Page 23 of Unholy Masks

Detective Hall continued, “but here’s a thought. What if Millicent Wark didn’t kill Victor Bane?” she asked. “What if the real killer’s still out there? Someone who might have killed both Victor and Leo?”

She was wrong, but she wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Why would they go to such lengths to frame Millicent Wark, only to kill someone else in the same exact spot? That doesn’t make sense,” Detective Rosario muttered, rubbing his temple. He was thinking right. “They must know that any connection we can establish would make the case unravel, and Millicent might walk free.”

“Maybe we’re looking at a copycat,” Detective Myers said. “That is more probable. The unsub is someone who’s obsessed with the Bane case, trying to imitate it? It might not be as complicated as it looks.”

Detective Hall didn’t look convinced, though. She paced a few steps beside him, hands resting on her hips, staring at the dead man.

“You might be right, Detective Myers. He could be a copycat. But some of these details haven’t been disclosed to the public. How did he know that?” She paused, her lips pursed together. “What if this is more calculated than it appears? What if it’s someone trying to clean up the filth?”

“What are you suggesting?”

“According to Victor’s file, he wasn’t exactly an upstanding citizen. The same goes for Kesler. Both men were predators. And Millicent wasn’t a saint either. She deserves to rot forever in prison. What if we’re looking at a vigilante? Someone who believes they’re doing the job we’re failing to do? What if they killed Victor and framed Millicent? What if…”

Vigilante. I had never thought of myself as one, but…

Fuck. She is good.

“Taking out known sexual offenders?”

Detective Rosario crossed his arms. “So, you’re saying someone’s targeting the scums? Should we let them?” He scoffed. “They are doing a good job at it.” A small chuckle. But he wasn’t joking.

“Yes. A vigilante. Someone with access to information on cases we couldn’t close. Someone close enough to know details from Bane’s case. They’re methodical, and they’re replicating it so perfectly, almost as if they’re challenging us to keep up.”

I certainly didn’t want them to keep up. That would be a disaster, and I’m not ready to deal with another one.

My life was already a clusterfuck.

“¡Chingada Madre!” Rosario took a deep breath, shaking his head. “But, Hall, if the perpetrator’s goal was to kill Victor and send Millicent to prison, wouldn’t they have used a different place, different method to kill Leo, and frame another one?”

“I don’t know.”

“If you’re right, this is going to blow up fast. The press would be on it like vultures if word got out that we might be dealing with someone seeking justice. Vigilante stories sell well.”

Detective Myers grimaced.

“We have to keep this under wraps for now,” Detective Rosario said. “No public statements. Make sure every officer here knows. We investigate every angle, and if there’s even a shred of truth to this theory, we need to find this vigilante before the press turns them into some damn hero. We don’t want that. That always gets out of hand.”

“Right, Detective.”

“Or this could be a last-ditch attempt by Millicent’s people to muddy the waters. Her trial’s coming up soon; pretrial motions are almost wrapped,” Detective Myers said as I put my gloves on, and moved toward the dead body.

“What do you think, Doctor West?”

“Detective Hall is right. These wounds are almost identical to those found on Victor, and none of these details were disclosed.” I poked his wounds with gloved fingers. “Whoever did this knows exactly what happened to Victor.”

Nia looked at me. “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”

I carefully collected a sample from under his fingernails. “Rigor mortis is fully set, which means he’s been dead for at least 24 to 48 hours.” When I was done recounting everything I saw in Leo Kesler’s body, the detectives looked at me with a long sigh.

Keya Jackson arrived with her forensic team in tow, moving with the precision of someone who’d done this routine hundreds of times. She gave me a curt nod, her face impassive, and I returned it.

As she dusted the bed meticulously for fingerprints, she looked up at me.

“So, the Victor Bane case is open again?” Keya let out a disgruntled sigh. “That is a headache.”

“Looks like it.”