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CHAPTERLXXXV

The vertical roller door of Zetta Nadeau’s studio was closed to within a foot of the ground as Seeley and Matías reached it. Soft light spilled through the gap but no noise came from inside. The two men stayed back, because to step into the light would risk being shot in the lower legs by whoever was in the studio, whether that was the woman alone or she and Riggins both.

“Ms. Nadeau,” said Seeley. “We only want the child. If you have it, give it to us and we’ll be gone. We have no quarrel with you.”

The only voice that responded came from the shadows nearby.

“But you may have a quarrel with us.”

Seeley turned his gun toward the sound, searching for movement.

“And who are you?” he asked.

“My name is Parker. I’m a private investigator. Ms. Nadeau is my client.”

“I repeat: we want the child. We won’t leave without it.”

“You have three guns on you,” I said. “If we tell you to leave, you’ll leave.”

“But only to return, Mr. Parker. This can’t end until the child is surrendered. I think you know that.”

The sound of the garage mechanism broke the standoff. Gradually the door rose to reveal the studio and what it contained: Zetta Nadeau,standing by the clawed throne she’d created, and seated upon it, the hunched, mummified body of a female child.

Zetta’s eyes shone unnaturally bright but lifeless, like glass.

“See,” said Zetta, “I’ve humanized my art.”

And for a time, the only sound was her laughter.

CHAPTERLXXXVI

Seeley took the child. We didn’t try to stop him. Neither did Zetta. By then, something had broken inside her that would never be repaired. The last we saw of Seeley was his shape silhouetted against the burning house, cradling the child, a gunman trailing behind. They paused only to stare into the flames, and we, like them, glimpsed the figure of a woman standing unmoving in the doorway, though her whole body was afire. Then the ceiling came down on her and she was gone.

I FACED NO INTERROGATIONin the aftermath, or none that presented any legal difficulties. It was an unusual position in which to find myself, and I might have grown to like it had I not recognized that it was unlikely to be repeated often.

Zetta Nadeau left the state of Maine. It was rumored that she lived in New Mexico for a month before crossing the border and journeying south through Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile, and Argentina—the former territories of the Inca Empire.

Whatever she’s searching for, I hope she never finds it.

6

Consider, brethren, what a wonderful honour this is. We men are cared for by angels… we who are so full of the miseries of the flesh that we cannot bear at times to be in each other’s presence are watched without ceasing by these glorious beings.

Gerard Manley Hopkins, “On Divine Providence and the Guardian Angels”

CHAPTERLXXXVII

A week later, Sam phoned to say she had spoken to her mother about her revised plans for college.

“How did she take it?” I asked.

“She told me she was going to talk to you.”

“Did she look happy when she said this?”

“I’m hoping she was smiling on the inside.”

“Great,” I said. “Just great.”