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

by Adam Nicholls

  ‘It’s neither.’ Evie spotted a picture frame but tried not to look at the happy family. ‘Have you heard about the Lullaby Killer?’

  ‘From the news? Some psycho snatching up children, right?’ Mary clasped her hands and couldn’t keep them still. It was a clear-cut sign of discomfort.

  ‘Yes. Well, he has a problem with me.’

  Mary sat forward. ‘And you’re here because?’

  ‘Because he mentioned Amelia.’

  Silence fell in the room. Both women gazed at each other.

  ‘I think you should leave,’ said Mary, standing up.

  Evie rose with her. ‘Look, you don’t have to like it, but you need to go somewhere. Take Amelia with you until all of this has blown over. Do you have somewhere you can go?’

  Mary looked insulted. ‘Well… yes, but I don’t see why we should.’

  ‘If you give a damn about Amelia, there’s every reason why you should.’

  ‘Don’t you dare come into my house and threaten her. She became my daughter as soon as you signed the papers. It’s too late for you to come back here now and start acting like a concerned mother.’

  ‘It’s not a threat, Mary. I just–’

  ‘Get out. Get out right now or–’

  The front door swung open and a sweet-spirited teenage girl came waltzing into the room. ‘Hey, Mom,’ she said, kissing Mary on the cheek. She stopped and looked at Evie, pausing as if she recognised a part of herself in her features.

  ‘Amelia, this is my friend Evelyn.’

  Evie’s heart was racing inside her chest. She had seen her from a distance but never imagined she would get to actually speak with her. She wasn’t even sure if she’d wanted to, until now. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, too,’ Amelia said, shaking Evie’s hand. ‘Are you staying for dinner?’

  ‘Evelyn has to go,’ Mary intruded firmly.

  ‘Oh, okay. Well, I have homework to do. Take care, Evelyn.’ Amelia took off, heading upstairs to do what most thirteen-year-olds refused to do at all costs.

  Evie stood shocked.

  ‘Please leave. Now. You shouldn’t have come here.’ Mary took her by the arm and showed her to the door with more urgency than she should have.

  ‘Wait. Will you take her someplace or not? I need to know.’

  Mary opened the door and paused, grinding her teeth. Then, ‘Fine.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Evie breathed a sigh of relief and stepped out onto the porch.

  ‘Don’t you ever come back here.’ Mary slammed the door, leaving Evie alone in the cold with her heart melted and her head a jumble of thoughts.

  But at least Amelia would be safe.

  39

  The Lullaby Killer’s phone made a noise before it lit up the dark.

  Another email alert from the news site; the father of the twins wanted to make a statement. The killer touched the link and opened the video, which showed the man looking miserable. He had the police behind him and a mass of reporters begging for information at his feet.

  How utterly pathetic.

  ‘It’s with great satisfaction that I announce the return of my daughter, Maisie,’ he read from the cue card. ‘Although she was able to get away, she was struck down by a driver as she ran for safety. We will not be pressing charges.’

  The killer skipped the video on. He didn’t care for gratitude or wellbeing. Deep down, he was still incredibly pissed off that the girl had tried to run from him, and even more aggravated that she’d succeeded. So now, he cared for one thing–how desperate the man was to see his son alive.

  ‘And we pray that my son is returned to me. If anybody has any details which may help the investigation, please contact…’ The video went on, but the drama ended there. Perhaps it was time for the killer to send in his ransom. But how much should he ask for? One hundred thousand? Two? Most people would pay anything for their children’s safety.

  ‘Is that my dad?’ The voice was whiney and weak.

  ‘Does it matter? It all ends the same for you.’

  Little Ryan Carter whimpered quietly in the corner, with his arms folded and his face buried into them. He was like an ostrich in a sandpit.

  ‘Quit your crying, boy.’ The killer put down his cell phone and continued to tap away at the keyboard. There was a lot to get done, but he couldn’t do it with the sobbing noise behind him, keeping him out of the focus zone.

  ‘Please, just let me go.’

