The Mephisto Club

body. So did Dr. O’Donnell. When Jeremy found the woman, he came straight into the house to tell us.”
    “And then you and O’Donnell tramped outside like tourists to have a look?”
    “We’re the furthest thing from tourists.”
    “Did you stop to think about the footprints you might have destroyed? The trace evidence you’ve contaminated?”
    “We understood exactly what we were doing. We had to see the crime scene.”
    “Had to?”
    “This house isn’t just my residence. It’s also a meeting place for colleagues from around the world. The fact that violence has struck so close alarms us.”
    “It would alarm anyone to find a dead body in their garden. But most people wouldn’t troop outside with their dinner guest to look at it.”
    “We needed to know if it was merely an act of random violence.”
    “As opposed to what?”
    “A warning, meant specifically for us.” He set down his coffee cup and focused his attention so completely on her that she felt pinned to the silk-upholstered chair. “You did see the chalk symbols on the door? The eye. The three upside-down crosses?”
    “Yes.”
    “I understand there was another slaying, on Christmas Eve. Another woman. Another crime scene with reverse crosses drawn on the bedroom wall.”
    She didn’t need to confirm it; this man had surely read the answer in her face. She could almost feel his gaze probing deep, and seeing too much.
    “We might as well talk about it,” he said. “I already know the pertinent details.”
    “How do you know? Who told you?”
    “People I trust.”
    She gave a disbelieving laugh. “Dr. O’Donnell being one of them?”
    “Whether you like her or not, she is an authority in her field. Look at her body of work on serial murderers. She understands these creatures.”
    “Some would say she identifies with them.”
    “On some level, you’d have to. She’s willing to crawl inside their heads. Examine every crevice.”
    The way Maura herself had felt examined by Sansone’s gaze only moments ago.
    “It takes a monster to know one,” said Maura.
    “You really believe that?”
    “About Joyce O’Donnell, yes. I do believe that.”
    He leaned even closer, and his voice dropped to an intimate murmur. “Could your dislike of Joyce be merely personal?”
    “Personal?”
    “Because she knows so much about you? About your family?”
    Maura stared back, stunned into silence.
    “She told us about Amalthea,” he said.
    “She had no right to.”
    “Your mother’s incarceration is a matter of public record. We all know what Amalthea did.”
    “This is my private life—”
    “Yes, and she’s one of your personal demons. I understand that.”
    “Why the hell is this of any interest to you?”
    “Because
you’re
of interest. You’ve looked evil in the eye. You’ve seen it in your own mother’s face. You know it’s there, in your bloodline. That’s what fascinates me, Dr. Isles—that you come from such violent stock, yet here you are, working on the side of the angels.”
    “I work on the side of science and reason, Mr. Sansone. Angels aren’t involved.”
    “All right, so you don’t believe in angels. But do you believe in their counterparts?”
    “Do you mean
demons
?” She gave a laugh. “Of course not.”
    He regarded her for a moment with a look of vague disappointment. “Since your religion seems to be science and reason, as you put it, how does science explain what happened in my garden tonight? What happened to that woman on Christmas Eve?”
    “You’re asking me to explain evil.”
    “Yes.”
    “I can’t. Neither can science. It just
is.
”
    He nodded. “That’s exactly right. It just is, and it’s always been with us. A real entity, living among us, stalking us. Waiting for its chance to feed. Most people aren’t aware of it, and they don’t recognize it, even when it brushes up against them, when it passes them on the street.” His voice had dropped to a whisper. In the momentary hush, she heard the crackle of flames in the hearth, the murmur of voices in the other room. “But
you
do,” he said. “You’ve seen it with your own eyes.”
    “I’ve only seen what every homicide cop has seen.”
    “I’m not talking about everyday crimes. Spouses killing spouses, drug dealers shooting the competition. I’m talking about what you saw in your mother’s eyes. The gleam. The spark. Not divine, but something unholy.”
    A draft moaned down the flue, scattering ashes against