Graham Masterton - Death Mask

“A séance, I think you’d call it. I can talk to people who have passed over, Mike, especially if they feel an urgent need to explain what happened to them, which many of them do.”

“I see. Well, I guess you can try. But I can’t officially involve the homicide unit in anything like that.”

Sissy cocked her head to one side. “I wouldn’t expect you to. I’m just pleased that you don’t seem quite so skeptical anymore.”

“Hey — don’t think for one minute that you’ve made me a true believer. I still think that the future doesn’t happen till it happens, and I still think that when you’re dead, you’re dead. But after what you did here today — let’s say that I have more of an open mind. Maybe you can sense things that other people can’t. Maybe you can guess how tomorrow is going to turn out.”

“Who was Red Mask’s first victim?” asked Sissy.

“He was a Realtor called George Woods,” said Molly.

“Do you have an address for him?”

“Sure,” said Detective Kunzel. He took out his notebook, licked his thumb, and leafed through it. “Here you are — 1445 Riddle Road, Avondale. There’s a phone number, too. I mean, his address is no secret, it was in the papers, and the number’s listed in the phone book, but don’t tell Mrs. Woods that I gave them to you, will you?”

“I’ll be very discreet,” Sissy assured him. “She may not agree to my holding a séance, but I doubt it. In all my years I’ve only had a handful of out-and-out refusals. Most people will do anything to hear their loved ones again.”

Detective Kunzel turned to Molly. “Can she really do it? Like, if I wanted to talk to my pops.?”

“You always told me you hated your pops,” said Detective Bellman. “You always said he was a world-class word-I-can’t-use-in-front-of-present-company.”

“I did. I did. But I never got the chance to tell him to his face, before he died, and I would give anything to be able to do that.”

Three men and two women from the coroner’s office were wheeling in gurneys to take away the three victims in the elevator.

Sissy lifted the little silver and pearl cross she wore around her neck and said, “Good-bye, Mary, rest in peace. Please forgive me for letting you die in the dark.”

Sissy and Molly kissed on the steps of the Giley Building. The street outside was crowded with squad cars and ambulances and television vans, as well as scores of rubberneckers. From the hubbub of excitement going through the crowd, anybody would have thought that they were expecting the imminent arrival of a famous movie star.

“Cincinnati sightseers,” said Molly, in disgust. “Look, I’ll see you later, Sissy. Take care of Victoria for me. And Trevor. Well, I know you’ve been taking care of Trevor all of your life.”

Molly climbed into one of the squad cars to be taken over to Cincinnati police headquarters on Ezzard Charles Drive. A big, heavily built officer with curly white hair was waiting to escort Sissy down the steps to another squad car, to drive her back to Blue Ash.

She settled into the backseat. The interior of the squad car smelled strongly of cheeseburger.

“Excuse the fragrance, lady,” the officer apologized. “I haven’t eaten in six hours straight. Not even a candy bar.”

As he pulled away from the curb, he opened up a yellow polystyrene box and lifted out a twelve-ounce cheeseburger and took an enormous bite.

“I’m sorry, you know, but my captain thinks I’m what? The starving millions in Africa? I always say you gotta eat to function. Nobody can function on an empty stomach.”

“Well, you’re right,” said Sissy. She was looking out of the window, but she couldn’t help sensing the officer’s heartbeat.

Bom- pause- badom -pause. Clogged arteries. She could feel them. She could feel a pain clutching at her left arm, too, as if she were just about to have a heart attack.

“Got this at Zip’s,” he said, holding it up. “Best damned burgers in Cincinnati.”

“All the same,” Sissy told him. “You should watch what you eat, and how you eat it.”

“Lady, I wish I had the luxury. If I had the luxury, I wouldn’t be eating no cheeseburger in no squad car. I’d be sitting down proper with my napkin tucked in my collar and I’d be eating T-bone steak and mashed potatoes and plenty of gravy, with a plate of hot corn-bread on the side, and blueberry pie and ice cream for dessert.”

“What’s your name?” Sissy asked him.

“You want to know my name? It’s Gerald. Gerald Clyde. Forty-one years old, proud father of three little girls.”

“You want to see your little girls grow up, Gerald?”

“Excuse me?”

“You have a health crisis coming,” Sissy warned him. “You really need to ease up and visit your doctor for a physical.”

The officer stared at her in his rearview mirror. “Lady, I’m a little stressed is all. Maybe a touch overweight. Otherwise, I’m two hundred percent fit. I could stop this car right now and do ten one-arm push-ups on the sidewalk.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sissy. “It really is none of my business, is it? It’s just that I get these very strong feelings about people.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Really — don’t take any notice. I’m only a silly old woman, that’s all.”

The officer chewed his cheeseburger slower and slower. “You got a feeling about me ?” he asked her. “Like what?”

“Please, I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m upset, that’s all. Seeing those people murdered — ”

“I know. It’s tough.”

The officer drove for three or four minutes in silence. Then he said, “You feel there’s something wrong with me? Like I’m sick or something?”

“No. Really. Forget it, please.”

They stopped at the intersection of Madison Road and Dana Avenue. The officer turned around in his seat and for a split second, his face was transformed. His eyes were rolled up into his head, showing nothing but white, like cue balls, and his lips were white, too, as if he had been drinking bleach.

Then he said, “Believe me, lady, I take care of myself. So don’t you worry. I eat plenty of fruit. And yogurt, too. And I spend fifteen minutes every day on the treadmill.” And his face returned to normal — red cheeked, blue eyed, and grinning. Before the signals changed, he took another large bite of cheeseburger.

When Sissy arrived back at Blue Ash, Trevor and Victoria were already home. Victoria was watching School of Rock in the living room, while Trevor was out in the backyard, sweeping up dried cicada skins. The trees and the bushes were still clustered with hundreds of glistening cicadas, gradually drying out in the afternoon sun. Mr. Boots came wuffling up to greet her, licking her hand.

“How was it?” asked Trevor.

“Bad. Horrible. He didn’t only kill that poor young man. He killed three office cleaners, too.”

“Molly told me, on the phone. She said you heard his voice, too.”

Sissy nodded. “It’s so terrible. He seems to want revenge on anybody and everybody, and I still can’t understand why.”

“Come on, Momma. You shouldn’t let it worry you so much. It’s not your responsibility to catch him.”

“But if I can help, Trevor — ”

“Momma. the cops know what they’re doing. They’ll track him down him sooner or later, and they won’t need fortune-telling cards or séances.”

“Oh, I see. Molly told you about the séance?”

“Of course she told me about it. But, you’re a seventy-one-year-old woman. I can’t stop you, can I? No matter what I think about this talking-to-the-dead stuff.”