But he couldn’t bring himself to answer. While he read the message off his lips, he despised the taste. Quickly, he ran outside, looking for the pizza delivery guy. The street was empty, however, offering nothing in the way of an explanation.
The party had moved outside, standing on the doorstep and watching him as he looked up and down the silent night-time road. Diane was the first one to approach, delicately resting a hand on his shoulder; her softest form of comfort. ‘Come on, this is your party.’
Mason slowly returned his attention to the people on his doorstep. ‘All right, back inside. If anybody wakes up without a hangover, I’ll be sorely disappointed.’
There was nervous laughter as people returned to the living room. The pizza was thrown into the trash immediately, and everybody tried their best to forget that anything had happened.
But Mason wouldn’t forget. He couldn’t; it would haunt his dreams for a long time yet to come. And for the rest of the evening, all he could see when he closed his eyes was the message – the threat – that had found its way to him:
SEE YOU SOON.
A
BURIED
MASON BLACK (BOOK 4)
Adam Nicholls
1
The killer waited in the warm security of his car. A soft rain sprinkled on the windows, a gentle moan of wind slid under the vehicle. Quick flashes of lightning blitzed the night sky in rapid surges. The turbulent weather was enough to make anyone head inside for cover, and the assistance from Mother Nature sparked a gratitude that surged hope through his blood.
A young couple exited the park, flicking up their hoods and scurrying across the road before disappearing out of sight. They were the last two, and now that the scene fell vacant – as far as he could see, at least – the killer became resigned. Prepared.
Deadly.
He climbed out of the car, using a hand to shield his eyes from the spitting rain. Looking over his shoulder, he strode to the back of the car, slid on his gloves and popped open the trunk.
The eyes stared up at him, open but lifeless. This one had struggled. Fought. Throwing everything on the shelf in his direction. She had even clawed at him with those long, knife-like nails of hers. But it hadn’t been enough. How could it have been, when she’d now been reduced to little more than a pale, naked corpse in the trunk of some stranger’s car?
‘Up we go.’
It took all his effort but the killer leaned inside and hoisted her over his shoulder. He took one last glance around, and once certain that he was alone, toiled across the road and into the dark cover of the park.
A fountain lit from underneath the placid water stood in the courtyard. A series of streetlamps circled the stone statue, the water glowing a vibrant blue as it poured into the pool below. It was the perfect place to attract a spectacle. Careful not to leave a print, the killer lowered the body into the water, took one last look at his work, and slipped away on the ghost of the wind.
Within minutes he returned to the safety of his car, sat in the quiet and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. It could be hours before the body was found, he thought, and if there was one thing the killer didn’t possess, it was patience. With that in mind, he produced a cell phone from his pocket and dialled 9-1-1.
‘I’d like to report a murder,’ he said to the operator, being as vague as possible. ‘It’s at Huntington Park. You can’t miss it.’ The killer ended the call there, finally beginning to feel the exhilaration he’d longed for.
The cops would be here soon. Swarming about like a hive of annoyed bees searching for ripe petals. Beginning their long strain of heavy police work that would get them nowhere. He had been so careful, so goddamn organised, that no amount of study would catch him out.
Aware of the grin spreading over his mouth, the killer started up the engine and began his journey home. Now that he had made the first move, there was plenty more to do with his time, and his work had only just begun.
2
The monitor warbled to life. A black and white image flickered to reveal a misshapen pattern. Mason looked at it with both an overabundance of joy, and an embarrassed failure to recognise the image.
‘You don’t see it, do you?’ Diane tilted her head to the left with one hand clenching his and the other pointing at the screen. ‘There’s its head, and there’s its legs.’
‘Ahh, I see it now.’ Mason smiled, hoping it would aid his lie. At thirteen weeks pregnant, the last thing he wanted to do was upset his girlfriend. As far as he was concerned, the inability to recognise their own baby would probably put him in the doghouse for weeks.
