CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Blood has a way of silencing people, or maybe it’s just seeing your sister for who she really is, because Andrew doesn’t have much to say on the way to the airport. Even Rich seems to feed off his mood, and the result is peace in the car during the ride to the airport, or at least, quiet. Once we’re at the chopper and in the air, my mind goes to work, dissecting what I’ve learned today, and I keep coming back to the connection between this case and me. My past and this case. My attacker’s tattoo and the one victim with the same tattoo. That crime scene was not only meant for me but also meant to be a direct reflection of my hunt for the tattoo and encounter with the old man. My dilemma now becomes, how do I solve this case and not convict myself in the process?
We land in the Hamptons at nearly five, and when we exit the chopper, my brother grabs my arm, halting my intended rapid departure. “I love you, Lilah, but I don’t understand you and Kane. I’m going after him and I’m not going to stop until I take him down.” He turns and starts walking away.
Rich, seemingly having waited his turn, claims Andrew’s spot beside me. “And I’m going to help him. I’m requesting that Murphy let me remain here until you return home.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, following Andrew toward the terminal.
I decide, for the time being, to let them both go work off some of their testosterone overload on their own, for now. I have a killer chopping off heads and leaving me messages. Chip ’n’ Dale are the least of my worries. At least Kane was smart enough to just zip it and be quiet after that earlier text message he sent me. Avoiding pretty much anyone breathing, I dart a path to my car, and fifteen minutes later, I pull into my garage, then go straight to Purgatory where I unload my briefcase and prepare to work. This is it. It’s time. This is when I don’t sleep, or communicate with others, until I catch my killer.
By nine o’clock, there isn’t a white space left on my boards, the floor is covered, and I’m starving. I order a pizza and when it arrives, I take it and a couple of diet Sprites back to Purgatory. I open the box and sigh as I find a note attached to the inside. “Enough,” I growl at the same moment my phone starts ringing. I ignore it and the note, taking a bite of my pizza. I’m hungry. I’m tired. I’m pissed off. My phone rings again. And again. It’s going off like a kid hitting a buzzer incessantly for the fun of it. Andrew. Rich. Andrew. Eddie. Eddie? I answer the call. “Why are you calling me?” I demand.
“Woods is dead.”
My head sags forward. “Where’s the body?”
“There is no body.”
I straighten. “What does that mean?”
“He videotaped a long confession, then set himself on fire. Andrew e-mailed you the video.”
“I’m pulling it up now.” I hang up and pull up my e-mail, downloading the video.
I punch Play and watch as a thirtysomething man with a scruffy beard who identifies himself as Kevin Woods names all five of the murder victims as part of a hit list he’d created based on random encounters with rude people. He then apologizes and says he’s worthless and sets himself on fire. I hit the close button and then e-mail it to Murphy, about the same time my phone rings, with Andrew on caller ID. “You saw?” he asks.
“I saw. Where did it happen?”
“Upstate New York. I’m talking to the officials up there. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Yeah. Do.” My phone buzzes. “That’s going to be my boss. I need to go.” I end the call with Andrew and answer Murphy’s.
“What the hell did I just watch, Agent Love?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I really don’t know.”
“Is he our man?”
“No. He is not our man.”
“He looks like our man.”
“He looks like a man drugged or tortured into that nightmare.”
“This is going to get challenging, especially if it hits the news, which I suspect it will.”
“I know.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow. Early, Agent Love.”
We end the connection and my gaze lands on Junior’s note. I pick it up and open it, to read:
M is for Murder.
Murder
Murder
Murder
Murder
All the way down the page.
I flip it over and the opposite side reads:
K is for Kane.
Kane
Kane
Kane
Kane
All the way down the page.
This isn’t a coincidence any more than the crime scene today. And I don’t know whether Junior is telling me Kane is dangerous or Kane has answers. Whatever the case, I want answers and it’s time to get them. I stand up and walk to the closet, open the chest, and grab a pair of handcuffs, and this time I leave my work in the office and head downstairs where I slip on my shoulder holster and a jacket. At the garage door I hit the security button. “If the system is disarmed before I call you back, it’s not me and you need to send help. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am, but—”
“Just do it,” I order, exiting to the garage and climbing in my car. Next stop: Kane Mendez’s mansion by the beach.
A few minutes later I pull up to the gate of his sprawling property and key in the security code, hoping it still works, and thankfully it does. I drive to the front of the house, park, and grab the cuffs from my seat. Not giving him a chance to prepare for me, I march straight to the house, ring the bell, and wait. And wait. Finally, he comes to the door, and before he knows what hits him, I have a cuff on one of his wrists and my gun pointed at him. “Put the other one on.”
“As much as I enjoy this concept, this isn’t a good time for this, Lilah.”
“Put it on, Kane.”
“I have a situation in the garage. I can show you and you’ll understand.”
“Kane—”
“Garage, Lilah. Then if you want me to put on the cuffs without you shooting me first, I will.”
“Fine. Show me.”
“Are you going to keep pointing the gun at me?”
“Yes. Show me.”
He gives a heavy sigh and turns, walking down the hallway and turning left into the kitchen with no pause before he crosses to the garage, opens the door, and exits. Not sure what to expect, I follow him and find a man tied to a chair and gagged. The old man himself. “What the hell is this?”
“This is old man Romano. The patriarch.”
A Romano tied to a chair after two were beheaded today.