“Process of elimination. She had a limited choice of venues. It’s a small town, after all. There was a big reception going on at Guthrie’s house so she couldn’t use it. Smuggling you into her hotel room would have been dicey. Where else was she going to go? You told me yourself she loves the spotlight. And Newlin Guthrie had access to the finest stage in town.”
“That was brilliant.”
“Yeah, I used to be a detective once.”
She rested her hand on his injured leg. “Once a detective, always a detective.”
FORTY-NINE
La Sirène looked down at the cauldron of crashing surf far below. A swath of cold moonlight stroked the scene; the perfect spotlight for her final performance. The cliffs were not the ramparts of the Castel Sant’Angelo that Tosca used after discovering that her lover had been shot by the firing squad, but they would do.
It was over. The Renquist woman had proved too much for the Voice. Her power was almost gone now, and she knew it would never recover. La Sirène was doomed. Better by far to depart the stage tonight. Tomorrow the critics would make her famous once again as they rhapsodized about her Queen of the Night and simultaneously mourned the loss of her incredible talent. Her death would make headlines.
She spread her arms wide and sang her own death song as she flung herself over the castle wall.
Really, she had always been so much better than Callas. She was La Sirène.
FIFTY
The three-way conference call with Fallon took place the following day in their hotel room near the L.A. airport.
“Ryan’s body was found washed up on the rocks at a place called Hellfire Cove,” Fallon said. “Evidently it’s a major scenic attraction in Acacia Bay. Lots of rough, dangerous surf. Photographers love it. Strictly off limits for swimming or diving.”
“Tosca flinging herself from the castle wall,” Grace said. “A fitting stage for La Sirène’s final performance.”
“You knew she was going to jump?” Fallon asked, sharply curious.
Across the room, Luther looked at her, too.
“I didn’t know how she would do it,” Grace said quietly. “But yes, I was fairly certain that she would commit suicide. It was there in her aura when she ran back toward the stage.”
“Well, it looks like we won’t need Sweetwater’s services on this case,” Fallon said. “That simplifies matters.”
“What about Damaris Kemble?” Luther asked.
“She’s being debriefed as we speak. She’ll get her first injection of the antidote later today.”
“So soon?” Grace said. “I thought she still had a three-week supply of the drug.”
“It was her decision,” Fallon explained. “She wanted to get started on the antidote as quickly as possible. Apparently she’s been experiencing some unpleasant side effects from the Nightshade drug. She gave her remaining vials to the lab techs to study. They’ve been trying to figure out how Nightshade genetically tailors the formula for each individual. The information may be useful for tweaking the antidote.”
“How did she take the news of her sister’s death?” Grace asked.
“One of the Society shrinks who is talking to her told me she was sad but not surprised.”
“Poor Damaris,” Grace whispered. “She lost her father and her sister within a year of finding them. Now she’s alone again.”
“She’s alive,” Fallon pointed out drily.
“Thanks to Luther,” Grace said.
Luther frowned. “How the hell did Craigmore manage to slip past all the scrutiny that would have been given to a member of the Council?”
“Good question,” Fallon said, sounding more than a little annoyed. “But bear in mind that he was appointed fifteen years ago.”
“In other words, before you took over J&J?” Luther prompted.
“My uncle was running the West Coast office at that time. He was good but he didn’t have the research capability I’ve got now. In addition, Craigmore came out of the depths of a government agency that specialized in creating false backgrounds. He had the perfect résumé, literally. And it was solid. Those who knew he’d worked as a spook figured him for a patriotic hero. Which is exactly what he was when you get right down to it, at least until he fired up Nightshade. And last but not least, he pulled off the oldest trick in the world.”
Luther looked at Grace. “He hid in plain sight.”
“Right. I’ve recently initiated deep background checks on all Council members. The process probably would have uncovered Craigmore or at least raised some red flags. According to Damaris, he was getting worried and planning to disappear.”
Luther made his way across the room. He lounged against the edge of the desk and hooked his cane over the back of the chair. “Is Newlin Guthrie all right?”
“Yes. Pretty badly shaken up, though. Turns out La Sirène nailed him with his own electroshock gun. Our people from L.A. talked to him. He feels terrible about the kidnapping. Said he knew what he was doing but just couldn’t seem to help himself.”
“That is the truth,” Grace said. “When I found him waiting for me in the hotel room, his aura seemed weirdly frozen, which would not be normal for anyone committing an act of violence. He was under La Sirène’s spell.”
“He wanted to turn himself in to the police but the J&J agents talked him out of it. They told him that you were fine and that no one was going to report the incident. With Vivien Ryan dead, it’s all moot, anyway.”
“How did he get into my room?” Grace asked.
“Through the connecting door between your suite and the neighboring room.”
“That door was locked,” she said. “Luther and I both checked it.”
“Guthrie owns the damn hotel. He had no trouble getting a master key.”
“He’s a smart man,” Luther said. “How did the agents explain what had happened to him?”
“They told him he was the victim of a unique kind of hypnotist. That depressed him even more because guys like that don’t like to think they can be hypnotized. He perked right up, though, when he was informed that J&J was interested in purchasing some of his electroshock devices.”
“For what it’s worth, from the brief look I got at his aura, I’d say he is a high-level crypto talent,” Grace offered. “Probably never realized he’s a sensitive.”