Page 100 of Unholy Masks

“He got the CCTV footage from the restaurant. Maybe he’ll find something.”

“Maybe we will,” I said, rubbing my face. “Thatcher made a fucking mess. I wanted to bury that asshole where he stood.”

“But you can’t.” I gritted my teeth. I knew that, and I hated that. “Stay safe, Ryden. I’ll see you at home.” She hung up.

I rubbed my head, walking toward the parking lot. Entering my car, I drove toward DPD. Detective Rosario, Myers, and I sat together, watching the CCTV footage. The bastard was clever. He wore a hooded shirt that hid him completely from the cameras.

“There’s nothing useful here. No one remembers him,” Detective Myers said.

“He was careful not to linger.”

“Can I get a copy of it?” I asked.

“Of course.”

Once I had a copy of the CCTV footage, I drove back to the funeral home.

Irene opened the door on the third knock.

“Where’s Enzo?” I asked.

“He went to see Trish. It’s horrible, isn’t it? What happened to her!”

“He left you alone?” I frowned.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you are not,” I said, shaking my head. “Enzo’s job is to keep an eye on you. All the damn time.”

“It was suffocating. For him and me. You know he did everything he could. He didn’t even go out with Trish because of me. He’s always here. He goes out only when it’s necessary.”

“You’re wound up tight. What’s wrong? Oh—” she paused, her eyes narrowing. “It’s the murder of that girl, isn’t it? I read the article. It’s horrible, and the way it’s written practically blames those girls for what happened to them. Misogynistic, racist piece.” She shook her head, disgust flickering across her face.

“I know.”

She gritted her teeth. “Some men are on the side of these bastards because they look like them, think like them, feel like them.”

“Thatcher is a fucking scum. I wish I had broken more than his nose.”

Irene’s eyes sparkled. “You broke his nose?”

“I did.”

“He sounds like a real ass wipe. Sit,” she said, gesturing to the chair. “Enzo will be back in a few minutes. Until then, why don’t you tell me everything?” She threaded her fingers together.

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re not trying to play therapist, are you?”

“Well,” she said with a small smile, “I’m a psych major. I’m also studying criminal justice. When I’m done, I want to major in forensic psychology and behavioral analysis. Or, if I go to medical school, I could specialize in psychiatry and focus on behavioral disorders.”

“You want to do what? Join the cops?”

She laughed. “I think I’d be a great fit for the FBI. I understand how serial killers think. I’ve had firsthand experience and…” She gave me a knowing wink. “I also have great sources.”

“FBI? I hope you won’t come after my ass,” I said with a frown.

She gave me an innocent smile.

“I could. You know how awesome it would be if I caught an infamous serial killer in my first year? Oh, the ladders I could climb,” she said. “I can move up faster than a rocket, and then…”