Page 83 of The Grave Artist
He was intrigued. “What did you do?”
“Left evidence that points the dogs in a different direction. Sent them sniffing around Switzerland, a research facility. They have no idea that I’m in their backyard.”
Damon concluded that the gun was unnecessary after all. If Kane wanted to hurt him, that would have already happened. He returned it to the cabinet drawer.
“First name okay, Damon?” Kane waited for him to nod, then added, “Good.” He regarded Damon for a long moment, then said, “I don’t really get what you’re about. Some kind of sociopathic fetish? There are so many, one loses track. I don’t care. But, as I said, we have something in common. Heron and Sanchez are rooting around like pigs after truffles, looking for you, looking for me.”
“I have a plan,” Damon said, curious to hear Kane’s thoughts. “Kill one of them. Only one, which would sideline the other. A one-wheeled motorcycle.”
Kane, Damon guessed, did not smile much. But he seemed to come close to doing so, upon hearing this. He took this as approval.
“I can get into most security camera servers ever made.” Kane nodded to the monitor. “And make you disappear. I can break into a lot of email servers and phone switches. Find out what they’re up to.”
“I-squared? That place you mentioned where they work?”
“That’s sealed now, as I was saying. By Heron. Cracking would take weeks. And we don’t have that kind of time, do we?”
Damon shook his head.
“But I can break into their comm systems and regular police servers. I can find addresses they think are cloaked. I can find out what cars they drive, where those cars are going. Dozens of other things.”
“Fact is, Iamhaving trouble locating them.”
“Figured as much. That’s why I’m giving you a present, as a show of good faith. To prove you can trust me. And give you a chance to have some fun.”
Damon took the folded sheet of paper Kane had held out with his long, pale fingers.
He read the name and address. “Selina Sanchez? Sister, I assume?”
Kane nodded.
Damon glanced at the purple-curtained room. Felt the weight of the razor blades.
Her . . .
The cutting could wait a bit longer.
He looked at Kane’s note and mentally called up a map of LA. He did the calculations. He could be in Fullerton in forty-five minutes.
Chapter 41
Selina tilted her head back to look up at Detective Ryan Hall, who was a foot taller. “I’m no investigator, and I need help.”
He gave her a lopsided smile that tugged at her heart.
Hall had gotten home around four in the morning after wrapping up a lengthy investigation. She and the cat had fallen asleep on the sofa, and she had a vague memory of Ryan spreading a blanket over her before he kissed her forehead and vanished into the bedroom.
She’d awakened at six and continued to pore over the notes and list of clients, Googling name after name and going down rabbit holes after the cryptic Greek characters, 4:19 ... and getting nowhere.
Now that he’d emerged from his room, tousle-haired and jonesing for coffee, she filled him in about the case and her mission to find the hit man and whoever had hired him, adding her theory about money laundering.
“A code?”
She set the note in front of him.
No priest would give me last rites before what I am about to do, so this will be my final confession, which I will have to give in seconds:
Please forgive me once I reveal my true guilt under oath.
