As he ambled casually to the front door, he considered how alternative events might have precluded him from being here. He couldn’t deny he owed Mrs O’Doole a debt of gratitude.
He waited for his doorbell ring to activate bumps in the house. No sound. It was Saturday morning. Maybe the whole family had gone into town. He rubbed his jaw as he waited. He felt fine now. It had been a warning. One that was significant enough to make him consider booking himself in for a private medical examination when his work was squared away, however.
He heard footfalls on carpeted stairs. One of the boys, or Mrs O’Doole? The muscles in his legs tautened. If it were her, she would surely recognise him. If she’d watched him being loaded into the ambulance, she’d know exactly who he was. He would greet her and thank her. Maybe she’d invite him in for a cup of coffee and make his job easier.
“Just a minute.” A woman’s voice and then scrabbling with the locks.
It was her.
The door opened and Mimic had the newly purchased ketchup bottle out of his pocket in time to slam it into the middle of her forehead. In the instant he’d heard her voice, Mimic had decided he didn’t want to look her in the eye while she was still alive. The force of the blow was so great that the bottle cracked and the bottom of it dropped onto the hallway carpet as he stood over her.
It was easy to discern which was blood and which was ketchup though. Mimic quickly snapped on his blue surgical gloves.
Chapter 32
“Hi, Lin. It’s me.” It was the first time Beth had picked up the telephone to call a friend since she’d been discharged from hospital.
“Beth? Oh my God.” Lin swallowed loudly.
“Are you OK?”
“Am I OK?” she said incredulously. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t know if I should call you there. I spoke to your parents and they said you were staying with your brother. They offered me his number, but I figured you wanted some time alone.” Her words tumbled over each other.
“I have been hiding out...” Beth heard Lin take a trembling intake of breath.
“I’m so sorry about Luc.” She sniffed. “I can’t imagine what the past weeks have been like for you.”
“Jerome was just here.”
Lin sighed. “I told him not to call on you until you were ready.”
“It was fine. Really. I understand. He can’t allow Avellana to fall apart.”
“It will now. You know that, don’t you.”
The statement startled Beth. On the occasions they’d dined with Jerome and Lin at their ultra-modern home, they’d always presented a united front, maintaining Luc was responsible for nothing more than half of its success. “He mentioned he’d moved out...”
“He told you?”
“Yes. Temporarily, he said.”
“He might have said that, but I don’t think there’s any way back for us.” Lin’s statement terminated in a whisper.
It was a typical Lin conversation. It entirely orbited her, even given what Beth had been through. But she was glad of it. Was happy to shift the focus from her. “I’m so sorry, Lin. It’s none of my business. Just be sure.”
“Of what?”
“That this can’t be saved. Ask yourself if never seeing him again will be his punishment or yours.”
“It wasn’t Jerome’s fault.” Her voice thickened. “Jerome hasn’t done anything wrong.”
Beth was momentarily dumbstruck. Jerome had an eye for the ladies. He’d flirted with her on several occasions and made her more than a little uncomfortable. She’d assumed...
“It’s my fault, Beth. I don’t deserve to be forgiven.”
“But it sounds as if that’s exactly what Jerome wants to do.”
“Jerome’s forgiveness wouldn’t even be the start...” Emotion spilt over.
Beth listened to her and surprised herself by how resentful she felt. Tears for a husband that was still alive, that Lin could still reach. Or was it because Beth hadn’t yet shed them for the man she would never see again?
“Can we meet?” Lin’s voice was suddenly clear, as if it were the product of a sudden determination.
“Lin, I’m not sure I’m ready...’
Silence on the other end.
Beth tried to pre-empt further sobs. She didn’t want to hear them. “Although it would be good to see you again...”
*
Mimic was sitting in the car looking at the backs of his hands. They weren’t shaking, but felt light, as if they’d float upwards, lifting his arms above his head. As a kid, he remembered his brother getting him to stand in a doorway and press his knuckles against both sides of the frame and count to thirty. When he let his arms slacken, they rose like they were on invisible wires. It was the sensation he was experiencing now, and Mimic wondered if it was a side effect of his attack. He anticipated the pain in his jaw again and wondered if he should still be hospitalised. He had work to do, though, and they’d only pump him full of meds. Mimic hated taking even an aspirin.
He’d followed the MO to the letter. Used the bottle on the woman exactly as the perp had at the other crime scene, and all the time he was doing it, the same thought that always occurred to him played through his head. He was giving the real guy an airtight alibi. If he was ever arrested, it was likely he’d be able to prove he’d been elsewhere when Mimic’s duplication was carried out.
But while he’d used the jagged glass to deface the looks and genitals of a healthy woman, another thought had been paramount. He’d given the sick fuck an alibi and achieved nothing. Was he slacking because it was his last contract, or just turning into a doddering old fart?
The woman lying dead in the house wasn’t Marcia O’Doole. He’d allowed his focus to shift. Only briefly, but while he’d considered that the target he was about to bludgeon had probably saved his life and he was about to repay her by murdering her two sons, he’d relinquished control. He’d tried to hasten a procedure he should have been a hundred percent removed from.
