Schefte was silent.
Mason’s anger burned away, ice-cold fear taking its place. “What’s going on?” he whispered to his boss. The silence in the room was almost painful in its enormity. Something had happened. “What did they find now?”
Schefte took a deep breath. “You’re a good cop. You always have been, and I consider you a friend. I’ve known you a long time, and I like to believe I know your depth of character. You’re a bit old-fashioned, Mason. But that’s you. You get pissed at the things that are wrong in this world, and you work hard to fix them. Most things are black and white to you.”
“Damn right.” The room seemed to spin. Mason blinked, keeping his focus on Schefte.
His supervisor looked away, sorrow flashing across his face. When he looked back, determination had hardened his gaze. “After your new scans today, your prints still match. And they’re also on the bat used to murder Josie. I’m gonna ask for your weapon and badge. You’re on administrative leave.”
Mason couldn’t breathe.
It wasn’t erroneous evidence collection.
Someone was deliberately framing him.
Who?
12
34 HOURS MISSING
Mason sat on the steps to his porch. His ass was one degree from freezing on the cold concrete, but the chill felt good. He needed to feel something. Since he’d turned over his gun and badge to Schefte and walked out of the police building, he’d been numb. The icy air was welcome. Right now he wanted to go inside and sleep for ten days. As long as he sat in the crispy-cool weather, he wouldn’t succumb to the part of his brain that screamed for him to hit something.
His prints were on the bat that killed Josie.
Impossible.
His brain couldn’t move beyond those two thoughts. They warred inside his head. Even though he’d been sitting motionless, the exhaustion sweeping his body made him feel like he’d run a marathon. Or two.
He ached to get drunk. Or run. Or drive for several hours. He could be at the coast in ninety minutes and run on the beach. The ocean always calmed him. Now that he was on administrative leave, no one cared what he did or where he went.
No one.
A wet nose touched his hand.
“Hey, boy.” Mason rubbed the dog’s head, and its tongue flopped out the side of its mouth in joy. He’d noticed the food bowl was empty when he’d arrived. He’d promptly filled it and peered inside the solid-sided crate he’d borrowed from a neighbor. The old outdoor furniture cushion he’d placed inside showed a thin coating of black hair. The dog must have approved of the sleeping space. Mason pulled out the cushion and whacked it on the porch rail to loosen the hair, then placed it neatly back in the crate.
The dog seemed chipper despite sleeping outside in such cold weather, Mason thought. He could hear his father’s voice when a very young Mason worried about the cows and sheep sleeping outside: “That’s why God gave them fur coats.”
He ran his fingers through the dog’s fur. It was awfully thick. And that crate was probably the warmest place the dog had slept in weeks. He should have rigged up a bed for the dog sooner.
But he’d wanted the dog to return to its home. The argument for it being a stray was growing stronger and stronger. Maybe he should take it in to a vet and get it scanned for a chip.
Maybe a young boy was missing his dog.
Jake had begged for a dog for years, but neither Mason nor Robin had seen themselves as dog people.
Mason frowned, a memory of Jake hovering just at the edge of his consciousness. Had Jake tried to bring home a dog? No. It was a memory of Jake playing baseball and a dog running around the infield. One of the dads had caught the dog, and it didn’t have a collar. Jake had begged Mason to bring the dog home with them. He must have been about ten. The batter’s helmet was big and loose on his head, and the bat looked like a caveman’s club next to his bony arms.
Mason had refused, and Jake hadn’t spoken to him for the rest of the day.
Mason scratched the dog’s ears, and the dog rested its chin on his knee, staring at him in adoration. He felt his antidog stance slowly crumbling to pieces. So far, this mutt hadn’t been any extra work. He seemed self-reliant. Just needed some food and shelter. And definitely a checkup.
Maybe he’d let the vet decide. If there was no implanted chip, then Mason would keep him.
His phone vibrated. Ray.
Mason stared at the screen. You’ve got to talk to him.
The last thing he wanted to do was talk to a human. Right now, the dog was ideal company.
