Chapter Three — Good Boys Don’t Bite #2
“Yes.”
“What time did you arrive?”
Elliot thought.
“Around ten thirty.”
“Leave?”
“One thirty. Maybe a little earlier.”
“You drove?”
“Yes.”
“Were you drinking?”
“Not much.”
Vance watched him. Elliot smiled faintly.
“I know how that sounded.”
“How much is not much?”
“Two drinks over three hours.”
“Why?”
“I was driving.” “Responsible.” “I try.” Her expression didn't change.
Elliot liked her immediately. Most people rewarded the correct answer.
Vance simply recorded it. “You saw Mason?” “Yes.” “When?” “Several times.” “Last time?” Elliot looked toward the rain.
“Maybe one fifteen?” “What was he doing?” “Drinking.” “Alone?” “No.” “With?” “I don't remember.” Vance nodded.
“Did you speak to him?” “Briefly.” “What about?” Elliot let a second pass.
“Nothing important.” “What does that mean?” “He asked if I was leaving. I said eventually.” “That's it?” “I think so.” Vance studied him.
Elliot resisted the urge to smile. Not because anything was funny.
Because smiling when uncomfortable was normal.
But he wasn't uncomfortable. Pretending to be would have been unnecessary.
“Did Mason seem upset?” “No.” “Angry?” “No.” “Scared?” “No.” “Did you see him arguing with anyone?” Elliot thought again.
“Not exactly.” Vance's pen stopped. “What does not exactly mean?” “He was messing with a freshman.” “How?” “Embarrassing him.” “Explain.” Elliot shifted his bag higher on his shoulder.
“He had the kid standing on a table. Making him sing or something.” “Was this hazing?” “I don't know.” “Was the freshman a Kappa pledge?” “I think so.” “Name?” “I don't know.” Vance watched him.
“Did it bother you?” Interesting question.
Elliot looked at her. “Yes.” “Why?” “Because the kid was clearly uncomfortable.” “What did you do?” “Nothing.” “You didn't intervene?” “No.” “Why?” Elliot gave a small shrug.
“It wasn't my business.” The answer tasted almost funny.
Vance wrote something down. “Did Mason record him?” “Yes.” “Did you?” “No.” “Did anyone else?” “Probably. There were phones everywhere.” “Did you see Mason after that?” “Yes.” “When?” “Maybe twenty minutes later.” “And then?” “I left.” Vance closed the notebook. “Where did you go?” “Home.”
“Straight home?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone there?”
Elliot hesitated. Exactly long enough.
“My stepbrother.”
“Name?”
“Ronan Vale.”
“Was he awake?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“I saw his light on when I came in. I didn't talk to him.”
“So he didn't actually see you arrive.”
“No.”
Vance nodded. Elliot watched the rain. There it was. A tiny gap. One thirty until whenever somebody could actually prove he'd been home. Vance hadn't reacted. That didn't mean she hadn't noticed.
“Do you know why Mason walked instead of taking a car?” she asked.
“No.”
“Do you know whether he planned to meet anyone?”
“No.”
“Did you ever see this before?”
Vance reached into her coat. Elliot's attention sharpened.
She pulled out her phone. Opened a photograph.
Turned the screen toward him. The mask stared back.
White porcelain. Cracked forehead. Black eyes.
Stitched mouth. It sat inside a clear evidence bag on a stainless-steel surface.
For one fraction of a second, Elliot forgot to breathe.
Not because he was afraid. Because one of the cracks was new.
Across the left cheek. Mason had done that.
Elliot remembered the impact. The sharp sound of fist against porcelain.
Two gloved fingers touching the fracture. Oh fuck. He looked at Vance.
“What is that?”
“You've never seen it?”
“No.”
“Take another look.”
Elliot did. He let his eyebrows draw together.
“Some kind of Halloween mask?”
“Maybe.”
“Was it his?”
“Whose?”
“Mason's.”
Vance watched him.
“I didn't say where we found it.”
Elliot looked at her. Then allowed realization to reach his face.
“Oh.”
Neither spoke. Rain filled the silence. Elliot looked back at the photograph.
“You found that near him.”
Vance put the phone away.
“I didn't say that either.”
“You're showing it to people who saw him Saturday night.”
A pause. Then something almost like approval touched her expression.
“You're studying psychology?”
“Yeah.”
“That why you answer questions with questions?”
Elliot smiled.
“Probably.”
Vance handed him a card.
“If you remember anything else, call me.”
“I will.”
She started to leave. Elliot looked at the card.
“Mason was murdered, wasn't he?”
Vance stopped. She turned. The rain behind her made the courtyard look blurred.
“We haven't released a cause of death.”
“That wasn't what I asked.”
“No.”
Elliot waited. Vance studied him for another moment. Then walked away. Claire appeared at the opposite end of the arcade less than thirty seconds later. She saw the card. Then Vance. Then Elliot.
“What the fuck?”
“Detective.”
“I gathered.”
“She asked about Saturday.”
Claire hurried closer.
“What did you tell her?”
“The truth.”
Most of it.
“Is this because you saw Mason?”
“Probably.”
Claire looked toward Vance disappearing around the corner.
“That's fucking terrifying.”
“She was nice.”
“She is investigating a murder.”
“We don't technically know that.”
Claire stared.
“Elliot.”
He smiled.
“Fine.”
She grabbed his arm.
“Come on. I'm getting another coffee.”
“You've had two.”
“I don't care.”