The Mephisto Club

by Tess Gerritsen

  “You—you think we had a relationship?” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “You think I wanted my family to die? My brother was only eleven years old!” She stopped, then repeated in a whisper, “He was only eleven years old.”

  “Maybe you didn’t realize how dangerous it all was,” said Sansone. “Maybe you just joined him in a few incantations, a few harmless rituals. A lot of kids do, you know, out of curiosity. Maybe to show they’re different from everyone else, unique. Maybe to shock their parents. Were your parents shocked?”

  “They didn’t understand him,” she whispered. “They didn’t realize…”

  “And the other girls. Your friends Lori-Ann and Sarah. Did they join in his rituals? When did the game get scary? When did you realize there are powers you don’t ever want to awaken? That’s what happened, isn’t it? Dominic lured you in.”

  “No, that’s not what happened at all.”

  “And then you got scared. You tried to pull away, but it was too late, because their eyes were on you. And on your family. Once you’ve invited the darkness into your life, it’s not so easy to get rid of it. It burrows in, becomes part of you. Just as you become part of it.”

  “I didn’t.” She looked at him. “I wanted no part of it!”

  “Then why do you continue to seek it out?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sansone glanced at Baum, who opened his briefcase and removed a sheaf of papers. “These are reports we compiled on your whereabouts these past years,” said Baum. “Interviews with people you’ve worked with. Museum curators in Florence and Paris. The tour group company in Rome. An antiques dealer in Naples. It seems you impressed them all, Ms. Saul, with your rather arcane expertise. In demonology.” He dropped the interview transcripts on the table. “You know a great deal about the subject.”

  “I’ve taught myself,” she said.

  “Why?” asked Sansone.

  “I wanted to understand him.”

  “Dominic?”

  “Yes.”

  “And do you now?”

  “No. I realize I never will.” She met his gaze. “How can we understand something that’s not even human?”

  He said, quietly, “We can’t, Lily. But we can try our best to defeat him. So help us.”

  “You’re his cousin,” said Baum. “You lived with him that summer. You may know him better than anyone else does.”

  “It’s been twelve years.”

  “And he hasn’t forgotten you,” said Sansone. “That’s why your friends were killed. He was using them to find you.”

  “Then he killed them for nothing,” she said. “They didn’t know where I was. They couldn’t have revealed a thing.”

  “And that may be the only reason you’re still alive,” said Baum.

  “Help us find him,” said Sansone. “Come back to Boston with me.”

  For a long time she sat on the bed, under the gazes of the two men. I have no choice in this. I have to play along.

  She took a deep breath and looked at Sansone. “When do we leave?”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Lily Saul looked like some young druggie who’d been plucked straight off the street. Her eyes were bloodshot and her greasy dark hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. Her blouse had clearly been slept in, and the blue jeans were frayed to within a few washings of disintegration. Or was that just the style with kids these days? Then Jane remembered that this was no kid she was looking at. Lily Saul was twenty-eight years old, certainly a woman, but at the moment she looked far younger and more vulnerable. Sitting in Anthony Sansone’s ornate dining room, her thin frame dwarfed by the massive chair, Lily was painfully out of place and she knew it. Her gaze flicked nervously between Jane and Sansone, as though trying to guess from which direction the assault would come.

  Jane opened a folder and removed the enlarged print copied from the Putnam Academy yearbook. “Can you confirm that this is your cousin, Dominic Saul?” she asked.

  Lily’s gaze dropped to the photo and remained there. It was, in truth, an arresting portrait that stared back at her: a sculpted face with golden hair and blue eyes, a Raphaelite angel.

  “Yes,” said Lily. “That’s my cousin.”

  “This photo is over twelve years old. We don’t have any more recent ones. Do you know where we can find one?”

  “No.”

  “You sound pretty definite.”

  “I’ve had no contact with Dominic. I haven’t seen him in years.”

  “And the last time was?”

