Mason felt his cheeks burn up, but there were bigger things than Joshua right now. He hid his clenched fists under the counter. My house, you prick! My house!
“It’s okay,” Sandra said, cutting the hostility out off Joshua’s glare. “We’re only talking. Just go upstairs. I’ll be up when I’m ready.”
Glaring at Mason for a few more seconds—the fear in his eyes was impossible to disguise—Joshua left the kitchen and stomped up the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the house.
“Wait. Did you tie his shoelaces?” Mason asked, grinning.
“Don’t, Mason. Come on, tell me about the case.”
They both took a seat at the island, sharing a drink as he filled her in on everything that had happened so far. For a few minutes, it felt as if he was home again, and his wife was there to hear about his workday. Over the years, she’d been his unofficial shrink. Now, even if just for a momentary lapse, she had resumed the role.
“I really hope you catch him soon,” she said. “You deserve that peace.”
Mason stared into his near-empty glass. “Thanks. So, change of subject: do you think I could take Amy to see a movie tomorrow night? It’d be good to spend some time with her, with all this going on.”
Sandra nodded slowly, as if realizing she didn’t mind that much. “Sure. She’s in bed, so I’ll ask her in the morning, but I’m sure she’d love to.” A smile followed, albeit a small one.
Just ask what you want to ask, the nagging voice in Mason’s head told him. “Sandra?”
“Uh-huh?”
“About us—”
“Don’t do that,” she said.
“Do what?”
“Don’t ruin a good moment.”
“How can I not? I just want to know if this is what you really want.” Mason wasn’t even sure if he wanted her back, but when a ship sprung a leak, your reactions told you to repair it. You never even stop to ponder whether it’s worth saving.
Sandra pushed back the kitchen stool and moved to a drawer. She pulled out a brown envelope and slid it across the counter.
“What’s this?”
“Divorce papers. I was going to wait until you’d closed your case, but… you know.”
“Oh, well thank you so much for being the mature one in all this.” Mason felt that rage burning up his insides again. He wanted to scream, throw things, maybe even march upstairs and beat the living shit out of Joshua.
But a soft, delicate voice from behind soothed him in a heartbeat.
“Dad?”
Mason turned to see Amy standing in the doorway.
She ran to him, hugging his waist. She’d washed off her makeup, and she’d dyed her hair back to its original color. Even her pajamas were cutesy. It was like she’d been restored to her former self. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, sweetheart. Hey, wanna go see a movie tomorrow?”
“Can it be that new vampire movie?” she asked, beaming.
“Whatever that is, sure.” He mussed her hair like he used to do when she was five years old. “I’ll pick you up at nine.” Now the brown envelope no longer seemed important, and it was only then Mason realized the sole reason he’d been happy with his family was because of Amy. Sandra had little, perhaps nothing, to do with it.
For the next hour they sat and talked about school, and even Sandra laughed a little. For that one hour, they were a family again, and Mason didn’t even think about the Lullaby Killer until he left the house.
Now, he thought as he got back in his car and waved to Amy, who stood watching from her bedroom window…
Now to find Marvin Wendell.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Evie Black started the new day with research.
Last night’s events had already leaked to the press. As promised, she’d had nothing to do with it, so found herself only reading the rival sites, most of them filled with details about how private investigator Mason Black had found the Carter twin. Thankfully, Evie wasn’t mentioned, but she still read with pride that her brother was well respected. She’d always hoped—not quite expected, but hoped—he would grow up to be something of a success. After what had happened to their parents, any kind of motivation should have been hard to come by. But Mason seemed to have managed, and managed well.
Crime Online had little to say about the details of the case, as they had a habit of being vague rather than filling in the blanks with their imagination. First Cut, on the other hand, had much more to express, including an interview with one Vincent Romero.
Drawn in by the headline—FRIEND OF LULLABY KILLER SPEAKS OUT—Evie clicked and watched the interview. She hadn’t known him by name, but he was the clerk of the motel and claimed he’d been friends with the killer for a couple of years.
The video showed Romero, who seemed to be trying not to grin.
“I didn’t know his real name or that he was a killer,” he told the camera in a fake display of shame. “I only knew he was a press researcher, kind of quiet and a little strange.” His whole performance was probably just to draw attention to his business. The world was full of attention-seeking con artists, and Evie was sick of them.
Reaching for her phone, she found Mason’s number and dialed.
“Hey, Evie.”
“The clerk lied to us.”
“What?” Mason sounded as if he was still waking up.
“He was interviewed for a news channel. Says he had dinners with the killer, drinks with him after work some nights. This has been going on for…” Evie scrolled through the page. “… a couple years, apparently.”
“Wait, what? Slow down.” Mason grunted, as if was just getting out of bed. “He said he didn’t know the guy.”
“Well, now he says otherwise.”
“Could he be glory-seeking?”
“Maybe,” Evie said, walking around the room and filling her purse with things she might need for the day. “But wouldn’t you like to know for sure?”
Mason huffed, clearing his throat. “Right. You coming?”
