“So if you can’t hear the sound, the music can’t kill you,” Luther said. “That’s interesting. Maybe there was something to Odysseus’s approach to dealing with the mythological Sirens. Wasn’t he the one who had his sailors put beeswax in their ears?”
“Right.” Grace looked up from the notebook. “And that’s exactly what J&J concluded. The full force of a Siren’s talent only works if the victim can actually hear the music.”
“What was J&J planning to do with Bontifort if Lady G. hadn’t come through with her pistol?”
“It seems that the Bontifort case was not the first time J&J was obliged to deal with a killer who was a high-grade talent and who, for one reason or another, could not be handed over to the police. The firm had a very special agent they called in to deal discreetly with such problems.”
Luther raised his brows. “The Harry Sweetwater of his era?”
“How did you guess?” Grace said.
“Guess what?”
“The agent’s name was Orville Sweetwater, Harry’s many times great-grandfather.”
Petra grinned. “Small world, the Arcane Society. Go on, why are you interested in this Bontifort woman?”
“A couple of reasons,” Grace said. “First, she had a daughter by Lord Galsworthy. Which was probably why Lady Galsworthy got so pissed off, by the way, but that is not important now. Bontifort managed to keep her pregnancy and the birth a deep, dark secret, fearing that it would not be good for her public image. Even J&J didn’t know about the baby at the time.”
“What happened to the kid?” Petra asked, frowning.
“The infant wound up in an orphanage. When she became an adult she somehow discovered the truth about her parents. She blamed the Society for their deaths. She confronted the Master.” Grace checked her notes again. “That would have been Gabriel Jones. In essence, she told him that the Society owed her, big-time.”
“Probably didn’t get far with that tactic,” Petra said. “Can’t see a Jones paying blackmail.”
“As a matter of fact, Gabriel Jones thought she had a legitimate case. He told her that the organization had an obligation to take care of its own. He offered to register her with the Society. When she refused, he gave her a rather large sum of money. She took the cash and sailed for America.”
“Any indication that the daughter inherited her mother’s talent?” Luther asked.
Grace tapped her notebook. “She did not become an opera singer, but she did make her living singing in nightclubs and cabarets. She was very popular. The critics loved her, too.”
Petra raised her brows. “Did they describe her voice as ‘mesmerizing’?”
“As a matter of fact,” Grace said, “they did.”
“Any sign she used her talent for something other than singing?” Petra asked.
“It’s not clear. She had a number of lovers and eventually married an extremely wealthy industrialist in San Francisco. But six months into the marriage, the industrialist dropped dead, apparently of natural causes. The singer inherited his entire fortune, much to the irritation of his family.”
“I think we can assume he might have been given a strong shove into the grave,” Luther said. “Any kids?”
“The widow never remarried but she had a daughter by one of her lovers. The girl grew up in the lap of luxury. She never went on the stage, presumably because she never had to work for a living. But she took music and singing lessons and frequently performed at private gatherings. Like her mother and grandmother, she never lacked for lovers.”
“Anybody drop dead in her vicinity?” Luther asked.
“There were a couple of interesting incidents.” Grace flipped a page in the notebook. “At one point she fell in love with a handsome film actor whose star was on the rise. She bankrolled a couple of his movies. But when he became famous, he dumped her in favor of a well-known actress. The actor turned up dead in his Hollywood mansion soon thereafter. The death was attributed to a drug overdose. The lady also had a daughter.”
“And so it goes?” Petra said.
“And so it goes.” Grace closed the notebook. “Right down to the present day. The trail gets a little murky in places but I think I’ve found our killer soprano. If I’m right, she’s the descendant of Irene Bontifort. Her name is Vivien Ryan.”
Wayne frowned. “La Sirène?”
They all looked at him.
“You never fail to amaze us,” Luther said. “Who the hell is La Sirène?”
“She was a major star up until a couple of years ago,” Wayne said. “I’ve got some of her CDs. Incredible voice. But she has sort of faded from the scene lately. Haven’t heard much about her in a while.”
“According to what I found online, she’s trying to make a comeback,” Grace said. “She’s going to sing Queen of the Night at the opening of a new opera house in Acacia Bay, California. The premiere performance of The Magic Flute is two days from now. Oh, and there’s one more thing.”
“What?” Petra asked.
Grace clutched her notebook to her chest. “La Sirène just happens to be the title that was bestowed on Irene Bontifort.”
“Anybody die of natural causes in the vicinity of this Vivien Ryan?” Luther asked.
“Oh my, yes,” Grace said.
Luther got on the phone to Fallon as soon as Grace had finished reporting the results of her research.
“I don’t like it,” Fallon complained. “It just doesn’t fit into the pattern. Whoever killed Eubanks has to be a pro. Craigmore was smart. He wouldn’t have risked so much by using a notoriously temperamental diva.”
“Maybe he didn’t have a choice after Sweetwater bailed on him,” Luther said. “He had to move fast. There was no time to shop at Hit Men ‘R’ Us.”
“Then how did he find the diva?” Fallon asked. He sounded not just impatient but supremely weary. “It’s not like killer sopranos advertise in the yellow pages.”
“We’re still working on that angle,” Luther admitted. “Look, there’s one way to find out if La Sirène is the singer Grace saw in the hotel. All she needs is a good look at Vivien Ryan’s aura. We need to attend the opening-night performance of that opera in Acacia Bay.”
Fallon was silent for a time. Eventually he spoke. “I’m ninety-six percent sure it’s a waste of time but I’ll authorize the flight to California. Attend the performance. Let Grace get her look.”