‘Sure will. Bye,’ she said, smiling.
Mason groaned as he left the establishment, quickly crossing the street while sending a text message to Bill. It read: Did Johnny live with his parents?
16
The very second he left, the woman raised the hinged countertop and walked across to the windows. She had to be sure he was gone – no big surprises today, thank you.
Mason was on his phone now, walking slower while trying to concentrate. It had been difficult for Lady to control herself, to not take him down then and there. After all, the police seemed to be taking their precious time.
But there are other ways…
If she could continue to play with him, the same way a cat plays with a mouse before she kills it, perhaps there could be more than revenge. There could be solace. And for once, she would be able to sleep at night.
As soon as he went out of sight, Lady locked the door, turned the multi-functional sign to CLOSED, and pulled the blind down. It was dark in here now. Perfect. She went to the back room, gently prising the blonde wig from her scalp. Her short red hair fell free and she tossed the wig aside.
Where would Mason go next? He obviously had no idea what he was doing, otherwise he would have figured her out there and then. It was almost laughable, really, which only fuelled her anger.
Lady went through the beads and another door, then closed it behind her. The woman, Melanie, was still tied down. At least that was going the way she wanted it to. It was pleasing to watch, everything from the tremble in her knees to the wide, scared-shitless eyes.
Perfect.
Lady picked up the tattoo gun and heard its teasing little vibration. ‘Now,’ she said as she approached the table, ‘where were we?’
17
As it turned out, Johnny Walker had lived in a run-down apartment with his parents. The mother was unemployed and under investigation for fraud, and the father was – until suffering a recent leg injury – a gym teacher.
Mason walked down the stuffy corridor, stifling a gag at the smell of sour milk. The place was filthy, the dusty brown carpets seemingly pulled straight from an old episode of Columbo. Even the Walker family’s door was shaved of most of its paint.
He gave it a knock and waited.
When it eventually opened as far as the brass chain would allow, a distraught pair of eyes studied him. Female eyes, raw with tears. ‘What do you want?’ she asked abruptly.
‘Mason Black, PI. I’m here to ask some questions about your–’
As fast as it had opened, the door was slammed shut. Mason waited hopefully, thinking he might hear the sound of the chain sliding across and see the door open again. But each passing second made it seem less likely.
Mason knocked again. What more could he do?
Again the door swung open, going all the way this time. Now a man was staring back at him, bald-headed and unhealthily gaunt. ‘Please, leave us alone,’ he said, his voice beginning to crack. ‘We’ve answered all the questions from the police. We just want to mourn.’
It was times like this that Mason felt like a parasite. If they would assist him with the answers to a few questions, he stood a chance of bringing their son’s killer to justice. But was that really the reason he was working so hard? It was tough to pretend that his own reputation wasn’t at stake.
‘I’m truly sorry for your loss, but I think you might know something that could help my investigation, even if you don’t realise what it is.’
‘No.’ Mr Walker pointed down the corridor. ‘Now go away before I call the police and have you sued for harassment.’ And just like that, the door came slamming shut again, so hard that Mason could almost hear the frame splinter.
‘Phew.’ Mason blew out a breath, and trotted back down the hallway. Harassment was a stretch, he thought, but he still didn’t want his name being rung in. He wondered how far Bill was coming in his investigation. How long would it be before he was asked to bring him in? Not long, he would bet.
Interrupting his thoughts, the door behind him creaked open. Mason turned to see a small teenager with glasses pulling the Walkers’ door closed and quietly tiptoeing across the hall. ‘Excuse me. Hey.’
‘Can I help you?’
‘No, but I bet I can help you. Sorry about those two. They’re torn up, you know?’
‘I’m sure. And you are…?’
‘Callum Taylor. I’m… I mean I was Johnny’s best friend. God, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to saying that – “was”. Have you ever lost anyone?’
Mason thought that was too personal, his parents springing to mind ever so briefly. ‘No.’
