Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection

by Adam Nicholls

  “You look younger there,” Evie said, coming over to examine the pictures. She held her hand over her mouth in astonishment as she saw some of the more gruesome ones. “At least we know this Wendell guy is the killer.”

  “Was there ever any doubt?”

  “No, but now we know he’s not a copycat. Besides, this is concrete proof.”

  Mason continued along the wall. Missy Daniels had been photographed a lot. There were no photos of the twins, which seemed strange. His attention was drawn to a young, blonde-haired girl sitting under a tree with her friends. “Who’s that?”

  “That’s Amelia,” Evie said, alarmed.

  “Wow.” Mason hadn’t seen her since she was a baby and hadn’t seen any photos since she’d turned seven. He often wondered what she would be like now, and whether she’d get along with Amy. “She’s beautiful.”

  Evie gave a thin smile, wiped her eye, and moved on.

  “My son has never done anything wrong,” Mrs. Wendell protested. “He’s a good boy. So what if he likes to take photographs? There’s no harm in that.”

  “Your son is sick and demented,” Mason said, moving to a nearby refrigerator. “Now, shut up. I won’t tell you again.” Keen to uncover more of the man’s secrets, he opened the refrigerator door and stood back in shock.

  It was like the air had been knocked from his chest.

  “What is it?” Evie asked, coming to see for herself. When she saw it, she gagged and turned away, retching noisily.

  “Evie,” Mason said, still horrified, his hate for Wendell doubling. He stared with disgust at the jar of severed fingers. “Call it in.”

  Chapter Seventy

  Officers and the forensics team swarmed the house. Other bits and pieces had been found, trophies of the murdered children.

  “You know,” Mason said, pulling Evie out of an officer’s way. The air was thick, and it was becoming tough to breathe inside. “If Amelia is safe, maybe you should get an exclusive on this. Give your career the kick start it needs.”

  Evie sighed. “I do miss the lifestyle, but I don’t have the energy for it just yet.”

  “Why not? You’re the first one on the scene. People will worship you.”

  While Evie seemed to consider it, Captain Cox came into the room. “No,” she said, and had obviously been eavesdropping. “This doesn’t get out yet. We’re setting up an ambush team across the street.”

  “You think he’ll be back?” Mason asked.

  “Maybe. You’re welcome to stick around and find out.”

  Mason looked around him. Mrs. Wendell was being escorted out in handcuffs and would probably be charged with obstruction of justice. The photographs and computer were being taken as evidence, for all the good it would do. There must have been a lot of personal attachment to this house, so maybe Marvin Wendell would come back. But Mason didn’t need to be there to see it—as much as he wanted to.

  “Afraid not,” he said. “I have somewhere to be.” Nine o’clock was fast approaching, so he would soon be taking Amy to see that movie. He didn’t care if the film turned out to be a flop, as long as he got to spend time with his daughter.

  “Can I get a ride?” Evie rubbed her eyes, the dark patches covered only for a second by her knuckles. “I need a drink. Or something.”

  “Sure.” Mason led her out to the car, with every intention of leaving the crime scene behind him. But try as he might, it was unlikely he would shake the horrendous image of the finger jar from his mind.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Sandra brushed her hair as she stared at the reflection of Joshua in the mirror.

  “I just don’t see why you had to let him in, is all,” Joshua complained.

  “It is his house, you know.” Sandra slammed down the brush and went over to sit on the bed. She was fidgeting again, clearing things off the bedside table and rummaging through the drawers. It was mostly to delay joining him.

  “Not for much longer,” Joshua said, his eyes not leaving his book on stamina increase.

  This was the thing that got to her; although at first he’d just been her Pilates instructor, they’d become closer with each session. Sandra’s relationship to Mason had been on the rocks anyway, so why shouldn’t she have sought comfort in the arms of another? When their cheap little affair turned into something more emotional, she started learning more things about him. Some of those things were bad. For instance, he was a coward.

  “You stole the man’s wife and moved in with his family,” she said matter-of-factly, slamming the drawer closed and joining him on the bed. “You have to expect some sort of reaction from him.”

  Joshua made an incoherent noise. It seemed like he was about to say something, when a frantic pounding on the bedroom door silenced him.

  “Mom, open up. Something’s wrong.”

  Sandra clambered out of bed and rushed across the room, stealing a quick glance at the clock. They’d hoped to get an early night with Amy heading out to meet her father.

  But that didn’t seem likely now.

  When she opened the door, Amy looked like a frightened mess. Her skin was a ghostly white, and she shook as she whispered, “There’s someone at the window.”

  Skeptical and worn-out, Sandra studied her. “What are you talking about?”

  “My bedroom window. I was getting ready to see Dad and heard something outside. I went to the window, and there was a man—”

  “For God’s sake, Amy. It’s dark outside. The mind plays all sorts of tricks on our eyes, especially when you’re looking at shadows.” Exhausted, Sandra closed the door on her. It seemed like one thing after the other tonight.

  Who else wants to piss me off?

  Convinced she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight—she was far too angry for that—she climbed into bed, turned off her lamp, and did her best to ignore Joshua’s huffing judgment.

