Mimicry Read online

  Mimicry

  Mason Black (Book 6)

  Adam Nicholls

  Copyright © 2021 by Papyrus Publishing.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  * * *

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  Contents

  Mimicry

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Epilogue

  Hard Press (Preview)

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Want a Free Book?

  Afterword

  About the Author

  For Charlotte, who has been there since the beginning. This, as with everything I do, is for you.

  Mimicry

  Chapter One

  The Lullaby Killer was back, and he wasn’t going to waste his big reveal.

  Although the park wasn’t empty, the night that engulfed it was peaceful and still. The distant chatter and howl of female laughter echoed across the green and descended upon him. A small group of people was nearby. Close enough to hear them, far enough not to catch him.

  The killer nodded, grinning. He went to the back of his RV and took the body from the back. She hadn’t been perfect—he would have liked someone closer to her age. Someone eight years old or younger. That would have made her easier to carry, but this sixteen-year-old would have to suffice. Besides, it was more about the message than the victim.

  He slammed shut the doors of his recently acquired RV, cradling the young woman in his arms. With a great struggle, he carried her into the park and walked in beyond the lights. Into the blackness. The weight in his arms caused him to sweat, the warm beads rolling down his grinning cheek and settling on his lip. He licked it, laughed, and continued.

  When he finally found the perfect spot, the Lullaby Killer set her down and arranged her body. She stared up at him with lifeless eyes that he hadn’t bothered to close. This was more disturbing. It would say more this way. The way her eyes desperately pleaded was as perfect as the way she had died—strangled, kicking, and trying to scream. Failing to scream.

  Just like her, the killer thought.

  It had been eight years since his last murder. Eight long years of watching and planning. Of hating, hungry for revenge. There had been times when he was almost caught, each exciting moment a larger risk than the last. Now, after all this time, he had the perfect opportunity to send the message. To make his claim.

  “But it isn’t right…” the killer whispered.

  As if they had heard him and thought of his new kill as a hilarious form of irony, the women’s laughter sang across the park. It was louder than before. They were closer. The killer had to hurry, and he wasted no time in finalizing his plan. He reached deep into his jeans pocket, gripping the bag carefully so as not to tear a hole. When it was in his hand, he set it down gently and peeled open the Ziploc bag. The dark red fluid swished inside, threatening to splash out.

  But he wouldn’t let it. The killer used a stick to write out his message with a steady hand. The blood spread across the tarmac just beside the body, his writing—in block capitals, just to mess with their investigation—perfectly spelling out the message he’d dreamed of for years.

  When his big job was done, the killer took one last look at his scene. It was everything he’d ever wanted. Worthy of a certain private investigator’s attention. He zipped the bag shut, stuffed it into his pocket, then headed back to the RV with his stick in hand.

  Now, after all these years, he was ready.

  It was time to play.

  Chapter Two

  “Come on, you can do this,” Mason said, leaning over the kitchen table. He kept a close eye on the bacon hissing in the pan just a few feet away. The rest of his attention was on his six-year-old son, who was already proving to be a keen learner.

  “George… Bush?” MJ asked, his little forehead wrinkling up.

  “That’s right. Next?”

  “Bill Clinton?”

  Mason nodded and smiled, pride overwhelming him. “Good. Write it down, then get ready for breakfast, or you’re going to be late.”

  MJ hurried to scribble in the mess of notebooks before him. Mason helped by closing a couple of them and sliding them into the Marvel backpack that hung on the back of the kitchen chair. Doing this left him with an uneasy sensation of dread. It felt like only yesterday his little boy’s main focus was on bright colors and cartoons about talking dogs. Now, MJ was already worshipping patriotic superheroes while also being able to recite the names of every US president in order. Well, almost all of them.

  The grill steamed and spat at him from across the room. Mason snatched up the fork and rushed to the grill, pushing the meat aro
und while waving smoke away from his face. It smelled like it had burned, but it hadn’t. That meant he was doing better than last week.

  “Dad?” MJ said.

  “Yes, kiddo?”

  “Didn’t you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Someone’s at the door.”

  Mason hesitated, then swore under his breath. He juggled his tasks with all the grace of a one-legged ballerina, carrying the frying pan to the table and scooping two strips of bacon onto the plate. They made a splat as they hit the scrambled eggs he’d set there only minutes ago. With that taken care of, he dumped the pan into the sink and rushed through the house toward the front door. He could already see the outline of his friend through the pane of glass.

  That alone was enough to ruin his day.

  “Is now a good time?” Detective Bill Harvey asked from the doorstep. His face was drained of its usual color. Now he looked like Casper the Friendly Ghost. If Casper had a five-o’clock shadow, that was.

  “It’s never a good time,” Mason said, stepping outside and pulling the door to. He sighed, the weight of the world suddenly squeezing all the air from his lungs. What came next was what he’d been dreading for weeks. Ever since he had received a letter from a man they had killed years ago. But that didn’t make it any less real.

  “Can Diane take MJ to school today?”

  “She won’t like it,” Mason told him.

  “She doesn’t have to.”

  “Is it as bad as we thought?”

  “Worse.”

  Mason swore as he leaned against the doorjamb. He folded his arms and stared down at the ground. He should have known this happy new family situation was too good to last. It was already hard enough to convince Diane she was safe without his greatest demons coming back to haunt him. Now there was nothing he could do but wait to see what happened.

  “I’ll get my coat.”

