Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection

by Adam Nicholls

  “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

  “If you ask me, they’re both lucky. I don’t have to tell you how dangerous that woman is. Bitch is really giving me some grief.” Mason fidgeted with Evie’s apartment key. “Listen, I might need to borrow your police badge.”

  Bill looked over, his eyebrows raised, but he said nothing.

  “Just for when we get inside. You can have it back right after.”

  “Then why borrow it at all?”

  “I want to lead the discussion.”

  Bill mumbled something under his breath and handed over the badge. “Fine. But only because you’re better at squeezing information out of people.”

  Across the street, the officers were finally leaving. Once they were out of sight, Mason and Bill headed over. They entered through an enormous lobby. A receptionist greeted them. He was smartly dressed and well mannered.

  Mason flicked up the badge. “Detective Harvey.” He used Bill’s name, in case they asked for closer inspection of the ID. “I’m here to talk with Roger Gibbons.”

  They were shown to the elevator and told to go to the top floor.

  Mason thanked him, and the elevator doors closed. There was no music—just the gentle hum of the machine doing what it was built for.

  “You ready for this?” Bill asked, leaning against the back rail.

  “Not at all. I just hope they don’t recognize me.”

  “I think their newspapers are more financially oriented.” The doors opened with a ping. “Come on, it’s time to get to work.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  They were met at the door by a moping woman with brown hair. She showed them in, sat them in the lounge, and disappeared to fetch drinks—despite the fact they’d declined the offer.

  While Bill stared glassy-eyed at the muted TV, Mason stood and paced the room. This apartment was incredible. It was a true penthouse; one entire curtain wall had a breathtaking vista of San Francisco.

  The woman soon returned, alongside her husband, who introduced himself as Roger and sat down.

  Mason ignored the drink that was placed down for him. “I want you to run me through what happened,” he said.

  The woman cleared her throat. “I came home early from a trip, hoping to get an early night in our marital bed.” She emphasized marital and shot daggers at her husband, who wasn’t looking. “But Roger was here with some skank.”

  “She was a very pretty lady, actually,” Roger added, as if it was a necessary detail.

  “Oh, you really think so?” His wife raised her voice. “Is that what encouraged you to bring a whore into our home, you filthy little pervert!”

  “Hey, there’s no need for—”

  “Please,” Mason interrupted. “Can we just stick with the facts?”

  “Sorry,” Roger said. “There was an altercation, of sorts. She and my wife had a bit of a fight while I was handcuffed to the bed.”

  Mrs. Gibbons had a disgusted expression on her face and turned her head away.

  “Why were you handcuffed to the bed?” Bill asked.

  “It was the hooker’s idea.”

  Bill nodded.

  Mason continued to pace. “So, Mrs. Gibbons, you had your hands full. Did she hurt you at all? Perhaps give you any indication that she might be back? I mean, you hit her, right?”

  She shook her head. “I only tackled her when she drew the knife.”

  “She had a knife?” Bill asked.

  “Hold on.” She left the room again.

  Mason continued to pace, growing more impatient as he looked around the place. He was a split second away from complimenting Roger on his apartment, when he saw a disturbing image on the TV.

  It was a photograph. Of him! The tagline underneath read EX-COP STILL WANTED. The anchor was giving details, but the sound was off. Mason walked over to the TV and stood in front of it, concealing it from the Gibbons and grateful it wasn’t wall mounted high above him.

  Mrs. Gibbons returned with two things: a purse, which she held with a cloth so as not to put more prints on it, and a second item, something small, and now in a police evidence bag. “The officers told me to hand these to you—said you would file them accordingly?”

  Bill took the purse, while Mason snatched the evidence bag.

  This is Evie’s knife. His face flushed hot red as he double-checked it for the inscription. When he found it, he balled his hands into fists. He could only pray she was all right. “And the woman had this on her?”

  The wife nodded, her husband going to the window and admiring the view.

  “Thank you both for your time. We’ll go over this and be in touch,” Bill said.

  You might be, Mason thought, but I have bigger problems.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  They stopped at a modest little diner a few blocks over. There was hardly anyone inside, which made the decision to stop there an easy one. They took the booth in the corner, ordered coffee, and put Wendell’s purse on the table between them.

  “You sure you’re ready for this?” Bill asked.

  “Of course. Get on with it.”

  Bill emptied the contents of the purse. The items slid out one by one. Mostly, they were things he would expect to find when going through a prostitute’s possessions: an assortment of makeup, condoms, a pink thong. And then the papers slipped out.

  Mason took the one closest to him and unfolded it. It was a slip from her son’s school. “Enrollment form.” He handed it to Bill and picked up the next envelope.

  “You want to check out the school?”

  Mason shook his head. “No time. Besides, there’s nothing they can tell us we don’t already know.” He pulled the paper from the envelope and studied it. “Ah.”

  “Ah?”

  “It’s a property rental deed. It’s torn in half and a bit faded, but it’s readable. Do you know where this is?”

