On the other end of the phone, somebody cleared their throat. But it couldn’t have been Lucy – it was certainly not female. ‘Who is this?’
American. Male. Shockingly calm. ‘Mason Black, investigating the disappearance of Marion Healy. I’m afraid she’s indisposed at the moment, but if there’s something I can help you with–’
He was interrupted by the outrageous laughter of the man, who was cackling down the phone like he had just heard the funniest damn thing in his entire life. ‘That’s good,’ he said, stabilising himself. ‘“Investigating the disappearance.” Didn’t you know I cut that cunt’s head clean off?’
Mason’s legs began to shake. He glanced through the window, noting that everybody was still inside, going about their business while he dealt with this psychopath. ‘Who is this?’
‘I thought you were investigating me,’ the man said. ‘You don’t even know my name.’
‘… Anarchy?’
The wind picked up, blasting into the speaker and coming back with a buzz. There was a sound on the other end of the phone, like a sharp knife being taken from a block. ‘Are you a cop?’
‘No.’
‘Private investigator?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who hired you?’
Mason leaned his hand into the wall, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. ‘What’s it to you?’
‘Just curious,’ Anarchy said. It sounded like he was straining to stand up, or perhaps pushing something heavy. ‘It makes no difference to me.’
‘Of course not.’
Again, there was that silence, although it felt as though they were both waiting for their chance to speak. Finally, Mason took the lead. ‘You have the other two. Are they still alive?’
‘That’s for me to know, and you to find out. Goodbye, Mason Black.’
‘Wait.’ Mason saw Bill through the window. As he spotted him, he made his way through the room, heading outside to get his attention. ‘I’m going to catch you. It’s only a matter of time.’
‘I admire your enthusiasm, but I silently mock your naivety.’
The line went dead then, just as the back door opened and Bill poked his head through the gap in the door. ‘Who was that?’
Mason felt numb, like somebody had taken a whisk to his insides, mashing everything around. There was something different about the man he had just spoken to. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t feel like your everyday psycho. No, there was something more primitive about him – something that seemed like he was enjoying himself. ‘Nobody,’ he lied, but once again, he didn’t know why.
Bill nodded. ‘Okay. Well, the captain wants everybody out. Thought I’d let you know.’
‘Thanks.’ Mason stashed the phone in his pocket and followed Bill through the house, knowing that Anarchy’s voice would do nothing but haunt him.
15
It was like he had been taken by some sort of spell.
Superb.
Anarchy hung up the phone feeling nothing but wonder and admiration. In truth, he hadn’t actually expected anybody to answer. When he’d returned from cutting up the cop’s family, he noticed something suspicious about Lucy. The cell phone she’d been trying to hide behind her back was all too obvious. And as he had taken it from her he’d thought about Marion’s phone and the fact that he’d not seen her with one. When he used Lucy’s phone to call it, he had been hoping to hear the ringing come from somewhere in the building. Instead, he’d spoken to Mason Black for the first time, and he was truly a remarkable creature.
‘Who knew?’ Anarchy asked, but it was rhetorical.
With the knife in his hand, he laid the phone to the side and raised the dead woman’s leg in front of him. With the carving knife, be began to saw away at the flesh, tearing it up like a Christmas turkey. ‘To think, I was going to punish you for hiding the phone.’
Behind him, cowering against the wall with her knees to her chest, Lucy sobbed loudly.
‘If that PI didn’t answer, you would have suffered like this woman did.’ He continued until he met the bone, then began again on the neck. There was no purpose to cutting up this body. It just calmed him, he supposed, in the same way that crossword puzzles soothed the minds of others. ‘Who was she to you?’
‘W-Who?’ Lucy asked.
‘This woman.’ He grabbed the head by the hair and continued to saw through the neck.
‘My…’
‘What?’
Lucy cried into her arms.
‘I can’t hear you. You’re gonna have to speak up.’
‘My mom!’ the girl cried, red in the face. She looked ready to burst.
