Before anyone could lay any more troubles on him, Mason slid behind the steering wheel of his car and sped toward the crime scene. He wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, but hoped that it was out the way of the public eye. The last thing they needed was the media terrifying viewers with their grand assumptions.
He arrived at a crowded sidewalk – his second of this young day – and parked the Mustang as close as possible. A dark cloud hovered over the bright sky, as if to say Haha, you thought it would be that easy?
Much to Mason’s surprise, Captain Leanne Cox stood in the middle of the crime scene. Her shoulder-length dark hair blew about in the wind, covering a large portion of her gaunt and serious face. Her green eyes were beautiful beyond question, but could easily trick a man into underestimating her. The Captain wouldn’t back down from a challenge.
When she spotted Mason, she waved him over, stepping away from the forensic team.
‘You’re up early,’ she said.
‘Couldn’t sleep. What do we have?’
‘Male. Late-teens. Stabbed through the heart and left to bleed out.’ Cox leaned in close, speaking softly in his ear. ‘This one has a slice of his back cut out, also. Whoever did this has some serious fucking issues.’
‘You’re telling me,’ Mason said. ‘Any witnesses?’
‘No, but we do have footage of the body being dumped.’
Mason’s heart beat against his ribs, excitement and fear battling it out within him. It was – to say the least – unusual to have any good news in a case this soon. But somehow, something told him it wouldn’t be that straight-forward. ‘Identifiable?’
Captain Cox shook her head. ‘Dressed completely in black. Approximately six-feet tall, but his face was covered. Could be a woman – a big woman – but I doubt it. Listen... I need you to get this info to the team, and try to get this all cleaned up before the press get here. Think you can handle that?’
‘Of course.’
Mason watched her leave the area, burdening him with the horrific crime scene. It was an awful way to start the day, and he had a haunting feeling that it would be the first of many like this. Worst of all, he could feel that old obsession sinking back in – that instinct driving him to catch the bastard who had done this. The only problem was, he couldn’t get too fixated on this case without worrying Diane. She had, after all, asked that he be around more during the pregnancy.
He would have to go careful.
7
The killer had spent most of the day in his den, so tucked away that nobody would ever find it. So dark and full of disgusting mementos that nobody would ever want to find it. Photographs of terrified victims lined the crumbling brick walls, and only candles on the pillars kept the place lit. It was the perfect place to hide.
A TV flickered silently in the background, offering dim and infrequent flashes of light. The killer paid little attention to it, however – he’d only turned it on to combat the loneliness. And it had done it’s job, until he’d spotted the news report surrounding his latest triumph.
Oh goodie, they found my little surprise, he thought as he continued to sew up his little project. The needle went in with an aggressive push, each pierce making the killer smile with satisfaction. Everything was going along perfectly, and soon the message would be sent.
‘They’re going to catch you,’ came a voice from behind.
The killer turned on his heel, his gaze fixed on the decaying corpse of a woman in the wicker chair behind him. This one hadn’t been a part of the plan – simply a way for him to pass the time, to ease the pain until he could continue his work. ‘What did you say?’
The woman glared back at him, motionless. But she didn’t repeat herself.
‘Hey, I’m talking to you!’ The killer stormed toward her, standing over the chair and looking down with the needle and patchwork still in his hands. ‘What did you say?’
‘They’re going to catch you.’
‘Who? The police?’
‘Who else? You’re being careless, dumbass,’ the woman said without moving her rotting mouth. ‘You always were so stupid, you know. It’s only a matter of time until they find you.’
‘Shut up!’ the killer yelled. He threw his work to one side and leaned in close to the body, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists. ‘Don’t you see? They think I’m stupid, but I’m not. I’m smarter than any one of them, and I’m going to prove it.’
The body remained still… and silent.
‘Say something.’
There was still no movement.
‘Say something!’ The killer slapped the face of the dead woman. The jaw dislodged and hung down on a bone hinge. It suddenly became obvious that she was unable to talk. It seemed so clear now. But she had challenged him. Insulted him. Dared him to carry on.
Turning back to the TV, he studied the report. It contained footage from earlier that morning, when the victim still hadn’t been moved from outside the coffee house. The killer stared on, envisioning the steps he would take to get the job done. Quietly, he mumbled, ‘I’m going to prove it.’
8
Seasoned pasta, salads and tiger bread filled the table. There were juices to go with it and none of them chose to drink alcohol, purely out of respect for Diane. It was still considered early days with regards to the pregnancy, but she seemed to care so much about the baby already. Who was Mason to dispute that?
‘So, how’s Amy?’ Christine asked from across the table. Her blonde hair dangled in ringlets by her shining blue eyes. Tonight was the happiest Mason had seen her in years.
‘She’s great,’ Mason told her, suddenly missing his firstborn daughter. ‘Actually, she’s visiting her aunt in New York.’
Christine winced at that. ‘New York? Dangerous place.’
‘No worse than here,’ Bill said. ‘Especially at the moment.’
Diane rolled her eyes, as if she were already tired of hearing about the case. Until recently she’d been great for lending her ear, but of late, she’d been less interested. Maybe she was getting sick of hearing it, or perhaps she was simply more focused on the baby. Either way, Mason had no problem understanding her torment and letting things go.
