‘Right.’ Mason set down two cups of disgusting machine-made coffee on his desk. His office was a tornado of redecoration, so privacy was well out of the question. This would have to do. ‘Let’s start with the facts of your novel.’
‘Did you read it, detective?’ Drew asked.
‘Not yet.’
‘Then let’s start from the beginning.’
Mason sat back in his chair, nursing the steaming coffee to warm his fingers.
‘The first victim was named Jane Addams,’ Drew said. ‘In the book, I mean. She was a mother of two and selected at random by the killer. Everything you’ve told me matches up, except for the… you know, the slice off the back.’
‘Gotcha.’ Mason nodded.
‘The second victim was very much the same – found outside a Starbucks, marks on the skin and then some. It’s been a few years since I wrote it, but I think his name was Riley Stone. I only remember because he was originally intended to be a bigger character. See, it was going to be that he survived the attack, and then helped the sketch artist with the composite of the killer.’
Mason cleared his throat, and spoke softly. ‘That won’t be happening, I’m afraid.’ He jotted the names down on a pad and tore off the sheet of paper. With the names held out, he looked around him. ‘Uhhh, Reynolds.’
‘Sir?’ Reynolds came to attention within seconds.
‘I want you to run these names. See if anything comes up.’
Officer Reynolds stood over them, reading the names. Everything seemed perfectly normal, except for his quivering hands and twisted lips.
‘Is something wrong?’ Mason asked.
‘No, nothing. Just… hold on.’ Reynolds disappeared into a nearby room, returning moments later with two blown-up photographs. He put them on the desk and rolled them out, then pinned them down using staplers as paperweights. ‘Are these your people?’
Mason felt a sweat creep onto his brow. He studied the pictures, only vaguely aware that his mouth hung wide open. ‘What is this?’
‘These are missing people,’ Reynolds said, not without a hint of excitement. He had all the mannerisms of a young schoolboy, awaiting praise for answering the teacher’s questions correctly. ‘Their names; Jane Addams and Riley Stone.’
Mason stood up immediately, lifting his trench coat from the back of the chair. ‘Tell the team that the killer is more accurate than we thought.’ He turned his attention to Drew, who was practically twitching with misunderstanding. ‘Who was the third victim in your book?’
Drew paused, gnawing on his thumb. ‘Umm… a dean, I think.’
‘You think?’
‘Yeah. No. I mean, I know it was the dean of a university, and I think his name was Lewis Greene.’
‘Great.’ Mason slung the coat over him, feeding his arms through the empty sleeves. ‘I need you to come with me. I’ll drive, and you can use my phone to look something up.’
‘Where are we going?’ Drew asked, slowly standing.
‘We’re going to find that university, before it’s too late.’
13
There was only one Dean Lewis Greene in San Francisco. He had been at Hunham University for over fifteen years and, according to the Internet, was widely regarded as possessing one of the highest recorded IQs in the country.
They waited patiently outside his office. The dean’s assistant tapped away and Drew’s nervous knee-jerks yanked in perfect sync with her movements. His hands were clasped together and he made an awful cracking sound with his fingers.
‘I wish you’d stop that,’ Mason whispered.
‘Sorry. I’m just a little anxious.’
Mason said nothing. Truth was, the anxiety crawled all over his skin too, like a swarm of tiny spiders. Coming here could have been a huge waste of their time, but they would never know unless they tried. Besides, if they could save a life today – perhaps even catch a killer – then where was the harm?
‘Is this really happening?’ Drew asked.
‘Yes.’
‘But is this man really a target?’
‘We don’t know,’ Mason said. ‘That’s what we’re here to find out.’
A buzzer rang at the desk, and the assistant looked up with a smile across her dark red lips. She looked like a china doll, without the shine. ‘The dean will see you now.’
