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

by Adam Nicholls

  Mason knew that it must be a horrific sight up there, and prepped himself with only a tight swallow and a slight tremble in his hands. ‘Is the ID confirmed? Do we know for certain that it’s Marion Healy?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Bill. ‘Is she the reason you’re here?’

  ‘Don’t take it personally,’ Mason rubbed his nose with a sniff, ‘but Chris Healy reached out to me. I think he’s just trying every approach he can.’

  ‘I don’t blame him.’ Bill flashed his badge at the guarding police officer. ‘This way.’

  Mason followed him through and was immediately taken aback. The scene before him was a bloody mess and could only have been put together by somebody truly disturbed. The wide, terrified look of the severed head was particularly difficult to look at, but what really drew Mason’s attention was the message.

  ‘Anarchy,’ Bill said, reading the bloody signature across the floor of the food court. ‘We think it’s a nickname.’

  Mason sighed. ‘Every psychopath we encounter seems to have an alternate name for themselves. What’s wrong with simply being named John?’ He moved toward the scene and crouched by the trail of blood. There were marks where the blood had dripped before being impaled on the railing outside a restaurant.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking.’ Bill appeared at his side.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘You’re wondering whether this person was killed before she was brought here.’

  ‘I wasn’t wondering that at all.’ Mason pushed himself to his feet. ‘It would take a goddamn ninja to get away with that.’

  ‘Funny you should mention that.’ Bill glanced over his shoulder at Captain Leanne Cox as she passed by them. ‘A man was seen hurrying away from this spectacle and hopping onto a green Kawasaki Ninja.’

  ‘A motorcycle?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘And an ID on that man?’

  ‘Cameras only show the back of his head. We think he knew exactly where to hide.’

  ‘So it’s pre-meditated?’ Mason looked around at the scene once more – a disturbing reminder of why he ever became involved in law enforcement in the first place. As he turned, he too caught a glimpse of Captain Cox, who raised a hand to wave before turning her back on them. ‘Can you keep me up to speed, in case you find out anything?’

  ‘Of course. And how about your investigation? Have you found anything?’

  Mason surprised himself when his reaction was an immediate shake of the head. ‘Nothing.’ Why hadn’t he mentioned Marion’s iPhone? Why had his instincts told him to conceal that information? Sure, he still needed to root through it, but it was supposed to be police evidence.

  ‘Well, let me know if anything changes.’

  ‘Sure will.’ Mason left the scene as quickly as he could, silently praying that something of use would turn up soon enough. God forbid he should stumble upon another scene like this one, with another innocent civilian falling victim to his own incompetence.

  10

  His blood was racing even faster than his bike. The looks on the people’s faces had been a new kind of exciting – fear and confusion crossed their expressions. But more intriguingly to Anarchy, even a dash of excitement had been there somewhere.

  Although lost in a jungle of his own thoughts, the screeching sirens behind him were not easy to ignore. Anarchy checked his mirror and saw that he was the policeman’s target.

  Surely they can’t know that it was me? He had been so careful at the mall and would be astounded if anybody had seen him acting suspicious. In fact, a part of being insanely chaotic – and being aware of it, too – was that he was able to play the innocent whenever needed. And wasn’t this one of those times?

  Anarchy pulled over, shut off the engine and waited for the policeman to approach.

  Here, piggy piggy piggy.

  ‘Licence and registration,’ the officer asked when he finally caught up. He was a stocky guy – the type to push his chest out simply for the sake of it. Everything about him gave off an aura of superiority, although he didn’t quite look old enough to be a senior officer.

  ‘I don’t have it on me,’ said Anarchy. Anyway, nobody knows my real name, and I would like to keep it that way, thank you very much.

  After a strong look of scepticism, the officer placed a hand on his sidearm, a silent threat. ‘Slowly dismount the vehicle, remove your helmet and come with me.’ He began to walk back to the police car without waiting for a response.

