Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection

by Adam Nicholls

  Chapter Nineteen

  The sun was starting to rise when Anarchy got the call.

  He’d been up all night anyway. His brain was brimming with the countless possibilities of what he could do in this wretched city. But now, this Mason Black character seemed worth sticking around for.

  Why are you calling me?

  It seemed bold—brave, even—and something about that just didn’t sit right. All the same, he simply wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t act on impulse. He picked up the phone to take the call, but just as he did it stopped ringing.

  Stop these games. They’re too damn exciting!

  Frustrated, Anarchy stood and went to the nearby window. He stretched, reaching his arms up high and yawning before he dropped them. Glancing round the room, he wondered what it used to be back in its day. He thought maybe an office or a meeting room.

  Breaking his train of thought, the phone jingled, and he found himself rushing across the room to see what it was. When he saw the text message, Anarchy felt his forehead crease with confusion.

  “Gotcha?” he said aloud as he read. “What?” He looked around, returning to the window and peering outside. It didn’t look as though anyone had got him—nothing seemed out of the ordinary, save for the sunrise, which he rarely got to see.

  Anarchy set down the phone and immediately picked it back up. He wanted to call, to ask about the text. Having come from Marion’s phone, he was certain it was Mason Black, and Anarchy was suddenly drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

  Screw it.

  Damning the risks, almost relishing them, he pressed Call Back and let it ring for a half second before a familiar voice answered.

  “Yep?”

  Anarchy caught himself grinning, which surprised him. “Mr. Black?”

  “Thanks for calling.”

  “You didn’t leave me much choice. What did you mean in your text message?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted you to call.”

  Anarchy paused, suspicious but unable to resist. “Why?”

  “I just wanted to ask you about your captives. Are they still alive?”

  “Oh, come on, Mason—can I call you Mason?” He waited for a reply, then gave up. “Whatever I tell you, I can’t be sure you’d believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  “Okay… Marion, as you know, has lost her head. The older woman is cut up into iddy-biddy pieces, and the daughter is still alive. For now, anyway.”

  “Bullshit,” Mason said, sounding riled now.

  “See, I told you.” Anarchy looked at his wristwatch. The day was just starting. “Want to tell me why you really wanted to speak with me?”

  “No. That’s all.”

  “Good.” He hung up and launched the phone at the nearest wall. He didn’t need any more temptation. Anything that might keep him in touch with Mason would be too much of a pull for him. Besides, he kind of liked how he lived his life, cruising from city to city and causing a little mayhem.

  All he had left to do was finish the girl and move on.

  That was, if he could just let this Mason Black issue go.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Tell me you got it.” Mason dropped the phone to the desk, his blood boiling.

  Miller nodded. “More or less.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’ve narrowed it down to one of the farthest three buildings on Blackburn Industrial Estate.”

  Mason remembered hearing about that place on the local news. When the company had exchanged hands and gone bankrupt, protestors had fought to keep the factories open. A couple of thousand jobs were lost that day, and now the entire estate lay dormant—a hot spot for homeless people and junkies. If Mason had kidnapped someone himself, he thought that would be a good location to stay out of sight.

  “Want to tell me what this is about?”

  “Anarchy,” Mason said, getting out of the chair. “Just some nutjob.”

  “Wait.” Miller shot to his feet. “I’ve heard that name before.”

  Mason’s stare met his. “What? Where?”

  “Didn’t he kill one of our own? A cop?”

  His heart dropped with disappointment. For a moment he thought he was going to hear something that might help him. Nevertheless, he now had an address to go to. “Yeah, that’s the guy.”

  “Does Cox know you’re investigating?”

  “I would think so.” Mason went for the door. “Thanks for your help.”

  But Miller leapt in the way, walking backward with a palm held out to stop Mason. “You understand I can’t keep this one to myself? This is vital information that could lead to the killer’s arrest. I have to tell the captain.”

  “You said this was between us.” Mason noticed his own fist clenching.

  “That was before I knew who we were talking about!”

  “You’re a rat, Miller.”

  “Listen.” John Miller removed his glasses and slid them onto the table. He rubbed at his eyes, adjusting to his natural vision. “I know you and I have never been on the best terms, but I want you to know I’m not going out of my way to cause trouble for you. Captain Cox has to know about this. I would help you—I have helped you—but I’m not risking my job over this.”

  Mason supposed he was right. As much as he disliked Miller, he was only doing his job and was already extending a courtesy. Besides, would it be so bad if Cox found out what he was up to? He might get into some trouble for keeping the phone to himself, but he could probably use the help of the SFPD. “You’re right. Thanks for your help.”

  “You’re okay with me telling her?”

  “You just stay put,” Mason said, going for the door. “I’ll tell her myself.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  For the first time in a long while, Mason found himself inside the captain’s office.

  Not much had changed. Family photos still littered her desk, the same plastic plant sat in the corner, and—despite the world’s transfer to the digital age—paperwork still made a mess of the room.

