The Mourning Mail (FINAL)

Chapter 55

To find Ricky Mason, I'd first need to drive to hisaddress and check out what I'd be up against. My options and opportunities would ride on whether he was there, who might be with him, and how he'd react to seeing me. My first foray into his domain needed to be during the bright light of day, so I could see clearly. I wanted to bolster my ability to protect and defend myself.

As I approached the address Claire had provided, I saw Mason's old, blue Civic in the drive with its hatch open. And there was the diminutive Mason, carrying a large box in one hand and a duffle bag in the other. He crossed the yard quickly to place the cardboard container in the open hatch and the duffel bag in the front passenger seat.

I pulled up on the opposite side of the street just as he hurried back into the house. I could see from my vantage point that he'd already stuffed the Honda to the gills. It was apparent Mason was flying the coop and would soon be on his way.

My pulse began pounding at the sheer stupidity of what I was about to do. The choices left to me were to alert someone who couldn't possibly make it here in time, or to handle the situation, head-on, by myself. The only compromise I found acceptable was to reduce the risk somewhat. I would let my only reliable police contact know what was happening and hope Marci would send backup. But, given our previous talks, I wasn't sure she wanted to help me again with any problems I was about to create for myself.

Still, I punched the speed dial I'd set up for Marci on my burner phone, worried the call would go straight to voicemail and I'd never know when or if she'd gotten my message. I was happy to hear Marci's voice answering live.

"Hi, Marci, this is Debra Ann—this is my burner, so no Caller ID."

"Oh, hi, Debra Ann; I was just thinking about you," Marci said, sounding upbeat.

"Thanks for your text about arresting James Seaver—good to know, and it explains what's going on over here," I began. "Look, I'm sorry if this seems rude, but I have a situation here, and I'm out of time. I know I don't have the right to ask, but I was hoping you could believe in me one more time.... I'm across the street from Ricky Mason's house at 13482 Elm Bluff, the one described in Brian Pierce's letters. I'm guessing Mason knows they've arrested Seaver. He's packing his car in a rush, and it looks like he's getting ready to flee the jurisdiction. I'm going to stall him."

"Dammit, Debra Ann, you can't be pulling this kind of crap!" Marci exclaimed, now almost screaming at me through the phone. "You're going to get yourself killed. Get away from that man's property right now! You don't need to do this; we'll get him. You promised me you'd leave it alone! Chrissakes, that was for your benefit, to keep you out of this kind of trouble."

"Look, I get it, Marci," I pleaded. "I know I have no credibility with the department, but you must believe in me. Please, send a squad car. I'll slow him down as long as possible, but he'll feel cornered, and there's no telling what he might do. Please, Marci. I have to go."

I hung up without getting assurance that she'd send anyone. Mason was coming out of his front door again with an armload of loose clothes, and this time he locked the door behind him. If I was going to intercept him, I needed to do it now.

I pulled the rental across the end of his driveway, blocking the Civic in so it couldn't take off. With a short, red-brick wall running the length of one side of the drive and tall hedges on the other, the car was effectively trapped in place.

I stumbled out of the rental car's driver seat and scooted around the back of my car, leaving it running, with the driver's side door swung wide open. I trotted at a half-run into the yard, close enough to Mason to have a conversation without yelling. By this time, the man had tossed the clothing on top of the duffel bag in the front passenger seat of the Civic. He'd closed that door and had both hands on the hatch lid, getting ready to slam it shut. He twisted his head and shoulders toward my car, realizing the Civic had no pathway out of the drive. His head turned back slowly as his gaze followed me around my vehicle. Eyes creased, he slowly looked me up and down as I approached. Mason appeared to be biting the inside of his cheek, sizing me up, trying to assess who I was and what I was up to.

"Ricky, I'm Debra Ann Wynn," I said through heavy breathing—the dash over the last twenty yards was causing stabbing pain outside my left lung. "I'm a journalist working on the Brian Pierce homicide. I have some questions I need to ask you."

"I know who the hell you are," Mason said angrily. "You've been making trouble for everybody just because Doc Seaver's wife split. I'm not talking to you! Get off my lawn, get your damned car out of my way, and leave me alone."

"Ricky, I'm not going away," I said, stopping about eight feet from him. "Even if I did, there were a lot of reporters trying to beat me here," I lied, "and you're going to have to answer some questions no matter what I do. Your best bet is to handle this like a grownup and tell your story the way you want it told before the rest of it hits the news."

"You're on my property, lady. If you don't leave, I have every right to throw you out of here, and there's nothing says I have to be gentle about it." Mason put his right foot forward and made a lunging motion, suddenly raising his arms as if he intended to attack me. His unexpected move startled me, but I tried not to show it and held my ground. He stopped short of anything more, dropping his arms and glaring at me.

"What, you don't want the police to deal with your trespasser, Ricky? Here, let me call 911 and help you out," I said, pulling my burner phone out of my purse.

Three nearby residents had gathered on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street and were looking our way. Another walking a dog stopped at the yard next to us to listen in. I took advantage.

"You and I both know your DNA and fingerprints are going to match the ones they pulled off Brian Pierce, the man you beat to death and left in the alley," I said. My adrenaline was pumping more than I wanted to let on. "You won't do anything that gets you into even more trouble out where all your neighbors can see you. And I'm not leaving until I get some answers."

I saw the gears turning in his head as Mason tried to calculate his next move. I'd limited his options with his vehicle completely hemmed in and mine attracting attention from onlookers. My not-quite-parallel parking with my driver's door open into the traffic lane was generating irritated stares from passing vehicles. Mason slammed the hatch closed and hurried towards me as I raised my left forearm in self-defense. I couldn't back up fast enough to keep him from grabbing my elbow with his right hand and taking my phone with his left.

"Stop it; you're hurting me!" I protested loudly and tried to resist, but my sore ribs were having none of it.

"Fine, you want to talk? I'll give you five minutes," Mason said as he steered me toward the house, staying slightly behind me, "but that's it, and then you are out of here. You feel me?"

I knew talking wasn't what Ricky had in mind. I thought about screaming, but I realized Ricky could make his escape in my still-running rental. I'd have to hope that he wouldn't do anything violent with the neighbors looking in, and there was always the possibility one might call 911.

"I hear you loud and clear," I said, trying to pull my elbow out of his grip as he took out his keys. Mason didn't respond as he unlocked the front door to the house. He looked furtively back at the street and then pushed the door open. I yelped in pain as he shoved me inside. Stumbling, I nearly fell over the coffee table. I realized I was now in deep trouble inside his house, with no one able to see what was happening. Quickly composing myself, I tried to regain at least some control.

"What I need from you is to confirm where you, Doc Seaver, and his girlfriend dumped Theresa's body," I said with as much authority as I could muster. I was still facing away from him, with my hands on the coffee table where I'd caught myself from falling. I tried to get my ribs to cooperate in pushing myself back upright. "My sources tell me the police have located it, and if you give it up before they announce it, you might have some leverage for a plea deal." I may have fibbed a little, but I needed to focus his attention on the bigger picture, now that he had me cornered.

"Screw you, lady," Mason bellowed as he threw my TracFone at the wall, its shattered remnants scattering across the carpet. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about!"