“Far be it for me to judge. Anyway, I hear the South embraces crazy. But you have to start calling it eccentric.”
He laughs. After a sip of his wine, he’s dead serious. “There’s a vigilante on the loose.”
My fork skitters across the plate, my hand trembling.
“Crab wonton almost got away from me.” I take a sip of my wine and lean back in the chair. “I’m listening. Why a vigilante?”
I force myself to eat even though I no longer taste the food. The wine tastes like water going down. Anything to hide how rattled I am. He goes through and explains to me why he believes there’s a serial killer—or, as he calls it, a vigilante killer—on the loose. He’s convinced his coworkers and shared his idea with his cop friends. They’re taking him seriously since the home invasion.
Fuckety fuck. I do a casual glance around. Make sure there aren’t feds and cops dressed in SWAT gear ready to take me down.
“You think I’m crazy?” He stuffs a piece of chicken in his mouth.
“Not at all. What happens next?”
“Wait to hear back from Kevin. I told them I’d help however I could. There was another murder a couple of days ago. A home invasion, but—guess what they found?”
My knee is bouncing up and down under the table. Does he know? Is this some kind of game?
“Let me guess. A cat.”
Grayson takes a drink, drawing out the suspense, as if I don’t already know.
“A dog. Almost starved to death. It’s him. I know it.”
Him. I relax a fraction.
“You know, on the one hand, this guy’s doing what we can’t. And what we all secretly think these people deserve. But on the other hand, this is real life. He’s breaking the law. And he has to pay. It isn’t up to him to decide what the punishment should be. That’s why we have law and order. Without that, society dissolves into chaos.”
“What about justice? Justice doesn’t always follow the law.”
“I believe we have to keep to the law. And justice is up to the courts to decide.”
I set the glass down harder than I intend to, and it makes ripples in the wine. “Don’t you believe in higher justice?”
“I don’t believe higher justice comes into play here. Whatever happens between these people and their maker is out of my hands. But I do believe in our legal system.” He holds up his hands. “I know we have a long way to go in some areas, but change will come. I’ll do everything in my power to help catch this guy.”
“And I thought I was naïve. I’m glad you haven’t lost all of your idealism. I quit believing in the justice system a long time ago.”
He looks at me for a moment, and I think I’ve said too much. But he’s a nice guy and lets it drop.
“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree. After all, I’d hate to have to find another Chinese place because we have to avoid each other.”
“To the best Chinese around…and to good friends.”
He clinks his glass to mine. “I know you’re cynical. But you’re a good person deep down. I’m really glad I’ve gotten to know you, Hope.”
But how glad will he be if he finds out it’s me he’s searching for?
The next week, Grayson met Zane for lunch. “Aren’t you getting fancy?” he said in greeting as he walked through the door of LaFarm Bakery in Cary. Though Grayson wouldn’t admit it, he loved their sandwiches.
Zane grinned at him. “My wife got me hooked on this place. She took a bread-making class and came home with bags of bread. We’ve been coming here since before there was a cafe.”
Most of the people were sitting outside. All those tables were full, so Zane grabbed a corner table inside where they wouldn’t be overheard.
“Is Kevin joining us?”
“No, he couldn’t get away.” Zane finished his sandwich and put his elbows on the table.
“Is he working my theory? You know, if there is a vigilante, it’s not like the person’s going to stop. So all we have to do is wait.”
He looked at Grayson and his face broke into a grin. “Since when did you become so cynical?”
“It’s someone I was talking to the other night. Maybe she’s rubbed off on me.”
“There were drugs involved in several of the scenes. And most of these people had other criminal charges. There could be a lot of explanations. And we heard from local DEA there is a cartel hitman in town. So it could be connected to that.” Zane paused and answered his phone.
“Sorry. Anyway, those guys would be likely to have ghost guns that aren’t registered. Make it that much harder for us to find out who it is.”
“Are the feds getting involved?” Grayson pointed to his glass, and Zane nodded. As Grayson refilled the cups, excitement built. He knew he was right.
“Thanks.” Zane leaned back in the chair. “Here’s the thing. There’s no staging, no mementos, no ritual. Different socioeconomic backgrounds, neighborhoods, professions, and different cities. Usually a serial killer leaves some type of calling card. The higher-ups aren’t convinced. We’ve got to do some more digging. If it were one shooter, they’d be sitting up and listening and the feds would already be here. But with the three shooters, it’s more likely drug-related. I haven’t convinced them it’s one shooter, three guns, like you believe.”
“From what you’ve told me, none of them knew each other. It feels to me like they were chosen. And I think they were selected because of the cruelty. I’ll bet you a case of beer the next two murders will match to the open cases. The killer is alternating the guns to buy time. We’ve got to check all cases.”
Zane scowled. “We can’t put officers on every open case across the state. I know it blows, but we’ll just have to wait.” He belched. “You know animal cruelty doesn’t even really register. Animals are still considered property. Not gonna pop when we’re looking for a connection. Thanks to you, we’re looking.”
Zane saw the hope on Grayson’s face. “Don’t get your hopes up. This guy, if it is one guy, is good. Smart. Now don’t tell the wife, but I’m getting dessert.”
