Mason Black (The Complete Collection): 6 Gripping Crime Stories: The Complete Collection + BONUS Story

by Adam Nicholls

  29

  They had set up four different teams, each paired up so as to ensure backup should they need it. Six of the potential victims were left unattended, unprotected and unwatched. But they had chosen their targets with care, guarding the most likely to be hunted based on their chronological order alone.

  Mason sat in the Mustang with Bill at his side. If it came down to it, there was nobody he would rather have at his side in a combat situation. They had been there before, and Bill had proven himself more than reliable.

  ‘I don’t think he’s coming,’ Bill said, his eyes trained on the house of Melissa Sanders.

  Mason had been thinking it, too, but this was their only chance. ‘What makes you say that?’

  Bill turned then, crooking up an eyebrow. ‘Come on, how many times have we been served a large chunk of luck? It’s bound to run out sooner or later. I can’t see it happening–’

  ‘Shush.’ Mason clapped a hand around Bill’s arm, silencing him.

  Passing under a streetlamp in the distance, a dark, hooded figure checked his surroundings before crossing the road. It began to look as though he was heading toward the corner, but when he peered up the road, he turned back and sneaked behind the Sanders residence, out of sight.

  ‘That’s it, we’re up.’ Mason grabbed his Beretta from the glove compartment, and they both scrambled out. They left the car doors open, careful not to alert the intruder with the sounds of slamming, and scurried across the lawn.

  ‘I’ll go this way,’ Bill whispered, pointing to the other end of the house.

  ‘Good.’ If the idea was to flank the intruder, they were handling it well. Mason clutched the gun tight, hugging the wall of the house to avoid the sudden flash of a spotlight, should there be one. He listened closely, but there were no sounds save for the hoot of an owl in the distance. And then, as if by luck, a scuffing noise from the back of the house.

  Hoping to God that Bill was safe, Mason passed through the open back gate, holding up the Beretta and checking his corners. If the killer was here, he couldn’t – wouldn’t – let him get away.

  The scuffing sound came again. Mason turned toward the source of the noise, and saw the figure disappear behind the building. He followed, walking quickly and quietly. As he rounded the corner, he saw the man running.

  A garden light flashed on, blinding him. Mason raised his gun, squinting. ‘Freeze!’

  But the man only picked up the pace, disappearing around the side of the house.

  Rushing to catch up, Mason lowered the gun and sprinted. A light came on inside the house and the back door opened. A woman appeared in her night gown, yelling questions, but he couldn’t stop to explain.

  And then a miracle happened.

  Mason came to the side of the house. To his amazement, the hooded man laid prone on the floor. Bill leaned over him, pressing his knee into the man’s back and fixing a pair of handcuffs to his wrists. He read the killer his rights, adding some f-bombs and cusses.

  This was everything he’d wanted. It felt too good to be true. Mason approached them, helping Bill pick the killer up off the floor. He pulled back the hood, revealing a man who fit the janitor’s description.

  ‘We’ve got him,’ Bill said, laughing.

  But the man protested, his voice a pathetic whine. ‘Got who? What did I do?’

  Bill shoved him hard, silencing him.

  ‘Quit your bullshit,’ Mason barked. The perp was a spitting image of the police sketch… almost. Of course, it was a possibility that the sketch was off ever so slightly. He tried to think – if he were a killer caught in the act, would he give in so easily?

  ‘I didn’t do anything!’ the man whined, being dragged back to the car.

  The arrest spelled victory for the San Francisco Police Department. But if that was the case, and this man was really the same guy who had been killing people based on a book series, then why did Mason have such a bad feeling about it?

  30

  By seven o’clock the next morning, reporters were gathered in the press hall. Although the killer had been arrested, Captain Cox had insisted that they continue with the press release. It was an opportunity to reveal what had been going on, she’d said, and assure everyone that they were safe now.

  Mason, on the other hand, remained unconvinced.

