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

by Adam Nicholls

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Don’t ruin a good moment.’

  ‘How can I not? I just want to know if this is what you really want.’ Mason wasn’t even sure if he wanted her back, but when a ship springs a leak, your reactions are to repair it. One doesn’t even stop to ponder whether it’s worth saving.

  Sandra pushed back the kitchen stool and moved to a drawer. She pulled out a brown envelope and slid it across the counter.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Divorce papers. I was going to wait until you’d closed your case, but… you know.’

  ‘Oh, well thank you so much for being the mature one in all this.’ Mason felt that rage burning up his insides again. He wanted to scream, throw things, maybe even march upstairs and beat the living shit out of Joshua. But a soft, delicate voice from behind soothed him in a heartbeat.

  ‘Dad?’

  Mason turned to see Amy standing in the doorway.

  She ran to him, hugging his waist. Her makeup had been washed off and she’d dyed her hair back to its original colour. Even her pyjamas were cutesy. It was like she had been restored to her original self. ‘I missed you.’

  ‘I missed you too, sweetheart. Hey, want to go see a movie tomorrow?’

  ‘Can it be the Hunger Games?’ she asked, beaming widely.

  ‘Whatever that is, sure.’ He mussed her hair like he used to do when she was five years old. ‘I’ll pick you up at eight.’ Suddenly the brown envelope no longer seemed important. It was then that Mason realised, the reason he’d been happy with his family was because of Amy. Sandra had little or nothing to do with it.

  For the next hour they sat and talked about school, and even Sandra had a laugh or two to make. For that one hour, they were a family again. Mason didn’t even think about the Lullaby Killer until he left the house.

  Now, he thought as he got back in his car and waved to Amy, who stood watching from her bedroom window, to find Marvin Wendell.

  64

  Evie Black started the new day with research.

  By now, last night’s events had leaked to the press. As she’d promised, she’d had nothing to do with it, so found herself only reading the rival sites. Most of them were filled with details about how Private Investigator Mason Black had found the Carter twin. Thankfully, Evie wasn’t mentioned, but she still read with pride that her brother was well respected. She’d always hoped – not quite expected, but hoped – he would grow up to be something of a success. After what had happened to their parents, any kind of motivation should have been hard to come by, but Mason seemed to have managed, and managed well.

  Crime Online had little to say about the details of the case, as they’d had a habit of being vague, rather than filling in the blanks with their imagination. First Cut, on the other hand… they had much more to express, including an interview with one Vincent Romero, who claimed to be friends with the Lullaby Killer.

  Drawn in by the headline, Evie clicked in and watched the interview. She hadn’t known him by name, but he was the clerk of the motel, claiming that he’d been friends with the killer for a couple of years.

  The video showed Romero, who seemed to be trying not to grin. ‘I didn’t know his real name or that he was a killer,’ he told the camera in a fake display of shame. ‘I only knew that he was press researcher, kind of quiet and a little strange.’ This whole performance was probably just to draw attention to his business. The world was full of these attention-seeking con artists, and Evie was sick of them.

  Reaching for her phone, she found Mason’s number and dialled it.

  ‘Hey, Evie.’

  ‘The clerk lied to us.’

  ‘Pardon me?’ Mason sounded as if he was still waking up.

  ‘He was interviewed for a news channel. Says he had dinners with the killer, drinks with him after work some nights. This has been going on for…’ Evie scrolled through the page, ‘a couple years, apparently.’

  ‘Wait, what? Slow down.’ There was a grunt at the other end of the phone, like Mason was just getting out of bed. ‘He said he didn’t know the guy.’

  ‘Well, now he says otherwise.’

  ‘Could he be glory seeking?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Evie, walking around the room and filling her purse with things she might need for the day, ‘but wouldn’t you like to know for sure?’

  Mason huffed, clearing his throat. ‘Right. You coming?’

  ‘You bet your ass I am.’

  65

  Mason picked her up at nine. This time, he was driving, and he wasn’t too shy to floor it. They tore up the road and got there in no time, climbed out and stormed towards the clerk’s office.