  ‘I said shut it!’ The killer turned and pointed a finger, bellowing at the kid. ‘Little boys should be seen but not heard, and you’re pissing me off.’

  ‘I just want to go home and–’

  The killer shot to his feet, grabbing the nearby scissors. ‘Back at the beach, you asked me what these are for.’ He stepped forward, leaning and spitting through his teeth. ‘I’ll show you what they’re for, ya little shit. They’re for balancing the scales of justice. Do you know the scales, boy?’

  Ryan sobbed, huddling closer into the corner.

  ‘On my side, they’re going up, up, up.’ The crafting scissors reflected little light from his laptop screen–a small shimmer in the dark. ‘But on your side… they’re going down…’

  Snip.

  ‘Down.’

  Snip.

  ‘Down…’

  40

  Mason headed into Rigby’s trailer park with the plate number and a better photograph. He clutched them tightly, unwilling to lose the progress he’d made. And with the dark, grey cloud crawling over San Francisco, he feared it might get wet.

  The ground was made up mostly of dirt, squelching under Mason’s boots as he walked through the site. The woman had been right; it was where all good trailers came to die.

  All around him was row after row of age-worn trailers, some which had once given less-fortunate families a place to live. There was no getting past him, of course, that ninety percent of the people who lived in these things were junkies or fugitives.

  Screwing his nose up at the musty smell of the place, Mason headed for the reception booth, where an underweight and grubby-faced teenager sat fiddling with a chunk of metal. He looked up as though he hadn’t seen another human being in years.

  ‘Mason Black, Private Investigator. I’m looking for an RV.’ He took out the plate number and held it face-forward at the glass.

  The boy – no older than sixteen – looked impressed to stumble upon a PI. He got to his feet and came around to a nearby door, meeting with Mason face-to-face. ‘Yeah, it comes by here a lot. Hey, man, can I interest you in some spares? We got bits for all sorts of things. Check this out.’ He leaned into the booth once again and pulled out a VCR. ‘Still in good working order, look. Even cleaned it and tested my Tom & Jerry tapes. Reckon it’s worth a fortune but you can have it for…’ He looked to be calculating a large sum in his head. ‘Eighty bucks.’

  Mason stood in shock while trying not to laugh. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen a VCR. Finally, he ignored the less-than-generous offer and spoke up. ‘Just the RV today, kid.’

  The boy looked hurt. ‘Oh, sure. Okay.’ He went back inside the booth and pulled a hardbound book off the overhead shelf, flicked it open and perused the vehicle log. ‘Yeah, thought so. It’s every fortnight, he comes and parks in lot B. It’s at the back.’

  ‘How long does he stay for? Does he say what he wants?’

  ‘A couple days or so. Usually takes some scrap metal and throws it in the RV.’

  Mason nodded and showed the photograph. ‘Is this him?’

  The kid leaned forward and nodded. ‘Yeah, man, that’s him for sure. Is he under arrest?’

  ‘I’m a PI, kid. I have as much power to arrest someone as you. I just want to ask him some questions.’ Mason had played it down for a reason; if he made a big deal about the fact that he was tracking a serial killer, the boy might let an early warning slip. Then it would all be over. ‘Do me a favour? Here’s my card.’ He slid it into the payment tray. �
��Give me a call next time he comes by here?’

  The kid took the card and looked over it with much intrigue. ‘Sure. Except I won’t need to call you. He’s here right now.’

  41

  Mason stormed towards the Mustang and took the revolver from the glove compartment. He considered calling for backup – or even just calling Bill – but people were encouraged to be absolutely certain they needed the help before calling the cavalry.

  The boy ran behind him, struggling to keep up. ‘Slow down, mister!’

  But Mason had no reason to stop. For all he knew, the Lullaby Killer was just around the corner, and could even be caught in the act. He imagined finding Ryan Carter inside, still alive and well, although he knew it was a long shot.

  ‘Ssh.’ He put his finger to his lip as they approached the RV, and held the revolver tight. Swiftly, he moved to its side, moving his shoulder along with the barrel aimed at the driver’s side door. He used the side mirror with ever-growing doubt until he approached.