  Chapter Three

  Mason cruised the Mustang just behind Bill’s Civic, following so close he almost caused a collision. The truth was, Mason was so eager to get to the crime scene that he didn’t have the patience to hang back. This was the biggest moment of his life after all. For the time being.

  They stopped close to the growing crowd of spectators. Mason met Bill, and they both went through the police tape together, heading into the park. They said nothing the whole time, mostly out of fear for saying the wrong thing. The police were swarming around them, and there was too much risk of letting out their biggest secret.

  Bill showed power and authority as he stormed through the scene. Mason, who was bigger and simply had more presence, broke his usual stride and shrank back behind him, following quietly and failing to make eye contact with anyone. It was just enough to keep him comfortable. All until he saw it.

  The body lay naked on a narrow patch of grass between the path and a bush. Mason studied her body for signs of a wound or struggle. It took all of two seconds before he saw the reddish-purple marks on her neck. She had been strangled to death.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “We’re not sure yet,” Bill said. “Bruises on the neck indicate strangulation though.”

  “Was she raped?”

  “No.”

  “Then why is she naked?”

  Bill stared at him with narrow eyes that said, You know why. And Mason did. It was because the Lullaby Killer’s first victim had been found in exactly the same way. Eight years ago, when the killer had first come out of the darkness to make a point, little Missy Daniels had been the first to suffer. She, too, had been strangled, her body dumped. The similarities didn’t end there, either.

  Mason’s eyes rolled reluctantly to the side, where a message had been drawn onto the concrete. He had happily ignored it until now, but each passing second made it harder to deny. It had been left for him, but how? The Lullaby Killer—Marvin Wendell—was dead. They had seen to that themselves, capturing him and torturing him before burning his body. Well, it was Bill who had torched the son of a bitch, but they shared the secret together.

  Until now.

  “None for the dame,” Mason mumbled, staring glumly as he read the words. The same words that had haunted him all those years ago. But it wasn’t just those that struck fear into his heart. It had only been a matter of weeks since he’d received a letter. A soul-crushing, dread-inducing letter written in red ink from Marvin Wendell. The Lullaby Killer himself. And Mason had thought about nothing ever since. Nothing but the words it had said:

  I’m back, and I’m coming for you.

  * * *

  Yours,

  Marvin Wendell

  (AKA ‘The Lullaby Killer’)

  Chapter Four

  They went to the only place they felt safe. Mason sat in the Mustang outside his office. Bill, who had parked beside him, climbed into the passenger seat. It was cold in here, but the morning sun was starting to creep around the building and warm them up. Before they knew it, they would be sitting in an oven. Mason already felt that way.

  “Didn’t want to head into the office?” Bill asked.

  “It could be bugged,” Mason told him, staring blankly into the distance.

  “Now you’re just being paranoid.”

  “Am I though? You were there all those years ago. I showed you the letter.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. It could be from any old psycho.”

  Mason considered this. He supposed that could be true. A fan or copycat could easily have sent him the letter. Wendell’s death wasn’t exactly public knowledge. But then again, neither were the details of his first crime scene. And that had been replicated almost perfectly.

  “I’m not sure I can let you all the way in on this,” Bill said. “The new captain is a hard-ass. Doesn’t want anyone involved if they don’t have to be.”

  “Does that include the cop who originally investigated?”

  “Your name came up, sure.”

  “And?”

  “Trust me, you don’t want to get involved.”

  But how can I not? Mason wondered. This new lifestyle of his was turning out to be infinitely more dangerous than his life as a San Francisco Police Detective. He had stopped killers and terrorists, all while jeopardizing his marriage to Diane. Now his greatest enemy had inexplicably returned from the grave, and he was supposed to sit this one out?

  No way.

  “I just don’t get it,” Mason said, squeezing the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned bone white. “We killed him, Bill. I know we’re not supposed to talk about it, but facts are facts. Can you explain to me how the hell a man comes back to life to resume his twisted spree?”

  “Beats the hell out of me.”

  “But for God’s sake, try. You’re the detective here.”

  “I don’t have the answers,” Bill snapped.

  Mason watched him as he said this. Something wasn’t right. Maybe it was the lack of eye contact, or perhaps it was the fact that his best friend wasn’t suggesting the most obvious of theories—that the new killer was merely a copycat. It made him wonder if Bill knew something. If there was some huge police secret he wasn’t allowed to open up about.

  “I need you to do something for me,” Mason said, rifling through his coat pocket for a pack of cigarettes he’d bought months ago. He hadn’t felt the need to smoke one until now.

  “Anything,” Bill told him. “Within reason.”

  “I want you to keep your ear to the ground. As soon as anything comes in, let me know.”

  “Of course. But you think there’s more to come?”

  Mason nodded. He wasn’t sure of much in this world, but there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that whoever this was—Wendell, a copycat, or just some crazy stalker—this wasn’t the last thing he would ever do.

  This was only the beginning.

  Chapter Five

  She should have known things were too good to be true. Not only had she been developing her business as an independent journalism tut
or, but it was doing so well that she was able to put down a deposit on her own apartment. With a little help from her brother, of course.

  Evie Black had awoken that morning with the sun pouring through her east-facing window. She nursed her coffee, keeping it close to her lips to let it warm her face. She stared beyond the glass at San Francisco, pondering how perfectly content she was to live here. Things had gotten rough over the years, and after a long stint of trying life in New York City—not to mention a short trip with a traveling circus, which she now looked back at with a cringeworthy amount of ridiculousness—she had finally made it back to this fine city. Where her brother lived. A place she could call home.