Chapter 24
Mask
The drive to Southampton is two and a half hours if we’re lucky. Traffic in New York City is painful, but nowhere near as frustrating as the unrelenting unease that’s churning in the pit of my stomach.
I steal glances at Theo as he absentmindedly weaves through traffic on the freeway.
He doesn’t have the blue and red lights flashing on top of the SUV, but he’s speeding.
Of course, he’s speeding. There’s been a murder, and he’s a federal agent.
It’s his duty to arrive at the crime scene in a swift manner.
It’s his duty to bring criminals to justice.
Criminals. Criminals are individuals who commit a crime. A crime is an action or omission that constitutes an offense that may be prosecuted by the state and is punishable by law.
Omission.
The word sits heavy on my chest.
Why hasn’t he told me that he used to work at this specific country club? Wouldn't that be something worth mentioning? Even if it’s to fill the silence in the vehicle?
I can’t gauge from Theo’s neutral expression if he knows that I feel uncomfortable, that there’s a tiny voice in the back of my head telling me that I’m missing a big piece of this bloodbath puzzle.
“Have you been to the Hamptons before?” I ask meekly, attempting to sound casual but my voice comes out squeaky. I inwardly pray he doesn’t lie.
If he lies…
“A few times, yeah,” he says nonchalantly, switching lanes.
I swallow. “For fun or…?”
He glances at me, eyes narrowed. “No, Safia, for work. Believe it or not, being an FBI agent doesn't pay nearly as much as one might think.”
“So, you went there on an assignment then? For the Bureau?” I probe.
He’s not exactly lying. But there’s a definite omission of truth, a bending of facts. Unless Amir’s PI tracked down information on a different Theodore Kane, the man sitting next to me frequented the Hamptons over a decade ago before joining the FBI.
Theo sighs. “Is there something you’d like to ask me, Safia? I don’t enjoy playing mind games.”
I snort unintentionally. “I don’t believe that one bit.”
Theo tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “What is that supposed to mean?”
I tilt my head. “You seem to be a master at mind games, Theodore.”
His jaw ticks. “A master, huh? And what makes you say that, Safia?”
Because that’s how you caught me. That’s how you lured me into your trap.
That’s how my heart became yours for the breaking.
My fragile heart. He’s become its ringmaster, a playmaker.
But he’s not the only player on this chessboard.
I have strategies of my own. I know how to corner a king.
Theo may dance with omission, but I prefer to hit hard with the facts.
I stare into the sea of red taillights on the freeway. “I heard from a little birdie that you used to work as a caddie before you started college.”
“Ah, now I get it. Your brother looked into me.” Theo clicks his tongue. “I should’ve expected that.” He looks at me, a faint, sly smile playing on his lips. “Yes, Safia. I was a caddie. Is that what you wanted me to say?”
“At Marigold Country Club,” I add.
“Yes.” He chuckles. “At Marigold Country Club.”
I cross my arms. “The country club where Senator Jefferies was just murdered.”
“Yes, the country club where Senator Jefferies was just murdered.”
Irritation slides off my tongue. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s irrelevant, Safia. I worked there almost two decades ago.” Theo cocks his head. “But if you’d like, I can provide you with a detailed list of all my part-time jobs?”
I glare at him. “Don’t patronize me, Theodore.”
“Don’t call me Theodore.” He returns an equally cold stare. “Unless you plan on spreading those little knees of yours.”
I roll my eyes, yet I can’t banish the image of him between my legs out of my head. Damn it.
Theo sighs, reaching over the console. He places his warm palm on my upper thigh. “Why are you so upset with me, Safia? And don’t say it’s because I didn’t tell you about a summer job I had as a kid.”
I flick my nails. He has a point. I shouldn't be this irritated. What a silly thing to get worked up over. I have no logical, tangible explanation for my building unease. Maybe it’s the books. Maybe—
“You had a box of my books in your closet,” I blurt out. “Why?”
Theo blinks, then his shock morphs into hypnotizing amusement. “I guess you can say that I’m a fan of yours.” He licks his lips. “A big, big fan.”
I perk a brow. “You’re a fan?”
“You’re an excellent storyteller, little lamb,” Theo smirks. “And that headshot of you on the back cover…” He sucks in a sharp breath. “I get hard just thinking about it.”
My heart flutters. “So you knew who I was before coming to my classroom?”
Theo grins. “You’re Dr. Safia Hadid. Everyone knows who you are.”