‘Right.’ Anarchy snapped at the neck and cut deeper, until the head came off with one forceful pull. Blood sprayed across the floor, like somebody had spilt ill-coloured milk. ‘So this must make you feel uncomfortable, eh?’
Lucy looked ever so briefly at her mother’s decapitated head before making a noise that didn’t seem human. She threw herself onto her side and buried her face further into the comfort of her arms. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she screamed, trying desperately not to look up.
‘I think it’s interesting. You know – to see people react to what they’re not accustomed to. If you think about it, it’s no different to cutting the head off a chicken. Here.’ He tossed the head into her lap and laughed at the sound she made. It was like a squealing pig.
‘You’re a monster!’
‘You’re wrong,’ said Anarchy, heading back to the table and dabbing a towel on the naked body of Bianca Healy. ‘But you can’t deny I know how to cause a stir.’ With that, he wiped the blade clean and placed it on the trolley beside his other rusty tools. ‘Anyway, the real question is, what should I do with you?’
16
‘You’re too quiet,’ Diane said from the en-suite bathroom.
‘Hmm?’ Mason, who was sprawled spread-legged across the bed in underpants and a shirt, looked up from his research.
‘I said you’re too quiet.’ Diane leaned her head into the bedroom, giving her toothbrush a rest. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Oh, I’m fine. Just… I don’t know. Everything about this seems familiar.’
‘You mean this Anarchy guy?’
‘No. Actually…’ Mason dumped all the papers to the floor and shuffled to lay his head on the pillow. ‘Working on cases, belonging to somebody. The last time I was this stable, I was with Sandra. I had a home with her, a family, and I was always working too hard.’
Diane spat into the sink, turned off the light and came in to sit beside him. ‘So?’
‘I guess I’m just not used to things being this secure.’
‘Isn’t that a good thing?’
‘Definitely.’ Mason kissed her on the lips and took her into his arms. ‘It’s just that this Anarchy reminds me of when I was with SFPD, always trying so hard to catch the Lullaby Killer. I mean, it’s the same, but it isn’t. Does that make sense?’
‘Not in the slightest.’ Diane giggled. ‘But I think I know what you’re trying to say. Circumstances are the same, but the details are different?’
‘Right. Except we’re not married. And I don’t live here.’
Silence, and then, ‘What if you did?’
‘What…’ Mason snapped his head back and looked her in the eye. ‘You want me to live here?’
‘Do you want to live here?’
It was a life-changing decision that meant risking it all. What if things turned out how they had with Sandra? What if he got carried away by work once again, in a desperate attempt to stop Anarchy? Even with this in mind, he knew it would be foolish to let such fears affect his future. ‘It would make sense, right? I mean, I spend so little time at my own place.’
‘Consider it,’ Diane said, leaning to pull on the light cord. ‘We don’t need to rush this decision. All I know is that I love you, and I think moving in together would be progress in our relationship.’
Mason let her nuzzle into his neck. ‘I
’ll give it some thought.’
While Diane slowly began to drift off in his arms, Mason spent the next few hours stirring. It was a bad idea for him to be thinking so heavily about the case anyway, but he couldn’t let the trail go stale, as he had done once or twice in the past. It was always nights like this, while struggling to fall asleep, that he always realised how tough it was to balance a healthy career with a loving relationship.
17
Even vivid dreams had their uses.
Somewhere in his deep sleep, Mason was back on that cliff. He couldn’t see them, but he knew that Evie and their parents were looking at him disapprovingly. At his feet, Marvin Wendell, the Lullaby Killer who had hurt so many, lay bloody and lifeless.
‘Nice work,’ said the man who stood in front of him.
A cold wave of wind carried the rain into their faces. Mason could feel the icy blast of the water, but somehow, it wasn’t making him wet. A common expression occurred to him: water off a duck’s back. It stayed there, repeating itself over and over, until the man before him spoke again.