  The minutes crawled by, and she was barely into a light sleep, when a high-pitched scream pierced the air. Sandra froze.

  “What the…” Her words trailed off as she leapt out of bed and threw a robe around herself. Joshua was waking up too slow. Sandra wouldn’t wait for him.

  She ran to Amy’s room, panicking that she’d dismissed her cries for help as she stumbled across the landing in the dark and pushed open Amy’s bedroom door.

  A dark figure stood lurking in the black of the room. He wore a long coat, and his arm was hooked around Amy’s throat. The gun in his hand was aimed at Sandra, while her daughter kicked her legs out, struggling for breath.

  “Mrs. Black,” the man said. The excitement in his voice rose the hairs on the back of her neck. “How nice to finally meet ya.” He threw his head back as he let out a laugh.

  A chill ran up Sandra’s spine, and she involuntarily shivered as she understood who this man was and why he was here.

  And that she probably wouldn’t survive the night.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  The Lullaby Killer stared at Joshua as he came bounding into the room wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt. “Who are you, the replacement? Hah. You’re a lot smaller than Mr. Black, aren’t you? Speaking of which, will he be joining us?”

  Joshua said nothing and pressed his back against the wall.

  “He’ll be here any minute.” Sandra saw no point in lying. Sickened by Joshua’s cowardice, she hoped Mason would burst in here to save the day with all guns blazing. But that wasn’t her luck. It’d never been her luck.

  The killer herded them downstairs and into the dark living room and ordered them to sit on the couch, but his arm remained firm around Amy’s neck, the gun still held at her temple as her face turned red.

  “We’d better get a move on, then, hey?” The killer pulled her back and kept the gun trained on Sandra. “Where do you keep your tools?”

  What does he need tools for? “In the garage.”

  “And zip ties?”

  “We don’t have any.” It was a lie. Sandra suspected what he wanted
them for.

  The killer sighed. “You couldn’t lie to save your life, could you? Look, there are two ways to keep you still. The other is a little more permanent. So, I’ll ask again… are there any zip ties in your garage?”

  Sandra hesitated, then finally gave in. “Yes.”

  “Okay.” The killer shoved Amy forward, sending her crashing to her knees. “You go get them. But no funny business. If you’re not back in sixty seconds with those ties, you can kiss goodbye to Mommy and her new squeeze.”

  Amy stopped, frightened. Tears sparkled in her eyes.

  “Fifty-nine, fifty-eight,” the killer taunted.

  It was enough to get her on her feet and scurrying out of the room.

  “What do you want from us?” Sandra asked, ashamed Joshua had yet to utter a single word of defense or protest. Some man.

  “Oh, don’t be so goddamn naive. You know what I want.”

  The sixty seconds ticked by with the gun aimed at her, and Amy returned with what the psychopath had demanded. She handed them over and moved to sit with her mother but was stopped short.

  “Nuh-uh.” The killer tossed the bag of zip ties to Sandra and beckoned Amy with his finger. “Get over here and let Mommy get to work.”

  “Please,” Sandra begged, sniffling, “let her go and I’ll do what you want.”

  “You’ll do what I want whether you like it or not. Now, don’t make me ask again.”

  Amy shuffled back toward him.

  “Tie yourselves.”

  “What?” Joshua said, his voice cracking.

  “You heard me. Hands behind your backs, and zip your wrists.”

  Sandra hesitated and mumbled to Joshua that they should do as they were told; then they helped each other tie their hands. When they were done, the killer stepped forward and attached their ties together, back-to-back.

  “This girl is mine now,” the Lullaby Killer said.

  “Please…” Sandra began.

  “Shh. Go with a little dignity, woman.” He took a cell phone from his pocket and placed it by her feet. “If you want a shot at getting her back, make sure Mr. Black gets this.” He raised the pistol to his shoulder and walloped Joshua with the butt of the gun, knocking him unconscious.

  Amy yelped in shock, while Sandra flinched and screwed shut her eyes.

  The killer dragged Amy with him, leaving Sandra subdued, afraid, and wondering how long it would be before Mason arrived and if she would ever see their daughter again.

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Mason pulled up outside Evie’s, anxious to get going.

  “You’d better get some rest,” she said as she opened the car door.

  “Can’t. I’m taking Amy to a movie.”

  “Ah, right. Plans. Well, enjoy yourself and keep me updated on the case.” Evie got out, closed the door, and went toward her apartment.

  Should I… Mason sat gnawing on his knuckles, unsure if it was a smart move. Then, before it was too late, he opened the window and called after her. “Come with us.”

  Evie stopped and turned. “What?”

  “Come with us. She’s your niece, after all.”

  It was the biggest smile he’d seen from her in years as she headed back to the Mustang.

  Mason didn’t want to be late. He didn’t want to do anything to disappoint his daughter, so he sped back to the house while ignoring Evie’s complaints that he was going too fast. From his point of view there was no such thing as too fast. Not when Amy was waiting on the other end.

  When they pulled into the drive, something—although Mason couldn’t tell what just yet—wasn’t quite right. He sensed inactivity in the house, and none of the lights were on. Then he spotted the front door ajar.