The woman had been the same sort of age, height and build as Marcia. It had been an understandable but still inexcusable mistake to make. Who was she? Her sister, by the looks. The sons had been absent from the house when he’d searched it as well. He’d found instructions for watering plants that had been left for the house-sitter, and there had been dust outlines on tops of the wardrobes where the suitcases had been taken down. Where had Marcia O’Doole and her family gone?
He hadn’t found anything on either of their computers to indicate where they were headed. No vacation-booking emails, nothing. He’d sat on Mrs O’Doole’s bed and communicated with his contact at the NCS. As an ex-operative, he still had significant currency with a lot of key staff. Accessing phones and credit card transactions was easily achieved, but they’d turned up nothing. Yet. Kevin O’Doole was a Facebook junkie, though. They were probably on the road now but it wouldn’t take long for them to leave a footprint online.
He’d track them like he had so many of his other targets. His movements connected him to some of the vilest scum in twenty-three US states alone. It was rich territory for his line of work. His jigsaw personality was a global one, however, and his crimes peppered Interpol’s database.
His technique not only covered his trail but also made it someone else’s. He had become, amongst many identities, serial killers, random drive-by gunmen, terrorist bombers, Chechen and Namibian Mafia, Bratva, Yakuza and myriad organised and disorganised crime gangs of varying nationalities.
Whether he’d used it to kill single or multiple individuals, however, he’d only replicated another’s method once. More than that meant he was stimulating his own chain of evidence and significantly threw any ongoing investigation. He was grateful for the mask he could wear, but he always handed it quickly back.
With one impersonation, either the police suspected the original perp or, if they couldn’t be convicted for Mimic’s crime, a one-off local copycat. And he was long gone by the time they had the right man in custody. If that
ever happened.
He took an interest in those whose styles he’d adopted. If they were ever arrested, it was a chink in his armour. But it happened shockingly infrequently, and the lack of police success was breath-taking. There were only nineteen people who had been convicted of crimes that had included his.
From his position, Mimic could see the smoke curling out of the top of the house. Even though the body was downstairs, he’d set the fire in the bedroom as the perp had in the other apartment. He’d planned to tell Mrs O’Doole why it had all been necessary, and it was a conversation he still had to have with her. He started the engine and pulled the car out of its spot to make room for the fire trucks to access the street.
Chapter 33
Lin was seated in the corner of Costa with an ivory jacquard trench coat belted around her as if she were ready to flee. Beth had never seen her slender frame looking so slouched, and her dark hair was pinned up in a messy bun. Normally confident and impeccably made up, her Chinese-Malaysian features were puffy, her eyes and pallor betraying lack of sleep. Beth wondered if she was back on the prescription medication Jerome confided she’d developed an addiction to. She rose as Lin reached the table.
“I’m so sorry.” She hugged Beth tight.
Beth felt awkward and didn’t know how long to maintain the embrace. She took in the abstract painting on the wall behind them as she waited to be released.
There was moisture in Lin’s gaze when she finally let go. “How are you getting along with your brother?” she asked, sensing Beth’s awkwardness.
“He’s been a sweetheart.”
Lin seated herself and Beth noticed she didn’t have a cup before her. She dropped into the chair opposite.
Lin composed herself, wiped away the strands of hair that were sticking to her face and dabbed a bunched tissue at the raw edges of her wet nose. “I know you two aren’t close.”
How did she know that? But then, they’d had a fair share of wine chats. “I seem to be getting to know him for the first time. How are you holding out?” She knew it was the question Lin had been waiting for.
“Not good.” It looked as if she were about to lose control again.
Wasn’t Lin meant to be consoling her? As Lin had no children or family, she usually assumed the only worthy topic of conversation was the minutiae of her middle-class universe. Had she really offered to meet Beth because she wanted to convey her condolences, or because she didn’t have any other friends to talk to about her break-up with Jerome?
“I feel... like I’ve been emptied out.”
Beth nodded and put her hand inside her shoulder bag for a fresh tissue. She extracted a packet and gave one to Lin.
She took it and pressed it against both eyelids. When she removed it, the remainder of her mascara was smudged there. But the expression on her face said even she realised how incongruous her behaviour was in front of Beth. “I’m sorry. This is the very last thing you need.”
Beth didn’t know what to say to her, so just shrugged her shoulders. She eyed the tissues; they’d been redundant to her since she’d woken in hospital.
A black droplet darted down Lin’s face.
Beth supposed they were kind of on the same page. Even though Lin had Jerome walk out, for whatever reason, they’d both lost the man from their lives, whether it was because of death or a stupid lapse of judgement. But at least Lin still had choices. “Why do you believe it’s so definitely over for you two?”
Lin fixed her, the intensity of her regard obscured by tears and her lips suddenly sealed against more words emerging. Then she rose. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry.” She moved past Beth and headed for the door, her jasmine scent wafting over Beth.
Beth didn’t call after her but stayed in her chair looking at the abstract. A thought had already pricked the back of her mind. It had when Lin had spoken to her on the telephone.