  Bill peered over, examining it. “Not exactly. Up in the woods somewhere, I guess. But I couldn’t pinpoint it. Look at the date though.”

  Mason flipped it over. “November third.”

  “One month ago. Compare it with the school enrollment…” He looked again at the form. “Which was three months ago. So, what was she doing with herself those first couple months? I wouldn’t bet she was at the same address.”

  Mason could see his point. Alison Wendell had a registered business, and he knew for a fact she lived above that shop. “Why would she need to rent a place if she already has a home?”

  “Exactly. It’s worth checking out.” Bill stood and slipped on his coat, just as the waitress returned with a pot of coffee. She filled one mug and left without a word.

  “You’re going there now?” Mason scooped all the items back into the purse.

  “No. I have to get back to work before people start asking questions.” He took the purse and held out his hand. “I know it hurts, but I’m going to need Evie’s knife.”

  Mason reached into his pocket and handed it over. “I understand. Listen, on your way to the station, would you mind swinging by and checking on Diane?”

  “Sure. You got a vehicle?”

  “Nope.”

  Bill tossed him a car key. “I want her back in one piece.”

  Mason looked at it, concerned. “What about you?”

  “I’ll take a cab. Anything else you need, you give me a call.”

  “Thanks,” Mason said, sipping his coffee. The moment it touched his lips, it perked him up. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Be careful, pal.”

  Just like that, Mason was alone. With the killer’s son stashed away and an address to head to, it was beginning to feel like he might just get to see Evie again. He only hoped he would get to her in time.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  As Mason drove up the winding road through the woods, he wasn’t sure what to expect. A house, perhaps a cabin, was waiting for him somewhere, and he knew damn well Alison Wendell could be waiting for him, too.

  Ev
entually he saw a dirt road, which crooked its way off the main path. He turned his beams to full and drove on. Tall trees lined either side of the dusty old path, blocking out any moonlight. All he had were his headlights.

  When he arrived at the property, Mason stopped the car and got out, looking at the cabin. There was a chance he was in the wrong place, but there was something eerie about the surrounding woodland. It felt as though he were being watched, and if he’d learned one thing over the years, it was to trust his gut instincts.

  Knowing his gun was tucked into his holster (he hoped to someday return it to the policeman), Mason stepped up to the cabin’s window and peered in, but all the lights were off and he couldn’t see anything. On the bright side, it likely meant nobody was home. With this in mind, Mason raised his foot and kicked open the front door before heading inside.

  He’d stepped into the main living area, where old furniture sat gathering dust. There was a fireplace and a dining table, and an unsettling bear head was mounted on the far wall. The whole cabin had a putrid smell, like something decomposing. Mason slowed his breaths.

  He went to the bedrooms, still alert in case someone was waiting and ready to pounce, and checked under the beds and in the closets. Nothing. It was as if nobody had been here in years, but he knew that was impossible, since the place had been rented so recently.

  It seemed a lost cause, and Mason was heading to the door to leave when something snagged his attention. Next to the telephone was a framed photograph of Alison and Luke Wendell. It was the same one he’d seen in the room above the shop.

  Mason opened the drawer beneath a table and found a messy clutter of bills, invoices, and other paperwork. He flicked on the lamp and read through. Among them was another lease, this one for a property business address.

  Well, well, well. Mason studied the ownership details of the property. It was registered to a Mr. Benjamin Jones—Property Manager. Finally, he had some sort of clue as to where he might find Wendell. Another possibility was to wait here, but time was running short.

  With nothing left to find, Mason pulled the front door closed and stood outside, sending a text message to Bill. It read Need an address for Benjamin Jones—Property Manager. Tel: 555-2834.

  He put the phone away and looked up at the moon through the tree canopy. Dark clouds drifted by, like they did in those old werewolf movies. It was making Mason weary, but as much as he wanted to get back and rest, he had another stop to make.

  The phone’s alert tone pinged, and Mason checked the message.

  Chapter Sixty

  Being in here was a punishment. A way for Lady Luck to keep an eye on her.

  Evie didn’t mind—it was nice to have the company. The cell they were in had more space, a bucket—in case nature should come calling—and a hole the size of a letterbox at the top of the wall which led out into the woods. The breeze it let in was refreshing.

  The girl she was bunked with had introduced herself as Annabelle. She was young—only nineteen years old and already suffering such miserable trauma. Evie felt for her and wished they could all make it out of there unharmed.

  “I won the last game,” Annabelle said. It was the first time she had spoken in hours.

  Evie looked up from her cross-legged position on the floor. “What?”

  “She made us play. I didn’t want to play, but she made us.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The…” Annabelle made a gun with her fingers. “It wasn’t my fault.”

  Evie stood and crossed the room to her. She took the girl’s cheeks into her cupped hands. “Annabelle, please explain yourself. Who made you play? What happened?”

  But Annabelle just lowered her head and tucked it between her folded arms. Her back shuddered as she sobbed into her own little private space.