Callum looked at him blankly, as if waiting for more. He soon gave up. ‘Anyway, Johnny was going to see a prostitute the night he was murdered. I told the police that, but they said it would be nigh impossible to track her down.’
‘No kidding.’ Mason took the Priceless Beauties business card from his pocket and handed it over. ‘This was found on his person. Is this who he used?’
Callum looked it over, holding it out in a trembling hand. ‘No. Wow, I gave this to him. But no, he said he wanted to and they were fully booked. But then he said something about a backup plan. Macy… Macy something.’
‘Marcy Larkin?’ Mason’s heart began to thump. This could be good news.
‘Yes! Who is she?’
‘It’s a street renamed by the locals.’ That was as much as he could be patient enough to tell. The details were somewhat thicker; a young black girl had been brutally stabbed and murdered in the fifties, on account of her skin colour. After the press began to name the street Marcy Larkin, after the girl, it just kind of stuck.
‘Ah, right. So, I hope that helps. Good luck catching the bitch.’
‘Thanks, kid.’ Mason found himself hopping down the steps two at a time. Although it was dangerous and he knew he could come to regret it, he knew he might need to ask for Evie’s help with this one. And as it so happened, he was due at hers tonight for dinner.
18
The meal was mostly soggy; potatoes and green beans drowned in gravy. Mason’s thoughts had been far away, and even the near-bloody steak didn’t do much for his mood.
‘Is something wrong?’ Evie asked, looking at his plate. This was, for her, an extraordinary effort, and the result was at least respectable. However, as was her way, she let her self-doubt flourish.
‘No. Nothing,’ he said, and there was some truth to it. Nothing was wrong with the meal, but… ‘I was just thinking… Are you doing anything tonight? After this?’
Evie gently set down her fork – a not-so-subtle attempt at acting upper class. ‘Not really. Why, what did you have in mind?’
Mason watched her expression, feeling ashamed of what he was about to ask. She was probably thinking it would be something fun, a movie or a few drinks. He could already feel her disappointment. ‘This case of mine… I could use your help.’
‘Go on.’
Swallowing a forkful of potatoes, Mason dabbed a napkin at his lips. ‘I need to stake out Marcy Larkin. Some kid – a friend of Johnny Walker – pointed me in that direction.’
‘And you need me because…’
‘Well, if you were catching eyes, I could watch from a distance and–’
‘You want to use me as bait,’ Evie stated – no hint of it being a question. She wiped her mouth and threw her napkin into the gravy before snatching her plate and storming towards the kitchen. ‘Unbelievable,’ she muttered between rooms.
Mason pushed his chair back across the tiles with a screech and went to lean in the doorway of the kitchen. She was still pottering about, scraping food into the trash, dropping the empty plate into the sink. ‘Come on, I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘Then how did you mean it?’ She stopped suddenly, placing a hand on her hip. In that way, she was a lot like their mother – sensitive and firm at the same time.
‘I just need the help, is all. There’s no pressure.’
‘You kn
ow I’ve been working really hard to put that life behind me. You’re supposed to be encouraging me, making sure I’m safe and happy. Not throwing me into harm’s way for the sake of some dead kid you didn’t even know!’
‘All right, all right! Jesus. I’ll do it alone. No big deal.’ Mason held up his hands in mock surrender and retreated to the lounge. He stood there quietly for a few moments, examining the mantel’s display of photos. Even Amelia – Evie’s daughter, who a nice couple had adopted – sat proudly in a pressed white blouse.
‘What exactly do you hope to achieve, anyway?’ Evie was back in the room now, having cooled down. Although she kept on frowning (it would seem silly to go from angry to okay in an instant), she seemed eager to listen.
‘This hooker – Lady Luck, she calls herself – has been seen around there. Maybe she deals with women, maybe she doesn’t. But if anybody uses that name, I’d be wanting words with them.’
‘Why can’t you do it?’
