The house at 208 North Shore Street had a long reputation of being haunted, though no solid evidence of supernatural activity had ever been caught aside from the words of trespassers that had been spooked by the sounds of rodents nesting in the attic. Fear of what lay inside the dilapidated house came from nothing more than restless imagination. One day, that fear became real.

The police arrived quickly after the 911 call was made. In a matter of minutes, the house at 208 North Shore Street was surrounded with yellow tape and police cars with flashing lights.

Hendriks was the first detective at the scene. She knew exactly what state the body in the house would be in even before getting there. She knew who the killer was and what they would be saying in the Krimson City Post because she and Ledford had been the detectives called to the scene.

They found her in one of the rooms. She had been posed so that she would be looking right at the door—as if she was waiting for them. And when Hendriks saw her face, she knew exactly whom the killer had wanted her to wait for.

Quickly, Hendriks turned to the nearest officer. "Where is Ledford?" she demanded frantically. "Is he en route?"

"Yes, Detective. He was called as soon as you were."

"Get to the car and radio him again. Tell him not to come. Do you hear me? Tell him to stay away!"

The officer was startled, but he hurried away to obey her pressing order. But, for whatever reason, the message never reached Ledford. Whether by human error or technological malfunction, the detective was allowed to arrive at 208 North Shore Street. Panic crossed Hendriks's eyes when she saw him. At that point, she knew she couldn't stop him.

Deep down, Ledford already knew. When a text message remained unanswered for a few hours, then a few days, and calls always led to voicemail, he grew afraid and deep down he already knew.

"Is it her?"

Hendriks wouldn't answer him. She told him to stop. She told him not to go into the house. Begged him not to.

But Ledford ignored her and stormed into the house. He signed away his sanity as soon as he stepped into that room and saw her waiting for him.

The Breaking of Something Sacred was the Krimson City Killer's latest piece. She sat on the floor with her upper body leaned slightly forward. Wiring from her shoulders held her up, and her head was tilted back as though she were on the verge of screaming into the air. Her legs were hidden by the red dress that fanned out around her like a flower in bloom. The light accented the creases and highlights of the satin.

Rose petals attached to more wire draped down from the ceiling around her like garlands. More were scattered on the floor, and the red hue of the petals gave the feel that the roof—or the heavens—was bleeding.

But when Ledford stepped in, he didn't see the petals. He didn't see the satin at first—to him, it looked like pooled blood. He saw her face. He remembered the way it looked when he was a little boy, staring down at the crib after his mother had introduced him to his baby sister. He remembered the way it scrunched up in childish anger when they quarreled over toys and candy. He remembered the way it pressed up against him, wet with tears, at their parents' funeral. He remembered the way it used to smile.

The officer closest to him must have said something, but Ledford didn't catch a single word as he turned. His movement was unsteady and dazed as he stumbled out of the room and caught himself on a nearby wall just as his legs failed him. He slid down against it, feeling pain grow in his chest as his breaths grew more and more shallow. Someone stopped in front of him. Hendrik's face appeared as she crouched in front of him. Ledford saw her lips move but he couldn't hear a thing.

"Corinne," he gasped, his voice strained as each word was pushed through his gritted teeth. "It's her… They got her…"

He heard Hendriks's voice, muddled and distant. "Ledford—."

"My fault. It's my fault."

"No, it's not."

"Then whose is it?" Ledford suddenly shouted. Hendriks quickly moved back as the detective suddenly stumbled up onto his feet. "I was supposed to stop this sick fuck! But I've let them get away again and again—do this to people again and again! And now—now out of everyone, it's… it's…!"

Plaster exploded as Ledford's fist punched through the wall. His knuckles were scraped and bleeding when he pulled them back out. He leaned his forehead against the wall, breathing heavily. He didn't move as Hendriks whispered quietly to an officer, "Radio back and tell them we need an ambulance."