  Captain Cox herself, as beautiful as she was stubborn, shuffled those papers and stacked them in a neat pile to one side. “And you want my help?” she said, leaning back in her chair.

  “That’s right.”

  “Even though you knowingly withheld evidence from a police investigation.”

  Mason shifted with unease. “Even though.”

  “Internal Affairs are going to have my ass for this. I hope you understand how much trouble you’ve put me in.” Cox sat up straight, sighed, and opened her laptop. “What exactly do you need?”

  “Just a few police officers to help storm the building.”

  “To help? Mason, you’re still a civilian, even if you don’t want to be. Now, maybe I can send some people into these buildings to look for these women, but you can’t go in there with them.”

  Mason rose from his chair. “No. I’m going in. My case, my rules.”

  “Jesus.” Cox made a strangling motion with her hands. “You’re absolutely impossible.”

  “But dependable, right?” Mason said, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I guess.” Cox picked up the phone, scratching her eyebrow with irritation. “Considering how often you work alongside us, it’s a wonder you haven’t asked for your old job back.”

  Mason watched her then, the phone pressed to her ear while her expression contorted. Was it what she’d said that bothered her? He remained quiet and let her get on with the call.

  It was minutes later that she hung up and stood. “Get your coat,” she said, taking the gun from her desk drawer.

  “You’re coming with us?”

  “My case, my rules,” Cox said with a smirk.

  Mason smiled, too, remembering again why he’d liked working with this woman. “Just let me get my gun.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Anarchy shoved the bucket to one side and moved to the sink. Not all of the blood would come out of his clothes, but he could always buy new
ones. Or steal them, obviously.

  It never hurt to switch things up a bit.

  Standing at the industrial-sized basin, where a window overlooked the other factories (and even a partial view of the city), he ripped the dirtied rubber gloves from his hands. It always seemed to shock him just how sticky blood was. It got everywhere and refused to budge—like a dark reminder of his sins.

  It never bothered him for long, however. He liked doing the things he did. He liked seeing people squirm. When he was younger, his therapists had tried to delve into his love of hurting animals. “Aggressive control,” they’d called it. But they were wrong—Anarchy liked to think of it as exploration of the anatomy. A modern-day da Vinci.

  Admiring the way the sun bounced off the golden city, he dumped the saw (which he’d used for the limbs) into the water, then the scalpel (for the chest). He watched as the blood billowed into a cloud, like a beautiful red jellyfish, and it made him think of just how nice the world could be when people weren’t in it.

  Anarchy began scrubbing the tools, leaning in to focus on the particularly stubborn stains. It was only by the slightest flicker of luck that he happened to catch the movement outside.

  In the distance, kicking up dust as they came his way, a van and two police cruisers were racing onto the estate. Somehow they’d gotten over the rocky and unpaved terrain leading up to the place and were now on the main stretch.

  Ooh, they’re coming to the party.

  He looked around, taking in the contents of the room. If he needed to fight, this would be a perfect room to maintain an advantage. But the police? They would probably have smoke grenades, not to mention the fact he’d be drastically outnumbered.

  Knowing the woman no longer needed it, he used her torn dress as a rag to dry his dripping hand and rushed back to the main room. If he was going to fight, he’d need one of his weapons. Even if he was going to flee, he’d still want to grab his things.

  But regardless of his decision, the game was over for him. There would always be new victims—new people to terrorize and distress. That was enough to keep him going, and it surely would be for as long as he was causing a little anarchy.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  As they passed over the rocky ground, bumping and grinding along, it was only by chance that Mason looked at his phone—on silent—at the exact time Evie was calling.

  What does she want?

  He was thrilled she was getting in touch—no question about it—but something didn’t seem right. Considering how she’d been acting lately, forcing him out of her life, it seemed unusual that she should talk to him at all, much less initiate the call.

  “Hello?” he said, answering the phone and putting a finger to his other ear.

  “Mason?” Evie sounded small and frightened.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “I… to speak to…”

  Mason leaned farther away from the door. Although the reception was fine, he was having a hard time hearing anything over the crunching of the van across the rocks. “What’s wrong, Evie? You need to speak up.”

  Captain Cox looked at him from the other side of the van, tapping her watch.

  “I’m… as soon as possible… for the best.”

  “I can’t hear you!” he explained again and was about to hang up. But just for a moment, the engine simmered down, making it easier to hear when she said, “I’m moving to New York!”

  Mason froze, shocked. He felt a pang of heat cross his forehead, like he usually did when he felt he was in trouble. But he was in trouble; he tried to imagine his life without Evie. Even with Diane at his side, the world seemed cold and lonely. “What—New York? Why? When?”

  “Movement on the fourth floor,” the driver called.

  As the van slowed to a stop, Cox checked her magazine. Satisfied, she slid it back into her gun. She tapped Mason on the shoulder, an indication to get off the damn phone.

  “It’s just something I have to do,” Evie said. “I need a fresh start, away from the memories.”

