When she reached the bottom of the stairs and came into a dark, dank area, Lady shoved Evelyn to the floor and dragged her the rest of the way. It was easier on her muscles.
Her lifeless feet scuffed across the dirt and through the main area, where two girls sat silently around a woodworm-infested table. A third girl slumped with her face pressed to the wood and a pool of blood seeping from her head.
And I wasn’t here to see it. Damn.
Lady continued, admiring the discipline it took the women not to scream or try to escape. It would have been a futile attempt anyway, but it was nice to know they hadn’t even tried.
She threw Evelyn into the nearest cell and closed the gate. What would she do with her now? She had plenty of options—kill her and use her body to send a message, or use her as bait for Mason, to name a couple. If she continued to play the game, she could even mix it up—wait until Mason was looking into her eyes before she killed her. The thought excited her, the idea of Mason feeling every little pinch of pain exhilarating.
Struggling with her choices, Lady snatched a scythe from the wall and returned to the chained-up women. The sight of blood was soothing to her, and if that didn’t help with her big decision, then nothing else would.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Two hands rocketed toward Mason, grabbing at his coat and hauling him to his feet.
The second he was up, a fist flew toward him, too fast to block. The wind shot from his lungs in an instant, leaving him gasping for breath. These men were a lot stronger than they looked, and he hated he was finding out the hard way.
“You think he’s had enough?” one of them asked.
Mason knew it wasn’t a show of genuine concern.
“Nah, man. He’s still standing.”
They hit him again, a rapid flurry of punches to the gut and face. Mason even felt one land on his ear that sent a ringing sound through his head. He’d been there before—two against one, unfair odds. But one thing was always certain in this situation: they fed off their own confidence, making surprise his best weapon.
With the men still grinning, Mason sprung forward, kicking away from the dumpster with the flat of his foot. The bigger man was the first to go down, a painful jab to his solar plexus keeling him over.
The other man stood dumbstruck. Shock seized him as he realized he was alone, giving Mason just enough time to regain his balance.
“Son of a—” He came at Mason in a clumsy manner.
Mason used that to his advantage, swinging to the left and grabbing the man’s suit jacket. He’d accounted for the man’s hefty weight and used his hip as a pivot to throw him to the ground. Once down, he delivered a paralyzing kick to his gut.
With both men out of action, he ran toward the end of the alley. He convinced himself it was sensible rather than cowardly, but as he approached the opening onto the street, three more men appeared and boxed him in.
“Grab him,” the big man wheezed from behind, climbing to his feet.
For the first time in his long history of fistfights, Mason gritted his teeth in frustration at the odds. Two against one was doable. Five on one? Close to impossible.
Three pairs of hands came at him, pinning him hard to the wall.
“You been hitting my men, sir?” the rodent-like one asked.
Mason didn’t answer. More words meant more trouble. He glanced around for weak spots, hoping to find a way out of there. There was nothing of use.
The biggest guy, now coming back to the crowd to take his vengeance, removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “Let’s finish his punk ass.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
His nose rained blood. His gums numbed more with each punch.
“How’s that taste, you son of a bitch?”
The others laughed as they held him. Mason wanted to point out there was nothing tough about ganging up on someone. He’d already proven himself, only to protect the woman. But she was gone now, and he hadn’t even noticed it happen.
“Go fuck yourself,” Mason said, before spitting a large glob of blood into the face of his assailant.
“That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” the man said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small metallic object. He pushed a button and the blade flicked out, glistening under the sun.
Mason squirmed. He couldn’t die now. Not without making sure Evie was safe. That Amy would grow up in a safe pair of hands. “Keep that thing away from me.”
By some miracle the sound of sirens shrilled down the alley. They probably weren’t coming for him, but if he could attract the attention of the police, he had a chance of getting out of here. Even if it did mean risking his own skin.
Mason was about to break out, to drive a foot into one of the men, when the police car pulled up at the entrance of the alley. The lights and siren stopped as two officers climbed out and came their way. Mason didn’t recognize them.
“So,” the first officer said. He was tall and bald, with perfect posture and a grin like a proud cat. “A hooker phones in about a man who tried to help her in an alley, and this is what I find? Put him down, Jordan.”
The man pinning Mason stepped back, a crooked smile on his smug face. “I was just teaching him some manners. You know how it is.” He tucked the knife away behind his back.
“Oh, I know.” Both officers stepped forward, the bald one first. “I know exactly how it is. Five men holding one poor fella down and taking turns hitting him. It’s very brave of you. Now get out of here.”
The man—Jordan—hesitated. “What if I don’t?”
“Then we’ll call for backup and have your entire business shut down. I could alert my captain and get a warrant to tap your phones, conceal cameras. Let’s see how long you can run a whore club then.”
Jordan pushed forward, aggression in his eyes. “You threatening me, Officer?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. We know about your business. Always have. It’s only a courtesy that we allow you to continue. So, step out of my way and save yourself a lot of trouble.”
