Mason Black (The Complete Collection): 6 Gripping Crime Stories: The Complete Collection + BONUS Story

by Adam Nicholls

  But John was nowhere to be found.

  ‘He’s late today. Should be here any minute,’ a helpful young woman said.

  John soon arrived and dumped his satchel onto the desk, looking at Mason with frustration. He was pushing his luck. ‘Hand me the damn phone, will you?’

  Mason wanted to scream at the guy for his attitude, but for as long as he wanted something, he would have to play it safe. But then again… ‘Just do your job, and I won’t have to send Detective Harvey down here to give you an earful.’

  John shot him a look of anger and submission, snatched the phone and ran it under a microscope. It was a long process that stiffened Mason’s back over a course of some hours, but eventually they had something of a result.

  ‘Okay, the memory card is a broken piece of junk, so hopefully any data was saved to the phone itself.’ He placed it on the desk between them and turned it on with latex-gloved hands. ‘What are you hoping to find on here, anyway?’ He asked as it was loading up.

  Mason couldn’t tell if he was genuinely curious of if he was just making an awkward scene more comfortable, but he graced him with an answer nonetheless. ‘Anything that might give an ID of the killer.’

  The screen lit up and John scrolled to the gallery. ‘She’s all yours.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Mason held it delicately, careful not to dislodge the broken pieces. He went through the photos, finding a couple of dark and blurry pictures. The timestamp said it was taken around the right time on the day of the murder. Feeling hopeful, Mason located the video folder. He was horrified by what he found.

  While the video was dark and blurry, all sound muffled by the ambience of heavy rainfall, there was the unmistakeable groan of a van door sliding closed. The camera was all over the place, until it focused on the silhouette of a man. He had a baseball cap on and it was impossible to see his face.

  ‘It’s not enough,’ Mason whispered to himself.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ssh.’

  Listening closely at nothing more than patting rain and heavy breathing from Sampson, Mason hoped for a clue. But nothing was coming up.

  Suddenly the boy came into view. Mason felt his heart break at the thought of little Thomas Chance, and the way he had been tortured before his murder.

  What kind of sick bastard does this?

  And then the camera moved.

  The cameraman was climbing out of his car, swooping around an enormous RV.

  ‘Is the RV of use to you?’ John asked.

  ‘No. There are literally thousands around the city, just like that. Even my aunt had one.’

  But then his luck turned around. The camera was pointed directly at the licence plate of the RV before Sampson stepped back to allow the whole vehicle into the camera’s view. He must have been a smart kid, Mason thought, to get all this information on record.

  ‘It seems too suspicious,’ James Sampson said on the video.

  Mason pressed his ear to the phone when he heard the voice.

  ‘I’m going to follow them.’

  Then, as if to pause the investigation, the video stopped. The recordings and pictures ended there, but at least something useful had come from it.

  ‘Sounds informative,’ John said.

  ‘Yeah…’ Mason was thrilled to have something work in his favour for once. Through all the excitement of catching up to the killer, he barely noticed his current heartache. ‘Send that to my phone, will you? And a screenshot of the man.’ It was blurry, but it was better than nothing. At least now he had the licence plate number to an RV.

  Now, to find its owner.

  29

  The RV had been registered to a Mr Frank Marley, but had been reported as stolen a few weeks ago. As Marley lived outside the city, Mason took his number from the registration and called him to make sure he would be in. More than anything, he seemed grateful that his vehicle had been found. Mason would have to break it to him that it hadn’t been recovered.

  It took a couple of hours to reach him, and he was greeted at the door of a large and well-kept house by a man who looked like he was the good model in a dentistry commercial.

  Mason introduced himself and was shown into a room, which was even more impressive than the exterior. Sandalwood beams reached across the high ceiling, propped by the same beautiful red pillars. Everything tiled was white and shiny. It was a poster-worthy home.

  ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you, but your vehicle is not within our possession,’ Mason told him, ignoring his frown. ‘Have you ever heard of the Lullaby Killer?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Frank. ‘I knew I’d seen you somewhere before! You’re the PI working the case, right?’ He was smiling now, as if he had met a celebrity and was struck by stardom.

  ‘How did you…’

  ‘I read your sister’s blog all the time. Fascinating stuff, man! You’re like that detective from the TV! Hey, listen…. if there’s any way I can help you, just tell me how.’

  Mason had no idea he was known outside of his own working circle. Evie must have been doing better than she’d let on. He felt his face grow a deep red. ‘As a matter of fact, that’s what I’m here for. We think it was the killer who stole your RV. Did you see anything suspicious around the time that it was taken?’

  Frank showed Mason to the couch and sat with him. ‘I had, sure. I’d been followed for a couple of weeks beforehand. A strange-looking guy who appeared everywhere I turned. At first, I thought it was a coincidence.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mason, flicking through his cell phone. He found the picture and held it out. ‘Is this the man you saw?’

  Frank squinted. ‘It’s hard to say. But he was wearing a baseball cap, just like this guy is. And the gloves, too.’

  ‘Gloves?’ Mason recalled Susan Chance saying the same thing.

  ‘I remember because it was summertime. His hands must have been roasting in there.’ His eyes suddenly lit up with horrific realisation. ‘Oh shit, do you think he’ll come back to kill me?’

  ‘I sincerely doubt that, Mr Marley.’ Mason’s cell phone rang in his hand. It was Bill, and his timing was bad, as usual. He put the phone to one side, balancing it on the armrest of the couch. ‘And nothing else came of it? No threats? No freak occurrences?’

  Frank shook his head. ‘Not really. A couple of prank calls, but that could have been anybody. Hey, why do you think he chose me to steal from?’

  The cell phone rang–Bill again.

  ‘You live outside the city. Other than that, I’d assume it’s random. Mind if I take this?’

  ‘Go ahead.’ Frank left to give Mason privacy. He was a curious guy, eccentric and humble, yet successful in his own right. Shaking off the oddity of the man, Mason answered the phone. ‘Mason Black.’

  ‘Hey, buddy,’ Bill said. ‘Listen, I need you to run an errand for me.’

  ‘I’m kind of busy right now.’

  ‘No, it works in your favour. Believe me. Two kids have gone missing from Pickerage School. Nine-year-old twins.’

  ‘That’s the same school Daniels and Chance attended.’ Mason’s mouth went bone-dry with anticipation. Had the killer really been sticking to a pattern?

  ‘Exactly. The police can’t do anything for another day or so. Not officially. But an outside party should have no trouble. Want to have a word with the father?’

  This was precisely the kind of information he’d been hoping to get. ‘Text me the address, will you? I’ll swing by shortly.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Mason thanked Frank for his time and left his card, should he remember something. He barely realised that he was running to his Mustang as he hopped in and tore down the road towards the home of the missing twins.

  30

  Nothing could have stopped Evie from checking on her.

  As soon as she’d seen her crossing the street, she’d followed as closely as possible. On numerous occasions, she nearly lost her, but quickly picked up her speed to catch up.

  When Ameli
a headed into the mall, Evie parked the car, went for the ground floor and then worked her way up. After a long and tedious search, she saw her in the clothing department of a shop, trying on shoes with a friend. Thankfully, she had no idea what Evie looked like, so she was free to move around as much as she liked.

  It was wonderful to see her again, as heart-breaking as it was. She wondered about the email, and whether the sender had actually known where Amelia lived. He couldn’t have, could he? And who was this anonymous emailer? The killer? Evie could easily dig around, but she knew that it came at a risk of putting the girl in danger.

  Amelia left with her purchases and headed towards the food court, where she took a seat at the centre table. This made it a lot easier for Evie to keep an eye on her from the railing on the floor above.

  Suddenly, a thought occurred to her.

  Is the killer here, watching us? Am I being paranoid?