  I caused this, Mason thought, hating himself. I forced her into seeking a new life. I made her feel like she had to abandon her old one.

  “Time’s up,” Cox said, opening the door and flooding the van with sunlight.

  “I’m sorry, sis, but I really have to go. I’ll call you later.” Stung by regret, Mason hung up, double-checked his flak jacket was secured, and snatched up his sidearm. Now he was entering the danger zone, he couldn’t quite get his head where it needed to be.

  What have I done?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mason wasn’t ready for this, but it was too late to turn back now.

  Why do all the killers seem so hell-bent on screwing with my life? It drove him crazy at the best of times, but now, with the probability of losing Evie for good, all he could see was his own rage.

  The police team led the pack, Mason and Captain Leanne Cox in tow. They had each other’s backs, exactly how they’d been trained to do. They ascended the stairs together, two people cutting off at each floor to sweep the area.

  At the fourth floor, it was Mason, Cox, and two officers who seemed to know what they were doing. They stayed close to the walls, their rifles ready to fire at anything that moved. That was, of course, anything that wasn’t a civilian.

  “I’m coming for you, Anarchy! You hear me?” Mason let his bellowed words echo across the dark, empty offices. “This is the end!”

  “Will you shut up?” Cox hissed.

  “I’m sick of these assholes,” Mason said. He was unfocused. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stifle his anger. “They think they can just do what they want. Well, I’m not going to let it—”

  Cox sprang toward him, pinning her forearm across his neck. “You shut up! Right now! This isn’t some game. Lives are at stake here, and I’m not going to let you risk it all for the sake of some personal vendetta. Now settle down, or go back to the van.” She let go, grunting, and caught up with the other officers.

  Mason, shame now confusing his feelings, straightened up and moved on. Maybe Cox is right. I’m letting this hit me a little too hard. It was all about Evie, he knew, but he had to keep his mind on the job.

  “Help!” a girl screamed. It was on their floor, somewhere far off and to the left.

  The team cleared the area fast, entering each room with expert maneuvers. Mason caught up and took point. “Where are you?”

  “In here!” the girl yelled, her voice shaky and laced with fear.

  Mason rushed to open the nearby door. As soon as he did, bullets exploded. They lit up the dark room, striking the doorframe beside him. Mason dove back outside, using the wall for cover. “Shots fired!” he called to the team.

  Footsteps padded around inside the room, but they were getting quieter.

  Cox led the charge and entered the room. “Suspect is fleeing.”

  Mason followed in behind her. The first thing he saw was the girl—presumably Lucy Healy—safe and sound. But then his eyes drew themselves to the nearby table, where lay the bloody remains of a human body. Mason raised a hand to his mouth, fighting the urge to hurl.

  Cox grabbed at her radio. “We have the target coming down the stairs on the east side of the building. Cover the exit and…”

  Mason didn’t hang around to hear it. He dashed for the door in hot pursuit of Anarchy. In the past, he’d been so lenient on these crazies that they’d found a chance to harm him and his family. If he had a say in the outcome, he wouldn’t let it happen again.

  He took the steps two at a time, not even pausing to raise his gun. Still vaguely aware of Cox’s voice on his own radio, he burst through the fire door at the bottom and was struck by blinding sunlight.

  “Officers down,” a man said, his voice crackling through the static. “Target escaped.”

  Shit. Mason threw his gun into the dirt and punched the nearby wall. His knuckles bled in an instant, his bones crushed. But he didn’t care. He�
��d lost Anarchy and wouldn’t get a chance like that again. And although they’d found the Healy girl, it was too late for Bianca or Marion, who’d suffered a miserable end at the hands of another twisted murderer.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The adrenaline rush was everything he’d ever wanted.

  That was incredible!

  Crouching behind a disused tanker, Anarchy tucked the semiautomatic into his pack and watched closely. A man stood by the back door, throwing his gun at the ground.

  Is that Mason Black? Whoever it was, he was with the police but wasn’t dressed like them, so it was possible he’d only been assisting. Anarchy studied him harder. He was a tall man with the muscles to match. A full head of hair and a good taste in Italian boots made him quite enviable. The only thing missing was a wild side.

  Something else occurred to him: Mason had made good on his promise. He’d sworn blind he would catch Anarchy, and he’d come so close. Fortunately, it wasn’t close enough.

  Now, Anarchy laughed as he stood, marveling at this wonderful man who’d nearly brought him to his knees. He wanted to see more of him, to learn what made him tick. To see in person what made him the man he was.

  But for now, he would have to abandon his factory, his collection of vehicles, and his one remaining victim. There was no harm in starting over—he’d done it many times before and could just as easily do it again.

  Only this time, he knew exactly what he wanted.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Three days had passed, but Lucy Healy was looking no better.

  Mason sat at the far end of the press release table, watching her sulk. He couldn’t blame her, really—she’d endured far more than anyone should ever have to. She’d seen her friend die, seen her mother decapitated, and now she had to sit and talk about it.