Correct.

“So whatever connects those two at that refugee camp, it shut Denny up, even though he’s got Robbery Homicide breathing down his neck,” Charlotte says.

To the screen, Luke says, “Well, you’ve certainly uncovered a conspiracy around how they got the bodies in that exhibit; I’ll say that much.”

It’s more than that.

“Yeah, if you take out the rule of law and allow only the circumstantial to be your guide.”

Blow me. This is good work.

Luke takes a deep breath, turns to Charley. “Can I just play devil’s advocate here for a second?”

Charlotte nods. Her thoughts are clouded with images of refugee camps, bodies posed like mannequins, only with all their muscles and tendons exposed, disturbing details that take on a ghostly presence all around her now. Despite their agreement that he wouldn’t lecture her on the subject of her, she’d love for Luke to shine a beam of clarifying light through this spectral fog.

“All this proves is that there’s something Pemberton and Bryant got up to that they don’t want exposed by a warrant. It doesn’t prove either of them is the Mask Maker.”

“I know that,” she answers. “But whatever they’ve done, it’s bad enough they’re willing to obstruct an investigation into a serial killer to keep it hidden.”

“Still.”

“I get what you’re saying. But it’s enough to start following him—don’t you think?”

Luke looks to the screen, then gets to his feet and gestures for her to follow.

Seriously???

“Shut up, Bailey. You went missing for months. I can step out for five minutes.”

In the adjacent hallway, he stands as close to her as possible, drops his voice to a whisper.

“The contact lenses. Are you going to do what they say? Are you going to wear them while you work?”

“All things considered, I don’t think I have a choice.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m afraid of what kind of package they’ll send next if their gift isn’t exactly received. Know what I mean?”

Luke seems to suppress a shiver. “OK. Well, that means if we start following this guy, then Graydon’s following this guy, too.”

“OK.”

“I’m just saying, it’s something to consider in terms of possible guilt. It might be the same as leaking his name to the media.”

“They want to see Zypraxon in action. They’re not interested in getting involved in a criminal investigation.”

“Maybe.”

“Then why watch us from afar? Why not meet with me or abduct me? You’re right. They want to keep their hands clean.”

“I agree, but . . .”

“But what?”

“It would help me if I had some idea of what you were planning to do, Charley.”

Her deep breath feels like it adds ten pounds to her frame.

Marty hadn’t pressed over the past two days, and it was easier to her to believe her idea wasn’t bonkers when she didn’t have to discuss it out loud.

“It’s like Kayla said, I’m going to bait him, just like I did those guys at the bar. That way I can be absolutely sure it’s him.”

“And then?”

“I’m not going to kill him, Luke. Once I’m absolutely sure he’s the guy, I’m going to overpower him and restrain him and leave him there right next to undeniable proof of who he is and what he’s done. Then we’ll call law enforcement and let them know what’s waiting for them.”

There. She’d said it. And it doesn’t sound crazy. Given everything she’s been through these past few days, it sounds relatively simple and sane.

“Are we going to be waiting for them?” he asks.

“Nope.”

His shoulders sag. His chest rises and falls from what looks like his first deep breath in days. She realizes their fight two days ago left him with the conviction she was out to kill the guy. How else could he have interpreted her words? She’d be the end of him; isn’t that exactly what she’s said?

Maybe she should have cut Luke some slack. He’s certainly cutting her some now.

“So,” she says.

“So,” he says.

“Are you in?”

“I’m in.”

“Good.”

“We’ll see.” When she flinches, he adds, “If I’m any good at this, I mean. Not if you’re—”

“I get it.”

But she didn’t get it until he said it, and she’s glad he did.

When they return to the desk, the message waiting for them is: Hope you used protection.

“Cute, for a ten-year-old,” Luke says.

“We’re going after Pemberton,” Charley says. “What can you give us on him?”

Lots. But it’s what I can’t give you on him that’s worth looking into.

“I’m listening,” she says.

His house outside Temecula. It’s got no Internet. No smart networks. Nothing I can even knock on to get in. It’s a five-thousand-square-foot former vineyard. Does that sound normal for a guy who has five million sitting in savings?

“No,” she says.

The Bannings killed in the age before wireless Internet blanketed most of the country, but the isolation of their farm was a secret to their long-term success. Sloppy, escalating serial killers already planning their celebrity jailhouse interviews murder on roadsides in fits of sadistic sexual passion. Methodical, long-running monsters have special, secure workshops where they can do their terrible deeds in peace.

“Can you go deeper on him, Bailey?” she asks.

No answer.

Luke groans. “Don’t tell me you have to get permission from this hacktivist collective you’re working with?”

I don’t discuss procedure.

“So your friends think it’s fine to go after a police department, but not a guy who might be killing women?”

Suddenly the backspace bar starts devouring everything in the Word doc until there’s only whitespace left.

TTYL. After I send pictures of Luke showering to the LA Times.

Then the document closes, and the alarm system lets out that strange blip noise that sounds like a stopper being pulled from a drain.

“Maybe it’s a good thing he disappeared,” Charlotte says. “I’m not sure you two could handle being in the same country together right now.”

“I think you’re right.”

“How long has she been back?” Mona asks.

“A few days,” Luke says. When he closes the door to Mona’s office, Judy turns in her desk chair and gives them her version of a curious look: pursed lips, furrowed brow, flaring nostrils. Basically the way you’d look if you smelled shit. And maybe that’s prophetic because what Luke’s about to do inside Mona’s office is shovel some serious bullshit.

“Does this have anything to do with that crazy alarm at your house last night?” she asks.

“Possibly. That’s what I have to go to LA to check out,” he lies.

“So this stalker of hers, you don’t think he’s around here anymore?”

“She says the last time he called her, he told her he was down in Orange County staying with friends and that she should come and join them so they could have a great life together killing animals on his ranch.”

“Jesus. So he’s that kind of stalker.” She settles into her chair. He follows her lead, even though he’d rather stay standing so he can stare out her window and keep her from making direct contact with his lying eyes.

“All her stalkers are pretty choice.”

“How many she got?” Mona asks.

“An Internet full, apparently. It’s why she came back. Living out on her own was too dangerous, apparently.”

Aaaand that’s more than you needed to say.

“But she doesn’t have restraining orders out against any of them?” Mona asks.

One, but he’s dead. “What good would it do?”

“Trina Pierce. That’s certainly a blast from the past. What’s her new name again?”

“Charley. Charley Rowe. Short for Charlotte.”

“How many days you need?”

“I don’t know. Until I find something, if that’s OK. It’s not exactly like I’m that much use up here.”

“You are, actually. It’s just being useful here means doing things you hate.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“I know. Because you’re wanting me to let you head down to Orange County with your new friend Charley, so you’re being real nice. There’s no overtime here. You realize that, right?”

“I do. She wants to make a home here again, Mona. I’d like to play a part in making sure she’s safe. Or at least feels that way.”

“And let me guess. She’s filled out real nice in the chest department.”

“Mona, that’s no way to talk about a woman.”

“I’m talking about how men talk about women. There’s a big difference.”

“What happened to rehabbing my reputation?”

“In Orange County?”

“I don’t know if you remember, but it’s not like I was real nice to this girl in high school.”

“And that’s why you’re making the effort now? That’s the only reason?”

“Yes.”

Mona clears her throat, folds her hands on the desk in front of her. Studies Luke like she’s trying to figure out if he lied about his age or needs hair replacement treatment. Or both. Luke, on the other hand, is feeling surprisingly relaxed. Funny, he thinks, how the events of the past few days have made it so much easier to lie.

About what matters anyway.