The Bureau Killer, page 2
The Educator saw this as an opportunity. An untouched room meant nobody would find his latest handiwork. He crossed the room and sank to his knees, carefully lowering the bag. He lifted the duvet, revealing a half-drunk bottle of vodka and a sex toy in the space underneath the bed. The Educator shoved them to one side, mumbling to himself while he got to work.
“Damn, girl. You’re more grown-up than I thought.”
It was true: Jacob Fray’s daughter was only sixteen, but everyone knew it was a rebellious age. If you’re not causing trouble at sixteen, then you’d probably have a lot of steam to blow off. If she had been anything like the Educator, all the frustration and rage would come pouring out later on in life, just like it had for him. According to his latest psych evaluation, anyway.
Nevertheless, he set up the device and pulled the duvet back down to cover it. He was careful to put it exactly as he’d found it, then backed out of the room and went back to the kitchen. He thought about taking the sandwich back from the fridge to hide his tracks, but a small part of him wanted Jacob to know he’d been there. Not to find the bomb—that would ruin everything—but just to know he wasn’t safe.
And nor would he ever be.
The Educator slipped out the back door, leaving the sandwich just where it was. If Jacob had any sense, maybe he would know somebody had been in his home. And if he didn’t? Well, then he had a big surprise coming.
SIX
The cold wind and the rain suited his mood. The sun had only been up for half an hour, and dark clouds made an effort to conceal it. Mason traipsed slowly through the field of headstones, dreading what was to come. As much as he’d tried to keep himself busy these past few days, this was one thing he just had to do. After all, it was her birthday.
Mason reached the grave in no time at all. She was at the far back, where hedgerows sprawled out in long lines in both directions. Around it were a couple of other graves, spaced out pretty well. Mason wondered if their deaths had been as brutal as hers, and how long it would take for those empty plots to fill up. If the terrorist struck again, it probably wouldn’t take long.
Slowly lowering himself to one knee, Mason placed the flowers beside the grave. He propped them up where her name wouldn’t be concealed, a wrenching sensation twisting in his gut like coiled barbed wire. He suddenly felt hot, even as the rain picked up and swept across his face. He just couldn’t help it, whether it be for guilt or depression. Whatever it was, it was only a few somber seconds away from destroying him all over again.
“Happy birthday, Amy,” he said quietly, his voice cracking. “By now you would be heading out of college, probably finding some amazing job. Maybe a boyfriend I could find every reason to hate, because nobody would ever be good enough for my little girl.”
Thunder cracked overhead, startling him. Mason looked up and felt a strange confusion of heat and chills. He wanted to think the rolling sounds in the clouds were Amy trying to speak—trying to tell him it was okay. That she forgave him for letting her die.
“I’m so sorry,” he said and finally broke into tears.
The rain came down harder, soaking through the flowers he’d placed. Mason used the sleeve of his trench coat to wipe his forehead, though it did nothing but make him itch. There was more to do today than wish his departed daughter a happy birthday. If he didn’t keep himself busy, it would certainly end him.
Nothing terrified him more than that thought.
“I got some things to do today,” he confessed to the silent stone. “I just want you to know that I’m thinking of helping a man who also lost his family. I know that’s what you’d want me to do. You’d probably have forced me to help, regardless of what I thought. I just hope that maybe… maybe if I do this, you can find a way to forgive me.”
Of course, the stone said nothing. Even the thunder paused. Mason waited for a sign of approval and got nothing. Giving up, he kissed his fingers and placed them against the headstone, wishing he could hold Amy one last time. Instead, he could only keep his mind occupied with other things, knowing he had another child to take care of.
Hopefully I’ll do a better job this time around, he thought, reaching into his pocket for the cell phone. But then he froze, wondering for half a second if Amy might find a way to announce her forgiveness. Nothing came, so he got up and left, wishing one last happy birthday to the best girl he’d ever known.
“I love you, kiddo,” he said.
But he had somewhere to be.
SEVEN
Life had moved on without him. Happy, dancing figures swooped past the window, silhouetted by the lights inside. Smiles and laughter were shared among them, but all the while, Mason sat in the empty loneliness of his car, consumed by longing and self-loathing.
“Just walk up there,” he told himself, his voice the only sound in the dark interior of the Explorer. “Just head up the driveway, knock on the door, and start apologizing. Don’t stop until she forgives you. It’s really that easy.”
But was it? Diane had given him the ultimatum only a few months ago. His daughter had been kidnapped by a serial killer, the police were unable to offer assistance, and Diane had told him that going in alone would lead to her departure. In truth, Mason hadn’t thought she would actually go through with it. He guessed that was what he got for taking it for granted. For taking her for granted.
Inside, Diane was zipping gracefully along the window. She scooped MJ up into the air, and although he couldn’t hear it, Mason could imagine his young son’s laughter and joy. He was a bright kid, adventurous and easygoing. Nothing like his father, and Mason was endlessly happy about that. With any luck, MJ wouldn’t grow up to get his loved ones killed.
