‘You ready for this?’ Bill asked, leaning against the back rail.
‘Not at all. I just hope they don’t recognise me.’
‘I think their newspapers are more financially oriented.’ The doors opened and there was a ping. ‘Come on, it’s time to get to work.’
57
They were met at the door by a short, hurt-looking woman with brown hair. She showed them in, sat them in the lounge and disappeared to fetch drinks (despite that they had graciously declined the offer).
While Bill stared glassy-eyed at the muted TV, Mason stood and paced the room. This apartment was incredible. It was a penthouse; one entire stretch of wall was made up of glass and had a breath-taking view of San Francisco. There was plenty of living space, and he noticed that there was even a metallic spiral staircase, which probably led to the sleeping area.
The woman returned alongside her husband, who introduced himself as Roger and sat down. Mason ignored the drink that was placed down for him. ‘I want you to run me through what happened,’ he said calmly.
The woman cleared her throat. ‘I came home early from a trip, hoping to get an early night in our marital bed.’ She emphasised marital and shot a hard stare at her husband, who wasn’t looking. ‘But Roger was here with some skank.’
‘She was actually a very pretty lady,’ Roger intervened, as if it was a necessary detail.
‘Oh, you really think so?’ His wife raised her voice. ‘Is that what encouraged you to bring a whore into our home, you filthy little pervert?’
‘Hey, there’s no need for–’
‘Please,’ Mason interrupted. ‘Can we just stick with the facts?’
‘Sorry,’ Roger said. ‘There was an altercation, of sorts. She and my wife had a bit of a fight while I was handcuffed to the bed.’
Mrs Gibbons had a disgusted expression on her face, turning her head.
‘Why were you handcuffed to the bed?’ Bill asked.
‘It was the hooker’s idea.’
Bill nodded.
Mason continued to pace. ‘So, Mrs Gibbons, you had your hands full. Did she hurt you at all? Perhaps give you any indication that she might be back? I mean, you hit her, right?’
She shook her head. ‘I only tackled her when she drew the knife.’
‘She had a knife?’ from Bill.
‘Hold on.’ She left the room again.
Mason stood patiently, looking around the place. He was a split-second away from complimenting Roger on his apartment, when he saw a disturbing image on the TV.
It was his own photograph. The tagline underneath read: EX-COP STILL WANTED. The anchor was giving the details with the sound off. Mason walked over to the TV and stood in front of it, pleased that it wasn’t wall-mounted.
Mrs Gibbons returned with two things. A purse, which she held with a cloth so as not to put more prints on it. The second item was something small, in a police evidence bag. ‘The officers told me to hand these to you – said you would file them accordingly?’
Bill gently took the purse, while Mason snatched the evidence bag.
This is Evie’s knife. He began to sweat as he double-checked it for the inscription. When he found it, he felt his hands automatically balling into fists. He could only pray that she was all right. ‘And the woman had this on her?’
The wife nodded, her husband going to the window and admiring the view.
‘Thank you both for your time. We’ll go over this and be in touch,’ said Bill.
You might be, Mason thought, but I have bigger problems.
58
They stopped at a modest little diner a few blocks over. There was hardly anybody inside, which made the decision to stop there all the more easy. They took the booth in the corner, ordered coffee, and put Wendell’s purse on the table between them.
‘You sure you’re ready for this?’ Bill asked.
‘Of course. Get on with it.’
Bill emptied the contents of the purse. The items slid out one by one, as if a conveyor belt was sending them down the line to be examined. Mostly, they were the usual things one would expect when going through a prostitute’s possessions: an assortment of makeup, condoms, a spare pink thong. And then the papers slipped out.
Mason took the one closest to him and unfolded it. It was a slip from her son’s school. ‘Enrolment form.’ He handed it to Bill and picked up the next envelope.
‘Do you want to check out the school?’
Mason shook his head. ‘No time. Besides, there’s nothing they can tell us that we don’t already know.’ He pulled the paper from the envelope and studied it. ‘Ah.’
‘Ah?’
‘It’s a property rental deed. It’s torn in half and a bit faded, but it’s readable. Do you know where this is?’
Bill peered over, looking closely. ‘Not exactly. Up in the woods somewhere, I guess. But I couldn’t pinpoint it. Look at the date, though.’
Mason flipped it over. ‘November third.’
‘One month ago. Compare it with the school enrolment…’ He looked again at the form. ‘Which was three months ago. So, what was she doing with herself for those first couple months? I wouldn’t bet that she was at the same address.’
Mason could see his point. Alison Wendell had a registered business, and he knew first-hand that she lived above that very shop. ‘Why would she need to rent a place if she already has a home?’
‘Exactly. It’s worth checking out.’ Bill stood and slipped on his coat, just as the waitress returned with a pot of coffee. She filled one mug and swiftly left.
‘You’re going there now?’ Mason hurriedly scooped all the items back into the purse.
‘No. I have to get back to work before people start asking questions.’ He took the purse and held out his hand. ‘I know it hurts, but I’m going to need Evie’s knife.’
Mason reached into his pocket and handed it over. ‘I understand. Listen, on your way to the station, would you mind swinging by and checking on Diane?’
