Daniel took the card with a tissue from his pocket, careful not to touch it directly.
“Why not take this to the police?”
Madison looked at me.
“Because I don’t know who he has already called.”
That answer settled among us with quiet force.
I believed her.
Not completely. Not blindly. But enough to understand she was afraid of the same machine that had once surrounded me.
“Madison,” I said, “where is Jason now?”
She looked toward the road.
“I don’t know,” she said. “This morning he told me he had meetings. But when he left, he wasn’t wearing a suit.”
Daniel and I exchanged a glance.
Jason Mitchell always wore a suit when he wanted the world to see him.
When he didn’t, it meant he preferred not to be recognized.
