Mary cleared the search box and typed in the second name she could remember: ‘Aileen Thompson’. She then typed in the word ‘Chicago’. A second later, she had another results page. The headline for the first link read – ‘Aileen Thompson, twenty-six-year-old dancer, disappears without a trace’.
Mary tapped on the link and it was as if she was watching a nightmare come alive right before her eyes. The article was pretty similar to the one that she’d just read about Kelly Holder. Aileen Thompson, a twenty-six-year-old pole dancer from Chicago, was last seen on 15 May 2022. She worked at a gentlemen’s club called PoleKatz in the downtown area of Chicago, and she had disappeared after finishing her Saturday shift, in the early hours of Sunday morning. The article also ended with a portrait photo of Aileen.
Right then, Mary remembered that she had all of Quaddra’s traveling dates, right from when they’d started dating, marked down on the calendar in her cellphone. Knowing exactly when Quaddra would be away or not was important to her plan.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
Mary called up her calendar app and swiped back until July 2024, and as she did, her heart stuttered. The day that Kelly Holder was reported missing – 19 July 2024 – had been a Friday. Quaddra had arrived in Los Angeles at the beginning of that same week, and he’d stayed until the weekend.
Mary was about to put her phone down, when she remembered something else… something that sent a cold shiver running down her spine.
‘The blood,’ she said, her eyes fixed on the calendar app on her screen. ‘Oh fuck!’
July 2024 was when Denise had turned up at her old apartment in Bayview. That was the trip that Quaddra had made to LA and when he got back, Antonia had found specks of blood on the sleeve of one of his running shirts. Quaddra had told her that the blood belonged to an older gentleman, who’d had a nosebleed while running at the beach, but that had to be a lie. That was probably Kelly Holder’s blood – the woman that Quaddra had murdered that week.
A drop of water fell on Mary’s cellphone screen and she blinked. Only then did she realize that she was crying.
‘No, no, no,’ she tried telling herself. ‘This isn’t happening. This isn’t for real. It can’t be. This is just a sad coincidence.’
Well, that fucking basement under his office sure as shit is for real,the voice inside her head volleyed back.And those photos on the wall are no fucking coincidence. They are all Polaroids – the same type of photos that you use to register the bruises on your body. The reason why you use them is because they can’t be altered… they can’t be photoshopped. Those are the real deal… you know that. And shall I remind you of that video? That gargling noise? That poor woman’s face as he sliced her throat open? Those images seemed pretty fucking real to me.
Right then, something else came back to Mary. In her cellphone’s calendar, she only had Quaddra’s traveling dates since they’d started dating, but Quaddra kept a paper calendar on the wall in the kitchen, so that Antonia and Gabriela knew when he’d be away. As the old year ended and the new year started, Mary had seen Antonia change the old calendar for a new one and just out of curiosity, she’d asked Antonia if she threw the calendars away. Antonia had replied that she never did. They were all in the attic storeroom, above the large three-car garage outside.
Instead of going into the kitchen and asking Antonia whereexactly in the storeroom the old calendars were, Mary decided to go look for herself. Being busy with something would calm her down and give her time to think. Plus, Mary asking about the old calendars would certainly make Antonia wonder.
In the storeroom, it didn’t take Mary long to find the box labeled ‘Calendars and Misc’. Antonia was an extremely organized person and the storeroom looked more like a file room than anything else. Every box in there was properly labeled and neatly stored in shelves and modules.
Mary pulled out the box from the shelf and sat on the floor with it before throwing its lid to one side and rummaging through the large wall calendars. The one from 2022 was the second from the top. She took it out and flipped the pages until she got to the month of May.
As her eyes found what she was looking for, bitter bile dripped from her throat into her mouth. Aileen Thompson was last seen on Sunday, 15 May 2022, in Chicago, as she finished her pole-dancing shift. Quaddra had arrived in Chicago on Friday, 13 May 2022, and he’d stayed until Tuesday, 17 May.
Another coincidence?the voice inside Mary’s head asked.
Mary felt the room begin to spin around her.
How could any of this be real? How could someone like Quaddra, the most understanding and the kindest person she’d ever met… someone who had never, not even once, shown an ounce of violence while around her, turn out to be this kind of monster?
Because evil doesn’t always wear an ugly mask,the voice inside her head replied.Its best disguise is hiding in plain sight.
All of a sudden, things began making a lot more sense inside Mary’s head. The reason why Quaddra hated publicity… the reason why he stayed well away from social media… the reason for his obsession with anonymity… the reason why he had a very small group of friends… had nothing to do with the fact that hewas a billionaire. He was simply keeping the odds in his favor. The less recognizable he was, the easier it would be for him to approach strangers in places like strip clubs and seedy bars.
It was then that Mary remembered something else that practically froze the blood in her veins.
‘Oh, hell no!’ she said as she got to her feet. ‘No, no, no, no.’
A second later, she was running out of the garage, fueled by pure terror.
Eighty-Eight
Mary’s voice was still unsteady when she left Denise a new message.
‘Denise,’ she said, after using the correct opening code word. ‘ZigDust, ZigDust, ZigDust.’
‘ZigDust’ was their abort code word. It was the name of the traveling funfair where they had met Dylan, all those years ago, back in Liverpool. Only Mary and Denise would know what it meant.
‘Abort, Denise. Please abort. Just pack your bags and get the fuck out of LA. Do it now. Do not… I repeat –do notget in touch with Quaddra again. I’ll explain later, but he isnotwho you think he is. He’s not who I thought he was. Your life could be in serious danger. Please just get out of there, OK? Abort. ZigDust. Please call me when you’re safe. Get out of LA first then call me. OK? I love you.’
Mary finished the call by giving Denise her new burner number before finalizing it with the closing code word.