  Nervous and exhausted, he took to the podium. The sheet of paper in his hand had all the cues he would need in a bulleted list. It contained all of the usual comments and keywords about how they had worked, tried, exhausted all options. It was also routine to make constant mention of how they had succeeded, so the reporters would have triumphs at the forefront of their minds when they wrote the articles.

  ‘There have been a lot of rumours and speculations surrounding the investigation,’ Mason said, before clearing his throat. ‘Allow me to put some of those to rest. Since the last hearing, there has been an incident at Redfield Elementary School. Many of the children there saw something horrific, and probably weren’t believed when they told the tale. But let me assure you that the threat was very real.

  ‘A banner constructed of human skin was found above the entranceway. No fingerprints were found on the scene, and the security footage picked up nothing.’

  Mason went on, spilling every detail against his better judgement. Cox remained at his side, nudging him and giving him suggestive stare-downs whenever he began to falter. It damaged his pride to do so, but he continued anyway.

  Until Drew Ackerman entered the room.

  With the complete absence of a smile, Drew waved a hand and stood at the back, arms folded across his chest. Mason nodded at him and began to wrap up his announcement. Cameras flashed in his face, and he began to wonder if Diane watched him. If she did, she would hopefully be viewing this whole scene as a positive, and considering coming home.

  ‘And that’s all there is at this time,’ he said. ‘Any questions?’

  Row after row of hands shot up in the air, and Captain Cox pointed them out one at a time, deciding for herself which newspaper or magazine should be entitled to a question. The first came from a young black woman with short, dark hair.

  ‘Natalie Rosewood, Vision Magazine. Has the man you arrested confessed to the murders?’

  ‘Currently, he is claiming himself innocent,’ Mason said.

  The reporter sat down and a man rose in her place. ‘Do you have sufficient evidence to prosecute? If so, what do you have?’

  Mason had anticipated the question. How was he supposed to convince the press that they had the right guy, when he wasn’t even sure himself? ‘So far, we have caught him in the act, stalking around a house owned by a lady who is named in Drew Ackerman’s novel. It’s only a matter of time until we match a clue to the suspect.’

  It was only by a brief glance that he caught Drew shaking his head. Mason noticed then that Drew’s eyes were red raw, and he looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. He didn’t blame the man either – this whole ordeal must have really taken its toll.

  The third and final reporter stood up then. An older woman, with a stern scowl and accusing eyes held Mason motionless underneath her steely glare. ‘Are you sure you have the right man? I mean, suppose this gentleman is innocent. What happens next?’

  Captain Cox leaned over instantly, seizing control of the microphones. ‘Captain Leanne Cox of the SPFD here. Please rest assured that the suspect in custody is as guilty as the day is long. We have conclusive evidence of his guilt, and we–’

  ‘What evidence is that?’ Drew yelled.

  Every head in the room turned toward the back as Drew stepped forward. His head lowered, a distressed gaze meeting nothing other than the floor. Whispers and stirs began around him, but mostly everyone kept quiet, allowing the drama to unfold.

  Cox began to stutter. ‘I… We… Ladies and gentlemen, this is Drew Ackerman – author of the Buried series, on which these murders were based. We’ve taken all questions for the day, but perhaps Mr Ackerman will be kind enou
gh to–’

  ‘That man is not the killer,’ Drew said, drawing mumbles from the press.

  Mason felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He hadn’t expected to be humiliated on live television, least of all by Drew Ackerman. But there was always the possibility that – having worked with him – he was able to calm the man down.

  ‘Drew,’ Mason said, stepping down from the podium. ‘Let’s go somewhere quiet.’

  But Drew shook his head, a singular tear rolling down his cheek. ‘I can’t let you sentence that man for killing those people. He didn’t do it.’

  ‘And how do you know that?’ Cox asked.

  ‘Because…’ Drew looked around him, analysing his audience. When he turned back toward Mason, he held out his wrists, allowing himself to be handcuffed. ‘Because I did.’

  31

  The sun peeked above the horizon while George made his first coffee of the day. The sky painted orange and pink across the sky, a chilling mist creeping through the air. George watched from the kitchen window, at peace if only for a moment.