Mason and Drew stood, then made their way to the office door. It opened as they approached, and they were met with a tall, thin fellow with wrinkled cheeks. Mason found it tough to say whether he wore a wig or had dyed his hair black. Either way, it wasn’t all that convincing.
‘Come on in,’ the dean said, waving them in and closing the door behind them.
‘Thank you for seeing us.’ Mason showed himself into a seat, looking around in awe at the theme of rich oak. Every wall had framed certificates hanging on them. Glass cabinets stood by one stained window, and an overwhelming scent of furniture polish poisoned the air. ‘We won’t take up much of your time.’
‘Well, what is it I can do for you?’ Dean Lewis Green sat in his chair, interlocking his fingers. He seemed to have a certain air about him – one that offered humbleness, but suggested that he wasn’t afraid to put you out on your ass.
Mason carefully explained the details of the investigation. He didn’t want to give too much away and scare him, but the dean needed to know how much of a threat this killer could be.
Greene waved the danger away with an annoyed flick of his wrist. ‘Detective, you have to acknowledge that this seems a little over the top,’ he said, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. ‘You’ve come here to tell me that a man is killing people from a novel, and that I’m next on the list. Worse yet, you have no theories on the killer’s motivation other than “because the book says so”. Don’t tell me you can’t see the absurdity?’
‘I had trouble myself,’ Mason assured him. ‘But the fact is, you could be in danger.’
‘Yes, well, I’ll believe that when I see it.’
‘That might be sooner than you think.’
Dean Greene stared at him, his mouth agape. ‘I’d like you to leave.’
‘Mr Gree–’
‘Now, please.’
Goddamnit. Mason had expected many obstacles, but refusal to cooperate hadn’t been one of them. Making his way across the room, images flashed across his mind. Questions and potential plans of where to go from here. He’d just come to realise that none of them helped too much, when he noticed that Drew Ackerman hadn’t moved from his chair.
‘Just one question,’ Drew said to the dean. ‘Have you had the beads yet?’
Dean Greene turned white. ‘Pardon me?’
‘If you’re a target, you should have received prayer beads in the mail by now.’
‘How did you…’
Revelling in this twist of luck, Mason re-joined the discussion. ‘Sir, hopefully you’re coming to understand the seriousness of the situation by now. Rest assured that I’m not here to waste your time, and I’m sure as hell not here to waste my own. But if there’s any chance you can cooperate – any chance at all – I’d like to set something up.’
Dean Greene exhaled slowly. ‘The prayer beads were left on my doorstep. I disposed of them, thinking it might just be some kids playing a silly game or something.’ He sat up straight and adjusted his tie. ‘What are our options?’
‘Well,’ Mason said. ‘We can take you into protection.’
‘I can’t be away from my work right now.’
‘There is another option…’
‘Oh?’
Mason wrestled with the idea, knowing that it could put them both into danger. He didn’t care. He wanted to catch this psychopath. ‘You might not like it, as it does put you at a high risk. On the other hand, it gives us a strong chance of stopping this killer before he can do any more damage.’
Dean Greene stared across the desk, his hands beginning to tremble ever so slightly. Finally, he blew out a long drag of air and sat back. ‘I’m listen
ing.’
14
According to Drew, the killer would strike in the lecture hall while Dean Lewis Greene worked late. Mason sat with him in the back row of seats, under the cover of darkness. If anyone came into the room, they would have only seconds to react. He only hoped it would be enough time.
Evening had turned well into night by now. Humidity rose within the hall, although nervousness drove it more than the weather. Having been there for two hours, Mason was just ready to give up when one of the side doors swung open.
Drew tensed, clutching onto Mason’s sleeve, but Mason stayed fixated on the door, his hand ready to go for his Beretta as he watched, waiting to lay his eyes upon the killer.
The janitor stepped inside and Mason exhaled in disappointment. They’d been so damn close and he felt the loss. A small, middle-aged man with slightly thinning hair and dark, almost exotic skin, the janitor shuffled inside dragging cleaning supplies behind him. Checking suspiciously over his shoulder, he set down his mop bucket and strode toward Dean Greene.