‘You’re not fooling anyone,’ Diane said, earning a giggle from the nurse. Although a frown tipped her mouth upside down, her dancing eyes gave away her true feelings. She’d always been prone to sarcasm and theatrics. It was hard not to love that screwed-up face – Diane radiated beauty whatever she did. Her soft, brown skin glowed perfectly, plush lips lent her a teasing pout, and her smile shined a brilliant white. She showed it often, too, making Mason one lucky bastard.
‘Can’t blame a guy for trying,’ he said.
‘No, I suppose not.’
Mason wasn’t sure if it was a saving grace or a damning curse, but when the phone rang in his pocket, all eyes in the room trained on him. He shook his head, took out his phone and cancelled the call. ‘Sorry,’ he said, but within seconds it rang again.
‘Just get it,’ Diane told him. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
After a brief flutter of hesitation, Mason excused himself and dashed into the hospital corridor to take the call. But the voice that greeted him could have sent even his best mood into the toilet.
‘There’s been a homicide. We need you on it,’ Captain Leanne Cox of the San Francisco Police Department growled through the speakers. Although she was often stern (at best), she had always been more relaxed around Mason. So, hearing her even in this solemn tone now, the urgency was instantly recognisable.
‘I can’t right now,’ Mason protested. ‘It’s not a good time.’
‘It wasn’t a good time for the victim, either,’ Cox said. ‘Be at the morgue in an hour.’
The call ended there, leaving Mason to grind his teeth and squeeze his cell phone. He had only been back with the police for a year, after taking some time out to work as a private investigator. From time to time, he regretted his decision and dreamt of a calmer life. Diane obviously felt the same too, and had no problem with constantly reminding him that he was due to be a father for the second time.
‘At least I’m appreciated,’ he said under his breath, sarcasm lacing his voice. All he had to do now was head inside and tell Diane that he had to leave her for work. Again.
Easier said than done, he thought, heading back to his lady with the bad news.
3
Within an hour, Mason arrived at the morgue. Cold. Bleak. A shiver snaked up his spine.
The coroner – who had never seemed to see the irony that his own name was Morty – kept him waiting at the front desk. When he finally arrived, he did so in such a brisk manner that it did nothing for his likability. Short and dumpy, with a bald head and high brow, his scowl did him no favours, as he was already unpleasant to look at. Mason put it down to stress, as he had seen so many times in this man’s line of work, and followed him into the back when summoned.
‘So, what do we have?’ Mason asked as they stopped beside a row of lockers.
Morty pulled a pair of rubber gloves down over his hands, and then reached for the handle on a locker. The door flapped open and a metal table rolled out with a body bag on top. Morty unzipped the bag, revealing a slim woman with ghostly white skin. ‘Take a look.’
Mason rolled up his sleeves and slid on some gloves of his own. Carefully, he lifted the head and examined the body. ‘Cuts all over the torso. Strangle marks on the neck. Sliced throat.’ He swallowed, finding it harder each time to moisten his constricted throat. ‘And pressure marks on the wrists. Rape, perhaps.’
�
��No. She wasn’t raped.’
‘Then why the marks?’
Morty shrugged.
‘Okay…’ Mason scanned down the lower part of her body, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing, save for the scratches on the soles of her feet. ‘What do you know about this?’
‘I found some dirt embedded in the skin. Quick, light cuts. Like she’d been running–’
‘Through the woods.’
‘Exactly.’
‘So,’ Mason said. ‘You think she was running for her life?’
Morty shook his head, folded his arms. ‘Do I look like a detective to you?’
‘Not even slightly.’
‘Look, all I can tell you is what I know for sure. And here it is. The strangling killed her, not the cuts. Whoever did this seemed to have murdered her and then cut her throat. Like it was all for show.’
Now, why would anyone want to do that? Mason carefully turned the body over, studying the patch of flesh removed from the woman’s back. ‘Ouch. And this?’
