The killer kneeled to meet his eye level. “But you’re smarter than she is. You just proved it, didn’t you? And it’s not about being tough. It’s about being smart. I bet you… No. That’s too risky.” He shook his head and turned until he felt the expected hand on his sleeve.
“What?” The boy was far too inquisitive for his own good.
“Well, I bet if you had to hurt someone to save yourself, you could do it.”
The boy gave a half nod. “Maybe. But it would have to be to protect myself.”
The killer smiled. “See. I knew you were special. Here, come with me.” He held out his hand.
“Where are we going?”
“To prove how tough you are, of course.”
After staring at him with some skepticism, Ryan took the man’s hand, completely unaware he’d been manipulated, and that his innocence was about to be lost.
Chapter Forty-Eight
They stood outside the house, ready to kill.
“I’m scared,” Ryan said, staring at the door with panic in his eyes.
“Just be smart, boy.”
A beautiful woman, no older than thirty, opened the door. The brilliant white smile she flashed them was warm and enchanting, a simple gesture of friendliness.
It soon turned to shock when a gun was aimed at her face.
“Shh.” The killer flicked the gun and walked her through the house, leaving the kid to close the door behind them. The woman trembled in fear as she led them into the living room, and she had every reason to be afraid.
They were led into a large room where a squat man with a beer gut sat in awe. The young girl at his feet couldn’t have been any older than eight—just a touch younger than Ryan.
“Who are you?” the man asked, raising his hands at the sight of the gun.
“Just a man trying to teach his kid some new skills.” The killer pointed the gun at the seat next to him and commanded the woman to sit.
She obeyed, and the girl climbed off the floor and into the man’s lap.
“And what’s your name, little girl?”
The man protectively wrapped his arms around his daughter. “That’s none of your—”
The killer fired the gun at a cushion, and everyone in the room jumped. This was power in his hands, and he would use it to get what he wanted. If anyone chose to get in his way, that was their own problem. “I was asking the girl, not you.”
The girl mumbled, “T-Thea.”
“Well now,” the killer said, moving the gun between both parents, “isn’t that a pretty name? Thea, why don’t you come and stand over here with me and little Ryan? You’ll find it’s much, much safer to be on this side of the gun.”
“Please don’t hurt my family.” The woman sobbed, shaking her head.
How pitiful.
“I’m not going to do anything. Thea—here, now.” He snapped his fingers.
“It’s all right, baby,” the man said, encouraging her to move.
Thea slid off his lap and stumbled across the living room.
The killer got down on a knee. “Thea, sweetheart. How old are you?”
“E-eight,” she stammered, shaking terribly.
“Eight! You’re a big girl, then, huh? Tell me, do you love your mom and dad?”
Thea nodded, looking down at her socks.
“Yeah, I bet you do,” he said. “Who do you prefer?”
“Please, don’t,” the woman whimpered, now shuffling into her man’s arms.
“It’s all right,” the killer said, provoking the kid. “Come, whisper it in my ear. I won’t tell.”
Still not crying, Thea stepped forward and leaned into the killer’s ear, whispering as quietly as she could. The killer found this amusing—everyone had a favorite parent, just as every parent had a favorite child. They just didn’t like to admit it.
“Mommy?” The killer yelled her secret. “You prefer Mommy?” And with a slight jerk of the hand, he aimed the gun at the woman and squeezed the trigger. The bullet exploded from the barrel and her face froze in shock, then she looked down at the patch of red spreading at her gut.
“You son of a bitch!” The man leapt to his feet, tears welling in his eyes. He’d reacted even more strongly than his daughter, who only sobbed quietly to herself.
“Sit the fuck down,” the killer said. “Right now, or I’ll make this very painful for you.”
The man hesitated, then sat beside his dead wife.
“Ryan, you’re up.”
The boy shuffled forward, also shaking, and undoubtedly vulnerable now.
Chuckling, the killer placed the gun in his hand. “You want to feel that power? It’s easy. You have the power in your hand, therefore you are the power. You see what we did here tonight? I bet this man would do anything to make sure his daughter is safe.”
Ryan chewed his lip.
“Go ahead, ask him.”
He stared at the floor, trying to think of something to say, then looked up, pointing the gun at the crying man whose life had been destroyed only moments ago. “Poke yourself in the eye,” Ryan said but made it sound like a question.
“W-What?”
“You heard the kid,” the killer said. “Do as you’re told.”
Creasing his brow, the man lifted a quivering finger in front of his face, then jammed it into his tear-soaked eye. He screamed a curse as he did so, then covered his eye with his hand.
Ryan began to laugh hysterically. “That’s funny!”
“That’s right,” the killer told him. “And you made him do it by coming here with me and holding the gun. What does that mean?”
“Hmm. That I’m… smart?”
“Exactly!” The killer applauded him, taking his hands off Thea for only an instant. “Now, shoot the man, or I’ll shoot you.”
“What?”
“You heard me. You said you could kill to protect yourself. I’m telling you now that you’ll die if you don’t kill this man.” And I might just be walking out of here alone.
