Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection Page 4

  “Can you tell us more about the photograph?” Bill asked her.

  Mason studied her reaction through the glass: nothing short of horror.

  “It was a black girl.” Susan sniffed. “Ten, maybe younger.”

  “Can you please take a look at this picture?” Bill slid a photograph across the table.

  Susan wiped her nose with a bare arm and took the photo.

  “Is this the photograph that was clipped to his mirror?”

  “Yes.” Susan’s eyes lit up in horror. “I mean no. It’s the same girl but a different photo. Who is she?”

  “That’s Missy Daniels,” Bill told her in a soft voice, putting the photo aside. Mason knew exactly why he didn’t add, “and she was murdered two days ago.”

  “What about the man?” Bill went on. He’d always been a very competent detective, his efforts only overshadowed by Mason’s accomplishments. And although Mason didn’t revel in the glory, neither did Bill Harvey hold it against him. In fact, he’d actually claimed to admire him.

  “Only what I already told you. But…”

  “Yes?”

  “His hands…” Susan burst into floods of tears, unable to speak, and Mason could feel his heart breaking along with hers. With a daughter of his own, he could only imagine how utterly distraught she was.

  “Please stay with me, Mrs. Chance. What about his hands?”

  “Gloves,” she finally said, demonstrating with spread fingers. “He was wearing leather gloves.”

  This seemed perfectly natural to Mason, even considering the time of year. If he were to kidnap somebody’s boy, he would probably wear gloves, too. In fact, he’d have taken every precaution possible to not get caught.

  After the interview, Bill met Mason in the corridor. “What do you make of that?”

  “It doesn’t sound like him,” Mason said. “He wouldn’t show his face like that.”

  “Can you be sure?”

  “Not really. But if it is him, the kid will show up in a couple of days.”

  “That’ll be too late,” Bill said.

  “No kidding.”

  They moved to one side to allow other officers to hustle past them. “So, what do you think? Can you help us?”

  Mason sighed. “I have conditions.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I want all the info as it comes in. As it comes in, and not a second later. I want immediate access to every crime scene, no evidence withheld. No exceptions.”

  “All right. Is that it?” Bill sighed, satisfied.

  “No. I want the police to stay out of my way. I’m working independently on this one.”

  Bill paused and swallowed, then answered. “You got it. Thanks, Mason.”

  Before they got the chance to shake on it, Captain Leanne Cox passed them, surrounded by a small team. She gave an approving nod. “Mr. Black,” she said. “Welcome back to the team.”

  As Mason opened his mouth to stress he was working as an external party, she was already headed out the door.

  Bill stood smiling at him. “Come on.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The first thing Mason did was take a cab back to his office. If he was going to work the case, he would need a few things to get ahead.

  He started with a clean suit and his PI badge. Next he opened the drawer to grab his gun but thought better of it. In the past, that thing had caused more trouble than it had solved, and he was in no state to be taking shots at people.

  Just as he was grabbing his jacket to leave, Evie let herself into the building, walked over, and wrapped her arms around his hulking frame. “I heard about the fight. I’m so sorry.”

  Mason stood without moving his arms. That had always been his way.

  “Are you okay? Have you found someplace to stay?” she asked with the all-too-familiar tone of their mother.

  “I’m fine. Bill’s putting me up for a while.”

  “Great. That’s great. And the case?”

  Mason stepped back and looked at her. “What exactly are you after?”

  “What? I’m just asking if you’re working again. Cut me some slack.”

  Mason sighed and shoved his arms into the jacket sleeves. “Yes, I’m working the case.”

  “Fantastic! Let me help.”

  “No, Evie. This is exactly what I was worried about.” Mason’s pulse quickened. “I know you hate it when I call you the press, but that’s what you are. That’s at least one of your interests in this, if not the biggest.”

  Evie looked around and let out a breath. “I guess you’re right. But maybe we could help each other out.”

  Mason snatched up the keys to his Mustang and switched off the office lights with a grunt. “How could you possibly help?”

  “Think about it. I could help you by running whatever errands you need, and you can reward me with information. And I’ll only print what you give me permission to print.”

  “It’s no good, Evie. I can’t allow that.” Mason opened the door and ushered her out.

  “Well, what’s your plan, then?” Evie asked, talking fast as she usually did when desperate.

  “Excuse me?”

  “What’s your first step?”

  Mason was speechless. He hadn’t actually formulated a plan, other than to go over the files one more time until something popped out.

  “That’s what I thought,” Evie said, grinning. “But I just happen to know that Missy Daniels went to school with Tommy Chance.”

  “The missing kid?”

  Evie nodded, her expression smug.

  “How’d you know about that?” This was exactly what pissed him off. He’d only known about the abduction for a couple of hours, and it’d been leaked to her already. If he was lucky, it wouldn’t be on her website yet.

  “I have my ways. So, maybe we could check out the school together. What do you say?”

  Mason held the door. I suppose a partner could be useful, he thought. As long as she doesn’t get herself hurt. “Fine. But you print nothing until I give you clearance. If I say jump, you ask how high. Got it?”