It doesn’t make sense. “Why hide the books then?”
Theo chuckles. “I wouldn’t say I was hiding them. I simply hadn’t yet unpacked.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “And where are the books now?”
Theo smiles knowingly. “Well, if we weren't so rudely called away for a homicide, you’d see that there’s a new bookshelf in the living room.” He pauses, expression teasingly flirty. “It’s more of a shrine really.”
I can’t stifle my own smile. “A shrine?”
His hand glides farther up my thigh, and my breath hitches. “I’ve never been one for worship,” he rasps, his focus solely on me and my lips, “but I seem to have discovered a new religion.”
“Am I your God now, Theodore?” I whisper.
Obsessive adoration brims from his eyes. “You might as well be, little lamb.”
My pulse quickens, and I hesitate for several seconds before placing my hand on top of his. If I’m his God, then I hope that Judgment Day never comes. Because, unlike Theo, I’m not one for gray areas.
Theo and I push through the throngs of bystanders, police officers, and country club staff to where the coroner is securing the body on a gurney for transportation.
Despite Theo flashing his badge, the crowd refuses to disperse.
Dozens of fascinated and distraught faces linger behind the yellow tape as they try to catch a glimpse of New York Senator Hank Jefferies.
Well, former Senator. He’s not anything now—merely a spectacle for disturbed minds.
“Do you want to see the body?” Theo asks as we approach the coroner.
I skim over the zipped up and secured body bag.
Normally, I’d like to confirm the MO with my own eyes, but this is the sixth body.
By now, I trust my interdepartmental colleagues to ascertain whether this is a victim of the Whipper.
I internally scold myself. I shouldn’t play into the media theatrics, but I know the headline in tomorrow’s paper will read “The Whipper Strikes Again.”
“No, it’s fine.”
I look around the crime scene, various evidence markers stationed throughout the pristine locker room.
I take a deep breath, and the scent of jasmine and orange blossom fills my lungs.
I can’t say I’ve ever enjoyed the smell of a crime scene before, but I remind myself that this is an exclusive country club and not a rec center in the city.
At least Senator Jefferies died surrounded by luxury.
“Do we have time of death?” I ask the coroner who is pleased that I haven’t requested to view the body.
“Between 1 a.m. and 4 a.m. last night,” the coroner says.
“Thank you,” I say, turning my attention to Theo. “Who was the responding officer?”
Theo nods to a lanky young man conversing with the shaken country club manager.
We approach them.
“Officer Rigs, I’m Agent Kane with the FBI,” Theo says, addressing the cop. He nods at the manager. “Mrs. West, could you tell me when you discovered the body?”
Sandra West curls a short strand of black hair behind her ear, her voice trembling.
“I was doing my rounds, getting the facility ready to open at 5 a.m. I always check the locker rooms, you know, to make sure the cleaning staff didn’t…
” she swallows, wincing, “miss anything. And that’s when I found him. He was—”
A piercing cry sounds from behind the yellow tape, and I whip my head in the direction of an elegant woman dressed in a three-piece Chanel suit. She’s slumped over in a police officer’s arms, and I don’t need to be a detective to know that’s Hank Jerffries’s wife.
“I’ll be right back,” I say to Theo.
He frowns at me and I nod toward Mrs. Jefferies. “Oh.”
I turn on my heel, steeling myself. In my studies, I was trained to handle patients with deep trauma, unimaginable grief.
But time was always a factor. I was never trained to be a first responder.
Patients would come to me days, maybe even weeks, after a triggering incident. For Mrs. Jefferies, it’s been hours.
“Mrs. Jefferies,” I say in a gentle tone as I approach the widow. “I’m Dr. Safia Hadid with the FBI. Do you have a moment to talk?”
“Heidi.” She sniffles, smudging mascara across her cheek as she attempts to control her flooding emotions. “Please call me Heidi.”
The police officer consoling Heidi gives me an uncomfortable nod before slipping away into the crowd.
I glance around, my gaze landing on an empty wooden bench away from the chaos of the crime scene. “Why don’t we sit down? Would you like some water?”
“No, no water,” Heidi sighs. “But I-I’d like to sit down.”
I offer her my arm, and she takes it. It’s a small victory, but given my track record with patient interactions, it’s a moment I’ll remember for years to come. We sit down on the bench, and Heidi begins crying again.
“I’m sorry,” she blubbers. “I can’t… I can’t seem to stop.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say. “You’re allowed to cry. You should cry. Something terrible has happened. Your body is simply releasing some of that pain.”
