by Mary Burton
“We came to pay our respects.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Quinn said softly.
“I spotted Kaitlin Roe’s car outside,” Adler said.
Ashley’s lips flattened into a grim line. “She left here about an hour ago. The woman has nerve. She said she was paying her respects, but I half expected her to pull out her recorder to capture a sound bite for that damn podcast of hers. What the hell is it with the media? Do they have any shame?”
“Them? Who else from the media was here?” Quinn asked.
“Steven Marcus. Another liar who’s working on his book.”
“He spoke to you?”
“He dropped off flowers, but when I saw him approach, I turned my back to him.”
“Where are the flowers he brought?” Quinn asked.
“Over there by the others. White tulips, I think.”
Quinn met Adler’s gaze and crossed the room to the arrangement.
“Did you notice the type of car he was driving?” Adler asked.
Ashley laughed. “No. I kind of had my hands full here.”
Quinn returned from the arrangement. “There’s no card.”
Adler’s gaze swept the room. “Thank you, Ms. Ralston.”
As the detectives left, Adler double-checked his phone. There was a text from Kaitlin.
John, I’m at Marcus’s house. Help me.
“What the hell is she doing at his house?” Adler opened the computer in his vehicle and typed in Marcus’s residence. As the directions appeared, he dialed Logan and thought about the text. She’d called him John. She’d never called him John, not even when they were making love.
When Logan picked up, Adler said, “I need everything you can find out about Steven Marcus. Anything I can use. And I need it now.”
“I’m on it.”
INTERVIEW FILE #28
IS A PSYCHOPATH MADE OR BORN?
Some of the most successful people are psychopaths. Many are leaders in the business world, politics, journalism, and organized crime. Their underlying trait is selfishness. They know what they want and will do whatever it takes to get it. They have no remorse.
The reality is very few psychopaths commit murder. Why they do cross that line is anyone’s guess. Is it predisposed in their DNA? Is there a trigger that sets them off? The truth is, no one really knows.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Saturday, March 24, 2018; 8:00 p.m.
“Hi, I’m Gina Mason.”
The tape was on a loop, and it repeated over and over so often she’d lost count of how many times. “Is the plan to drive me insane, Marcus?” she shouted. “If you think hearing her voice over and over again is going to drive me mad, you’re a little late. Her voice is all I’ve heard for the last fourteen years. Why don’t you turn up the volume? Maybe put a soundtrack on it.”
“Hi, I’m Gina Mason.”
Footsteps sounded outside the room, and a switch clicked on, leaking light through the edges of the door. She was relieved. At least she had his attention.
“That’s right, Marcus, come and talk to me. We are the last two people on this planet who still give a shit about Gina.” No answer. “I know you must care a lot about her. All the guys loved her. She was too hard to resist.”
“Hi, I’m Gina Mason.”
Shifting feet cast shadows in front of the door. He was at least listening to her. “Steven, if you open the door I’ll tell you exactly what happened on that road the night Randy took her.”
She waited a beat, expecting to hear the recording again, but it was silent. A small victory.
The rattle of metal against metal had her sitting straighter. She winced as she pulled harder on the tape. Her skin was raw, bleeding now on her right hand, but the ropes had a little more slack in them.
The door opened, and Marcus stepped inside holding a water bottle. His boyish face was a study in anger and curiosity. He twisted off the top of the bottle and approached her. He pulled a long knife from a sheath on his belt. As he brought the knife to the tape binding her hands, she tensed. He sliced the tape and handed her the water bottle.
He stepped away from her and sat, his back to the wall.
“What did he do to her?”
He might hate her, but he needed answers as much as she did. The trick now was to feed him information slowly and hope she bought enough time to find a way out. “He cut off her ear. He told me he’d cut off the other one if I didn’t run.”
He closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall. For a moment, he said nothing. “I’d hoped she didn’t suffer. I’d prayed her death was at least quick.”
She didn’t know, but she would bluff. Keep him talking. Buy time. Maybe even forge some kind of connection with him. “The cops know someone was working with him. They found part of her dress. There was someone else’s blood on it.”
He raised his hand to his neck, rubbing it as if he felt a rope constricting around it. “Are you sure?”
“Adler is certain.”
A moan that sounded more like a wounded animal rumbled through his chest. “It had to be Blackstone or Crowley. Those three stick together.”
The longer he stayed focused on the men who’d helped Hayward, the better. “It must have been awful for her. I bet she was alive, and when she saw the others she thought help had arrived, but it hadn’t,” Kaitlin said. “I can’t imagine how painful it was to die knowing Derek and Brad wouldn’t help.”
Marcus studied her. “Why would the police tell you all this?”
“Detective Adler and I have gotten close.”
He stared at her with such hate and loathing it was all she could do not to tremble and weep.
“You’re good at landing on your feet. You know how to use people. I heard that time and time again about you.”
She needed Marcus to believe they were very close. “Adler is very special to me.” And that was the truth. The idea that she might not see him again nearly broke her. “I told him I was with you.”