‘You enjoyed it, didn’t you?’
Mason raised a hand over his eye, fighting to see this man through the torrents. ‘Who are you?’ he asked, but he already knew. The man before him was Anarchy – a blurred image of the monster. His clothes were dry too – he wore a black suit with no tie – and his face was a mere patch of flesh. A disguise? ‘I didn’t enjoy it.’
‘Oh, but you did.’
‘I didn’t even do it,’ Mason said, bluntly denying it.
‘Yes, you did.’ It was a woman’s voice now, carried on the wind to his left.
Mason turned to see Alison Wendell – Lady Luck, as she had once called herself. She stood among the trees, a bullet hole in her chest. Blood was still seeping from the wound. ‘You did it. You killed my brother!’
The voices echoed around him, increasing in volume and intensity. Mason covered his ears and turned. Only then did he realise that the Lullaby Killer’s corpse was no longer at his feet. Anarchy – if that was who it really was – stood right in front of him.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, his head still a faceless blur. ‘I approve.’
Mason had had enough. He reached for the man, clawing at his face, eager to remove the fleshy mask. Surprisingly, it came off in his hand, but only to reveal another mask, which was very much the same. Mason reached for this one, too, and found himself pulling off layer after layer, while Anarchy laughed at his uselessness.
‘You’ll never know what I look like,’ Anarchy said, and delivered a winding blow.
Mason, struck by both the fist and the ever-increasing wind from the cliffside, clutched at his stomach. ‘I’m going to,’ he said exhaustedly. ‘I’m going to get you.’ Suddenly, the life drained out of him and he sagged to the floor like a lifeless doll. His face met with the foul mud, which oozed into his mouth.
‘Pathetic,’ said Anarchy as he turned and walked into the distance. He only took five steps before his body seemed to dissipate like that of a ghost’s.
Then there was a sound in the mud. A ringtone? Mason rolled over and clawed at the gooey dirt. He could see the light underneath and knew it would only last a few seconds. With only his left arm working, he scooped at the mud, seeing the screen flash deep below, as if the ground were transparent.
‘You’ll never get it,’ Anarchy’s voice whispered on the breeze.
‘Come back,’ Mason yelled, giving up on his dig and rolling onto his back. ‘Come back, come back.’ Only now, he could hear himself mumbling. It was like another version of himself had said the words, and he had only intercepted them.
The rain seemed to stop and Mason felt something push against his shoulder. He craned his neck but saw nothing. He could feel Diane, though, and he knew it was her by her smell: Chanel and buttermilk.
‘He’s gone,’ he said, closing his eyes.
‘Hmm?’
Mason strained to open his eyes again, and found himself in the safety of Diane’s bed. She lay beside him in a half-awake state, and he sent her back to sleep. ‘Sorry. Just relax.’
Diane sniffed and rolled over, docile and taken by dreams of her own.
He was awake now and in a perfect state of mind to evaluate what he had just experienced. It suddenly occurred to him that the dream had been nothing but a crowd of guest appearances – ghosts from his past.
But it still gave him an idea.
Mason climbed out of bed, dressed into some running trousers and a shirt, grabbed his car keys and headed for the front door. If the dream had been anything to go by, he may have just stumbled onto an idea.
After all, even vivid dreams had their uses.
18
It had been a couple of years since Mason had spoken to Miller, so when he waited in the lobby of the police station, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had changed at all.
At best, their relationship was rocky. As Chief Tech Specialist in the SFPD, John Miller had found the room to grow an ego. His most common response for Mason’s requests was grumpy, miserable and hostile. But nine times out of ten, he would perform the given task. Mason just hoped that this was one of those times.
The security door buzzed open and Miller stepped through. As soon as he spotted Mason, he rolled his eyes. ‘So you’re my early guest. What do you want?’
Mason held up Marion’s phone. ‘A trace.’
Miller looked to the desk officer and nodded his approval, then held the door.
