And then, an afterthought.
He stopped the car in the middle of the road and wound down the window. As he leaned out and saw the woman standing on the sidewalk, he wrapped his hand around the gun, relishing the sexy feeling of the cool metal. ‘Oh, I almost forgot…’
The pistol raised to eye level. His last bullet exploded from the barrel, finding its target in the woman’s stomach. A hilarious look of surprise crossed her face. She reached for her stomach as if to check that it had really happened, her shaking fingers pulling away covered in bright red blood.
I love a gut wound, don’t you?
Clay had to get out of there as much as he wanted to savor his shot. It was a dumb move and somebody was bound to call the police. Still, it was the most fun he’d had all day. What he’d really wanted was to hurt Mason Black, but he had failed in that regard.
This time, anyway.
Too bad blondie had to be a cheap imitation.
22
They had got as far as the front door of the police station. Mason had only taken a glance at his cell phone to note the time, but when he saw eight missed calls and a text message from Bill, he had to stop to read it:
Answer your damn phone. D is having trouble breathing!
The idea of leaving Jane wasn’t all too appealing, but there was no alternative. Lost for words, he simply turned the phone so as she could read it, and before he knew it she told him to go home to his girlfriend.
‘I’ll handle this,’ she said sympathetically.
Just over four hours later, with the sun lowering down under the horizon and painting orange hues over the city of San Francisco, Mason arrived at the hospital. It had been one of the longest journeys of his life – at least, it had felt that way.
Failing to even lock his car, he ran into the hospital and found Diane’s room. His heart lodged in his throat as he entered the waiting room. Bill jumped out of the cheap, vinyl chair, rushing over and throwing his arms around Mason.
‘About time,’ he said.
Mason could only assume the worst. ‘What happened?’
‘It’s better that a doctor explains it to you.’ Bill ran off to grab a doctor, returning moments later with him at his side like a loyal lapdog. ‘This is her partner. Can you tell him what you told me?’
The doctor, a tall and bearded man with short, curly hair, pushed his glasses further up his nose as he addressed Mason. ‘I’m afraid she took a turn for the worse. She went into cardiac arrest and we had to stabilise her breathing. She’s fine for now – she’s sleeping it off – but we don’t know if it will happen again.’
Mason felt anger and regret rush through him. He wanted to put his fist through a wall – through Andrew Clay’s chest cavity, and send that bastard straight to his grave. Not that he deserved one. ‘What about the baby?’
‘The baby is fine, far as we can tell. We will run a scan first thing tomorrow.’
It wasn’t much, but it was a damn sight better than the alternative. That Diane wouldn’t make it. Mason asked if he could see her, and was shown into the dark room where he propped the door open with a chair. The light bled in from the corridor, but Diane’s eyes remained closed.
Mason took her hand, leaned over her and kissed her on the cheek. After all he had endured, nothing had been more painful than seeing his woman like this. Diane was a wonderful person, and had she not warned him about this? Had she not told him how dangerous it was to be as obsessed with work as he’d been? There was nothing but regret for him now… regret, and vengeance.
Mostly vengeance.
‘I’m going to get him,’ Mason whispered softly. ‘I’m going to find him and kill him. And when I’m done, I’ll shock him back to life and kill him again. One death isn’t enough for that bastard. I promise you that much.’ Although he knew she would disapprove, putting a bullet into Andrew Clay was his number one goal, whereas Diane would only try to make him see reason. After having murdered the Lullaby Killer, she would encourage him to take a lesson from that.
Mason gave her one final kiss and snuck out of the room, careful not to wake her. Passing by Bill, he explained that he was heading back to LA. What he didn’t add was that this time he wasn’t going to return without peace. Without revenge.
This time, he was out for blood.
23
Morning arrived after a short and uncomfortable sleep in the reclined driver’s seat of his Mustang. Mason had wrapped up, shivering his way through most of the night as he waited until an appropriate time to knock on her door.
