He ran back to the utility room just as Maggie burst in through the back door. He found the circuit breaker box. Removing a heart was easy, Spencer told him – but not in the dark. Not without power. Kane couldn’t see where to cut. The surgical saw wouldn’t work. He’d have to come out of the room to find out what was happening, to reset the breaker. That might give them the chance they needed. Maybe.
The scream barely escaped her lips. Moving with astonishing speed, the man slapped a strip of silver duct tape against her mouth and pulled it tight, cutting off the sound. She opened her eyes. His face was close to hers, his deep-set eyes shining brightly. She could hear his breathing, feel the breath on her skin. Short, shallow, rapid. He untied and removed her gown, then pulled on a pair of latex surgical gloves. He selected a scalpel from the tray and placed it flat on her chest, between her breasts. He turned on a bright light clipped to a tall silver-colored metal stand, the kind she’d seen in photographers’ studios. He adjusted the light until it shone right at her. He picked up the scalpel and, using a sponge, washed her chest with something that felt cold and smelled antiseptic. He smiled at her. Then he leaned over and gently kissed her cheek. ‘I hope you’ve enjoyed our time together, Lucinda,’ he said.
McCabe tugged at the panel door. Shit. Painted shut. He pulled again. Still it wouldn’t open.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ asked Maggie, her voice a whisper, but barely.
He ignored the question. His eyes darted around. He was losing precious seconds. He imagined Kane cutting a neat red line down the middle of Lucinda’s chest. He spotted a retractable box cutter on top of the moving cartons, grabbed it, and flipped it open. He ran the blade around the painted edges of the door. He pulled again. Still stuck. This was taking too long. He thought he could hear the whine of the Stryker surgical saw. Nearly frantic, he used the knife again and pulled even harder. The dry paint cracked. Then, finally, it gave way.
Her lover slid a surgical mask over his mouth. He placed the point of the scalpel against her skin at the bottom of her throat. Lucy retreated into the cold steel platform that held her, trying to pull back into its impenetrable hardness. He pushed. She felt a shock of pain as the blade broke her skin. She closed her eyes and prayed to a God she’d never believed in for the peace and redemption that death would bring. The lights went out.
The utility room went black. The Goldberg Variations ceased. McCabe flipped on his Maglite and raced for the stairs that circled the open hallway. He took them two at a time. He was breathing hard by the time he got to the third-floor landing. He could hear Maggie running close behind. Kane was nowhere in sight. Was he still in the room with Lucinda? What was he doing in there? Without power, Kane couldn’t see to cut, couldn’t use the saw. So what was he doing? The plan was for Kane to come out of the room to investigate the loss of power, to come out where McCabe could get him before he killed Lucy. Where the fuck was he?
McCabe forced himself to calm down. He pressed his body against the wall on one side of the door, his .45 in his hand. Maggie took up a position on the other side. He flicked the Maglite off. An unholy blackness filled the space. Okay, Kane, get your ass out here. Investigate. Don’t you want to know why the power went off?
Finally the lock turned, the door opened, and Lucas Kane emerged into the blackness of the hall. He walked three tentative steps.
‘Kane,’ McCabe said. The man turned to face him. McCabe switched on the Maglite. Lucas Kane raised his left hand to shield his eyes from the light. He peered toward the detective.
‘Lucas Kane, you’re under arrest,’ said McCabe, his voice flat, hard, matter-of-fact. ‘Turn around slowly and put your hands behind your head.’
Kane didn’t move.
‘Just so you know, Kane, or is it Harry Lime? I’m pointing my gun right at your heart. I’m going to kill you if you don’t do exactly as I say.’
Maggie rushed into the darkened room. McCabe could hear Cassidy’s muffled cries. She was still alive.
‘Lucas Kane,’ said McCabe, ‘I repeat, you’re under arrest for the murders of Katherine Dubois and Philip and Harriet Spencer. You have the right –’
‘Only those three?’ Kane interrupted the recitation of his rights. ‘What about the others? What about Elyse Andersen? She was my first, you know, and in some ways, the best. We used Elyse’s heart to save dear Daddy’s life.’
‘Out of love for the old man?’
‘Love? Good God, no. It was for the money. I’d already been written out of his will. There was no love between my father and me.’
‘You did the surgery? Or was it Wilcox?’
‘Only the harvest,’ he said. ‘Matt Wilcox did the transplant. He’s done them all. A talented surgeon, Matt. Elyse’s heart is still beating, right downstairs, inside the old man’s body.’
McCabe was growing impatient. The longer this went on, the greater the potential for a fuckup. ‘Alright, Kane. Enough. Lie down on the floor. Now. Hands behind your back.’
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Kane’s right hand slipped out of sight. A smile passed his lips. The smile of the hunter, not of the prey. ‘No,’ he said.