Giving up on his luck, he returned back down the path to the parking lot. He was just about giving up, had even pulled the keys out of his pocket, when something occurred to him. Above him, the security camera was pointing down. The police had checked the tapes but found nothing. However, the camera was not pointed at the sheltered parking area.
It was a small shelter, made of shoddy wood. Perhaps wide enough for six or seven cars, but the ground wasn’t marked for them. Mason glanced around in the dark area, looking up for a camera. Again, there was nothing.
He shone the flashlight down, and something caught his eye. Cautiously, he walked over to it and knelt to find the remains of a crumbled cell phone. Perhaps it was beyond repair, but at least it hadn’t suffered any water damage–the shelter had seen to that.
Mason carefully retrieved an evidence bag from his coat pocket, turned it inside out and scooped it into the bag. If he could get this back to the tech team at SFPD, he might be in for a chance of recovering the data from it.
That was if he got lucky.
23
Evie Black liked to work from home. It was safe there, with no distractions.
She’d been typing up all the details, arranging them into an order that would make sense to a reader–as she’d trained for during her many journalism courses. She scanned the pictures in, attaching some with a warning that the gore may make some people uneasy. In spite of her experience with such matters, it even shook her somewhat.
The last few words were going in when she received the email from BRAHM82. Her fingers went on, as if by automatic, to finish the blog, while her eyes were fixed on the name. Did she know this person? She thought not, but on the suspicion that it might be fan mail caressing her ego, she couldn’t wait to open it.
That was her first mistake.
Her eyes scanned over the threat while her heart was in her throat.
Miss Black,
You’ve been working too hard on this case over the years. As fascinating as it has been to read about your findings, might I dissuade your from delving any further into the matter? Think, for instance, if anything might happen to Amelia…
I’ll be watching.
Brahm
P.S. If this email gets out, I’ll know.
Evie found her heart beating like a drum while she read and re-read the email.
Who the hell is this guy? How does he know about Amelia? Amelia was her biggest secret. She had only ever told one person about her, and that person was Mason. It didn’t even cross her mind that he might have something to do with this. Sure, he could be a little aggressive sometimes, but not towards her, and never without provocation.
As painful as it was, Evie decided it was better not to cause further risk, and deleted the blog–her pride vanishing with it. She headed to bed, where she could hide under the duvet and think about the case, and about Amelia.
Maybe she had been in way over her head, after all.
24
Mason made it back just in time to catch John Miller, the police department’s best and brightest tech specialist. Only it looked as though he was leaving.
‘Heading home?’ Mason asked, slowing from his jog to catch up.
‘Absolutely,’ John said, leading him down a maze of corridors as fast as his little legs would carry him. He was small enough to have the attitude that comes with it.
‘I need you to do me a favour.’
‘Whatever it is, it will have to wait until morning.’
Mason pulled the evidence bag from his pocket and slowed John to a stop, ignoring the hint. ‘We might have some evidence on the Lullaby Killer in this. Is it possible to recover it?’
John sighed, looked at the bag and snatched it. He held it up to the light, glaring at the dirt that was painted on the inside of the bag. ‘Geez, that looks like a real mess. Where did you find this–the gutter?’
Mason just stared at him.
‘Any water damage?’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
John let out the huff that most techies used to announce their struggle with the science of technology. The bigger a fuss they made out of it, the more they looked like heroes when they did their jobs correctly. ‘It might be. No guarantees. But like I said, you’ll have to swing by in the morning.’ He handed back the bag and kept on walking, leaving Mason to catch up to him again.
‘John, there’s a killer out there. The quicker we sort this out, the better.’
That was enough to make him stop and raise his voice, in spite of his small build in contrast to Mason’s. ‘Look, badge or not, you’re still a civilian as far as I’m concerned. So, I’m already doing you a big favour as it is. You want my help? You got it, but right now, I’m heading home to be with my sick wife.’
Mason watched him walk on, feeling a dash of embarrassment. How was he supposed to have known that the guy’s wife was sick? ‘And I’m sorry about that. Truly, I am. But hey, what the hell am I supposed to do in the mean time? Sit on my thumbs?’
‘Go home,’ John shouted down the corridor without looking back. ‘Be with your family.’
Feeling helpless and irritated, Mason stuffed the evidence bag into his pocket and headed back out front to where he’d left the car. You obviously haven’t heard.
25
The car mumbled along the empty road. It was night time and Mason was trying not to disturb the neighbourhood with the noise of the engine. Besides, the fewer people who knew he was there, the better.
He stopped across the street and sat watching.
This is my home, for God’s sake.
The lights were on inside, but only a vague silhouette could be seen behind the drapes. Mason pictured all the things that made him feel sick: Joshua hugging his daughter, going upstairs with his wife, making love to her in his bed. It was enough to drive a man mad.
The silhouette moved, too, disappearing from behind one window and appearing at the next. A light soon flicked on in an upstairs room. Amy’s room.
The drapes were open and Mason could see her clearly. She was wearing her favourite scarlet sweater and examining the bookshelf with much contemplation. He couldn’t see for sure at this distance, but he could picture her nose crinkling up like it usually did when she was concentrating. She finally decided on a book and sat in the window seat to tuck into it.