Mason watched with fortuitous surprise as the men fled the alley and disappeared out of sight, leaving him to adjust his clothes and check his gums for blood. “Thanks,” he said to the officer.
“Don’t thank us just yet. We need to take you back to the station. Mason, right?”
Mason felt a bead of sweat forming at his forehead. “Why?”
“The captain requested it. Now, I just saved your ass. Return the favor and come quietly.”
Chapter Thirty
They kept him waiting in the interrogation room, bored silly and the lights blinding. It was a dirty trick, and they’d stolen it straight from Mason. The theory was that it left people so restless that when they were asked questions, they would want to answer as fast as possible so they could get out of there.
After what felt like an hour, the door swung open and Captain Leanne Cox entered.
Mason tried to hide his surprise.
“What, you didn’t expect to see me?” she said, closing the door and pulling out a chair across from him. She’d had her hair cut to shoulder-length, which suited her, in a Dana Scully sort of way. “Detective Bill Harvey will no longer be handling your case. This means any little strings he might have pulled for you are now entirely severed.”
“Strings?”
Captain Cox flung open a file and scanned through the pages, ignoring his question.
“Why do you suddenly have it in for me, Captain?” Mason was forthright with his question, a sign of respect for the woman. And he did respect her, even if she was trying to research his connection to the victims.
“I have nothing against you personally, you understand.” She didn’t even look up, only sliding a file and two photographs across the desk. “But I have to do my job. So, tell me, did you know any of these victims?”
Mason looked at them, squinting and turning them to one side. He’d seen these photos before, but they were no less disturbing the second time ar
ound.
“Oh, don’t try to convince me these are new to you. We know you’ve been all over town. A step ahead of us every time, in fact. Do me a favor, and don’t try to play me for a fool.”
Mason sighed, handing them back. The last thing he wanted was to seem aggressive. “All right. Look, Bill came to me with this picture.” He pointed at the one of Johnny Walker. “You can imagine it drew quite a surprise.”
“Sure.”
“Naturally I wanted to investigate, see why my name was cropping up in such a disturbing way.”
“Understandable. Go on.”
“A trail of clues and a couple of interviews led me this far, and…” Mason wondered if he should mention Evie. Bill must have been looking for her by now, but was it on the record? “That’s all.”
“Fascinating, Mr. Black.” If she was turning to formalities, it was a bad sign. She leaned forward, clasping her hands together and resting her chin on her knuckles. “But what I would like to know is just how you knew where to start.”
“What?”
“You must’ve known something about this whole thing. Where did you go first? What exactly was your process?” She smiled from the corner of her mouth.
He filled her in on the details, omitting anything that might link him to last year’s incident with the Lullaby Killer. Captain Cox didn’t hesitate to mention that he’d failed to solve the case. He didn’t like the idea of explaining that he and Bill had buried him under a housing construction. He pictured the mangled corpse now, resting under the lawn while a young girl played with her dolls on the grass above. Wendell was still smiling.
“So, what now?” she asked, as if options were available.
“You tell me.”
The captain cleared her throat and rose from her chair, tucking the file away. “I’d like to keep you around until this thing is solved. That okay with you?”
The suggestion alarmed him. Not only would it mean abandoning his search of Evie, but it also opened up the possibility of Lady Luck growing bored and donating some evidence to the police. On the other hand, leaving would only make him seem all the more guilty. “Am I under arrest?”
“Not currently,” she said.
Mason stood up and brushed himself off. He must have looked a poor sight with the blood smears above his upper lip. “Then I have to leave. Excuse me.”
Cox stopped him on his way to the door, wrapping her fingers around his arm. “I’m going to get a warrant and come back, so don’t get comfortable.” She looked deep into his eyes, looking 10 percent sorry and 90 percent accusatory. “I’m onto you.”
Chapter Thirty-One
It was early evening. Mason was halfway out the doors of the police station when Bill came running over to him. He looked a mess, dark stubble sprouting from red cheeks, a creased shirt under a loose necktie.
“What is it, Bill?”
“What happened in there?”
Mason turned and led them away from prying ears. “A slap on the wrist, really. But the captain wants a warrant for my arrest.”
“What? That won’t take long.”
“Exactly.”
They headed outside and came to a crossing, where Mason paused to consider taking a long walk to think this whole thing through. Maybe it would be easier to just confess his crime and have the police look for Evie.
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t,” Bill said. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
After doubling back and climbing into Bill’s car, Mason sat shielding his eyes from the glowing sunset. Fatigue was seizing him now, making it tough to process any kind of logical thought.
“You need to rest,” Bill said, shifting gears.
“I need Evie. You find out anything?”
Bill shook his head. “Sorry, buddy. I’m trying.”
“But you didn’t report her missing yet?”
“Not yet.”
