Files can be lost, mistakes can be made, but every bit of information on Hinkes was gone. That took some string pulling to accomplish. Somewhere, someone had dirty hands.

Maybe he was put in witness protection.

Mason nearly spit out the coffee he’d just sipped. Clearly, he was losing his mind from watching too much television. But he didn’t like the other option, that someone with power had stuck his fingers into the police system and stirred. He hated that option. It took cooperation from his brothers in blue to make it happen. Mason knew some cops broke rules here and there. He’d pushed his own line a time or two. But to do his job well and keep his sanity, it took faith in the system. Faith that the system worked to put away the bad guys. And left them there.

Mason’s faith was being rattled.

Who’d erased Gary Hinkes?

Gary Hinkes was the Tattooed Albino Man. Mason knew it in his gut. Now if only his gut would give him answers to his other questions.

What name was he using now? Who’d cleared his history and allowed him to kidnap and kill all those kids? And why the hell would someone grab a group of kids? Talk about making it tough on yourself. Was the guy sick enough that he needed a group of kids? Or was just one kid the main focus and the rest got in the way?

It’d been the question asked for twenty years. All the parents had been thoroughly interviewed about who would want to harm their kid or hurt the parents in the process. The Brodys had seemed to be the biggest target with the father being a public figure. The senator’s latest lead had turned out to be a bust with the death of his stalker ten years ago. The man they were hunting for was plainly alive.

Mason had talked with Hove in Eastern Oregon. The sergeant was giving plenty of consideration to Jamie’s—and Mason’s—theory that the same man had attacked her, wrecked her brother’s home, and murdered the old Mexican.

Someone was cleaning up a loose end.

Chris Jacobs was that loose end.

But why now? Why hadn’t Jacobs been targeted when he’d first returned? Someone had waited nearly twenty years to take out the kid and now was frantically burning a path to get at him. What had changed? Had Chris revealed that he remembered something? Something to make someone very nervous?

Or was it simply the exposure of the case? All those children’s bodies coming to light? Was there a clue there that pointed at someone who the police had missed? Or was the Tattooed Man concerned the press coverage would stir up lost memories for Chris Jacobs?

Mr. Tattoo was taking huge risks to silence Chris Jacobs.

Somebody had big motivation.

Mason couldn’t wait to get his hands on Somebody.

The traffic inched forward. His exit was still three miles away. At this rate, he should be back in the office by midnight. He glared at the man in the adjacent Prius yakking on his cell phone. Looking around, he saw two other drivers texting. Talking and texting while driving was illegal in Oregon…unless your job required it. Like delivery guys. Or police.

He crammed his Bluetooth in his ear. He hated the little earpiece. But not as much as the dorks who walked around with the plastic hanging out of their ears 24/7. He called Ray.

“Where are you?”

“Sitting motionless on I-5 watching the other assholes around me text on their phones.”

“Wave your badge at them.”

“Why?”

“They’re gonna kill somebody someday by not focusing on the road.”

“I’m gonna kill someone if this damned traffic doesn’t start moving. Got anything new for me?”

“Yeah, heard back from my guy in the gang unit. They can’t associate the tattoos with anything they’ve seen before, so he’s definitely doing his own thing. If he was trying to start something with the ink, it’s not caught on.”

Mason snorted. “Nothing like throwing a party and no one coming.”

“I got a translation on the two wrist tattoos. And they’re Chinese characters, not Korean, like we’d wondered.”

Mason’s ears perked up.

“One stands for enlightenment—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“—the other is chaos.”

“That seems appropriate. The ass has been causing chaos for these families for decades. I don’t get the snooty enlightenment symbol. This isn’t a highbrow character we’re dealing with.”

“Ever watch that show on cable about people who hate their really bad tattoos? Some of the stories are hilarious. Usually at one point, the tattoo had seemed like a good idea and the image really spoke to them. Then later, they realize how stupid it looks.”

“After they sleep off the alcohol?”

Ray’s chuckle filled the line. “You’d be surprised how many of them are sober and let unknown artists mark them up permanently. Now they’re paying through the nose to have it fixed. I’m thinking this is steering us away from the lead Cecilia Brody gave us about her Korean patient. I’m gonna keep Mr. Jeong on the back burner while we give this more priority.”

“Definitely. He’s looking less and less likely to be involved. So maybe Mr. Tattoo was trying to better himself with a classy message on his wrist? A message that showed in the pictures of those kids with his hands around their necks? That worked real well. Totally distracted me from the sick prick’s intentions!” Mason glanced at the cars nearby. Had anyone heard him yell at Ray? He blew out his steam and ran a hand over his head. “Sorry,” he muttered into the phone.