  But Anarchy was well aware of the dashboard cameras – he’d seen all these cop shows and loved how most of the crimes were caught on camera. But as much as he would love to do the same, he knew he couldn’t risk being identified. Obediently, he walked on, keeping his helmet on until he passed the camera. Only then did he take it off.

  ‘What’s your name?’ the officer asked, his hand on the car radio.

  Enough of the questions, thought Anarchy. Nobody could see him now, which meant that nothing was off-limits. Taking the officer by surprise, he reached for the pistol on his hip, snatched it up quickly and pointed it at the cop.

  The look of wonder on his face was priceless. ‘You’re making a big mistake, son.’

  ‘I’ve done worse.’ Anarchy looked around him at the passing vehicles. It was funny; not a single person gave a shit between them. ‘Bet you wish you hadn’t stopped me.’

  The officer shook his head. ‘I don’t give a fuck what you–’

  As if by some instantaneous reaction – a reflex of his finger – Anarchy pulled the trigger. Before he even heard the shot or felt the force of the blast push into his shoulder, the officer hit the floor and clutched at his throat.

  ‘That looks like it hurts.’ Anarchy laughed as the blood bubbled at the throat of the downed cop. He reached into the officer’s pocket, grabbed his wallet and flipped it open. Inside was only twenty dollars (which was barely worth taking) and a family photograph. ‘This your wife? Your daughter?’

  The cop looked at the photo with wide eyes, straining to keep his neck at a comfortable angle as he gargled blood. The back of his head hit the road, as if all his energy had been ripped from him like some cheap tablecloth trick.

  Anarchy turned the photo back toward him and studied it. The woman – who had her arms slung around the cop’s shoulders – was quite unattractive. She was a big woman with a dull hairstyle and bad skin. The daughter, however, looked like she was growing to a comfortable age. ‘Tell you what,’ said Anarchy, leaning into the cop’s ear. ‘Before you choke on your own blood, I want you to hear this thought and then take it to Hell with you: these two special women are going to suffer immeasurable pain, and it’s all because you put a hand on your gun. Not so tough now, huh?’

  The officer choked a little more, his face turning red before his legs kicked softly. Then he went completely still, his eyes staring blankly up at the sky.

  Chuckling to himself, Anarchy put the helmet back on his head, pocketed the officer’s pistol and hopped back onto his bike with a new destination in mind.

  11

  Mason stuffed a forkful of green vegetables into his mouth, his eyes fixated on the plugged-in phone. He was thumbing through the messages and call log, looking for anything that might be useful. So far, there was nothing.

  ‘Why don’t you just go over there?’ Diane asked from across the table. Her cutlery was on her plate beside the dirty napkin. As always, she had finished long before Mason.

  ‘What? Go where?’

  Diane shook her head. ‘Sweetie, you’ve done nothing but stare at that thing the entire time I’ve been talking to you. It wouldn’t be so bad if you hadn’t been the one to initiate the conversation about your sister.’

  Mason set down his fork, putting the phone beside him. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just distracted. So, what was that about Evie?’

  ‘I said you should go over there.’

  ‘No. She hates uninvited guests.’

  ‘But you’re her brother.’

  Mason s
hook his head. ‘That’s just it – I don’t think she sees it that way anymore.’

  Without saying a word, Diane stood, collected their plates and headed for the kitchen. The second she was out of sight, Mason picked up the phone and continued to search through the pictures. It was the third time he had been through them, and still, nothing useful leapt out at him. The worst thing was, he couldn’t keep the image of Marion’s severed head from his mind. Every time he saw a photo of the woman, he felt those lifeless eyes staring back at him.

  Before long, Diane returned to the dining room with two steaming cups of coffee in hand. She set them at the table and, this time, sat beside Mason. She took his free hand. ‘She’s hurting.’

  ‘Evie?’

  ‘Yes. And you don’t like that.’

  ‘I don’t.’ Mason put the phone back down and looked her in the eye.