As Mason followed him through the station toward the lab, he was riddled with nostalgia. It was possible that the early morning was disorienting his senses, making memories seem stronger and more vital than they really were. But the point was, he could feel them, and that was enough to make him miss this place.
‘In here,’ Miller said, pointing to a swivel chair. ‘Sit.’
Mason sat without arguing and put the phone on the desk.
‘Whatever happens, this can’t go on the file. Captain Cox is all over the place, Internal Affairs are kicking up a storm, and you really have no place here. So consider this my last favour to you. Is that clear?’
‘Crystal.’ Mason wanted to wring this guy’s neck most of the time, but he couldn’t for as long as he needed him. He was simply one of those people who really knew how to grate on you and had no remorse in doing so.
John Miller took the phone and plugged something into it.
‘Will this be difficult?’
‘Not nearly as much as it used to be.’ Miller fidgeted with the settings and handed the phone over. ‘But you’ll still need to make the call. I can triangulate the signal and get an approximate location within a few seconds. Another minute or so, and I can be more accurate.’
Mason held the phone like it was made of paper. When he was ready, he found Lucy Healy’s number and hit the dial button. ‘It’s ringing.’
‘Just make sure you’re not screwing with people’s lives.’
He chose to ignore that comment, but was sure he would later regret it. After all, what other choice did he have? He needed to find Anarchy, and if this was the only way to do it then he wouldn’t sit around feeling guilty about it.
‘There’s no answer,’ Mason said, hanging up. ‘Shit.’
‘Whatever. Are we done here?’
Mason stared at his feet, thinking over his options. Something inside him told him that he couldn’t just head back to Diane’s. Not now. Not after he had become so fixated on this one ridiculous idea. He looked up at Miller, a sudden thought occurring to him. ‘No.’
‘Well, hurry up.’
Figuring it out as he went, Mason typed out the message: Gotcha.
‘Provocation was always your strong suit,’ Miller said, antagonising him.
Mason stayed silent, hoping that if anything was likely to draw a reaction from Anarchy, it would be that one short word, which could mean a thousand things or hold a thousand other meanings. He sat with his hands clasped, rocking his heel and hoping to
God that Anarchy would return his call.
19
The sun was starting to rise when Anarchy got the call.
It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been up all night. His brain was poisoned with the countless possibilities of what he could do in this wretched city. But now, this Mason Black character seemed worth sticking around for.
Why are you calling me?
It seemed bold – brave, even – and something about that just didn’t seem right. All the same, he simply wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t act on impulse. He picked up the phone to take the call, and just as he did, it stopped ringing.
Stop these games. They’re far too exciting!
Frustrated, Anarchy stood and went to the nearby window. He stretched, reaching his arms up high and yawning, then dropped them. Looking around the room, he wondered what it used to be, back in its day. He thought maybe an office or a meeting room.
Breaking his train of thought, the phone made a jingle, and he found himself rushing across the room to see what it was. When he saw the text message, Anarchy felt his forehead crease up with confusion.
‘Gotcha?’ he said aloud as he read. ‘What…’ He looked around him, returning to the window and peering outside. It didn’t look as though anyone had “got him” – nothing seemed out of the ordinary, save for the sunrise, which he rarely got to see.
Anarchy set down the phone and immediately picked it back up. He wanted to call, to ask about the text. Having come from Marion’s phone, he was damn certain it was Mason Black, and Anarchy was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
Screw it.
Damning the risks, he pressed Call Back and let it ring for a half-second before a familiar voice answered on the other end of the line.
‘Yep?’
Anarchy caught himself grinning, which surprised him. ‘Mr Black?’
‘Thanks for calling.’
‘You didn’t leave me much choice. What did you mean in your text message?’
‘Nothing. I just wanted you to call.’
Anarchy paused, suspicious but unable to resist. ‘Why?’
Mason Black (The Complete Collection): 6 Gripping Crime Stories: The Complete Collection + BONUS Story Page 36