CHAPTER 53
MASON ROBINSON. THE HORRIBLE EXCUSE for a human being drowned twenty cats. They were found in buckets, scattered around his property. The guy lives in a mobile home up in the mountains in Asheville. His place is part of a mobile home park, but located on the edge, where there’s open land.
I found a really cheap and kinda sketchy motel that takes cash. And am I glad I brought my own bedding. Theirs makes me shudder. I check closely but don’t see any sign of bedbugs. Who knows last time they washed the bedspread? There could be all sorts of disgusting stains on it.
My pink gun and work kit are with me. It’s already November. Where has the year gone? My relationship with Jackson, my well-paying corporate job—it all seems like a lifetime ago. And some days I’m just so tired. I haven’t been able to meditate in weeks. Or focus enough to do yoga. The only thing I’ve kept up is my green smoothies and jogging on the treadmill down in the apartment gym.
Things were getting better until Grayson had to share his theory. Get his cop friends involved. I should have known he’d figure it out. The only thing that’s saved me is the multiple guns. Who was the other shooter? It’s only a matter of time until they close in. I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes. My instincts tell me it’s time to move. Go home and see Gram.
Mason works as a welder during the day. So I’ve spent the day wandering around. The leaves are absolutely spectacular. It’s finally starting to get cooler. And even a little chilly at night. I picked up a few groceries so I don’t have to eat out. Call me paranoid, but I saw another black Maserati, and something about it made me look at the tag. A dealer tag. The other one had a South Carolina tag. So different cars, but I don’t like it. Everywhere I look, I see conspiracies. The street is getting to me.
I take a Pepsi out of the fridge. At least the cruddy room has a decent refrigerator. I think people come here and stay for weeks on end. It’s that kind of
place. No one looks at each other. Everyone keeps to themselves. Just the way I like it.
From the past several days of spying on him, I know at night he watches TV and drinks until he goes to sleep. But last night, I saw a cat in a cage. And I know what’s going to happen to it. So I have to act. Tonight.
When I read about what he did, I felt sick to my stomach. When police and animal control collected all the cats, the guy was caught on tape by a local newscaster saying he got all the cats off Craigslist. He’s obviously off in the head. Believes cats are the devil’s familiars. And that his religion says to cast out evil, and that’s what he did by drowning cats. It took away the powers of their owners, who are witches. The man truly believes he’s doing the Lord’s work, as he calls it.
Well, he’ll be facing Him soon enough. He can explain it all then.
He got thirty days in jail for what he did, and now he’s back home ready for a visit from me. This guy never locks his door. I’ve checked. I park down the road and put a white washcloth in the window so it’ll look like I’ve broken down and am waiting for someone to pick up the car.
As I get close to the trailer, I can hear the TV blaring. Peeking in the window, I see him asleep on the couch. Perfect. The screen door squeaks. Peering through the small, diamond-shaped pane of glass in the front door, I let out my breath. He hasn’t moved.
The front door opens without a sound, and I hold the screen door so it won’t slam. The front door I leave slightly ajar. It smells like body odor and greasy food in here. Taking aim, I count.
But a sound stops me. Headlights cast shadows on the walls. Hell. There’s no back door. I know; I’ve already looked. I’m trapped.
Quickly, I walk down the narrow hallway, peeking in each door. There’s a knock on the front door and I slip inside the next room, shutting the door softly behind me. The light from my phone shows me I’m in a bathroom. There’s no tub, but there’s a shower. I get in behind the curtain.
Adrenaline is coursing through my body, making me jittery and sick to my stomach. It’s one thing for me to kill those who deserve it, but I don’t know who is visiting and don’t want to kill an innocent unless I have to, because there’s no way I’m letting them call the cops.
Male voices. And then I hear footsteps outside the door. The door opens and I freeze, trying to breathe as quietly as possible.
No one comes in. He leaves the door open and I hear them talking.
“Have another. Let’s play Need for Speed.”
The video game comes on, the men bantering back and forth. See, you just never know. Someone can seem so normal and then you find out they drown cats for their entertainment. How long am I’m going to have to stand in this disgusting shower? There’s mold and mildew in every corner, and it smells. Looking out, I see where he missed the toilet, little yellow stains all around the floor. It’s obviously some kind of bachelor pad. Not a woman’s touch to be seen in the place.
I have to stand straight. I don’t dare lean against the wall, because who knows what kind of funky bacterial infection I’d pick up? As I shift from foot to foot, someone comes in the bathroom. The light flickers on and I peek through the tiny slit where the curtain meets the wall. It’s not Mason; it’s his visitor.
He sits down on the toilet and grunts. The smell of poop fills the air as I cover my nose and mouth with my hand. I have to bite my cheeks because all of a sudden, something’s funny. What is it with poop?
The laugh almost escapes. Whenever I go into a bathroom I always open the shower door, look behind the shower curtain. Guess it’s from reading too many scary books as a child. But he doesn’t pay any attention. And it’s a good thing, because if he pulls the curtain back, I’ll have to shoot him.
