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

by Adam Nicholls

  Mr Watts huffed and groaned, but soon left the room.

  Sitting back down, Mason adjusted his collar. ‘Did you have sex with Andrew Clay?’

  ‘I don’t know who that is,’ Kerry said.

  False name. ‘You ran off with somebody at the theatre. Who was he?’

  ‘I don’t know his surname. He told me his name was Stephen.’

  Jane nodded slowly. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was working. A movie had just ended and everyone was leaving the theatre. Then Stephen came over and showed me an unused movie ticket. Asked if he could have a refund because his date hadn’t shown.’

  ‘Did you give it to him?’ Mason asked.

  ‘The refund?’ Kerry shrugged. ‘I told him I didn’t know how. Then he said it was okay and we got talking. I don’t know how he did it, but he got me liking him pretty quickly. Kept saying I was pretty and… I guess I believed him.’

  ‘Then what happened?’ Mason said.

  ‘Then…’ Kerry’s eyes darted to the door her father had gone through. ‘Then he suggested we go somewhere quiet. Don’t ask me why, but I agreed to go with him, thinking we could use the space upstairs. Stephen was smooth. He tore the ticket and said that he was glad his date didn’t show. Look, my dad still thinks I’m a virgin. Could we–’

  ‘That’s not our business,’ Jane said. ‘All we want to know is what happened in the projection room.

  ‘We didn’t use the projection room.’

  ‘The office?’

  ‘No.’ Kerry’s face turned a light red. ‘There is a room above the theatre, kind of like an attic. I don’t think my boss knows about it. So we used the hatch above the projection room and we… we had sex.’

  Mason looked directly over at Jane. ‘We need to check out this room.’

  ‘Am I in trouble?’ Kerry asked.

  ‘Not at all,’ Mason said, getting to his feet. ‘But you’re lucky to be alive.’

  28

  There was no waiting for a warrant. No calling for backup. There was only seeing an opportunity and clutching it with both hands. They were back at the movie theatre within minutes, storming past the owner and finding the projection booth.

  ‘I’ll cover you,’ Jane said, looking up at the ceiling hatch and folding her arms.

  ‘Why so shy?’ Mason asked.

  ‘I’m not shy. I just don’t like cramped spaces.’

  ‘Say no more.’ Mason grabbed the broom that had been leaning against the wall, and pushed it against the hatch. There was a clicking sound as it fell open, and a ladder rolled down with a metallic clang.

  ‘Go on,’ Jane encouraged him.

  Taking the gun from inside his coat, Mason steadied the ladder and climbed up into the dark space. He was sure something was waiting for him up here. Andrew Clay didn’t do things in half-measures, and probably wasn’t too fond of having cops in his hiding place. It wasn’t until he reached the top rung that he realised… maybe Clay lived up here.

  The attic space opened up into a large room. On the far end, wind howled through an open window, blowing transparent drapes like the tails of a scarf. Mason clutched his gun, manoeuvring the shoulder-height stacks of dusty cardboard boxes.

  ‘See anything?’ Jane shouted up.

  Mason ignored her. He had to, in case he wasn’t alone up here.

  And then a familiar voice confirmed it.

  ‘I knew you couldn’t stay away, detective.’

  Finger coiled round the trigger, Mason raised the gun and aimed it in the direction of the voice. But all he could see was a dark corner, absent of motion and light. ‘Well, you made things personal. What did you expect?’

  A maniacal laugh. ‘Honestly? I thought you would have given up by now. Maybe taken that gun of yours to your own head. Then again, I guess you’re not a coward. You’ve done enough to prove that, haven’t you? Ya big, brave hero.’ The voice was teasing, mocking.

  Haunting.

  Mason felt his legs begin to weaken as fear settled in. Something about Andrew Clay – about Anarchy – made him seem immortal. It could have been the shadows he so often hid within, or the grief he would cause so effortlessly. But Mason was ready to take him down. ‘I’m no hero. Just a man doing his job.’

  ‘You’re not doing it very well, are you? Look at those you failed to protect.’

  ‘That was out of my hands, you bastard.’