‘Cut with expert precision.’
‘Something tells me this was pre-meditated.’ Mason returned the stiff, cold body to its original position, zipped up the bag and peeled off his gloves. ‘How long was she dead before someone found her?’
‘I’d say around three days.’ Morty slid the table back inside and closed the door. ‘And apparently, the scene was spotless. No security footage. No witnesses.’
‘Fingerprints?’
‘A whole jungle of them. It’s a public park, for Christ’s sake.’
Mason wanted to shove his fat ass against the nearest cold, metal refrigerator. At over six feet, he’d seldom suffered the angry display put on by smaller men. On the rare occasion that it did happen, Mason tried his best to refrain. Especially in a professional environment. ‘Thanks for your help.’ Halfway out the door, a sudden outburst stopped him in his tracks.
‘Detective.’
Mason turned. ‘Yeah?’
‘You’re going to need a lot more than some DNA. My best guess, this body was meant to be found.’
4
The killer sat out in the open, watching the news broadcast from his phone. People rushed past him at all different speeds, zipping around the mall like mindless sheep. He didn’t care less – the earphones lent him a certain amount of privacy, and he could still listen closely while drowning out the sounds of the shoppers.
‘Police have found no clues as yet, and this entire horrifying event remains a mystery,’ the reporter said, standing in front of the now-empty fountain.
It was a relief to find that they hadn’t given him a name. The Zodiac Killer had made his title for relevant reasons, the Lullaby Killer’s MO was in the name. At least the press hadn’t already attached a name this time, which would help keep the message clear when the time came.
The kill itself had been perfect. His victim had been an ideal mark for his long-term goals. She had put up very little of a fight, too, if you’d omit the half-mile stumble through the woods and the occasional flinging of nearby objects. Even as he’d choked the life from her body, she still hadn’t done much to protest. Now all that was left of her was an uninformative news report, and a dumb look of shock on a corpse.
Turning off the video, the killer stowed away his phone and stood up to stretch. All was going according to plan, which meant that now was the perfect time to find his next victim. He wouldn’t have far to look, either – he just needed somebody chubby and gullible.
His head snapped up as if on cue and a boy standing across from him caught his eye. In his late-teens and wearing a Foo Fighters t-shirt that stretched the text around his broad chest, flabby boy caused the killer’s blood pressure to accelerate. Absorbed in his handheld games console, the fleshy kid seemed perfectly ready to be lured into danger.
The killer looked over his shoulder and then crossed the food court, ready to strike his new victim. His mouth watered with the teasing satisfaction that would come with playing the game – the orgasmic experience of taking a life.
5
Mason stood looking over the briefing room. Each of the six faces staring back at him seemed dim with dismay, and glum with the grim understanding that they were without even the slightest clue to go by.
Even Detective Bill Harvey – Mason’s best friend and professional partner – had his arms folded and head rolled to one side, resting his cheek in his palm. Like he’d given up. He looked as stumped as Mason felt.
‘If I may,’ a young officer said from the front desk.
Mason nodded, grateful for the courtesy shown by his subordinate.
The officer – Reynolds, if Mason’s memory served – took to the front of the room and looked over his colleagues. He took a deep breath and began to give what little information he had. ‘For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Officer Reynolds. I was called out to the scene and found the body in the park. The team secured the crime scene immediately and called in Forensics. There were no prints to go by and nobody around to see what happened. We still can’t ID the body, but we intend to.
‘Each of you have been assigned to this case, and I want you all to know that I appreciate your effort. As Captain Cox has explained to you, Detective Black will be leading the investigation. Anything you want, just look to him.’
‘Thank you,’ Mason said, watching Reynolds take a seat. ‘Now, as you know, this was called in by somebody who didn’t want to hang around and deal with law enforcement.’
‘Do you think it’s the killer?’ a black man asked from the back, his hand in the air.