  Evie looked all around her. Everything seemed perfectly normal, but the killer had blended in for over three years, so he was obviously good at being discreet. Further along the railing, one man stood looking down at the food court. It was tough to discern whether he was looking at Amelia or not. But when a woman crept up behind and showered him with kisses, Evie understood that the only thing he’d killed was time.

  Stealing her attention, the phone rang in her pocket.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Evie, it’s Mason. Where are you?’

  ‘Just… you know, hanging around.’

  ‘Well, quit fooling around and head over to Southwell Terrace. There’s been a development in the case.’

  Evie had no idea how to say this, so she just blurted it out. ‘I’m out.’

  There was pause on Mason’s end. Then, ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah, I was thinking about it. I don’t think I have the energy to pursue this thing. But you don’t have to worry, I won’t publish any more news about it.’

  ‘What the hell, Evie? You were hot for this case only yesterday.’ He sounded more pissed off than she’d ever heard him before. She felt awful for letting him down like this. After all, she was his supporting shoulder throughout this difficult time in his life.

  ‘I’m sorry, I just… I can’t do it.’ Downstairs, Amelia got up from her seat. Evie began to panic, until she saw that she was only going to the bathroom. ‘How are you doing, anyway? Have you heard any more from Sandra?’

  ‘No. Enough of the small talk already. Are you in or not?’

  ‘I’m…’ It was impossible to help Mason find the killer and protect Amelia. The choice was never going to be easy. ‘I’m not.’

  Mason huffed. ‘Right,’ he said, before the line went dead.

  What am I supposed to do?

  31

  Mason hung up the phone and continued driving towards the twins’ house. He was searching through his memory, trying desperately to think of lullabies that included twins. Nothing sprung to mind.

  It might not even be him.

  The house he arrived at was huge and expensive-looking, reminding him of his own home–or what had been his home, up until recently. Mason stepped up the pathway and was questioned by a distraught man with obvious pain behind sunken brown eyes.

  ‘I was to understand that Detective Harvey would make an appearance,’ he said, looking at Mason with understandable suspicion.

  ‘The police have rules and can’t get to you for another day or so. But Bill is a good friend of mine, and I assure you I’ll do everything I can.’

  Although reluctant, the man introduced himself as Owen Carter and let Mason in. He moved around the kitchen, clearing up. ‘I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m stir-crazy, you know?’

  Mason could see exactly what he meant. It wasn’t uncommon to fidget when you were expecting bad news. ‘So, about the twins…’

  ‘Detective Harvey said something about this Lullaby Killer I’ve been hearing about on the news. Do you think it’s him? Do you think he’s responsible?’

  ‘It’s tough to say at this point,’ Mason explained. ‘It certainly follows the pattern, but we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. For all we know, they just decided to run away from home for a while.’

  ‘They just wouldn’t do that. They’re happy children. They… Do you think they’re alive, Mr Black?’ He looked as if he only wanted one answer, but Mason didn’t like to bullshit people if he could help it.

  ‘I think they are at the moment, yes. But in these kinds of situations, we have to act fast. I take it you’ve not had a note or a ransom? Nothing like that?’

  ‘No…’ The man looked hopeful now. ‘Should I expect one?’

  ‘I wouldn’t rule it out, but we don’t want to depend on it. If this is who we think it is, we don’t have long to act. The first thing I need you to do is start an appeal. Do you use social media? Facebook? Twitter?’

  ‘I… yeah, I use Twitter.’ Owen finally stopped moving.

  ‘Right get a picture out as soon as possible. If either of your kids passes someone in the street, we need to increase the chances of that person recognising them. Got it?’

  Owen went straight for his laptop, wasting no time. It was obvious that he just wanted his pain to end. To the right of where he knelt, a framed picture of two kids – a boy and a girl of equal age – stood propped up.

  ‘Is that them?’

  Owen glanced over and nodded.

  Mason picked up the frame and aimed his cell phone directly at the photo, taking a snapshot of his own. The girl especially caught his eye–she looked a little like Amy, only younger and with mouse-brown hair.

  ‘Done,’ said Owen. ‘What happens next?’