“I know. I saw the text you exchanged with him on your phone, and I texted him again and told him we were here.”
A cold chill slid down her spine, and whatever control she thought she’d mastered over her fear slipped. “Why would you text him? What are you doing?”
Marcus paused and let her question hang. He liked seeing her worried and scared. “He can’t stop what I’m going to do next.”
Instinct demanded she press him for answers. She wanted to know what he’d planned. But if she showed him her weakness, he’d use it against her. Pulling in a slow breath, she turned the tables, hoping she could use his own demons against him. “When did you fall in love with Gina?”
That caught him by surprise. “I’m a reporter. I don’t get involved in my stories.”
“You did this time. I understand. Gina was hard to resist. She was perfect. When did you know you loved her?”
He swallowed. His guard dropped, and for an instant she saw the longing in his eyes that suddenly glistened with tears. “Almost from the beginning. How could I not? Like you said, she was perfect.”
“All the pictures of her in this room and all the work you did to find her shows your love. No one else did this for her, but you did. You’re the one person who struggled to keep her memory alive.”
“There were times when no one cared. No one wanted to remember. But I couldn’t let her go, and the deeper I looked into her life, the more my love for her grew and the more I needed to do something to avenge her death. When I read about Hayward killing that woman in the convenience store, I felt so helpless. She shouldn’t have died. It was wrong.”
“She didn’t deserve it.”
“I could have written about the story, but suddenly it wasn’t enough to write about her. I knew I’d never get to Hayward in jail, but when I saw you at Audrey Mason’s funeral, I knew I had to act.”
Her return had been the trigger. More guilt threatened to cloud her
thoughts, but she pushed it away. “That’s why you came after Jennifer, Erika, and me?”
“That’s right.” Hate and anger sharpened his brown eyes. “You three little bitches left her on that road. You all abandoned her. If you hadn’t, she’d be alive today.”
Guilt and fear hammered in her chest. He was right, but her dying now wouldn’t do Gina or the others any good. She’d run once before, but she’d stand her ground this time. She wouldn’t plead or cower. She’d come too far in the last year to die a coward.
“I want to interview you,” she said.
Laughter rumbled. “Me. Why do you care what I have to say?”
“It’s important. You’re not insignificant. Everyone forgot her but you.”
Silence.
She moistened dry lips. If he were going to reject the idea outright, he’d have done it immediately. “You were one of the first reporters to cover the case. And you covered it nineteen times.”
“You read my articles?”
“You were my number-one source, because the cops wouldn’t speak to me.”
“No. They were very tight lipped about their details with me.”
Good, he was talking. And talking might build a connection with him and humanize her. And at the very least it would buy more time.
“Why did my return matter so much to you?”
“Because Gina was your family. Your responsibility. Hayward told you to run, and you did. Gina was always there for you, and you repaid her how? By leaving her to die alone.”
Tears she’d held back for so long filled her eyes. “You’re right. I don’t deserve her forgiveness, or yours.”
He shook his head, seemingly unmoved by her tears. “And you could have nailed Hayward fourteen years ago, but you chickened out. Do you have any backbone?”
“I wasn’t sure it was him.”
“It didn’t matter! You blew it! Everyone knew it was him.” He shook his head again. “He’s escaped punishment for fourteen years while Gina rotted in the cold ground.”
“You have to understand I wasn’t covering for him.”
“That was Jennifer’s and Erika’s fault, wasn’t it? They supplied the booze and drugs.”
“How did you know that?”
“Erika and I got to be good friends. She was so lonely in her big house and so tired of hiding behind walls. I approached her when she came out of yoga one day and asked to speak to her. I told her I was writing a book. She didn’t want to at first, so I made sure she found out about her husband’s affair. When I came back the next week, she agreed, and our meetings became regular. She was so ready to unburden herself and stick it to her husband.”
“What about Blackstone and Crowley? They’re Hayward’s friends. They covered for him all these years.”
“So did Hayward’s mother. She lied for him, too.”
“Are you going after them as well? How many people are you going to kill?”
“You’re the last.”
“Who else have you killed?”
“Just know I have punished the guilty.”
Sharing anything with Marcus now was a calculated risk. But she had to prove her worth to him to stay alive and buy time. “Adler told me something you don’t know.”
He looked amused.
“When they found Gina, they found another girl. She was buried in a grave near Gina.”
Marcus shook his head. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not. Adler spotted the shallow grave from a tree stand. They excavated it and found another girl about Gina’s age.”
Marcus shook his head. “Hayward killed another girl?”
“That’s what the cops think.”
He curled his fingers into a fist and pressed it to his temple. “Does his deal with the Commonwealth Attorney cover that murder?”
“No.”
“So he’s going to be punished?” He sounded hopeful and happy.
“Yes.” She leaned forward. “Neither Gina nor the other girl would have been found if I hadn’t come back.”
“It wasn’t your return that led to Gina’s discovery. It was my work. Killing Jennifer and Erika reopened Gina’s case, not your bullshit podcast project.”