  I wish Drew were here to see this beauty.

  Ahh, yes, and where was he? George figured that he had probably stayed up late plotting the new novel, and then fallen asleep at his desk. With a freshly made coffee in his hand, he went through to the study, knocked on the door and entered.

  Gone, the voice inside his head told him, but he elected to ignore it.

  ‘Drew?’

  Nothing.

  I told you, he’s gone.

  Confused, George checked all the rooms. It wasn’t like Drew to disappear. There was always a chance that he had taken an early-morning walk to clear his head, but when had he ever done that before?

  George was just returning to the kitchen when his cell phone startled him. He checked it quickly, hoping that it might be from his missing boyfriend, but it was only a news update from the Vision app. He sighed and almost put it down, but then the headline caught his eye:

  ‘BURIED’ AUTHOR

  CONFESSES TO MURDER

  No.

  It couldn’t be… could it?

  His heart pounding, a thin sweat emerging from his temples, George read the article. The words began to blur as he read it a second and third time, but it didn’t change the damning words. Drew Ackerman had taken responsibility for the murder spree.

  He’s going to rat you out, too.

  ‘Shut up!’

  He didn’t like to admit it, but there was always a chance. Would he really do that? George didn’t want to wait around to find out. Hurling the coffee mug at a nearby wall, he stormed into the closet and grabbed his suitcase. Furious, humiliated, betrayed. He rushed into the bedroom and began to stuff the bag with clothes.

  If the police came here soon, he’d be gone. Being arrested wasn’t a problem, but he needed to finish his work first – he was compelled to. After that, the cops could do whatever they wanted.

  As long as he got to take a shot at Drew first.

  32

  Through the one-way mirror, Mason stood with his arms crossed, assessing Drew. He was having trouble coming to terms that this man was a killer. That he could cause any harm came as a surprise, actually, but murder?

  ‘We have to let John Asher go,’ Captain Cox said, standing at Mason’s side.

  ‘Are you sure he’s in the clear?’

  ‘Bill just interviewed him. Says he was creeping around because his ex-girlfriend lived in that house, and he was suspicious that she had moved on already. His story checks out but she’s pressing charges. For now, we’ll have to set him free. But you and I will need to talk about what you did that night. Christ, we’re lucky he’s not suing.’

  Mason nodded, letting that sink in. His feeling that they’d arrested the wrong man had struck true, but he wasn’t one to gloat. All he wanted was to get to the bottom of this, even if that meant looking the fool. ‘Can I talk to him?’

  ‘Be my guest. It’s your investigation.’

  Taking a deep breath, Mason left the room and walked straight through the next door. Drew looked up at him with red eyes, giving a weak smile and a curt nod of the head.

  ‘Mr Ackerman,’ Mason said, taking a seat across the table in the otherwise empty room. ‘You’ll forgive me for not using your first name – that’s usually reserved for people who know each other.’

  ‘You do know me,’ Drew said, head bowed. ‘I only…’

  ‘Right.’ Mason stared him down, watching his head sink deeper into his chest. ‘Talk to me.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Everything,’ Mason said. ‘You have the right to know that this conversation is being recorded, and anything you say can be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Drew scratched his stubbly cheek, the handcuffs clinking by his wrists. ‘Look, I want to give you some information, but I can’t do it without a guarantee that you can protect me. Please, you have to–’

  ‘Protect you? From what?’

  ‘From… him. From George Cooper.’

  Mason shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Am I supposed to know who that is?’

  ‘No,’ said Drew, collecting himself. ‘George is my boyfriend, and he killed most of those people. I had a hand in a lot of it, but he is dangerous.’ He leaned forward. ‘He’s off the rails. I had to get out of there before it was too late. That’s why I turned myself in.’

  Mason wasn’t sure if he was more surprised at Drew being gay, or that his boyfriend was a killer and he’d been his willing accomplice. ‘What exactly is your involvement in all this, huh? I mean, what’s driven you to participate in such awful deeds?’