  ‘Hmm… what’s done is done.’ The voice shifted direction almost instantly. It was as though Clay had teleported to the other side of the room. ‘Speaking of which, how is that girlfriend of yours? Better yet, how is Amy doing? Pretty girl, isn’t she? Even if her new haircut makes her look a bit boyish.’

  Haircut? Last time Mason had seen Amy, she hadn’t had a haircut. Has he seen her recently? ‘I’m done with your games, Clay. There’s no way out of here. You’re under arrest. The best thing you can do is come out with your hands up, and pray I don’t put a bullet in you.’

  Mason was met with silence – a terrifying pause with no sound at all.

  ‘Clay?’

  The gun trembling in his hands, Mason sucked in a large breath and hurried around the corners of the room. He searched every nook and cranny, every space that the sadistic son of a bitch could have been hiding in, but turned up nothing.

  Then, there was a voice… but it wasn’t Andrew Clay’s.

  ‘Freeze!’

  It had come from downstairs, where Jane had been standing guard. Safe now – or assuming so – Mason put away his gun and climbed back down the ladder. What waited for him was not what he had expected at all.

  Agent Thomas Kane moved toward him, handcuffs at the ready. ‘Mason Black, you’re coming with us. You’re under arrest for interfering with a Federal investiation, illegal possession of a firearm, and suspicion of assisting a known terrorist.’

  ‘Assisting… What?’

  The words had barely left Mason’s lips when he was pushed into a nearby wall, his face pressed against the crumbling brick. In spite of his strength, Agent Kane took control of Mason’s hands and clicked the cuffs around his wrists.

  ‘I don’t understand the charges,’ Mason demanded.

  ‘You don’t need to,’ Kane told him, before leaning in his ear with a sly whisper. ‘You’re mine now, you son of a bitch.’

  29

  From the roof of the adjoining building, Andrew Clay peered down at the row of Black Mercedes in the street. They were perfectly aligned, parked head-to-toe like a line of dominoes.

  Talk about good timing.

  Inside, Clay had called out to Mason Black, serving as little more than a distraction. If only to provide a little opportunity, a brief moment to go for the window. He had expected Mason to see him do it, but as usual, he was caught up in the action.

  The man’s a fucking fool. He’ll never catch me. Never.

  Nevermind – he was out of there now, and free to do as he pleased. The only problem was, the movie theatre had been his last retreat. All of his money was tucked inside, all of his guns and personal possessions. He had nothing left.

  Nothing but his invisible cloak of vengeance. But it would fortify him. It had to.

  Clay leaned over further, watching Mason being escorted to one of the FBI cars in a set of handcuffs. Behind him, the bitch he’d been working with suffered a similar fate. Clay only hoped that Mason would be free soon. If not, he wouldn’t get to see what surprises waited for him.

  And that wouldn’t be any fun at all. He hated anything that spoiled his fun.

  With nowhere left to go, Andrew Clay ducked inside and headed down the stairs. He had nothing but the clothes on his back, and not even a plan to speak of. Although even that wouldn’t prove too much of an inconvenience – he had been in this situation before. All it would take was a stolen vehicle here, some emotional blackmail there. And boom – he would arrive at his destination with a pocketful of cash.

  San Francisco was only hours away.

  30

  M
ason had been in plenty of interrogation rooms during his time as a cop, but usually he was on the other side of the table. Although that wasn’t the worst part – Agent Thomas Kane’s smug grin made him look like a proud cat… and Mason hated cats.

  ‘In your own time,’ said Agent Kane.

  ‘I told you, every second that you keep me in here, Clay is getting further away.’

  ‘So, you’re on first-name terms with him now?’

  Mason rolled his eyes. ‘That’s his surname, dipshit. And if your head wasn’t firmly up your own ass, you’d already know it.’

  Agent Kane leaned over the table, resting on his elbows and peering down the top of his glasses. Until now, Mason had never realised he looked like a post-pubescent Harry Potter. ‘I’ll ask you one more time. What were you doing in Anarchy’s hideout?’

  ‘The same thing you were doing there!’

  ‘Lower your voice.’

