Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection

by Adam Nicholls

  Mason thought hard. “What’s the betting that if I find that phone, I’ll find something on it?”

  “James was a careful man. I wouldn’t put it past him to have taken a photo or two. Keep it for evidence if you need it. I have no use for it.”

  “You’re very kind, Mrs. Sampson.”

  “Mandy,” she corrected again.

  Mason drove her home and walked her to the door. The police would be around soon, but at least he’d gotten what he needed from her, and he’d gotten it quicker than they ever would have. He left his card with her, and she wished him luck in finding the killer.

  Mason got back in his car and sped off to the crime scene.

  Finally, he thought, a missing detail that might lead to a clue.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It was dusk when Mason arrived, and the parking lot was empty. It was eerie, but worth the possibility of finding something.

  Using the flashlight on his phone, he stumbled back up the trail, ducking into the row of trees where the path split in two. It was odd positioning for a murder scene; just out of the way enough so not everyone would see it, but still not too hard to find.

  Rummaging through the growing darkness, Mason followed the tracks back to where the man had been found. He tried hard not to look at the tree where the body of little Thomas Chance had been hanging only a day ago. The image sickened him.

  How many more children have to die before I find this son of a bitch?

  Mason reached the clearing, scanning the ground for the missing cell phone. It could have been anywhere around the area, if it hadn’t already been stamped into the mud, then picked up by a kid who lucked into finding a lost phone. Mason only hoped that if someone had taken it, they would soon hand it in to the police.

  But as past experience told him, that rarely happened.

  Giving up on his search, he hustled back down the path to the parking lot. He was just about to call it a day, had even pulled the keys from his pocket, when something occurred to him. Above him, attached to a lamppost, a security camera was pointing down. The police had checked the tapes but had found nothing.

  But the camera wasn’t pointed at the protected parking area.

  It was a small shelter, made of old, thin wood, perhaps wide enough for six or seven cars though the ground wasn’t marked for them. Mason glanced around inside the dark area, looking up for a camera. Again, there was nothing.

  He shone the flashlight down, and now something caught his eye. Minding his step, he approached and kneeled to find the remains of a crumpled cell phone. It looked as if it was beyond repair, but at least it hadn’t suffered any water damage—the shelter had seen to that.

  Mason snagged an evidence bag from his coat pocket, turned it inside out, and scooped the wrecked phone into it. If he could get this back to the tech team at SFPD, he might have a chance of recovering any data from it.

  That was, if he got lucky.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Evie Black preferred to work from home. It was a safe haven, with no distractions.

  She’d been typing up all the details, arranging them into an order that would make sense to a reader—as she’d trained for during her many journalism courses. She scanned in the pictures, attaching some with a warning that the gore might make some people uneasy. In spite of her experience with such matters, it even made her feel sick.

  She was just finishing up when she received the email from BRAHM82. Her fingers finished typing the blog as if on autopilot, while her eyes fixed on that name. Do I know this person? She thought not, but on the suspicion that it might be fan mail caressing her ego, she couldn’t wait to open it.

  That was her first mistake.

  Her eyes scanned over the threat as her heart lodged in her throat.

  Miss Black,

  You’ve been working too hard on this case over the years. As fascinating as it has been to read about your findings, might I dissuade you from delving any further into the matter? Think, for instance, if anything happened to Amelia…

  I’ll be watching.

  Brahm

  P.S. If this email gets out, I’ll know.

  Evie’s heart beat like a drum while she read and reread the email.

  Who the hell is this guy? How does he know about Amelia? Amelia was her biggest secret. She’d only ever told one person about her, and that was Mason. It didn’t even cross her mind that he might have something to do with this. Sure, he could be a little aggressive sometimes, but not toward her, and never without provocation.

  As painful as it was, Evie decided it was better not to cause further risk, and deleted the post—her pride vanishing with it. She headed to bed, where she could hide under the duvet and think about the case… think about Amelia.

  Maybe she was in way over her head after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mason made it back just in time to catch John Miller, the police department’s best and brightest tech specialist. Only it looked as if he was leaving.

  “Heading home?” Mason asked, jogging to catch up.

  “Yep, finally,” John replied, leading him down a maze of corridors as fast as his legs would carry him.

  “I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Whatever it is, it will have to wait until morning.”

  Mason pulled the evidence bag from his pocket and slowed John to a stop, ignoring the instruction. “We might have some evidence on the Lullaby Killer here. Is it possible to recover it?”

  John sighed, looked at the bag, and snatched it. He held it up to the light, glaring at the dirt that stained the inside of the bag. “Jeez, that looks like a real mess. Where’d you find this—the gutter?”

  Mason just stared at him.

  “Any water damage?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  John let out the same huff most techies use to announce their struggle with the science of technology. The bigger a fuss they made of it, the more they looked like heroes when they did their jobs right. “It might be. No guarantees. But like I say, you’ll have to swing by in the morning.” He handed back the bag and kept on walking, leaving Mason to catch up again.

