Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection Read online

  “I’m going to get you!” the man bellowed, thick anger resonating in his booming voice. “You’re mine, Missy!”

  But Missy didn’t want to believe it. For days he’d kept her imprisoned, locking her in the corner of that dark room with no food or water, only acknowledging her existence to threaten her with whatever new surgical tool he’d procured. The fear of those horrendous tools drove her to run faster, faster… until she tripped.

  Missy fell flat, planting her face in the rotting mulch leaves of the forest, their sickly sweet stench making her gag. At only eight years old, barely able to take care of herself, she didn’t believe she could make it out of there alive. Yet, she’d outrun him this far…

  “I hear you, little girl!” he screamed after her, his voice menacing.

  Up you get, she told herself. Mommy is waiting for you to come home.

  Shoving her palms deep into the oozing mud, she pushed herself up and half crawled, half dragged herself to a nearby bush, praying its darkness would conceal her. Hidden amongst the dense thicket, tiny thorns stabbing at her soft skin, she waited, slowly expelling desperate breaths into cupped hands in an effort to keep silent.

  Through the downpour, she could hear him slipping and sliding in the filth, and for a moment she thought he might actually walk on by without noticing her. But then he stopped suddenly, his looming figure standing just a few feet from her dark hiding place.

  Missy felt her pulse quicken and her stomach muscles tense. Her breaths became raspy, more rapid, while a high-pitched whine crept through her pursed lips. She pulled her little hands closer, silencing herself as best she could.

  But it was too late.

  The man stepped toward her, glancing over his shoulder as if about to reveal a big secret. Had he seen her? If he hadn’t, he surely would soon.

  Missy clutched herself tighter, shivering in the wet undergrowth. She’d never really believed in God—she was too young for such nonsense—but was now silently praying that, if she made it out of there alive, she would—

  The hand rocketed toward her, groping at her torn dress.

  “Get over here,” the man spat, dragging her out of the tangled bush with a strong, unyielding hand, angrier now than he had ever been.

  Desperate to break free, Missy kicked and screamed, struggling in vain as mud and leaves shot out from under her flailing feet. But it was no use. No matter what she did, she couldn’t escape his deadly clutches.

  She had tried to run, had failed, and was now being dragged toward her inevitable gruesome end.

  Chapter Two

  “I want a divorce.”

  It was that simple, four words that could bring the strongest of men to their knees. Mason wanted to drop to his knees, his heart plummeting, but pride wouldn’t allow it. Instead, he recovered from his shock, took a big, dry swallow and said, “Okay.”

  “Okay? Okay?” Sandra screamed at him, clattering dishes into the kitchen sink. “You’re not even asking why?”

  Mason could hardly believe it and desperately searched for an explanation. “You think I work too much. You… you honestly believe I don’t care about you? Look at the room you’re in. My work paid for this. For all this!” he added, waving his arms around to make his point. “Without my work, we wouldn’t be able to have the family and lifestyle we have.”

  “Give it up, Mason. You’re not even a real cop.” Although Sandra’s eyes usually shone with an inquisitive light, now there was only regret as she mumbled those words.

  It stung for Mason, too. After all, he had given up his work as a detective so he could spend more time with the family. After he’d set up a casual business as a private investigator, he could sense the family becoming much happier. Perhaps that was why it shook him so much to suddenly learn of his wife’s unhappiness.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I’m just not happy. I want you to leave.”

  “Leave? Sandra, this is my house, too.”

  “Please, just give us some space.”

  Mason stood, his expression blank as he tried to figure out where this bombshell had come from. Left field didn’t do it justice. His eyes subconsciously drifted to the dining table, coming to rest on a half-empty bottle of wine. That’s not enough to get her drunk, he thought, dismissing the notion her outburst was driven by inebriation.

  “Fine. I’ll take a couple days. We’ll talk in the morning.” He was halfway out the door when she caught up to him, snapping at his heels like an aggressive dog.

  “No, Mason. I want you out, gone. I want a divorce. Are you hearing me? D-i-v-o-r—”

  “What exactly is wrong with you, huh?” Mason stopped and turned. “Why can’t we just work things out like we usually do? That’s how it works. You tell me what’s wrong and I fix it, then you realize it’s not enough and the cycle starts again. Why can’t we just go back to that?”

  For once, Sandra was quiet, assessing him in silence. “No. It wasn’t making me happy. Just go. Wait until I call you. Understood?”

  Mason grabbed furiously for his coat, missing it, which enraged him even more. “Fine. Fine!” he barked, though he wasn’t. “I want to say goodbye to Amy.” He pictured the hurt on his daughter’s face if she’d been here to witness this drama. Thankfully, she was in her room, chilling out with music like most thirteen-year-olds.

  “No. Not now.” Sandra edged him toward the door, her face impassive. “Just go and wait. Like I said.”

  Mason was about to protest when the cell phone in his pocket jingled. A quick glance told him it was Evelyn, his sister and best friend, though every bit his opposite. If it were anybody else he might have ignored it, but Evie was more than his sister—she was his news correspondent.

