“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.”