  “That summer. He left the week after my father’s funeral. I was staying over at Sarah’s house, and he didn’t even bother to come tell me good-bye. He just wrote me a note and left. Said that his mother had come to pick him up, and they were leaving town immediately.”

  “And you haven’t seen or heard from him since?”

  Lily hesitated. It was just a few beats of a pause, but it made Jane lean forward, suddenly alert. “You have, haven’t you?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Last year, when I was living in Paris, I got a letter from Sarah. She’d received a postcard in the mail that upset her. She forwarded it to me.”

  “Who was the postcard from?”

  “It had no return address, no signature. The postcard was of a painting from the Royal Museum in Brussels. A portrait by Antoine Wiertz. The Angel of Evil.”

  “Was there a message?”

  “No words. Just symbols. Symbols that Sarah and I recognized because we’d seen him cut them into trees that summer.”

  Jane slid a pen and notebook to Lily. “Draw them for me.”

  Lily picked up the pen. She paused for a moment, as though loath to reproduce what she had seen. At last she pressed the pen to paper. What she drew sent a sliver of ice through Jane: three upside-down crosses, and the notation: R17:16.

  “Does that refer to a biblical quotation?” asked Jane.

  “It’s from Revelation.”

  Jane glanced at Sansone. “Can you look it up?”

  “I can recite the quote,” said Lily softly. “‘And the ten horns which thou sawest upon the beast, these shall hate the whore, and shall make her desolate and naked. And shall eat her flesh, and burn her with fire.’”

  “You know it by heart.”

  “Yes.”

  Jane turned to a fresh page and slid the notebook back to Lily. “Could you write it for me?”

  For a moment Lily just stared at the blank page. Then, reluctantly, she began to write. Slowly, as though each word was painful. When at last she handed it to Jane, it was with a relieved sigh.

  Jane looked down at the words, and again felt that sliver of cold pierce her spine.

  And shall eat her flesh, and shall burn her with fire.

  “It looks to me like a warning, a threat,” said Jane.

  “It is. I’m sure it was meant for me.”

  “Then why did Sarah get it?”

  “Because I was too hard to find. I’d moved so many times, to so many cities.”

  “So he sent it to Sarah. And she knew how to find you.” Jane paused. “It was from him, wasn’t it?”

  Lily shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Lily. Who else would it be but Dominic? That’s almost exactly what he carved in that barn twelve years ago. Why is he searching for you? Why’s he threatening you?”

  Lily’s head drooped. She said, softly, “Because I know what he did that summer.”

  “To your family?”

  Lily looked up, her eyes bright with tears. “I couldn’t prove it. But I knew.”

  “How?”

  “My father never would have killed himself! He knew how much I needed him. But no one would listen to me. No one listens to a sixteen-year-old girl!”

  “What happened to that postcard? With the symbols?”

  Her chin lifted. “I burned it. And I left Paris.”

  “Why?”

 
“What would you do if you received a death threat? Sit tight and wait?”

  “You could have called the police. Why didn’t you?”

  “And tell them what? That someone sent me a biblical quotation?”

  “You didn’t even think of reporting it? You knew in your heart that your cousin was a murderer. But you never called the authorities? That’s what I don’t get, Lily. He threatened you. He scared you enough to make you leave Paris. But you didn’t ask for help. You just ran.”

  Lily dropped her gaze. A long silence passed. In another room, a clock ticked loudly.

  Jane glanced at Sansone. He appeared to be just as baffled. She focused again on Lily, who steadfastly refused to meet her gaze. “Okay,” said Jane, “what are you not telling us?”

  Lily didn’t respond.

  Jane was out of patience. “Why the hell won’t you help us catch him?”

  “You can’t catch him,” said Lily.

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s not human.”

  In the long silence that followed, Jane heard the chiming of the clock echo through the rooms. That sliver of a chill that Jane had felt was suddenly an icy blast up her spine.

  Not human. And the horns, which thou sawest upon the beast…

  Sansone leaned close and asked, softly, “Then what is he, Lily?”