  ‘Next, I want you to contact every blogger and independent press agent you can. Newspapers take too long, so stay local and get your plea viral. If we can get the abductor to realise that you have money, there might be chance of a ransom–if there isn’t already.’

  ‘Got it,’ the man said, a croak in his voice. He stood, staring at Mason. ‘I’m going to have a drink. Would you like one?’

  ‘If it’s Jack or stronger, sure.’

  While the man splashed alcohol into a couple of tumblers, Mason went on.

  ‘I’m going to do everything I can to get your kids back. I assure you. Meanwhile–thanks.’ He took the Jack and sipped it, the drool-worthy scent lifting his senses. ‘Meanwhile, keep up all the presswork. Here’s my card, should you need it.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Black. Do, uh… do you have kids?’

  ‘I have a girl. She’s thirteen.’

  Owen sipped his drink. ‘Be sure to take care of her. You’ll never realise just how much you love her until something happens.’

  But Mason didn’t want to think about Amy right now. He needed to stay sharp, alcohol buzz and all. ‘Listen, I’ll be in touch. You’ve got my number. Let me know if you hear of anything.’

  Mason downed his drink and left the building with no expectation of anything, other than finding two more bodies in the near future, both with a gruesome message.

  But he couldn’t say that to Owen Carter.

  32

  ‘This is where you’re going to die.’

  The children looked terrified in the shadows of the Golden Gate Bridge. They were on the sands below, with dusk setting in and icy roars blasting at their skin. Even the Lullaby Killer was freezing his rocks off. He would have to make this quick.

  He continued to dig, frightened and excited at the same time that he might get caught with these kids. The last time had been such an intrusive interruption, but the payoff had been something sweet. He could still hear the thunk of the hammer as it crushed the man’s skull.

  ‘What are… t-those for?’ the twin boy asked, pointing at the heavy craft scissors.

  It was surprising to hear him speak up for once. It seemed he finally understood the danger of this scenario. ‘Hehe.’ The killer crooked his pinkie finger and carried on scooping shovel-loads of sand across the beach.

  Golden slumber
s kiss your eyes, he thought. This one would be particularly special.

  ‘You’re going to kill us, aren’t you?’ little Maisie asked, clearly trying to disguise her fear. It wasn’t working. ‘Is that your plan?’

  Once again, the killer stopped digging, lending her a stare. Finally, he shook his head. It was fun to see the relief in the eyes of the twins. They probably hoped to be home safely by this time tomorrow. He would put a stop to that. ‘See, all I’m going to do is bury you to your necks. It’s the tide that’s gonna kill ya.’

  The twins shook and trembled, holding each other’s hands as the killer howled with laughter. Although the dark was fast approaching, he could still see their bloodshot eyes before he finished digging the first of the two holes.

  ‘Our dad will kill you,’ said Maisie, weeping. ‘He will find you and kill you.’

  The killer uttered a short chuckle and got started on the second hole. ‘And how’s he gonna manage that? San Francisco’s finest have been looking for me for years. This is my city, little girl. Nobody can get in the way of my fun.’

  ‘But he’s got money. He can hire everybody if he needs to find you.’ The girl sniffed as her brother squeezed her hand tighter.

  Wait.

  The killer paused.

  No. No, no. He continued with the last of the sand, only with less enthusiasm than before. He couldn’t, could he? It ain’t about money, he told himself. It’s about curing America’s problem. But if I had the money…

  ‘How much?’

  Melissa wiped her eyes with her sleeve. ‘What?’

  ‘How much money does he got?’

  She shrugged. ‘A lot, I guess. We have maids.’

  The killer didn’t want to believe it, but they did seem to have been of a higher class. Sure, they attended a public school, but they spoke correctly and their posture was far too controlled for a normal kid of their age. But he couldn’t risk it. ‘Don’t make no difference.’

  He raised the shovel and dug it deep into the sand. As he drove his foot into it for more pressure, the girl must have seen her opportunity–or was consumed by desperation.