  “I’ll come by tomorrow,” he said to Sandra and headed out the door, unintentionally proving her point. Steeling himself to head into the downpour, he strode to his car and knew she was shaking her head behind him.

  “Don’t bother.” The door slammed before the words had even left her lips.

  Hustling into the driver’s seat, Mason took the call. “Hey, Evie.”

  “Hey. Are you busy?” The urgency in her voice demanded attention.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s Missy Daniels; they’ve found her body.”

  Chapter Three

  Mason pulled up to the beachfront parking lot and immediately saw the commotion. An officer recognized his car and waved him through. He parked, squeezed his way through the nosey crowd, and soon arrived at the police cordon.

  “Well, you have a face like thunder.” Evie stopped him, a concerned look behind her thick black-rimmed glasses. She looked exactly like the intellectual she was. The fancy camera in her hand suggested she was press, but in reality she was more like an independent blogger, famous for publishing a hasty report revealing the shady shenanigans of a government agency the previous year. Entrepreneurship ran in the family.

  “It’s a long story,” Mason told her, keen to focus on the task at hand. “Have you seen Bill?”

  “Yep. This way.”

  Evie raised the yellow police tape and he ducked under. Approached by a police officer, Mason flashed his PI badge and flicked up the collar of his trench coat before walking on. The chilled rain was heavy enough to soak through, but it was the least of his worries.

  “Mason,” said Detective Bill Harvey, who shook his hand with a firm grip. “Thanks for coming.”

  It comforted Mason to know his ex-partner was still a close friend. Ever since leaving the force, Bill had remained a solid and reliable part of his life.

  “I’ll give you boys a minute,” Evie said before disappearing into the crowd.

  “It’s a confirmed match, Mason. Missy Daniels. Apparently you were working the case?”

  “I was.” Mason paused and shook his head. “I am.” He looked down at the body and felt immediate sadness. “What happened here?”

  “Strangled to death. We believe the body was moved here afterward.” Bill knelt an
d pointed at the deep lacerations. “These cuts were made prior to death, we think.”

  The scene before him was a bloody mess. The girl was naked, her body spread into the shape of a grisly star. The pinky finger of her left hand had been removed, either with expert surgical precision or one swift swipe of a hefty blade. Her tormented eyes were wide with fear, and her skin was already pale. Leaning in, Mason thought she’d begun to smell, but hoped it was his imagination. Most concerning of all, however, was the message.

  “None for the dame?” Mason asked, reading the arranged pile of rocks by the girl’s feet.

  “That’s why I called you, buddy. We think it’s him.”

  Mason felt his heart skip a beat, his face flushing with rage and panic despite the coolness of the rain. “I thought he’d stopped. I hoped—”

  “I know, but it matches the pattern,” Bill interjected. “Look, this is ‘Baa, Baa, Black Sheep,’ right? I was thinking it might be because the girl is black?” But as a detective of the San Francisco Police Department, he should have been smart enough to know better.

  “No. It’s just a stupid lullaby. His own twisted way of showing off.” Mason turned and stalked away, shielding his eyes against the harsh flashing red/blue of the parked cruiser lights.

  “Where are you going?” Bill called after him.

  Mason stopped. “I took the case. I want to tell the girl’s mother before she sees it on the news.”

  Bill simply nodded as a cruel gust of wind swept across the ocean and blasted rain at them in a furious wave.

  Drenched, freezing, and disturbed, Mason headed back to his Mustang, where Evie stood with her back pressed to the door.

  “Get off.” Mason waved a hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “What does it look like? I’m coming with you.” She removed her rain-speckled glasses, the usual signal that she was ready for action. “I need a ride home.”

  Mason sighed, too drained to argue. “Get in. I need to make a stop on the way.”

  “Sure,” Evie said. “Whatever it takes to spend time with my brother.”

  If only she’d known what was really happening.

  Chapter Four

  Look at these morons. They’re nothing but sheep.

  The Lullaby Killer stood among the crowd, but he wasn’t one of them. The appalling way they pushed and shoved at each other to get a glimpse of the body only repulsed him.

  How sick can a person be, eager to share the news they’d seen a dead girl? Do they want to show off to their peers? Feel as though they’ve been let in on a secret? It’s fucking lunacy.

  But he’d seen it first, and nobody could take that away from him.

  A small gap in the crowd opened up, enough to view his own masterpiece. He couldn’t deny it; leaving a message in the rocks was a nice touch. It was just sufficient to make it look like a signature, but not enough to lead them to him. There was no real meaning to it, only the first thing that had come to his mind: sheep.

  And everyone would pity the poor victim, bright and beautiful young Missy Daniels. Oh, but she wasn’t poor. Truth was, there’d been nothing poor about her. She was smart and pretty, and everyone loved her. Top of her class. A real bitch.

  Dislodging him from his moment of pride, the killer saw something he hadn’t seen in years: the black Shelby Mustang parked to the side of the road. The detective climbed out, and his blood thickened as he watched him stroll toward the scene, ready to tackle crime once again.

  I thought he’d retired from the police force?