‘It’s possible, but not probable.’ Mason hit the button on a projector. The lights automatically dimmed and the image of the dead body appeared on the far wall. ‘Here’s what we know; these cuts were made post-death. The victim was strangled, which means what?’
Reynolds was quick to pipe up. ‘That it was personal.’
‘Right,’ Mason said. ‘However, if you killed somebody you hated and left them in a public place, would you phone it in?’ He watched the blank expressions of each and every officer. Nothing. ‘I didn’t think so either. I want to divide you all into two teams. Team one – everyone on the left – will find out the victim’s identity. Look at Missing Persons reports, ask around, do what you need to do.’
‘And us?’ asked Reynolds, over-eager.
‘You three check out security footage.’
His face contorted into screwed-up confusion. ‘I thought you said there wasn’t any?’
‘There was none in the park,’ Mason corrected. ‘But the area was surrounded by buildings. You know when it was called in, so look around that time and check every street for somebody acting suspicious.’
‘It’s a long-shot.’
‘It’s all we have.’ Mason flicked on the lights and clapped his hands together. ‘Let’s get moving.’ I have a woman to get back to, he wanted to add, but knew better.
The officers all stood and shuffled out of the room, embarking on their quest for knowledge. Whether they would find any was an entirely different thing altogether, but at least they seemed to be interested, which was far more than could be said for the last team.
Only Bill Harvey remained, tucking his notepad into his coat. ‘Tough call.’
Mason continued to pack up the gear. ‘Yep.’
‘What are we going to do?’
‘Honestly, I don’t know yet.’
‘I suppose something will come along.’
Mason stopped and turned to face his partner. Bill was far shorter than him, and judging by his wrinkled skin, about ten years older. It left Mason forgetting that they were the same age – nearly forty and feeling the mileage. ‘What do you need?’
‘Actually I have something to offer.’
‘Oh?’
‘Christine wants you and Diane over for dinner tomorrow night. I’m sorry to have to put you through it. We both know damn well that she can’t cook to save her life.’
Mason smiled w
eakly. ‘I wasn’t going to say.’
‘So, are you up for it?’
‘Absolutely. Thanks. Just… cook something healthy. Diane is worried about the baby. Nothing serious – just maternal concerns.’ And then something else crossed his mind. Through all that had happened with his job, just how upset would she be to learn that there was a new killer on the loose? ‘Do me a favour?’
‘Sure.’
‘Let’s not tell Diane that this could be a tough one. I think she wants my undivided attention, but I cant do that and pay the bills.’
Bill looked at him then, tilting his head to the side. ‘You want me to lie?’
Mason thought about it, straightened up and nodded. ‘Yeah.’
6
By sunrise, Mason Black had given up on sleeping. His head whirled with thoughts about killers and psychopaths. Even last year’s threat from the relentless murderer known as Anarchy still kept his blood like ice in his veins.
Quietly, Mason grabbed his things and drove slowly to the police station, taking in the sights of the city as it awoke. The gentle signs of life always eased him; the streets bursting with orange light as the sun began to rise. There were paperboys and postal workers, all completely unaware that another killer crept undercover of darkness. Mason considered that any one of these innocents could be the next victim, and shivered.
He got to the police station at six o’clock. In truth, he hadn’t expected much to be going on at work, and had his mind on a quiet coffee before the rest of the team rolled in. But the bustling crowd on the front steps of the station quickly chased away the fantasy.
‘What’s going on?’ Mason asked a nearby cop, stopping at the base of the steps.
Reynolds turned around, looking down at Mason with paler skin than usual. His bloodshot eyes spoke volumes for his state of shock. ‘Take a guess, sir.’
Mason paused, sucking in a deep breath before asking for the bad news. ‘Where?’
‘Outside the Starbucks on 18th Street.’
Mason Black (The Complete Collection): 6 Gripping Crime Stories: The Complete Collection + BONUS Story Page 48