Into the Night(52)

Bowen’s back teeth clenched.

“Don’t deny what we both know.”

“Where are you?” Bowen wanted to find that bastard and rip him apart. “You want to punish someone? How about punishing your damn self? Because you’re the one killing. You’re the one—”

“My work isn’t done.”

A chill slipped over Bowen.

“Maybe the FBI should clean house. Because I think...I think the guilty are there, too, Bowen.”

The line went dead. Bowen looked up at Tucker. “Tell me that you got that location.”

Tucker had his phone to his ear. “They’re triangulating and they think...” His eyes widened. “They say the call came from within a one-mile radius of this station. The killer is right here.”

Bowen yanked open the door and raced down the hallway. As he passed the conference room, Jonah called out to him. Bowen paused long enough to snarl, “Bastard just called again—he’s close. So fucking close.”

Jonah ran after him. Tucker was barking orders, trying to organize the officers there, and Bowen was searching for the caller. He ran outside. One-mile radius. One mile.

He hurried toward his SUV. Bowen yanked open the door. And he saw the phone lying on his front seat.

“Bowen?” a female voice called out. He glanced over his shoulder. Amelia Lang stood uncertainly near a pickup truck. “Everything okay?”

No, it damn well wasn’t. He knew he’d found the phone the killer had just used. “Did you see anyone here?”

“Um, yes, actually, there was a uniformed cop by that vehicle just a moment ago.” Now she glanced around, as if she were confused. “I don’t know where he went.” A furrow appeared between her brows. “Why? Is something wrong?”

Not something. A whole lot of fucking things.

*

THE MUSEUM WAS closed to the public. It was dark and quiet, cavernous. When Macey walked inside, with Bowen just steps behind her, she couldn’t quite shake the chill from her bones.

The perp had called him again. Bowen’s voice had been flat and his face expressionless as he told her about the call. They hadn’t found the guy. Their team had interviewed every cop at the precinct and even those not on duty, but they’d turned up nothing.

Dr. Lang had said she’d seen a white male, maybe around six feet, with dark hair. She hadn’t gotten a good look at his face, and Macey figured that had been deliberate on the guy’s part.

No prints had been found on the phone, and Dr. Lang had thought she remembered the guy wearing gloves. The phone had been a burner, one picked up at some gas station. Used and dropped.

Bowen had been pissed, a quiet fury that seemed to roll off him. Tucker had gone to investigate the cabin and the remains of Curtis’s victims that were still being unearthed, and Jonah had stayed to try to determine just how their perp had disabled the security footage at the station. Bowen wasn’t supposed to be at the crime scene, and when Macey had said that she was checking out the museum, he’d insisted on accompanying her.

Were they breaking the rules about him being in the field? Not exactly. She’d taken the lead and would be doing the bulk of the questioning. Bowen had promised to stay silent.

She wasn’t so sure he’d be able to keep that promise.

“You’re... You really think hate nails could be connected to a crime you’re investigating?” the museum’s manager asked. Peter Carter. Midthirties, with light brown hair, dark eyes and tats that circled his wrists and lower arms. “That’s crazy. Like, seriously crazy.” He turned away from them and led the way to the exhibits upstairs. The stairs creaked beneath their feet. “It’s just a display, you know. Nothing for people to get worked up about. The kids come in, they see it and they get a little creeped out...”

Macey glanced around at some of the displays in the museum. She was noticing a definite trend. “That’s what you do, right, you creep people out here?”

“Well, yeah.” Peter turned back to look at her. “People like to be scared, you know? It gets their adrenaline flowing. Makes ’em feel more alive.”

Macey considered him a bit more. “How long have you been working here, Peter?”

“Last five years.” His smile stretched, revealing not dimples, but deep slashes on either side of his face. “Never would have thought a guy with a degree in criminal justice would wind up in this place, huh?”

Bowen was silent. So far, he was keeping up his end of the deal.

Macey replied, “I’ve learned you can never judge a book by its cover.”

Peter’s gaze slid down to her right hand. Her hand was against the banister, and her sleeve had slid up a bit, revealing part of her scar. “No,” Peter murmured. “You can’t.”

She pulled down her sleeve.

“Show us the damn skull,” Bowen growled.

Peter straightened. “Right. This way.” He led them into another room. This room was dim, deliberately so, Macey knew. A glance around showed her that the room was supposed to appear menacing. There were lots of scary props in that room. Mummies, vampire relics, and, in the back, next to a strobing light, she saw the skull.

And the nails.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Peter mused. “Families tend to stare the longest at it. Some just can’t look away.”