‘Yeah, I’d heard about that.’ Christine took a sip of her juice. ‘Tell me, Mason, what exactly is the body count right now?’
‘Two,’ Mason said. ‘Right now, there are two victims who we’re yet to identify.’
‘One was found in the fountain?’
‘Yep.’
‘And another was dumped outside a Starbucks?’
Bill put a hand on hers. ‘Come on, this is hardly appropri–’
‘Why so interested?’ Mason looked across at her, his pulse gaining speed. For some reason he couldn’t quite place – it could have simply been the mood in the room – her questions felt like an interview. ‘Do you know something we don’t?’
Christine lowered her head, shaking it. ‘No, no. Not at all. It’s… Well, it’s silly really.’
‘No,’ Mason said. ‘Go on.’
‘You don’t have to,’ Diane said.
Although the whole table seemed to be in quarrel with each other, Christine didn’t look like she minded. Clearly, something was on her chest, and it would have been helpful for her to spill the beans. ‘I just… Was there anything on their backs?’
Mason set down his fork. She had his attention now, and even Bill’s head turned. ‘There are no backs. The killer had sliced clean sheets right off them.’ He used a knife to scoop the butter along the surface, watching it coil and fall back on itself. ‘Totally gone.’
Christine’s eyes widened, and suddenly she excused herself from the room.
‘What’s going on?’ Diane asked.
Mason shrugged, curious himself.
Within moments, Christine walked back in the room, only now her cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. She dumped a paperback in front of him, leaning over and opening to chapter one. ‘See, this is the first in the Buried series. There a
re five in total but this one is my favourite.’
‘I don’t underst–’
‘Just look.’
Intrigued, Mason leaned into the pages, using his finger as a marker. The dining room fell silent for a couple of minutes while he read through the first two pages. What he saw made his muscles seize up, his forehead begin to perspire, and his nerves rattle.
‘What is it?’ Bill asked.
‘The first victim in this book is found in a fountain.’
Christine leaned over without another peep, flicking over to chapter five.
Mason took it and read the chapter, excited but confused. Moments later, he flicked through the rest of the book, but couldn’t keep his concentration. His heart thumped at warp speed. His imagination taking him straight to the finish line.
‘Well?’ Bill asked.
‘The second body… was found outside a Starbucks. Christine, you’re my goddamn hero.’ Mason stood up, grabbed her cheeks and kissed her on the head. ‘Bill, grab your coat. We have a break in the case.’
‘What about dinner?’ Diane whined from her seat.
As much as Mason hated to disappoint her, this could have been all the clues he would ever need. If they could somehow use the book to find the killer before he struck again, then he wasn’t going to waste a single moment.
‘I’ll make it up to you – I promise.’ And just like that, he bolted out of the door, heading toward the police station with his girlfriend left behind at the dinner table.
9
Having left their women together (not without some upset), Mason and Bill raced straight over to the police station and called a late-night meeting. It was surprising to see the entire team show up, especially on such short notice.
‘I know you’re all off-duty,’ Mason began, pacing back and forth. ‘I want to thank you all for coming, but assure you that it’s not without reason.’ With one hand clasped around the spine, he held the book out for all to see. ‘We’ve been lucky. Real lucky. Within this fiction novel by Drew Ackerman, a serial killer is picking off his victims. The first two murders are identical to the ones related to this case.’
Several gasps echoed throughout the room, until one of the cops raised a hand.
‘Any chance it could be a coincidence?’
Mason shot a look at Bill, who shrugged from the back of the room. ‘It’s a very, very small chance, but yes. There is a chance. However, I have my doubts. Even a chunk of flesh is missing from the victims’ backs.’
‘Ah,’ said the cop, shrinking back into his seat.
‘I want you all to go out and get a copy,’ Mason went on, fishing through his wallet. He found six of his last twenty-dollar bills, and then proceeded to distribute them between each officer. ‘Stay up late, give it a read. Study the killer, learn his motive and techniques. We want to know everything there is to know about this guy.’
As they headed for the door, Mason’s voice stopped them.
‘Forgetting something?’ he asked.
The officers stood, looking like kids caught with chocolate frosting around their mouths.
‘The title,’ Mason said, dismayed. ‘The book is called Buried, from a series of the same name. You’ll probably need that to…’ He waved his hand dismissively. ‘Never mind. Thank you all for coming. Please keep me informed.’
Alone now, Bill stood in the doorway with his hand on the knob. ‘Good, huh?’
‘I came into this meeting full of hope,’ Mason said. ‘I’m leaving wondering how the hell these people even got recruited in the first place.’
‘Give them a chance.’
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘Well… no.’ Bill crooked a smile. ‘I’m going to head home and start reading.’
‘Yeah, go ahead. I have somewhere to be.’
‘Oh? Where?’
‘This author. Drew Ackerman.’ Mason pointed down at the book, driving a finger into the pages. Just the idea that somebody could be taking his murderous inspiration from a book left him with a thousand questions. ‘I have his address, and I’m going to pay him a visit.’
