“What do you mean?”
“Henderson committed suicide three months ago. His parents found him hanging in the attic. A picture of the two of you was at his feet.”
Stanton lowered his head and dropped his shoulders.
I walked over to him, and he braced himself against the back of his chair. “It will be much easier for the both of us if you cooperate.”
“What are you going to do?” he said, a look of horror suddenly squeezing his face.
“Put an IV in you,” I said, opening up one of my father’s old medicine bags.
“What for?”
“To keep you alive.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” he whimpered. “Let me go.”
“I will, in due time. But first there’s some unfinished business.”
I set up the IV infusion and slid the needle in his arm. He looked away and flinched as the metal slid under his skin. I hung a bag of fluids.
“This will give you the calories you need,” I said. “It’s not filet mignon, but it has everything you need for your body to keep working.”
Stanton whispered a prayer.
I walked back to the door across the room, then turned and faced him. “Don’t bother screaming. You’ll only lose your voice. A two-megaton bomb could go off down here and not a soul would hear it.” I pushed a remote in my pocket, and the faces of the five boys were projected against the wall. They were all so young and innocent and happy until this monster stole it all from them. I wanted him to see their faces every moment his eyes were open.
“Wait!” Stanton screamed. “Where are you going?”
I stared at him as fear twisted his face. “To me belongeth vengeance, and recompense; their foot shall slide in due time; for the day of their calamity is at hand, and the things that shall come upon them make haste.”
I walked through the door, his screams rushing at my back. I slammed the metal door shut, and a vacuum of silence enveloped me. I would let his mind eat away at him slowly; then I would introduce him to some friends who would do the same to his body.
30
MECHANIC AND I HAD put in a hard hour of lifting at Hammer’s and now sat recovering in my office with the lights off, staring out the window. We had just polished off a high-protein meal of salmon and curried lentil soup from Doc B’s. Mechanic nursed a Heineken. I was sticking with root beer. My muscles were starting to ache. I was thinking of how good another long hot shower would feel when I got home. Our conversation was sparse.
I considered all that I had and all that I didn’t have, and the math pretty much added up to zero. JuJu Davis was our best prospect, but he had been released, his gun cleared, and the techs couldn’t find anything in his car that connected him to Chopper. Following Burke’s strong advice, JuJu had quickly packed up whatever he could and was now hidden at a cousin’s house in Detroit until the wind settled back in Chicago. I couldn’t help but wonder how many girlfriends he had in the Motor City.
My cell phone buzzed. It was Gordon.
“Morpheusinthesky hit me back,” Gordon said.
“When?”
“Fifteen minutes ago.”
“Where are you?”
“Just leaving work. Heading to the East Village to meet up with some friends.”
“What did he say?”
“He wants to know what’s going on.”
“Can you send him a message right now?” I asked. “Now that you’ve connected, I don’t want to break in yet.”
“Sure. He’s still online.”
“Tell him that Tinsley is missing, and he might be able to help find her.”
After a few seconds, Gordon said, “Sent.”
“Grab a photo from his page, and send it to me when you can,” I said.
“I will. He just hit me back. He said that if this is someone trying to play a joke, it’s not funny. If it’s serious, he wants to know who this is and how he can help.”
“Give him my name and cell phone number. Ask him to call it right now so that I can explain.”
“Sent.”
My phone buzzed. The call was coming in with a 203 area code. “Gotta go, Gordon,” I said. “I think this is him.” I clicked over. “Morpheusinthesky?” I said.
“Who’s this?” a voice returned.
“Ashe Cayne, a private investigator in Chicago.”
“My name is Blair Malone,” he said. “Your name is different on IG.”
“That wasn’t me on IG,” I said. “It was my cousin, Gordon. He was helping me out. Is now a good time to talk?”
“Not really,” he said. “I’m about to walk into a restaurant. What’s happened to Tinsley?”
“She’s been missing for two weeks,” I said. “I’ve been hired to find her. Have the two of you been in touch?”
“We haven’t talked in a couple of years. We follow each other on IG. She likes my posts every once in a while, but other than that, we really haven’t been in touch.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
There was a slight pause; then Blair said, “I’m not comfortable discussing this over the phone. I’d rather do it in person. No offense, but I don’t know who you are or anything about you. There’s a lotta crazy shit going on in this world.”
“I respect that,” I said. “How soon can I meet with you?”
“I can meet you in a couple of days.”
“Where?”
“I work on the trading desk at GFX Financial in Stamford, Connecticut. Will this take long?”
“Not at all. I just have a few questions.”
“Okay. I can meet you around four. I need to catch the five o’clock train home.”
“I’ll be there,” I said. And just like that, Blair Malone was off to what probably was an exquisite New England dinner.
Mechanic looked at me, puzzled.
“You ever been to Connecticut?” I asked.
“Can barely spell it,” he said.
“Well, pack a dictionary with your overnight bag. Day after tomorrow, we venture