“You bet your ass I am.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
Mason picked her up in a hurry. This time he was driving, and he wasn’t holding back. Flooring it, they tore up the road and got there in no time, climbed out, and stormed toward the clerk’s office.
“Already open for business,” Evie said, pointing at the motel room where they’d recovered Ryan Carter only yesterday. “Makes you sick, doesn’t it?”
Mason shook his head in disbelief and burst into the office. “I have a bone to pick with you,” he said as he barged between two customers at the counter. He was vaguely aware of Evie behind him, showing the customers out and making them aware of the recent murders on site.
“What the hell do you want?”
“I want to know why you lied to us.”
Romero sat down behind the counter, made a pfft noise, and turned away from them. “What’re you talking about?”
“You said you’d only exchanged a few words with Wendell.” Mason realized the clerk didn’t know the name, so corrected himself to what had been signed in the ledger. “Brahm, I mean. Now you’re telling the press you were friends. You’d better start telling some goddamn truths. I’ve come too far for you to be tripping me up.”
“Whatever.” The clerked waved a hand. “That was just to increase business.”
Evie stepped forward. “You said you knew he was a press researcher. How could you have possibly known that?”
Romero looked at her, moving his mouth like he was searching for an answer. “Go fuck yourself, little girl.”
Something inside Mason snapped. Without thinking he lunged over the counter and grabbed the man’s tie. With his other hand, he reached for the nearby stapler, dragged Romero closer, and whacked a staple into the desk beside his cheek.
The man cried out in terror. “You crazy shit!”
“I’m going to get a whole lot crazier if you don’t stop fucking with us.”
“All ri
ght!” He put his hands up, shaking. “All right. He brings whores here, okay? I-I didn’t want to say anything because I don’t want the police to find out.”
“We knew about the whores.” Mason dragged him closer. “What we want to know is why here?”
“What do you mean? He needs somewhere private.”
“But why here, especially? You’re miles out of town. There’re hundreds of places to stay before you reach this shithole dive.” Mason saw Evie fingering through some paperwork from the counter, totally relaxed.
“For God’s sake,” Romero cried. “I offer him discounts for continued use. He can’t do it at home. His m-mother wouldn’t approve. Now let me go!”
Mason tightened his grip, pulling him farther over the counter. “The killer doesn’t live with his mom.”
“Yes he does!” Romero cried. “I swear!”
Mason thought back to when they’d met Mrs. Wendell, and to how relaxed and unconcerned she’d been. Now it’d been brought to his attention, she had seemed unsurprised. As if she knew about him. As if she were protecting him.
“If you’re lying, I’ll be back. Evie?” Mason pushed the owner back into his chair, almost toppling it. He straightened himself out, dusting off the sleeves of his trench coat.
“Yep?”
“Let’s go.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
Mason killed the engine and reached into the glove compartment for the revolver.
“And what exactly do you plan to do with that?” Evie asked, pushing her glasses up her nose. She’d never liked guns. Not since a sex-obsessed creep had tried his luck raping her a few years ago. Lucky for her, Mason had been there to disarm the guy. Even broke his nose in the process. And three fingers.
“I’m not doing anything with it. It’s for you.” Mason checked the cylinder and dumped it in her hand. “If I’m not back in exactly ten minutes—”
“You’re not going in there unarmed?”
“I’m not leaving you unarmed. I’ll take my chances.”
“Mason—” Evie tried, but by then he’d already shut the door on her.
He looked up the street and stalked toward the house.
In all honesty, he had no idea what might happen when he spoke to Mrs. Wendell. If she was going to insist that her son—Marvin—didn’t still live here, he would have to leave and return later with the police and their search warrants.
Mason tried the door and waited, listening close for any signs of someone being home. Not a peep. Something isn’t right here. Careful and quiet, he snuck around the side of the house and spotted an open window. Looking both ways, he pried it open and hustled through.
A soft thud as he landed announced his presence to the household. He could hear a TV now, coming from another room. Some shouting from a talk show about who the father might be. But if the TV was on, Mason assumed someone was home to watch it.
He gently pushed open the door that led into the living room. The last time he was here, he’d been an invited guest. Now he felt less than welcome. Still, the job needed doing, so he pressed his back to the wall and crept into the living room, watching his corners.
By the time he saw the shotgun’s barrel in his face, it was too late.
“You shouldn’t have come back here,” said a red-faced Mrs. Wendell.
Mason took a step back, raising his hands. “Put the gun down.”
Mrs. Wendell looked miniscule behind the heavy, double-barreled shotgun. Small but dangerous. She twitched the end, directing him to the couch. “I won’t let you take my boy away. They already took my baby girl, but they won’t get their hands on my boy.”
Mason sat on the couch, careful not to make any sudden movements as his heart danced inside his chest. “I’m doing what has to be done. Your son is a killer, Mrs. Wendell. Protecting him will only get more children murdered. That blood will be on your hands, too.”
She lowered her eyes—but not the weapon—for a fleeting moment. “That doesn’t make it okay. I can’t be alone in this world. I won’t.”