‘Evie, this woman carved my name into a man’s chest. She probably knows what I look like.’ Mason crossed the room, put his hands on her arms and rubbed softly. ‘But there’s no pressure here. You know that.’ He kissed her on the cheek, thanked her for dinner and headed for the door.
‘Wait.’
Mason turned on his heel.
‘Tomorrow night. Pick me up at ten.’
19
The second his cell phone picked up a signal, Mason felt it jerking in his pocket. It felt endless, like a needy child begging for attention and screeching in just the right way to make sure he was listening.
Climbing into his car, he saw he had a number of missed calls from Bill. He hoped it wasn’t too important. Mason didn’t think he could deal with being interrogated just yet. He needed more to go on. More clues, more witnesses… more hope.
When would the police arrive, anyway? Were they at his apartment now, warrant in hand while they picked through his belongings like seagulls at the dump? The very idea of it was intrusive, violating even.
Mason shivered, turned on the heat and opened the new text message. This one was from Amy, the daughter he was yet to speak to since cutting their weekend short. He figured he should apologise, maybe swing by with a gift or the offer of a movie theatre outing. They were growing fond of their movie time together. Mostly it would end in an argument about which actress was the prettiest, and Mason would always insist that Amy was prettier than all of them combined.
Smiling at the warmth of the memories, he lowered his eyes to the text:
Dad. Come by soon. I miss you! xxx
I miss you too, he thought, smiling. She was growing up so fast, and it was scary.
With that thought in mind, he slung his cell phone into the passenger seat and revved up the car. Its roar was glorious and dominating, but Mason liked to drive it as he would any other car – at a sensible, non-life-threatening speed. It wasn’t through care for himself, he just didn’t want to hurt anybody else.
The phone jerked again. Mason would have missed it were it not for the flashing screen. He pulled over and looked at it. The number was unknown to him.
‘Mason Black,’ he said, assuming it to be a new client.
The line’s quality was dropping in and out, crackly at best. There was heavy breathing for a moment before a familiar voice spoke up. ‘Hi. Are you… This is Diane. We met in the parking lot the other night.’
Why would you be calling me? It was a surprise, but a pleasant one. ‘Oh, yes, sure I remember you. Is everything okay?’
Diane cleared her throat. ‘Well, yes, actually. I just wondered if you might like to go for a drink on Friday night. I mean… if you want to.’
‘Sure.’ He had said it before he’d even thought about whether he might be busy. For all he knew, he could be behind bars by then. But still, the idea of seeing Diane again made him feel a certain warmth. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
‘Great.’ She audibly sighed with relief. ‘Shall we say, Barlow’s at seven?’
Barlow’s was a respectable place on the other side of town, renowned for its more date-like mood. The lights were always low and the music was rarely less than classy. It was suggestive, to say the least, although Mason didn’t mind. ‘I’ll be there. Until then, Diane. Take care.’
‘You too.’
He hung up, staring down the hood of his car as if in a trance. Friday, me and Diane. It felt like an incredible turn of events, right on time. Just what he needed.
Slinging the car into first, he pulled out onto the street and continued home, barely aware of his own childlike grin.
20
The dreams were threatening, frightening and bold. Mason didn’t remember them exactly, only that they ended with a car upturned on its roof. He had been using his heel to kick through the glass, but it seemed unbreakable. His kick slowly turned into knocks on the door as he phased out of the dream world and into his own.
‘Get up, get up! I know you’re in there. Your car’s outside.’ It was Bill’s voice yelling on the other end of the apartment, although he sounded less than friendly.
‘Hold on.’ Mason achingly climbed off the sofa, where he had fallen asleep after sinking a few beers. He went to the door in yesterday’s clothes, his eyes still adjusting to the harsh light.
‘What the hell have you done?’ Bill let himself in, storming through and checking every room. Finding that they were empty, he came back and handed over a file. ‘Another one. This one doesn’t have your name on it.’
‘Then why are you here?’ Mason yawned, flicking open the file. ‘Oh.’
