CHAPTER 14

 

It took all of Vincent’s self-control not to flinch in the face of Detective Papadopoulos’s accusing stare. To be honest, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was being accused of. Whatever it was, it wasn’t the truth. No way had Papadopoulos known about the voice and Vincent’s angel of death abilities.

“What…what exactly are you insinuating?” he stammered.

“You seem nervous,” murmured Papadopoulos. “I might assume that I’m on to something.”

“Hell yes, I’m nervous!” Vincent’s composure broke, and the words came tumbling out. “I don’t know what you’re accusing me of! You’ve got me in here, playing some kind of mind game that I don’t understand, and accusing me of—what? Giving those people heart attacks with my magic touch?”

Okay, that was a bit too close to reality, but Papadopoulos seemed sheepish. He didn’t realize it was the truth.

“Of course not,” said the Detective. “But there are a lot of ways to give someone a heart attack. If the person was in poor health, like Felicia Garvey, no one would blink an eye. But Maurice Levante had just been to see his doctor the day he died, and he got a clean bill of health. The doc was pretty surprised to find out that his patient had flat lined just a few hours later.”

“I still don’t see what that has to do with me,” mumbled Vincent, his righteous fury spent. “People have heart attacks. I deliver to a lot of people. I bet if you look in my history, you’ll find a few people who gave birth the same day I delivered them food, but I don’t see you blaming me for that.”

“Three people, Vincent.” The detective folded his hands and stared across the table with eyes like lasers. “Three people had heart attacks in your presence in the past couple of months. Two of them died.”

“I guess I just have bad luck. Are you charging me with something?”

Before Papadopoulos could respond, the door opened to admit a harried looking officer in uniform. He leaned down to whisper something in the detective’s ear. Try as he might, Vincent couldn’t catch what it was. It sure made Papadopoulos angry, though. His ruddy face darkened to a furious shade of purple, and he barked, “What?!” before the uniformed officer began whispering again.

The detective pushed himself away from the table with a muttered, “Goddamn. You’re free to go.”

Vincent blinked. “What?”

The detective sighed. “I said, you’re free to go. But before you do, answer me this—how is it that you have the fingerprints of a dead man?”

Vincent was already half out of his seat, eager to get out of Dodge before they changed their mind, but this question plopped him right back down into it.

“What?” he demanded.

“Your ID’s fake. We know that. You know we know it. Vincent Malone doesn’t exist, according to the US government. That doesn’t surprise me. But what does is that when I run your prints, they match the prints of Roy Vane.” The detective watched him carefully for a reaction, but Vincent just felt numb. “You recognize the name?”

Vincent shook his head, unable to speak.

“Roy Vane killed six people in a bar in Kentucky and then shot himself. He doesn’t have an identical twin who could share his fingerprints. He’s dead and buried. So how do you have his fingerprints?”

“I…don’t know,” said Vincent.

He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. Somehow, the idea that he could be connected at all to a murderer was too much to bear. Ironic, considering what the voice told him to do. What he did all the time without even blinking an eye. But somehow, those kills felt justified. Would Roy Vane have said the same?

Was he Roy Vane, returned from the dead? It would be one heck of a way to atone for his sins.

“I can still go?” he asked, unable to meet the detective’s eye.

“Yeah.” The detective let out a heavy sigh. “But I’ll be watching you, Vincent. And I’m going to figure out what’s going on, and if you’re at all linked to Vane, or to these deaths, I’m going to bring you down.”

“Yes, sir.”

Vincent stood up and walked out of the interrogation room. The uniformed officer followed but didn’t say anything as he hovered in the hallway, trying to remember which way was out. He took a guess and went to the left, and the officer said, “Wrong way, asshole.” Vincent almost said something about the man’s professional manners, but what was he going to say? You think I might be a mass murderer, but I really wish you wouldn’t swear at me. If the situations had been reversed, he probably would have sworn too.

He kept waiting for someone to stop him and demand answers that he couldn’t provide. Detective Papadopoulos probably wanted to, but it didn’t happen. He walked right out the front door without quite believing that was happening instead of the interrogation.

In the parking lot, Lara leaned against her sleek grey car with her arms folded. The look of worry on her face faded as he exited the building, but then it came back in full force when she saw his expression. He wasn’t sure what he looked like or what he was feeling, but some of it must have showed on his face. She pushed off the car and met him halfway across the lot, her eyes flashing with anger.

“Are you okay? What happened?” she demanded.

Her fists were balled, like she was ready to punch someone out for him. But he didn’t deserve that, did he? If he was somehow related to Ray Vane—if he was Ray Vane, somehow, like his guts told him—he didn’t deserve her concern. He needed to get her away from him, before he snapped and killed her too. He didn’t want to push her away, but what other choice did he have?

“I’m fine,” he said dully. “Did you break me out of jail?”

“I pulled a few strings. It’s no big deal. But seriously, what’s wrong?” she persisted.

“Nothing. I need to go. I’ve got to find my boss’ son. Get some work done. Maybe I’ll call you later or something.”