‘Hold it right there!’ Mason yelled, drawing his gun and training it on the janitor. Drew stuck behind him as he tottered down the steps. If this was his killer, he wasn’t prepared to let him go. Only, something told him that this wasn’t the guy. ‘Who are you?’
The janitor threw his hands in the air, stepping back to the wall. Slowly, with a trembling hand, he pointed back toward the door he had entered through. ‘I-I just came to tell the dean that there was a suspicious figure in the ha-hallway.’
Mason shifted his eyes to Greene, who shrugged as if to say Do what you think is best.
‘Where?’
‘In the east wing,’ the janitor said, verging on wetting his pants. ‘Heading toward the exit. You might be able to make it if you try.’
In a heartbeat, Mason burst through the door. He screamed a command at Drew to stay put until he returned – hopefully with the killer – and dashed down the empty hallway. His footsteps echoed as he stomped around the corner and came to a locked double-door.
He said in the east wing?
Mason studied the sign on the wall, his time running short. The arrows were pointing in the opposite direction from the corridor he’d taken, and just like that, he made his way toward the other side of the wing.
When he came to the final door, peered inside and saw the empty classroom, he began to understand what was happening. Thinking through the layout of the school, surely he was already in the east wing? Mason imagined a map of the building, remembered the locked exit, and then it struck him.
Oh, shit.
Terror seized him as he ran back to the lecture hall. If his assumptions were correct, he may have just made one of the biggest mistakes of his career. When he reached the open doorway, he gasped in horror.
Drew Ackerman cowered by the front row, his knees to his chest as he shook wildly. Beside him, a pool of blood reached out toward his feet, spilling from the neck of Dean Lewis Greene’s body. The janitor had disappeared, and all that remained was the haunting realisation that he had messed up, costing this man his life.
15
The killer ran as if Satan himself gave chase. The rain didn’t slow him down, and neither did the clothes he had stolen from the janitor. All that lingered was the rush of the kill, and the excitement of having almost been caught.
When he turned the nearest corner, he stopped by the entrance to an alleyway. As soon as he was sure he hadn’t been followed, he ditched the soaked red sweater and flimsy cap, and stood now only in rolled-down coveralls.
‘That was incredible,’ the killer said aloud, laughing even as the rain kissed his cheeks. ‘That. Was. INCREDIBLE!’ To think that he had come so close to being trapped by the detective. And that writer – who he had recognised immediately after entering the room.
‘You were cutting it a little fine,’ said Riley Stone from beside him.
The killer knew immediately that this was only a part of his imagination. He had killed that kid, had even enjoyed doing it. So what was his victim now; a part of his subconscious?
‘Shut up. I got the job done.’
‘That writer could have stopped you.’
But Drew Ackerman hadn’t posed a challenge. All he had needed was a little shove, and – bump – he had fallen to the floor like a sack of potatoes. After that, he’d had to make fast work of Lewis Greene, slicing his throat as quickly as possible and hightailing it out of there before the detective realised he had been tricked.
It wasn’t perfect – not exactly like the book – but the circumstances were close enough. Although the police had been there to see it, the killer could only look on the bright side: now he knew that they were onto him.
He would have to be more careful from here on out. The killer had their attention, which was all he had ever wanted in the first place. When he turned, Riley Stone had evaporated, leaving him in peace. Finally, the time had come to send the message, and he would begin the preparations immediately.
16
Mason found it a little intimidating to have Captain Cox in the briefing room. She sat in the back, sipping on her morning coffee and, for the first time since he had known her, kept her thoughts to herself.
Detective Bill Harvey stood at his side as usual, but left Mason to do the talking.
‘Last night was… unfortunate,’ Mason said, looking out at all the disappointed faces of the officers. ‘I’m sure you’ve all read the brief, and know that the killer assumed the identity of a university janitor last night. He got to his victim – he got by me – and murdered the dean.’