  ‘Then do your thing. She’s not taking your calls because she doesn’t know what to think. It’s been a year since she found out what you did to the Lullaby Killer, and although I understand your reasons, Evie doesn’t.’

  ‘That’s the problem; I don’t know how to make her understand.’

  ‘I think she’s had her time to mull it over,’ said Diane, taking a sip of the coffee and wincing as it scalded her lips. ‘Now it’s time for you to turn up at her door. It’s your role to make sure she’s okay, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So then, get your ass over there and check in on her. Screw social convention.’

  Mason looked down at his hands, picking at his nail. ‘I suppose you have a point. But what do I even say to her? I can’t apologise enough.’

  ‘Then don’t talk about that. Maybe this isn’t about you. Maybe you just want to see how she is doing.’ Diane took the car keys from his pocket and placed them in front of him. ‘Just go. This case of yours will still be here when you get back.’

  After a moment of hesitation, Mason grabbed the keys, put the iPhone in his pocket (just in case he should think of something helpful) and went for the door.

  What the hell am I doing?

  12

  Taking the steps toward her apartment, Mason paused to absorb his surroundings.

  The last time he had been here, he was on the run from the San Francisco police. And although the situation had eventually been dealt with, his memory of the ordeal had never quite faded. After all, it was those events that had led to Evie learning of his big secret.

  Mason approached the door and knocked upon it. He was met with a silence that told him he had no place here. The only reason he waited it out was that he could imagine Diane’s disappointed face if he were to return home with news that they’d not spoken.

  Moments passed, and he was about to knock again when he heard a shuffle from behind the door. ‘I know you’re in there,’ he called through the wood. ‘I can see your shadow underneath the door.’

  There was silence again, until finally, the chain was dragged along its rail and the door popped open. However, the Evie he stood looking at was not his sister – not the one he had grown up with. Happy, responsible Evelyn Black seemed to have disappeared and been replaced by this frail, wispy-haired woman with black rings for eyes.

  Mason stood shocked, trying desperately to find his words. ‘Can I come in?’

  Evie looked at him like he was a stranger, then eventually pushed the door open wider. When she did, she walked off quietly into the back of the dark room. ‘You should have called first.’

  ‘I did,’ Mason said, pushing the door shut behind him. Now they were in total darkness, until he crossed the room and opened the drapes. The harsh sunlight burst in with an explosion of colour. ‘Around a million times.’

  Evie grunted. ‘And there’s a reason I didn’t pick up.’

  Mason looked around him at the mess. This used to be a nice apartment, he thought, studying the Doritos bags and half-empty bottles of vodka. The diet across the table seemed to match his sister’s current health.

  ‘Why are you here?’ she asked, crossing her arms.

  ‘I came to check up on you.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Clearly.’ Mason moved a foul-smelling pizza box from the couch and took a seat.

  Evie sat loosely on the arm of the chair.

  ‘Are you working?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What happened at the toy company?’

  ‘It fell through,’ Evie said, playing with her stringy hair.

  ‘You mean you took to the bottle?’

  ‘Oh, fuck you. I don’t need your judgement.’

  Mason held up his hands. ‘I’m sorry. But you have to admit, this isn’t you.’

  ‘So, what – we know each other now? Suddenly we’re best pals who know each other’s secrets?’

  ‘That’s not what I–’

  ‘Really, I just want you to leave.’

  Mason stared at her, trying to think of the right thing to say. But perhaps she was right – he had deserved to be treated like this. As Evie had clearly made a point of before, she wasn’t pissed that he had killed Marvin Wendell. It was that he had lied to her that really stung. Giving in, he went for the front door.

  ‘Don’t come by here again,’ she said, following in behind him.

  ‘Ever?’ Mason stopped by the open door and turned to face her.

  ‘I don’t know. Just… I need more time.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Mason. ‘Just promise me you’ll take better care of yourself.’

  Evie shot him a look as if to say: Don’t you dare tell me what to do.

