p&c.brimstone-第66部分

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　〃I　was　expecting　heavy　security；〃　Pendergast　said　after　quickly　examining　the　lock。　〃Instead；　this　gate's　open。〃　He　peered　through。　〃And　the　guardhouse　appears　to　be　unoccupied。〃　
　〃Are　you　sure　we're　at　the　right　villa？〃　
　〃Yes。〃　He　slowly　eased　the　gate　open；　and　they　stepped　into　the　darkness　of　the　villa's　great　park。　Two　rows　of　cypresses　lined　a　drive　that　led　up　a　hill　covered　with　more　olive　groves。　Pendergast　paused；　dropping　to　his　hands　and　knees　to　examine　faint　tread　marks　in　the　gravel　of　the　drive。　Then　he　stood；　looked　around；　and　nodded　toward　a　dense　forest　of　umbrella　pines　that　lay　to　one　side。　〃That　way。〃　
　They　moved　through　the　pines；　Pendergast　stopping　every　now　and　then；　apparently　looking　for　guards　or　other　signs　of　security。　〃Odd；〃　he　murmured　to　himself。　〃Very　odd。〃　
　Soon　they　reached　a　thick　hedge　of　laurel；　immaculately　clipped　and　impenetrable。　They　walked　along　the　hedge　to　a　locked　gate；　which　Pendergast　deftly　picked。　Beyond　lay　a　formal　Italian　garden；　low　boxwood　hedges　laid　in　rectangular　shapes；　bordered　by　beds　of　lavender　and　marigolds。　In　the　center　stood　a　marble　statue　of　a　faun　playing　panpipes；　water　pouring　from　the　pipes　and　splashing　into　a　mossy　pool　below。　Beyond　rose　the　dark　facade　of　the　villa。　
　They　paused　to　examine　the　huge　structure。　It　was　stuccoed　in　a　pale　yellow。　A　loggia　ran　across　the　fourth　floor；　just　under　the　tiled　roof：　a　row　of　columns　topped　by　Roman　arches。　The　only　sign　of　life　was　a　faint；　flickering　glow　through　the　open　leaded　windows　of　what　appeared　to　be　a　grandsalone　on　the　second　floor。　
　Pendergast　moved　forward　again　and　D'Agosta　followed；　the　burbling　fountain　masking　their　footsteps。　In　another　few　minutes；　they　reached　the　outer　wall　of　the　villa　itself。　There　was　still　no　sign　of　any　security。　
　〃Strange；〃　whispered　Pendergast。　
　〃Maybe　Bullard　isn't　home。〃　
　They　passed　under　one　of　the　great　windows　of　thesalone　。　That　was　when　the　smell　hit　D'Agosta。　It　was　just　a　fleeting　whiff；　yet　it　felt　like　a　physical　blow。　Instantly　his　anger　turned　to　disbelief；　then　to　creeping　dread。　
　〃Sulfur。〃　
　〃Indeed。〃　
　Fumbling　half　unconsciously　for　his　cross；　D'Agosta　followed　Pendergast　around　the　side　of　the　house　to　the　greatportone　of　the　villa。　
　〃It's　open；〃　Pendergast　said；　slipping　inside。　
　After　the　briefest　of　hesitations；　D'Agosta　followed。　They　paused　in　the　entryway；　examining　the　great　vaulted　spaces　of　thepiano　terra　；　dark　with　ancient　frescoes　and　trompe　l'oeil。　
　The　smell　was　stronger　here。　Sulfur；　phosphorus…and　burned　grease。　
　Now　Pendergast　moved　up　the　great　sweep　of　stairs　leading　to　the　second　floor　and　thesalone　。　D'Agosta　followed　him　down　a　vaulted　hallway　to　a　massive　set　of　wooden　doors；　bolted　and　banded　in　iron。　One　was　ajar；　and　a　flickering　light　came　from　beyond。　
　Pendergast　pushed　it　wide。　
　It　took　D'Agosta　a　moment　to　register。　The　light　came；　not　from　a　burning　candle　or　the　great　fireplace　in　the　far　wall；　but　from　the　middle　of　the　room。　There；　in　the　center　of　a　crude　circle；　something　was　in　the　last　stages　of　burning；　just　a　few　licks　of　flame　rising　from　charred　lumps。　
