The Mephisto Club

work so well together.”
    The scream of the teakettle abruptly cut off, and Edwina glanced toward the kitchen. “Oh, I guess he got it.”
    He?
Who else was in the house?
    Edwina scurried into the kitchen and said, “Here, let me do it.”
    “It’s fine, Winnie, I’ve already filled the pot. You wanted Irish breakfast tea, right?”
    The man sat in a wheelchair, his back turned to the visitors. Here was the owner of the van in the driveway. He pivoted his chair around to greet them, and Jane saw a thatch of limp brown hair and eyeglasses with thick tortoiseshell frames. The gray eyes that met her gaze were focused and curious. He looked young enough to be Edwina’s son—no older than his mid-twenties. But he sounded American, and there was no family resemblance between the robustly healthy Edwina and this pale young man.
    “Let me introduce you,” said Edwina. “This is Detective Frost and Detective Rizzoli. And this is Oliver Stark.”
    Jane frowned at the young man. “You were one of the dinner guests last night. At Sansone’s house.”
    “Yes.” Oliver paused, reading her face. “Is that a problem?”
    “We had hoped to talk to you separately.”
    “They’re not happy we’ve already discussed the case amongst ourselves,” Edwina told him.
    “Didn’t I predict they’d say that, Winnie?”
    “But it’s so much more efficient this way, nailing down the details together. It saves everyone time.” Edwina crossed to the kitchen table and gathered up a huge mountain of newspapers, everything from the
Bangkok Post
to
The Irish Times.
She moved them to a countertop, then pulled out two chairs. “Come, everyone, sit down. I’ll go up and get the file.”
    “File?” asked Jane.
    “Of course we’ve already started a file. Anthony thought you’d want copies.” She strode out of the kitchen and they heard her thump solidly up the stairs.
    “Like a mighty redwood, isn’t she?” said Oliver. “I never knew they grew them that big in England.” He wheeled his chair to the kitchen table and waved at them to join him. “I know it goes against everything you police believe in. Independent questioning of witnesses and all that. But this really is more efficient. Plus, we had a conference call with Gottfried this morning, so you’re getting three witness statements at once.”
    “That would be Gottfried Baum?” asked Jane. “The fourth dinner guest?”
    “Yes. He had to catch a flight back to Brussels last night, which is why he and Edwina left dinner early. We called him a few hours ago to compare notes. All our memories are pretty much in agreement.” He gave Jane a wan smile. “It may be one of the
only
times in history that we’re all in agreement about something.”
    Jane sighed. “You know, Mr. Stark—”
    “No one calls me that. I’m Ollie.”
    Jane sat down so that her gaze was level with his. He met her look with one of mild amusement, and it irritated her. It said:
I’m smart and I know it. Certainly smarter than some policewoman.
It also irritated her that he was probably right; he
looked
like the stereotypical boy genius that you always dreaded sitting next to in math class. The kid who handed in his algebra exam while everyone else was still struggling with problem number one.
    “We’re not trying to mess up your usual protocol,” said Oliver. “We just want to be helpful. And we can be, if we work together.”
    Upstairs, the dogs were barking, claws tapping back and forth across the floor as Edwina shushed them, and a door thudded shut.
    “You can help us by just answering our questions,” said Jane.
    “I think you misunderstand.”
    “What am I not getting?”
    “How useful we can be to you. Our group.”
    “Right. Mr. Sansone told me about your little crime-fighting club.”
    “It’s a society, not a club.”
    “What’s the difference?” asked Frost.
    Oliver looked at him. “Gravity, Detective. We have members around the world. And we’re not amateurs.”
    “Are you a law enforcement professional, Ollie?” asked Jane.
    “Actually, I’m a mathematician. But my real interest is symbology.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I interpret symbols. Their origins and their meanings, both apparent and hidden.”
    “Uh-huh. And Mrs. Felway?”
    “She’s an anthropologist. She just joined us. Came highly recommended from our London branch.”
    “And Mr. Sansone? He’s certainly not law enforcement.”
    “He might as well be.”
    “He told us he’s a retired