While Lynyrd Skynyrd played from her aging iPhone, she punched “recent crime” into Google and watched the results come up. It wasn’t like she needed anything new to write about. This was, after all, only a demonstration of her writing abilities. If she wanted to, she could have even copied out somebody else’s article, but Evie was fortunate enough to enjoy the entire journalistic process.
The results came back from Google within seconds. At the very top of the page, a link to the Vision Magazine Online site displayed some incredible news—news that stole Evie’s attention:
ANARCHY TERRORIST APPREHENDED
PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR CREDITED
Evie slumped back in her chair, blood racing through her veins. When she found the strength, she leaned into her laptop and read the article. It mostly detailed Anarchy’s history, but in the closing paragraph it spoke of how Mason Black had led the police to the terrorist’s arrest.
I knew you had it in you.
She was smiling now. A tear pooled in her eye and dribbled down her cheek as she experienced—for the first time in over a year—something she didn’t think she would ever feel for her brother again: joy.
But it was stronger than that, wasn’t it? It was something that ran deeper than joy, flowing more than joy. As she got to her feet to head out for a walk (she was an emotional wreck by now and needed to clear her head before she could focus on her work), she beamed the biggest smile imaginable.
It was pride. She felt pride, for her brother, Mason Black, who had proven himself to be the man she’d always known. The one she’d always loved and cared for, in spite of his flaws.
At that very moment, she understood what she wanted. Now, more than ever, she wanted to make this new life of hers work. Now that her happiness allowed the possibility of success, she wanted to make it.
Not for Mason, but for herself.
Chapter Seventy-One
It’d been a long and exhausting day—perhaps one of his worst. Coming home (or to what was Diane’s home, until the papers were signed) was the only decent part of it.
Midnight had just passed, and the air was warmer than expected for this time of year. Mason climbed up the last of the stone steps to the front door, collected his thoughts, and let himself in.
A light was on in the living room, and Diane emerged wearing an expression of relief. Within seconds, she was in his arms, holding him close. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Mason wrapped his arms around her, clutching tight. “We got him.”
“I know. Bill told me.” Diane wasn’t smiling like he’d expected her to. Instead, she looked concerned as she led him to the couch and put a glass of wine in his hand. She slumped beside him and threw her legs over his lap, caressing his hair. “You can relax now?”
Mason was definitely ready for that. It was true Anarchy was in police custody, and although it didn’t feel like he’d really achieved anything, he should have been able to rest. “I think I’m ready for some time off, sure.”
“Well, it’s not like you have an office at the moment. It could be the right time for a little break.”
“Exactly.”
“I could book some time off. We could go away somewhere. Just you and me.”
Mason thought of Prague. He’d always wanted to visit, and Europe was nice in the spring. “Sounds like a good idea. Amy would need to come with us though. She doesn’t have anywhere else to—”
Diane held up a finger to silence him. “Ah. She called earlier.”
“Amy?”
“No, she’s asleep in the next room. Sandra.”
“Oh?” Mason took a sip of wine. It was too bitter for his liking, but anything would do right now. “How is she?”
Diane nodded. “Okay, I think. Still at rehab, still not touched a drink.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah. Anyway, she sends her regards.”
While Mason thought about how much longer he’d have Amy around for, it occurred to him he hadn’t been paying her too much attention. A family vacation would probably do her some good.
“So, what will you do after?” Diane asked.
“After?”
“I mean, Cox offered you your old job back. Have you thought any more about that?”
Mason thought he had the answer, and his mouth was just opening to give it, when a heavy pounding shook the door. It was that old, monotonously familiar pattern to signal who it was. Mason got up and opened it, and saw Bill, clearly depressed. “What’s up?”
“It’s Anarchy.”
There it was again, that fire in his veins. “What happened?”
Bill peered into the house, checking they were alone. “He’s at the station and demands to speak with you.”
Mason recoiled. “Why me?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
Mason sighed. Sure, he had suffered Anarchy’s sadistic games and had even come out alive, but there was nothing Mason could do for him now… was there? “What about the FBI? I thought they were keeping this to themselves.”
“The FBI have actually allowed it. As long as it’s supervised, that is. Anarchy—sorry, Shaun Chambers—is refusing to speak to anyone unless it’s you.”
Something was definitely rotten in the state of Denmark. Mason had thought these games were over. What else could the man be up to when he was sitting in an interrogation room?
“Sorry,” he said to Diane as he grabbed his coat. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Chapter Seventy-Two
The door to the interrogation room was held open by a young officer. Mason, steeling himself for the oncoming frustration, entered the room.
Inside, he stopped to take a look round. The one-way mirror lined the wall to his left, and an FBI agent sat in attendance in the far corner. He had one leg crossed over the other, with a notepad in his lap and a pen between his fingers. Mason gave him a curt nod and took a seat across from Shaun Chambers.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Black.” Chambers looked up from his hands to reveal bloodshot eyes and a pale, self-pitying face.