  Forget this. Evie stood, stretched, and went to the hole in the wall. It was nice and cool against her sweaty skin. It reminded her of opening a refrigerator, which only provoked a thought about when she’d last eaten. How long had it been now? A day? Two?

  Evie was lost, staring into the dark woods, when she saw some movement in the distance. She rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands and then looked again. At first, she thought she was hallucinating, but the image seemed too real.

  Far beyond the trees, Mason stood beside a car. He was looking into his hands, as if using a cell phone. Evie called for him. “Mason! Mason! Over here!”

  Mason didn’t move.

  It felt like a dream—like when you’re reaching for an item, and the harder you try, the farther away it gets. But Evie needed this. She needed her brother to turn around, to see her and come to her rescue.

  “Hey!” she tried again, screaming at the top of her lungs. For all she knew, Lady Luck would soon hear her and come storming in to deal out a punishment. Evie didn’t care. She was doing what was necessary. “Mason! Mason!”

  “Nobody can hear you.” Annabelle looked up. “We’re stuck here until we lose the game.”

  Her words had no effect. Evie continued to yell until her dry throat burned.

  But Mason began to walk away, putting the phone in his pocket.

  No, no, don’t go. Please… Evie felt her heart break as she watched her brother climb into the car. “Mason!” she yelled with everything she had as Mason Black turned the car around and drove out of sight.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  It was getting late as Mason made his way to Benjamin Jones’s home address. Bill had provided the business address, too, but it was likely nobody would be there. All the same, it wouldn’t keep him from trying.

  He drove with caution, adjusting to the unfamiliar car. After having the Mustang for so long, this felt like one seriously underpowered vehicle. But it gave Mason time to think, which he knew he needed.

  His brain aching from overuse, his thoughts drifted to Diane. It was strange—although they’d found themselves in a less-than-romantic situation, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if they could date. It’d been only a year since his divorce from Sandra, and it hadn’t crossed his mind to move on. At least, not until Diane came into his life.

  Mason stopped the car up the street and got out. It was dark and quiet, perfect to go unnoticed. The house was a humble detached bungalow with a too-perfect garden. Gnomes occupied the lawn, and a white picket fence kept them imprisoned. As he reached the front door, a spotlight flickered on.

  After a knock and a short wait, a man came to the door. He was a thin guy, wearing nothing but sweatpants and a spaghetti-stained white T-shirt. People like you give America a bad name, Mason thought.

  “Yeah?” the man said, hand still on the door.

  Mason showed his ID. “Mason Black. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I need to speak with you regarding a property you rented out. You’re Mr. Jones, I presume?”

  “Oh. Uh… Yes, come in.” He held open the door and let him in, then showed him through to the living room. “Please, sit.”

  Mason took a seat across from him and pulled the papers from his pocket. “These properties,” he said, handing them over and getting straight down to business, “were rented to a woman named Alison Wendell. She’s a primary suspect in an ongoing murder investigation. Can I ask exactly how much contact you’ve had with her?”

  The paper shook in Mr. Jones’s hand as he stared at the text. It looked as though he was going to burst into tears, like it had struck him on a personal level.

  “Mr. Jones?”

  “Yes.” He snapped back to the moment. “Please, call me Ben.”

  “Okay,” Mason said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Ben, if you’ve met this woman in person, I’ll need to know anything she said. For instance, did she happen to mention what she needed the premises for?”

  “No. A holiday home, I guessed. As long as the rent is paid, I don’t tend to ask too many questions.”

  “Does she always pay on time?”

  “Oh, yes.” B
en nodded. “Sometimes even throws in a little extra. You know, to say thanks.”

  “Thanks for what?”

  “She pays in cash, and I go up to the cabin and collect it from her.”

  “I see.” Mason didn’t like how close this man seemed to Wendell. From Ben’s dry tone, it sounded as though they were more than just business associates. Sadly, there was nothing to prove that. “And of those times that you went to collect, did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Like what?”

  “Extra vehicles parked outside, damages, anything like that?”

  “Nope.” Ben looked over his shoulder and stood up. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. I’d rather just hear anything you know and be on my way.”

  Ben sat back down and clapped his hands together. “Sure. So…”

  “How about the business property. Which is registered as Priceless Beauties? Do you ever visit there?”

  “Never.”

  Mason leaned in close. “Let’s pretend for a moment you have no idea what kind of business she runs. Okay? Let’s say you visited her there just one time, and only to collect the rent. What exactly might you have witnessed?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Ever had any noise complaints?”

  “Never.” Ben shot to his feet. “Sorry, I’m going to need a glass of water. I’ll be right back.” He shot out of the room before Mason had time to respond.

  “Go ahead,” Mason mumbled. He stood and walked around the room, examining the paintings and gold-leafed ornaments. There was an overabundance of crystal—probably paid for by shady dealings Mason could afford to overlook.

  From outside came a sudden groaning sound. It chugged and then turned to a roar.