  Considering how close Mr. Black had come to catching him all those years ago, the Lullaby Killer knew he’d have to be more careful. Any move he was yet to make would be inspected by the detective, and the Lullaby Killer would not let anything—or anyone—stop him now.

  Determined to seek shelter from the rain, the killer edged away from the crowd. What else could he do tonight, other than go on the prowl for his next victim? It would be the perfect distraction for him, that euphoric sensation of power as he made them scream and beg for mercy.

  Why can’t these people see I’m helping them? Isn’t it obvious I only target the douchebags, the privileged, and the kids with spoilt upbringings? I’m improving the next generation, too. They bring it on themselves.

  Still, he would have plenty of time to show them, to make them understand.

  The killer headed back to his vehicle, started the engine, and began his search.

  Chapter Five

  Evie—as small as her brother was big—reclined in the passenger seat. If Mason knew her as well as he thought he did, she was fighting a strong urge to put her feet up on the dashboard. She was learning, at last, and that was good.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, sensing something was wrong.

  “I have to swing by Missy’s house. Somebody needs to tell her parents.”

  “Sure, but it doesn’t have to be you.”

  Mason said nothing.

  “So… you think it’s him? Is he back?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, eyes fixed on the road. “Could be.”

  “You don’t suspect a copycat?” Evie persisted.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just don’t.” Mason huffed loud enough to make the hint, but it failed to land.

  “Come on, you must have some—”

  “Listen,” he snapped, “I don’t know any more than you at this point. I have enough on my mind without worrying about leaking details to the press.”

  “The press? Is that all I am to you? Jeez, thanks a lot.”

  They sat in silence for the rest of the journey, the car speeding through the deluge. When they arrived, Mason took a deep breath, climbed out of the Mustang, and prepared himself.

  “Sorry,” Evie mumbled, but Mason shut the door. If she wanted to apologize, he’d rather she did it when he didn’t have his back turned.

  Shaking off his uneasy mood, Mason climbed the few steps to the house, an upmarket place and surprisingly nice for an unemployed single mother. He rapped on the door, unsure exactly how to phrase what he had to say.

  The door swung open, and a tired-looking black woman stood there staring at him. She must have sensed something was wrong, as she didn’t say a word. Shaking, she retreated into her house and Mason let himself in, shutting the door on the miserable weather. He didn’t want to take another step, worried he’d drench her hallway rug, so he stopped her there.

  “I’m sorry, Joanna.” It was all he could find to say.

  Joanna glared at him with cold eyes. It wasn’t long before her lip quivered and she fell to her knees, exhausted of all hope.

  Mason had never been good at this kind of thing. Regardless, he stepped forward and knelt by her side. “I am really sorry. I did everything I could.”

  “No…” Joanna sobbed. “You did not. If you’d tried—really tried—you’d have returned my baby girl.” Her words became sniveling noises as she buried her face in her hands.

  “The police will be here shortly to give you the official statement. Would you like me to wait with you until then?” On some level, he was hoping she would say no. He had his own problems to deal with.

  “Get him.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Joanna lifted her face, mascara streaming down her cheeks. “Whoever took my little girl. I want you to get him, then kill him.”

  Mason had dealt with reactions like this before, though it never got any easier. “I can’t do that. The police have far more power. I suspect they’re doing everything they—”

  “Then go!” she screamed. “Go, if that’s all you’re good for. Just take your ass outta here!”

  Standing to leave, he placed a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off with another sob. Mason took the hint and went for the door.

  “You didn’t even try,” Joanna whimpered just before the door swung closed.

  Stepping out into the rain, Mason trudged back to his car, not caring whethe
r he got even more drenched. You don’t know the half of it, he thought.

  Chapter Six

  Mason pulled up outside his sister’s apartment and shut off the engine.

  “Why don’t you team up with the police on this one?” Evie asked.

  “The case is done. I told you, I failed.”

  “You know this wasn’t your fault, right? What that guy did—”

  “I know.” Mason cut her off. He hated to think she was giving him sympathetic attention. “It’s just that I’m having problems with Sandra. She kicked me out earlier.”

  Evie sat forward and turned to him. “Oh. I’m… Do you need somewhere to stay?”

  “No. No.” Mason waved his hand. “I’ll head someplace else.”

  “You sound unsure.”

  Mason stared out the window at the rain. San Francisco had never looked as gloomy as it did right now. Gray clouds lurked above as the invisible sun was set of the bay. A constant drizzle patted the puddles, and the swishing of the windshield wipers was hypnotic.

  “I really think you should consider it.” Evie sat back, determined not to leave.

  “Consider what?”

  “Joining the SFPD. It’s better pay, right? Some structure to help you through this difficult time? Plus, there are resources. I mean, if you’re working the case anyway…”

  “I’m not working the case. I told you that.” Mason was riled up now. He hated being badgered into doing something he didn’t want to do. At any other time in his life he may have considered going after the killer. But as long as Sandra was causing him grief, he knew he couldn’t give the case his fullest attention.

  “But you should.”

  Mason climbed out of the car, then walked around and opened the passenger-side door. “Good night, Evie,” he said in his firmest voice, soaking in the downpour.