Mason was so pleased that she’d turned out to be the more academic type. If she’d been anything like her mother, she would be too vain to see outside of herself, and she definitely wouldn’t lay her hands on a book–fiction or otherwise.
Mason wanted to knock. He wanted to waltz on in and kick Joshua out, and then tell his wife that it was okay to put everything behind them and work things out. He was convinced that all they needed was one slightly uneasy conversation, and then they could strive towards a resolution.
No, he could hear Evie saying somewhere in the recesses of his mind. Keep your distance, sweet brother. No irrational moves.
Who was he kidding, anyway? Sandra would never go back now. Was Mason even sure that he wanted to be back there? He was coming to understand his own feelings, perhaps. It may not be that he wanted his marriage back on the rails, but more like he hated to have been betrayed by a goddamn Pilates instructor.
Sulking in self-pity, Mason called it a day. He started up the engine and pulled out slowly, trying not to attract Amy’s attention. Tonight, he would slip into bed and try not to wake Bill and Christine. Tomorrow…
Well, tomorrow was another day.
26
The killer had been up all night, tossing, turning, and craving a kill.
For so long, he had been on his best behaviour. Two years ago, when the detective had been snapping at his heels, he’d stayed away altogether. He’d even travelled long distances to continue his work. But now, he was back, working hard and desperate for more.
Now that the sun was up, he got up and changed into yesterday’s clothes, got in the RV and drove around the city. The roads were surp
risingly clear for this time of day, but he knew that would change as he got closer to the school.
He arrived within an hour and parked where he could see the front gates. The parents were just dropping their kids off and heading off to start their own days. The last of the buses were leaving, and the bell was about to ring, summoning them to their classes.
But there were four who did not obey…
The Lullaby Killer watched them from the RV. One was a blonde bitch, a face like a pissed-off supermodel that thought the world of herself. She was playing into the arms of a freckled ginger boy, who was making sudden movements to scare the two children they had pinned against the wall.
Back in my day, the killer thought, it was the gingers that were bullied.
The two against the wall looked terrified, a boy and a girl, too similar in looks to only be friends. Siblings? Twins perhaps? Only one way to find out.
He climbed out of the RV and looked around him, carefully making sure he wasn’t seen. When the coast was clear, he crossed the road and stormed towards the ginger and his bitchy friend. ‘Get the fuck away from my kids.’
The look on the twins’ faces – he could see now that they were definitely twins – was amusing. It was confusion at first, blended with gratitude when they realised what was happening.
The blonde, looking nervous, spoke up first. ‘They stole my money. They owe us.’
‘We didn’t–I swear!’ the twin boy protested.
‘Liar!’
‘All of you, shut up right now.’ The killer was under pressure. He needed a quick solution before he got caught out here. He leaned over, put his hands on his knees and beckoned the two bullies with his finger.
They inched closer.
‘Get the fuck out of here,’ the killer whispered. ‘If I see you again, I’m going to break your stupid fucking legs.’ He lifted his fist suddenly, which made them both jolt backwards before retreating into the school with red faces.
‘Whoa.’ The twins were laughing, astonishment on their faces. ‘Thanks!’
‘My pleasure,’ said the Lullaby Killer. ‘If I were you, I would stay away from them.’
‘We can’t help it,’ the girl told him. She looked far smarter than the boy, which could be a problem at some stage. ‘We’re in the same class.’
‘Yeah, we have to spend all day with them!’ The boy seemed less with it, but still not stupid. Maybe he just led with his emotions too much, whether that be with panic, fear, or excitement. The killer could use that against him later.
‘Well, why don’t you take off?’
Their mouths hung open.
‘You mean leave school? Our dad would find out,’ the girl said.
‘I don’t think so.’ The killer looked around, keen to leave. ‘You’ll be back before they know you’ve gone. Come on, let’s go have some fun. Give me your hands.’
They stood for a moment, looking at his outstretched palms and the gloves that covered them. They glanced at each other and then back at the killer… and then they each took a hand.
The killer turned and led them towards the RV, confirming that he’d gone unnoticed.
This is going to be fun.
27
He’d parked under a bridge, away from the incoming drizzle. More importantly, out of the way of human interaction. Nobody could disturb what he was about to do.
The back of the RV was a tin box, made up of steel he’d found on the scrapheap, and put together by a friend of a friend. The children didn’t have to know that it was soundproof, although they would have gotten a kick out of it.
‘I’ve never had so much candy at once,’ said the boy, whose name had turned out to be Ryan. ‘Not even at Christmas!’
‘That’s why Dad says not to have too much. You get all goofy like you are now.’ The girl, Maisie, rolled her eyes.
The killer sat under one of the four dim bulbs, occasionally taking a bite off some snowballs they’d picked up at the corner store an hour beforehand.
Is this what they call grooming? He hoped not. He didn’t want people to think he was having sex with children. The thought repulsed him, actually. All he wanted was to cut them, string them, hurt them. The more tears, the better, but to actually touch them sexually seemed far too much.
