Page 28 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“My stepbrother.”

“Name?”

“Ronan Vale.”

“Was he awake?”

“I think so.”

“You think?”

“I saw his light on when I came in. I didn't talk to him.”

“So he didn't actually see you arrive.”

“No.”

Vance nodded. Elliot watched the rain. There it was. A tiny gap. One thirty until whenever somebody could actually prove he'd been home. Vance hadn't reacted. That didn't mean she hadn't noticed.

“Do you know why Mason walked instead of taking a car?” she asked.

“No.”

“Do you know whether he planned to meet anyone?”

“No.”

“Did you ever see this before?”

Vance reached into her coat. Elliot's attention sharpened. She pulled out her phone. Opened a photograph. Turned the screen toward him. The mask stared back. White porcelain. Cracked forehead. Black eyes. Stitched mouth. It sat inside a clear evidence bag on a stainless-steel surface. For one fraction of a second, Elliot forgot to breathe. Not because he was afraid. Because one of the cracks was new. Across the left cheek. Mason had done that. Elliot remembered the impact. The sharp sound of fist against porcelain. Two gloved fingers touching the fracture. Oh fuck. He looked at Vance.

“What is that?”

“You've never seen it?”

“No.”

“Take another look.”

Elliot did. He let his eyebrows draw together.

“Some kind of Halloween mask?”

“Maybe.”

“Was it his?”

“Whose?”

“Mason's.”

Vance watched him.

“I didn't say where we found it.”

Elliot looked at her. Then allowed realization to reach his face.

“Oh.”