She drove the two of them back to the department. The first half of the ride had them stuck in unbearable silence. Hendriks had thought about turning some music on, but couldn't bring herself to.

Then, suddenly, the silence was broken. "Hendriks," he suddenly said. "I have a suspect. I need you to make an arrest for me."

"A suspect?" Hendriks thought to a few years prior. "You don't mean…"

"Not him," Ledford said. "I have a name. A stage name."

There came the knocking again, but this time it was someone at the front door. Alessandra was quick to answer it just to make sure there really was someone standing there on the porch this time. She was surprised to see a woman dressed sharply in a gray blazer and slacks. Her dress shirt peeked from behind the open blazer. Alessandra also caught a glimpse of something black—the strap of a holster.

"Celestina Amonte?"

Alessandra gave a wordless nod, her hands still holding protectively onto the door. "Sorry, whom am I speaking to?"

"Corinne Hendriks, KCPD detective," the woman answered. She lifted the hem of the blazer to show the badge secured to her belt. "Ms. Amonte, I'd like to ask you a few questions and have you shed any possible light on a crime recently occurred."

Damn. It was so annoying when the KCPD wandered onto the right track. "Crime?" Alessandra repeated, letting a touch of fear enter her voice. "What happened?" She knew Stefano was somewhere behind her, listening closely.

"Do you mind if I step in before continuing?" the detective asked.

"Oh, no—come right in." Alessandra opened the door wider. Hendriks stepped through.

"This won't take long," the detective said.

"You're no inconvenience at all," Alessandra assured gently as she shut the door. "I'm just shocked… a little worried too. You were saying something about a crime?"

"That's right," Hendriks replied. "Might I ask if you have any relation to Carolyn Ledford?"

The detective had turned away from Alessandra as she asked the question, her eyes having fallen onto one of the busts. Alessandra's gaze snapped past the woman's shoulder to Stefano, who gave a small, subtle shake of his head. "Carolyn…" Alessandra repeated quizzically. "She's La Petit Maîtresse, isn't she?" As Hendriks turned back to her, Alessandra's eyes widened with concern. "Oh no… did something happen to her?"

There was a soft buzz coming from the detective's pocket. Hendriks glanced down. The phone surfaced for just a quick second before disappearing back away—just enough for Hendriks to confirm what the incoming message was.

"That's it," Alessandra heard Hendriks say. Suddenly, the detective stepped towards Alessandra, her gait growing authoritative. "Ms. Amonte, you're under arrest."

"What?" This time it was Stefano who spoke up, sounding bewildered and outraged. Oh, he was a wonderful little actor himself when he was under the spotlight. "My wife has done nothing! Don't you—!"

"Don't interfere," Hendriks ordered in a stony voice. "Given your past record with KCPD, I don't think you'll want to get in the way."

"Why me? What have I done?" Alessandra fretted. She felt the detective pull her hands behind her back. Metallic clicking precluded an icy cold grip onto her wrists.

"Everything will be explained to you once we reach the precinct, Ms. Amonte. Now let's step outside, please, and I'll read you your rights."

He may have seemed like a concerned husband, but Alessandra knew that as soon as the detective's back turned—as soon as the spotlight swiveled away from him—the farce dropped. In fact, Alessandra was sure he found pleasure at the sight of her in handcuffs, that cheeky devil. Before stepping out of the door with the detective, she glanced over her shoulder and saw Stefano watching them with an amused look on his face. She gave him a quick wink before turning back.

When she reached her detainment room within the police department, Alessandra was allowed a phone call to her lawyer. As soon as Newell picked up, she let panic and distress fill her voice as she pleaded for him to come help her. And he came running—like a dog to the whistle. As soon as he arrived, Hendriks met with the both of them in that detainment room to explain the nature of the arrest.

Ah, Carolyn Ledford. Stefano had been quite pleased with this latest victim. He saw it as a way to really get under that one detective's skin—the man that had tried so hard to find Stefano guilty for his crimes.