  ‘No, I won’t lower my damn voice! I’m being questioned for… for what? Being a step ahead of you jackasses? For arriving on the scene all of ten minutes before you did? What is it, Kane, are you worried you’re going to look as useless as you are?’

  Agent Kane banged his palm on the table, but Mason didn’t flinch.

  ‘I’ve had enough of you insulting my intelligence, Mr Black.’

  Mason rubbed his eyes with the balls of his palms. After having come so close to catching Andrew Clay, he hated to be anywhere else. But here, being questioned by this guy, after everything he had done for the SPFD? ‘Look, I’m in the middle of an investigation here. We’re wasting time.’

  ‘There is no investigation. At least not for you.’ Kane looked at his Rolex, probably paid for with money he didn’t deserve. ‘I’m quite aware of your situation. You went a little loopy after what happened to your girlfriend, didn’t you?’

  Mason shot forward. ‘You know damn well that Diane is in hospital, and you’re questioning what I was doing in Andrew Clay’s hideout? Are you seriously that–’

  ‘I would advise not using the word “stupid”.’

  ‘Actually, I was going to say “brainless”, but “stupid” will suffice.’

  Agent Kane stood up, walked around the table and lifted Mason up from under the arm. It wasn’t aggressive, but it probably would have been if his boss’s weren’t watching on the other side of the glass. ‘If you’re not going to play ball, you can wait in a cell until you’re ready to talk. We’ll see how smart you feel then.’

  Mason was escorted through a maze of corridors. Eventually, he was shoved into a plain cell with a stainless steel toilet, a springy bed with a thin mattress, and only a sliver of light. He knew his rights, and the FBI wouldn’t be able to hold him for any longer than seventy-two hours. Until then, all he could do was sit patiently and hope for a miracle.

  Hope, with every fibre of his being, that Clay was still in LA.

  31

  When the door to his cell banged open, Mason sat bolt upright. It felt as though two days had passed, but he couldn’t be sure. There was no sunlight in his cell, so he was basing his estimation on only the number of short and uncomfortable sleeps he’d had.

  A guard – who Mason hadn’t seen before, but he wore a smart brown shirt and was very professional in the way he held himself – stepped in. ‘I’m to escort you to see the Special-Agent-in-Charge.’

  What the hell does he want with me?

  Tired and clumsy, Mason stumbled to his feet and allowed himself to be cuffed. As he was shown back through the corridors, he contemplated making an escape. All he could think about was Clay, and to know that his capture rode on the strength of the inapt FBI offered no comfort.

  ‘Here.’ The guard stopped by a door, removed the handcuffs and shoved him inside.

  Mason walked in slowly, not entirely sure of what to expect. At first only the extensive library caught his attention, but as his eyes scoured the room, he saw something that he never would have expected.

  ‘Captain?’

  It was like a dream. Captain Cox and Captain Waltenbaugh stood on either side of an old man in a leather chair. Among the three of them, not a single one smiled a greeting, and that could only spell trouble.

  ‘Take a seat, Mason,’ Cox said.

  Doing as he was told, Mason rolled up his sleeves and loosened his collar. Was it hot in here, or was he just boiling under the pressure of impending doom? ‘What’s going on? What are you doing in LA?’

  ‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ said the man in the chair. His hair and beard were both grey, and his sharp black suit encased a trim physique. ‘I’m Special Agent Connelly. I understand you’ve fallen victim to some accusations.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Well,’ Connelly interlaced his fingers. ‘Right or wrong, we will be putting that aside for the time being. Captain Cox has been kind enough to travel from San Francisco and explain the situation. Captain Waltenbaugh came with her and filled in the blanks.’

  ‘Right…’ Mason’s heartbeat double in speed. Where was this little interview going?

  ‘I’m afraid we have some bad news for you,’ Captain Cox said. It was surprising to see that she didn’t look even a little bit angry for everything that had happened. In fact, she only looked sad… which was worse. ‘Diane was taken from her hospital bed in the early hours of this morning.’

  ‘What?’