But he didn’t intend to, and that must have been obvious, because the anger on Lara’s face turned toward him. She tilted her head and crossed her arms, blocking his path. Of course, she wasn’t very big. He could bowl her over easily, but something stopped him. He couldn’t hurt her in a quest to keep her safe. That didn’t make sense at all.

“I don’t know what the heck you think you’re doing, but you’d better stop it now and fess up,” she said, her voice as cold as ice.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit. You’re trying to shove me away. If you want to do that, fine. But I just got you out of jail, and I deserve an explanation, for that at the very least. If you can’t stand my face, or if you’ve decided that you’re better off on your own, or whatever, I’ll respect your opinion. But do me the courtesy of respecting me too, will you? Because I’m about two inches away from slapping you right across the face.”

Her eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment, he considered it. It would be so much easier to fight with her than to tell her the truth. But of course she was right. What he had to say would kill any positive feelings she had toward him, but it would be better that way. She’d be safe, and she’d know that it was all his fault instead of worrying that she’d done something wrong.

All of the fight went out of him in a whoosh. His knees felt weak.

“You’re right. Can we sit in the car? I don’t feel so hot,” he said.

 Now worry and anger vied for space in her eyes, but she nodded and gestured to the car.

“The door’s open,” she said.

He got in, and after a moment, she slid into the driver’s seat. She didn’t even look at him.

“Should I leave the lot before they decide to arrest you again?” she asked.

“Nah. My car’s here, and this will only take a minute.”

“Fine.”

She stared fixedly out the front windshield as she waited for him to speak his peace. But he had no idea what to say. He didn’t quite know the truth of things himself…except that he did. As soon as he’d heard the name, there was a pang of recognition.

“My fingerprints match the prints of a man named Ray Vane. The cops told me he was a serial killer. Offed a bunch of people in a bar and then turned the gun on himself. I still don’t remember anything, but I’m pretty sure I was Ray Vane. I don’t know if the voice brought me back, or if I came back to atone for what I did, or…I don’t know. But what I do know is that I’m not a good guy. I never was. Taking people like Maurice Levante off the streets before they can hurt others is a good thing, but it’ll never make up for the fact that I killed all of those people.”

Lara was silent in the wake of his proclamation. Then, after a couple of frozen moments, she got out her cell phone and began typing on it. That was it, then. She was giving him the space to leave without drama, and while he appreciated it and knew it was the right thing to do, it still hurt. He reached for the door handle, trying desperately to come up with some reason that he shouldn’t. He just felt so conflicted and confused, and Lara was the only person he could talk honestly about that kind of thing with. Funny how he’d only known her for a little while, and he was already so reliant on her.

He opened the door and tried to come up with something to say. But there was nothing, and the lump in his throat would have made speech impossible anyway.

“Wait,” she said, holding up a finger. “I’m reading about Ray Vane.”

“Wha…what?” He shut the door, looking at her intently. “What does it say?”

“Ray Vane shot six people in a bar. You’re right about that. But what they didn’t tell you is that the bar was closed. Ray’s girlfriend was the bartender, and he came back after hours to give her a ride home only to find that a gang of bikers was robbing the place. They beat her up pretty bad and were trashing the bar when he came back. He shot those people to protect his girlfriend and defend himself. But the girl died, and he shot himself before the cops came.”

Vincent stared at his knees, numb with grief and emotion for a girl he couldn’t remember.

“Ray Vane was a good guy,” Lara continued. “He was the heir to a printing business. College educated. He had a little brother he doted on. He’d bought an engagement ring for the girl a week before they both died. So if you’re him, and you came back, you don’t need to feel guilty for what you did. It’s just like what you do now. You rid the world of monsters, just like I do.”

He couldn’t help it. His eyes began to leak, and once they started, he couldn’t stop. He balled his fists up and shoved them into his face, but that didn’t help. After a moment, Lara’s arms went around him, and she held him as he cried in loss for a life he still couldn’t remember.

“I think some of your people might still be alive…” she said cautiously. “You look just like him. Do you want to see a picture?”

“Not yet.” He shook his head. “No, not ever. I’m not him. I don’t remember him. But I’m glad to know who I am.”

“You’re Ray Vane,” she said, her voice awed. “I can’t believe it.”

“No, I’m Vincent Malone. And I hunt monsters, just like you said. We’re going to find Ignazio, and we’re going to find Jin’s son, and then I think we should go out for dinner.”

He couldn’t believe he’d said that last part. She looked shocked too.

“I mean, if you want…” he added weakly.

“Of course I do. But you’re right. We’ve got work to do.” He nodded and reached for the door handle again. His car might be crappy, but he didn’t want to leave it at the police station. “And I really like ramen. You know, for dinner.”

“I know just the place,” he said.

“Cool.” Now that the whole emotional fireworks were over, she seemed to relax. “So where are we going? Am I just following you or what?”

“Let me text you the address. I want to swing by Lo Wang’s workplace. That’s Jin’s son. He should be the easier one to find.”

She nodded. “Okay. I’ve got no more leads on Ignazio, I’m afraid.”

“That’s fine,” he said grimly. “The voice is going to lead us to him, whether it likes it or not. I’m done playing around.”

“Can you do that?” she asked cautiously. “Make it obey your commands?”

“We’re going to find out.”