He stared at himself, angry and unhappy.
Having fled the lake, he’d driven hard and fast through the night, eventually abandoning the Baineses’ SUV in a desolate parking lot in South Shore. This had been the planned dumpsite all along, but still he felt unsettled and agitated as he disposed of the vehicle. As he wiped down the interior, the smell of the disinfectant making him nauseous, he kept firing anxious looks across the empty lot. He knew that the gangs were active at night and the last thing he needed was to be jumped while carrying out his clean-up operation.
He’d had enough surprises for one night.
He’d been so caught up in Baines’s death throes, that he hadn’t heard her would-be rescuers’ approach. He had been stunned at first, unable to process what was happening. Then, as he’d fought back, eventually regaining the initiative, he’d been shocked to realize that he recognized one of them. It was the same girl who’d disturbed him at the Baines residence.
Who the hell was she? And how had she found her way to Lake Calumet?
These questions haunted him as he’d scurried through South Shore, sticking to the shadows, keeping an eagle eye out for the night bus. Had she tailed him? No, he would have seen her. Did she have some kind of tracking device on Baines’s vehicle? No, that was absurd. Just as pressing was the question of how she knew. How did she know that Madelaine Baines was in danger, when he alone had decided her fate? It was impossible and yet somehow she was on to him, somehow she knew what he was planning.
Now, safely back in his down-at-heel, rented home, the thought still made him shiver. How? How was she doing this? But the mirror held no answers, just warnings of discovery. One of his front teeth was damaged, but he could ride that out – it was just chipped and he seldom smiled anyway. There were scratches and marks on his right cheek too, but those could also be explained away – a domestic accident, the house cat, whatever. It was the large, livid bruise on his cheek – a legacy of that bitch Baines’s head butt – that would be harder to find an excuse for. He had already stolen some foundation from one of his housemates and though this had dulled the deep purple circle, it couldn’t hide it completely. Would people comment? Or would they avoid drawing attention to it? He had never been very popular – at home or at work – and this might play to his advantage now.
The bruise, however, was not his only problem. The girl had seen him – she was probably giving chapter and verse to the cops right now. Were they drawing up an e-fit to circulate? A likeness of him? There was nothing for it, he would have to lose the goatee straight away. This would probably help, but was hardly a foolproof solution. He would just have to hope against hope that no one recognized him. The thought made him distinctly uneasy. This girl – whoever she was – had inserted herself into his story from day one. Initially she had been a suspect – he felt sure she was the fifteen-year-old arrestee whom the papers had mentioned in the aftermath of Jones’s death – but now what was she? Some kind of vigilante? Why had she turned up at the shack, attempting to save Baines? How could she predict his every move?
For the first time since he’d started, he could feel the net tightening.