She brought a plate over to the small, peeling-laminate table. The meat was gray with flecks of brown, surrounded by a haphazard fall of half-cooked onion. The bread and fake butter perched on the side.
“All I got’s water,” she said.
“Water would be lovely,” Scarrey said with a big, goofy grin. “Most important nutrient there is. Hydration.”
As she got a glass from the tap, Scarrey tucked into the meat as if it were the best thing he’d seen all day. Mason made a point of not noticing that Anna had wiped the water glass clean before she filled it. When she handed it to him, Scarrey nodded his thanks. Anna sat across from him, her lips pressed thin, as if offering them food had exposed her weak spots and she regretted it now.
“I know it’s an odd question,” Scarrey said around a mouthful of sausage and onion, “given everything you said about him, but I have to ask. With all the fear and the reaching out and letting go, all the brief attachments to people and causes and so on, did he strike you as
Anna furrowed her brow.
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s a weird way to put it, but . . . Yeah.”
“Ah,” Scarrey said, and his smile left him looking satisfied.
“WHAT DID YOU MEAN, THE MYSTERY, NOT THE PUZZLE?” MASON ASKED. They were driving down Central toward the university. The afternoon traffic was starting to thicken, the distant early warning of rush-hour gridlock.
“Have you ever considered the difference between them?”
“Can’t say I have,” Mason said.
“You should. It’s important, given what you do.”
“Solve mysteries?”
“Sometimes,” Scarrey said. “But more often, I think, puzzles.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the difference?”
A van moved up beside them, gunned its engine, and tried to pass. Mason sped up just a little to stop it, and the van slowed back.
“Puzzles have
“There’s some wet wipes in the glove box,” Mason said.
“Thank you. Puzzles have solutions. The lock opens. The wine bottle comes free.”
“You figure out whodunit,” Mason said. “I get that.”
“Mysteries aren’t like that. With them, there’s an element of judgment. Guesswork. Not just to reach the solution, but within the solution itself.”
“That sounds really deep,” Mason said, “but I don’t know what the fuck it means.”
“Which makes it a mystery,” Scarrey said. Mason laughed.
Back in the office, Anderson was at his desk, grinning and high-fiving everyone who passed by. His wide-set face and too-handsome looks didn’t have the haunted look they’d acquired in the past few weeks. Mason grinned.
“Good to see you finally showing up for work, slacker,” Mason said.
“Smoked all my dope,” Anderson said, returning the joke. “Figured I’d better come in, hit up the evidence locker, eh?”
From across the room, Diaz growled.
“Take it outside. I’m trying to work here.”
Mason lifted his eyebrows, but Anderson shook his head and pointed to the door. They paused in the hallway, Scarrey looking from one to the other in confusion.
“What’s up?”
“The perp on Miawashi? Yeah, he’s gone. Not at his mom’s place. Not with his girlfriend.”
“Knows we’re looking at him,” Mason said. “Well. He’s got to be somewhere.”
“Makes it a puzzle,” Scarrey said, cheerfully. Anderson met Mason’s eyes with an empty expression. He didn’t get the joke.
“Internal Affairs finished chewing you over?”
“I’m not getting a written apology or anything, but yeah. That’s done,” he said. “What about you two? Good day?”
“Possibly excellent,” Scarrey said.
“Track down the global satanic conspiracy?”
“Wouldn’t go that far,” Mason said. “Pretty well established that Sobinski’s full of shit, though.”
“Even with the . . .” Anderson moved his arms back into an awkward pose, mimicking the prisoner.
“Even with,” Mason agreed. “I’m thinking we get some of the stuff we found, and we can use it pretrial if his lawyer tries to get him declared incompetent. Still no confession, but . . .”
“Well,” Anderson said, nodding slowly. Maybe impressed, maybe pretending to be impressed. “Go with God.”
“Yes,” Scarrey said. “I was hoping I could see the prisoner one last time, though. If that’s not too much trouble?”
“Fine with me,” Mason said.
“Um,” Scarrey said, looking pained and embarrassed.
Mason hoisted his eyebrows.
“Yes, I was wondering if I might speak with him alone.”
THE INTERROGATION ROOM WASN’T BUILT FOR COMFORT. A SINGLE METAL table, bolted to the floor. A plastic chair for the perp, light enough that even if he threw it at someone, it wouldn’t do any real damage. The walls were a dim, unhealthy green. The CCTV camera sat in the corner, so that the image on the monitor was tilted like something in a funhouse mirror. Maury Sobinski looked up into the camera sometimes, like he was trying to decide whether it was on or not. Mason had disabled the red light-emitting diode on the side months ago. Sobinski’s wrists were in cuffs, his ankles hobbled, and a chain ran around the bolted desk. If Scarrey got himself hurt in there, it wouldn’t be because Mason hadn’t tried to keep him safe.
“This is a bad idea, partner,” Anderson said.
“If I leave them in lockup, someone might overhear, right?” Mason said. “Interrogation rooms are soundproof. No one goes in or out without making enough noise to know they’re coming. Chief’s guest wants privacy, I give him privacy.”
“Except for the part where you put him where you can snoop on him.”
“Yeah, except for that.”
“This is a bad idea.”
“Shh. Here he comes.”
At the table, Sobinski sat up a little straighter. Mason turned up the monitor’s volume a little. Scarrey’s footsteps came before the little man walked into the frame. The relative positions of Scarrey and the camera meant that Mason could only see the back of his head, and that from the top. Perfect angle to see how much the guy was balding. Sobinski’s head shifted in the weird almost-broken way he had. His voice through the monitor was perfectly clear. What had seemed creepy and ominous before came across as theatrical and pretentious now.
“You return, little man. You’ve come for Maury, but you cannot have him.”
“That isn’t entirely true,” Scarrey said. “You can stop. It’s all right. I understand.”
Sobinski’s laughter rattled his chains and scooted his chair across the floor.
“You will bow before the King of Hell,” Sobinski said. “Beleth will eat your heart, little man. Only open up. Let him in. Everything will end for you.”
“Maury, you should stop this. It’s undignified.”
“I am the angel at the gate!” Sobinski screamed, his shoulders twisting in ways that looked unlikely and painful. “I am the archon of the last days!”
“You’re Maury Sobinski. And you’re a very bad person. I’ve come here to fix that.”
Anderson leaned forward, his hand on Mason’s shoulder.
