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With cold objectivity, Drex regarded the wounds he’d inflicted. The one in Jasper’s thigh was the only one that had required some shooting skill. He’d had to make it count without hitting Talia.
The others, he’d gone for center of mass. They hadn’t required careful aim to do fatal damage.
Had he felt any remorse for that, he only had to look into the black, fathomless eyes, from which not a single glimmer of a human soul had ever shone. He had only to think of the women who had suffered and died and been abandoned in ignominious graves.
He said, “You’re already dead. You’ve got minutes, if that. Weston.”
Jasper’s lips formed a rictus of smug delight. “Your mother liked my name. Liked me. So much so that she gave you up to be with me.” He gurgled a laugh. “You’ll never find her, you know.”
“Probably not. But that’s not my heart’s desire. This is.”
Drex reached out and yanked hard on the button of the blazer. With a snap of threads, it came free. Drex bounced it in his palm. “So much for your collection.”
Blood had filled Jasper’s mouth and coated his teeth, making his grin grotesque. He was wheezing for each shallow breath, blowing bubbles of blood, but he forced himself to speak.
“I suppose that you’ll open up my brain and study it, won’t you, Dr. Easton? You’ll want to know what made me tick. You could write a textbook about me.” His laugh was a blood-sputtering travesty. “Probe my brain, slice and dice it, dig into it till the day you die. It will never tell you where to look for your mother.”
Drex leaned in a little closer. “Your brain has absolutely zero value, Weston. It will cook in an incinerator and turn to ash. It will never be dissected and analyzed. You are nobody’s idea of a specimen worth writing about. Know why?” He placed his lips against Jasper’s ear. “You’re too fucking ordinary.”
Seconds later, he watched Weston Graham die an inglorious death, carrying that crushing insult into hell with him.
Talia wept with relief when she learned that Mike was alive.
Drex wanted to comfort her, but they were kept separated while being questioned by investigators from the Mount Pleasant police department. When it came his turn, Locke advised him to let him do most of the talking. Drex was happy to oblige. He was coming down off a bitch of an adrenaline surge.
Locke and Menundez explained to the investigators what had brought them rushing to the Ford residence. “We alerted your department to a possible crisis situation,” Locke told them, “but we had a good head start and arrived ahead of everyone else.”
Menundez explained how Jasper had come to be shot by a small-caliber pistol belonging to him. “I carry a spare in an ankle holster. I gave it to Easton before we entered the house.”
Those interrogating them turned as one to regard Drex with suspicion. One asked Menundez, “He was booked today. You didn’t think twice about giving him a weapon?”
“I only thought twice about taking his,” Menundez replied.
Locke picked up. “We entered through the back porch and found Mallory lying prone on the kitchen floor. He was unconscious, not dead.”
Indeed, Mike’s eyes had fluttered open as Drex’s fingers plowed the folds of fat beneath his chin in search of a pulse. Mike had pushed Drex away with one hand and pointed them upstairs with the other.
Locke said, “I stayed behind to call in medical help for Mallory and to apprise your guys of what was happening. I asked them to approach covertly. Easton and Menundez proceeded upstairs.”
“What happened when you got up there?” The question was addressed to Drex.
“We heard their voices. Approached with caution. No sooner had I motioned to Menundez that I was going in than we heard him say that he was going to kill her. When I cleared the door, he had her in a headlock. I tried to talk him into letting her go. He didn’t heed. I shot him in the leg.”
“Tricky shot,” a policeman remarked. “You must have had excellent marksmanship training somewhere.”
“Alaska. A school buddy of mine.”
“A hunter?”
“A hoodlum.”
Just then, Locke was pulled away from the group by a uniformed officer. Drex and Menundez continued to answer questions. When Locke returned, he reported grimly that a woman’s body had been discovered in a local motel. “It’s estimated she’s been dead for at least twelve hours. Cause of death, forcibly broken neck. A button is missing from her dress.”
The news cast a greater pall over the already somber scene. The coroner came and went. Jasper’s body was taken away, but not before a velvet pouch with a drawstring was found in one of the pockets of his cargo pants. It was placed in an evidence bag. To it, Drex added the brass button he’d ripped off.
The house was cleared of excess personnel, although there were still officers and investigators milling from room to room, carrying out various responsibilities. Drex found Talia in the living room, talking with Locke.
