“You can’t work for me, Shelly,” I said.
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She strode toward the door.
“Shelly,” I called out. “Did you drive here?”
“Of course.”
“Where did you park?”
“By the street. Why?”
“I’ll walk out with you.”
She patted her purse. “I’m safe.”
“I’ll still walk out with you.”
She smiled, and I thought it was a true, genuine smile. But with Shelly you never could really tell. “That would be nice of you,” she said softly.
She was quiet all the way down the elevator. She didn’t say a single word as she walked to her car.
When she opened her car door, she turned to face me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Shelly, you can’t work for me.”
“Okay.” She smiled and shook her head.
Then she got in her car and left. I stood, somewhat shell-shocked, and looked at where her car had been. Then I called building maintenance and left a message for them to install a better lock on my office door first thing in the morning. Something that was Shelly-proof.
Then tomorrow I was going to kill Mason Peterson with my bare hands.
Chapter 7
Clark
The next morning, I stopped by Mason’s office because I needed his help with the vigilante case I’d been working on. I’d taken him the file the week before, before the last murder even happened, so he would have time to look it over. I greeted Mrs. Anderson, his secretary, and then I rapped my knuckles on the doorframe of his office, and he looked up at me. Then he looked back down at the file he had open on his desk.
“Good morning to you too,” I muttered as I stepped into his office and took a seat across from him. I glanced down at my watch. I was on time.
Finally, Mason closed the file. That’s when I noticed it was mine. The words “Vigilante Justice” were written on the tab.
Mason narrowed his eyes like he was thinking about how to break bad news. Finally, he blurted out, “I think this is more than one person.”
“What makes you think that?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure why you think that or you’re not sure why it’s more than one person?”
He opened the file and fanned the profile pages out like a deck of cards. “This one,” he said, pointing toward the case where the abusive husband had been shot between the eyes. “This one is a clear case of vengeance. His wife didn’t do it. She was in another state, with witnesses.” He pointed toward another. I recognized the name. “This one is similar, yet different.” He shook his head. “The man sexually abused his two daughters for years.” And someone had entered the home in the middle of the night and chopped his dick off. “His wife died two years ago. And his daughters didn’t do it. They couldn’t have.”
“Why not?” People who had been abused often went back for vengeance.
“They’re both right-handed. The slice was made by someone who’s a lefty.”
“Huh.” I scratched my head. “What about the case of the dead wife?”
He pulled out one of the profiles. “This one is what makes me think these are random crimes.” He stared at the paper. “She beat her son black and blue in a fit of rage.”
“And?”
“And her son is six years old.” He closed the file and pushed it toward me across the desk. “He didn’t kill her. There’s no physical way that he could have restrained her like that, and then killed her.” He shook his head. “I know you were hoping this was a vigilante killer, so you would only have to go after one person, but none of these are related.” He stopped and stared at me.
“I just have this feeling.”
“And I have a feeling you’re wrong.”
“My gut has never led me astray.”
“Until now.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
Mason’s grit was one thing I liked about him. He never failed to stand up to me. I tended to intimidate people. I’d been told it was my size; I topped out at six-two, two-forty. And then there was the scar that slashed across my face. People tended to recoil when they saw it. I’d gotten used to it. Mason wasn’t intimidated by me at all.
“Okay.” I didn’t agree with him. I still felt like someone was using open police cases to get vengeance against people who hurt people weaker than them. There had been over two dozen in as many months, just in this state, in this general area.
“You should talk to Shelly about six-year-olds who tie up their fathers. Get her perspective.”
I knew about Shelly’s situation. I knew about how she’d tied her father up with a lamp cord when she was six. Then she scared the fuck out him with threats after he’d beaten Lynn nearly to death. Shelly had scared her father so badly that he had his wife dump her with his mother. He kept the other sister, Lynn.
“Speaking of Shelly,” I began.
He chuckled. “A match made in heaven.”
“She can’t work for me.”
He held up his hands like he was surrendering to the cops. “Talk to her, man. Not me. She has a mind of her own.”
“You set me up.”
“She needs a job.”
“She needs no such thing.”
“You’re right. She has a trust fund that could feed a small nation.” He laughed. “Just let her play at working for a while. She’ll get tired of it.”
“I don’t need help.”
“That’s not what she told Lynn. Your office was a mess.”
“It’s my office.” I could leave it a mess if I wanted to.
“Admit it. She was helpful.” He paused as a slow grin slipped across his face. “So she pulled a gun on you, huh?”
“In my own fucking office. At two in the morning,” I grumbled. With silky, nylon-covered feet, her shoes kicked off in the corner, the top button of her dress undone, one of my pencils stuck in her hair, holding it up off her neck.
“She’s a hell of a shot. I think she’s teaching an intro-to-gun-safety class at the shooting range. And another one at the women’s shelter. That one is more hand-to-hand combat, though. No guns.” He laughed. “Never tussle with Shelly, man. She can kick ass.”
“She can’t work for me.”
“Too late.” He tossed up his hands and grinned. “She’s in. It would be a lot of work to get her out.”
I’d get her out.
“I know you didn’t fuck her, by the way,” Mason suddenly blurted out.
“What?” I jerked my head up from where I’d been staring at the file on his desk.
“At the church. You found her naked in the hallway. You helped her get dressed.”
“Oh, that. Yeah.” I scratched my head again. “Why was she naked in the church?” I asked. I couldn’t stop myself.
He laughed. “Apparently, she hung her dress up in one of the back rooms and had to go to the bathroom. As she was coming out of the stall, the hem of the dress she didn’t want to wear got stuck on the lock handle. She didn’t want to tear the dress, since Lynn gave it to her for some special occasion or another, so she shimmied out of it. She didn’t think anyone would see her.”