‘I want to do something,’ said Ryan. ‘Can we do something? Can we play a game?’
The killer smiled a killer smile. ‘How about Truth or Dare?’
‘That’s a kid’s game,’ said Maisie, as if she were any older than nine.
‘Not the way I play it.’ The killer pulled out a bottle of vodka–a cheap bottle, but it would make no difference to them. ‘You tell a lie or don’t perform the dare, you have to take a sip of this. It burns but it will make you nice and drunk.’
‘I’m not touching that,’ from Maisie.
‘Sheeeeeee’s a chicken!’ Ryan laughed while pointing.
The killer chuckled too, knowing that it might encourage her.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Whatever.’ And folded her arms like a frustrated grump. ‘But I’ll start. Truth or dare?’
The killer was on the spot, but didn’t mind. He would lie anyway, and they’d have no sure way of knowing. ‘Truth.’
‘Why do you wear those gloves?’
‘I have bad skin,’ he lied, although the answer seemed enough to please her. He turned to his right. ‘Ryan, truth or dare?’
‘Truth!’ He was far too giddy. It was hard to tell if he wanted the vodka or not.
‘All right… do you love your dad?’
‘No!’
‘Your sister?’
‘Yuk!’ He laughed. ‘No.’
‘That’s not what you said in my birthday card,’ Maisie said smugly.
The killer handed him the vodka, grinning. ‘You know the rules.’
Ryan took the bottle in both hands, judging how fast it might come out. It was like a puppy playing with a toy. Ignoring Maisie’s protests, he took a sip, spitting and coughing it out. ‘Disgusting!’
The killer took the bottle. ‘Yep, but it’s for men, not boys.’
‘Your turn,’ Ryan gasped, turning to his sister. ‘Truth or–’
‘Dare.’
The boy was taken aback. ‘I dare you…’ His eyes wandered around the back of the RV. ‘To take two sips of vodka! So either way, you lose, haha!’
Silently, the killer praised the boy’s intellect. He was smarter than his sister let him believe. She’d obviously liked to be the one who stood out the most. The killer would remember that when he crafted his next crime scene.
Maisie took the bottle with only one sip before sliding it back to the middle of the players. She seemed to have taken it easier than her brother had. ‘I want to go now. I’m not comfortable with this.’
‘You’ll go when I say you can,’ the killer told her firmly, forgetting to maintain his friendly smile. ‘I mean we’ll go soon. It’s your turn, Maisie.’
The fear in her eyes was not to be ignored. ‘Truth… or dare?’
‘I’m going to take a dare this time.’ So I won’t have to lie to you, little girl.
‘I dare you to take us home.’
‘No, Maisie!’ her brother screamed. ‘I don’t want to go yet.’
‘It’s okay, Ryan.’ The killer studied his options. Would he have to make his move now? Slowly, he leaned forward, took the bottle and downed a large gulp. It was easier than saying no, and the girl had trouble finding her voice. ‘Ryan, my man. Truth or dare?’
Obviously light-headed, the boy’s eyes were moving all over the place. ‘Dare.’
‘I dare you to hit your sister.’
‘What? No!’ Maisie got to her knees. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘Ryan?’ the killer demanded.
The boy moved across the floor and gave a playful slap to the girl’s arm, but it was still hard enough for her to wince. He moved back to his corner of the RV.
‘Come on, boy. A little harder.’
‘W
e won’t–’
‘Shut up right now!’ the killer yelled, losing his patience with this little brat. ‘Ryan, give her a real punch, will ya?’
The girl was shaking as her brother approached her. She obviously understood the threat of the situation a little more than he did, and that worked in his favour. His knuckles clunked across her skull with a beautiful thumping sound.
Maisie held her head. A tear brewed at her eye as she complained. ‘Please, take us home now. I don’t want to be here.’
The killer looked at her tears, her reddening cheeks. ‘Tell ya what… one more go and I’ll drive you back to school. But this time, I want to ask you, Maisie… truth or dare?’
The girl was taking care with her answer. Considering the beating she had just taken from her brother, it seemed that a simple question might be safer for the both of them. She sniffed, held her head with pride and said, ‘Truth.’
Shuffling forward, the killer leaned in close to her face and ground his teeth. ‘Do you think you’re getting out of here alive?’
Maisie sobbed while Ryan sat chuckling to himself, the alcohol already taking its effect. She cleared her throat while her lip quivered and a single tear rolled down her cheek. ‘Yes.’
Satisfied with the response, the killer sat back. A smile broke out across his face–a genuine one this time. With his gloved right hand, he poked the bottle her way, scraping it across the metal floor of the RV. ‘Drink.’
28
It was early morning when Mason slipped out of the house, careful to avoid Bill and Christine. He didn’t want to have to explain himself, so he headed straight for the station.
As soon as he arrived, he headed for the tech lab. Inside was buzzing with technicians both young and old, whizzing around from their computers or testing something on what looked like a miniature target range.
Mason Black (The Complete Collection): 6 Gripping Crime Stories: The Complete Collection + BONUS Story Page 6