Page 53 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

CLAIRE: awake?

Elliot typed with one hand.

ELLIOT: unfortunately

The response came instantly.

CLAIRE: someone posted the mask picture

Elliot's body went still. Ronan noticed.

“What?”

“Claire.”

“What about her?”

Elliot opened the next message. A screenshot. The securitycamera image from the news had been reposted by a Bellweather student account. Someone had enlarged it. Sharpened it. Brightened it. The result remained grainy, but the white porcelain face stood out much more clearly against the darkness. Beneath it: WHO IS THE SAINT AUGUSTINE MASK? Comments filled the bottom. Hundreds already. Elliot scrolled. People guessing. Joking. Accusing. Someone claimed they'd seen the same mask at a Halloween party last year. Impossible. Someone else said Mason owned it. Wrong. Another insisted it was available from a costume store downtown. Also wrong. Elliot felt something unexpected. Irritation. The mask had never been intended to become famous. It was supposed to prevent recognition. Nothing more.

Now Bellweather had given it a name. The Saint Augustine Mask. Stupid.

“Let me see.”

Ronan took the phone. He studied the image.

“That thing is fucking creepy.”

Elliot watched him.

“You think?”

“Look at it.”

“I've seen it.”

Ronan zoomed in. Elliot's eyes settled automatically on the fracture across the cheek. Mason's fracture. The photograph Detective Vance had shown him was clearer. This one hid it in digital noise. Ronan handed the phone back.

“People are gonna turn this into entertainment.”

“They already have.”

“Someone died three days ago and they're naming the killer like he's a fucking comic-book villain.”

Elliot's gaze lifted.

“Killer?”

Ronan frowned.

“You know what I mean.”

“Police haven't said the person in the mask killed him.”

“Come on.”

“You think he did?”

Ronan stared at the ceiling.