“You misunderstood. I said there was another photo. As in, I had to destroy it.”
“Hey, that’s police evidence. Why would you—”
“Because it was a picture of you.” Bill folded his arms and let out a long breath. “It showed you going into the container at the shipping yard, where we killed—”
“No!” Mason barked, cutting him off. He shot to his feet, marched across the room, and grabbed Bill’s arm, dragging him out of the apartment and pulling the door shut. “We do not talk about that with my girl in the next room. Is that understood?”
“Sorry, I… Look, it was lucky I was first on the scene. Whoever set this whole thing up is out to get you. They want the police to know what you did.”
“Something personal.”
“Well, they haven’t asked for anything.” Bill leaned against the railing, looking out over the city. It was a nice night, if you ignored the potential stalker. “I would’ve thought it had something to do with Wendell.”
“Then why aren’t you—”
“Being targeted, too?” Bill shook his head. “No idea. Maybe somebody just rushed to hurt you before they got the whole scoop. So far, you’re the only lead. Captain Cox knows this, which is why I’m here.”
Mason placed his palms against his back, stretching out. “Okay,” he said, coming to Bill’s side. “So, you’re the lead investigator on this. How long do I have before I’m officially dragged in for questioning?”
“Not long.”
“Great. So, if I decide to look into this?”
“Then you’d have to do it fast. I can make some excuses—claim I haven’t managed to get in touch—but sooner or later I’ll be replaced by somebody who will bring you in.”
Mason clenched the railing and gazed into the distance. He’d really been looking forward to spending this weekend with Amy. In a strange sort of way, he’d forgotten all about this business with the Lullaby Killer. But for everything to spring open again so suddenly, landing him—and only him—in trouble, well, that was enough to spoil anyone’s day.
“We spoke to the victim’s best friend,” Bill said. “Apparently, this Johnny Walker kid was thinking about hiring a prostitute. It’s not much, but—”
“It’s a start.” Mason pushed back from the railing and headed inside. “Thanks, Bill.”
“No problem. Just be careful.”
Chapter Five
It was a case he had no choice but to take. That was, if he wanted to stay out of the spotlight.
Mason dropped Amy off at her mother’s and watched as she bounded up the steps. Sandra would probably be surprised to see her daughter home so soon, but it couldn’t be helped. Mason quietly hoped it might ruin any fun Sandra and Joshua—the replacement boyfriend—might have been looking forward to.
An hour later, following a long and frustrating stretch of heavy traffic, he parked the Mustang on Barley Street, one of the many go-to places for prostitution or drugs—if you knew anything about this city anyway. Mason got out and started from the nearest end of the road.
“Excuse me,” he said to a pair of particularly overweight hookers. They jolted to attention, clearly on edge, which was exactly why Mason had elected not to show his badge to everyone. Instead, he used only the photograph of Johnny Walker Bill had given him. “Have you seen this kid?”
“Who’s askin’?” the larger one said, blowing impressive pink bubbles of gum.
“A concerned friend.”
They looked at each other, turned back to him, then shook their heads.
“Thank you.”
It was farther up the road, after an hour or more, when Mason found his first potential lead. There was something ratty about this girl, but in a sweet, keep-your-hands-to-yourself sort of way. Her arms folded defiantly across her flat chest.
“This boy,” he said, holding the photo out with a tired arm. “Have you seen him?”
She peered at it, impassive. “Might have.”
“Twenty bucks if you tell me you didn’t. Fifty if you point me in the right direction.”
Her eyes dropped, studying him from boot to head. She had every reason to be suspicious, but she was in no danger from Mason. “You a cop?”
“No.”
“You look like a cop.”
“I’m not a cop.”
Scanning his features once more, she held out her palm until he slapped fifty dollars into it. “Follow me,” she said, then turned and walked toward a rundown building with aggressive graffiti decorating its walls and windows.
Mason gave her the benefit of the doubt and went after her. Inside was a tall, narrow staircase, which went up five different flights. Each landing was littered with shabbily dressed young men, most of whom had their lips nuzzled into girls’ necks. Mason clenched his trench coat, careful not to let it flap into somebody’s way. He’d been to these sorts of places before: there was always someone looking for an excuse.
“Wait here.” The hooker stopped, then disappeared for a few moments before returning and waving her hand.
Mason went in, struck by the painfully strong smell of marijuana right away—bad quality, too. “Who set the fire?” he jested, but the woman’s passive expression didn’t falter.
They came into a large open room thick with smoke, neon, and swarms of people dressed only in black. All eyes followed him as he strode across the room and approached the desk, which appeared to be the highlight of the room.
“What have we here?” Sitting at the desk was a black man, perhaps early thirties, with a badly trimmed goatee and a dark beret. He looked at Mason with obvious skepticism; a raised eyebrow here, a chin rub there.
“I’m looking for a kid who might’ve been through here,” Mason told him, handing over the photo. “Nobody’s in trouble. But he was recently found dead, and we’re trying to pick up a trail.”
“We?” The man looked up at the prostitute, then back at Mason. “You a cop?”