  “John, there’s a killer out there. The quicker we sort this out, the better.”

  That was enough to make John stop and raise his voice, in spite of his smaller build compared to Mason’s. “Uh, badge or not, you’re still a civilian. So, I’m already doing you a big favor as it is. You want my help? You got it. But right now I’m heading home to be with my sick wife.”

  Mason watched him storm out and felt a dash of embarrassment. How was he supposed to have known that the guy’s wife was sick? “Hey, I’m sorry about that. Truly, I am. But what the hell am I supposed to do in the meantime? Sit on my thumbs?”

  “Go home,” John shouted down the corridor without looking back. “Be with your own family.”

  Feeling helpless and irritated, Mason stuffed the evidence bag into his pocket and headed out front to where he’d left the car.

  John obviously hadn’t heard the latest.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The car grumbled along the empty road. It was late, and Mason was trying not to disturb the neighborhood with the noisy engine. Besides, the fewer people who knew he was there, the better.

  He stopped across the street and sat watching.

  This is my home, for God’s sake.

  The lights were on inside, but only a vague silhouette could be seen behind the drapes. Mason pictured all the things that made him sick: Joshua hugging his daughter; going upstairs with his wife; making love to her in his bed.

  It was enough to drive a man mad.

  The silhouette moved, too, disappearing from behind one window and appearing at the next. A light soon flicked on in an upstairs room. Amy’s room.

  The drapes were open, and Mason could see her clearly. She was wearing her favorite scarlet sweater and examining the bookshelf with much contemplation. He couldn’t see for sure at this dist
ance, but he could picture her nose crinkling up like it usually did when she was concentrating. Amy finally decided on a book and sat in the window seat to dive into it.

  Mason was so pleased that she’d turned out to be more of an academic type. If she’d been anything like her mother, she would be too vain to see outside of herself, and she definitely wouldn’t lay her hands on a book—fiction or otherwise.

  Mason wanted to knock. He longed to storm in and kick Joshua out, and then tell his wife that it was okay to put everything behind them and work things out. He was convinced all they needed was one tough conversation, and then they could strive toward a resolution.

  No, he heard Evie saying somewhere in the recesses of his mind. Keep your distance, sweet brother. No irrational moves.

  Who was he kidding anyway? Sandra would never go back now. Was Mason even sure he wanted to be back there? He was coming to understand his own feelings. It may not be that he even wanted his marriage back on the rails. More likely, he hated to have been betrayed by a goddamn Pilates instructor.

  Sulking in self-pity, Mason finally called it a day. He started the engine and eased out of the spot, trying not to attract Amy’s attention. Tonight, he would slip into the house without alerting Bill and Christine. Tomorrow…

  Well, tomorrow was another day.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The killer had been awake all night, tossing, turning, and craving a kill.

  For so long, he’d been keeping a low profile in San Francisco. Two years ago, when the detective had been snapping at his heels, he’d stayed away altogether. He’d even traveled long distances to continue his work. But now, he was back, working hard and desperate for more.

  The sun was at last up, so he climbed out of bed and dressed in yesterday’s clothes, got in the RV, and drove around the city. The roads were clear for this time of day, but he knew that would change as he got closer to the school.

  He arrived within an hour and parked in sight of the front gates. The parents were just dropping their kids off and heading out to start their own days. The last of the buses were leaving, and the bell was about to ring, summoning kids to their classes.

  But there were four who did not obey.

  The Lullaby Killer watched them from the RV. One was a blonde girl with a face like a pissed-off supermodel and who clearly thought the world of herself. She was playing into the arms of a freckled redheaded boy, who was making sudden aggressive movements to scare the two children they had pinned against the wall. The bullied kids looked terrified, a boy and a girl, too similar in looks to only be friends. Siblings? mused the killer. Twins, perhaps?

  Only one way to find out.

  He climbed out of the RV and looked around, making sure he wasn’t seen. When the coast was clear, he crossed the road and stormed toward the redheaded boy and his bitchy friend. “Get the hell away from my kids.”

  The expressions on the twins’ faces—he could see now they were definitely twins—were amusing. It was confusion at first, blended with gratitude when they realized what was happening.

  The blonde, going red in the face, spoke first. “They stole my money. They owe us.”

  “We didn’t! I swear!” the twin boy protested.

  “Liar!”

  “All of you, shut up right now.” The killer was under pressure. He needed a quick solution before he got caught here. He leaned over, put his hands on his knees, and beckoned the two bullies with his finger.

  They inched closer.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” the killer whispered. “If I see you again, I’m going to break your stupid little legs.” He pulled back his fist as if to throw a punch, which made them both jolt back before sprinting into the school without looking behind them.

  “Whoa.” The twins were laughing, their eyes wide.

  “You’re welcome,” the Lullaby Killer said. “If I were you I’d stay away from those two.”

  “We can’t help it,” the girl told him. She looked smarter than the boy, which could become a problem at some stage. “We’re in the same class.”