Come to think of it, where was that dear detective now? The newspapers had named him as leading the hunt for the Krimson City Killer. Had Stefano's latest work of art broken him? If he'd been knocked off the investigation and replaced by this Hendriks, then the KCPD had no chance.

All of this musing was hidden well in Alessandra's mind. On the exterior, the woman's face was horrified as she listened to the detective. "That's awful! She was so young!" Alessandra gasped, delicately placing a hand over her chest. She glanced at Newell, noticing smugly that he gazed back with a trustful look. "But I promise you, Detective, I had nothing to do with her death!"

"So you deny any affiliation?"

"Do I look like a murderer to you?" Alessandra looked truly upset, making sure Newell was well aware. "I want to go home! I want to be with my husband!"

"Detective," Newell piped up, "my client clearly needs a break before we continue. Might I ask for five minutes—?"

"Ten," Alessandra quickly cut in.

"—Ten," Newell repeated. "Ten minutes for Celestina to collect herself and for us to speak in private."

"Of course," Hendriks replied. She left the room, leaving the two of them alone.

"Doug," Alessandra said, "what's happening? Why are they accusing me again?"

"At this point I can't say anything with complete certainty," Newell answered. "It's likely they have some evidence that's pointing towards you."

"Evidence?" Alessandra thought back to Stefano's work. He had been meticulous in ensuring that his final piece would hold no trace of either of them. The extreme effort had impressed Alessandra, but then again there was a reason the Krimson City Killer was still running free even with the brazen display of his victims. "What evidence? Why is someone trying to incriminate me?"

"Hold on, Celestina," Newell reassured. "We're not sure that's the case. It's still too early to say, but I promise you that as soon as I get back to my office I'm sending as many emails and making as many calls as it takes to find out what's going on."

"Doug, you're a hero. When will they let me make a phone call? I need to hear Stefano's voice."

"I'm not sure."

"Then will you stop by our house? Tell him I'm okay?" Alessandra looked wistful.

"Of course."

Ledford kept his arms crossed while Hendriks filled him in. Part of him—the little bit left that could still think straight—was relieved at the news of the successful arrest. He knew he wouldn't have gotten that arrest warrant approved without Hendriks' backing. And he knew she was taking the brunt of the media outcry that would ensue by placing the cuffs on Celestina herself. It was her renown that legitimized Ledford's efforts. He was well aware that Vankirk—maybe even the chief himself—would have considered this a repeat of what happened five years ago. No doubt the same result would have happened. They'd call this a personal attack on the photographer and his wife, and consider Ledford mentally unfit to continue the investigation given the victim's identity. Maybe they were right—on the latter, anyway.

Ledford knew he was on the right track, and he'd see this through to its rightful end. A little piece of evidence that, for the longest time had been sitting in his pocket, was his one trump card. It wouldn't be long before Newell would demand to see the evidence and dig for ways to discredit it. Go ahead and try, attorney.

Immediately, Ledford was pulled from his thoughts when he heard Hendriks say his name again. The detective blinked a few times as he looked up. "Couldn't have done this without you, Corinne. Thanks."

Hendriks didn't look the least bit cheered by the gratitude. "Jackson," she said slowly. "Are you sure you can handle this? I think it'd be best if—."

"Corinne, stop." His voice grew firm. "I need to see this through. I need justice."

"I understand," Hendriks replied. "Just don't forget to look after yourself. If you ever need a break—step away, clear your head, or just talk to someone—I got you. You know that."

"Yeah," Ledford replied tiredly. "I know."

The next day, Ledford requested to interview the suspect himself. He wasn't the least bit surprised to see the wariness on everyone's faces. They instated a security guard to stand in the interrogation room. But Ledford was planning on taking it easy with La Contessa. There was no need for intimidation when he still had the upper hand.

Today was the last day to collect all he could from the suspect herself—Celestina had already been granted to be release on her own recognizance. In lieu of bail, she would be released from police custody in exchange for her written confirmation that she would appear at any court summons demanded of her. It was Celestina's seemingly innocent persona and history that had made the magistrate so willing to give her an easy way out.