Risking another look, I see him reading some kind of porn magazine. How long am I going to be stuck in this bathroom with the smell of poop filling my nose and soaking into my skin?
Finally he finishes and, of course, leaves without washing his hands. The video game is shut off and I think he’s leaving, but then I hear him say to Mason, “Let’s go see who can piss the farthest.”
“But not on my property. There’s a sewage pond for the park. We go there.”
It’s quiet. After fifteen minutes have passed, I leave the bathroom, peering out into the hallway. It’s empty. Fury burns through me that this idiot has ruined my plans. Forget it. I’ll try again tomorrow.
As I cut through the bushes to my car, I hear voices. It’s them. There’s a low fence surrounding the sewage pond. Warning people to keep away. But these two idiots are standing on the narrow ledge around the pool, pissing. Trying to hit the sign on a pole in the middle of the brown pond.
As I crouch down to watch, the guy falls in. I hear a yelp and splashing.
“Help me, Mason.”
Mason stands there swaying. “Can’t. Never learned how to swim.” He bursts out laughing. “You should see yourself, covered in shit.”
He looks around for something and throws a rope to the guy. Pulls him out. The friend sits on the edge, cursing up a storm. Mason, taking the hint, backs up, holding out his hands.
“Now look here, it wasn’t my fault you fell in. You can’t expect me to go in after you when you know I can’t swim. I would’ve drowned. Choked on everybody else’s shit. That’s a terrible way to go.”
I can’t help it, and look around for a TV crew. There’s no way this is for real. It’s too ridiculous.
Mason glares at the guy. “Go on, get outta here.”
The guy turns and hightails it away. Mason reaches down by his feet, picks up another beer, and pops the top. He looks around and grins. Walks along the edge, singing softly to himself.
“Guess it doesn’t really smell too awful bad.”
While he acts like an idiot, I wait. Make sure his friend has left. A car starts up, and it’s quiet except for Mason singing. No one has bothered to see what the commotion’s about.
I have plenty of time to take aim. And then he makes a startled noise, loses his balance, and falls backward into the sludge.
Damn it.
He’s crying out, thrashing around. I climb over the fence.
“Help me, lady. I can’t swim.”
The rope is off to the side and there’s a pole leaning against the fence. It must be used in case things get stuck. It has a flat piece, almost like a shovel. It’ll do.
“Help me.”
When his arms go out to the side, I push down hard with the pole. He goes under, thrashes, and bobs up. But he’s drunk and tired, and I have all night.
It’s three days later when I see the news article. The maintenance guy found a problem—something was stuck in the bottom of the pond. After he poked around with a pole, the body surfaced. It must’ve somehow gotten wedged under the equipment in the pond.
The medical examiner said it was one of the most interesting things she had seen in a long while. Due to all the alcohol in his system and marinating in raw sewage for three days, Mason had mushrooms growing all over his body. Mostly on his chest, arms, and groin. There’s a link to pictures that someone posted. I can’t help it—I have to click over and see. It’s horribly disgusting, and I start giggling hysterically. Just think, if someone ate the mushrooms after they were removed? Yuck.
CHAPTER 54
A WEEK HAS PASSED WHEN I see the article. Mason’s friend, Morris, has been questioned by the police. Swears he didn’t kill his friend. They find him suspicious because Mason was sleeping with his sister.
But what I read next makes me lose count of the money I took from Gary’s house.
Morris says he saw a woman. He says she was dancing with the forest animals and singing. I can’t believe he saw me. Somehow his headlights must’ve illuminated me while I was hiding in the trees.
The text on the screen blurs and I feel lightheaded. Everything starts to go dim. I come to and find myself stretched out on the floor, and my elbow hurts. I must’ve knocked it against the table when I fainted.
And now I feel horribly guilty. An innocent man has been arrested for what I’ve done. Do I turn myself in?
During my daily searches, I read the dog I found at Gary’s house is being cared for at the local shelter. Seeing his name reminds me of the money. When I finished counting all the cash, I found there was a quarter of a million and change. There is no mention in the article about the money. It makes me feel like a common criminal.
Why didn’t I feel like a criminal after I murdered eleven abusers? It’s the difference between doing what is right and stealing. I stole from him. When I read he has no living relatives and no will, I feel marginally better. But I have to figure out what to do with all that money. And then it hits me.
Robin Hood. I will take ten thousand at a time, put it in an envelope, and leave it at the door to a shelter, addressing it as a donation. There’s a risk the money will be stolen and never make it in the door, but it’s a good solution. The article has no mention of the missing money—do they know it’s missing or not? I’m guessing not.
Sitting in the reception area of Massage Envy, I hear someone call my name.
“What a surprise. My, haven’t you slimmed down.”
I turn to see Lynette standing there, her eyes glittering. She’s going to say something ugly.
“I was so sorry to hear you’re no longer with the company. I heard you threw a pen at someone.”
She no longer makes me mad. Like a bug I could squash underfoot, she’s nothing more than a nuisance. So I laugh. “I did. That misogynist pig deserved it.”
Her mouth drops open in shock. “Um…so, what are you up to these days? Have you found a new job?”
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