  Cox leaned over the desk and put down a folder. ‘So far, we don’t have much to go by. We do have these stills from the security footage, but I do caution looking at them.’

  Mason had never been one to be kept in the dark. He believed in meeting challenges head on. He sprawled open the folder and looked at the photographs. Each one showed the same thing but from a different angle: Diane unconscious in a wheelchair, being wheeled across the parking lot and put into a car. ‘That goddamn son of a bitch!’

  ‘Calm down, Mr Black,’ said Special Agent Connelly. ‘We’re going to let you go. Captain Cox and I have been discussing your connection to this killer and – lest you forget – biological terrorist. It seems he has a liking for you, and we’re going to give you the opportunity to exploit that.’

  ‘You… want to use me as bait?’

  ‘Not at all. We’re simply gong to send you home and allow you to continue with your investigation. Just be aware that the FBI will be shadowing your every movement.’

  Mason slid the photos back into the folder and pushed it across the desk. On some level, he had been expecting Diane to fall back into trouble. But why hadn’t Bill been protecting her, like he had promised? Clay must have chosen his moment perfectly, and for that he was going to die… even if that did mean going to prison afterward.

  ‘Come on,’ said Captain Cox. ‘Let’s get you home.’

  32

  They returned to the San Francisco police station before sundown. The entire department gathered around in the corner of the hall, standing attention to the captain’s instructions. Each and every one of them expressing their devotion to catching Anarchy, and to saving Diane Palmer in the process.

  ‘Hey.’

  Mason spun on his heel, turning toward the familiar voice.

  Bill Harvey stood before him, looking tired and shrunken. His chin touched his chest, as if he were ashamed of himself.

  ‘How you doing?’

  ‘How am I doing? Man, I’m so sorry that I let this happen.’

  ‘How did this happen?’

  ‘It’s…’ Bill wiped his eye, but it looked more like fatigue than a blast of tears. ‘Obviously I can’t keep watch twenty-four-seven. It just so happened that I had gone home to sleep for a bit. Pal, I’d been awake and by her bedside for eighteen hours straight. I feel awful.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’ Mason hugged him quickly. ‘Thanks for doing your best. Hey, where is Amy? Tell me she’s safe.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s fine. I sent her and Christine to Washington for a few days, out of harm’s way. Christine thinks she’s getting a vacation a
nd Amy is in the dark about Diane. I figured that if she were to find out, it should come from your own lips.’

  ‘Thanks, Bill.’

  They turned back to join the meeting, where Captain Cox was giving a pep-talk. She reminded everyone that the department was a team, and that the FBI stood right behind them on this one, so no breaking the rules. ‘Everybody knows the licence plate that Andrew Clay used,’ she said. ‘It’s not much, but it’s something.’

  The group disbanded and everybody went on their way, beginning their hunt for the killer. Many of them patted Mason on the back as they passed by, offering their condolences which he gratefully accepted.

  And then something he didn’t expect.

  ‘Hey, cowboy.’

  Mason turned around, only to find Detective Jane Phillips standing and holding her coat. Her perfectly straight hair and clothes looked neat and pressed. It was like she was brand new. ‘Jane? What are you doing here?’

  Shaking her head, Jane rushed toward him and enveloped him in a tight hug. When they broke apart, she held his face in one smooth palm. ‘I heard what happened, and I didn’t want you to be alone in this. I requested a temporary transfer, and Waltenbaugh allowed it.’

  Mason looked at Bill, who offered a tight smile and left to give them some privacy.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure. This your desk?’ Jane set down her purse and coat, looking around at the inside of the station. ‘It’s smaller than I thought it would be. And colder.’

  ‘Yeah, we don’t have the budget you’d think. Look,’ Mason shot a glance over his shoulder and lowered his voice, ‘I’m not doing this one by the book. No way. When we find this guy, I’m going to give him the punishment he deserves. I don’t want to bring you down with me.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’

  ‘No.’

  Jane leaned in closer, whispering also. ‘If you honestly think that’s the best course of action – if you truly believe that you’ll be happy in prison for the rest of your life, I won’t try to stop you. But I heard a rumour that you’re due to be a father again.’