“Keep your gratitude. I don’t want it.” Mason kept his coat on, a deliberate suggestion that he wasn’t planning on staying long, and leaned forward. “Tell me what you want.”
“Forgiveness.”
“You won’t get that here.”
Chambers’s hands began to shake. He looked over his shoulder at the FBI agent, then returned his attention to the table. “What I did—”
“What you did was beyond wrong. It was twisted, demented, and—quite frankly—fucking disturbing.” Mason sat back, interlocking his fingers and resting them across his stomach. “If it’s forgiveness you want, perhaps you should confess your sins to a priest.”
“Please understand, Mr. Black, it was never my intention to hurt you.”
“And this is your way of asking for a second chance?”
“I just…” Chambers shook his head, looking down in shame. “It’s not what you think it is.”
“Let me tell you what I think it is.” Mason stood, walked around the table, and towered over him. It was one of his more obvious methods of intimidation, but was flawlessly effective. “It was kidnapping, torture, murder. Publicly displaying a severed head for—”
“That wasn’t—”
Mason shoved him in the back, quieting him. The FBI agent did nothing to protest this action. “It was stalking, a threat, and terrorism. Do you know how many innocent children died because of you? How many are suffering paralysis? They won’t get the opportunities we had in life. You took that from them.”
“I’m trying to—”
“And then you made it personal. You came to my home and involved my family. That was before you pushed two innocent girls into a lake and then forced me into one of your sick games.” Mason leaned into his ear, losing his temper as he reminded himself of the messed-up things this man had done. “You’re pathetic. You hear me? You’re lower than—”
“For God’s sake, i
t wasn’t me!” Chambers screamed aloud, pulling at his chains, which held him in place. Tears were drawing silver lines down his cheeks, and his voice cracked. “I was doing it to protect my family, just like you would do!”
Mason felt something within him—something hot and daunting. “What?” was all he could bring himself to say as he stood there, completely stunned.
Chambers buried his face into his arms, his back shaking as he cried. “He made me do it. Don’t you see? He made me act like him, and said he’d kill my family if I didn’t.”
It dawned on Mason that what Chambers had been trying to say was he was not Anarchy—that he was merely a puppet, just like Mason was. “You’re lying.”
Chambers shook his head. “There’s a trailer on Avery Grove. 11b. That’s where I was staying when I got the letters and the recording. Please, I’m just another victim.”
It was too real to be a performance, even though his tune had changed so much since the manor. He looked down at the crying man and sensed genuine care for his family. And then he remembered the way Chambers had smiled as he’d done the things he’d done. Were those eerie grins a part of the performance, too?
The FBI agent stood and cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mr. Black. I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.” He waved a hand, hinting at the direction of the door. “I trust you’ll leave this to us.”
“Yes. I’ve done my job,” Mason said, stealing one last glance at the sobbing man at the table. This can’t be real… Can it?
As the door closed behind him, Mason found himself surprisingly intrigued. He considered heading to the trailer park to discover the truth for himself, but the FBI would already be there, no doubt. There were so many questions rattling around in his head that he could barely think straight.
But there was one thing he could be absolutely certain of: if Shaun Chambers had been threatened into doing the things he’d done, the real Anarchy was still out there.
Chapter Seventy-Three
The meeting was called in the briefing room, and all investigating officers were invited.
Mason stood up at the front with Captain Cox. Bill was in the front row, and the last of the officers—who were arriving far later than they should have been—were finally settling in. It had been chaos, which was slowly coming to order.
“Let’s get started,” Cox said. No bullshit. “Shaun Chambers has claimed he’s not the man known as Anarchy.”
There was an uproar as everyone demanded explanations.
“Apparently,” Mason stepped in, “some threats were made, and he was forced into being the face of the killer. The FBI has officially taken over, so anything we’re doing now is off the record. If anyone is uncomfortable with that, please leave the room now, and never speak of this again.”
They waited in silence, all looking around at each other.
“Good,” Cox said, taking over. “Internal Affairs are finally easing off, which means we have a little more maneuverability. Walker, where are we at with the school investigation?”
A young black man with a hard-edged look spoke up from the back. “There was a suspicious figure seen leaving the premises on the night before the attack.”
“Chambers?”
Walker shook his head. “No, Cap. We’re looking into that.”
“All right, I want info as soon as possible.”
While the team continued to discuss their progress, Mason was distracted. All he could think about were all the victims to suffer Anarchy’s schemes. Now, as it had turned out, the man was smarter than they’d ever imagined. After all this time, nobody had even seen his face. Except… “Lucy Healy.”
Cox stopped talking, and everyone looked at Mason.
“Healy actually saw the man hacking up her family. But she gave a police sketch. Right?”
“Right,” Cox said.
“I’ll talk with her,” Bill offered from his desk.