“Private investigator,” Mason corrected.
“Shit, man.” He sunk his face into his palms before looking up at the girl. “Patty, what the hell do you think you’re doing, bringing PIs up in here?”
“I didn’t think—”
“You never do.” The man pushed back from his desk and shot to his feet. “Get out of my sight.”
“She thought I was a cop and she still let me up here,” Mason offered, throwing a wrench in the works. It was never his intention to anger this man—he only wanted information—but this chick had been rude to him, and he would never let that slide.
“What?” she screamed. “He’s lying! Rosco, I—”
“Go, before I lose my temper.”
She stormed out, spitting at Mason’s feet as she passed, but he didn’t stop grinning.
“Now, this boy you’re looking for…” The man—Rosco—slammed his palm onto the desk, and all chatter around them stopped. “What the hell’s it got to do with you? Ain’t the police already looking into it?”
Mason cleared his throat. “Not over here, they’re not. And if I get what I want, they’ll have no need to be here, either. Do we understand each other?”
Rosco sighed, smiling uncomfortably at the eavesdropping partyers. Finally, he threw his hands up. “Look, I seen the kid around, but he was only window-shopping, if you catch my drift. Some say he went off with some dame last night, but she wasn’t one of mine. So, if you don’t mind…” He raised his hands toward the door.
Mason examined his expression. He seemed sincere. Once he’d accepted it was a dead end, he leaned over, grabbed the photo, and headed for the door. “Thank you for your time.”
As soon as he stepped outside, Mason cursed under his breath. This was his only lead, and now here he was, alone, in a shady neighborhood, and with no information at all.
Once again, he found himself fumbling around his pockets for cigarettes.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Chapter Six
Last night’s victim was her
first, and it had made her feel alive. The kid may not have deserved it, but too bad. Someone needed to die, so why not him? How else could she have gotten the message across?
Clenching both sides of her jacket and pulling them together (she wasn’t quite ready for business yet), Lady strode past the usual crowd of working girls. She’d spoken to some of them—they were good people, for the most part. Perhaps that’s why she’d decided to target the clients instead. At least they deserved it. They were, for lack of a better term, filth.
“Hey, you!” a voice called from behind her, breaking her thoughts.
Lady craned her neck, looking over her shoulder and down her nose in the seductive manner she’d practiced in front of the mirror a thousand times. But she wished she hadn’t looked—the man in the car was fat and grotesque, and sweating under the weight of his own skin.
“Come here, let’s get a good look at you.”
Lady hesitated. The creeps are out early tonight. Trying to make her cringe less obvious, she approached the car. It was small, with no back end—far too small for this guy. “What can I do you for?”
“Open your jacket. I wanna see what you got.”
“Open your wallet, sugar. I wanna see what you got.” Lady didn’t know much, but she knew that if a man wanted sex, she could make him do anything to get it. Besides, if she were to go home with this guy, he needed to prove he had the dough up front.
With a grunt and a hefty shuffle in his car seat, he dug into his pocket for his wallet.
Lady thought he looked like a potato bug on its back, trying in vain to wriggle onto its legs. She stifled a laugh as best she could but then spotted someone else. Someone across the road from her, whose very presence contorted her smile into a scowl.
“Hey. Hey!” the fat man shouted.
But she was already gone, her legs moving automatically while her gaze shifted to Mason Black. What’s he doing here?
She spied a group of working girls her side of the street and stood close to them. If she could blend in with the crowd she’d be fine. From here she could watch his movements, see exactly what he was up to.
Was it really a surprise he hadn’t been arrested already? Even after this morning’s gift to the San Francisco Police Department? No, not really. Lady had known it was no guarantee. But still, it was bound to have caused some sort of disturbance in his life.
Now, she saw Mason reaching into his pocket as he stopped next to a black Shelby Mustang. It was his, she knew—she’d done her research. Her hatred for him had driven her to such lengths.
Lady watched, her teeth grinding as he drove up the street and rounded the corner.
Fine, then, she nearly said out loud. Let the games begin.
Chapter Seven
Mason stopped at the traffic light, gnawing on a thumbnail. It was starting to feel as though he’d been taking his freedom for granted. He knew if he couldn’t find a lead soon he’d be taken in for questioning. It wouldn’t take the police long to figure out he’d had something to do with Wendell’s disappearance, and that wasn’t good.
In fact, it was very, very bad.
The lights flashed green, and Mason drove on in a thoughtful cruise. He wasn’t ready to head home just yet. Not without something to steer him on the right track.
He slid into fourth, fifth, and took another glance in the rearview mirror.
That same car.
It was a Prius. Red, he thought, but it was difficult to tell in the darkness. It’d been some distance behind him for a few blocks now, hanging back in a poor attempt to stay out of sight. Mason had to test it. He took the next left and found himself on a quiet industrial estate. Too quiet.
The Prius turned, too.
Who might be after him? A list of all the people who hated him flickered through his mind. It was a long list, but it seemed too coincidental for someone to follow him on the same night they found Johnny Walker’s body.