　It　was　the　outline　of　a　human　being。　
　With　horror　and　disbelief；　D'Agosta　took　in　the　smoldering；　greasy　outline；　the　ashy　remnants　of　the　skeleton；　every　fire…cracked　bone　in　place；　spread…eagled　on　the　floor。　There　in　its　proper　place　was　the　belt　buckle；　there　were　the　three　metal　buttons　of　a　jacket。　Where　one　of　the　pockets　had　been　was　now　a　fused　lump　of　euros。　The　remains　of　a　gold　pen　rested　among　the　ashes　of　the　upper　ribs。　The　burned　bones　of　one　hand　still　sported　a　pair　of　familiar…looking　rings。　
　But　not　all　had　burned。　A　single　foot　was　perfectly　preserved；　burned　only　as　far　as　the　ankle。　It　looked　absurdly　like　a　movie　prop；　still　encased　in　a　beautifully　polished　handmade　wing　tip。　And　there　at　the　other　end　was　another　piece　of　the　body：　just　the　side　of　the　face；　with　one　staring　eye；　a　lock　of　hair；　and　a　perfect　pink　ear；　all　intact；　as　if　the　fire　that　had　consumed　this　person　had　suddenly　ceased　at　a　line　drawn　down　the　side　of　the　head。　The　other　half　was　mere　skull；　blackened；　split　and　crumbled　by　heat。　
　Enough　of　the　face　remained　to　leave　no　doubt　who　this　was。　Locke　Bullard。　
　D'Agosta　found　he'd　been　holding　his　breath。　He　let　it　out　with　a　shudder；　took　in　a　lungful　of　what　stank　of　sulfur　and　burned　roast。　As　his　faculties　began　to　return；　he　noticed　that　the　silk…draped　walls　and　ceiling　were　covered　with　a　greasy　film。　The　large　circle　the　body　lay　within　appeared　to　have　been　incised　into　the　floor；　surrounded　by　mysterious　symbols；　the　whole　enclosed　in　a　double　pentagram。　Nearby　was　a　smaller　circle…but　this　second　circle　was　empty。　
　D'Agosta　couldn't　find　the　energy　to　turn　away。　He　felt　a　snap　and　realized　he'd　been　gripping　his　cross　so　hard　he'd　broken　the　chain。　He　looked　down　at　the　object　in　his　hand；　so　familiar　and　reassuring。　It　seemed　incredible　that　it　could　be　true；　that　everything　the　sisters　had　told　him　so　many　years　ago　was；　in　fact；　real：　but　at　this　moment；　there　wasn't　the　slightest　doubt　in　his　mind　that　this；this　；　was　the　work　of　the　devil　himself。　
　He　glanced　over　at　Pendergast　and　found　he；　too；　was　rooted　to　the　spot；　his　face　full　of　astonishment；　shock…and　disappointment。This　means　the　end　of　a　theory　；　D'Agosta　thought　to　himself。And　the　loss　of　a　witness。　It　was　not　just　a　shock。　It　was　a　terrible；　perhaps　even　critical；　blow　to　the　investigation。　
　But　even　as　D'Agosta　stared；　Pendergast　took　out　his　cell　phone　and　started　dialing。　
　D'Agosta　could　hardly　believe　his　eyes。　〃Who　are　you　calling？〃　
　〃I'm　calling　the　carabinieri。　Italian　law　enforcement。　We　are　guests　here；　and　it　is　important　to　play　by　the　rules。〃　He　spoke　briefly　in　Italian；　snapped　the　phone　shut；　turned　back　to　D'Agosta。　〃We　have　about　twenty　minutes　until　the　police　arrive。　Let　us　make　the　most　of　it。〃　
　He　began　to　make　a　quick　tour　of　the　crime　scene；　pausing　at　a　small　table　on　which　several　objects　lay：　an　old　piece　of　parchment；　a　strange…looking　knife；　a　small　pile　of　salt。　D'Agosta　simply　watched；　unable　to　bring　himself　to　participate。　