  Shit.

  Nobody was inside. Not in the front, at least.

  ‘Looks like he ain’t home,’ the boy said, far too loud.

  Staring daggers at the kid and collecting himself, Mason swept back to the side door. It was a dangerous risk, but he needed to be sure, so he rapped upon the door and listened closely for a sign of movement from inside.

  There wasn’t a peep.

  Mason stepped back and raised the gun.

  ‘No, no, don’t–’ the boy yelled, holding his ears.

  Three bullets blasted the lock at an angle. Mason didn’t want to risk accidentally killing the Carter kid, but he’d had no choice. He slowly pushed open the creaking door.

  With his gun still raised, he stepped inside.

  ‘You can’t do that!’ said the boy, worried now.

  But Mason ignored him, feeling around for some kind of light switch. To his left, on the wall, he found something and flicked it. The lights flickered on stubbornly, revealing something that Mason could barely believe.

  Maisie Carter had told him it was a metal box, and it was exactly that: a cold, empty prison. It stank of old blood, and he would have loved to have a black light in here. But it was also quiet, only his echoes making any real noise. It felt odd… ‘Do me a favour, kid. Keep shouting until I say stop.’

  ‘You can’t be in there! There are rules!’ he shouted, although it was unclear as to whether he was meeting Mason’s request or genuinely displaying his disagreement.

  Mason pulled the door to a close, drowning out the sound of the yelling until he was silent. He opened it again and heard him at full volume. Interesting, he thought. It’s soundproof. The killer must have gone to a lot of trouble to do this.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ A large bearded man approached, his chest pushed out.

  Mason stepped out of the RV, tucking away the revolver. ‘I’m a PI, sir. Tracking a killer. Your boy here gave me permission to shoot the lock and go inside.’

  ‘That true, boy?’ the man snapped.

  ‘What? No! I–’ The boy was almost crying.

  ‘Go see your momma right now. I’ll deal with you later.’

  The boy disappeared, shooting a middle finger at Mason as he ran.

  Mason did his best not to laugh.

  ‘Sorry about my son. He can get a little adventurous when I leave him in charge.’ The man seemed to have a respect for authority, and that would be helpful. ‘A killer, you say?’

  ‘Yes, sir. He stole this RV and has been keeping it here from time to time. It looks like this is where he brings the abducted children.’ Mason held out the details. ‘Have you met him before, maybe had any contact at all?’

  ‘Oh shit.’ The man – presumably the true owner of the yard – looked at the photograph. ‘I knew there was something odd about him!’

  ‘Odd? What makes you say that?’

  ‘Hard to explain. He’s just a creepy som’-bitch. Look, man.’ The guy looked around him, as if there were prying ears. ‘I can let you look in the logbook, but can you not let this leak out? This kind of stuff is bad for business.’

  ‘Of course. What’s in the log book?’

  ‘My boy didn’t show you?’ The owner smiled, revealing a small number of black teeth. ‘When people come through here, we make them put down their home address or a contact number. Rules is rules, you know?’

  Mason tried not to show his excitement. Would the killer put his real address, or is he smarter than that? Something told him he would have to slip up somewhere, and that he wasn’t far from finding that mistake.

  42

  The Lullaby Killer cowered behind the scrapheap with clenched fists.

  You really are pushing your luck, Mr Black.

  Having hoped to simply come back and collect his RV, he’d been shocked to see the PI’s Mustang parked out front. Perhaps he should have stayed away, but it was with curiosity that he followed, watching from a distance.

  Black had drawn his gun and moved close to the RV, looking to catch him in the act. Soon after, a larger man approached. The killer had spoken with this man before–the owner of the yard. How could he ever come back here now?

  When the kid stormed off with tears streaming from his eyes, the killer tried to gain his attention with a soft whistle. The boy stopped, looked behind him, then joined the killer at the scrapheap.

  ‘What’s going on over there?’ he asked the boy.

  ‘That man is looking for you.’