  ‘It’s already open for business.’ Evie pointed at the motel room where they’d recovered Ryan Carter only yesterday. ‘Makes you sick, doesn’t it?’

  Unbelieving, Mason shook his head and burst into the office. ‘I have a bone to pick with you,’ he said as he barged between two customers at the counter. He was vaguely aware of Evie behind him, showing the two customers out and making them aware of the recent murders on site.

  ‘What the hell do you want?’

  What’s this guy’s problem? ‘I want to know why you lied to us.’

  Romero sat down behind the counter, made a pfft noise, and turned away from them. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You said you’d only exchanged a few words with Wendell.’ Mason realised the clerk didn’t know the name, so corrected himself to what had been signed in the ledger. ‘Brahm, I mean. Now you’re telling the press that you were friends. You’d better start telling some goddamn truths. I’ve come too far for you to be tripping me up.’

  ‘Whatever.’ The clerked waved a hand. ‘That was just to increase business.’

  Evie stepped forward. ‘You said you knew he was a press researcher. How could you have possibly known that?’

  Romero looked at her, moving his mouth like he was searching for an answer. ‘Go fuck yourself, little girl.’

  Something inside Mason snapped. Without thought, he lunged over the counter and grabbed the man’s tie. With his other hand, he reached for the nearby stapler, dragged Romero closer and whacked a staple into his cheekbone.

  The man cried out in pain. ‘You crazy shit!’

  ‘I’m going to get a whole lot crazier if you don’t stop fucking with us.’

  ‘All right!’ He put his hands up, shaking. ‘He brings whores here, okay? I-I didn’t want to say anything because I don’t want the police to find out.’

  ‘We knew about the whores.’ Mason dragged him closer. ‘What we want to know is why.’

  ‘What do you mean? He needs somewhere p-private.’

  ‘But why here? You’re miles out of town.’ Mason saw Evie fingering through some paperwork from the counter, totally relaxed.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Romero cried, ‘I offer him discounts for continued use. He can’t do it at home. His m-mother wouldn’t approve. Now let me go!’

  Mason tightened his grip, pulling him further over the counter. ‘The killer doesn’t live with his mom.’

  ‘Yes he does!’ Romero whelped. ‘I swear!’

  Mason thought back to when they’d met Mrs Wendell. How relaxed and unconcerned she’d been. Now that it had been brought his attention, she had seemed unsurprised. As if she knew about him. As if she were protecting him…

  ‘If you’re lying, I’ll be back. Evie?’ Mason pushed the clerk back into his chair, almost toppling it. He straightened himself out, dusting off the sleeves of his trench coat.

  ‘Yep?’

  ‘Let’s go.’

  66

  Mason killed the engine and reached into the glove compartment for the revolver.

  ‘And what exactly do you plan to do with that?’ Evie asked inquisitively. She had never liked guns. Not since a sex-obsessed creep had tried it on with her a few years ago. Thankfully, her brother had been there to disarm the guy. Even broke his nose in the process.

  ‘
I’m not doing anything with it. This is for you.’ Mason checked the cylinder and put it firmly in her hand. ‘If I’m not back in exactly ten minutes–’

  ‘You’re not going in there unarmed?’

  ‘I’m not leaving you unarmed. I’ll take my chances.’

  ‘Mason–’ Evie tried, but by then he had already shut the car door on her. He looked up the street, hooked up the bottom three buttons of his coat, and walked towards the house.

  In all honesty, he had no idea what might happen when he spoke to Mrs Wendell. If she was going to insist that her son, Marvin, didn’t still live here, then he would have to get a search warrant and come back.

  Mason tried the door and waited patiently, listening closely for any signs of somebody being home. Not a peep. Something isn’t right here. Carefully and quietly, he sneaked around the side of the house and spotted an open window. Looking both ways, he prised it wide open and squeezed inside.