Mason waited in silence for some sort of insult, perhaps even some kind of question as to how he had been so careless. He deserved it, after all, but nobody said a word.
‘We’re dealing with somebody clever as well as sick,’ he continued. ‘That makes him more dangerous than we could have imagined. So, now we’re looking for more than just a lunatic. Any ideas, questions or proposals are welcome.’
The room remained quiet, only the sounds of the ticking clock and Cox slurping on her coffee could be heard over the uncomfortable silence.
Until Reynolds spoke up.
‘Sir, what about Drew Ackerman?’
‘What about him?’
‘He saw the killer, right?’
‘Sort of,’ Mason said. ‘He didn’t get a good look at him.’
‘Well then, any chance he is a suspect?’
It had crossed Mason’s mind, but after considering the writer’s bad stomach for violence, his fear and unease toward being anywhere near a crime scene, he’d dismissed the notion. ‘It’s not possible. However, he is a valuable asset to the department. We’ll try not to piss him off by throwing accusations at him.’
Reynolds looked around at his colleagues. His constant shifting made it look as though something bothered him – something on the tip of his tongue that he felt too uncomfortable to come out and say.
‘What is it?’ Mason asked.
‘We’re reading the books, so why do we need him?’
‘You’re right, but we need every ounce of help we can get. Any one of us can read the books and learn the order of things, but an author has a one-to-one relationship with each and every character. The killer has some personal attachment to either Drew or the story, and our job is to find out what that is. I believe he can help us with that.’
Just then, the door popped open and a young black woman poked her head inside. Mason had seen her around the station occasionally, each time noticing her steamed uniform and perfect posture. ‘Detective Black?’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘Sorry to interrupt. We just got a call from Hunham University.’
Mason felt a small twinge on the back of his neck. This could either be good news, or terrible news.
‘The real janitor has just returned to work. He has some information and he wants to speak with you.’
Finally, some luck. Mason thanked and dismissed her, quickly scooping up
his belongings and breaking up the meeting. ‘Keep your ear to the ground and see what you can find. Let’s get to work.’
Mason could feel himself slipping deeper into this investigation. It wasn’t the first time he had become so obsessed to find the truth behind a serial killer’s motives. But in spite of how much Diane wanted him around – how much he wanted to be around, for her and the baby – he couldn’t help but become absorbed in the case. Such was his curse.
17
The security chief met them at the gates of Hunham University. Rain drizzled around them, setting the early-morning mood to a dark and miserable one. Mason had been having enough trouble keeping his chin up, and getting soaked only added insult to injury.
‘Detective,’ the security chief said, shaking his hand. An enormous black man, he stood at just under seven feet and rippled with muscle. ‘We have him in the security office. If you’d like to follow me, I’ll take you right to him.’
Mason asked Bill to wait outside, and followed the chief through the parking lot of the university. It was bizarre to think that he had been here only last night, and so had the killer. According to the chief, the security cameras had been mysteriously turned off, and they all suspected it had been the killer’s doing.
They came to the security office – which was little more than a small box the size of a toll booth – and the chief showed him inside. An old man sat in a shoddy wooden chair, pressing his shaking hands to the small of his back.
‘This is Hugh Sullivan,’ the chief said. ‘I’ll leave you two alone for a moment.’
As soon as the door closed, and the sound of the dripping rain simmered to a small sprinkle on the roof, Mason leaned into the edge of the only desk. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else to sit. ‘I’m Detective Black. I understand you have some information?’
‘Damn right, I do,’ Sullivan said. ‘That son of a bitch could have killed me.’
‘What happened?’
‘Where do I start?’
Mason folded his arms. ‘At the beginning.’
Mason Black (The Complete Collection): 6 Gripping Crime Stories: The Complete Collection + BONUS Story Page 50