“Hey.” Mason’s manners wouldn’t let him ignore the call.
“Mason. Where are you?”
The dog huffed at the sound of Ray’s voice.
“Was that a dog? Are you at home?” Ray asked.
“Yeah, I’m outside.”
“Why? It’s freezing.”
“I’m just checking on the dog. Then I’m headed back to Jake’s.” Real life was slapping him in the face. As much as he wanted to run away to the coast, he had a responsibility to his son and his extended family to see them through their tragedy. Henley missing made his personal problems the equivalent of chewed gum on the bottom of his boot.
“Schefte said he talked to you,” Ray started.
“Say what you mean. He didn’t talk to me. He took my fucking gun and badge.”
“I was getting to that.”
Mason bit his tongue. Ray didn’t deserve his anger. “Fuck, sorry.”
“Yeah, I know.” Ray was silent for a moment. “Jill wants to know if you’ll come over for dinner.”
“Hell, no. You think I want Jill’s sad eyes staring at me all evening? Besides, I need to be at Jake’s. That’s what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“They’ll get it straightened out, Mason.”
“I know I didn’t beat Josie’s head in with a bat. But for some reason, I’m feeling as guilty as I would if I had done it. Schefte talks to me like I let down every person in blue, when the fact is, I didn’t do it!”
“I know you didn’t do it,” Ray stated.
“Shit. Hearing you say that makes me feel guilty, too. What the hell is wrong with me?” Mason scratched the dog’s chest, wanting to toss the animal in the back of his vehicle and take him to the beach. What kind of pansy was he that he wanted to run away with a dog?
“Someone is messing with things. Schefte told me you had new prints done and they still matched. That means someone planted your prints in Josie’s apartment. And I suspect that will be the person who killed Josie. Who would have your prints?”
“Any OSP employee,” Mason stated. “Any server at any restaurant I’ve ever eaten at. Take your pick. With some simple supplies, it’s pretty easy to pick up and transfer prints.”
“Okay. Let’s look at this a different way. Who did you piss off that wants some payback?”
“Over twenty years of perps. Robin’s divorce attorney. The jerk who cut me off on the interstate today, who I honked my horn at.”
“Shit. So half the state. What’d you do to Robin’s attorney?”
Mason snorted. “I don’t remember. I may have called him a money-hungry asswipe for dragging out the process. For an amicable divorce, it cost a hell of a lot and went on forever.”
“You’re being targeted for something.”
Mason thought on that for a long second. “But why? What’s the gain? I’m not going to go to prison for something I didn’t do.”
“No, but you’re gonna look really bad until it’s all sorted out. Wait until the press gets a hold of this.”
Mason groaned. “I don’t need this right now.”
“I’m going to start looking over Morales’s shoulder on Josie’s case and asking some questions. Something is very wrong there.”
“What’ve Morales and Hunsinger been saying in the office?”
“Not a word. But I’ve been swamped, so I haven’t seen them for more than thirty seconds. I’m kinda enjoying working with Makitalo on his cases. He’s quiet and mellow.”
“Fuck you.”
“And Makitalo doesn’t swear at me. Go see your son. Tell him to stay strong for his sister. How are the rest of them handling it?”
“Shitty.”
“As to be expected. Any developments?”
Mason gave him a brief rundown on the minivan and ransom note.
“A note? So there’s going to be some action downtown tonight?”
“We’ll see. I don’t think anything will come of it. I firmly believe it’s some sick person trying to make a buck.”
“What’s the FBI think?” Ray asked.
“They’re looking at everything. These are the two biggest leads we’ve had, and they’re throwing everything they’ve got at them. If they think the ransom note is a joke, I’m not hearing that from them. They know better than to blow it off. You can bet there will be some heavily armed agents surrounding that bench tonight. I pity the guy who tries to take on the FBI when they’re hunting a child abductor.”
“I asked around about Special Agent McLane. She’s got a good rep. I found one guy who’d dealt with her on an earlier case. He sang her praises. Said she got him everything he needed before he even knew he needed it. She’s smart as a whip and down-to-earth.”