Under the cover of darkness, he opened up the basement hatch and descended the creaking wooden stairs.
‘You’re late,’ George said from his desk.
Drew couldn’t see him yet, but frustration laced his voice. Plenty of warning that he might not have been in the best of moods. The red lights of the basement had been replaced with black nothingness, but one bright light shone strongly from the desk, isolating it. George was just a silhouette now, holding up something thin enough for the light to bleed through. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Come over here. I need your help.’
‘With what, though?’ But Drew had an idea of what it might be.
‘Just come.’
Biting down on the insides of his cheeks, Drew stepped cautiously toward his lover. As the light glowed brighter with each step, George’s disgusting little project became visible.
The roll of human flesh hung before him, a rotting banner, a disturbing display of psychosis. Taken clean off the backs of their victims, the skin had been preserved by a special formula that George had devised. But it still stank of rotting flesh, and it had a crispy yellow texture to it.
‘Hold up that end,’ George said, and they led it toward the back wall, rolling it out to look at it as a whole. They observed in silence, George smiling and Drew wincing but trying to hide it. ‘You’re helping them too much.’
Drew had known this might happen. It wasn’t as though George would have thought about it from his point of view – he was caught between helping the cops and supporting his boyfriend. What was he to do? ‘I’m doing what I can.’
‘You’re getting too involved.’
‘You asked me to.’
‘And now I’m asking you not to.’
‘I’m under obligation by law to assist where I can.’
George turned then, studying him. Drew didn’t look directly at him, but could feel his fierce brown eyes giving him that “how dare you” glare. ‘They don’t have to know how much you remember. I instructed you to give them little hints, pointers in the right direction. Nothing more.’
‘Well, what do you expect me to do?’
‘Tell the detective that you won’t be assisting him anymore.’
‘But–’
George’s hand lashed out like lightning. It smacked across Drew’s cheek with an unsettling slapping sound, but the shock of the attack hurt the most. It wasn’t the first time he’d been hit by his man, but it hadn’t happened in a while.
‘Don’t disobey me,’ George said angrily, tightening his blood-stained apron. He took a breath, blowing it out slowly as if to calm himself. ‘Tomorrow you will call him, meet him if need be, and tell him that you need to get back to work. Do you understand me?’
Loud and clear, you bastard. Drew rubbed his cheek, feeling it turn hot as the blood rushed to it. ‘I understand. I’m sorry.’
‘Good boy. Now give me a kiss.’
It was better than having another slap. Drew leaned in and planted a soft kiss on George’s lips, then turned and made his way toward the door. There was a technique to this that he had practiced – walking not so fast that it looked like he was frightened, but not so slow that it would piss off George. Pride was a funny thing, and Drew needed to maintain it where he could. Wherever that was.
24
The blistering cold sent a chill through to his very bones. Mason buttoned up his coat, looked over his shoulder, and marched through the crispy leaves toward the centre of the park, where his last-minute contact stood waiting.
‘Thanks for seeing me,’ Drew Ackerman said, handing over a coffee cup.
Mason took it, looking at it with a bout of confusion.
‘It’s a latte,’ Drew said. ‘Consider it an apology.’
‘An apology for what?’
Drew walked slowly down the path, and Mason followed alongside him. After a suspicious sniff of the latte, he took a sip. It fell down his throat so easily that he chased it with a larger gulp.
‘I can’t be a part of this any longer.’
Mason stopped in his tracks, close to crushing the cup in his hand on pure reaction. Although deep down he understood that this kind of work wasn’t for everyone, this was sure to be a major setback for the SFPD. ‘Can I talk you out of it?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
The police had the list of possible victims, at least, and the entire team had finished reading the Buried series. Mason supposed that Drew had helped significantly, and even he wasn’t so harsh to push for more. ‘Well, I don’t know what to say. Good luck with the novels, I guess.’
‘Thanks.’
‘If you come across anything that might–’
‘I’ll be in touch.’ Drew looked up from his feet and extended a hand. ‘Despite the circumstances, it’s been an honour to work with you, detective.’
‘Likewise.’ Mason took his hand and shook it with one short, firm jolt. Feeling a shiver creep under his coat, he watched Drew Ackerman walk off into the distance. He knew it was unlikely that he’d ever hear from that man again, but they would have to make do with what they did have, no matter how little that might be.
Mason returned to his car, sat alone in the silence, and thought: shit.
25
From the warm interior of his GT Mustang, Mason sat staring at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. A subtle hatred brewed as he looked into his own eyes, seeing nothing more than a failure – a failure as a cop. A failure as a parent. All he could do was reach out, and there was nobody better to do it with than the love of his life.
Clutching the phone tightly in his hand, he dialled for Diane and waited for her to answer. For a moment it seemed as though it would go to voicemail, but on the eighth ring, the sweetest voice in the world came through the speaker.
‘Are you okay, honey?’ Diane asked, as if nothing had gone wrong between them. Her undying selflessness had been one of her most attractive features in the first place, but now that he really needed her, it seemed all the more endearing.
Mason explained his situation to her – everything from the woes of the case to how much he missed her. He spoke of his guilt for letting her leave, and his concerns that he might make a terrible father.
