Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection

by Adam Nicholls

  This isn’t fair.

  The press were a riot, too, each reporter pushing and shoving to get as close to the stand as possible. Mason knew being up front offered them more a chance of having their questions answered. He’d remember to keep that from happening.

  “If I can have your attention,” Captain Cox said, standing beside Lucy. The reporters and photographers shuffled into their seats and fell quiet. “We’ll be answering a series of questions one at a time. You’ll not speak until spoken to, and you’ll not interrupt. I don’t have to tell you this has been a terrible ordeal for everyone involved, and your sensitivity will be appreciated.” She sat and whispered something into Lucy’s ear.

  The first reporter to be selected for a question was representing San Franciscomm, an online magazine. “Do the police have a confirmed name of the kidnapper?”

  Detective Bill Harvey spoke up. “The individual has not yet been identified, but likes to call himself Anarchy. This name was found at several of his crime scenes, so this is how he’ll be known until we have further information.”

  Satisfied, the reporter sat down. Another rose in his place. This one was an attractive black woman, or so Mason thought. She reminded him a little of Diane, and his heart burned to be with her right now.

  “This one is for Miss Healy,” the reporter said. “Is it true you’ve not yet drawn up a police sketch? And if not, why?”

  Lucy looked to Mason and then at Cox, who nodded. She took a few moments, cleared her throat, then leaned toward the microphone. “Things have been a little too much to bear. I will go through this procedure as soon as I think I’m able to cope with it. Until then, I hope you can forgive me for my weakness in handling the situation.”

  Mason was impressed at how well she’d tackled the question. He wondered if she’d had any kind of a history in presentations and speeches.

  “Is it true Anarchy was in the same room as you, and yet you still failed to apprehend him?” a courageous young blogger asked. His career would be short-lived if this was his standard level of courtesy.

  “That is true,” Mason said, before anyone else could take the heat. “The situation was aggressive and dangerous for us all, but we’re just glad we could get Miss Healy to safety.”

  Another reporter rose, but the arrogant one butted in with a second question. “And what about the other two victims, Mr. Black?”

  Mason glanced along the table at Bill and Captain Cox, who were looking at him with sympathetic concern. At these events, there was always one person who would push it too far and ruin it for everyone else. “It’s regrettable that—”

  “Ha! Regrettable?” the young reporter shouted. “Two women died. One of their heads was found by a bunch of kids in a local mall. The killer escaped, and nobody knows who the next victims will be. And you sit there calling it regrettable?”

  Lucy’s face grew deep red, the reminder of her family’s fate apparently too much for her. She sniffled and squirmed while Cox tried to lay a supporting hand on her arm, then stood and ran to the exit.

  “No more questions,” Cox said, shooting daggers at the journalist.

  The rest of the press protested in uproar. Camera flashes flooded the room, and some got up to leave without hesitation. The cocky young reporter only stood with a self-satisfied grin on his smug face.

  Mason, feeling responsible for letting Anarchy get away, watched the chaos unfold while he contemplated how he could make it up to Lucy. He’d found the girl, even if it was a little too late, and Chris Healy had paid his bills with such gratitude. But if he’d done his job right, why did he feel like he’d messed up so bad?

  The conference ended, and those left all stood to leave. Soon, the world would know about Anarchy and just how dangerous he was. Mason considered this a fair warning and hoped everyone would take extra care when walking home at night.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Mason headed back to his own apartment, hoping for a quiet place to just sit and think. Letting Anarchy go was one thing, but Evie, too?

  Please don’t leave me, sis.

  Parking beneath the broken streetlight and stumbling about in the dark, he locked the Mustang and headed up the steps. He was so lost in his own thoughts he hadn’t even noticed the person sitting on his doorstep. Not until he almost tripped over her anyway.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Amy?” Mason took a step back, jumping out of his skin. “What are you doing here? It’s past midnight.”

  “Can we talk inside?”

  “Sure.”

  Mason let her in, stirred up two mugs of hot chocolate, and sat at the table with his daughter. She looked so pretty, even at this hour, but the dark bags under her eyes didn’t go unnoticed. “So, what’s up?”

  “I just needed to get away from Mom.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Ever since Joshua died, she’s been on a downward spiral.”

  Mason was surprised to learn this. Usually, Sandra seemed so composed, so it didn’t seem right for her to be acting unmaternally. “She can’t be that bad.”

  “You have no idea.” Amy took a sip of her chocolate, wincing at the extreme temperature. “It’s been a year now, and I’m cooking all her meals. I’m doing all her laundry. I’m walking myself to school, and—”

  “Whoa, whoa.” Mason took her hand. “She’s letting you go to school alone? After everything that’s happened? What’s she even doing while you’re handing all this?”

  “That’s just it, Dad. All she does is sit and drink. She doesn’t help me do anything. I just… I want to be the kid for once, you know?”

  Mason couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Amy was such a perfect young person and deserved nothing less than perfect treatment. “And this boy you’ve been seeing—Marcus, is it?”

  Amy nodded, hiding her mouth behind the mug.

