could get almost anywhere if the tunnels weren't blocked. To the Hartzell, Tate, and Hartzell Funeral Home, to Strata Luna's, and to Laurel Grove Cemetery.