Ryan made a sound that kids do when they’re terrified. “I… I don’t think I can.”
“Oh, sure you can. Just point and shoot. Pretend he’s your daddy. Remember him? The one who kept making you feel stupid? The one who kept saying you’re nothing compared to your sister?” He kneeled, leaning close to the boy’s ear. “The daddy who isn’t even looking for you? Pretend this is him, and let him know how you feel.”
“You’re a fucking bastard!” Ryan screamed at the man through gritted teeth, imagining his father as instructed. “I hate you!”
“Again,” the killer demanded. “Tell him again.”
“I hate you! I hate you!”
“Shoot him!”
The gun went off in Ryan’s hand, then dropped to the floor with a clunk. The girl screamed at the deafening gunshot and tried to run, but the killer held her shoulder tighter.
“Yes!” He hadn’t expected the boy to cave in so soon, but it was beautiful.
“What did I do?” Ryan asked, stumbling back toward the wall.
“You showed your true strength, kid. But the real question is, what to do with little Thea? What do you think, hmm?”
The girl wriggled and struggled, trying to escape the killer’s grasp.
With tears in his eyes, Ryan looked at her thoughtfully.
Then he made his decision.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Mason headed up the path with Evie at his side and the revolver in his pocket.
“You sure this is the right place? It looks too neat.”
Mason’s gaze swept across the ceramic gnomes dotted across the lawn and the water feature that stood in the center of the grass. She might be right, he thought, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be careful.
They knocked on the door, Mason keeping his finger coiled around the trigger.
“Just let me do the talking,” Evie told him.
An elderly woman opened the door, surprising them both. She was tall, with gray hair and purp
le-rimmed glasses. Were it not for her confusion at the serious-looking couple on her doorstep, she might have been more welcoming. “Yes?”
Evie paused. “I’m sorry, we were expecting a man.”
“Last I checked, dear, I was all woman.”
Mason took over, handing over a picture of the killer. “Do you recognize this man? His RV has been linked to this address.”
The woman shook her head. “Oh, dear. What has he been up to now?”
“So you do know him,” Evie said.
“Perhaps you should come in.” The woman opened up the door and allowed them entry, then showed them into the living room where far too many cats ran around freely.
Mason clutched the gun, still unsure about trusting the old lady.
“I’m afraid the man you’re looking for is my son,” she said, as if revealing a dirty secret.
Her son? It wasn’t exactly what they’d been looking for, but it sure was better than nothing. He looked at Evie, who seemed as surprised as he was, then back at the woman. “Could we please take his full name, age, and anything else you can dig up?”
“If you tell me what this is about, dear, you can have anything you like.”
“We’re investigating a series of murders and have reason to believe your son is involved somehow. We’d just like to ask him a few questions,” Mason lied.
The woman’s jaw dropped in horror. “My son?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I always worried something like this might happen. Hold on a moment.” She disappeared from the room, leaving Mason and Evie to catch their breath. She soon returned with papers, handing them straight over. “Just a few things I could find.”
Mason flicked through them, handing some to Evie. There was so much of use here. Wage slips from hardware stores dating back to a couple years ago, Social Security numbers, phone bills and the like. Even a name: Marvin Wendell. It was very valuable information, but it still wasn’t a set of handcuffs over the killer’s wrists.
“I just wish I could be more help,” Mrs. Wendell said.
“When was the last time you saw your son?” Mason asked, looking up at her.
“Oh, not for some years now. He never really liked me much.”
“Why’s that, Mrs. Wendell?”
She gazed out the window, as if struggling to recall. “He was a very angry boy. You see, I once had a man in my life who was very firm with him. I remember he once chased my son through the house. My little Marvin tried to hide behind a door when my boyfriend swung it open. Took his whole finger off.” She wiggled her pinkie finger. “I think he always blamed me for that.”
“This is our guy,” Mason said, fighting to contain his excitement. Evie nodded along with him. It’s really him. And that would explain the mutilation, he thought. It was probably the reason he always wore gloves, too. “Mrs. Wendell, could I perhaps have a glass of water?”
The woman nodded but looked as if she’d grown tired of the conversation already. As soon as she left the room, Mason stood and opened a nearby drawer, rummaging through it. There was nothing of use.
“I can’t believe we’ve identified him,” Evie said, looking around the room behind him. “It seems too good to be true, after all these years.”
“I’m glad you think so, too.” Mason kept looking around until he saw the photo frame on a high shelf. He took it down and studied it. The picture showed a bearded man in his early twenties with a missing finger. He stood next to a slightly younger version of his mother. “Looks like the same guy.”
Evie came up behind him and took the photo.
“Looks like we have everything except a location,” he said without looking back. “What do you think?” When Mason turned, he saw the horrified look he’d only seen from his sister a handful of times. “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t spot it before, but this photo is clearer.” She looked up from the photograph. “Mason… I know this man.”
Chapter Fifty
“Okay, pull in here,” Evie said, guiding him from the passenger seat.
