“Tell him yourself, then.”
“I’m busy. You know that.” Mason put the cell phone on to speaker, dropped it into his lap, and pulled away from the trailer park. Rain was falling again, painting the sky a hazy gray.
“I’ve been scratching your back. Least you can do is check this out.”
Once again, between a rock and a hard place. Mason knew his blurred moral compass needed cleaning. How could he let his ex-partner down, after all this? “Fine,” he said, unhappy. “Send forensics to Rigby’s trailer park. I’m on my way.”
It took almost an hour to reach Owen’s place. There were a number of cars on the drive, including Captain Cox’s. Mason prepared himself for a take-your-old-job-back lecture and went inside without knocking.
“Mr. Black, thank God.” Owen stepped forward with a raised cell phone. “You’re going to want to watch this.” He tapped on the screen and handed it over.
Bill and Captain Cox were gathered around in silence. They’d already seen it, but as always were eager to witness Mason’s reaction. Mason, on the other hand, was not looking forward to it at all.
The video showed a young boy with dirty clothes and matted hair. His face was red, as if he’d been crying for days. His cuffed wrists were chained to a pipe as he sat on the floor with his knees to his chest. Other than that, there was nothing to offer.
“Say your name, boy,” said a voice from behind the camera.
The boy whimpered and sniffed. “Ryan Carter.”
“Have I treated you well?”
After a long pause, “Yes.”
“Show ’em.”
Owen walked back into the lounge and slumped into the armchair, sulking and covering his ears. “I can’t go through this. Not again.”
Mason stood still, the phone held close to his face. This was the first time he’d heard the voice of the Lullaby Killer, and was surprised to hear he had an accent. Kansas, maybe?
“Show ’em!” the man roared, losing his temper.
The Carter boy flinched, then raised a trembling hand. It was easy to make out what was being shown: only three fingers and a thumb. And then the camera panned around in the dark room, making a clunking noise.
“What’s with the pinkie fingers?” Bill whispered.
“I don’t know,” Mason said. “I’ve never known. Shh.”
The camera now pointed at a tray of surgical tools. The statement was clear.
“One million,” the killer said. “Have it ready within three days, and I’ll call you. Any later and I’ll sing this kid a lullaby. Oh, and Mr. Black…”
Mason’s heart pounded. Had he been watched this whole time?
“Back the fuck off.”
The video ended abruptly, turning the screen black. Mason put the phone down and dragged out a kitchen stool. He had a lot to think about. That much was clear.
“What do you think?” the captain asked him. “Shall we arrange the payment? We can do it securely and try to take him down. If we set up away from civilians—”
“Not yet,” Mason told her, ignoring the pissed-off look she shot him for being interrupted. “Give me two more days to find this guy, then consider making the payment.”
“I don’t want any trouble, Mr. Black,” Owen said, looking up. “I just want to pay the ransom and have my boy back. One million isn’t that much. Not to save my son.”
The room fell silent while waiting for Mason to respond. It was good to know he still carried some form of presence and authority, if nothing else. “No,” he finally said. “I’ll take two days, whether you like it or not. I’m so close. Chances are, the killer just wants the money and will hand over your son. But I wouldn’t count on it. This is out of the ordinary for him. Until now, everything he’s done was for sport. He doesn’t need a finger. He just took it because he could.”
Mr. Carter wiped his eyes. “Fine. But if my boy dies—”
“Then it’ll be on that sick son of a bitch, not on me.” Mason’s phone rang just before he could lose his temper, but that was forgotten the moment he saw Sandra’s name. “What is it?” he asked, holding the phone to his ear.
“Can you come over? It’s Amy.”
A sweat broke out on Mason’s forehead. Could things get any worse? “What happened? Is she hurt?”
“Just…” Sandra hadn’t sounded this disappointed since she’d announced she wanted a divorce. “It’s better you come over here. Please.”
Mason sighed. “Won’t be long.” He hung up and headed for the door. “Two days, Mr. Carter,” he called over his shoulder, “and I’ll get your boy back.”
Bill caught up to Mason just as he reached his car. “Will I see you at home or at the ceremony tomorrow?”
Mason paused. “Ceremony?”
“Missy Daniels’s funeral. You are going, right?”
Goddamnit. How many more hurdles before he could breach the killer’s home? Knowing his luck, it would be a dead end anyway. He opened the door and climbed in. “Is that tomorrow? Jesus. All right, I’ll be there,” he said, slamming the door and speeding toward his old home.
Chapter Forty-Four
Mason was having a tough time juggling the case and his family woes.
As he raced toward the place he used to call home, he pictured all sorts of scenarios for when he’d arrive. As usual, the first was the most dramatic: the killer had been there. But then it evolved into other nightmares, like there had been an accident, or some other medical emergency. As he pulled up at the end of the drive and spotted the patrol cars, he knew he could stop wondering and start worrying.
Climbing the steps with apprehension, Mason reached the front door and let himself in. Same old Sandra, never locking the front door. When he entered the hallway, he stopped short, confused by what he saw.
“Don’t hate me, Dad.”
“Amy?”