  “Yeah, we have to spend all day with them!” The boy seemed less with it, but still not stupid. Maybe he just led with his emotions too much, whether that was panic, fear, or excitement.

  The killer could use that against him later.

  “Why don’t you take off?”

  Their mouths hung open again.

  “You mean leave school?” the girl asked. “Our dad would find out.”

  “I don’t think so.” The killer glanced around, itching to leave. “You’ll be back before they know you’ve gone. Come on, let’s go have some fun. Give me your hands.”

  They stood still for a long moment, looking at his outstretched palms and the gloves that covered them. They glanced at each other and then back at the killer.

  Then they each took a hand.

  The killer turned and led them toward the RV, confident it had all gone unnoticed.

  This is going to be fun.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  He’d parked under a bridge, away from the incoming drizzle, and, more importantly, away from human interaction. Nobody could disturb what he was about to do.

  The back of the RV was a tin box made of steel he’d found on the scrap heap, and put together by a friend of a friend. The children didn’t have to know it was soundproof, although they would’ve gotten a kick out of that.

  “I’ve never had so much candy,” said Ryan, the twin brother. “Not even at Christmas!”

  “That’s why Dad says not to have too much. You get all goofy like you are now.” The girl, Kylie, rolled her eyes.

  The killer sat under one of the four dim bulbs, snacking on the snowballs they’d picked up at the corner store an hour earlier.

  Is this what they call grooming? He hoped not. He didn’t want people to think he was having sex with children. The thought repulsed him, actually. All he wanted was to hurt them. The more tears, the better, but to actually touch them sexually repulsed him.

  “I want to do something,” Ryan said. “Can we do something? Can we play a game?”

  The killer smiled a killer smile. “How about Truth or Dare?”

  “That’s a kid’s game,” Kylie said, as if she were any older than nine.

  “Not the way I play it.” The killer pulled out a bottle of vodka—a cheap bottle, but it would make no difference to them. “You tell a lie or don’t perform the dare, you have to take a sip of this. It burns, but it will make you nice and drunk.”

  “I’m not touching that,” Kylie said.

  “Sheeeeeee’s a chicken!” Ryan laughed while pointing.

  The killer chuckled, too, knowing it might encourage her.

  “Fine,” she said. “Whatever.” She folded her arms like a frustrated grump. “But I’ll start. Truth or dare?”

  The killer was on the spot, but he didn’t mind. He would lie anyway, and they’d have no sure way of knowing. “Truth.”

  “Why do you wear those gloves?”

  “I have bad skin,” he lied, although the answer seemed to satisfy her. He turned to his right. “Ryan, truth or dare?”

  “Truth!” He was far too giddy. It was hard to tell if he wanted the vodka or not.

  “All right. Do you love your dad?”

  “No!”

  “Your sister?”

  “Yuck!” He laughed. “No.”

  “That’s not what you said in my birthday card,” Kylie said, grinning at last.

  The killer handed him the vodka, forcing back a smirk. “You know the rules.”

  Ryan took the bottle in both hands, judging how fast it might come out. It was like watching a puppy playing with a new toy. Ignoring Kylie’s protests, he took a sip, spitting it out and coughing. “Disgusting!”

  The killer took the bottle. “Yep, but it’s for men, not boys.”

  “Your turn,” Ryan gasped, turning to his sister. “Truth or—”

  “Dare.”

  The boy was t
aken aback. “Okay, I dare you…” His eyes wandered around the back of the RV. “To take two sips of vodka! So either way, you lose, haha!”

  In his mind, the killer praised the boy’s intellect. He was smarter than his sister let him believe, and far cleverer than he’d first thought. It was probably Kylie’s need to stand out from the crowd that gave the impression of more intelligence.

  The killer would remember that when he crafted his next crime scene.

  Making her decision, Kylie took the bottle and had only one sip before sliding it back to the middle, taking it easier than her brother had. “I want to go, now. I’m not comfortable with this.”

  “You’ll go when I say you can go,” the killer told her, forgetting his friendly smile. Recovering, he said, “I mean, we’ll go soon. It’s your turn, Kylie.”

  The fear in her eyes was not to be ignored. She hesitated, then said, “Truth or dare?”

  “I’m going to take a dare this time.” So I won’t have to lie to you, little girl.

  “I dare you to take us home.”

  “No, Kylie!” her brother shouted. “I don’t want to go yet.”

  “It’s okay, Ryan.” The killer studied his options. Would he have to make his move now? He leaned forward, took the bottle, and downed a large gulp. It was easier than saying no, and the girl had trouble finding her voice. “Ryan, my man. Truth or dare?”

  Light-headed from the vodka, the boy’s eyes were roving all over the place. “Dare.”

  “I dare you to hit your sister.”

  “What? No!” Kylie got to her knees. “That’s not fair.”

  “Ryan?” the killer demanded.

  The boy crawled across the floor and gave a playful slap to the girl’s arm, but it was still hard enough for her to wince. He shuffled back to his corner of the RV.