Mason leaned across the seat and took his revolver from the glove compartment, checked it was loaded, then stopped the car on the side of the road. Stuffing the gun under his coat, he pretended not to notice the other car and hopped over a closed gate. He landed in the parking lot of a carpentry store and skirted around the building, slow enough to be followed.
Who are you? Mason wondered, checking the chamber again. He paused when he heard the door of the Prius slam shut, then the whining rattle of the same gate he’d leapt over a few moments ago.
The footsteps were getting closer, the person’s shadow stretching out across the parking lot. Mason had his back to the wall, his finger coiled around the trigger. He didn’t want to shoot anyone tonight, but he sure would if he had to.
Whoever it was, they were almost at the corner. Any second now…
Mason clutched the gun tight, spun his hip, and rounded the edge of the wall. He grasped the person’s shirt with one hand, pulling them off balance, while his right hand pressed the lip of the revolver to the person’s chin.
They struggled, his stalker fighting to break free of his firm grip. It was a woman. Mason could feel it—the delicate frame, her nails digging into his clenched fist, the high-pitched protest to let her go.
But Mason was in control. He pushed her back, pinning her against the wall. But when an unsuspecting car drove past, its high beams illuminated the face of his follower. His mouth opened in surprise. “You.”
Chapter Eight
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too, brother.” Evie wrangled free of his grip and straightened out her shirt. “You can put the gun away now.”
“Are you crazy? You can’t go following me like that.” Mason stowed the revolver back in his coat and folded his arms. “I have enough problems, without accidentally shooting my own sister.”
“So-rry,” she said, a little too sarcastic. Evie—or Evelyn, if you were looking at her driver’s license—was a mousy woman with black hair and overly large glasses. Apparently they were back in fashion.
Mason sighed, exasperated. “Come on. We’re trespassing.”
They walked back across the lot, climbed over the gate, and stood directly between their two cars. It was a rare sight for these two to be seen together, especially since her unwilling involvement in the Wendell case. She’d nearly gotten killed, and Mason probably wouldn’t be here today if she hadn’t sprung into action. But that didn’t make it okay for her to remain in the line of fire.
“Where’d you get the car?” Mason asked, trying to calm himself down with small talk.
“My… Oh, the Prius? It’s a company car. I hate it.”
“It suits you.”
“Small and useless?”
“Pretty and discreet,” Mason corrected.
“You flatter me.” Evie laughed and leaned against the hood of the car. “So, look, I heard about your name being plastered across that guy’s chest. Why didn’t you come to me? You know I would’ve tried to help.”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t. I don’t want you in danger anymore. Anyway, how the hell did you hear about it? I thought you’d left the thrilling world of journalism?”
“I did. But advertising for a toy company is dull work.”
“So you keep an ear to the ground?”
“Everyone needs a hobby.”
Mason grunted. It was good to see her—it really was—but the circumstances were somewhat… unsettling. “Why are you here, Evie?”
She looked at him, then grinned and pushed herself away from the car. “What do you know about this victim? Why is your name on some dead guy? The truth, please.”
What could he tell her, really? He sure as hell couldn’t confess to having chained up the Lullaby Killer, then torturing him, before slicing his throat and burying the dead son of a bitch. Mason dreaded to think what that would do to their relationship. “I wish I knew.”
Evie studied him, probably looking for some sign of a lie. “All right, then. Get in your car and follow me. If you’re goi
ng to be working the case, then there’s somebody you’ll need to meet.”
Mason grabbed the car key from his pocket. “How do you know I’m working it?”
Evie glanced back. “Because I know you.”
Chapter Nine
Melanie Fry was a married woman who knew she shouldn’t be doing things like this. The problem was, she’d been holding back her desires since she’d hit puberty, and now she simply had to know.
She shut off the engine, straightened out her dress, and threaded her fingers together. The prostitutes were all lined up and ready for business, pulling exaggerated poses to emphasize their particular qualities.
What would Bryan say?
Bryan had always been so sweet to her, doing jobs around the house without being asked, taking care of the kids so she could have nights out. They weren’t even his kids—the screaming, whining debris of a previous relationship. And yet, he still took care of them like they were his own.
Forget it.
Melanie fed the key back into the ignition. She couldn’t do this to him. As much as she wanted to kiss the soft lips of another woman, to run her fingers delicately across her skin, she had stood in God’s house and said her vows.
Who am I to break them?
There came a sudden rapid knock on her window, causing her to jump. A beautiful redhead stood beside the car. If she’d decided to go through with it, this was the kind of woman she’d have chosen.
She lowered the window.
“Looking for a nice evening?” The woman leaned in, smelling of butterscotch and something else—something fruity and exotic.
Melanie froze, looking around her. Maybe just a little play wouldn’t be so bad. Just enough to satisfy my curiosity. “Do you, uh… You know?”
The woman giggled and brushed her hair behind an ear. “Do I like women, you mean?”
“Yes, I…” Melanie couldn’t help but look down the woman’s top. She pictured what those breasts would look like if she lay on her back. It sent a warm wave right through her. “I mean, is it okay? I don’t—I haven’t done this before.”
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