“Care to explain why you’ve brought me to this shithole?” Mason stopped the car and climbed out, following his sister toward an old, rundown building.
“A few years ago I was moonlighting for a magazine that barely made it off the ground. I used to collect information, but now and then I had to sit in on some interviews.”
Mason held the office door for her. “That’s how you know this Marvin guy?”
“Exactly. I didn’t recognize the newer pictures, as he hasn’t aged well. And that beard…”
Inside the narrow corridor, they walked to the front desk where a stocky man with no hair rose to his feet. “I’ll be goddamned. That ain’t Evelyn Black? It couldn’t be.”
“Hi, Geoff.” Evie hugged the man, then stepped back and introduced her brother.
“A private investigator?” he asked, sounding impressed, although it was probably just a case of good manners. “And what brings you back to the seventh circle of hell?”
“I need a favor, actually,” Evie explained, showing him the photo they’d stolen from Mrs. Wendell when she wasn’t looking. “Do you remember when we interviewed this guy? I think he wanted the key researcher job, if I remember correctly.”
“Remember him? Sweet thing, I still see him.”
“You do?” Evie’s voice pitched up a notch.
Mason hung back. It seemed as though she had this one covered. He was beginning to think deciding to help each other out had been a good move after all.
“That’s right. We didn’t give him the job, but he keeps coming back and asking if we have some information on a string of murders or something.” Geoff rubbed at his beard.
“The Lullaby Killer?”
“That’s the one!” Geoff said. “I had no idea what he was talking about until I googled it. Seemed like something I was better off not knowing about.”
“A reporter with a conscience,” Evie jested.
“Still a comedienne, I see.”
Evie smiled. “Do you know where we might find him?”
“I’m afraid not. Well, actually…” The man glanced awkwardly at Mason. “I, uh… A friend of mine says he saw him over at Keira’s once or twice. It might be worth poking around there, so to speak.”
“Who’s Keira?”
“Keira’s,” Mason corrected, pushing himself away from the wall with his elbows. “It’s a strip club. Geoff, thank you for your time. And offer our gratitude to your friend.” He gave a playful wink and headed for the door.
Evie said goodbye and caught up to Mason, almost being pushed aside by a goofy teenager bursting in from outside.
“It’s that killer I was talking about, Geoff!” the teen yelled across the hall.
Mason and Evie stopped, listening in.
“I told you to let that go,” Geoff said, his voice booming.
“But he’s struck again! Some public display over on Cadwallader Street.”
Mason looked at Evie and saw his own panic reflected in her eyes. They sprinted to the Mustang and climbed in, determined not to miss a beat.
Chapter Fifty-One
“I’ll be here if you need me.”
Mason left Evie in the car and pushed his way through the mass of curious bystanders. They all seemed to be testing how long they could look at it before their gag reflexes kicked in, but Mason was yet to understand what it was they were looking at.
When he finally got to the front of the crowd, his heart sank to his stomach.
The front window had the drapes drawn two-thirds of the way, and in the middle hung a young girl’s body silhouetted against the light behind. Her legs dangled motionlessly, and her eyes were open and full of pain.
“Jesus.” Mason ducked under the police tape and showed his badge to a nearby officer.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you in,” he said, using his palm as a barricade.
What the hell? “Step aside, Officer, or I’ll break every bon
e in that hand.”
The officer’s eyes narrowed. “What did you just say to me?”
“I said step aside or—”
“Mason!” Bill stepped out of the house and came over. “You just saved me a phone call. Come on in.” He appeared not to have noticed the hostile exchange.
“Next time,” Mason whispered to the officer as he passed and headed inside, where Captain Cox was barking orders at a swarm of forensic investigators. When she laid eyes on Mason, she offered the weakest of courtesy smiles.
“Over here.” Bill led him to the nearest wall, where something had been scrawled in blood.
“Surprised you didn’t draw the drapes. You’re putting on quite a display there.”
“Cap doesn’t want anything touched on the scene until forensics are done. It’s not what I’d have done, but we have to follow the rules.”
Mason, trying not to let his curious eye sway toward the girl, followed Bill and looked directly at the wall. He mouthed the words as he read what was inscribed in blood: OFTEN THROUGH MY CURTAINS PEEP.
“Twinkle, Twinkle?” Bill asked, beating him to the punch.
“Right.” Mason knew he shouldn’t do it, but it was a necessity, and he looked at the girl’s hand for confirmation that this was the Lullaby Killer. When he saw a single drop of blood leak from where the girl’s finger had once been, he thought of something.
“Can I get a black light?”
“You think—”
“Please, Bill, it’s been a long day. Just get me a black light.”
Bill whistled to a nearby techie and made the request. It wasn’t long before Mason was turning it on and holding it up against the text.
“We know it’s her blood,” Bill said. “We swabbed it already.”
Mason shined the UV against the wall and looked all around the area. “But you didn’t see this, did you?” He pointed at a small handprint on the wall. It was the size of a young child’s.
“We missed that,” Bill confessed with shame.
“I don’t think it’s the girl’s.”
“What? Why?”
Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection Page 11