And then there was Amy. She had been taken by the killer on that same night. The same night Diane packed up and sought a new life. The same night his best friend and cop ex-colleague Bill had refused to help. Mason had fallen out with him only minutes before finding Diane had left, and he’d told Bill to stay the hell out of his way.
Now he was left with nothing.
“Damn it!” Mason yelled, slamming his fist into the steering wheel.
The horn blared, and the dancing figure in the window stopped to investigate. Before she saw him stalking her, Mason turned the key in the ignition and swung into first gear, pulling onto the road without looking for oncoming traffic. He was out of sight in an instant.
Coward, he thought, and he was sure it was true. Mason could chase killers all the livelong day, but when it came to putting his heart on the line, nothing could convince him to take the leap of faith and ask Diane to trust him all over again.
That was why he was so sure he’d die alone someday.
EIGHT
Mason wasn’t the only one stalking.
Only a few cars behind him, a mysterious woman was tucked behind the steering wheel of her own car: a beaten-up old Fiat with torn fabric seats and a taillight that only worked when it wanted to. She stayed on Mason’s tail while keeping a great distance between them.
If anyone can spot a tail, it’s him.
As the woman passed the house, she slowed down and leaned toward the passenger-side window, taking a peek at the house. The living room light was on, but the curtains were drawn, so what in the blue hell had he been watching for the past hour?
It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she found out where he was living. It could be anywhere in the Bay Area, and although hotshot PI Mason Black was often in the news, there was no sign of his address anywhere. There were other ways she could find out, of course, but if something was off the books, then it was off the books. Nothing she could do about it.
A little farther along the street, the Explorer pulled over. The woman did the same, furrowing her brow and killing the engine as she watched. The illumination of a cell phone’s light brightened up the car, and the woman watched with growing interest as Mason took the call. The conversation was a short one, with Mason’s expression turning from solemn to frustrated in such a short space of time it was almost funny.
Mason hung up then, started the car, and began to drive. The woman continued to follow him, keeping a minimum of three car lengths behind him. It was imperative he didn’t see her stalking him, or the surprise would be ruined.
And if there was one thing that man had coming, it was a surprise.
NINE
Taking the call was one of the worst moves he’d made in recent history. At least, ever since that fateful night he’d gone after Amy. But he couldn’t think about that now. Mason had to focus on something—anything—that would keep his brain going. Anything to stop him from going insane and thinking about Diane over and over until his head exploded.
Just like the boat at Alcatraz.
He shook it off, told himself to stop making such wild connections. Since Jacob Fray had called only a few minutes ago, Mason was sure he’d picked up a tail. He’d since lost it, and that was fine, but who had been following him? Was it the killer—the man dubbed the Educator by the press? There was no logical reason why it would be, but if past experience told him anything, it was that sooner or later, he would be knee-deep in this shit.
When the tail had been lost for a few minutes, Mason drove back home to pick up his Beretta. If he was going to take this case, he would have to make sure he took his trusty firearm with him. Not to mention the conceal license, now that the San Francisco Police Department wasn’t exactly on his team.
After stowing the gun in the glove compartment, Mason went back out to meet Jacob, finding him on a dark street where weeds had grown through the cracks in the road and all the surrounding buildings looked vacant. He found Jacob sitting on the hood of his car—a beautiful sleek Mercedes in midnight black. Mason wondered how much money this guy had.
“Thanks for coming,” Jacob said.
“You didn’t give me much choice.” Mason checked his watch, saw that it was nearing eight o’clock, and shrugged his sleeve back down. “What can I do for you, Mr. Fray? I still haven’t decided whether to take the case or not, and I don’t like to be rushed into decisions.”
“I don’t want to rush you.” Jacob sighed. “I just want to be a little more honest.”
“You weren’t honest before?”
“Maybe honest isn’t the right word…”
Mason folded his arms and glanced up the dark, empty street. He realized he was showing his impatience, but at this rate, the man had more to prove than Mason did. Besides, he was losing interest quickly.
“I had more than one threat letter from him,” Jacob went on, pulling a thick wad of bagged papers from his inside coat pocket. He handed them over to Mason, who quickly began to scan through each of them. “I had a couple every week for months.”
All that disinterest vanished as Mason read each letter. Jacob’s voice faded into the background; his attention stolen by the words in front of him. “What is this? Why didn’t you tell me this in the first place?”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“Of course it matters. It solidifies the man’s intent.”
Jacob shrugged, his head lowering into a sulk.
“These aren’t just casual threats, Mr. Fray.” Mason handed them back, almost shoving them into his client’s chest. “These are from somebody who’s on his last nerve, and every one of them says to leave him alone. You must have been doing something to aggravate him, so what was it? And if you lie to me, I’m out of here.”
“I was… well, I…”
“Spit it out.”
Jacob scratched the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “There was another explosion leading up to the one at the prison. The bomber came to be known as the Educator, due to the condescending message he left for those who lost their families.”
