She stared at him.
The mask stared back — pale face, thin painted smile, the eyes dark and empty behind it. The suit was immaculate. The tie was straight. He stood in the alley like he belonged there, like this was the most natural place in the world for a conversation.
"Are you having fun yet, McGee?"
"Why have you brought me here?"
He tilted his head — that gesture, the one she'd seen on the security footage, on the elevator camera. "Oh, professional as always. Straight right to the point." A small sigh, almost disappointed. "Well, what's the fun in that?"
"I don't have time for games."
"Everything is a game, Marcene. The only question is whether you know you're playing."
He took a step closer. McGee didn't move.
"The filthy rich get richer off the backs of the poor," he said. "That's not a slogan. That's the architecture of the world."
His voice was calm, measured — like a professor giving a lecture.
"Kane stole millions from people who trusted him. The SEC investigated. The lawyers stalled. He was going to walk away with enough money to buy a small country, and the people he robbed got apology letters. Letters, Marcene."
"Walker denied care to dying people and called it policy. Children who needed treatment, and her company said no — while she took home forty million a year. Did anyone arrest her? Did anyone even fine her?"
"Daniels protected men who hurt children. For twenty years. The Church moved him to a bigger office."
He spread his hands. "The system doesn't punish them. The system protects them. So I do what the system won't."
"By murdering them."
"By judging them." The mask didn't move, but his voice sharpened. "I'm not killing innocent people, Marcene. I've never killed an innocent person. I kill the ones who already killed — just slower, with paperwork, with lawyers, with smiles at fundraisers."
McGee stared at him. "Why do you sit there with them? What do you do before you kill them? You're in there for three hours."
For a moment, he was quiet.
"I talk to them," he said finally. "I tell them why. I name the people they hurt — every one I can find. Kane's retirees. Walker's denied claims. Daniels's altar boys. For three hours, they can't move, they can't speak, they can't look away. They just listen."
"That's cruel."
"That's justice." He took another step closer. "They spent their lives never having to hear it. Never having to face a single person they destroyed. I give them three hours of truth before the end. It's more mercy than they ever showed anyone."
McGee felt something cold in her chest. Because part of her — a part she hated — understood.
Her father had spent his career inside the system. He believed in it — in rules, in courts, in the slow machinery of justice. She'd believed it too. Standing in this alley, listening to a man in a mask explain why the system was a lie, she felt something crack.
"So now, Marcene," he said, his tone shifting, lighter now, almost cheerful, "I didn't bring you here to tell you why I do what I do."
He glanced at his watch.
"The time says two thirty-seven." He looked back at her. "At exactly five PM, there will be a release of gas. Highly toxic gas. In a very, very public place."
McGee's blood went cold.
"But the people in this place —" he continued, "they're not good people, Marcene. They all deserve a sentence. And since I don't feel the need to give them one by one —" a small shrug, "— I will let the gas do the talking for me."
"Where—"
"So." He cut her off, smooth as silk. "What are you going to do? Are you going to arrest me? Take me in? Or are you going to find where I put the gas?"
McGee's hand twitched toward her cuffs.
"I'll even sweeten the deal for you, my lady —" he smiled behind the mask, she could hear it, "— because what's the fun if you don't have a chance? I will give you one clue to where I put the gas."
He held out his arms, wrists together, as if to be cuffed.
"The choice is yours."
McGee stared at his wrists. At the mask. At the tie, perfectly straight.
She thought about the three bodies. About the trial, the judgment, the three hours. About Hannah listening to static in the command post. About the wave she never used.
"What is the clue?" she said reluctantly.
He lowered his arms. And he spoke — not rushed, not dramatic, just clear, like he was reciting something he'd composed carefully:
*"At five, the shepherd takes the stage,*
*His flock is wealthy, calm, and sage.*
*They bought their seats with gilded sin —*
*The tickets cost more than you'll make in a year, my lady.*
*He'll speak of 'us' and 'you and me,'*
*While selling power for a fee.*
*The room is grand, the wine is old,*
*Their god is green, their faith is gold.*
*Find where influence goes to dine —*
*And hurry. The air is running out of time."*
McGee repeated it in her head, memorizing every line. A politician. Donors. Five PM. A grand room.
He turned around and started walking away, down the alley, unhurried.
"Tick tock, Marcene." He didn't look back. "The clock is ticking."
He reached the end of the alley. Paused.
"Until we meet again, my lady."
And he was gone.
---
McGee stood alone in the alley for three seconds. Then she ran.
Back through the kitchen door — the cooks shouting, the heat, the noise — through the dining room, past the tables. She grabbed the counter phone. The waitress stared.
"I need your phone. Police emergency."
She dialed 911 with shaking hands.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"This is Detective Marcene Summers, badge number—" She stopped. She didn't know if she should give it. Didn't matter. "There's going to be a gas attack at five PM today. Toxic gas. At a political fundraiser — I don't have the exact location yet, but it's happening at five. I need hazmat, I need every available unit, I need—"
"Ma'am, slow down. Where is the—"
"I don't know yet!" McGee's voice cracked. "I'm working on it. Just — get people ready. Five PM. Please."
She hung up.
The riddle burned in her head. A politician. Donors. Five PM.
She had two hours and twenty minutes.
Chapter 14