The Mephisto Club

“It’s our intruder alert,” he said, and rose to his feet. He crossed to a control panel on the wall. “There’s a breach in the garden window.”

“Someone’s in the house?” asked Jane.

Lily said softly, “It’s him.”

Jeremy came into the dining room. “I just checked, Mr. Sansone. The window’s locked.”

“Then maybe it’s just a malfunction.” Sansone looked at the others. “I think it’d be best if you all stayed right here for the moment, while I check the system.”

“No,” said Lily, her gaze darting from doorway to doorway, as though expecting an attacker to suddenly burst through. “I’m not staying. Not in this house.”

“You’ll be perfectly safe. We’ll protect you.”

“And who’s going to protect you?” She looked around the room at Maura, Edwina, and Oliver. “Any of you? You don’t even know what you’re dealing with!”

“Look, everyone just sit tight, okay?” said Jane. “I’ll go outside and take a look around.”

Sansone said, “I’ll come with you.”

Jane paused, on the verge of refusing his offer. Then she thought of Eve Kassovitz, dragged bleeding across the icy walkway, her weapon still strapped to her waist. “All right,” she said to him. “Let’s go.”

They pulled on their coats and stepped outside. Beneath streetlamps, pools of light glistened with ice. It was a frozen world, every surface polished and gleaming like glass. Even if an intruder had walked this way, they’d see no footprints tonight. Her Maglite beam skimmed across pavement hard as diamonds. She and Sansone circled around to the iron gate and stepped through, into the narrow side yard. This was where the killer had brought down Eve Kassovitz. Along this path, he’d dragged her body, the blood from her torn scalp smearing across the granite pavers, freezing in streaks of red.

Jane’s weapon was already out of her holster, the gun an extension of her own body, magically materializing in her grasp. She moved toward the back garden, her light slashing the shadows, the soles of her shoes skating on ice. Her beam swept across winter-shriveled wisps of ivy. She knew Sansone was right behind her, but he moved so silently she had to pause and glance over her shoulder, just to confirm that he was really there, that he was watching her back.

She edged toward the corner of the building and swept her Maglite across the enclosed garden, across the courtyard where, only a few weeks ago, Eve had lain, her muscles stiffening, her blood freezing on the cold stones. Jane saw no movement, no hulking shadows, no demon in a black cape.

“That’s the window?” she asked. She aimed her beam and saw light bounce back in the glass. “The one your system says was breached?”

“Yes.”

She crossed the courtyard for a closer look. “No screen?”

“Jeremy takes them down for the winter.”

“And it’s always kept latched on the inside?”

“Always. Security is of paramount concern to us.”

She ran the light along the sill and spotted the telltale gouge in the wood. Fresh.

“We’ve got a problem here,” she said softly. “Someone tried to force this.”

He stared at the sill. “That wouldn’t have set off the alarm. The only way to do that is to actually open the window.”

“But your butler says it’s locked on the inside.”

“That means…” Sansone stopped. “Jesus.”

“What?”

“He got in and relatched it. He’s already inside the house!” Sansone turned and ran back along the side yard, moving so fast his shoes skidded across the walkway. He almost fell but caught himself and kept ru

“Please get your coats,” he said. “I need you all to leave the house. Jeremy, I’ll help Oliver down the steps, if you could bring the wheelchair.”

“What on earth is going on?” asked Edwina.

“Just do it, okay?” ordered Jane. “Grab your coats and go out the front door.”

It was Jane’s weapon that caught their attention, the fact it was out of her holster and in her hands, a detail that screamed: This isn’t a game; this is serious.

Lily was the first to bolt. She darted from the room, leading the rush into the parlor, the scramble for coats. As everyone spilled out the front door and into the cold, Jane was right behind them, already on her phone and calling for backup. She might be armed, but she wasn’t foolhardy; she had no intention of searching that entire house by herself.

Moments later, the first cruiser appeared, its lights flashing but the siren silent. It skidded to a stop and two patrolmen stepped out.

“I need a perimeter,” ordered Jane. “No one gets out of that building.”

“Who’s inside?”

“We’re about to find out.” She looked up as the headlights of a second cruiser approached. Two more cops arrived on the scene. “You,” she said, and pointed to one of the younger patrolmen. Tonight she wanted fast reflexes and a sharp eye. “Come with me.”

Jane entered the house first, the patrolman right behind her, his weapon drawn. He gave a quick double-take as they stepped into the parlor, as he surveyed the elegant furniture, the oil painting above the hearth. She knew exactly what he was thinking: This is a rich man’s house.

She slid open the hidden panel and gave the closet a quick glance just to confirm it was empty. Then they moved on, through the dining room, through the kitchen, and into a massive library. No time to ogle the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. They were on a monster hunt.

They moved up the staircase, along a curved banister. Eyes gazed down at them from oil portraits. They passed beneath a brooding man, a doe-eyed woman, beneath two cherub-faced girls seated at a harpsichord. At the top of the stairs, they stared down a carpeted hall, past a series of doorways. Jane did not know the layout of this house or what to expect. Even with the patrolman backing her up, even with three other officers stationed right outside the house, her hands were sweating and her heart was pounding its way into her throat. Room by room they moved, sliding open closets, edging through doorways. Four bedrooms, three baths.

They reached a narrow stairway.

Jane halted, staring up at an attic door. Oh man, she thought. I don’t want to go up there.

She grasped the banister and ascended the first step. She heard it creak beneath her weight and knew that anyone upstairs would also hear it, and know she was coming. Behind her, she could hear the patrolman’s breathing accelerate.

He feels it, too. The malevolence.

She climbed up the creaking steps to the door. Her hand was slick against the knob. She glanced at her backup and saw him give a quick, tense nod.

She flung open the door and scrambled through, her flashlight beam sweeping an arc through the darkness, skittering across shadowy forms. She saw the gleam of reflected brass, saw hulking shapes poised to attack.

Then, behind her, the cop finally found the light switch and he flicked it on. Jane blinked in the sudden glare. In an instant, crouching attackers transformed to furniture and lamps and rolled-up carpets. Here was a treasure trove of stored antiques. Sansone was so damn rich, even his cast-off furniture was probably worth a fortune. She moved through the attic, her pulse slowing, her fears melting into relief. No monsters up here.

She holstered her gun and stood in the midst of all those treasures, feeling sheepish. The intruder alert must have been a false alarm. Then what gouged the wood in that windowsill?

The cop’s radio suddenly came to life. “Graffam, what’s your status?”

“Looks like we’re all clear in here.”

“Rizzoli there?”

“Yeah, she’s right here.”

“We got a situation down here.”

Jane shot a questioning look at the cop.

“What’s going on?” he said into the radio.