‘Sure. You got a vehicle?’
‘Nope.’
Bill tossed him a car key. ‘I want her back in one piece.’
Mason looked at it, concerned. ‘What about you?’
‘I’ll take a cab. Anything else you need, you give me a call.’
‘Thanks,’ Mason said, taking a sip of his coffee. The moment it touched his lips, it perked him up. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
‘Be careful, pal.’
Just like that, Mason was alone. With the killer’s son stashed away and an address to head to, it was beginning to feel like he might just get to see Evie again. He only hoped that he would get to her in time.
59
When Mason drove up the winding road through the woods, he wasn’t sure what to expect. A house, perhaps a bungalow, was waiting for him somewhere, and he knew full well that Alison Wendell could be waiting for him, too.
Eventually, he saw a dirt road, which crooked its way off the main path. He turned his beams on full and drove up there. There were trees to either side of this dusty old path, blocking out any moonlight. All he had were his headlights, until he came to the property.
Mason stopped the car and got out, looking at the cabin. It was a possibility that he was in the wrong place, but there was something eerie about the surrounding woodland. It felt as though he were being watched, and if there was one thing he had learned over the years, it was to trust his gut instinct.
Knowing that his gun was tucked safely into his holster (he hoped to someday return it to the policeman), Mason stepped up to the cabin’s window and peered in. All the lights were off, eliminating any chance of visibility.
On the other hand, that meant that nobody was home. With this in mind, Mason raised his foot and kicked open the front door. Thank God that was thin, he thought as he went inside.
He was in the living area, where old furniture sat gathering dust. There was a fireplace, a dining table, and an unsettling picture of a bear on the far wall. The whole cab
in had a putrid smell, like something decomposing. Mason took slower breaths.
In the bedrooms, still alert in case somebody was waiting and ready to pounce, he checked under the beds and in the closets. Nothing. It was as if nobody had been here in years, but he knew that it was impossible since the place had been rented so recently.
It seemed a lost cause, and Mason was heading to the door to leave when something stole his attention. Next to the telephone was a framed photograph of Alison and Luke Wendell. It was the same one he had seen in the room above the shop.
Mason opened the drawer underneath the telephone table and found a large, messy pile of bills and invoices and other such things. He flicked on the lamp and read through them. Among them was another lease, for a property business address.
Well, well, well. Mason looked at the owner of the property. It was registered to a Mr Benjamin Jones – Property Manager. Finally, it was some sort of clue as to where he might find Wendell. Another possibility was to wait here, but somehow it felt as though that would be a waste of time.
With nothing left to find, Mason pulled the front door closed and stood outside, sending a text message to Bill. It read: Need an address for Benjamin Jones – Property Manager. Tel: 555-2834.
He put the phone away and looked up at the moon. Dark clouds drifted by, like they did in those old werewolf movies. It was making Mason weary, but as much as he wanted to get back and rest, it was beginning to look like he had another stop to make.
The alert tone sang in his pocket, and Mason checked the message.
60
Being in here was a punishment. A way for Lady Luck to keep an eye on her.
Evie didn’t mind – it was nice to have the company. The cell they were in had more space, a bucket (in case nature should come calling) and a small hole at the top of the wall, which led out into the woods. It was the size of a letterbox and the breeze was refreshing.
The girl she was bunked with had introduced herself as Annabelle. She was young, it turned out – only nineteen years old and already suffering such miserable trauma. Evie felt for her and wished that they could all make it out of there unharmed.
‘I won the last game,’ Annabelle said. It was the first time she had spoken in hours.
Evie looked up from the cross-legged position on the floor. ‘What?’
‘She made us play. I didn’t want to play but she made us play.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The…’ Annabelle made a gun with her fingers. ‘It wasn’t my fault.’
Evie stood up and crossed the room to her. She took the girl’s cheeks softly into her cupped hands. ‘Annabelle, please explain yourself. Who made you play? What happened?’
But Annabelle just lowered her head and tucked it between her folded arms. Her back bobbed up and down as she sobbed into her own little private space.
Forget this. Evie stood, stretched and went to the hole in the wall. It was nice and cool against her sweaty, sticky skin. It reminded her of opening a refrigerator, which only provoked a thought about when she had last eaten. How long has it been now? A day? Two?
Evie was lost, staring into the dark woods, when she saw some movement in the distance. She rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands and then looked again. At first, she thought she was hallucinating, but the image seemed so real.
Far beyond the trees, Mason was standing beside a car. He was looking into his hands, as if using a cell phone. Evie called for him. ‘Mason! Mason! Over here!’
Mason didn’t move.
It felt like a dream – like when you’re reaching for an item and the harder you try, the further away it gets. But Evie needed this. She needed her brother to look around, to see him and come to her rescue.
‘Hey!’ she tried again, screaming at the top of her lungs. For all she knew, Lady Luck would soon hear her and come storming in to deal out a punishment. Evie didn’t care. She was doing what was necessary. ‘Mason! Mason!’
‘Nobody can hear you.’ Annabelle looked up. ‘We’re stuck here until we lose the game.’
The words had no effect. Evie continued to yell until her dry throat burned.