“No. Let me.” Mason went for the door, looking over to Captain Cox for permission to leave. It was beginning to feel just like old times, which he felt was influencing his decision in one way or the other. Now, as he exited the building to further investigate the case, he felt like Detective Black again. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, either.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Anarchy sat in the underground parking garage, waiting for his messenger.
“It’s important,” he’d been told on the phone, and Anarchy had no reason to think otherwise. The fact it was the middle of the night suggested urgency, so he’d run out in one of his newly acquired cars—a shiny black Mercedes—and headed to their usual meeting place.
Within an hour, Officer Walker was there, in uniform, but in his personal vehicle. He scanned around before he approached Anarchy’s Mercedes. He climbed into the passenger seat, rank sweat emanating from his skin.
“What is it?” Anarchy asked.
“Shaun Chambers has squealed.”
“I thought he might. Who’s in charge?”
“SFPD. But they’re doing it on the shush. The FBI have made it clear the police aren’t to intervene, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping them.”
Anarchy picked at his thumbnail. “And Mason Black?”
“Leading the investigation. In an unofficial capacity, of course.” Officer Walker shifted in his seat, retrieving a large brown envelope from the inside of his coat. “I went to Shaun’s trailer and removed all the letters you sent him. I know there’s nothing to link the crimes to you, but now it should look like a lie anyway.”
“Good. That’s very good.” Anarchy checked the envelope, shedding the contents into his lap. There were pictures of Shaun’s family—who he’d discreetly murdered and disposed of long ago—and a DVD he’d used to declare his threat. “Anything else?”
Walker shook his head, biting his upper lip. “Not that I can think of.”
“And Mr. Black?”
“Heading over to the Healy residence. I think he wants to ask about the police sketch.”
The little bitch. Anarchy had done everything he could to make her keep her mouth shut. “Okay. Good. You can go now.”
Officer Walker sat for a moment longer. “Sir… My family—”
“Are safe for now. Stay in touch and I won’t hurt them. You have my word.”
As Walker got out of the car, Anarchy started the Mercedes and then drove out onto the streets of San Francisco. Walker didn’t need to know his family was already dead, either, and he would probably stay loyal until he found out the truth.
As for Lucy Healy, Anarchy needed to deal with her as soon as possible. It was lucky he had a rifle on the back seat, and he just happened to know where she lived. If she opened her mouth, he wouldn’t hesitate to end her. And after that, it would be time to finally hit Mason where it would hurt the most.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Being the first time he’d seen her since the press conference, Mason arrived at the Healy family’s door first thing in the morning with the intention of assuring Lucy—before anything else—that she was safe. No matter how unsure of that he was, he didn’t want her to panic.
When the front door opened, Chris Healy stood with a look of surprise on his face. “Mr. Black. Was something wrong with the check I sent you?”
“No, not at all.” Mason waved his hand, dismissing the idea of there being any kind of problem. He spoke in a soft, comforting tone. “Sorry about the early hour. I just wanted to come and see how Lucy’s doing. Is she here?”
“Yeah. Come on in.” Chris held the door open.
“Actually, would you mind if I stayed out here? I don’t have too much time.”
“Sure.”
Waiting in silence for less than two minutes, Mason glanced up and down the street. It was strangely quiet for this time of day. He’d expected mailmen and kids playing in the street. Instead, there was nothing but emptiness.
“Hi.”
Mason’s unease was interrupted by Lucy, who looked to be recovering w
ell from captivity. A certain shine was back in her eyes, and he realized this was the first time he’d seen her with a smile. “Can we talk?”
Lucy stepped outside, and looking down, tucked a length of hair over her ear.
“There’s been a problem with the police sketch.”
“A problem?” she asked without looking up.
Mason sighed, figuring this wouldn’t be easy to say. “Listen, I didn’t want to do this in front of your father, so I’d appreciate it if you can return the gesture with truth.”
“I don’t under—”
“It doesn’t make sense for the sketch to be of Anarchy. The man you described was Shaun Chambers, and it was revealed last night this wasn’t the man who… did what he did.” Mason tiptoed around the phrasing carefully. “I need you to come clean.”
A tear appeared at her eye, and she sniffled, finally meeting his gaze. “Please, don’t make me do this. It’s not what you think.”
Nothing is, Mason thought, handing her the pack of tissues he’d put in his pocket that morning. “You’re not in any trouble, Lucy, but if you don’t talk, then you will be. People might still be at risk, and if you know anything that can prevent harm from coming to them, I’ll need complete honesty. Can you do that?”
The threat of being arrested seemed to do something to her. She recoiled, holding her arms as if she’d felt a sudden shiver. “He made me lie,” she whispered.
Mason felt his own eyebrows contort. “What?”
The tears came in thick, bulging blobs. “The man who— I mean, the killer. He said if I didn’t lie for him, he’d come back and finish the job.”
“Finish the job?” Mason moved closer toward her, probing for information. “What does that mean? Anarchy made you give a false sketch? Come on, talk to me.”
Lucy shook her head, showing obvious regret. “I lied for—”
Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection Page 45