abducted and taken to a black site in Prague for interrogation. And that’s why his father was willing to help him when he ran to Somalia.”
Mays mocked him with a round of slow, hollow applause. “You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”
“Am I right?”
“Not even close. But let me know when you sell the movie rights. I’ll pop the popcorn for you.”
“I can handle that on my own,” said Jack. “But there’s something else you can help me with.”
“Yeah, there’s something you can help me with, too,” Mays said, his hand moving up and down in a vulgar gesture.
Jack ignored it. “After your wife disappeared, a Miami-Dade homicide detective questioned Jamal’s mother. He told her that Shada was following her own leads, trying to find McKenna’s killer. She had some online communications-possibly with the killer himself. Do you know anything about that?”
“Nope.”
“The cops thought it was Jamal she was in contact with, but I don’t believe it was. Like I said, I think there are three victims here-McKenna, Shada, and Jamal-but only one killer. I’d love to get my hands on those online communications.”
“I can’t help you there.”
Jack could have recited the man’s resume to dispute it. “Here’s the thing,” said Jack. “If your supercomputers can search eight billion files in an instant-which is what you told me yours can do-then you most certainly can help me. What you’re telling me is that you won’t.”
“Same bottom line,” said Mays.
Jack rose. He knew that Mays was the key to any computer-related evidence involving his wife, but it was clear that tonight was not going to be the breakthrough. He just needed to plant the right seed.
“You’re right: McKenna’s killer remains unpunished, free to kill again. Same bottom line.”
Jack grabbed his jacket and headed back toward the house, feeling a surprising chill in the night air as he distanced himself from the fire.
“Swyteck,” said Mays.
Jack stopped and turned. He was halfway through the garden.
“You got a few more minutes?” asked Mays.
Jack shrugged. He had all night, if that was what it was going to take. “Sure. What’s up?”
Mays pushed himself up from his seat on the log and started toward him on the footpath. “There’s something I want to show you.”
Chapter Thirty
Jack was awake half the night thinking about Shada Mays’ text message.
Last week’s tip from Jamal’s mother had been slightly off the mark. The police didn’t have any e-mails. It was a text-message exchange-just one-between Shada and someone using a pirated cell phone (owner unknown). Shada’s cell phone had disappeared along with her, so it had taken a subpoena from law enforcement to turn up the day-old text message on the carrier’s server. There were also records of phone calls to and from the same pirated cell, but there was no way of knowing what was said in those conversations. The single text was chilling enough, starting with a question from the man suspected of being McKenna’s killer:
“Are you afraid?”
“Not at all.”
“Maybe you should be.”
“No way. Never. I will see you tomorrow.”
Jack probably would have guessed it, but the date on the message confirmed as much: “Tomorrow” was the day Shada had gone missing.
Still, Jack wasn’t sure how to read it. Was she being defiant? No way, you killed my daughter, but you will never intimidate me, you son of a bitch. Was she playing the role of the “good cop”? Don’t worry, accidents happen, I’ll see you tomorrow and you can tell me your side of the story. They were merely printed words-no voice inflection, no context, no way to know for sure. The first line-Are you afraid?-was intriguing, and the addition of just three more words-of The Dark-would have all but confirmed in Jack’s mind that McKenna, Shada, Jamal, and Ethan Chang were all killed by the same man. As it was, that was still a distinct possibility.
Or someone was trying very hard to make it look that way.
The telephone rang on his nightstand, and Jack shot bolt upright in bed. His room was dark, but he hadn’t really been sleeping. A call at 3:40 A.M. was never a good thing, and his first thought was of his grandfather in the nursing home.
“Hello?” he said.
There was no answer, but Jack sensed that someone was on the line.
“Who is this?” said Jack.
“Is this Mr. Swyteck?” The voice was beyond tentative. It sounded like a teenage girl-a frightened teenage girl.
“Yes,” said Jack. “Who’s calling?”
“You don’t know me, but… you were the lawyer for Jamal, right?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“I-I can’t tell you that.”
Her English was good, but she spoke with an accent. German, maybe. “Where are you calling from?”
“I can’t really tell you that, either.”
Jack heard the sounds of a city over the line-the echo of a car horn, the grumble of a bus or a diesel truck. She was obviously calling from outdoors, perhaps on a busy street corner, either a cell or a pay phone. Wherever she was, the business day had already begun; it definitely wasn’t 3:40 A.M.
“Did you know Jamal?” asked Jack.
“Uhm, not really. I spoke to him. Once.”
“When?”
“A couple of days ago,” she said, her voice quaking. “He gave me your number and begged me to call you. I told him he’d never hear from me again if he told you or anybody else we talked but… is it true that he’s dead?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God,” she said.
Jack jumped out of bed and started pacing. He wasn’t sure where to go with this, but it sounded important. “What did you and Jamal talk about?”
“Was he… killed?” she asked.
“It looks that way,” said Jack.
“Oh my God,” she said, and this time Jack thought she might hyperventilate.
“Calm down, okay?” said Jack. “If you know something about this, I can help. You just have to tell me what you know.”
A siren blasted in the background. She was definitely in a city.
“It’s like I told Jamal,” she said. “I think… I know who killed his girlfriend.”
Jack stopped pacing, frozen in the darkness of his bedroom. “McKenna Mays? You know who killed McKenna?”
“I think so.”
“Who was it?”
She didn’t answer.
“I need you tell me who did it,” said Jack.
“I’m afraid!”
Jack didn’t want to push too hard and lose her. “It’s okay. Have you gone to the police?”
