The Lake

FORTY-EIGHT

“Mattie. We need to talk.”

“We do?”

“Yeah. Time to spill the beans, Mattie.”

“About friend Mace?

“Right. Maybe there’s something else I should know?”

A pause.

Then Mattie said, “I’ll be right over.”

Mattie was off-duty, and the way she looked when she arrived at the house took Leigh off guard. Red blouse tied at the waist and denim cutoffs. She strode into the hallway, her long tanned legs taking her straight to the kitchen. She looked like a high-school kid on her way to the beach.

“What’s the matter, Leigh? Got a problem?”

Leigh followed, then busied herself making coffee. It was eight in the morning and she hadn’t fixed breakfast yet. Deana was still in bed.

“Yeah. You could say that. Take a pew.” Leigh motioned to the bench by the kitchen table. “Last week, you implied that Mace had ‘another side’ to him. Maybe a black side. An iffy side. Care to tell me more about that?”

Mattie took the mug of hot black coffee Leigh placed before her.

“Where shall I begin?” She spoke slowly, giving a tight smile. “Guess the beginning’s about the best place?”

Mattie looked up, peering into Leigh’s face.

“Well, shitski, honey! Where’d you get that?” She gestured toward the bruise already showing purple on Leigh’s cheek.

With a self-conscious gesture, Leigh’s hand went to her face. “Does it look so bad?” she asked anxiously.

“Bad enough,” Mattie replied, shaking her head.

Leigh gave an embarrassed grin. “Maybe I should put on some more makeup. I’ll do that before Deana shows. Don’t particularly want her to see me in this state. As it is, she can’t stand the sight of Mace.”

“Look,” Mattie said briskly. “Mace is good at his work. You might say too good. He wants somebody, he goes out there and nails ’em good. Yeah, he’s well-respected back at the department. But beneath all of that there’s a certain something that says potential rogue cop—know what I’m sayin’?”

Leigh gave a short, harsh laugh. “I get the picture,” she said. “Have you seen Mace flare up? Go stark, staring crazy?”

Mattie took a swig of coffee, then looked Leigh in the eye. “A coupla times. One day he put a guy in the jug; the guy calls out for a lawyer. Unfortunately, he caught Mace going off shift. Mace goes straight in there and slugs the guy out cold. Guy lying there, still out cold, and Mace starts kicking him. Couldn’t stop. I had to drag him off. It wasn’t easy. Then Mace turns on me. I get a bruised jaw for my trouble. He apologizes, says he doesn’t know what came over him.”

Mattie shrugged her shoulders.

“Next time, he slugs a girl in a club. Broke her jaw, turns out. Anyway, he shows his ID, tells il patron the girl’s makin’ a nuisance of herself. Girl’s fired on the spot. Mace walks free. No hassle. No problem.”

Leigh listened in silence, then said, “Uh-huh, seems like our Mace is bad news. Like he’s two separate people. Never took me to his apartment, y’know… I did wonder why. Maybe he’s got somethin’ to hide? Know what? I’d sure be interested to know what makes him tick.”

Mattie swung her leather shoulder bag around to her front. She lifted the flap, dove into it, and came up with a key. Waving it before Leigh’s eyes, she said, “How about we have ourselves a little adventure?”

“You mean that’s Mace’s house key?”

“Sure is. I happen to know he’s out on a case right now. Should take him all day…” Mattie’s eyes challenged her.

“Why not?” Leigh said.

Mace’s apartment was in darkness.

Leigh suppressed a shiver. What had Mace got against good honest daylight? What was he, Count Dracula or something?

The apartment was very neat. Too neat for a bachelor pad, she thought. No magazines. Straight lines of paperbacks in a cheap wooden bookcase. No mess, no beer cans, no evidence of takeout food.

Nothing.

She frowned. It was unnatural.

Place is like a damn funeral parlor. Especially with the blinds all drawn like this.

She shuddered. There was something about the neatness of it all that spooked her.

Mattie glanced around. Leigh smiled. Good ol’ Mats. Casing the joint. Once a cop always a cop… Bet nothing escapes her notice.

She was right.

“Place hasn’t been slept in these last coupla nights.”

“How can you tell?” Leigh felt guilty. Of course Mace hadn’t spent the night at home for a while. He’d been with her, hadn’t he? Well, last night, anyhow.

“Desk calendar says July fifteenth,” Mattie said. “It’s now July eighteenth.” She went through to the small kitchen area. She opened the fridge door. “The milk’s past its sell-by date.”

Leigh’s eyebrows went up. “Looks like Mace isn’t the only good cop around here,” she remarked dryly.

“Hey. How about this?” Mattie, at an open drawer of Mace’s computer desk, was waving some photos.

Leigh perked up. Photographs, especially missing ones, held a particular significance for her right now.

She looked at the photos fanned in Mattie’s hand. Mainly art shots, nicely lit ones of people, places, water, rivers, the sea, rocks, and some amazing skies. Most in mono; some in full color.

“Our Mace hopes to make the big time one day,” Mattie explained. “He’s got an award somewhere. Told me about it once. The Smith-Griffon Award for Best Seascape or something, I remember.”

Mattie returned the photographs to the drawer and opened another one. She came up with bundles of letters and bills.

Leigh began to feel uneasy.

Suppose Mace walked in?

At this very moment.

She imagined footsteps hurrying down the corridor outside. A key scraping in the lock.

The door opening…

“Mattie. We really oughta go now. I don’t feel good about this whole thing.”

“You don’t feel good, huh? Come on over and look at these. Then tell me you don’t feel so good.”

Mattie’s tone was serious. Leigh’s heart skipped a beat.

Mattie sank into a soft leather sofa, holding a large scrapbook on her knee. Leigh went over. Turning pale as she stared at the pages Mattie was flicking through.

Bodies.

Dead bodies.

Carved.

Placed in awkward, symmetrical, artistic positions.

Bodies of girls. Twisted. Writhing in their final death throes. Bloody. Naked…

Page after page of photographs.

Mono press shots. The blood all black and glistening.

A few in startling full color.

Head shots, showing the final agonies.

Faces pleading. Mouths wide. Screaming for the man with the knife to stop. PLEASE… STOP…

Leigh gagged, vomit lurched in her throat. She felt herself fold at the knees. She collapsed on the sofa.

“Wowww…,” breathed Mattie. “We gotta get outa here… But wait a minute, there’s something else. A letter…”

Leigh looked over Mattie’s shoulder at the bunch of creased, handwritten pages she was holding.

And read the words:

“I, Edith Payne, hereby…”

My God—not Charlie’s mother…

Quietly, the door opened.