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’ Mason stepped into the hallway and cringed as he heard the door slam behind him. The lock and chain followed soon after with a clunk and a dragging sound, metal on metal.

  Goddamnit. He headed back down the hallway, but only made it five feet before his phone began to ring. ‘Mason Black,’ he said, pressing the phone to his ear.

  ‘Buddy…’ It was Bill, sounding awfully morose. ‘There’s been another murder. You’re going to want to see this for yourself.’

  13

  Mason arrived at Swimley Avenue, where the most recent murders had taken place. All Bill had said on the phone was: There’s been another murder. You’re going to want to see this for yourself. That was enough to shake Mason to his core.

  Arriving at the scene, he saw far too many flashing red-and-blues. Where it didn’t take a genius to figure this wasn’t a good sign, Mason knew more than most people that anything over five cars was serious.

  ‘We have to stop meeting like this,’ Bill said, holding the tape up for Mason. It was a poor attempt at a sense of humour, but anything was better than nothing. It was how one survived being a cop.

  ‘You’re telling me.’ Mason looked around him as they stepped up to the house. ‘I counted seven squad cars. What’s the occasion?’

  ‘Another message from Anarchy. The sick bastard even called it in himself.’

  It goes from bad to worse. ‘But… seven cars.’

  Bill stopped at the door. ‘That’s because what you’re about to see is a cop’s family. I’ll warn you now, it’s not a pretty sight.’

  Mason let out a deep breath. Whenever a police officer was killed, the SFPD would go absolutely mad trying to solve the case. This meant that Mason’s own case would be considered an obstruction, Internal Affairs would be investigating anyone and everyone, and nobody would be in a good mood. ‘All right, let me see.’

  ‘You were warned.’ Bill pushed open the door, revealing a flood of forensic officers, homicide detectives and weeping witnesses being interviewed.

  Mason stepped inside, and the first thing he noticed – besides the general noise of the room – was how much red there was. The trail seemed to lead from the bottom of the stairs, snaking through into another room. ‘Can I explore?’

  ‘As long as you don’t touch anything.’ Bill waved him through, following the scarlet trail. ‘Whatever you do, don’t throw up.’


  Mason had always had a strong stomach, but he knew that some things were far too much for even him. He took a deep breath, steeling himself before moving to the next room. When he saw the murder scene, he understood the commotion. ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Right? Officer Hartley’s body was found by the roadside, throat slit open. When the investigating detective – yours truly – came here to inform the family, the door was wide open. This is what I stumbled upon.’

  Mason looked around at the far wall, where the naked bodies of a woman and young girl were nailed to the wall. They each had multiple cuts and puncture wounds, their arms spread out crucifixion-style. Around them, the word ANARCHY had been plastered across each wall, some of the furniture and the mirrors. It looked as though it had been done with white paint, but Mason couldn’t be sure. ‘Were they raped?’

  ‘No. Apparently neither of them were touched.’

  ‘Then why the brutality?’

  ‘I was hoping you could tell me.’

  Mason stayed silent. There wasn’t much that he could say.

  ‘Problem is, there’s not a single damn clue. Nothing. Zilch. We’re up to our eyeballs in stress, buddy, and there’s no light at the end of the tunnel.’

  ‘I’m going to–’ Just then, the phone rang in his pocket. Mason’s instinct was to ignore it, but then it occurred to him: it wasn’t his phone that was ringing. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, heading outside and digging into his pocket to answer Marion’s iPhone.

  14

  He paused, looking at the name on the phone.

  Lucy Healy.

  Somehow, he doubted this was the missing girl. Even if she was still alive, why would she have called this phone before reaching out for help from the police? There must have been some kind of a mix up, Mason thought, but he had to find out exactly who was calling. Even if just to let them know that their friend had been murdered. He found a quiet spot in the back yard and took the call.

  ‘Hello.’

  There was silence on the other end of the phone.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Mason tried, tucking a hand into his armpit to protect it from the cold breeze.