Keeping his mouth shut was one of the harder moments of his life. Detectives he’d never met before hammered him with questions, completely unsympathetic toward his missing wife. Mason knew what it was like to stand on that side of the table, and every word was by design. He wouldn’t let anything slip, no matter what.
By the time they let him out, dusk had settled. Every head in the department turned toward him as if they were suspicious. Did they think he had taken Diane somewhere? That he’d burned down his own house? Were they even vaguely aware that the Lullaby Killer was coming after him because of what they’d done to him?
Bill came out of nowhere, instructing the escorting officers to stand down. Mason shot him a grateful stare and then walked with him toward the elevator. As he went, he still felt the eyes of every cop boring into the back of his skull. He could barely take it—his missing wife was already tearing his heart apart. He didn’t need more to worry about.
“They don’t think you did it,” Bill said, pressing the button for the elevator.
“Good, because that would be stupid.”
“How you holding up?”
“I’m not.”
The elevator pinged. The doors crawled open. They went inside, where it was empty and quiet, punching the button for the parking garage. Mason waited, pain and torment stretching through his body. It was as though hate and ire were filling him from head to toe. He kept his mouth shut, his hands stuffed into the pockets while the doors closed. It took forever.
Seconds after the elevator took action, Mason slammed the emergency stop button. They jolted to a stop. Bill swayed, reaching out for the rail as he asked what the hell was going on. By then, Mason was already on him, grabbing him by the lapels and pinning him hard toward the back wall. The metal box they were in shook around them.
“Will you stop acting like this is all okay?” he demanded. “You’ve been weirding me out since this whole thing started, and if there’s one thing you’ve taught me over the years is that you can’t be trusted. You can’t, can you?”
“What? I—”
“Don’t play dumb.”
Mason grabbed him tighter, leaning his whole weight into him. As Bill’s eyes widened, Mason saw only trickles of fear. The rest was concern and misunderstanding. He didn’t fight back—didn’t need to—and besides, it was a wasted endeavor.
“Look,” he said, finally pushing back against Mason ever so gently. “This is a hard time for you. I get that. But I’m your only friend in the world right now. I’m the one throwing these guys off your scent so you can apprehend Wendell without interruption.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true. They’re already wondering about you.”
Deep down, Mason really knew there was some truth to it. But all this frustration and pain was disabling his ability to trust. What else was he to do, if not question the loyalty of the man who was supposed to have left Wendell for dead?”
“I want to look at it,” he said.
Bill squinted and turned his head to one side. “Look at what?”
“The body. Wherever it was you dug the grave.”
“Mason, that’s—”
“Not a request.” Mason let him go and stood back, adjusting his collar in a desperate plea for some air. “There’s so much uncertainty with this situation, so if I can just get some closure on whether or not this is actually Wendell, I want to see that son of a bitch’s body.”
Bill watched him for the longest time, slowly straightening out and pressing down his suit jacket. He breathed heavily, his warm breath reeking of a spicy lunch as he leaned over and pressed the button on the panel. The lights flickered. The elevator began to move again. Slowly, with a soft hum.
“I understand,” he said.
“Do you?” Mason said.
“Yes. Of course I do. You want closure.”
“Exactly.” Mason nodded, finding it tough to steady his heart rate and his breathing. He waited, giving Bill a chance to leave but growing less patient by the second. Finally, he gave in and resubmitted his one clear demand. “I want to see.”
Bill crossed his arms and leaned against the back wall. He didn’t look up, and he didn’t have to. His body language spoke volumes of defeat. He must have been aware of the wall of trust that had crumbled between the two, but rather than hurt he showed something else; he showed acceptance.
“Fine,” he said at last, but still without looking up. “I’ll show you.”