  ‘I…’ Drew wiped his eyes with the balls of his palms. ‘I don’t know. George is a very influential person. You have to believe me, I never meant to hurt anyone. But in a weird sort of way, it was me or them. It’s… all about George. Please, I’ll take the punishment for what I’ve done, but please keep him away from me.’

  Watching him whimper so convincingly, Mason couldn’t help but feel a little sympathetic. That wasn’t to say that he forgave Drew, but he almost certainly understood. Working homicide, Mason had seen his fair share of domestic abuse, and this was exactly the same… just on a much larger scale.

  ‘You’ll have to let me talk to the captain,’ Mason said, rising. He left the room and, within moments, reconvened with Cox on the other side of the glass.

  ‘What can he tell us?’ she asked.

  Mason shook his head, stretching his back. ‘I don’t know. Plenty of information on this George Cooper, I’d imagine. Anything he gives us could save us hours. Maybe even days. And to be fair, he isn’t asking for much in return.’

  ‘Right,’ Cox said with a sarcastic snicker. ‘Not like he just wants it off his conscience.’

  ‘Not gonna help him?’

  Captain Cox took a moment, analysing the facial expressions of Drew Ackerman. There was no denying it, the man felt as horribly guilty as he deserved. He was terrified, too, as suggested by his tapping leg and quivering hands. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘Offer him a deal to get some time off his sentence and our full protection. In exchange, we want every little detail he has to offer. If he holds anything back, the deal is off. Make sure he knows that.’

  Mason went for the door in a hurry. ‘Thanks, Cap.’

  33

  It took Drew over an hour to spill every ounce of information. Mason sat quietly, careful not to miss even the smallest detail while he poured his heart out. It was almost enough to make Mason feel bad – almost.

  The team they assembled to raid the house was small but strong. Mason trusted every one of them with his life, and had no problem letting them know that. A little bit of team morale never hurt anybody, he thought, and before long they were on the road to Drew’s house.

  ‘You sure you’re ready for this?’ Bill Harvey asked from the back of the van, loading bullets into the magazine of his pistol.
r />   ‘I’ve been in plenty of combat zones,’ Mason reminded him.

  ‘It wasn’t the combat I was talking about.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘When George Cooper is in custody, you need to think about Diane.’

  Mason hadn’t needed reminding. It clawed its way to the front of his mind every chance it got. Work only took precedence with maximum effort. ‘It’s fine,’ he lied, and loaded his own gun. ‘Everything is fine.’

  They arrived at Drew’s house, grinding to a stop. Divided into pairs, the first team stormed around to the back of the house, sealing off the rear exit. Two more officers – who had been on the investigation since day one – rushed to the door, bashing it in and clearing the ground floor.

  Mason followed in behind them, still haunted by what Bill had said. This was a bad time to have been reminded of Diane. If anybody lunged out at him now, his reflexes were no longer sharp enough for him to protect himself, much less his partner. It was dangerous, and he needed to focus on the job. ‘Basement,’ he said to Bill, waving him to the nearby door.

  Officer Reynolds jogged down the stairs, gun at the ready. ‘Top floor is secure,’ he said. ‘Holt is watching the front door, and I’ll cover the stairs.’

  ‘Good,’ Mason said. He’ll make a fine leader someday.

  ‘Ready?’ Bill asked.

  Mason nodded, then twisted the knob to the basement door. Immediately in front of him loomed a narrow wooden staircase, which he hurried down, crouching and checking the dark, red room with his gun hand steady.

  ‘Clear?’ Bill said, unable to see from his position behind.

  It definitely seemed clear, but Mason had been tricked before by this wily bastard. He took the rest of the stairs quickly, waltzing around the room and ready to fire. When he discovered no others present, he lowered his weapon and examined his surroundings.

  ‘Clear.’

  Pictures of the victims, some of whom had been found and others who had not yet been so fortunate, hung on the walls. Crimson patches stained the dusty rug below them. Large chunks of wood splintered from the decaying floorboards. There was a desk, too, and Mason immediately noticed the empty ammo boxes.