  The young woman gave a shudder and wrapped her arms around herself. “I can’t outrun him. He always finds me. He’ll find me here, too.”

  “Okay,” said Jane, her nerves snapping back under control. This interview had swerved so far off the tracks that it made her doubt everything the woman had said earlier. Lily Saul was either lying or delusional, and Sansone was not only lapping up every weird detail, he was actually feeding her delusions with his own. “Enough woo-woo,” said Jane. “I’m not looking for the Devil. I’m looking for a man.”

  “Then you’ll never catch him. And I can’t help you.” Lily looked at Sansone. “I need to use the restroom.”

  “You can’t help us?” said Jane. “Or you won’t?”

  “Look, I’m tired,” Lily snapped. “I just got off the plane, I’m jet-lagged, and I haven’t taken a shower in two days. I’m not answering any more questions.” She walked out of the room.

  “She didn’t tell us a single useful thing,” said Jane.

  Sansone stared at the doorway that Lily had just walked through. “You’re wrong,” he said. “I think she did.”

  “She’s hiding something.” Jane paused. Her cell phone was ringing. “Excuse me,” she muttered, and dug it out of her purse.

  Vince Korsak didn’t bother with a preamble. “You gotta get over here right now,” he snapped. Over the phone, she heard music in the background and noisy conversation. Oh God, she thought, I forgot all about his stupid party.

  “Look, I’m really sorry,” she said. “I’m not going to be able to make it tonight. I’m in the middle of an interview.”

  “But you’re the only one who can handle this!”

  “Vince, I have to go.”

  “They’re your parents. What the hell am I supposed to do with them?”

  Jane paused. “What?”

  “They’re screaming at each other over here.” He paused. “Uhoh. They’ve just gone into the kitchen. I gotta go hide the friggin’ knives.”

  “My dad’s at your party?”

  “He just showed up. I didn’t invite him! He got here right after your mom did, and they’ve been going at it for twenty minutes now. Are you coming? ’Cause if they don’t calm down, I’m gonna have to call nine-one-one.”

  “No! Jesus, don’t do that!” My mom and dad carted off in handcuffs? I’ll never live it down. “Okay, I’ll be right there.” She hung up and looked at Sansone. “I have to leave.”

  He followed her into the front parlor, where she pulled on her coat. “Will you be back tonight?”

  “Right now, she’s not being too cooperative. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

  He nodded. “I’ll keep her safe till then.”

  “Safe?” She gave a snort. “How about you just keep her from running?”

  Outside, the night was cold and clear. Jane crossed the street to her Subaru and was just unlocking it when she heard a car door slam shut. She looked up the street to see Maura walking toward her.

  “What’re you doing in the neighborhood?” Jane asked.

  “I heard he found Lily Saul.”

  “For what it’s worth.”

  “You’ve already interviewed her?”

  “And she’s not giving away anything. This doesn’t bring us one step closer.” Jane glanced down the street as Oliver Stark’s van pulled into a parking place. “What’s going on here tonight?”

  “We’re all here to see Lily Saul.”

  “We? Don’t tell me you’ve actually joined these freaks?”

  “I haven’t joined anything. But my house was marked, Jane, and I want to know why. I want to hear what this woman has to say.” Maura turned and headed toward Sansone’s house.

  “Hey, Doc?” Jane called out.

  “Yes?”

  “Watch yourself around Lily Saul.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s either crazy, or she’s hiding something.” Jane paused. “Or both.”

  Even through Korsak’s closed apartment door, Jane could hear the thump of disco music, like a heartbeat throbbing in the walls. The man was fifty-five years old, he’d had a heart attack, and “Staying Alive” was probably a good choice for his theme song. She knocked, dreading the thought of Korsak in a leisure suit.

  He opened the door, and she stared at his shimmering silk shirt, the armpits damp with circles of sweat. The collar was unbuttoned, the neckline open far enough to reveal a gorilla’s thatch of chest hair. The only thing missing was a gold chain around his fat neck.