She smiled. “It still makes us a team.”
“We’re not a team.”
She knew she was pressing, and he could turn on her in an instant. “Yes, we are. We’ve both wanted the same thing for fourteen years. We’re the only two people who did something about finding her.”
Anger flared in his eyes, and he crossed the room and hit her hard across the face. Pain rocketed through her head, and she could taste blood.
He’d raised his hand to strike her again when a phone rang. He pulled her phone from his pocket. “Detective Adler is calling you again. Should I text him back and tell him not to worry? Maybe I should say our interview is going long?”
“He will find you.”
“Maybe. I’m ready for that.”
When he dropped his gaze to send the text, she stepped toward him. “We can work together,” she said. “You can interview me. I can tell you all about that night. I can tell you about Gina’s hopes and fears.”
“I don’t need anyone’s help.”
“There’s no one else alive who can confirm your findings. Why would you want to burn your ultimate source?”
A loud pounding echoed through the house. It sounded like someone was beating on the front door. Oh God, it had to be Adler. Marcus had told him where to find her.
“It’s Adler.” She moistened her lips. “Send him away so we can talk. It’s been fourteen years, and I haven’t told my story.”
Again, he studied her. He touched the blood on her lip and gently brushed it away. “In the right light you look like her.”
She raised her chin. “Thank you. She was so pretty.”
He rubbed her blood between his thumb and index finger. “You aren’t her.”
“I know.”
The pounding upstairs grew louder.
“Get rid of them,” she said. “We need more time.”
He wiped the blood on his pant leg. “No, that’s the thing, Kaitlin. I’ve been expecting them.” He crossed the room, opened the door, and closed it behind him.
Marcus’s black truck was parked at the beginning of the long driveway that led to a one-story ranch home situated in the center of a large lot surrounded by a ribbon of woods. The lawn nearer the house was neat and the hedges trimmed, but all the shades in the house were drawn.
Adler called Kaitlin’s number, but it went to voicemail. He pounded on the door as Quinn stood to the side, her hand on her weapon. “He’s here,” he said. “The truck is in the driveway. And Kaitlin sent the text. She wouldn’t ignore my calls now.”
“That’s assuming she sent the text,” Quinn said. “Kaitlin was lured into a trap with a text. You really think he brought her to his home?”
He drew his weapon. “Why not? The closest house is a hundred yards away. There are woods around the lot. He has privacy.”
“We’re assuming she’s still alive,” Quinn said carefully.
That thought had also occurred to him, but he’d chased it away. “I’m betting on Kaitlin. She’s resourceful, and she’s found a reason for him to keep her alive.”
“He already tried to kill her once. Why bother with bringing her here and then telling you what he’s doing?”
“I don’t know. Keep pounding on the door. I’m going around back.”
The flashing lights of four police cars pulled into the driveway and raced toward them.
Adler’s phone rang. It was Logan. “What do you have?”
“Marcus’s wife left him seven months ago. She packed up their kid and moved back to her mother’s in Maryland.”
“That’s the trigger,” Adler said.
“It’s enough to send a sane man over the edge,” Logan said. “The guy’s written hundreds of articles, not only about cold cases, but he seemed particularly obsessed with how the v
ictims died.”
“Roger that,” Adler said.
“Jesus, man, be careful.”
“Right.” He ended the call. “I’m not waiting,” Adler said.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going around the back to see if there’s another entrance. You and the uniforms break the front door down.”
As Quinn pounded on the door, he ran around the side of the house to a back door leading onto a screened porch. To the right was a set of freshly painted cellar doors.
He looked up and saw Marcus standing by the kitchen window. The man’s expression was calm, too calm. He wasn’t the least bit surprised to see Adler or the growing number of cops in his yard. This felt like a trap, just like the one the arsonist set.
Adler leveled his weapon, but Marcus laughed as he regarded him. He looked confident, almost triumphant as he watched the cop cars arriving. And then he raised a gun to his own head. In one second Adler tensed, shouted for him to put the gun down. And in the next instant, Marcus fired. His head snapped as the bullet cut through it, and blood sprayed the wall. His body went limp, and he dropped out of sight.
Adler’s gut clenched. None of this felt right. Why take Kaitlin, text him, and then just kill himself? Again, he smelled a trap.
He called Quinn. “Marcus shot himself.”
“I heard the gunshot. Are you sure?”
“I saw him drop. The suspect is down. I repeat he is down.”
“We’re going in the front door.”
He heard the front doorframe crack and then slam open. “I’m going through the cellar doors.”
Adler threw back the doors and immediately was hit with the thick scent of gasoline. Weapon drawn and the phone still connected in his hand, he moved down the side cellar staircase. Instantly he spotted the drums and the wires that led into them. On top of them was a digital clock ticking down. Thirty seconds remained. Marcus had wired the house to explode. Adler realized this was Marcus’s last stand.
Kaitlin pushed through a door and looked up at him. He saw the fear etched in her features as he ran toward her and grabbed her arm.
Time stopped, and each second played out agonizingly slow.