According to the postmark, the letter had been mailed at 5:00 p.m. Friday, the afternoon of the day that David had visited Ronny. He sat at the kitchen table to read it.

Dear Mr. Thorne,

Since you left a few hours ago, a thing has happened that changes my mind. If you come to see old Ronny, we can maybe work something out so I can tell you what you want so bad to know. I hope you are well and happy and all. I am good, but not as happy as usual.

Your friend,

Ronny Lee

David phoned his contact at Folsom and was able to arrange a visit for ten o’clock Thursday morning. Then he booked a commuter flight to Sacramento for Wednesday afternoon—the next day.

The Rock Point Lane house would have to wait. He had spent years trying to get Ronny Jessup to reveal where he had stashed the missing fourteen women whom he had killed and whose bodies he preserved by some arcane form of mummification. He needed to seize this opportunity before the killer changed his mind.

| 59 |

The vase of roses Maddison had bought remained on the table with the three candles in cut-crystal holders.

David microwaved leftover tortellini alla panna, carrots with tarragon, and cauliflower Sicilian style, which Maddison had cooked the previous evening. Everything tasted good, but even if it had not held its quality from a day earlier, he would have taken pleasure in the food because she had prepared it with her own hands, which made him feel close to her even in her absence.

As he ate and as he sipped the cabernet, he studied the photo of the blood-filled amulet that hung from a gold chain in Maddison’s Rock Point Lane bedroom, which earlier he had printed on glossy photographic paper.

Ever since he had seen that strange pendant above her bed, the previous day, it had troubled him because it stirred an echo in his memory, resonated off an event in the past that he couldn’t recall.

At first it had seemed to be an icon with some sacred meaning, akin to a crucifix, but David was not able to sustain that simple interpretation.

If you were superstitious enough to believe in vampires, you might hang a clove of garlic over your bed. But what creature would you intend to ward off with an ampule of blood?

It’s too dangerous for both of us . . .

He became aware that darkness pressed at the windows. He got up to lower the pleated shades. Sometimes he failed to set the alarm at night, and he never employed it prior to going to bed. Now, however, he crossed the room to the security-system panel next to the back door, and he pressed the button to engage the at-home mode.