  “Thank God,” he sighed.

  “Where are they?”

  “Still in the kitchen.”

  “And still alive, I assume.”

  “They’ve been yelling loud enough. Geez, I can’t believe the language outta your ma’s mouth!”

  Jane stepped through the doorway, into the psychedelic light show of a spinning disco ball. In the gloom, she could see about a dozen listless partygoers standing around nursing drinks or slouched on a sofa as they mechanically dredged potato chips through dip. This was the first time Jane had ever been inside Korsak’s new bachelor apartment and she had to pause, stupefied by the spectacle. She saw a smoked-glass-and-chrome coffee table and a white shag carpet, plus a big-screen TV and stereo speakers so huge you could nail a roof on one of them and call it home. And she saw black leather—lots and lots of black leather. She could almost imagine the testosterone oozing from the walls.

  Then she heard, over the bouncy beat of “Staying Alive,” two voices yelling in the kitchen.

  “You are not staying here, looking like that. What the hell? Do you think you’re seventeen again?”

  “You have no right to tell me what to do, Frank.”

  Jane walked into the kitchen, but her parents didn’t even notice her, their attention was so completely focused on each other. What did Mom do to herself? Jane wondered, staring at Angela’s tight red dress. When did she discover spike heels and green eye shadow?

  “You’re a grandmother, for God’s sake,” said Frank. “How can you go out wearing a getup like that? Look at you!”

  “At least someone’s looking at me. You never did.”

  “Got your boobs practically hanging outta that dress.”

  “I say, if you got it, flaunt it.”

  “What are you trying to prove? Are you and that Detective Korsak—”

  “Vince treats me very well, thank you.”

  “Mom,” said Jane. “Dad?”

  “Vince? So now you call him Vince?”

  “Hey,” said Jane.

  Her parents looked at her.

  “Oh Janie,” said Angela. “You made it after all!”

  “
You knew about this?” said Frank, glaring at his daughter. “You knew your mom was running around?”

  “Ha!” Angela laughed. “Look who’s talking.”

  “You let your mom go out dressed like that?”

  “She’s fifty-seven years old,” said Jane. “Like I’m supposed to measure her hemline?”

  “This is—this is inappropriate!”

  “I’ll tell you what inappropriate is,” said Angela. “It’s you, robbing me of my youth and beauty and tossing me on the garbage heap. It’s you, sticking your dick in some stray ass that just happens to wiggle by.”

  Did my mom just say that?

  “It’s you having the gall to tell me what’s inappropriate! Go on, go back to her. I’m staying right here. For the first time in my life, I’m going to enjoy myself. I’m going to par-tee!” Angela turned and clacked on spike heels out of the kitchen.

  “Angela! You come right back here!”

  “Dad.” Jane grabbed Frank’s arm. “Don’t.”

  “Someone’s gotta stop her before she humiliates herself!”

  “Humiliates you, you mean.”

  Frank shook off his daughter’s hand. “She’s your mother. You should talk some sense into her.”

  “She’s at a party, so what? It’s not like she’s committing a crime.”

  “That dress is a crime. I’m glad I got here before she did something she’d regret.”

  “What are you doing here, anyway? How’d you even know she’d be here?”

  “She told me.”

  “Mom did?”

  “Calls to tell me she’s forgiven me. Says I should go ahead and have my fun, ’cause she’s having fun, too. Going out to a party tonight. Says my leaving was the best thing ever happened to her. I mean, what the hell is going on in her head?”

  What’s going on, thought Jane, is that Mom is having the ultimate revenge. She’s showing him she doesn’t give a damn that he’s gone.

  “And this Korsak guy,” said Frank, “he’s a younger man!”

  “Only by a few years.”

  “You taking her side now?”

  “I’m not taking any sides. I think you two need a time-out. Stay away from each other. Just leave, okay?”

  “I don’t want to leave. Not till I have this out with her.”

  “You really don’t have the right to tell her anything. You know that.”