Although sympathetic to his issues, Diane listened to every word in complete silence. It wasn’t like she wasn’t angry with him, but she’d always known how to make people feel better. Except this time. ‘Just do what you need to do and come back to me.’
‘You want me to see this through?’
‘I want you to be happy,’ Diane said. ‘If that’s what it’s going to take, then fine. Although I can’t promise I’ll be happy about it.’
Mason stared out into the road, where kids kicked a soccer ball dangerously close to his car. Surprisingly, it didn’t bother him too much. Material possessions meant nothing when you were about to lose everything else. ‘But we talked about this. I thought you didn’t mind me doing casual police work.’
‘Honey, this isn’t casual. It never was.’
‘Never?’
‘This is exactly how you lost Sandra.’
The simple mention of his ex-wife made his skin crawl. ‘But I found you.’
‘And you’ll lose me, too,’ Diane reminded him. ‘Look, if you want to carry on with the SFPD, you go ahead. I won’t hate you for it and we’ll figure out how to separate properly. But I can’t handle that. I need a boyfriend who will be around for me and the baby.’
Perhaps he was being selfish. Mason explored the possibility that he was a bad partner after all. But to consider for a moment that he couldn’t put this killer behind bars… that did nothing but hurt. Soul deep. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Not as sorry as I am. Look, I have to go.’
After she hung up on him, Mason threw his cell phone into the passenger seat and bit down on his knuckles. Just when everything else started turning to shit, why did his relationship have to be headed in the same direction?
The phone rang again,
interrupting his pity party. Mason’s heart raced as he rushed to pick it up. This was his chance to apologise, to say that maybe they could find a middle ground. But his mouth had only just opened when a different voice sounded in his ear.
‘Oh, thank god.’ It was Captain Cox, but not in her normally calm state. ‘Where are you? Can you get to Redfield Elementary?’
Everything about this sounded like trouble.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
Cox huffed out an exasperated breath. ‘We’ve found something relating to the Buried case. It’s extremely out of the ordinary and, frankly, frickin’ disgusting.’
Mason’s blood boiled as his mind raced beyond comprehension. There was nothing he needed more than to retire with a bottle of something strong, but now that comforting notion seemed a million miles away. ‘I’ll be there in ten.’
26
Reporters stormed the high stone steps of Redfield Elementary, pushing and shoving to get to the barricade. A damn media frenzy. Mason wove between them, flashed his badge to one of the guarding officers and climbed through.
What the hell is all the fuss about?
Making his way toward the front door, where Captain Cox stood screaming at two of the teachers, Mason scanned the perimeter for signs of trouble. He expected another body – most likely with scratches on its throat and a large amount of missing skin. But when he caught sight of the problem, he knew that it was much, much worse.
Bile rose to his throat. His heart jackhammered against his ribs. He had seen enough horrendous things to last a lifetime, but nothing could have prepared him for this.
The banner hung above the doors, stretching from wall to wall. Its fleshy material looked hardened and grim. Mason was no doctor, but it looked to be showing signs of decay. And the smell – hot and putrid – burned his throat.
From the corner of his eye, Mason saw Captain Cox wave him over. Her timing impeccable as always – he needed the distraction. Something to help take his eyes off the spectacle. He made his way over, hearing the tail-end of Cox telling the teachers to get the kids away.
‘This what I think it is?’ he asked.
Cox walked him into the deserted corridor, where only a couple of policemen passed through as they went on with their strenuous jobs. ‘We’re working on a DNA sample but I would certainly imagine it’s a match. See the stitching?’
‘Unfortunately, I did.’
‘Looks about the size of the missing patches.’
Mason covered his mouth, looking blankly past Cox and at the wall.
‘You okay?’ Cox asked.
‘Yeah. I just want to stop this asshole.’
‘Well, it gets worse,’ she said. ‘Some of those people on your list have been reported missing.’ She interlaced her fingers and placed them atop her head, steadying her breathing. Mason had never noticed it before, but she looked a little like Julianne Moore. ‘Look, we need to wrap this up. We’re pulling out all the stops, starting with a press release.’
‘Whoa. Wait. I don’t want the killer to know we’re clueless.’
‘Tough. I don’t see any other option.’
Mason felt helpless. At the heart of it, he knew the people of San Francisco had a right to know the details of the murders. But the killer couldn’t know how far they were from catching him. They needed him to panic, worry, become careless in his desperation to avoid capture. ‘Can’t I just have a couple more days to–’
‘I’ve already scheduled it for Monday morning.’
It felt like a sudden blow to his gut. ‘Two days away.’
‘I like you, Mason, but we had no other choice here. Now get to work.’ Just like that, she disappeared into a crowd of officers who were gathered at the school’s entrance. She began to bark commands, sending some of them one way and others in a different direction.
‘Two days,’ Mason whispered. It would barely have been enough time if he did have something to go on. But with his current lack of information and assistance from Drew Ackerman, he was at a total loss.
The killer was winning.