“I know about the Educator,” Mason told him. How could he have missed it? That mystery was still all over the news to this day, as well as the theories that the same man had set the explosion on Alcatraz Island. “But how do you fit in?”
“Let’s just say I took an interest in him, and he found out.”
“So… what? You had some dirt on him?”
“Not really, but I came close.”
Mason leveled his gaze on Jacob, who was doing all he could to avoid eye contact. Something was wrong—something Mason couldn’t quite bring himself to trust. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Fray?”
“A little of this, a little of that.”
“Something investigative, I’m guessing?”
“If you say so. Look, I came to you because I couldn’t go to the police. I already thought the Educator was going after me, but I went home earlier today and found somebody has been in my house.” Jacob paused to let that settle, then lost patience. “I’m not being paranoid. I know for a fact somebody was in my home. I don’t feel safe. Please help me. Please.”
Mason studied him, biting down on the inside of his cheek while he judged the guy. There wasn’t a doubt he was keeping secrets, but Mason’s curiosity had piqued, and something inside was urging him to take the case. What else did he have to do, besides wallow in self-pity?
“I’ll look into it, Mr. Fray.”
Jacob’s eyes lit up. “You will?”
“Starting tomorrow. But don’t go back to your house, okay?”
“Sure,” he said, making his way back to the driver’s-side door.
“And be careful.” Mason watched him wave and climb into the car before driving away, but Mason didn’t get to finish his sentence. What he wanted to add was that he should be careful… because something told him Jacob was supposed to have been on that boat.
TEN
The next day began with a promise that he would at least make some progress in life. Mason was undecided whether that would be in the case or in his personal life, but he intended to try for both and let the chips fall wherever the hell they chose to fall.
The first stop on the list took him to an office park in Clearview. Mason parked the Explorer and went inside, feeling claustrophobic in the narrow corridors with their sickly pink color. When he got to the front desk, he flashed his PI badge and asked to investigate one of the offices, to which he had explicit permission from the person on the lease.
The receptionist made a quick call to check the authorization, then smiled and let Mason through. He didn’t realize until she’d gone that she had left her personal number on a card and somehow slid it into his pocket without him noticing. It made him smile just a little, and although she was beautiful, he would have to pass. Only Diane and MJ mattered to him now.
The office was a small but tidy room. Mason navigated it in three long strides, sitting at the desk from where Jacob Fray’s wife—Belinda—had run her entire Public Relations business. There was a photo of their family on the desk, but Mason couldn’t bring himself to look at it through fear that he would become insanely jealous. It took some time for him to realize there was nothing to be jealous of—most of the family was dead.
He booted up the computer and tapped his fingers on the desk while he waited. “Come on,” he said under his breath, taking a sweeping glance around the office, where neat files were stacked in perfectly straight piles. Mason wondered what kind of woman would marry Jacob. Somebody who liked sneaky men, he figured.
The computer pinged, and Mason clicked through the folders one by one. It was mostly business junk he stumbled upon, but one file in particular did make him halt. It was titled THREATS, and inside was a scan of each and every threatening letter Jacob Fray had received.
“So the wife knew about it all.” Mason propped his chin up on his hand, reading and rereading the threats. He was hoping something would leap out at him, but all he got was a closed book of secrets. He felt lost, like something was supposed to tie A and B together, and he was almost certain Jacob was keeping something to himself.
Then there was the distraction. Just an hour from now, he had to be over at Diane’s place to pick up MJ. There was a whole day of bonding ahead of them, and Mason couldn’t wait. He even wondered if Diane might rediscover the love between them and—
Stop it!
No matter what he did, Mason just couldn’t focus. Having only half the story was one thing, but when his mind was so foggy and clouded with thoughts of a life gone by, it made things impossible for him. How was he supposed to solve a case this way?
All he knew for certain was that Jacob had more beans to spill.
ELEVEN
The office had led to a dead end. There was nothing there but PR folders and the threat scans. Nothing new and nothing important, but Mason couldn’t think about that now. Not when little MJ was splashing around in the water.
The pool was quiet today, and that was how he liked it. MJ got to swim up the lengths of the pool, racing Mason toward the giant inflatable island at the far end. Mason let his son win, of course, deliberately swimming slow. He made it just in time to help MJ onto the island, then swam alongside the rubber palm trees while MJ went for the slide.
“Watch this, Daddy!”
Mason watched, a smile forming on his lips for the first time in God knew how long. His son—who looked so much like Diane it hurt—took a running jump onto the inflatable slide, shooting toward the water at a speed that made Mason wince.
He’s your only child now, he thought, and the smile disappeared. Mason replaced it with a fake one and swam after MJ, humming the theme song from Jaws and pretending he was a shark, slowly coming for his prey. MJ giggled as he frantically splashed his way toward the metal ladder and made his escape.
“Nice try, buddy,” he told his son, slowly reaching out of the pool. “But these sharks have evolved, and they can… walk on land!”