His daughter was almost unrecognizable. A number of piercings sparkled on her ghostly-pale face, and her once-beautiful blonde hair had been dyed jet black. Her choice of clothes had changed dramatically, too—tatty laddered stockings and a torn black T-shirt.
“Oh, honey. What’ve you done?”
Sandra entered the hallway with a police officer at her side. Mason had been the man’s superior back on the force, and they’d always seen eye to eye. He tilted his cap. “Mr. Black.”
“Rogers, right?”
The officer nodded. “That’s right. Sir, I hate to have to tell you that your daughter was caught inside somebody’s house. She’d broken in with a friend and was stealing.”
Mason could barely believe what he was hearing. “That’s not like her.”
“It’s not that simple!” Amy yelled and banged her way up the stairs and slammed a door. It was as if she’d been taken away and replaced with some angry brat.
There must be more to this. There has to be. “Officer, thank you for your time. I’ll have words with her, and it won’t happen again. Sandra, see this gentleman out.”
The policeman looked as though he wanted to say more, but Sandra’s commanding hand on his shoulder led him out. He would’ve been a fool to say no to her.
“Go on up,” Sandra said, her distaste for him no less evident.
Mason headed up the stairs and rapped on the bedroom door. “Amy? I’m coming in, sweetheart.” He opened up and saw his daughter lying on the bed, her face buried in a pillow. He closed the door behind him and took a seat next to her. “Tell me.”
Amy sobbed and turned her head. Her mascara was running, smudged across her cheeks. “I had a picture of you in my school locker. This girl took it and wouldn’t give it back. The teachers didn’t care, so I did what I had to do to get it back.”
“That’s… Honey, there’re hundreds of photos of me.”
“But this one was from you.”
Mason knew the photo she was talking about. It was from his younger days, when he and Evie were at college together, arm in arm. It’d been his favorite photo, taken when their parents were
still alive.
“Well, here.” He leaned to her bedside table and took her phone, flicked on the camera, and raised it up high. “How’s this?” He snapped the photo and handed the phone to her.
Amy giggled as she took it. “It’s great, Dad.”
“Listen, you can’t just go breaking into people’s houses. You’re smarter than that.”
“I know. I just got desperate.”
“If you get desperate, you come to me. You know I’ll do anything for you.”
Amy climbed to her knees and threw her arms around her father. “Thanks, Dad.”
Mason held her close. After all he’d seen lately, it was nice to be back in this house, even if just for a moment. More than anything, he was just glad Amy was safe. “What’s with the clothes anyway?”
“Don’t you like it?” She pulled away.
“I do, but it’s not you, is it?”
Amy looked thoughtful, then shook her head. “I guess not.”
After saying goodbye and closing the door, Mason stomped down the stairs to where Sandra stood beside Joshua. “Thank you,” she tried to say, but he only nudged his way past.
“Some role model you are.”
Mason went to his car and rubbed his eyes. He knew he was in no fit state to approach a serial killer. Besides, if he was reckless and stormed the building and the killer wasn’t there, the Carter twin would die for sure. And then there was the matter of Missy Daniels’s funeral.
Go to bed, he told himself. Tomorrow is going to suck.
Chapter Forty-Five
Funerals had never been inviting, but the rain didn’t help. Neither did having to watch a mother bury her eight-year-old daughter.
Joanna Daniels was dressed all in black, as was everyone else. She stood over the coffin with a flower in her hand. Mason watched her lower it into the ground and say goodbye.
“Earth to earth,” the priest went on. “Ashes to ashes.”
Mason could feel himself burning up inside. He thought of the man responsible, the ill-named Lullaby Killer, who’d taken these kids for nothing more than a little fun. It was all a game to him, at least until he’d asked for the money.
As the ceremony drew to a close and the downpour worsened, Joanna Daniels spotted Mason at the back of the crowd. She even looked pretty when she cried, but the beauty and energy she’d once had would never return.
The killer has done this to her, Mason reminded himself.
Joanna approached him, close enough that she was under his umbrella. She was shaking, if not from the cold, then in recognition of her loss. But the way she looked at him—without a hint of warmth—suggested deeper levels of emotion. “Have you caught him?”
“Not yet, ma’am. We’re still working on—”
Her shoulder snapped back so fast he didn’t see the slap coming. It struck his cheek hard enough to turn his head, and he clutched his face in surprise.
“It’s your job, Mr. Black.” Joanna began to sob uncontrollably now. “All you had to do was your job, and my little girl would still be alive. This is your fault.”
An old man—could have been her father—emerged from behind and eased her away, shooting Mason a look of contempt. It said: You shouldn’t be here.
Mason had felt the outburst on more than just a physical level.
What if she’s right? What if this really is my fault? If I’d just worked harder…
The crowd dispersed, acting as if they hadn’t noticed the drama unfolding at the back. People went their separate ways, some to their cars, others walking down the path of the cemetery. They all had their heads down, both out of sadness and respect.
Only one person remained in front of Mason—he hadn’t realized she’d come until now, but if anyone could understand how he was feeling, it was Evie.
He just stood there, lost for words.
His sister only looked at him, walked forward, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let that get to you. She’s just a woman in tremendous pain. This is not your fault. You hear me?”