It seemed a lifetime had passed, but now was his chance.
He padded up the steps and knocked on the door, watching his breath cloud out into the cold morning air as he waited. When the door finally swung open, Jane Phillips stood in a black pantsuit, her dark hair straightened and a concerned look on her face.
‘I needed to collect my stuff,’ Mason said.
Jane studied him, watching him hug himself in the cold as he shivered. ‘You can do better than that bullshit excuse,’ she said, tilting her head toward the inside of her home. ‘Come on, let’s get you a hot coffee.’
Jane escorted Mason through her house. There was a surprising absence of furniture, no photographs on the walls, and an uninviting smell that he couldn’t quite place – like moisture, but somehow warmer. They walked to the kitchen, where he pulled out a stool. Minutes later, he wrapped his cold hands around a hot coffee cup.
‘So, I spoke to Captain Waltenbaugh,’ Jane said from the opposite side of the kitchen island.
‘You did? What happened?’
Jane waved a hand over her body, highlighting her attire. ‘I’ve been reinstated.’
Mason wasn’t sure if she was being serious, or if this was some strange joke. Recent events had taught him that anything was possible, but Jane’s reinstatement seemed less than likely. ‘You’re kidding?’
‘Nope.’
‘How did you manage that?’
‘I just went in with my head down, apologised for being a bitch, and then explained myself. It was actually kind of nice. Waltenbaugh had lunch with me and we talked about the case, about my own motives and what drove me.’
Mason took a sip of the coffee, scalding his tongue ever so slightly. He didn’t care; he welcomed the burn. It felt great to be in a warm house rather than a cold car. ‘And he just… gave back your badge?’
‘Kinda.’ Jane scratched her nose. ‘Actually, there’s… more to it.’
Setting down his mug, Mason folded his arms in a defensive posture. He wasn’t sure what was coming, but he knew it wouldn’t be good. ‘Go on.’
‘One of the conditions that I got my job back was… that I’m not to work with you.’
‘Serious?’
‘Yeah. Look, I’m sorry but I need to think about myself. I like working with you, and we obviously both want the same thing. But if neither of us are hunting Clay within the rights of the law, then our chances of catching him are significantly slimmer.’
‘It’s fine,’ Mason said. ‘I understand.’ And he really did, but that didn’t soften the blow. Now that he was truly alone in all this, with the LAPD against him, things were going to be noticeably harder. ‘So, what happens now?’
Jane stood and emptied her mug in the sink. ‘Now… we get to work.’
‘We?’
‘Yes, you and me.’
‘Separately, I assume?’
But Jane teased a thin smile at him and grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair. ‘I promised I wouldn’t work with you, Mason... but I won’t tell if you won’t.’
24
A dark-grey cloud lurked in the sky. Rain began to drizzle and hit the windshield. Mason watched it without blinking, deep in thought.
Jane would have made an outstanding partner, if circumstances were different.
But he would have to put that life aside. When this was done, what was next? There was no longer a place for him in law enforcement. Not with the harm it had done to
his family. Even if Diane made it out of this, and Andrew Clay was brought to his knees, what kind of life waited for him?
As the rain picked up, the wind carrying it in torrents against the car, Detective Jane Phillips emerged from the police station, scurrying across the road and climbing into the Mustang for sanctuary. Her hair had soaked in the moments it had taken to cross the road. Mason couldn’t help but think how cute she looked when she was sopping wet.
‘This is all I could get.’ Jane handed over a padded brown envelope. ‘I snatched it from the evidence locker. Phil saw me but it should be fine. As long as we sneak it back in there within the next day.’
Mason scrunched up his face. ‘He didn’t ask why you wanted it?’
‘There are forms to fill out for this kind of thing. But the guy’s been creeping after me for years. I just happened to use it to my advantage.’
