She asked quietly, “Do you know if forensics has a report on Cody’s death? Suicide or murder?”
Noah said, “The D.C. police are giving our people full access. We have our best ERT processing all evidence. Our people are canvassing with the police to find any witnesses. We’re talking to everyone whom Officer Lorenzo had contact with over the last seventy-two hours. We’ll have an answer, but we can’t rush it.”
Lucy said, “I’m ready.”
Noah started with her toward the door. She shook her head. “I need to talk to him alone.”
“Hell no,” Sean said.
She squeezed his hand. “I’m okay.”
Noah agreed with Sean. “I’m not putting you in the room alone with that killer. He promised to talk to you, but he said nothing about being alone with you. We’d never agree to it.”
Hans said, “Kate can join them. Mallory and she have a history. He may be more forthcoming with Kate in the room, Noah.”
Exasperated, Noah ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. Fine.”
Hans said, “Lucy, I’m confident you’ll know what to say and do, but he did promise a full confession if you talk to him, so get everything you can out of him. Plus, we have a few questions for him—like why Robert Ralston went to Seattle. Why he waited until Morton was in D.C. before killing him. Confirm how they select their targets, and why Ralston was killed. Was Ralston working only for Morton, or playing for both teams?”
Lucy took a deep breath. “And why he killed Cody.”
Hans nodded. “The minute you feel uncomfortable, you can leave. You don’t have to stay. Even if you just need a couple of minutes, take them.”
She nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
Sean turned her face to his. “I’m right here.”
She gave him a smile that she hoped wasn’t as weak as it felt, then stepped inside the interview room behind Kate.
To say Mick Mallory brightened when he saw her was an understatement. He sat straighter. He didn’t so much as smile as open his mouth slightly in surprise and something that felt like awe. Lucy considered turning around and having Sean take her home. She didn’t want to be in the same room with this man.
But there was no going back. She would face Mallory and get the answers they all needed. The answers she needed.
She sat down. Kate sat next to her. Lucy didn’t take her eyes from Mallory’s face.
“You wanted to talk to me.”
“Thank you.”
She shook her head. “I’m here so you will confess. I want the truth. The truth will set you free.” She intentionally quoted from Cody’s fake suicide note. Mallory nodded, not flinching or showing any other reaction. He was cold. Colder than she remembered.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“I don’t want your apology. I want the truth. Start with why you have a picture of me in your house.” She hadn’t intended to start with that piece of information, but her mind had gone blank when she saw him sitting there.
He nodded and showed his first sign of discomfort as he reached back and rubbed the back of his neck, licking his lips at the same time. “I took that a year after I got out of the hospital. I came back here and didn’t know what I was going to do. I wanted to kill myself, but didn’t have the courage. Then I heard about the plea agreement between the government and Roger Morton, and my anger over that kept me alive. Guilt and vengeance fuels me; it runs through my veins. It’s the air I breathe.” He cocked his head. “You didn’t know, did you?”
She shook her head.
“I wanted to see how you were doing, to make sure you were, I don’t know, living as normal a life as possible.
“I shouldn’t have tried to find you, but I couldn’t help myself. I learned your schedule and waited one afternoon for you to leave one of your classes, I don’t remember which one. You looked both sad and happy at the same time—I didn’t know how that was possible. I was looking at you through a long lens because I didn’t want you to see me. I didn’t want to scare you. And I snapped a picture, without intending to.”
For the first time, Lucy feared she’d been wrong about Cody—that he hadn’t been the one stalking her. Trying to keep the anger out of her voice, she asked him, “Have you been stalking me?”
“No, I swear. The last time I saw you was at the WCF fund-raiser, but before then it had been a long time.”
Lucy couldn’t keep the shock off her face. “You were there?”
“Yes. You wouldn’t have recognized me.”
“You were in disguise?” Her head began to spin. She willed her breathing to even out.
“Pretty much.”
“What about the skating park?”
He stared at her blankly. “I don’t skate.”
“No, at the skating rink in Arlington.”
He shook his head. “Before Saturday, I hadn’t seen you in over a year.”
“Why were you at the WCF fund-raiser?”
“I’m not going to say.”
“You said you’d tell me everything if I talked to you. I’m here. I’m talking. It’s your turn.”
Kate interrupted for the first time. “It might be helpful, Mick, if you tell Lucy about why you used her to lure parolees into a death trap. She deserves to know, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” He swallowed, his head falling into his hands. His shoulders rose, then fell. Again. Lucy did not feel bad for him, not even a sliver of empathy.
Mallory focused on Lucy. It was as if Kate wasn’t in the room, though it was clear he’d heard her.
“After my wife and son were murdered, I lost my heart and my soul. Lost everything that was good, everything I loved. After the … situation where I was fired, Fran was the only person I could talk to. We kept in touch.”
“That doesn’t answer Kate’s question,” Lucy said. “Why did you use me?”
“We didn’t. I never wanted you to know.”
“Too late. I figured it out. But not until after seven parolees were killed—seven that I lured into public.”
“Don’t feel an ounce of remorse for those animals! They were all violent predators who are better off dead.”
“Because you’re a god? Is that how you see yourself?” Lucy asked.
“No, I’m sure I’m going to Hell. I figured I’d send some of those bastards there before I arrive.” He paused, glanced at Kate, then turned back to Lucy. “Four years ago, Fran called me from Boston. She’d learned about a rapist who walked on a technicality. The bastard had been raping his niece from the time she was ten until she was fifteen. She committed suicide instead of telling her family that she’d had two abortions. They only found out after she died, from her diary. The judge wouldn’t allow the diary to be admitted as evidence, and there was nothing else to prove he was a child molester.
“The situation reminded Fran of what happened to her sister. She went to Boston and killed him. In his own house. Then she called me to help her cover it up. So I did. I stole the creep’s paintings and fenced them. He was quite a collector. Look it up—his name was Parker Weatherby.” Mallory paused, then added, “I read the diary, Lucy. It was gut-wrenching. Fran should have gone after the fucking judge. When our own system fails the innocent!” He slapped his palm on the table and a startled Lucy leaned back.
Mallory looked pained that he’d scared her. He said in a rush, “After that, I had an idea. I needed to do something to stop these men. I only took a few hits a year to avoid patterns, I never charged more than my minimum expenses, and I rarely did a job in the same state twice. If the Bureau had figured it out, they weren’t looking at me.
“It wasn’t enough. I was so dissatisfied, but couldn’t take on more. Not from lack of opportunity. And if I went after killers and rapists who got off on technicalities, like the prick up in Boston who Fran killed, the Feds would have figured it out pretty quickly. So I asked Fran to identify parolees for me to hit. She’d already started the lure program, it was successful, but honestly—why should these monsters go back to prison on the taxpayer’s dime for two, three, four years to finish their sentence when we damn well know that the minute they get out, they’ll be hunting for their next victim?”