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“Were you taken away when his body was found?”
“No ... wait.” A long pause. “That’s wrong.”
“What do you meanwrong?” Holden prods.
“Eddie was dead before ... a long time before. I killed him when they first discovered who I really was. The old man wanted me dead. Eddie pleaded with his father to keep me alive until the child was born.”
“Are you saying you didn’t kill him?”
Silence.
“No,” she says. “I did. Except it was when he came into the room to tell me my life would be spared long enough for the child to be born.”
“But you said the child was stillborn.”
“I don’t remember telling you about the baby.”
“You did, Sadie. Just a moment ago. You told me the baby was dead.”
“I don’t remember telling you, but it’s true. He died.” Her voice is high now, strained. “I remember the voices.”
“Whose voices?”
She doesn’t answer for several seconds.
“Someone I trusted.His.And ... and hers.”
“Whose voices?” Holden repeats.
“I don’t want to talk anymore.”
37
11:55 p.m.
Finley Boulevard
Birmingham
Mason had listened to Sadie’s regression therapy sessions at least a dozen times. The past few days he’d put himself through the torture once more. His daughter had come so very close to learning his secret during the therapy. The final session was the reason he had halted the appointments and taken possession of the recordings. Holden hadn’t argued. After all, Mason had paid him a great deal of money. Initially, Mason had intended to destroy the recordings, but he could not bring himself to do it. Each time he listened, he was reminded of how very much Sadie had paid for his mistakes.
He would see that she never paid for anything he did ever again.
This would end now.
Before leaving home a half hour ago he had carefully packed the recordings of the sessions in the box with the rest of the things he wanted Sadie to have when the time was right. Much would be explained when she had an opportunity to go through the items he had saved. Her name and phone number were on the box to ensure it was passed on to her in the event he was unable to tell her about it.
It was time to finalize one last step.
He watched as the rented luxury sedan pulled into the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse on Finley Boulevard. Mason emerged from his Lexus and strode toward the dark sedan without hesitation. The engine continued running, the parking lights on. As he approached the front passenger-side door, the auto lock disengaged. He opened the door and settled into the leather seat. The dim interior lighting closed in around him and the man he’d asked to meet him. Mason placed his hands loosely in his lap.
“I was surprised you called,” Leland Walsh announced. “I thought our business was finished after our last meeting.”
“I thought so, too, until I spoke withher.” Mason knew her better than she knew herself. When she did not refute his allegation, he had known he was right. She would never have permitted Mason the leeway to move on a conclusion that was unfounded. She was far too exacting for such an allowance.
Walsh had the audacity to laugh. “Really, Agent Cross. I can hardly see the problem. She has every reason to feel exactly as I do, wouldn’t you say?” He turned to face Mason. “An eye for an eye, after all. Except we aren’t talking about eyes, are we?”
Mason gave a nod, primarily at having his conclusion confirmed straight from the horse’s mouth. “No, we are not.” As he spoke, he slid a hand beneath his jacket and wrapped his fingers around the butt of his weapon. “You made a mistake, Walsh.”