But Mason began to walk away, putting the phone in his pocket.
No, no, don’t go. Please… Evie felt her heart break as she watched her brother climb into the car. ‘Mason!’ she yelled at the top of her lungs as Mason Black turned the car and drove away.
61
It was getting late, so Mason made his way to Benjamin Jones’s home address. Bill had efficiently provided the business address, too, but it was likely that nobody would be there. All the same, it wouldn’t keep him from trying.
He drove casually, adjusting to using the unfamiliar car. After having the Mustang for so long, this felt like one seriously underpowered vehicle. But it gave Mason time to think, which he felt he needed.
His brain hurting from overuse, his thoughts drifted towards Diane. It was strange; although they were in a less-than-romantic situation, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would have been like if they could date. It had been only a year since his divorce from Sandra, and it hadn’t crossed his mind to move on. At least, not until Diane came into his life.
Mason stopped the car up the street and got out. It was dark, quiet, the perfect place to go unnoticed. The house was a well-presented detached bungalow with a too-perfect garden. Gnomes occupied the lawn and there was a white picket fence keeping them imprisoned. As he reached the front door, the spotlight flickered on.
After a knock and a small wait, a man came to the door. He was short and round, wearing nothing but sweatpants and a spaghetti-stained white t-shirt. People like you give America a bad name, thought Mason.
‘Yes?’ the man said, his hand still on the door.
Mason showed his ID. ‘Mason Black. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I need to speak with you regarding a property you let out. You’re Mr Jones, I presume?’
‘Oh. Uh… Yes, come on in.’ He held open the door and let him in, then showed him through to the living room. ‘Please, sit.’
Mason took a seat across from him and drew the papers from his pocket. ‘These properties,’ he said, handing them over and getting straight down to business, ‘were leased to an Alison Wendell. She’s a primary suspect in an ongoing murder investigation. Can I ask exactly how much contact you’ve had with her?’
The paper shook in Mr Jones’s hand as he stared at the text. It looked as though he was going to burst into tears, like it had struck him personally.
‘Mr Jones?’
‘Yes.’ He snapped back to the moment and coughed into a fist. ‘Please, call me Ben.’
‘Okay,’ Mason said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. ‘Ben, if you’ve met this woman personally, I’ll need to know anything she said. For instance, did she happen to mention what she needed the premises for?’
‘No. A holiday home, I guessed. As long as the rent is paid, I don’t tend to ask too many questions.’
‘Does she always pay on time?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Ben shook his head. ‘Sometimes even throws in a little extra. You know, to say thanks.’
‘Thanks for what?’
‘She pays in cash, and I go up to the cabin and collect it from her.’
‘I see.’ Mason didn’t like how close this man seemed to Wendell. From Ben’s dry tone, it sounded as though they were more than just business associates. Sadly, there was nothing to prove that. ‘And of those times that you went to collect, did you notice anything out of the ordinary?’
‘Like what?’
‘Extra vehicles parked outside, damages, anything like that?’
‘Nope.’ Ben looked over his shoulder and started to get up. ‘Can I get you a drink of anything?’
‘I’m fine, thank you. I’d rather just take anything you know and be on my way.’
Ben sat back down and clapped his hands together. ‘Sure. So…’
‘How about the business pro
perty. Which is registered as Priceless Beauties? Do you ever visit there?’
‘Never.’
Mason leaned in close. ‘Let’s pretend for a moment that you have no idea what kind of business she runs. Okay? Let’s say you visited her there just one time, to collect the rent. What exactly might you have witnessed?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Ever had any noise complaints?’
‘Never.’ Ben shot to his feet. ‘Sorry, I’m going to need a glass of water. I’ll be right back.’ He shot out of the room before Mason had time to respond.
‘Go ahead,’ Mason mumbled. He stood and walked around the room, examining the paintings and expensive-looking ornaments. There was an overabundance of crystal – probably paid for by some shady dealings that Mason could afford to overlook.
Outside, there was a groaning sound. It chugged up slowly and then turned to a roar.
A car.
Mason ran to the door and saw Ben sitting inside his small black car, making his way down the drive. Luckily, Mason had parked across the end of the driveway, blocking out any exit (guilty parties had a tendency to run, Mason had learned, and so this had become a habit).
The car still running, Ben got out and ran off the property, heading up the road bare-footed. Mason took after him, screaming, ‘Don’t you move, Ben! You’re only making this harder!’
‘Fuck off!’ Ben yelled back, disappearing round the street corner.
Considering that this man was guilty enough to run, and that he was now out of sight, Mason felt both incredibly lucky and overly worried at the same time.
62
Alison Wendell knew how much trouble she was in.
She had headed out with the intention of earning a few bucks and maybe having a little fun. But now, as she was power-walking to the shop, she realised how badly everything was sliding out of control.
Roger, the pervert, had treated her like nothing more than an object to fuck. It was what made him the perfect candidate for a little game of Slice and Dice. Alison could even have made it out of there with something of a profit. Now, they had her purse.
Mason Black (The Complete Collection): 6 Gripping Crime Stories: The Complete Collection + BONUS Story Page 28