Despite having to choose his words with care, Mason led with his emotions. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re alone. Don’t you think there are more important things than your loneliness? Not two days ago, I had to look at an eight-year-old girl dangling from a curtain pole. Your son is a monster, and he needs to go to prison.”
Mrs. Wendell shook her head, refusing to let a single word sink in. “No,” she said. “You can’t take him. You won’t.”
“Then I’ll have to come back with the strength of the SFPD behind me.”
The woman stepped back too fast for it not to look aggressive. She tightened her grip on the gun. “You’re not leaving here, Mr. Black. I’m sorry, but you can’t.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Your ten minutes are up.
Evie had every right to panic. When Mason had said, “if I’m not back in ten minutes,” she’d assumed he was making a dry and cliché joke. But those minutes slogged by while she held the revolver, and now she had to take action.
She left the car and skirted around the house, where she’d seen Mason stalk out of view not long ago. She found an open window, and she peered through.
If anything has happened to him, she thought, I’ll never forgive myself.
Stowing the revolver in her pocket, she climbed through the window, nimble as a cat. Only as she landed, her elbow caught on something solid, knocking it to the floor. Whatever it was shattered, and Evie winced while her heart stopped for a flicker of a moment.
Seeing the blinking lights of the TV in the next room and praying she hadn’t been heard, Evie pulled out the revolver once more and crept around the door.
When she saw her brother, she gasped.
Mason was sitting on the couch, talking.
Mrs. Wendell, who was threatening him with a shotgun, had her back to Evie and hadn’t noticed her arrival. Desperate not to make a sound, Evie crept up behind her and placed the revolver against the back of the woman’s head.
“Drop the gun,” she said, knowing damn well she couldn’t shoot another human being.
“Goddamnit.” Mrs. Wendell let the gun slip from her hand and fall to the ground.
Evie walked around to her brother’s side. “You okay, Mase?”
“All good, if only you’d stop calling me Mase.” He rose and took the shotgun from beside Mrs. Wendell. Although he’d had an angry old woman threatening to blast his face into pieces, he seemed totally unfazed. Unlike Evie, whose hands still shook from the tension.
“What’s the betting you don’t have a permit for this?” Mason smirked at Mrs. Wendell. “You can drop the gun now, Evie.”
Evie sighed with relief as she handed the revolver to Mason, thankful to have the thing out of her hands. “Should we call the police? Bill? Anyone?”
“Not yet,” Mason said. “First, Mrs. Wendell is going to show us to her son’s bedroom.”
Mrs. Wendell pulled a disgusted face, as if they had no right to be there. “I will not.”
“I wasn’t asking.” Mason aimed the revolver at her forehead.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Between fantasies of slicing off another child’s finger and looking at Mason Black’s expression as he realized he should have stayed away, Marvin Wendell turned the corner and spotted the car at once.
For God’s sake!
All he’d asked for was a little time to go home and collect some things, and then he could hit the road, making only one stop along the way. Now, the game had changed.
Now, he was done making threats.
Evie Black was running from the car, a pistol of some kind gripped in her hands. She was heading toward the Wendells’ house. Toward his home. Stopping him from having fun was one thing, but intruding on his privacy? Well, that was another issue entirely.
What were they doing in there? Harassing his mother? The thought made him sick. She was such a lovely woman, deep down. Sure, she’d had trouble showing it, always puttin
g him down and making him feel as though he wasn’t good enough. But she was his mother, for crying out loud, and he loved her.
Wendell waited until Evie was out of sight, then drove the RV past the house. Now he had nowhere to go; the motel had been compromised, and it seemed as though his home was out of bounds. By now, he could have had a million dollars and been hitting the road, killing wherever—and whenever—he pleased.
Marvin had a new destination in mind, and he made his way there, grinding his teeth and trying not to scream with rage. Two can play at that game, he thought as he passed the parked Mustang.
He would be diverting from his original plan, but he could still cause some real drama for the PI. It was like severing a limb with a butter knife: messy, but not impossible.
With a smile on his face and his foot on the pedal, he headed toward Mason’s home.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
They were led into a dirty attic room, and the sight was astounding.
Photographs lined the walls, pinned up with thumbtacks and tape, every wall a collage of sentimental photography. A computer sat in the corner—multiple screens, all lit up with background usage.
Mason dragged Mrs. Wendell to the bed and pushed her onto it. “Sit, and don’t say a word.” He then joined Evie at the computer as she clicked through a series of open windows. “What do you have?”
“Everything,” Evie said, typing away. She brought up an opened email inbox, saw her name, and clicked into the messages. “It’s them. This was him.”
“Brahm?” Mason had expected as much. “Amelia is safe, right?”
Evie nodded and Mason approached the wall. Some of the pictures were disturbing, showing cut-up corpses. But others were more dignified. Some were of Mason, but not as he was now. They’d been taken back when he was with the SFPD, showing him walking away from the Lullaby Killer’s first crime scene. Mason recognized the look of torment on his own face. It was the day he’d lost faith in humanity.
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