Jerome’s forgiveness wouldn’t even be the start.
She knew Luc and Lin had worked closely together. Was Lin really so upset because of her infidelity and Jerome leaving, or was it about the other man she could no longer see?
Chapter 34
Beth’s mistrust of iPhones was further reinforced when, sitting on her single bed, she decided to turn hers on because she was waiting to receive her list of appointments from the clinic. She was just checking her messages when she found the email. It had just one word in the subject heading:
Allegro
Her heartbeat skittered. The sender’s address was a long jumble of letters, symbols and numbers. It didn’t have anything suspect attached to it but, even though the communication begged immediate attention, she hovered her finger over it for a few seconds. It was almost as if she knew touching it would activate something.
She tapped the screen and was asked if confirmation of her opening it could be sent. She paused momentarily before hitting “OK.”
I know you’re looking for answers. Please delete this email once you’ve read it.
Our exchanges must remain private. If they don’t, I won’t be in touch again.
If I can trust you, contact me on Facebook (Eileen Froley) by requesting friendship and posting the words “How did the concert go?” on my wall.
That was it. Beth noted it had been sent at 4.40 that morning. Had the sender been waiting for her all this time? Could it be Rae? How did she get her email address? It hadn’t come via the jawbone2014 Facebook or YouTube accounts she’d set up.
She logged in to Facebook and searched for Eileen Froley. There she was – a middle-aged woman with red-framed spectacles and mousy, permed hair. She was in Cape Elizabeth, Maine. There were photos of her smiling and straddling a cello. She searched the name again but that was the only result.
Beth stabbed the friend request and waited. It was immediately confirmed.
She typed: How did the concert go?
Beth waited but no reply came. Then another friendship request appeared. It was from “Allegro”. She clicked through to the page. The account had just been created. There were no images or location details. She confirmed the friend request. A dialogue box popped up at the bottom of the screen.
I’ve been waiting.
Beth’s jaw began to throb and she responded: Who are you?
Allegro.
Beth swallowed tightly.
Is this Rae?
There was a long pause before the reply came. Whoever the person was, wherever they were, they were obviously considering their response carefully.
This is the wrong channel for that discussion. We should meet.
Where are you?
I have posted details on my BriskyPix page. Look for me there.
They logged out. Beth put “BriskyPix” into a search and hit the link. It was a new image-sharing site. She searched members for Allegro and selected their account. The page opened and she found an image and a message left for her there.
The airbrushed photo was of a pier containing an illuminated big wheel against a purple night sky taken from across pale yellow sands. Below the snap it said:
Beth, Crescent Bay Oyster Shack, 1885 Appian Way, Santa Monica, CA, 90401. Tell me when you’re ready to meet here. No more questions answered until you do. Just post “Good luck with Beethoven 5” on Eileen’s wall when you are. I will contact you to arrange a date and time.
Beth was sure she hadn’t just fallen for an intricate online scam. Was this where Rae was hiding, and was she really expected to travel all the way to LA on the basis of a few online exchanges?
Whoever it was could be assured of that, however, as soon as they’d used the word Luc had uttered as he’d died at the roadside. At least, the word Rae had told her he’d uttered.
Beth studied the picture and imagined herself standing on the pier. She did a quick search for the Oyster Shack and gleaned from its website that it was a small seafood restaurant that operated near Santa Monica Pier. Smiling diners used their fingers to tuck into shellfish served on newspaper spread over
tables. It was obviously a very public and family-oriented place. Was that a deliberate ploy to make her feel more secure about the rendezvous?
Chapter 35
Whoever had contacted her was asking her to take a massive leap of faith. But there was no question she would go. The trip to Neuf-Marché had given her direction and led her to Allegro. This was the second stage of a journey she had to make, and it didn’t matter how far it took her. Besides, since her return from Normandy, she’d been itching to escape again.
Beth wanted to be anywhere but sitting in Jody’s flat, calculating the volume of legal and Avellana paperwork that would have to be surmounted before she could find some space to grieve properly. Why should she delay? What had she to detain her?
She looked down at her stomach, touched it tenderly and thought about the two inches of life inside her. It was growing quickly, and soon it would take possession of her. Beth still didn’t know how she felt about that. She was juggling that and the implications of what Lin had said to her, not wanting to grasp either thought for too long.
She closed the BriskyPix page, punched up Lin’s number and looked at it until her iPhone went into standby. How could she possibly accuse her? It was ludicrous. Luc had never spent any time outside Avellana away from her. Their weekends had always been sacred. There wasn’t one occasion she could recall when he’d made an excuse to spend a night elsewhere. She detested herself for even entertaining the suspicion. But Luc and Lin had worked together for nine years, eight hours a day, five days a week. She touched the screen and hit the number. She would ask her outright whom she’d been seeing. She listened to it ring and it went to her answering service.
She hung up. It was ridiculous. But Beth didn’t like the sense of relief she felt about not having the conversation.
*
“Who do you know in LA?” Jody shifted awkwardly around in his swivel chair and put his bottle of Sprite on the studio desk
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