　〃My；　my；〃　said　Pendergast。　〃Our　friend　Bullard　had　been　consulting　a　grimoire　shortly　before　his；　ah；demise　。〃　
　〃What's　a　grimoire？〃　
　〃A　book　of　the　black　arts。　They　contain　instructions　for　raising　demons；　among　other　things。〃　
　D'Agosta　swallowed。　He　wanted　to　get　the　hell　out　of　here。　This　wasn't　like　Grove's　death；　or　even　Cutforth's…this　had　just　happened。　And　this　wasn't　any　normal　killer。　There　was　nothing　Pendergast　or　any　human　law　enforcement　entity　could　do。Hail　Mary；　full　of　grace　。　。　。　
　Pendergast　was　bending　over　the　knife。　〃What　do　we　have　here？　Anarthame　；　by　the　looks　of　it。〃　
　D'Agosta　wanted　to　tell　Pendergast　they　had　to　get　out；　that　forces　a　lot　bigger　than　themselves　were　at　work　here；　but　he　couldn't　seem　to　form　the　words。　
　〃Note　that　the　circle　enclosing　Bullard　has　a　little　piece　scratched　out…do　you　see？…over　there。　It's　been　turned　into　abroken　circle。〃　
　D'Agosta　nodded　mutely。　
　〃On　the　other　hand；　the　smaller　circle　beside　it　was　never　plete　to　begin　with。　I　believe　it　wasconstructed　as　a　broken　circle。〃　Pendergast　walked　toward　it　and　bent　down；　examining　the　circle　intently。　He　removed　a　pair　of　tweezers　from　his　cuff　and　plucked　something　from　the　center　of　the　circle。　
　〃Right；〃　D'Agosta　managed　to　say；　swallowing　again。　
　〃I'm　very　curious　to　know　what　was　in　this　broken　circle…an　object　evidently　placed　there　as　a　gift　to　the；　ah；　devil。〃　
　〃The　devil。〃The　Lord　is　with　thee　。　。　。　
　Pendergast　examined　the　tip　of　his　tweezers　closely；　turning　it　this　way　and　that。　Then　his　eyebrows　shot　up；　a　look　of　astonishment　on　his　face。　
　D'Agosta　stopped　in　midprayer。　〃What　is　it？〃　
　〃Horsehair。〃　
　And　D'Agosta　saw；　or　thought　he　saw；　a　flash　of　realization　spread　over　the　agent's　pale　features。　
　〃What　is　it？　What　does　it　mean？〃　
　Pendergast　lowered　the　tweezers。　〃Everything。〃　
　　　
　58　
　
　Harriman　strolled　past　the　Plaza　Hotel　and　into　Central　Park；breathing　in　the　crisp　air　with　relish。　It　was　a　glorious　fall　evening；　the　golden　light　tinting　the　leaves　above　his　head。　Squirrels　ran　around　gathering　nuts；　mothers　pushed　babies　in　strollers；　groups　of　bicyclists　and　Rollerbladers　glided　past　on　South　Park　Drive。　
　His　piece　on　Buck　had　run　in　the　morning　edition；　and　Ritts　had　loved　it。　The　phones　had　been　ringing　all　day；　fax　machines　humming；　reader　e…mails　flowing　in。　Once　again；　he'd　touched　a　chord。　
　On　this　glorious　evening；　Bryce　Harriman　strolled　northward；　back　to　the　site　of　his　earlier　triumph；　in　search　of　fresh　glory。　What　was　needed　now　was　an　interview　with　the　good　Reverend　Buck　himself…aPost　exclusive。　And　if　anyone　could　get　that　exclusive；　he　could。　
　As　he　came　around　the　back　of　the　Central　Park　Zoo　and　passed　the　old　arsenal；　he　stopped　in　surprise。　There　was　a　tent　here；　an　old　canvas　tent；　pitched　in　the　overgrown　area　just　north　of　65th　Street　along　the　Fifth　Avenue　side。　As　he　walked　up　a　small　rise；　more　tents　came　into　view。　He　crested　the　rise　to　find　a　veritable　tent　city　spread　before　him；　th