Mason stared at her before nodding. He didn’t really believe this wasn’t a consequence of his own lack of action, but it was a damn sight easier than arguing with the great Evelyn Black. If anything, the slap had served as encouragement to do what needed to be done. “I have somewhere to be. Do you need a ride?”
“Thank you.”
Careful not to slide through the mud, Mason and Evie headed toward his car. Although he’d never admit it, he was glad to have her around.
Chapter Forty-Six
All conversation was saved until the engine stopped. But now it was impossible to keep it locked up inside. Mason craned his neck. “Where have you been?”
Evie lowered her head, wiping her glasses dry with a tissue. “I’ve been around. Stuff just got in the way, you know? It happens.”
Mason wasn’t buying it. “I’m not a fool, Evie. At least not when it comes to you. I know it takes something big to keep you away from a case, especially one you fought so hard to get involved in.”
Evie slid her glasses back on and watched the droplets of rain rolling down the window. “I had an email from an anonymous sender. Whoever it was, they were threatening Amelia.”
“What?” Mason sat up straight.
“Yep. Apparently, if I didn’t back off, she would suffer. So, I went to see her mother… her adoptive mother. She’s safe now. That’s all that matters.”
“Christ, Evie. You should’ve said something.”
“You know I couldn’t. You’d have freaked out, like you are now.”
They fell silent as Mason accepted she was right. Nobody knew about Amelia. Sure, it was on file somewhere, but spoken words were only between the two of them. “This email. Was it from him?”
“It’s hard to say. Could be some kid getting his rocks off, but I didn’t want to chance it. It was signed off by somebody named Brahm.”
As soon as Mason pieced it together, he shook his head, pushing his tongue into the back of his front teeth. “Unbelievable.”
Evie shook her head. “What is?”
“Brahms’s Lullaby? Man, this guy’s ego is off the charts.”
“Wow. Okay.” Evie drew a deep breath. “Well, how do we know it’s not just some kid goofing around, like I said?”
“Right, and how many pimply teenagers know Amelia is your daughter?” For this guy to do all that he’d done, and now to threaten his family? That was unacceptable. Mason would soon put a stop to that. He put the key in the ignition. “So, if you know the girl’s safe, do you want back on the case?”
Her hand had already been on the door handle, but now she hesitated. “Fine,” she said. “But I’m not writing a damn thing about it. And only if you really, really need me.”
Mason grinned, started up the engine and punched the killer’s address back into the GPS. “Then buckle up.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Ryan accepted the Big Mac without hesitation. It was crappy food, but when you haven’t eaten in two days you’d take anything. The killer kept the fries as a reward for having collected the RV without being seen. Wouldn’t want to spoil ya.
Wolfing down the burger in his one good hand, Ryan closed his eyes and twitched with each gulping bite. He was making a hell of a noise, struggling for breath while he took bite after bite like a hungry animal.
The killer knelt down and stared, watching with fascination. “Why don’t you like your father?” he finally asked, trying to understand.
Ryan stopped eating and looked at him with wide eyes. “What?”
“You said earlier you didn’t like your father. Why is that?”
He looked lost, as though a particular answer was expected. “I just don’t.”
The killer huffed and sat cross-legged in front of him. This was one way of killing time until the ransom was paid, but boy, did he miss stalking his prey. “Everybody loves their father, unless they’re given good reason not to. What’s your reason? Tell me, boy.”
Scrunching up the hamburger wrapper and dropping it in front of him, the boy burped and covered his mouth with a closed fist. “He likes my sister way more.”
This was alarming in every sense of the word. What if he wouldn’t pay? What if he’d kept the girl instead? Would he have been able to demand more? Nah, that’s ridiculous. He’ll pay. “What’s so special about her?”
“That’s what I always ask myself,” Ryan said, as if in agreement.
This one seemed incredibly easy to manipulate. Maybe he can be of use?
“She’s much smarter than I am. Gets all the good grades at school.”
“Naw, I wouldn’t say that. I think you’re plenty smart.”
“Really?”
“Sure! Smart, powerful. Here, let me show you something.” The Lullaby Killer stood and rummaged through his pocket for the handcuff key. He took two steps back and placed it on the carpet, just out of the kid’s reach. “If you can get this key, you won’t have to stay cuffed anymore. Deal?”
Ryan Carter hesitated, as if it might be a trick. But like all tempting tricks, he couldn’t resist the urge to prove himself. With his free hand, he pulled off his shoe and held the lace in his fist. Leaning as far as he could, he swung the shoe toward the key and tried to hook it.
“See, that’s it, smarter than that sister of yours, huh?”
The kid was licking his lips, trying desperately to reach it. When at last it hooked, he dragged the key toward him, picking it up and fumbling it into the cuffs. They fell open with a clink, and Ryan was free.
“Good work!” The killer laughed to encourage him. So fucking easy! Even the kid was smiling. “See? Now, why would you let some fool like your daddy tell you there’s no brain in that head of yours, huh?”
Although Ryan was grinning now, his head was lowered. “I’m still not tough, either. Not like Kylie. She’s tough and smart. That’s what Dad will say.”
Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection Page 10