“No.”
“Didn’t think so. She couldn’t shoot worth a damn. That’s the only thing that’s keeping me going, knowing she’s not comfortable with that gun. Maybe she won’t…” He stopped, battling for control. “Oh God. She’s got my mother.”
“I know,” Olivia murmured. “We’ll find her.”
“Mary applied for the job here to get close to Lincoln. Truman says their last receptionist tumbled down some stairs.”
“Oh no.”
He opened his eyes, terrified but functioning. “She talked to Lincoln. That must be how she found out about the glass balls, about the VE scratched in the pole.”
“How did she find him?”
“Through the Web site, I guess. Let’s ask Lincoln.”
She nodded. “I will.”
“I’m coming.” The look he flashed her was full of fury. “Don’t consider telling me no. You might need me again.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “I’m the cat-saving fireman.”
“Olivia.” Noah was standing at Mary’s desk, studying the contents of her purse. Noah was also pale. Phoebe Hunter was like Eve’s mother. But Noah had proven himself under pressure. Olivia knew he’d keep it together. “Phones. Lots of phones.” He held up an MP3 player in his gloved hand, turned it around. “It says, ‘number one.’”
“Play it,” David said tersely.
Noah did, while Olivia and David watched, huddled around the earpiece that was connected. A tinny rendition of the Mission Impossible theme could be faintly heard, then Olivia saw the first photo and understood.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “It’s Tracey Mullen.” It was her face in the condo window, her mouth open on a silent scream as she pounded the glass.
“Somebody videotaped this,” David said, horror in his voice as Tracey slipped from view, her hands trailing down the glass. “I saw the tracks of her hands on the window.”
The camera panned back to four figures, their faces clearly visible in the moonlight.
“Joel, Mary, Eric, and Albert,” Olivia said. “Joel’s fighting to get back inside. Eric and Albert hold him back, then Albert hits Joel in the head.”
“Then Albert and Eric drag Joel away,” Noah said. “Just like we thought.”
Olivia watched Mary take a last look up at the window, then follow Albert and Eric to the fence where they shoved Joel through. “Just like we thought,” she murmured.
“Someone videotaped this,” David repeated. “They just watched while Tracey died.”
Noah blew out a breath. “We have a fifth man.”
The video changed. “Tomlinson’s warehouse, before the fire,” David murmured.
“This is the connection,” Noah said. “The fifth man was blackmailing them.”
The video stopped and the three of them stood for a moment, silent. Then Olivia sorted through the phones until she found one that said “#2” on the back.
“Lots of texts. Attachments. Photos. Tomlinson’s warehouse burning, Eric’s body, just like we found it.” She opened the next attachment.
“Dorian Blunt’s house,” David said. “Before the neighborhood went up in flames.”
“And one of Albert, dead,” Olivia said. “The text says ‘Fuck you.’ I guess Mary was tired of being pushed around. This is how they’ve been communicating with the blackmailer. We need to call Abbott.”
Noah did. “Bruce, we have a fifth person involved…” He listened with a frown. “How did you know?” He looked at Olivia. “Austin Dent is in the precinct. Abbott showed him pictures of Joel, Eric, and Albert, and he said the man he saw wasn’t any of them.”
Olivia gathered the contents of Mary’s purse. “Tell him we’re coming in.” She looked up at David. “Should I have someone drive you to the hospital to meet Glenn?”
“No, I need to talk to Lincoln. If I don’t do something, I’ll go insane.”
She nodded, hoping Abbott and Donahue would concur. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Wednesday, September 22, 2:25 p.m.
Slow down,” Mary snapped and Phoebe flinched. They were the first words the young woman had uttered in almost half an hour. They’d kept to side roads and had passed only a few cars. “Stop behind that car.” There was a black Lexus abandoned on the side of the road ahead.
Phoebe obeyed, hardly daring to breathe. “I won’t tell anyone when you’re gone.”
Mary scoffed. “No, you won’t because you’re coming with me.”
Phoebe closed her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I may need you.” She shoved the gun against Phoebe’s ribs. “If you want to see that handsome son of yours again, you will do as I ask. Get out of the car.”
Phoebe obeyed, her legs like rubber. “I can help you. You don’t have to do this.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Walk.” Phoebe walked, Mary trailing about two feet behind. “Now on your knees next to the driver’s door and feel underneath. There will be one of those magnetic boxes with a key. Take the key out and throw it at my feet.”
Conscious of the gun pointed at her head, Phoebe knelt.
“Speed it up a little or you die here,” Mary said impatiently.
“I’m old,” Phoebe said curtly. “I move slow.”
“Move faster or you’ll get no older.”
Phoebe reached under the car, sending the small medallion she wore around her neck swinging on its chain. Hoping the police would find it and her, she gave it a yank, letting the chain fall in the dirt as she reached for the key. She thought of tossing the key away, but decided against it. Mary had killed two men. Phoebe had no doubt she’d kill her, too. David, where are you?
Phoebe struggled to her feet and held out the key. “What would your mother say about you kidnapping an old woman, Mary?”
Mary flinched, then snatched the key. “My mother is dead,” she snapped.
Phoebe drew a quick breath. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Maybe I killed her, too.” Mary unlocked the passenger car door. “Get in. Then shut up and drive.”
Phoebe got in and scooted to the driver’s side, Mary crawling in behind her, the gun still pointing… at me. Heart pounding, Phoebe took the key Mary thrust at her.
“I need to know. Did you kill your mother, Mary?”
Mary shook her head, but her voice trembled. “No. It wasn’t my fault. Now drive, or it won’t be my fault again.”
Phoebe gave her a little nod, then started the car. Dear God. Now what do I do?
Wednesday, September 22, 3:30 p.m.
David sat in the chair at Olivia’s desk, his eyes fixed on the window into Abbott’s office. She was in there, with Noah, Abbott, Barlow, and Micki, rereading texts from the cell phones and reviewing the video they’d found in Mary’s purse. Periodically she’d lift her eyes, meet his through the window, and shake her head. No news.
Noah dragged a white board into the office and David could see they’d developed a timeline. Each arson, each murder. But only one thing mattered anymore.
His gut was in constant churn. He tried not to think about the pictures he’d seen, the bodies of the two college students Mary had killed, but they filled his mind. Tracey Mullen’s death had been an accident, but the others… Mary was a killer.
And she has my mom. It had been almost two hours. They could be anywhere. He’d filled her gas tank earlier, enough fuel to reach Canada before they had to stop.
Behind him, Tom paced frantically. David had called the boy from Olivia’s car on the way from Truman’s office and Tom had been waiting for him here, white-faced and terrified.
“I can’t believe I took her with me,” David murmured. “That I let this happen.”
Tom sighed heavily. “Shut up, David. You didn’t make this happen. You didn’t make any of this happen. Bad shit happens around us and we make it stop.”
“I should have made her stay home.”
Tom dropped into Kane’s chair. “She wouldn’t have listened. Did you check Truman Jefferson before you drove out there?”