The Mephisto Club

dozen heads swiveled, gazes fixed on the striking figure with silver hair as he strode past tables and headed toward Maura’s booth.
    “I’m glad you’re still in town,” he said. “May I join you?”
    “We’re about to leave,” said Jane, reaching pointedly for her wallet, the coffee refill conveniently forgotten.
    “This will only take a minute. Or would you rather I mail this to you, Detective?”
    Maura looked at the sheaf of papers he was carrying. “What’s all that?”
    “From the
Evening Sun
archives.” He placed the papers on the table in front of her.
    She slid sideways across the bench, making room for him in the tight booth as he sat down beside her. She felt trapped in the corner by this man, whose mere presence seemed to dominate and overwhelm the small space.
    “Their digital archives go back only five years,” he said. “These are photocopies from the bound archives, so the reproduction isn’t as good as I’d like. But it tells the story.”
    Maura looked down at the first page. It was from the front page of the
Evening Sun,
dated August 11, twelve years earlier. Her gaze at once fixed on the article near the top.
    B OY’S B ODY R ECOVERED FROM P AYSON P OND
    The accompanying photo showed a grinning imp of a boy, cradling a tiger-striped cat in his arms. The caption read:
Teddy Saul had just turned eleven.
    “His sister Lily was the last known person who saw him alive,” said Sansone. “She was also the one who spotted him floating in the pond a day later. What surprised everyone, according to the article, was the fact the boy was a very good swimmer. And there was one other interesting detail.”
    Maura looked up. “What?”
    “He supposedly went down to the lake to fish. But his tackle box and pole were found a good twenty yards from the water’s edge.”
    Maura handed the photocopy to Jane and looked at the next article, printed August 18. A week after little Teddy’s body was found, tragedy again struck the Saul family.
    G RIEVING M OTHER’S D EATH M OST L IKELY A CCIDENTAL
    Accompanying the article was another photo, another heartbreaking caption. Amy Saul was pictured in happier times, beaming at the camera as she held a baby in her lap. The same child, Teddy, whom she’d lose eleven years later to the waters of Payson Pond.
    “She was found at the bottom of the stairs,” said Maura. She looked up at Jane. “By her daughter, Lily.”
    “Again? The daughter found both of them?” Jane reached for the photocopied article. “This is starting to sound like too much bad luck.”
    “And remember that call made to Sarah Parmley’s motel room two weeks ago. It was a woman’s voice.”
    “Before you go jumping to conclusions,” said Sansone, “it wasn’t Lily Saul who found her father’s body. Her cousin did. It’s the first and only time Dominic Saul’s name appears in any of these articles.”
    Maura turned to the third photocopy and stared at a photo of a smiling Dr. Peter Saul. Beneath it was the caption:
Despondent over death of wife and son.
She looked up. “Is there any photo of Dominic?”
    “No. But he’s mentioned in that article as the one who found his uncle’s body. He’s also the one who called the police.”
    “And the girl?” asked Jane. “Where was Lily when this happened?”
    “It doesn’t say.”
    “I assume the police checked her alibi.”
    “You would assume so.”
    “I wouldn’t assume anything.”
    “Let’s hope that information’s in the police files,” said Sansone, “because you’re not going to get it from the investigator himself.”
    “Why not?”
    “He died last year of a heart attack. I found his obituary in the newspaper archives. So all we have to go on is what’s in the files. But think about the situation. You’re a local cop, dealing with a sixteen-year-old girl who’s just lost her brother, her mother, and now her father. She’s probably in shock. Maybe she’s hysterical. Are you going to harass her with questions about where she was when her father died when it clearly looked like a suicide?”
    “It’s my job to ask,” said Jane. “I would have.”
    Yes, she would have,
thought Maura, looking at Jane’s unyielding expression and remembering the relentless questions that had been asked of her yesterday morning. No mercy, no holding back. God help you if Jane Rizzoli decides you’re guilty of something. Maura looked down at the photo of Peter Saul. “There’s no picture of Lily. We don’t