That's how she looked now—entirely innocent—as Ledford stepped in. He remembered five years ago when he had confronted Stefano in an interrogation room like this. He remembered that one eye and its smug, almost predatory, stare.

Celestina, by contrast, sat in her chair with her shoulders lightly bunched and a worried look on her face. She had the air of a trapped rabbit, making Ledford almost look like a wolf closing in.

"Ms. Amonte," Ledford greeted, his voice as cordial as it was stiff. He crossed his arms and, not wanting to tower over the woman, walked to the shorter end of the table and perched himself on the edge. "So far you've denied any affiliation with the murder of Carolyn Ledford—is this correct?"

"Yes," Celestina answered. "I had nothing to do with it—I wouldn't even dream of hurting that poor girl."

"Don't embellish your answer. A simple yes or no will suffice," Ledford replied bluntly. He saw Celestina lower her eyes and nearly felt guilty for a second. Quickly, he squared his shoulders and continued. "Tell me about yourself. What was your childhood like?"

"My…?" Celestina repeated. She was reacting just as Ledford expected her to. The woman was closing up, just like she had when Curtis asked her the same thing in his recording.

"Yes," Ledford replied. "Just to let us assess your character. It's an important way for us to evaluate our suspects."

"I see," Celestina said slowly.

"Remember," Newell cut in to warn her, "that you can stop answering at any point if you start to get uncomfortable. Don't say more than you need to."

"It's okay, Doug," Celestina reassured. She lifted her eyes, and Ledford could have sworn it was a different person looking up at him… something entirely different. "I've got nothing to hide.

"Papa was the heir to his family's oil company, you see. Black gold—isn't that what it's called? He left the City of Love to find it and met Mamma in Milan. He had more money than he knew what to do with by the time I was born, and he was never shy about using it all on us."

"Us?" Ledford interrupted.

Celestina looked taken aback at the interlude. "Well…" Quickly, she answered, "Yes. Mamma and I. We were his angels, you know. The light of his life. And my parents…" She sighed. "They showered me with affection. They nurtured my love for music. I wouldn't be the woman I am now if it weren't for them."

"Touching," Ledford remarked in a voice that was devoid of sentiment. "And what about any other family?"

"Well there was Papa's side of the family—a bit snooty, to be perfectly honest. We didn't visit them very often. They were ever so rude to Mamma. Her French was very poor, and so they saw no problem in gossiping about her while she was in the same room. There was also a cousin of mine from that side—she was especially horrid. Always so rude to my—to me. Oh, no… I shouldn't say that. She got into a tragic car accident a year before I graduated from the Royal Academy, you know. I remember feeling awful for all the hatred I felt towards her. Death has a way of making mistakes sting terribly, doesn't it?"

Ledford's hackles prickled at her last sentence. Though Celestina had said it with clear repentance in her voice, he couldn't help but feel as though there was a hidden taunt in there. Perhaps she and Stefano weren't so different after all.

Still no Alessandra, Ledford noticed. It seemed she was still adamant on keeping this sister of hers under the rug. But if he brought that name up now, Celestina would shut down and refuse to entertain his questions. And, he thought with dry, bitter humor, he'd run the risk of being found facedown in an alleyway in a pool of his own blood.

"Thank you for answering," he told her, to which Celestina responded, "Of course, Detective."

Then, Ledford continued. "Now, I've been noticing a recent trend regarding the individual known as the Krimson City Killer, Ms. Amonte. Would you mind corroborating this observation for me?"

"I'll try, Detective, but I doubt I know more about that than you do."

"You don't need access to confidential information to see this trend, Ms. Amonte. Have you been following the news of this killer?"

"I have, especially now since they've murdered some of my dearest friends."