  “Is he doing anything to help?”

  “No. He’s not always around.”

  “Sorry. Things will get better.” Mason’s eyes went everywhere but on her. He felt a hot twinge at the back of his neck, and his fingers caressed it. “So, look, you can come stay at Diane’s if you want. I’m there all the time, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind having you around.”

  “What about Mom?”

  “I’ll talk to your mother.” And then some. “Leave me your house key, go pack some clothes from the spare room, and wait here. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

  “Awesome. Thanks.” Amy got up and shuffled along the carpet into the spare room.

  Mason could not let his anger out. He’d always made a point to try hiding his hostility in front of his daughter, but this was too much. Sandra could be forgiven for a lot of things, but neglecting their only child was not one of them.

  Furious, he snatched up the keys and headed for the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Anarchy took a sip of his beer as he watched the report on the TV above the bar.

  “The situation was aggressive and dangerous for us all, but we’re just glad we could get Miss Healy to safety.”

  The tag struck a chord, too. He’d forgotten Mason Black was merely a private investigator. From his sheer professionalism, he suspected a history as an authority—police captain, perhaps. But only a go-to guy for following cheating husbands? It seemed far beneath him.

  “Last orders,” the barman shouted to the room.

  Anarchy took a momentary peek over his shoulder, eyeing the two women whispering in the corner booth. Beside them, himself, and the barman, the bar was empty. It was no wonder, really—the place was a shithole.

  “Except for you,” the barman said, talking to Anarchy. “I think you’ve had enough.”

  What is this? Some kind of power play? He’d only had three beers, and he was by no means a lightweight. He could easily sink another five before his eyes began to dizzy. “No, I think I’ll have another.”

  “I don’t think you heard me.” The barman leaned in closer. “You’ve ha
d three drinks and not paid for a single one of them. If you want more booze, pay up.”

  Although the guy had a point, Anarchy refused to be spoken to like that. Who does this guy think he is? Something more than the owner of a shitty downtown bar, he supposed. Anarchy reached a hand into his jacket, gripping the pocketknife. “Put it on my tab,” he said, smiling.

  The barman’s expression changed, as if he knew what would happen if he continued his obnoxious behavior. He pushed up from the bar and headed into the back. “I’m going to change a barrel. If you’re still here without money when I get back, you’ll be sorry.” He disappeared out of sight, leaving no indication as to how long he’d be gone.

  Anarchy felt rage burning into his soul. Nobody talked to him like that and got away with it. Even though he’d had the money for the beers in his pocket (and every intention of paying the man), he’d liked to have been given the benefit of the doubt. Unfortunately for the barman, he’d caught him in one of his worse moods.

  Climbing off the stool and heading into the back room, Anarchy pulled out the knife and checked over his shoulder for the women. Witnesses, he thought as he pictured driving the blade into the barman’s throat. First I’ll deal with this moron, then I’ll make sure these girls saw nothing. After that…

  He shot one quick glance at the TV, where a close-up of the PI showed a dash of regret. After that, I’ll try to find out a little more about Mason Black.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The second he opened the door, Mason’s senses were assaulted by stale smoke, alcohol, and something acidic. Takeout tubs littered the floor, and Sandra sat at the foot of the stairs. She was unrecognizable—a mere shadow of her former self.

  “This is unacceptable,” he said, standing over her.

  Sandra squinted up at him with only a glimmer of recognition, then took a large sip straight from the vodka bottle. She burped, hung the bottle between her legs, and lay back. Her hair was a mess, and her skin was ghostly pale. “What do you want?”

  Mason sighed and sat beside her. “You have a daughter, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “That means you’re a mother.”

  “I know.”

  Letting out an exasperated breath, Mason leaned over her and pried the bottle from her hand. Reluctant at first, she struggled against it, but he overpowered her and she lost her grip. “You’re doing a terrible job,” he said and took a sip for himself.

  Sandra fell onto him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m hurting.”

  “Everyone’s hurting, Sandra.” Mason took another large gulp of the cheap vodka, then put the bottle down beside him. “But you’re not the priority here. Amy’s hurting, too. You think you lost a lot when Joshua died—think about her. She lost her mother in there somewhere.”

  Sandra said nothing, only wrapped her arms around him. “Help me.”

  “I don’t know what I can do for you.”

  She shrugged.

  “Tell me what I can do to help.”

  “Make the pain end,” she said, drifting off.

  Mason sat in silence, thinking over his options. She couldn’t go on like this. Amy couldn’t go on like this. Scooping Sandra up in his arms, he carried her up the stairs, lowered her onto the bed, and whispered into her ear. “Amy’s going to stay with me for a while. I’ll help settle you into rehab, and we’ll get you through this.”

  “Ugh.” Sandra rolled over, grunting. “Thank you,” she whispered, before expelling a rumble of soft snores.

  Mason pulled the duvet over her shoulder, kissed her on the head, and left the house. Now he had another responsibility—Amy, the teenager who’d lost more than she ever should have. But if there was anything he could do to help her, he would.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Then where is she?” Amy crossed her arms and gazed out the window, the beautiful wintery San Francisco morning rolling by.

