LITMIR.BIZ

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nodded, grimacing. “I’m a tennis player.”

      “Ah,” Kieran said.

      “Let’s do this,” Craig said. “Kieran, this way to the forgotten crypt.”

      He turned her around and led her through the broken wall.

      He was stoic. To anyone else it might appear that nothing bothered him. But she knew him well enough to know the crypt did bother him. Not because of those who had died long ago, and hopefully through natural means. He was a good agent, Egan had told her once, because he had empathy. He was sorry for the victim, the woman whose body he had already seen.

      She realized that she was far more squeamish than he—and she also realized that she had never been on the site of a murder before. The murder hadn’t taken place here, but...

      She paused for a minute, taking in what she saw.

      The crypt stretched far beneath the earth. There were marble sarcophagi here and there amid the rows of what she could only think of as shelving—shelving for the dead. She thought that the rows seemed to go on endlessly, housing hundreds of interments. She’d been in the catacombs in Rome and this felt very similar, except that slabs for the dead were not just against the walls, they were in those endless rows of stone as well, one on top of the other. It was almost as if the tombs where the dead rested were many tiered bunks in a dormitory. Some of the shelving had broken marble slabs. Some had nothing, and bone peeked from rotting shrouds. Toward the front where she stood, coffins lay upon the same shelving. Most were deteriorating; all seemed to be covered with a haze of dust and cobwebs.

      She pulled out her notepad and began sketching furiously, and then reached for her cell phone, taking pictures.

      “Kieran?”

      “Yes?” She turned.

      Craig was watching her. From his expression, she knew that he was unhappy—and not because he wanted to prevent her work in any way. He just hated that she had to see this macabre place.

      He tried a dry smile. “None of those is for Facebook, Twitter or any other social media?” he asked lightly.

      She glared at him, refusing to answer.

      He nodded. “To the left.”

      She tensed, knowing she was about to look at the dead woman.

      When she forced herself to turn, she felt chills seize hold of her spine and her limbs.

      It was surreal.

      Jeannette Gilbert still lay in the coffin—much as she had been found, Kieran surmised. The ME had been to the body, but as of yet, it remained undisturbed.

      And the woman...

      In life Jeannette Gilbert had been truly beautiful. Long, sweeping blond hair had curled over her shoulders, her lips had been generous and beautifully shaped, her cheekbones high. Now, even in death, she looked impossibly like a princess—as if she might be awakened by love’s first kiss.

      And yet...

      There seemed to be something out of focus. She just wasn’t quite perfect anymore. And, staring at the corpse, Kieran knew what it was.

      She was decaying. And coming closer to her, Kieran felt as if the scent of that decay suddenly began to permeate her.

      She forced herself not to back away. She saw then that the ME—out beyond the broken-down wall in the basement area—had a mask hanging around his neck. No doubt he’d donned it when he had examined the corpse.

      Craig, however, stood at her side unflinching, staring down at the body with sadness and regret—and something steely in his expression that said that he wouldn’t stop until the killer was found.

      She turned away from Craig quickly, actually taking a step closer to the corpse in the coffin as she lowered her head.

      Kevin! Kevin had been the mystery man she had been dating. Had he been in love with Jeannette Gilbert? Possibly. And if so...well, she knew her twin. Jeannette would have been a nice woman; she would have cared about people. She might have been a supermodel, but she would have given to charities, cared about children, possibly visited cancer wards.

      Thank God her brother wasn’t here to see this.

      She swallowed hard and took pictures first this time, then sketched what she saw, adding little notes to her sketch.

      The terrible smell of death seemed so close.

      “This is how—where—she was found?” she asked Craig.

      “Just about. The coffin was on the middle shelf. It appears to be the best preserved of those down here. That’s why Shaw opened it first, and, presumably, why the killer chose it.”

      Kieran added to her notes.

      “The entry wasn’t as big last night. More of the false wall was torn down to make way for Dr. Shaw and his crew and whatever historians might have been called in. He did note that the position on the shelf was a little extended, or more at an angle. Other than that, he noticed nothing that had changed in the crypt.”

      As she studied the corpse, Kieran felt a hand on her shoulder and nearly jumped.

      “Sorry, Kieran.”

      It was Craig, at her side, introducing her to the ME.

      “This is Dr. Anthony Andrews. One of the best MEs in the city,” Craig said, his hand now discreetly at her elbow, steadying her.

      “You’re with the profiling people?” the ME asked.

      “Yes, civilian profilers,” she said.

      He nodded. “I need to bring this young lady to my office now. We’ve waited here a bit longer than I would have liked. Do you need more time?”

      Kieran shook her head. “No, thank you. I was hoping that Dr. Fuller might make it, but...”

      “Yes, traffic. He could be quite a while. I’m sure you’ve recorded and noted everything that can be given to him. You’re not a psychiatrist?”

      “Psychologist,” Kieran said.

      Andrews glanced at Craig and turned back to Kieran. “Well, my dear, in my mind, you might be best suited to understand the mind of such a killer. Too many psychiatrists are pill pushers. Psychologists have to work with the human creation without benefit of mind-altering drugs. Anyway, a pleasure to meet you, though I have seen you. Finnegan—you’re related to the owners of the pub behind us, right?”

      “I’m one of the owners,” she told him. “There are four of us—my brothers, Declan, Kevin, Danny and myself. Declan manages the pub and usually tends bar.”

      He grinned solemnly again. “Ah, well, then, your brother may not be a psychologist, too, but he’s is a heck of good listener. I’ve seen him talking to people at the bar. Seems to know what makes them tick. For now, if you’ll excuse me... I’ll get to my part in this investigation.”

      She nodded and returned her phone and notepad to her bag.

      Craig led her out.

      Andrews called to him. “I’ve been told this takes precedence, so autopsy in about two hours. No, let me say precisely...3:00 p.m.”

      “Thank you. Mike and I will be there,” Craig said.

      He brought Kieran back to the marble steps.

      She was glad of his arm. Not only was she affected by the dead body, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Kevin. That he had been Gilbert’s mystery man, and that the model had alluded to her feelings for him in several interviews.

      She pictured the beautiful young woman on an autopsy table, giant pincers being used to crack open her ribs...

      She winced inwardly and began to worry.

      There was no way someone hadn’t seen something—or didn’t know something. She had

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