  “Got it.” She hadn’t smiled this much in a long time.

  Mason hated it. “Get in the car.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The killer knew from experience that the longer he kept these kids, the more risk there was of being caught. That was why he’d planned his trip to the Muir Woods National Park beforehand. He had all the tools in his RV.

  He followed the trail halfway up, with little Tommy Chance walking by his side, minus a finger. Cruel or not—he knew very well it was—there was something satisfying about snipping off the pinkie.

  “Where are we going?” Tommy asked in a whimper.

  “What’d I tell ya, boy? Shut up, or I’ll make it hurt.”

  The heavy bag on his back was already giving him enough trouble. He had a large range of tools inside: hammer, chisel, pliers, and a whole bunch of other useful things.

  When they reached a split in the path, the killer went straight on and through the trees, dragging the boy behind him. The torrential rain had created a treacherous trail, but there was enough decaying tree mulch to grip to.

  After a steep ten-minute hike, they stopped.

  “Right here.”

  The boy was trembling as the Lullaby Killer dropped the bag, opened it up, removed a rope, and tossed it over. “Put your head through the loop.”

  The boy hesitated, sobbing and pleading with his eyes.

  “I won’t ask again.”

  Tommy slipped the rope around his neck and gawped anxiously at the snaking end as the killer took it and tied it securely around a huge rock.

  “I think that should do it, don’t you?” He loved every moment of this—everything from the clean slice of the finger to the terrified look in the boy’s eyes. Trembling with anticipation, he knelt and removed the hammer and chisel.

  “Excuse me.”

  The voice startled him, a wave of heat surging down his neck. He spun around a
nd saw a young man with long, wavy hair, one of the surfer types you saw in the movies. His eyes were accusing, looking from the killer to little Tommy and back again.

  “Hey, what the hell’s going on here?” the man asked, stepping forward.

  The Lullaby Killer smiled. “We’re just playing a game. Ain’t that right, boy?”

  Tommy nodded, still crying. Even he was bright enough not to scream for help.

  “It doesn’t look like a game to me. Sir, step away.” The man took a cell phone from his pocket and began to dial—probably for the police.

  Acting on instinct, the killer tightened his grip on the hammer’s hilt and smashed it across the man’s temple. It made an exhilarating thump, and the man hit the leaves a second later. You can’t be sure about these things, he thought, and the killer crouched and delivered two more bone-crushing blows to the man’s face until it was nothing more than tenderizing a juicy steak.

  Shaking with adrenaline, the killer stood, wiping traces of spattered blood from his face with his sleeve as he turned to the boy. It didn’t look like he was strong enough to move the rock, and his hands were bound, so he wouldn’t be undoing the knots anytime soon. With that in mind, the killer dragged the man away by his feet, scooped up his cell phone, then covered him in a mass of wet leaves and dirt sods.

  Checking the phone, the killer’s heart began pounding like crazy as he saw pictures of him leaving his RV.

  He knew he had to destroy the evidence, and he thought of his sweet spot underneath the RV’s tire. All he had to do first was finish his work with the kid, then carve a message into a nearby tree.

  And move on to find his next victim.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The school’s principal was a petite, polite lady with kind features. She seemed busy, but not so much that she couldn’t take time out of her day for a good cause.

  “Thanks for seeing us,” Mason said, leading the charge as they were shown into the office. Everything inside was made of oak, and the greenery added a touch of hominess to the space.

  “Absolutely.” She gestured to a seat. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re to understand that Missy Daniels was a student here?” Mason laced his fingers. He’d never had any need for a notepad; the map in his head served as a better guide.

  “Oh, yes. Such a shame what happened to her. We’ll be mourning her for a long, long time.” She lowered her head in theatrical sadness.

  Mason tried to disguise his amusement at her effort.

  Evie took the reins. “And Thomas Chance?”

  “Thomas Chance… Thomas Ch—Ah, yes! He is absent today, if I recall.”

  Evie looked to Mason, who took a breath. “Thomas was abducted yesterday. We’re here to see if you know any reason why this school may be targeted. Have you seen anyone suspicious, or have the children been spreading any rumors?”

  “Rumors?” The principal shook her head, her mouth open and her gaze wandering. “Not that I’m aware of. Is this a police investigation?”

  “We’re private investigators working closely with the SFPD, ma’am, and we do appreciate your cooperation in the matter.” This was often the part where he’d be told to go fuck himself. Thankfully, this woman seemed eager to be of use.

  “Well, there’s a substitute teacher who a few of us are suspicious of. Charlie Richards, his name is. He hasn’t necessarily done anything wrong, but he has, well… there’s a certain coldness about him, you see.”

  Evie remained silent, while Mason wondered how far a simple judgment could take them.

  “The reason I bring it up,” she went on, “is because he was supposed to be here yesterday, but called in sick. Said he had some sort of flu, but it sounded exaggerated.”