That was for the best, Mason thought. The more information he could keep from the police, the better. Although he had faith in his own abilities, it was beginning to look as though he might soon need some help.
“And what about you?” Bill asked, his eyes fixed on the road. “You find any link between Wendell and this Lady Luck character?”
Mason sighed. “No. Whoever it was, they must’ve been close. He must’ve had someone to share his findings with. Nobody just carries a secret like that.”
“What’re your thoughts?”
“I don’t know. Maybe his mother.”
“But she’s behind bars.”
“Good point. Then… I suppose a friend. Who else would he talk to?”
Bill cleared his throat and diverted his gaze.
Mason studied him. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Look…” Bill licked his upper lip and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Marvin Wendell had a therapist at the peak of his killing spree. If he confided in anybody—”
“It would have been him or her.”
“Him,” Bill clarified. “But you didn’t hear this from me.”
Mason drew a cross over his heart. Hope to die.
“Now, there exists a doctor-patient confidentiality, so you might need to use a little force.” Bill shook his head in shame. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this. I’m going to be knee-deep in the shit with this one.”
“I’ll take the fall, so don’t worry.” Mason glared out the window, watching the world go by while he thought through some ideas. “All right, change of plan. Can you take me to Marcy Larkin? I need to grab my car and head back to the office, get this blood off my face.”
“Sure. What’s at the office? Files?”
“A clean suit,” Mason said.
“That’s all?”
“Well, that and my gun.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mason found his car covered in trash with a crack snowflaking into the corner of his windshield. Figuring it was just the scumbag gang he’d been brawling with earlier today, he swiped off the snowball wrappers and stubbed-out cigarettes, then headed to the office.
A damaged windshield is the least of my worries.
When he arrived, he hurried from the car and made a mental note of everything he would need for tonight. Bill had given him the address of Wendell’s therapist, and he would find a way to extract the information from him.
Mason crossed the road and stepped toward the office when he spotted a silhouette and froze.
There was somebody inside.
The desk lamp must have been on, and the black silhouette drifted across the room, obviously looking through his things. The front door was closed, and there was no sign of forced entry. Mason wondered how they’d gotten in, now regretting his earlier decision to take the gun from his car and leave it in his desk drawer.
He went around the back way. He passed the dumpster, snatched up a discarded beer bottle from the side, and gripped it by the neck. It would be as good a weapon as any, but if the intruder had a gun, then he would need to get up close.
Mason reached the back door, sliding the key in as quietly as possible. Thankfully, this door was one that made almost no sound as he pushed it open, unlike the creaky others. He peered around the corner, and seeing the person with their back to him, went inside.
His shadow crawled along the wood flooring, so Mason eased the door closed as fast as possible, shutting out any light. He tiptoed across the hallway, which led out into the main office area.
He was ten feet from the burglar.
Five feet.
Two.
Mason had to act, and now. As quick as he could, he smashed the bottle against the wall, making a weapon of the jagged glass remaining in his hand. The figure turned as he lunged forward, ready to pin the intruder and make him talk.
The person’s eyes were wide in shock, and they gasped out loud as the cold glass pressed against the skin of their throat. “Mason, don’t!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Jesus Chris
t!” Diane screamed, stepping away from him with shaking hands.
“What the—” Mason tossed the broken bottle aside in the general direction of the trash can. He went to the nearby sink and splashed warm water on his face. The blood drained away in a scarlet whirlpool. “What’re you doing here? How’d you get in? I could have hurt you.”
“I’m sorry! You didn’t turn up at Barlow’s, so I thought I’d come and check if you were okay. The door was open.”
As she explained herself, Mason took it all in and realized it was Friday. Amidst all his worry about Evie, he’d forgotten to cancel the date. It was so obvious now. Diane was wearing a beautiful blue dress, which flowed down to her knees and exposed the upper part of her chest. Somehow, it looked more classy than slutty. She seemed to know she had beautiful skin, and showed it off while maintaining an element of modesty.
“Diane… I’m so sorry. Some things just happened. I was going to cancel and—”
“You were going to cancel?”
“It’s not like that. It’s good to see you. Great, even. I just…” Mason brought his palms to his eyes and rubbed, taking deep breaths. What he needed was a reset—a button that would allow him to reenter the room and stop for a calm conversation.
“Relax,” Diane said. “If you don’t want to date me, I totally understand.”
“No, I do. It’s just… it’s bad timing.”
Diane hung her head low before raising it and flashing him an artificial smile. “Okay. No problem.”
“I don’t think you understand. Here…” Mason gestured her into the clients’ seat and pulled his desk chair around to sit beside her. For the next twenty minutes, he explained as much as he could about the current case and Evie’s disappearance. It was probably a good choice to omit the details about Wendell.
“So, this Wendell guy goes missing—presumed dead—and you want to pressure his therapist?” Diane had a way of confirming details without sounding the slightest bit condescending.
Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection Page 23