Leigh listened in silence, then said, “Uh-huh, seems like our Mace is bad news. Like he’s two separate people. Never took me to his apartment, y’know… I did wonder why. Maybe he’s got somethin’ to hide? Know what? I’d sure be interested to know what makes him tick.”
Mattie swung her leather shoulder bag around to her front. She lifted the flap, dove into it, and came up with a key. Waving it before Leigh’s eyes, she said, “How about we have ourselves a little adventure?”
“You mean that’s Mace’s house key?”
“Sure is. I happen to know he’s out on a case right now. Should take him all day…” Mattie’s eyes challenged her.
“Why not?” Leigh said.
Mace’s apartment was in darkness.
Leigh suppressed a shiver. What had Mace got against good honest daylight? What was he, Count Dracula or something?
The apartment was very neat. Too neat for a bachelor pad, she thought. No magazines. Straight lines of paperbacks in a cheap wooden bookcase. No mess, no beer cans, no evidence of takeout food.
Nothing.
She frowned. It was unnatural.
Place is like a damn funeral parlor. Especially with the blinds all drawn like this.
She shuddered. There was something about the neatness of it all that spooked her.
Mattie glanced around. Leigh smiled. Good ol’ Mats. Casing the joint. Once a cop always a cop… Bet nothing escapes her notice.
She was right.
“Place hasn’t been slept in these last coupla nights.”
“How can you tell?” Leigh felt guilty. Of course Mace hadn’t spent the night at home for a while. He’d been with her, hadn’t he? Well, last night, anyhow.
“Desk calendar says July fifteenth,” Mattie said. “It’s now July eighteenth.” She went through to the small kitchen area. She opened the fridge door. “The milk’s past its sell-by date.”
Leigh’s eyebrows went up. “Looks like Mace isn’t the only good cop around here,” she remarked dryly.
“Hey. How about this?” Mattie, at an open drawer of Mace’s computer desk, was waving some photos.
Leigh perked up. Photographs, especially missing ones, held a particular significance for her right now.
She looked at the photos fanned in Mattie’s hand. Mainly art shots, nicely lit ones of people, places, water, rivers, the sea, rocks, and some amazing skies. Most in mono; some in full color.
“Our Mace hopes to make the big time one day,” Mattie explained. “He’s got an award somewhere. Told me about it once. The Smith-Griffon Award for Best Seascape or something, I remember.”
Mattie returned the photographs to the drawer and opened another one. She came up with bundles of letters and bills.
Leigh began to feel uneasy.
Suppose Mace walked in?
At this very moment.
She imagined footsteps hurrying down the corridor outside. A key scraping in the lock.
The door opening…
“Mattie. We really oughta go now. I don’t feel good about this whole thing.”
“You don’t feel good, huh? Come on over and look at these. Then tell me you don’t feel so good.”
Mattie’s tone was serious. Leigh’s heart skipped a beat.
Mattie sank into a soft leather sofa, holding a large scrapbook on her knee. Leigh went over. Turning pale as she stared at the pages Mattie was flicking through.
Bodies.
Dead bodies.
Carved.
Placed in awkward, symmetrical, artistic positions.
Bodies of girls. Twisted. Writhing in their final death throes. Bloody. Naked…
Page after page of photographs.
Mono press shots. The blood all black and glistening.
A few in startling full color.
Head shots, showing the final agonies.
Faces pleading. Mouths wide. Screaming for the man with the knife to stop. PLEASE… STOP…
Leigh gagged, vomit lurched in her throat. She felt herself fold at the knees. She collapsed on the sofa.
“Wowww…,” breathed Mattie. “We gotta get outa here… But wait a minute, there’s something else. A letter…”
Leigh looked over Mattie’s shoulder at the bunch of creased, handwritten pages she was holding.
And read the words:
“I, Edith Payne, hereby…”
My God—not Charlie’s mother…
Quietly, the door opened.
FORTY-NINE
“Why, ladies. This is a pleasant surprise,” Mace said. “You wanna read my private stuff?” He snatched the crumpled pages from Mattie. “Here,” he said, thrusting them at Leigh. “Take a look, sweetheart. Ring any bells?”