  Mason felt that old excitement swelling inside him again—the stuff that had made him enjoy his work back when he was a detective. “Could you please supply his address?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose that information.” The principal stood, her frail frame edging slowly away from the desk. “However, if I turn my head for a moment, you can see yourselves out?” She pushed a folder across the desk and smiled.

  “Thank you for your time,” Evie said, grinning.

  As soon as the door clicked shut, Evie was on her feet and flicking through the pages to find Charlie Richards. “Got it,” she said, her eyes lighting up.

  But Mason’s attention had turned to his phone, reading a new message carefully.

  “What is it?”

  “There’s been another murder,” he said, his voice flat and miserable.

  “Is it Tommy Chance?”

  “I don’t know. Apparently he’s left a message, so it could be.”

  Evie sighed. “All right. You head to the scene, and I’ll check out this Charlie guy.”

  “No!” Mason could not have been firmer. “I’ll have you at my side, but you can’t go running off to interview a suspect. It might not be safe.”

  Evie lifted the leg of her pants to reveal a pocketknife in a shin strap. Mason had bought it for her the previous Christmas and had it engraved. He’d not seen it since then but was amazed to see she was putting it to use, even if as a precautionary measure.

  “You suspect anything, you let me know,” Mason demanded.

  “I can take care of myself.” Evie led them out of the room.

  Mason had seen that kind of overconfidence before, and it had gotten them in trouble on more than one occasion—both of them.

  Somehow, he got the feeling this would be one of those times.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mason stopped in the parking lot and slogged his way up the hill beneath a relentless rain. A sickness started roiling in his stomach as he braced himself for what he was about to see.

  “That was fast,” Bill said, meeting him at the top of the slope.

  Mason caught up to him, panting. He was in good shape—great shape, actually—but it was still an exhausting climb. “What do you have for me?”

  Bill led him over to the body, a pale-faced young boy hanging from a tree. Blood streamed from the sockets of his crow-pecked eyes, making the face difficult to identify. Mason pictured Susan, the boy’s mother, and how she’d cried before. He didn’t want to imagine how much this would hurt her, and prayed this wasn’t her son.

  “Christ,” he said.

  “Exactly.”

  “You said there’s a message?”

  Bill led him to a nearby tree, where the words had been carved into the bark: CRADLE AND ALL. It was sloppy work. The killer had been in a rush.

  “Sorry to keep asking, but you think it’s a clue?”

  “Sorry to keep telling you, but it’s nothing more than a brag-tag. These sickos can’t help themselves. Sometimes they just need the approval. Like when you do something good for someone else and it’s really for yourself, but you still want a pat on the back.”

  “Excuse me, Detective Harvey?” A uniformed young officer appeared at Bill’s side and removed his cap. “There’s been an ID on the body. It’s Thomas Chance, sir.”

  “The prints match?” Bill asked.

  Mason didn’t want to hear this conversation. Instead, he followed the breadcrumbs in his head. If the killer had been in a hurry, as the scruffy chiseling suggested, then he must have made a slipup somewhere.

  Staying focused, Mason walked the perimeter of the scene in search of additional clues. Everything was so wet and covered in filth it was hard to make out much of anything. But one thing did catch his eye, and he couldn’t have ignored it even if he’d wanted to.

  “Mason?” Bill called from somewhere behind him.

  But Mason was in his zone, following what looked like a drag path. Deep grooves had been scraped into the mud, and he followed the trail into the trees until they stopped.

  “What is it?” Bill asked, following him.

  Something wasn’t right here, there was no doubt about it. Mason dropped to his knees and swiped away the clot of wet leave
s, ignoring the dirt that was accumulating on his pant legs. As he made his fourth swipe, he felt something hard and knew what it was.

  The face was barely uncovered before it emitted a sickening smell. Mason wiped off the last of the leaves to reveal a bloody, horrific mess. Flies buzzed in a swarm around him, lured in by the foul odor.

  Mason dug his mouth into his sleeve and tried not to gag.

  “Forensics!” Bill yelled, holding back his own bile. “We need forensics!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “What about the man?” Mason asked as he rapped on Susan Chance’s front door. He dreaded having to tell her the devastating news, but at least his friend was at his side. “Who was he?”

  “He’s still being identified,” Bill said. “You’ll know when I do.”

  The door sprang open and Susan glanced at them both before waving them in. She was about to sit down but seemed to think better of it when Mason and Bill entered the room and offered a look of remorse.

  “What’s… Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “I’m so sorry,” Bill said.

  Mason hadn’t heard him this upset since his own son had been taken.

  “No.” Susan shook her head. She looked exactly as she had when Mason had last seen her, only her eyes had become red and sore, as if she’d been rubbing them. “No. You were supposed to help. You were supposed to save my little boy!”

  No matter what we do, Mason thought, no matter how much we sacrifice to get the job done, we’re always the ones to blame.

  Susan stepped forward and pushed Bill with surprising strength. Mason couldn’t help but wonder where that strength was when the man had pulled a gun on her and her son. He stepped forward and took her arms, guiding her into a nearby chair.

  Bill retreated to the corner of the room, where he stood looking distraught.