Heidi’s jaw tenses, her head hung low. “I told him something like this would happen. We should’ve called Agent Di Rossi back. We should’ve been honest. I told him he couldn’t hide from the past forever…”
I frown. “Hide from the past?”
Heidi’s head snaps up, ghostly pale. “Sorry?”
Perhaps she didn’t mean to say that out loud. But it’s too late. Her unfiltered words have reached my curious ears, and there’s no way to stuff the truth back in the bag. The Jefferies’ were contacted by the FBI. We tried to warn them.
“Was there something in Senator Jefferies past that makes you think he’d be a target?” I ask, keeping my tone kind, yet professional.
Boundaries are important. As much as I want to be her confidant at this moment, I’m first and foremost an FBI consultant. I’m here for facts. I’m here for leads. But if I can, I’d like to remove some of the guilt resting so evidently on Heidi’s shoulders.
Heidi swallows, glancing anxiously at the entrance to the locker rooms. “Hank was a good man, Dr. Hadid,” she says. “That’s going to be his legacy.”
I’m not surprised Heidi wishes to keep her late husband’s dirty laundry hidden from the public.
It’s a common occurrence with spouses of murder victims. While revealing dark secrets can often lead to arrests, people crave the preservation of a good reputation.
That’s probably why they declined a meeting with the FBI.
Why they ignored Zoey’s initial phone call. Why they didn’t accept protection.
But she knows something. She knows why the senator was a target.
I keep my voice calm, measured. "Hank’s legacy can still be that of a good man, Heidi. No one is perfect. But sometimes understanding the past helps us make sense of the present."
After several charged minutes, she rubs her temples, taking a deep breath. "He’s not a bad person, Dr. Hadid. He made mistakes. But he’s not a bad person. He didn’t deserve this.”
"What kind of mistakes?” I ask quietly, not wanting to scare her away.
She looks at me, her eyes red-rimmed and glossy.
"It was almost two decades ago. Twenty years, Dr. Hadid. Isn’t that enough time for a man to change?
He was young back then. He was stupid. So stupid.
He wanted to fit in. He wanted to make a name for himself in the political world.
He only went there because…” She pauses, expression pained. “He’s a good man, truly.”
"We know he gambled at Bocco’s,” I reveal.
Heidi’s eyes spring open. “What?”
“That’s why we contacted you and your late husband,” I say. “We found a connection between the victims and—”
Heidi holds out her hand, teeth clenched. “Enough. Please.” Her shoulders heave as she weeps. “Fuck… But why? He paid his debt. He…”
I perk a brow. “He had debt?”
Heidi nods. “It was bad. He didn’t tell me exactly how much but…but he paid it off. We were free and—”
“How?” I ask.
Heidi blinks. “What?”
“How did he pay off the debt?”
She frowns. “I…”
I mentally sift through the background files Zoey compiled on Hank Jefferies. “Twenty years ago, your husband was a New York State assembly member. His income was roughly $80,000.” I tilt my head. “How much debt did he have, Mrs. Jefferies?”
Heidi fiddles with her fingers. “I don’t know…”
“Heidi…” I place a steady hand on her shoulder. “Your husband is dead. There’s nothing you can do to bring him back. But you can help us find his killer. You can help us bring a murderer to justice.”
She sighs, closing her eyes. “A little less than $100,000.”
“And he paid it off?” I ask, brows furrowed. “All of it?”
She nods. “One day, he came home and…and he said he was done. That it was over. Our debt was paid.” She glances up at me. “Don’t ask me how, Dr. Hadid. I don’t know the answer. I… I was always too scared to ask.”
A chill climbs up my spine. “When was the debt paid, Heidi? Do you remember the exact date?”
“2008.” She sniffles. “In May. I remember because my peonies were just starting to bloom.”
A shadow looms over us, and I look up to find Theo standing several feet away. The winter sun filters through the nearby window, his silhouette backlit by the light. He looks like an angel.
A fallen angel.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says to Heidi. “Senator Jefferies made a lasting impact on this community. I’m sure he’ll be missed.”
“Thank you,” Heidi says, tone low.
I stare up at Theo as he steps closer to us, out of the light. Most people wear a mask when communicating with the grieving. Whether manufactured or authentic, each mask displays a semblance of empathy, sympathy, something.
Theo’s mask is blank.
He doesn’t mean a word he said.