27
Drew Ackerman stood at the kitchen sink when George stepped out from the basement. He could feel evil eyes on him. Judging. Threatening. Everything he had loved in this man disappeared, replaced by nothing but a bully.
‘You’re upset,’ George said.
Scrubbing harder, Drew continued to wash the dishes. He dared not turn around and face the man he was angry with – that would only make him angry, too. ‘I’m a little put out, yeah. I’m just not used to it all yet.’
‘The blood?’
‘The blood. The skin. The sad faces on the news.’
Ripping the bloody gloves from his hands, George came and stood in front of the sink. With a hand that reeked of rubber, he took Drew’s chin between his fingers, turning his face toward him. ‘What’s really going on?’
You sicken me, that’s what. ‘Honestly, it’s nothing.’
George stared at him, silent, while Drew stood petrified.
‘Sit down, I’ll get you a beer.’
‘All right.’
Finally getting a little space, Drew dried his hands and took a beer from the fridge. An awkward silence fell between them, and he wondered if George felt that as well. Maybe he didn’t, Drew thought. Perhaps he was entirely comfortable, knowing that he was in charge of this whole warped situation.
Drew put the beer down and returned to the sink, where the silence continued for another agonising minute. He expected George to grill him, to make him do something else that he didn’t want to do. Instead, Drew steered the conversation toward something of a lighter note. ‘I’m going to write a new novel.’
‘Oh, good!’ George said, scratching at his thick, black beard. ‘Some new material.’
Not quite what I had in mind. Drew nodded.
‘Make sure you keep everything consistent. I want to keep it all as one big project.’
‘Definitely,’ Drew said, turning back to finish the dishes. ‘I’ll run it all by you before I send it to the editor. I’ve got plenty of ideas that I think you’ll love. And tonight I’m going to stay up late to plot this thing, so you go on to bed without me.’
‘Sure.’
The truth was, he’d had nothing planned. All he wanted to do was wait for George to fall asleep. If he could get out of there and make his way to somewhere safe, he could lay low until George got caught. He despised the idea of betraying his boyfriend like that, but what else was there to do? Drew didn’t want to be a part of this anymore, but it was no longer his choice. All he could do now was try to run, and see how far he would get.
28
At the end of his tether, Mason walked through the door of Downadays Bar for the first time in two years. For Diane’s sake, he’d been trying to stay away from the strong stuff. But under the circumstances, he thought he was entitled.
Bill Harvey already sat at the bar when he arrived. The purple glow of neon illuminated his face. Snooker balls smacked together in the back, and old country music sang out from the speakers. Mason took a seat and ordered his scotch.
‘What do you have?’ Bill asked. It was his only form of greeting – he looked as down-and-out as Mason felt, slouching with exhaustion.
‘Nothing. You?’
‘Nothing. Even Christine is shocked about how this is playing out. Ever since the killer switched up the order of his victims, the entire team has been stuck. Why do you think he did that?’
‘Assuming that it even is a he, I think he was just trying to confuse us.’
‘No more than that?’
‘Nope.’ The bartender put a drink in front of Mason. He poured it down his throat, welcoming the burn and asked for another immediately. A tiny wave of guilt tickled the back of his mind, but hell, this was a two-scotch kind of night.
‘All right,’ Bill said. ‘I’ve been in two minds about this, but I do have an idea.’
Mason shrugged. ‘Let’s hear it.’
&
nbsp; ‘We could… you know… keep surveillance on the remaining victims. Considering that most of them have been reported missing, it’s a pretty safe bet that the killer will go for whoever is left. The only question is: in which order?’
‘Cox wouldn’t allow that. She wants all hands on deck. Besides, the number of victims far outweighs the number of people assigned to our team.’ Mason nodded at the barman as his second drink arrived.
Bill cleared his throat, lowered his voice. ‘We don’t… need a warrant.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘If we catch the guy and can link him with the murders, we don’t need the warrant. I’m sure the residents will wave us off with smiles on their faces if it turns out that we’ve saved their lives.’
‘And if we don’t catch him?’ Mason asked.
‘Then at least we can say we tried.’
Mason took a small sip of the whisky and then stared into the bottom of the glass. The plan was risky, but he didn’t see what other choice he had. The killer was out there, and he had switched up his game. ‘We would have to convince the team.’
‘Already done it,’ Bill said, his chest expanding with pride.
‘And?’
‘They’re good to go, on one condition.’
‘Which is?’ Mason dreaded the response.
‘You take the fall for this if anything goes wrong.’
Which seems quite likely. ‘All right. It’s a done deal.’
Bill smiled, playfully punching Mason on the arm. ‘Thatta boy. So, drink up.’
Mason didn’t have to be told twice. The bottom of the glass went up, spilling that perfect burning sensation into his throat. He winced, set down the glass and got up from the stool. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Just outside,’ Bill said. ‘I already called the guys. They’re on their way.’
Mason wasn’t sure whether to hug him or punch him, but he was glad Bill had done what he’d done. However this played out, at least he was taking action in one form or another. He could only pray that, by the end of the night, he would have a killer in cuffs.
Mason Black (The Complete Collection): 6 Gripping Crime Stories: The Complete Collection + BONUS Story Page 52