Page 49 of Girl, Unknown

“Mason.” Ella waved the printouts at him. “We’ve got some talking to do.”

“You found them, huh.”

“Yes we did.”

“Looks bad, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Pretty bad, yeah. Anything you might want to mention?”

“Not really.” Mason turned into the wall and ran his finger down it, as though he was admiring scenery beyond a rain-splattered window.

“Did you know these women?” Ella asked. “Friends with them? Saw them around?”

Mason took his time, then said, “No. I didn’t know them. Never met them.”

Ella kept the questions vague and open. Mason didn’t seem like the sharpest tool in the shed, so there was every chance he’d incriminate himself. She just needed to find the right angle to wedge open his vocal cords and get him spewing the details.

She found the picture of Katherine Parkinson’s body and held it out. “How’d you get this?”

Mason looked at it, looked away and shrugged. “You can get anything online. Found it there.”

“Really? Because the crime scene photos are still under wraps. They wouldn’t be released for months, and that’s only if someone submits a FOIA for them. As far as I know, only one of them has been leaked, and it’s not this one.”

Ripley chimed in, “Seems odd you’d have that, unless it’s not an official photo at all. Maybe it’s an amateur creation.”

“Could be. I didn’t take it though.”

“You sure?”

Mason leaned back and tapped his skull against the wall. He looked down at his hands, grinned and said, “No. I never my bring camera to murders.”

Ella took a second to decipher his meaning. She turned to Ripley, confused. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?

Ripley jumped in. “You don’t take your camera to murders? Want to elaborate there?”

Her partner was playing the same game. Tie him up in knots so that a glimmer of truth spilled out. Once he realized he was trapped in a web of his own making, he’d go full throttle and let all the details bleed out. Getting a suspect to confess was a slow burn, a constant battle with the psyche. It was called Boiling Frog Syndrome. Put a frog in boiling water and it’ll jump out to save itself. But if you gradually heat the water up, the frog wouldn’t know until it was too late.

Mason began to laugh that irritating laugh of his. Half smugness, half condescension. Then he grabbed the tiny sink beside his chair and said, “Yeah, I did it. It was me. I killed all three of them. Happy now?”

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Mason had confessed and Ella could barely believe it.

She suspected he had a hand in one or two of these murders, but all three was a welcome revelation. She looked back at Ripley and Grant, both wearing looks of abject relief.

“Want to tell us more?” Ella asked.

“Not until I get a lawyer.”

“If we get a lawyer, you’ll talk?” asked Grant.

“Yes.”

The agents let the moment linger, then Ella gave Ripley the old faithful nod. She was sure she could get much more out of Mason; she just needed to invoke the magic ingredient: intimacy. A killer like this wouldwantto talk, but three pairs of ears might give him stage fright.

“Five minutes alone,” Ella whispered to Ripley.

“Me and Sergeant Grant will see to appointing you a lawyer,” she said to Mason, then she gestured for her and Grant to leave. They disappeared down the corridor, leaving Ella and the confessed killer alone.

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