  There was a soft thud as he landed, announcing his presence to the possibly occupied household. He could hear a TV now, coming from the other room. Some shouting from a talk show about who the father might be. But if the TV was on, then Mason could only assume that somebody was home to watch it.

  Slowly, he pushed the door open, which led out into the living room. The last time he was here, it had been as an invited guest. Now, he felt less than welcome. But the job needed doing, so he pressed his back to the wall and edged his way into the living room, watching his corners.

  By the time he saw the shotgun’s barrel in his face, it was too late.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come back here,’ said a red-faced Mrs Wendell.

  Mason took a step back, raising his hands. ‘Put the gun down.’

  Mrs Wendell looked miniscule behind the heavy double-barrelled shotgun. Small, but dangerous. She nudged the end, pointing him towards the couch. ‘I won’t let you take my boy away. They already took my baby girl, but they won’t get their hands on my boy.’

  Marvin Wendell has a sister? Mason sat on the couch, careful not to make any sudden movements. ‘I’m doing what has to be done. Your son is a killer, Mrs Wendell. Protecting him will only get more children murdered. That’s blood on your hands, too.’

  She looked thoughtful, lowering her eyes – but not the weapon – for a fleeting moment. ‘That doesn’t make it okay. I can’t be alone in this world. I won’t.’

  Mason, despite having to choose his words cautiously, led with his emotions. ‘I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re alone. Don’t you think there are more important things than your loneliness? Not two days ago, I had to look at an eight-year-old girl dangling from a curtain pole. Your son is a monster, and he needs to go to prison.’

  Mrs Wendell shook her head, refusing to let a single word sink in. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You can’t take him. You won’t.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to come back with the strength of the SFPD behind me.’

  The woman stepped back too fast for it not to look aggressive. ‘You’re not leaving here, Mr Black. I’m sorry, but you can’t.’

  67

  Your ten minutes are up.

  Evie had every right to panic. When Mason had said “if I’m not back in ten minutes”, she had assumed that he was making a dry and cliché joke. But those minutes slogged on by while she held the revolver, and now she had to take action.

  She got out of the car and walked around the house, where she had seen Mason stalk around not so long ago. There was an open window, which she peered through carefully.

  If anything has happened to him, she thought, I will never forgive myself.

  Stowing the revolver into her deep pocket, she climbed through the window, nimble and agile as a cat. Her years of being a high-school gymnast were finally paying off. Only as she landed, her elbow caught on something small and solid, knocking it to the floor. Evie winced while her heart seemed to stop. It was hard to tell for sure in the dark room, but it looked like a perfume bottle.

  Hearing the drone of a TV in the next room, she pulled out the revolver once more and crept around slowly. When she saw her brother, she tried not to gasp.

  Mason was sitting on the couch, talking.

  Mrs Wendell, who was threatening him with the barrel of a shotgun, had her back to Evie and must not have noticed her arrival. Swiftly and quietly, Evie crept up behind her and aimed the revolver at the back of the woman’s head.

  ‘Drop the gun,’ she said, knowing full well she couldn’t shoot another human being.

  ‘Goddammit.’ Mrs Wendell lowered the shotgun to her side slowly.

  Evie walked around to face her front, so she was standing over the couch. ‘You okay, Mase?’

  ‘All good, if only you’d stop calling me Mase.’ He rose and took the shotgun from Mrs Wendell. Although he’d had an angry old woman threatening to blast his face into pieces, he seemed totally unfazed. Unlike Evie, whose hands were still shaking.

  ‘What’s the bet that you don’t have a permit for this?’ Mason smirked at Mrs Wendell. ‘You can drop the gun now, Evie.’

  Evie gladly handed the revolver to Mason, thankful to have the thing out of her hands. ‘Should we call the police? Bill? Anyone?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Mason. ‘First, Mrs Wendell is going to show us to her son’s bedroom.’

  Mrs Wendell pulled a disgusted face, as if they had no right to be here. ‘I will not.’

  ‘I wasn’t asking.’ Mason aimed the revolver at her forehead.