  ‘Did he find anything?’ The killer peered over the scrapheap and saw Black and the owner heading back towards the reception booth. This could be a problem.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘All right.’ He dug into his pockets and took out a ten-dollar bill. You didn’t see me here, okay?’

  The boy’s eyes lit up greedily as he snatched the bill. ‘Sure.’

  If he could be trusted then… ‘Hey, who closes the gates around here?’

  ‘I do, mostly.’

  The boy seemed eager enough to take money that he might not want to burn his bridges. If he could keep the kid thinking that more money would flow his way, then he would be under the thumb until he said so. He dug around in his pocket for more cash and found another ten dollars. ‘This is yours if you forget to lock the gate.’

  With immediate understanding, the boy took the bill. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good boy. Run along now.’

  As the kid scurried away with his twenty bucks, the killer had to think about getting his RV back. He’d gone to far too much trouble to craft the interior that he really couldn’t afford to lose it now–especially at the hands of Mason Black.

  Maybe it was time to send the video, to put a wrench in the works. Without a doubt, that would make the investigator stay out of the way for a while. But he was so damn persistent–it seemed as though nothing could make him stop.

  You’d better be careful, Mr Black, the killer thought as he crept around the heap and hopped the fence out of the yard. Because I know more about you than you think I do.

  43

  I have an address. Mason could barely believe his luck as he climbed back into the Mustang and punched the zip code into the GPS. He was so close he could almost taste it.

  But he couldn’t go alone. Without a doubt, he would need backup for this one.

  He knew exactly who to call, of course, and tapped the call button.

  Bill answered almost immediately.

  ‘Mason, I’m glad you called,’ Bill said. ‘Things are getting tight here.’

  ‘Whatever it is, it will have to wait. I have a potential address for the Lullaby Killer.’

  ‘What? That’s–Mason, that’s fantastic.’ Bill sounded over the moon, but there was obviously something on his mind–something stopping him from sharing the excitement.

  Mason turned the key in the ignition, and the engine purred healthily. ‘Right? I didn’t want to officially call in the troops, so get down here and help me out, will you?’


  ‘I can’t right now. Look, there’s been a development.’

  Mason’s heart rate picked up. In the police force, development was code for problem. ‘Just tell me and get it over with.’

  ‘Owen Carter has received a ransom video. I’m at his place now, trying to convince him to wait, but he wants to pay it.’

  ‘Did you tell him that his boy might be dead already?’

  ‘What? No! I can’t tell him that.’

  ‘You might have to, Bill. If you let it slip that the killer might not play fair, there’s a chance he’ll hold off on the ransom.’ It was true, as much of a bastard as it made him feel.

  ‘You can tell him yourself then.’

  ‘I’m busy. You know that.’ Mason put the cell phone onto speaker and slowly pulled away from the trailer park. Rain was breaking out again, painting the sky in a hazy grey.

  ‘I’ve been scratching your back. Least you can do is check this out.’

  Once again between a rock and a hard place. Mason knew that his grey moral compass needed colouring. How could he let his ex-partner down, after all this? ‘Fine,’ he said, though obviously unhappy. ‘I’m on my way.’

  IT TOOK all of an hour to reach Owen’s place. There were a number of cars on the drive, including Captain Cox’s. Mason prepared himself for a take-your-old-job-back lecture, and went inside without knocking.

  ‘Mr Black, thank God.’ Owen moved forward with a cell phone in hand. ‘You’re going to want to watch this, I think.’ He tapped on the screen and handed it over.

  Bill and Captain Cox stood and gathered around quietly. They’d already seen it, but were probably eager to witness Mason’s reaction. Mason, on the other hand, was not looking forward to it at all.

  The video showed a young boy with dirty clothes and matted hair. His face was red, as if he’d been crying for days. Cuffs at his wrists chained him to a pipe as he sat on the floor with his knees to his chest. Other than that, there was nothing to offer.

  ‘Say your name, boy,’ a voice from behind the camera said calmly.

  The boy whimpered and sniffed. ‘Ryan Carter.’