Chapter 9 #3
Someone had added a sentence along the bottom.
Better. But you’re still asking the wrong question.
I stepped closer. “When was it sent?”
“Six minutes ago.”
“Number?”
“Blocked relay.”
I reached for my phone. Mallory caught my wrist. Her fingers were warm. “Don’t call Brewster.”
I looked down at her hand, then at her. There was chasing the story and then there was this. “Someone is watching you.”
“Someone has been watching me for weeks.” As counter arguments went, that was nowhere near as comforting as she seemed to think.
“This was sent while we were here.” While she was in my place, the guy was reaching out to her.
“Which means he doesn’t know where I am.”
“Or he does.”
She released me. “This is from the office, not here.”
The absence of her hand was more noticeable than it should have been. I took the phone from her and enlarged the photograph.
“Look at the angle.”
She leaned against my shoulder to see the screen. The image had been taken from the corridor, slightly left of center. Reflected in the glass behind the board was a blurred section of the newsroom.
A figure stood near the assignment desk.
Dark jacket.
One arm.
A hand holding a phone.
I zoomed until the pixels broke apart.
No face.
No badge.
Nothing useful.
Mallory reread the message.
“Better,” she said. “He thinks I’m doing better.”
“Approval.” The son of a bitch was offering her a pat on the head.
“I think he’s assessing the methodology.” No she didn’t. Her tone told me more than her words.
“He’s grading you.”
Her jaw tightened.
The caller had been monitoring the investigation, measuring each conclusion as if the work belonged to him.
But you’re still asking the wrong question.
Mallory turned toward the board.
WHY THEM?
FUNCTION?
SAME PURPOSE?
All questions about selection.
About motive.
About the dead.
The caller had told her she was closer when she stopped looking at the bodies. Now we had returned to them, only from another direction.
Maybe that was still wrong. Though, he was assessing the board at the office, not this one.
“What question does he think we should be asking?” I said.
Mallory stared at the board for so long, I worried she might have checked out. Two men who didn’t fit the pattern. Both linked to her. The most obvious question was who killed them.
The better question would be why…
She picked up the black marker. Beneath the two names, she wrote: WHO NEEDED THEM TO LOOK GUILTY?
I read it twice. Huh. “That’s not the same as asking why they died.”
“No.”
“Because the accusation may matter more than the murder.”
She nodded.
The Auditor’s original victims had been exposed. Their crimes had been part of the punishment.
Colin and Guy had been branded with vague sins no one could challenge because death had taken away their defense.
Their reputations had been altered along with the crime scenes. Whoever killed them hadn’t only wanted them dead. He had wanted the world to misunderstand them.
No. That wasn’t right.
They wanted us to think the Auditor did it. So were their sins even a part of it? That seemed a stretch, but I couldn’t shake the question.
Mallory’s phone vibrated.
We both looked down. Another image arrived. This one had been taken at the memorial.
Mallory and I stood near the far wall, half-turned toward each other. She was speaking. I was watching the room behind her.
Habit.
Icy dread climbed up my spine. He’d been there. At the memorial…
A red circle had been drawn around a man in the background.
Gray suit.
Red tie.
Expensive watch on his right wrist.
The man Mallory had overheard saying he was grateful Guy never woke up.
Five words appeared beneath the image.
Start with what he feared.
Mallory enlarged the face. This time, the photograph was clear.
“I know him,” I said. That was the problem.
“Who is he?”
I looked from the screen to her.
The oversized shirt. The bare feet. The exhaustion under her eyes. The stubbornness that had put her in danger more times than I could count and would probably keep doing so until one of us died of stress.
“Mallory,” I said, “that’s Meridian Media Group’s chief compliance officer.”
Her gaze snapped back to the photograph.
Then to our board.
Thank God Reardon never woke up.
The pieces finally had edges. Not enough to reveal the whole picture. Enough to show us where it could start.
Mallory uncapped the red marker and wrote his name beneath Guy’s. Then she drew a line between them.
We had so many more questions than answers. The biggest one was what did the Auditor want?
He hadn't contacted the FBI. He hadn't leaked information anonymously to the station.
He'd chosen Mallory.
Again.
A cold certainty settled somewhere behind my ribs. Maybe he wasn't helping her solve the investigation. Maybe she was the investigation.
He kept feeding her just enough truth to pull her farther in, counting on the one thing neither of us had ever been good at: walking away from a story.
Mallory would never stop chasing him.
Which meant someone had to make sure she wasn't chasing him alone.
I was definitely going to be that someone.