‘Clever girl.’ Mason smiled weakly and opened the envelope. He poured the contents into his lap, but it wasn’t much; two small strips of paper and a cigarette lighter in a polythene bag. ‘This is it?’
Jane shrugged. ‘It’s all the Feds found in there. Except for the DVD.’
‘Hmm.’ Mason went straight for the tickets, turning on the dome light and holding them up to it. The print showed a time and date for the new James Bond movie. They were torn on one corner – used – but something else occurred to him. ‘These are photocopies.’
‘Yeah, the FBI have the originals. These are just for our reference.’
‘Maybe we should check out this movie theatre.’
‘You don’t think the Feds would have done that already?’
Mason chuckled softly. ‘Of course they have, but they tend to be a bit… you know.’
‘Arrogant?’
‘Exactly. Nobody likes helping those assholes.’
Jane pulled down the vanity mirror and checked her makeup. It seemed to be fine, as she flipped it back up and threw a wet tail of hair over her shoulder. ‘Sure, we can check it out. I just don’t think much will come of it.’
‘Well, do you have any other ideas?’
Jane remained silent.
‘I thought so,’ Mason said, turning the key in the ignition. ‘So buckle up.’
25
Andrew Clay crept into the thin space between the walls, following the small cubbyhole through to the expanse of his hidden room. It had been one of his many lairs in this area of Los Angeles, but this was the only one that remained safe from the reach of the Feds.
Emerging in a dark and dusty space, he ducked under the low beams and passed a thin ray of light than shone from the one circular window at the far end. The TV in the corner was still on, but no sound came from it. Not until Clay turned it up, checking in on today’s little outburst from the good detective.
He leaned back and watched the news in rapt fascination. A black woman in her forties announced vague facts about what had happened. The backdrop showed the gas station, but her account didn’t do it justice – drivers were still pulling in and filling up their tanks, with complete disregard to the shootout that had taken place. Where was the chaos? The mayhem? Anarchy ran a hand through his hair and sneered.
All this time and you still can’t tell the simple facts. Stupid bitch.
Clay switched off the TV, angry that his name had not been mentioned. Interestingly enough, Mason Black had not been talked about either. It was as though the whole thing had been swept under the rug, and the reporter had been given nothing but a bullshit theory to the unsuspecting public.
With nothing left to do but finalise his hunting plans, Andrew Clay strode to the gun cabinet, where he kept his armoury padlocked behind a wire door. He unlocked it, popped it open and grabbed a handful of bullets to reload his gun.
The people are beginning to forget my name, he thought, pushing the bullets into the magazine harder and harder. It was aggravating that his brand of chaos only illuminated the press for a short period of time. I’ll have to try harder.
Since Mason Black had gone to LA, even his plans had needed changing. Now, he was so far from the games he’d set up. It was too methodical, too structured, and that wasn’t how he liked to work. The gun now loaded, Clay closed the cabinet and took a beer from the fridge.
If there was ever a time to switch things up, now was that time. No longer could he stick with his vindictive plan to bring the detective to his knees. He would have to revert to his rawest form, causing trouble wherever he could – creating problems and shooting things up without so much as a second thought… letting loose and indulging in pure lawlessness.
In unbridled Anarchy.
26
The movie theatre was a total dump. It was small; one cash register, one snack stand, one screen. The once-red carpet had been paced pink and threadbare, and a sour smell poisoned the air. Mason crossed the empty lobby to the one employee, counting his blessings that he wasn’t looking at this place with a UV light.
‘Excuse me.’
The man turned around, his Pepsi-stained white shirt and velveteen waistcoat wrinkled and uncared for. His skin and hair matched his clothes in that regard. ‘What movie?’
Mason took note of Jane coming to his side.
‘We’re not here for a movie,’ she said, holding up her police badge. ‘Detective Phillips, LAPD. We’re tracking a criminal and have reason to believe that he may have––’
‘I’ve already spoken with the FBI,’ the man said.