  “So, I’m thinking maybe a subtle job.” Evie droned on about her potential plans for the next year. “Just movie reviews or restaurant critiquing, you know?”

  But Mason wasn’t listening to a word. He had that feeling in his stomach—the one that told him he couldn’t relax. “Hand me that revolver.”

  “What?” Evie pulled a face.

  “The gun. Now.” He took it from her and exited the car, heading up the drive like he’d been taught at the academy. It was second nature to him now, creaking open the door, waving a hand to draw a warning gunshot from an overambitious shooter before heading inside with the barrel raised and his back to each wall. He started in the living room and was shocked by what he saw.

  “Mason?” Sandra called out to him in the dimly lit room.

  “What the hell?” He rushed to her, kneeled by her side, and examined the binds. “What happened? Where’s Amy?”

  “She’s gone…”

  Mason didn’t hear that last part. Or rather he did but didn’t want to. He took the stairs two at a time, despite his huge size. “Amy!” he called, grimly imagining what he might find. “Amy!”

  At the end of the corridor, he burst into her room, raising the gun once more. He was expecting to find something sinister, something dangerous. Instead, all that remained were the drapes blowing in the wind, reaching out toward an empty room where his daughter was suppose to sleep—where she was supposed to be safe.

  Mason felt a knot in his stomach. He knew he’d messed up, knew there was no coming back from this one. Even if he were to get Amy back safely, he would never be able to forgive himself for not being there.

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Mason trudged downstairs, his soul in pieces and his head a wreck. Why didn’t I just stay away like Sandra told me? Time after time, she told me!

  It was clear to him now: his loyalty to the job had grown far too strong for him to handle. Now it was affecting his personal life, and it was nothing more than punishment.

  Evie was cutting the zip ties off Sandra and Joshua as he came back into the living room.

  “Are you all right?” he asked Sandra, fighting the urge to punch something. His eyes went to Joshua, who was climbing to his feet without a word. Mason lunged forward and grabbed him by his throat, pinning him down on the couch. “You were supposed to be protecting them, you piece of shit!”

  “Mason, come on,” Evie pleaded from behind.

  “If you make a man’s family your own, the least you can do is make sure they’re fucking safe!” Mason raised his fist, and it took everything he had not to pummel the guy. On any normal day, he’d have relished the sight of this coward’s blood on his fists, but right now, he was incomplete—broken.

  “It’s not worth it.” Evie pressed her palm against his fist, encouraging him to lower it. “He’s not worth it.”

  Mason lowered his arm. But not his gaze, staring daggers at Joshua as he stepped back. “I want Bill here,” he said matter-of-factly. “His best team, everything they have to get my little girl back.”

  “I’m on it.” Evie pulled out her phone and left the room, pressing it to her ear.

  “Mason.” Sandra stepped to his side.

  “Not now.” His life was collapsing around him. Was this his fault?

  “It’s important.”

  “Not now! I—” He turned to see the phone held out to him and glared at it.

  “That creep told me to make sure you get this.” Sandra handed it to him, and it beeped as soon as he took it.

  It was a text message from a phonebook entry named Brahm. Mason stared at it for a long time, not wanting to read it. What if it was a photograph of Amy? What if it was a short, snappy sentence to confirm he’d killed her? Or worse.

  Finally, taking everything he had, he read the message. As he did, he was knocked back by those three fate-sealing words.

  “What does it say?” Sandra begged, her lips quivering in fear.

  Mason couldn’t speak. He handed her the phone and slouched back into the armchair. He watched her expression as she read, moving her lips to the words that would play over and over in his mind until the day he died.

  Hush, little baby.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Sandra handed the ph
one back, horrified.

  Some weeks ago, Mason would have been the one to comfort her. Instead, he watched her hand come to her face as she gasped into her own palm and fought hard not to cry. Joshua did nothing, Mason noticed while he stared at the text and considered his options.

  Another text came through, and a third in quick succession.

  I’m not sure I want to read these.

  But he had to.

  Expecting the worst, he opened them and read aloud. “She belongs to me now.” It felt disgusting. Perverted. And that was just the first one. “Would she really miss this finger?”

  For a few minutes they sat, waiting for the police to turn up. When they did, they were interviewed and questioned, and prints were taken off every surface the killer had touched.

  Even Bill looked to be in shock as he comforted his old friend.

  “Please, help me,” Mason said to him, swallowing his pride. “I know I let you down before. I know your son died because I couldn’t stop this guy. But please, just… help me.”

  Bill stood assessing him. And who could blame him? It was a Mason Black he’d never seen before. “I’ll do what I can. But I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “So, that’s the extent of the SFPD’s help? It’s all well and good that I was consulted, but I thought you guys might have something to go by.” Mason went to the wall and put his face in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be.”

  Mason had no idea what to do. How could he help his little girl? Why did the killer leave the cell phone, if only to taunt him? Just as he asked himself these questions, the phone rang on the table with an eerie circus theme.

  “Shut up. Everyone shut up!” Bill yelled, and the room fell silent.

  Mason went to the table and reached for the cell phone with one trembling hand. The screen read Brahm. A cruel jest. An inside joke. A sick sense of humor.