Already, the police were swarming the museum, emptying drawers and opening cabinets. An officer nearly dropped a figurine and Will called out, “Could you be careful with those, please? Those are priceless artifacts.”
Another officer reached into Will’s desk drawer and pulled out Ruta Badowski’s shoe buckle. “It’s here. Just like the note said.”
“How did that…?” Will stood perfectly still for once, as if he’d been nailed in place. “Wait a moment—what note? What are you talking about?”
“Can you tell me how evidence from a murder victim got into your museum?” Malloy didn’t blink.
“I don’t know,” Will said softly. “I swear I don’t, Terrence.”
“And I suppose you don’t know how your cigarette lighter ended up at a murder scene, either?” Detective Malloy held up Will’s missing lighter.
Will’s hand went immediately to his empty breast pocket. “I-I lost it recently, and…”
“It was found at Mary White Blodgett’s house.”
“I took the shoe buckle,” Sam blurted out. “Found it out at the seaport and thought I could make a quick buck off it. There are creepy chumps who pay for that stuff.”
“Sam, don’t,” Evie warned.
He gave her a wan smile. “It’s okay, doll. Let’s call it even on that twenty bucks.”
“Nice little crew you’ve got, Fitz,” Malloy said. He took in the room: the pentacle chalked on the floor. The salt, half-poured. The pendant. “What’s going on here, Will?”
“If I tell you, you’ll think I’ve gone mad.”
“If you don’t tell me here, you’ll be telling me downtown!” Malloy thundered. “I don’t think you understand what sort of trouble you’re in here, Fitz!”
“Detective Malloy, please, what note did you find?” Evie pressed.
“It was written by Mrs. Blodgett just before she died and shoved into the pocket of her robe. Her daughter confirms it’s her handwriting. It names Will as the murderer.”
Will reeled. “What?”
“That’s a load of bunk!” Sam shouted.
“She said we’d find the evidence of it at the museum. Said you’d been asking her about the murders for some time, that you did it to drum up interest in the museum.” Malloy’s beefy shoulders sagged. He seemed to have aged ten years in those few moments spent holding Ruta Badowski’s broken shoe buckle. “Mr. Fitzgerald, you’re going to need to accompany us downtown and answer some questions. Fellas, bring the little thief, too, for good measure.”
“Oh, he’s clever. He’s very, very clever,” Will said, more to himself than to anyone else. “Don’t you see? He knew we were close! He knew! He got her to write that note. He laid a trap, and we walked right into it.”
“Oh, Unc!” Evie said. “What are we going to do?”
“What are you talking about?” Malloy asked.
“Terrence, this is going to sound like I’ve gone over the edge, but I assure you I am quite sane. The Pentacle Killer isn’t a copycat, and he certainly isn’t me. He’s John Hobbes.”
Malloy’s face remained stony. “John Hobbes, who died fifty years ago? You’re telling me a dead man committed these murders?”
“Through some sort of sorcery, his spirit manifested on this plane, yes. I know it sounds completely mad—”
“But it’s true!” Evie interrupted. “That’s why we had to go to Brethren, to his secret grave, and dig up his body. It’s why we must destroy his pendant—to release his spirit from this world. And if we don’t do it before the comet comes tonight, we’re all in for it.”
Evie realized how ridiculous they sounded. The other officers snickered. Only Malloy didn’t, and he looked very angry, indeed.
“You know, Fitz, I never figured you for believing in that wad of chewing gum you sell here at the museum. I also never figured you for a murderer.” He turned to the other officers and said, “Take him.”
The officers surrounded Will and Sam, leading them out of the museum.
“Murder. Grave robbing. Destroying property. Thievery. And corruption of the young…” Malloy trailed off, but not before Evie heard the full weariness and disgust in his voice. “I guess you just never really know anybody, do you?”