Double Cross

“And then there’s this.” She clicked another one, and an audio file opened. Now the little screen showed a horizontal green line that jumped and spiked with the recorded sound of a woman screaming. I recognized Tess Olsen’s voice right away.

“That’s her,” I said.

“Definitely?” Sampson asked.

“Definitely.” Bree and I said it at the same time. We had watched the videotape of her murder so often, the individual modulations of every scream were familiar, like some sick song we knew by heart.

The recording that now played had to have been made separately, we realized, given that the video was left behind in the apartment. That fact went a long way toward authenticating this site.

“Little handheld recorder in the pocket? Easy.” There was a kind of grudging respect in Sampson’s voice. “It’s all elaborate, but within that, he’s using the fewest possible strokes. Like a big, efficient machine.”

“Otherwise, we’d have his ass in custody,” Bree said. “He knows how good he is.” She grunted in disgust.

This was the admiring/hating phase of the game. His methods were undeniably bold and well executed. On the other hand, you can start to hate a killer, and even yourself a little, for every day that he gets to be free in the world. I think all three of us felt it.

“Well, the good news is that he likes attention,” Bree said.

“I thought that was the bad news,” Sampson said.

“Both.” They looked at me. “He’s going to be out there in the world more, which means that his reactivation time could be a lot quicker. But at some point, his confidence is going to outpace his skill. That’s when he’ll blow it. Has to happen.”

“Because you say so?” Sampson asked me with a grin.

“That’s right,” I said. I wadded up a page and shot it across the room into the garbage can with a metallic swish. “Because I say so.”

Part Two

Chapter 31

THE LAWYER MASON WAINWRIGHT arrived for his meeting with Kyle Craig at four o’clock sharp, as he always did. Kyle insisted that he be punctual. But this visit wasn’t to be like any of the past ones. This would be his final time with Kyle Craig, and that was cause for some sadness but also celebration.

He wore his usual cowboy boots and hat, an oversize buckskin jacket, the horn-rimmed glasses, the snakeskin belt, his Far West professorial look. As soon as he entered the space, he and Kyle hugged, as they always did. “The beauty of rituals,” said Kyle.

“Everything is ready,” the lawyer whispered against the prisoner’s cheek. “No cameras permitted. We’re alone in here. As you know, Washington is under way.”

“Then let’s get started here. Nobody will believe this… nobody. This is greatness, Mason.”

The two men pulled apart and immediately began to shed their clothing, stripping down to shorts. Kyle’s were off-white prison issue with yellow stains. “They’re not from piss. It’s burn marks from the laundry,” he told the lawyer.

“Well, these are from piss.” Wainwright laughed as he pointed to his own shorts. “That’s how frightened I am.”

“Well,” said Kyle Craig, “I can’t really blame you.”

The lawyer opened his briefcase next. He pried apart the top of the case and took out what first appeared to be molded flesh. Actually, it was a custom-made prosthesis, a realistic face mask originally developed for skin burns and cancer victims, and occasionally used in Hollywood films like Mission: Impossible. The mask was made of silicone rubber, and every detail had been hand painted by a renowned costume artist in Los Angeles.

There were two prosthetic applications: one of Mason Wainwright, the other of Kyle Craig.

Once the masks were fitted properly, Kyle spoke to the lawyer. “Yours looks perfectly fine. Very good, actually. And mine? How do I look?”

“You look like me.” The lawyer gri

“Are there any problems inherent with the masks?” Kyle asked next, as thorough as ever.

“Only one flaw with these prosthetics, from what I’ve been told. The likenesses are perfect. That’s not a problem. But the eyelids don’t blink.”

“Important to know. Let’s finish dressing, then.”

Kyle put on the lawyer’s clothes quickly-just in case a guard came by, which happened occasionally, though not usually during the legal sessions, when Kyle and the lawyer were left alone by law.

Mason Wainwright had worn clothes a couple of sizes too small that day, including his trademark cowboy hat. When Kyle got to the boots, he inserted two-inch lifts from out of the briefcase.

Now he stood at a little over six two, close enough to the lawyer’s height.

Dressed in the prison jumpsuit, the lawyer was still taller than Kyle, but he would walk with the prisoner’s habitual slump, so it wouldn’t matter that much, if at all. They were ready now, but the plan called for them to stay together for the full hour. Just as they always did. Everything exactly the same. Rituals to be observed.

“Do you want to ask your questions-the eight?” the lawyer said. “Or should I ask them?”

Kyle went through the usual questions. Then neither of them spoke for the remainder of the time they had together. Kyle Craig seemed to be almost in a trance. But he was just thinking ahead, making plans.

Finally, when only a minute or so of the meeting remained, Kyle rose first, looking like the lawyer, of course.

Then the lawyer stood, looking like Kyle Craig.

Kyle extended his arms, and Mason Wainwright moved into them. “In your honor,” the lawyer whispered. “I apologize that this took so long to arrange.”

“Masterpieces take time,” said Kyle Craig.

Chapter 32

MASON WAINWRIGHT WAS SLUMPED over slightly and looking down at the floor when the guard opened the door to the small meeting room. “Let’s go, Craig,” the guard ordered. “Play period’s over. Time to go back to your suite.”

Wainwright muttered his assent, then he moved down the hallway in front of the ill-tempered turnkey. He was bent over and shuffling like the “dead man walking” he was supposed to be. Just don’t let him see you blink, he reminded himself.

This was the time when the whole plan could go up in flames. Everything could be lost in the next few minutes. His part was an easy one to play, though-stay calm, keep quiet, head down-unless the guard noticed some change, some error on his part. The lawyer had studied Kyle Craig’s ma

Suddenly the guard’s nightstick was in the small of his back. What was this? Shit, no!

He’d obviously made a mistake and wondered what it was. Where had he messed up and ruined the escape Kyle Craig had been pla