  “I took her to a rehab clinic before you got up this morning,” Mason said.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. But hey, she’ll try her best to get back on her feet. We’d both appreciate your patience and support. It’s not easy for her.”

  Amy shifted uncomfortably.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s just that I suffered, too, and nobody seems to care. For all his faults, Joshua was growing on me. But nobody ever stopped to ask how I felt about all this. I feel like everything is falling down around me, but Mom is hogging the attention.”

  Mason kept his eyes on the road but could picture her expression. “You’re strong, Amy, but your mother isn’t. She needs extra attention because we’re not all built to be as tough as you are.”

  Amy chortled. “I get that from you.”

  Smiling as they arrived, Mason dropped her off at school and watched until she went inside. He wished he could do more to ease her struggle, but knew he would do all he could.

  When he was just about to leave, his cell phone rang. It was Bill.

  “You’d better come over as soon as possible.”

  This doesn’t sound good. “Anarchy?”

  “We don’t know yet. But it’s… it’s hard to explain. Just get to Parkway Bar.”

  Mason nervously tapped the wheel the entire twenty minutes it took to get there. From the way Bill had phrased it, the SFPD didn’t seem to have a clue what had happened.

  Mason assumed it was another murder scene.

  As usual, he was correct.

  “Strong stomach today?” Bill asked, holding the front door of the bar.

  “Not particularly.” Thankfully, he didn’t throw up or even feel the need to. But when Mason saw the blood streaked across the bar’s floor and a woman lying dead in the corner of the room, uneasiness settled in. “How many dead?”

  “Just three. Well, not just three, but if it’s Anarchy, we can count our blessings it wasn’t more.” Bill waved him through to the back. “You’ll want to see this, too.”

  They headed through the door, where Bill pointed to another length of tape crossing the bottom of the stairs. Mason’s body felt ready to explode with anxiety in the narrow corridor, and he stood with his back to the wall. “You going to let me see the body?”

  “No need.”

  “Then why bother to call me?”

  “Because…” Bill applied a pair of rubber gloves and leaned in to a blood-smeared laptop secured inside an alcove of the corridor. “Prints were found on this computer, and they matched the tools we found at the factory.”

  “So it is Anarchy?”

  “We hope not.”

  “Why?”

  Bill turned the laptop so Mason could see. “Because he googled you.”

  Mason’s heart thundered as he saw the website showing his personal details. They were for his office and home, which meant Diane’s address was still a secret. But now it looked like he was in this creep’s crosshairs, and that was something he’d always been afraid of.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It was unshakeable—the feeling Diane might be in some sort of danger. Mason couldn’t bear the thought. He took his phone outside and called her.

  As it rang his attention was drawn to the building across the street, a nightclub with overused neon that looked like it’d survived from the eighties. More noticeable, however, was the security camera above the door.

  Reaching voicemail, Mason hung up and crossed the street. Curious, he stood beneath the camera and looked out in the same direction it was facing. It was close—so close—and maybe there was a chance it’d captured something.

  “Can I help you?” a gruff man said, stepping out from the club’s door.

  Mason approached him with his PI badge held up. “Maybe. I wondered about these cameras. Do they work, or are they just for show?”

  “Nah, they work.”

  “Is there any chance I can take a look at last night’s footage?”

  The man assessed him with skepticism. “What’s in it for me?”

  “
A sense of pride for your passion to do some good in this shitty world.”

  The man couldn’t help but laugh and opened the door wider. “Come on.”

  Inside, the club was dull and bare. Mason had never seen a place like this when it wasn’t hosting a party, and something about it seemed ghostly. He was shown through the club and into the security office before being seated at a desk.

  “What kind of time?” the owner asked.

  “Around ten.”

  The video skipped forward, and Mason studied it with unbreakable concentration. Many people passed the bar, and not a single one of them bothered to enter. Nobody came out, either… until just past midnight.

  “There,” he said, pointing at the screen.

  The man paused the video, and now Mason was looking at someone. Is that Anarchy? It must’ve been—if it really was Anarchy who’d killed these people, all evidence pointed toward the man on the screen being him. But if that’s true, why do I feel so disappointed? It was like the image of a big bad wolf had been building up in his mind, and now he was presented with some skinny punk with a receding hairline. Not only that, but he seemed to know he was on camera, judging by the way he stared at it.

  “Can I take a copy of this footage?” Mason asked.

  “Sure.”

  I’d better hand this to Bill, he thought, getting out of the chair. If he can put out an APB, this guy’s chances of going unnoticed will be a lot slimmer.

  Still, the feeling in Mason’s gut told him something wasn’t right, and that feeling had rarely failed him in the past.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  It was late afternoon when Mason arrived at Diane’s. From the outside, there was no sign of any trouble, but he was paranoid enough to know his girlfriend could be a target.

  If she’s not safe…

  He went inside and called her name but didn’t hear her calling back. “Diane!” he tried again, dashing from room to room. A bead of sweat formed at his temple now, a fire rushing through him.