Dammit, don’t think of yourself. Think about that poor woman. Try to do something for her.

She reached for her phone to call Venable.

MACDUFF AND JOCK DIDN’T COME BACK to the car for another thirty minutes.

“No luck,” MacDuff said briefly as he got into the driver’s seat. “They must have taken her head with them. Unless they buried it. And I didn’t see any turned earth.”

Jane had thought that Yvette’s death couldn’t be any more horrible, but she was wrong. The idea of someone’s carrying that poor woman’s head around like a trophy was beyond atrocious. “Why?” she whispered. “Why would they do that? It’s like something from the time of the barbarians.”

“We have quite a few barbarians strolling around right now,” Jock said. “What did Venable say?”

“He told me he’d have a team out here within the hour.” She paused. “He said that maybe we should believe that Weismann had the goods.”

MacDuff started the car. “Weismann is a self-serving son of a bitch. But he may be able to tell us what we need to know.”

“Like why Yvette Denarve had to die?”

“I think we have to assume that Weismann may have been right about the reason she was targeted.”

Total extermination. On the way here, MacDuff had told her about Weismann’s message, and she had found it as incredible as everything else connected to this nightmare. She shook her head. “I can’t believe that.”

“Because you’re in shock. Let it sink in, then we’ll talk about it.”

She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to think about it. She wanted everything to do with this horror to just go away.

And that horrible vision of Yvette Denarve’s headless corpse to fade from her memory.

AT THE GALLERY, THEY HAD to show identification to an officer at the entrance and cross the yellow crime-scene tape.

Marie Ressault, Celine’s assistant, came out of the office in the back. She was pale, her eyes red and swollen from weeping. “I was wondering where you were,” she said to Jane. “I thought that you’d be through talking to Yvette, and I could go over the funeral arrangements with her. Celine wanted to be cremated, you know.”

What should I say? Jane wondered. Sorry, there would be no discussions because Yvette had been murdered with as much shocking cruelty as her sister? “Yvette didn’t show up here. Maybe you should just go home, Marie.”

“I don’t know…” Marie shook her head. “I want to do the right thing.”

“Go home,” Jane said gently. “Celine would want you to rest. You can handle everything tomorrow.”

Marie nodded jerkily. “It’s so hard. I loved her, you know. Everyone loved her.” She straightened. “You’re right. Tell Yvette to call me when she gets here, and we’ll talk.” She headed for the front door. “There are cards of congratulations and boxes of flowers for you in the office. They’re on the table beside the door. They’ve been arriving all morning. They must have been sent last night before anyone heard about Celine…” Her voice broke, and she hurried out of the gallery.

“She obviously cared very much for Celine.” Jock was looking after her. “You can see how difficult it is for her. It’s right that you didn’t tell her about Celine’s sister.”

“She’ll have to know soon. I just wanted to give her a little recovery time.” The recovery time that Jane had been denied. Death upon death, shock after shock. “Like Marie, I want to do the right thing, but I’m not sure what that is. Everything’s a blur right now.” She started to turn toward the elevator. “I’ve got to finish with my suitcases, then come down and pack up those three paintings. At least, it will keep me busy until I can start thinking again. I seem to be having trouble with that-”

MacDuff muttered a curse.

She turned to look at him, but he was staring at something on the floor. “What’s wrong?” She followed his gaze. “Why did-”

A thin trickle of blood was running under the door of the office.

She stared at it, stunned.

Then she slowly moved toward the door.

“No,” MacDuff said sharply. He stepped in front of her.

“Don’t tell me no.” She pushed him aside and opened the door.

The blood was running slowly down the side of the table by the door. It was coming from a huge cardboard floral box on the table.

She slowly crossed the few feet to stand before the table.

“Don’t touch it.” Jock was there beside her, his hand on her arm. “Don’t open it. Please, Jane.”

“I have to open it.”

“No way,” MacDuff said. “Get her upstairs, Jock. Carry her if you have to do it.”

“No.” Jane jerked her arm away from Jock. She glanced at MacDuff, and said fiercely, “I’m not going to hide away from this. Keep your hands off me. I know what you’re thinking. I’m thinking the same thing. But I have to know.”

“Then let me do it,” Jock said.

“It’s not addressed to you,” she said bitterly. “It’s addressed to me, aimed at me.” She reached out with a shaking hand and untied the silver ribbon. She took a deep breath and then lifted the lid of the box.

Blasphemer.

The single word on the card nested in the green tissue paper.

The tissue paper now soaked in blood.

She stared down at the paper.

Do it.

She pushed aside the paper.

Dark eyes staring up at her, dark hair drenched in blood.

She flinched back.

“Jane.”

Her stomach was heaving.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” she whispered. She couldn’t stop staring down into Yvette Denarve’s eyes. “I didn’t know her, MacDuff. I hadn’t even met her.”

MacDuff pulled her back and stepped between her and that box on the table. “No, it shouldn’t have happened. And you shouldn’t have opened that damn box.” He took out his handkerchief and was wiping her hand. “Now get out of here and go upstairs.”

Why was he wiping her hand? She wondered dazedly. She looked down at the pristine white handkerchief and saw streaks of blood on it. Oh, yes, she’d gotten blood on her hand when she’d pushed the green tissue paper aside.

Yvette Denarve’s blood on her hands. Celine’s blood on her hands.

“Go upstairs,” MacDuff repeated. “Jock and I will call Venable and take care of this.”

She wasn’t going to argue with him. It was one shock too many. She had to pull herself together before she could cope with any more.

And she would cope with it. Monstrosities like these couldn’t be allowed to happen.

“Yes. Take care of it.” Take care of the remains of an innocent woman who had done nothing to deserve this butchery. She wheeled and half staggered toward the elevator. “And then come and talk to me.”

IT WAS OVER THREE HOURS LATER that MacDuff and Jock stepped out of the elevator.

MacDuff gazed at Jane searchingly. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Jane said. “I’m not okay. I threw up twice, and I couldn’t stop shaking for over an hour. I’m still sick and I’m angry and I’m scared to death.” She got up from the couch and headed for the kitchen. “I just made coffee. First, I had to take a shower. Though I was tempted to leave those traces of blood on my hands to remind me what they did to her.” She glanced at him as she poured coffee into the cups. “But I didn’t need any reminders. This is going to be with me for the rest of my life. And that’s why I’m so angry that every other emotion I’m feeling is fading into the background.”

“None of this is your fault, Jane,” Jock said.

She knew that was true, but it was difficult getting over that first feeling when she had looked down and seen the blood on her hands. “Not directly. But I have to have been the trigger,” she said. “Even if it was those monsters that actually did the killing.” She handed MacDuff the cup, making an effort to keep her hands from shaking. She couldn’t give in to weakness. The time was past when she could allow herself that luxury. “How did that flower box get here? It couldn’t have been more than a few hours from the time that they killed her. They had to work very quickly.”