“Mace, I’m sorry…”
“Oh, don’t be sorry, honey. I don’t mind you sneaking in here. Poking through my private things—”
“Wasn’t Leigh’s fault, Mace,” Mattie broke in calmly. “I had your key. I decided to pay you a visit. Don’t blame Leigh. She came along for the ride.”
“Came along for the ride, huh?” A corner of his mouth lifted. But he wasn’t amused. His eyes were cold, dark as bottomless pits. Whatever it was he felt, he was holding it in. Keeping everything under control.
As always.
“So, Leigh. Thought you’d nose around, did you? Time you knew anyway. Time you paid the price. Finally. After… what is it now? Eighteen, nineteen years?”
“What d’ya mean, Mace? Eighteen, nineteen years?” Her heart lurched. Damn right she knew what he meant. What was he, Charlie’s avenging angel, or what?
Mace relaxed a little, easing into the game, getting conversational. “Read it,” he said. “And watch it all make sense, baby. Just a little reminder of that wonderful summer, all of those years ago.”
Slowly, Leigh took the letter from him. Meanwhile, Mattie’s eyes considered Mace. She was tense, ready to pounce if need be. One false move and she’d drop him. She knew she could, but she also knew that Mace was on the alert. She held still. Waiting.
“Go on, sweetheart. Read it. Put some coffee on, Mattie. We could be here for some time.”
He set himself down, legs astride a hardback chair. Grinning. Watching Leigh. Enjoying her discomfort.
“Hey, baby. Don’t mind me. Settle back in that easy chair, why don’t ya? Just want to see your pretty li’l face when you read what Deana’s granmama has to say!”
Mattie glanced at Leigh. Her eyes said, “You okay?”
Leigh nodded, briefly.
She sat on the edge of Mace’s armchair. With trembling lips, she looked at the yellowed pages. Ma Payne had a good hand. Legible. Of the old-fashioned copperplate school. Charlie said she’d been a teacher…
Leigh drew a deep breath. Quickly, her eyes scanned the pages, scarcely believing what she read:
“I, Edith Payne, hereby state the True Facts regarding my Three Children and the Terrible Events that took place after their Birth.On December 15, in the year of Our Lord 1963, I gave birth to three babies. Jess, Charlie and Tania. Their father was my husband Charlie Payne. My, but they were three fine healthy babies! Beautiful as ever three babies could be. My Gifts from Heaven, I called them.Firstly, I should state that I came to Lake Wahconda as a teacher. I taught the children of the lake people hereabouts. It was here I met and married Charlie Payne, a man of native Indian descent, and of little means and education. I tried to teach him to write, but he didn’t take kindly to this and soon gave up trying. He was a man content in his traditional ways.Charlie said little when the three babies came along, but from the start, he seemed fearful of our little girl. All the babies had a good head of dark hair, but Tania had more than the boys. Charlie insisted she was a child of ill-omen, mumbling some tale that a female child covered in black hair was a bringer of ill fortune. When he was liquored up, he spoke of this old legend, telling that a woman mating with a wolf at Full Moon would give birth to such a child.Charlie Payne was a simple man. He stood by his beliefs, and nothing I said could change his mind. Tania must die, he vowed, to save us all from misfortune. He was set on this path. I begged him not to kill our daughter, but he was deaf to my pleas.I knew he would soon kill Tania, so I stole Mary-Ann Baker’s baby while she was at the lake washing clothes. The child was barely a week old. I dressed her in Tania’s shawl and placed her in Tania’s cradle. I hid my own daughter in the woods. Charlie Payne took Mary-Ann’s baby, hacked off her head and sank her weighted body into the lake.This was a terrible thing to witness, and in my distress, I told him he’d killed the wrong baby—that this one was not ours. He demanded to know where I’d hidden Tania. Distraught, I told him in the woods. He went to find her. I hurried to the woodshed, took the ax and followed him. In his drunken state he tripped and fell in the undergrowth. I hacked him as he lay, screaming for mercy. I just hacked and hacked till he was dead.After the disappearance of her newborn, Mary-Ann Baker drowned herself in the lake. Folks still say they hear her ghost moaning in the night as she searches for her little one.