‘So? We’re not with the FBI.’
The man recoiled. ‘I’m busy.’
‘Are you the owner of this place?’ Mason intervened.
‘What’s it to you?’
‘It’s everything to me,’ he said. He hated to do this, but sometimes he needed to inflict a little aggression. Sometimes – rarely, but sometimes – it was the only way to get things done. ‘See, my friend here is a cop. She has rules, regulations and restrictions. I don’t have any of that. All I have is the desire to help, and very little patience. So you have two options; stop being a jackass for a few minutes and give us what we need, or you can realise how it feels to have your face put through a window.’
Shock lined the man’s wrinkled face and his jaw dropped in horror. Shaking lightly now, he rushed to a nearby TV and grabbed the remote from beside it, then tossed it to Mason. ‘All the FBI did was look at the DVD. Do that, and then get out of here.’
They came around the counter and studied the TV screen. The disc with the correct date had been left in the player, and they scanned through until the time of the recording matched the time on the ticket.
‘Stop,’ Jane said.
Mason paused on a still frame of Andrew Clay. He appeared on the edge of the screen, having his ticket torn by the usher… but he was alone. ‘This doesn’t make any sense. There were two tickets in his evidence bag.’
‘Speed it forward.’
‘Why forward?’
‘Just do it.’
Mason moved it forward by just under three hours. On the recording, Clay returned from the movie screen alone, walking slowly and looking around the place. He was going for the exit door, but then stopped and stared at something in his hand.
‘What’s that?’ Jane asked.
‘Ssh.’
Clay returned to the cash register, engaging the teenage-looking girl working there. He stayed for a few minutes, and before long she laughed and played with her hair. Then, throwing Mason off guard… the girl locked the doors and disappeared off screen, with Clay throwing his arm over her shoulder.
‘What the hell?’ the theatre owner said from behind them.
Jane and Mason turned to see him staring up at the screen.
‘I should have known that girl was no good!’
‘You haven’t seen this part of the recording?’ Mason said.
‘Nuh-uh. But I remember that day. We lost a lot of money because I was out of town, and she told me the projector reel had broken. I thought it was weird when the reel seemed to be jus
t fine. Now I know what really happened to the little slut.’
‘Sir, does this girl still work here?’ Jane asked.
‘Not for long.’
Mason looked at Jane, knowing that they were both on the same page. It was instinctual, and it often happened with police partners. After all, they had been trained in the same way. ‘We’re going to need her name and address.’
27
Kerry Watts looked younger in person than she had on the DVD. Her skin was soft and her breasts were underdeveloped. Even her eyes lacked the knowledge that usually came with having endured college.
They sat in her living room, on opposing couches with her father beside her. He was a big man, tall and bulky but had treated the detectives with respect when they had spoken to him at the door.
‘Kerry, do you know why we’re here?’ Mason asked.
She looked up at him, squeezing her hands together awkwardly between her knees. ‘I think so.’
‘I want you to understand that you’re not in any trouble, okay? We just want to ask you a few questions and then we’ll be on our way. Think that will be all right?’
Kerry glanced at her father, then nodded.
‘My partner and I have seen a security recording of you working at the movie theatre. How long have you been working there?’
‘Around nine months.’
‘And during that time, did you ever see anything suspicious?’
Kerry thought about it and shook her head.
Apparently uneasy with the pace of the questions, Jane leaned in and spoke directly to her. ‘Miss Watts, the footage we saw was of somebody flirting with you. You closed up shop and went upstairs with him, didn’t you?’
‘What?’ Kerry’s father stood, his face growing red.
Mason stood defensively, taking action before the conversation became any more heated. ‘Mr Watts, could we please have a moment alone with your daughter? We assure you she’s not in trouble, but she might be a bit shy to answer some of the questions we have.’
Mason Black (The Complete Collection): 6 Gripping Crime Stories: The Complete Collection + BONUS Story Page 59