10
Drew Ackerman was a lean man with blonde hair and blazing blue eyes. Were it not for the stubble growing across his neck, he would look like a twenty-year-old. Not bad, Mason thought, for a man supposedly in his forties.
As Mason explained the situation, Drew had sat quietly on his couch, fear slowly creeping onto his expression. The more Mason had told him, the whiter Drew had grown. No outward attempt was made to mask his terror.
‘I have to ask,’ Mason said, leaning his elbows onto his knees. ‘Do you know any reason why your books are being used as a guidebook for murder? It doesn’t matter how small or stupid it may seem. I’d very much like to hear it.’
Drew lowered his eyes. ‘I… No.’
‘Have you made any enemies lately? Had any peculiar fan-mail, anything like that?’
‘Nothing. No.’
The more he asked, the more Mason thought he’d run into a dead end. He had come here expecting to find a strong aid to his investigation, if not to have the solution handed to him on a plate. Instead, he had found only more confusion since the author of the Buried series seemed as lost as everyone else. ‘Mr Ackerman–’
‘Drew, please.’
Mason smiled, knowing how false it looked. ‘Drew, I’m going to have to ask that you aid the SFPD in the case. You have the knowledge of the books that nobody else has, and if by any chance the killer knows you, we’re going to need to keep you around.’
Drew sat back, his hands shaking ever so slightly. ‘But… can’t you just read them?’
‘It’s not that simple, I’m afraid. You know these characters inside and out. I mean, you created them. You know what makes them tick. If we can use that to our advantage, it’s likely that you can save some lives. How about it?’
A terrible silence fell upon them, during which Drew stared at his feet while chewing on his thumbnail. Finally, he looked up, but still avoided eye contact. ‘I can’t help you, detective. My job is in my office as an author, not out on the streets as a cop. I’m sorry.’
‘But–’
‘I truly am sorry, but I can’t get involved in this. Please just… leave.’
Stunned by the man’s sudden insistence, Mason got up to leave, but not before dropping a polaroid of the second victim onto Drew’s lap. He was glad Bill had advised he take it, should he need it for leverage. ‘That’s one of two people who have had their hopes and dreams taken away. One of two people whose families don’t even know they’re dead. I’ll show myself out.’
Mason made it all the way outside into the night, and as far as halfway down the drive before he heard the front door creak open behind him. He didn’t stop just yet. He needed to play this right, let the guilt sink in a little.
‘Detective, wait.’
Mason stopped then, and turned to see Drew Ackerman cowering behind his doorframe. The spotlight grew brighter, nearly blinding him.
‘Perhaps I can tag along. I might not be much use, but I can try. Only…’ Drew stared down at the porch, tapping his heel on the wood. ‘I have a couple of conditions.’
Mason wasted no time in walking back up the steps. ‘Let’s hear them.’
11
Beads, beads, beads.
When the killer wasn’t crafting or making deliveries (as Ackerman’s novels had forced him to do), he loved to make beads. On this occasion, however, the making and delivering of prayer beads melted together.
He had been watching the house for hours, waiting in the cloak of darkness for the last light to go out. Now, approaching two o’clock on that particularly biting morning, that light finally blinked out.
The killer crossed the road, throwing quick and paranoid glances over his shoulders. In one hand he clutched the beads, squeezing them so as not to let them rattle. In the other hand he held one of his favourite knives. There was no intention to use it, but if he got caught… well, that wou
ld be necessary, wouldn’t it?
Careful not to make a sound, he tip-toed up the porch steps. The aged planks groaned below his weight, but he ignored the sound. He leaned across the remaining five feet and dropped the prayer beads onto the mat. They were all that had mattered tonight, and now they were in place, a warning of things to come.
A sudden noise.
The killer froze, his ears pricked up and his heart racing. The sound had come from the opposite side of the door, something a little like footsteps. A light flickered on inside the house. Two thick beams shot out and lit up the porch.
‘Who’s out there?’ demanded the voice from the other side of the door.
But the killer had done his job. There was no need to linger. He spun quickly and walked away from the house on swift feet. As soon as he hit the street, he broke into a sprint, widening the gap between himself and the house.
One down… the killer thought, stopping on the corner of the next block to catch his breath. He’d just gotten the least fun part out of the way – the part that was required of him as a part of the ritual. Next on his list was something a little more bloody, violent and downright enjoyable.
12
The rain poured down in sheets when Mason picked up Drew on Thursday morning. Mason couldn’t blame him for running from the house to the car, but wasn’t keen on his car seat getting soaked through either.
‘Thanks for coming,’ he told Drew.
‘Just remember my conditions.’
They were simple enough; when this investigation closed, he would be legally entitled to use the details of the case for an autobiography. Also, if he wanted out at any point, there would be no complications. Perfectly reasonable demands by anyone’s standards.
They arrived at the police station within a half-hour. Captain Cox threw curious glances their way, but refrained from interfering. If she didn’t trust Mason by now, she simply never would. It was probably better that she stayed away from this one anyway – Drew didn’t need another reason to be nervous.
Mason Black (The Complete Collection): 6 Gripping Crime Stories: The Complete Collection + BONUS Story Page 49