"That's just the thing," Ledford said. "Early victims, given that this is the same individual, were all small names. Unknown until their deaths were published in the papers. And only models, too. Namely, women who appeared in front of the camera." He watched for any reaction from Celestina and found none. "And then… around 2007, I'd say… the black sheep started appearing. Fast forward to now, and the names towards the end of this list have gotten bigger. More acclaimed. Not only that—they were singers, not just models. Musicians. Your friends, as you said."

Celestina gave a small nod. "Whoever this killer is, they clearly have an inclination towards glamorous women," she said. "And though never straying from this preference, their taste has shifted. This is Krimson City, after all. Plenty of musicians around."

"And what about you?" Ledford asked. "You're a musician yourself. Are you not worried?"

"I never said I wasn't."

"I remember," Ledford went on, "reading an interview between you and the Krimson City Post a few years ago. During the height of the murders you told the journalists that you and your husband were on the verge of leaving the city. I don't blame Mr. Valentini—it's a rational reaction for someone in his place. After all, you fit the dossier of one of the Krimson City Killer's typical victims to a T. And yet you're still here. Since then, more women have died—more musicians. And yet you're still here."

"I'm careful," Celestina defended. "I never go anywhere without my husband or someone else knowing. When it starts getting dark I never walk the streets alone."

"Let me guess—you walk with your husband?"

"Most of the time, yes. He's very protective of me, as he should be." Before Ledford could build off of his question, Celestina briskly continued, "Don't think me obtuse just because I was a woman of the stage, Detective. I know your history with Stefano, and I'm quite aware that this is an attempt to pull him in. This investigation is about me. You arrested me. And I'll continue to answer questions about me. If you stray, I'm afraid I'll have to cut things short." Suddenly, a smile that, in any other situation, might have been considered warm and beautiful appeared on her face. "I'm sorry, Detective. I didn't mean to be rude."

Ignoring her honeyed apology, Ledford remained silent as he examined Celestina. After a moment, he spoke up quietly. "He had a similar reaction when I brought you up."

"Are you surprised? He cares deeply about me, and I him. Don't hate Stefano just because you don't have the love of a woman like he does."

"Celestina," Newell interjected quietly, shooting her a gentle warning look.

"I'm sorry, Doug. That was too far, wasn't it?"

Ledford still hadn't taken his steely glare from Celestina. He watched the emotions play across her face seamlessly like a shape shifter. "Thank you, Ms. Amonte," he suddenly said. "Your answers have proven invaluable in helping us assess who you are." He saw Celestina look back at him, and the innocence in her eyes was entirely gone.

"Do you mind if I get one last word in before we conclude?" she asked.

Ledford didn't expect this. "Go on."

"I see it in your eyes—you think me a monster. Well, let me tell you this: monsters aren't born, Detective. They're made."

"By Dr. Frankenstein?" Ledford replied dryly.

"By the people who were supposed to love them." Celestina leaned forward. "So next time you accuse someone of being a monster, think very carefully of what exactly that means." Newell was watching Celestina with a shocked expression. Celestina seemed to notice, because she leaned back with a shaky sigh. "Doug," she said, her voice growing soft and pitiable again, "when can I go home?"

"You'll be released by seven-thirty in the morning tomorrow."

"Oh, my Stefano," Celestina fretted. "I can't stand the thought of him alone."

Ledford slipped out of the interrogation room. To his relief, he saw that it was Hendriks instead of Vankirk waiting for him. "That was… somewhat enlightening," Hendriks remarked.

"Looks like Krimson City's sweetheart has another side to her. Hopefully we'll be able to pull that side into the light during the preliminary hearing."

"I'm going to be honest—we all thought you were going to be a bit more out of control in there."

Ledford gave a heavy sigh. "I'm making progress, and that's what's got me hanging in there," he said. "Plus, I know you've got my back." They headed through the precinct, nearing the homicide department. As they drew closer to Ledford's office, the detective slowed. "I'm calling Chen first thing tomorrow morning. We need to have this hearing secured."