  68

  Between thoughts of slicing a child’s finger and looking at Mason Black’s expression as he realised he should have stayed well away, Marvin Wendell turned the corner and spotted the car immediately.

  For God’s sake!

  All he had asked for was a little bit of time to go home and collect some things, and then he could hit the road, making only one stop along the way. Now, the game had changed.

  Now, he was done making threats.

  Evie Black was running from the car, a pistol of some kind held pointed at the ground. She was heading towards the Wendells’ house. Towards his home. Stopping him from having fun was one thing, but to intrude on his privacy was another.

  What were they doing in there? Harassing his mother? The thought made him sick. She was such a lovely woman, deep down. Sure, she’d had trouble showing it, always putting him down and making him feel as though he wasn’t good enough to be proud of. But she was his mother, for crying out loud, and he loved her.

  Wendell waited until Evie was out of sight, and then drove the RV past them. Now there was nowhere for him to go; the motel had been compromised and it seemed as though his home was out of bounds. By now, he could have had a million dollars and been hitting the road, killing where and when he pleased.

  But now there was a new destination in mind, and he made his way there while grinding his teeth and trying not to scream with rage. Two can play at that game, he thought as he passed the parked Mustang.

  He would be coming away from his original plan, but he could still do some real damage. It was like severing a limb with a butter knife. Messy, but not impossible.

  With a smile on his face and his foot on the pedal, he headed towards Mason’s home.

  69

  They were led into a dirty attic room, and the sight was astounding.

  Photographs lined the walls, pinned with clothes pegs and pins and tape. Every wall seemed to be a collage of sentimental photography. A computer sat in the corner–multiple screens, all lit up with background usage.

  Mason dragged Mrs Wendell to the bed and pushed her onto it. ‘Sit, and don’t say a word.’ He then joined Evie at the computer as she clicked through a number of open windows. ‘What do you have?’

  ‘Everything,’ Evie said, typing away. She brought up an opened email inbox, saw her name, and clicked into the messages. ‘It’s them. This was him.’

  ‘Brahm?’ Mason had expected as much. ‘Amelia is safe, right?’

  Evie nodded and Mason went to the wall
. The pictures here were quite disturbing–some of cut-up corpses, but others more dignified. There were some of Mason, but not as he was now. They’d been taken back when he was with the SFPD, showing him walking away from the Lullaby Killer’s first crime scene. Mason recognised the look of torment on his own expression. It was the day he’d lost faith in humanity.

  ‘You look younger there,’ said Evie, coming over to examine the pictures. She held her hand over her mouth in astonishment as she saw some of the less flattering ones. ‘At least we know this Wendell guy is the killer.’

  ‘Was there ever any doubt?’

  ‘No, but now we know he’s not a copycat.’

  Mason continued along the wall; Missy Daniels had been photographed a lot. There were none of the twins, which seemed strange. His attention went to a young, blonde-haired girl sitting under a tree with her friends. ‘Who is that?’

  ‘That’s Amelia,’ said Evie, alarmed.

  ‘Wow.’ Mason hadn’t seen her since she was just a baby, and hadn’t seen any photos since she had turned seven. He wondered what she would be like now, and whether she would get on well with Amy. ‘She’s beautiful.’

  Evie smiled thinly, wiped her eye and moved on.

  ‘My son has never done anything wrong,’ Mrs Wendell protested. ‘He is a good boy. So what if he likes to take photographs? There’s no harm in that.’

  ‘Your son is sick and demented,’ said Mason, moving to a nearby refrigerator. ‘Now shut up. I won’t tell you again.’ Thirstily uncovering more of the man’s secrets, he opened the refrigerator door and stood back in shock.

  It was like the air had been knocked out of his chest.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Evie, coming to see for herself. When she saw it, she gagged and turned her back to it, making heaving sounds.

  ‘Evie,’ Mason said, still horrified, his hate for Wendell doubling. He stared with disgust at the jar of severed thumbs. ‘Call it in.’

  70

  Officers and the forensics team swarmed the house. Other bits and pieces had been found, trophies of the murdered children.