‘Exactly.’
The file held a number of photos, along with information on the latest victim. Her name was Melanie Fry, a thirty-one-year-old kindergarten teacher. In her profiling photo, she was a beautiful blonde with sharp blue eyes, full of life. In the crime scene photo, all that had been taken from her.
The victim’s throat had been sliced, again, ear to ear. Her eyes were still crossed with a look of horror, and her jaw looked as if it had been snapped open in a twisted scream. Across her chest, a messy and bloody tattoo read: TIME TO PLAY. Mason didn’t know the meaning behind it.
‘They’re still looking at you, thanks to the message carved into Johnny Walker,’ Bill said. ‘It could be wise for you to not be here for a while. Are you still researching?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then hurry up about it. The captain’s orders are coming in.’
Mason paced around the room, reading up more about the victim, hoping that something might leap out at him. Nothing did. He couldn’t even make sense of the message, much less whether or not this one was aimed at him. ‘Hmm.’
‘What?’ Bill snapped his head around.
‘Interesting that the victim was alive while this happened to her.’
‘She was?’
‘It’s pretty messy here. See where the ends trail off, and the joins are too wavy? I’m guessing the victim was moving around as Lady Luck did this to her. Whoever she is, this is one twisted bitch.’
Bill blinked, hard. ‘Listen. Are we… I need to know that you won’t be confessing to burying Marvin Wendell. If you go down, I’m going down with you. But I don’t want that.’
‘Pal, if I’m forced into a corner and have no choice but to admit what happened, your name won’t be coming up. I’m your friend, Bill. Loyalty is a part of that.’ He handed back the file and stretched towards the ceiling. ‘As I can expect you’re doing everything you can to give me a little more time.’
Bill stared at him thoughtfully, then turned for the door. ‘I’m doing everything I can, sure… But I don’t think that’s going to be enough.’
‘Where are you going?’ said Mason, struggling to take all this in at such an early hour.
‘Out. I’ll be in touch. Meanwhile, get the hell out of here. It might not be me at your door next time.’
21
Night had come quickly, and Mason sat in the car, his gaze fixed on Evie a
t a distance. She’s right, this plan was stupid and dangerous, he thought in silence, already regretting it.
His view of her was clear, thanks to the lack of traffic and his outstanding eyesight, but it made him feel uneasy. It didn’t seem right to see his sister dressed the way she was – knee-high boots and flesh on show. However, it had been her idea – apparently it would make her more appealing.
‘Just tell me where to go,’ she said through the Bluetooth headset.
‘Trust me,’ said Mason, ‘and stop talking. You look suspicious.’
Evie said no more to that, walking further up the street. The working girls were out in full force tonight, as if they were going out of their way to make things difficult for them. This woman, this… Lady Luck, could have been any one of these. She was a needle in a haystack.
One woman – a thin-looking petite – crossed the road in a quick one-two kind of step. Her head didn’t turn to look for oncoming vehicles, and she was walking in Evie’s direction.
‘Don’t look now,’ Mason said into the phone, ‘but somebody is coming your way. Stop with your back to the wall and don’t look at her.’
Evie did as she was told. She must have been absolutely terrified, but she seemed to be hiding it well. It was something she had always been good at. It was those years of being caught bunking off school that had lent her practice.
The woman looked over her shoulder guiltily. To Mason’s surprise, she passed right by Evie and continued up the street. Perhaps he had been wrong. Maybe she was just another hooker giving a bad name to Frisco. ‘All right, false alarm.’
‘I don’t want to be here anymore,’ she said, her lips barely moving.
Mason considered that. Was he being a bad person by allowing her to put herself in danger like that? He had always known her as competent, confident, and totally able to handle herself. But for the second time in a year, a killer had it in for Mason. And there was Evie, offering herself on a plate to help him out.
Mason Black (The Complete Collection): 6 Gripping Crime Stories: The Complete Collection + BONUS Story Page 21