Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection Page 7

  “Come on, boy. A little harder.”

  “We won’t—”

  “Shut up right now!” the killer yelled at her, losing his patience with the little brat. “Ryan, give her a real punch, will ya?”

  Kylie was shaking as her brother approached her. She must have understood the threat of the situation a little more than he did, and that worked in his favor. His knuckles clunked across her skull with a beautiful thumping sound.

  Kylie held her head. A tear brewed in her eye as she complained. “Please, take us home now. I don’t want to be here.”

  The killer appraised the tears filling her eyes above reddening cheeks. “Tell you what—one more go and I’ll drive you back to school. But this time, I want to ask you, Kylie… truth or dare?”

  The girl was taking care with her answer. Considering the whack she’d just taken from her brother, it seemed that a simple question might be safer for the both of them. She sniffed, held her head with pride, and said, “Truth.”

  Shuffling forward, the killer leaned in close to her face and ground his teeth. “Are you getting out of here alive?”

  Kylie sobbed while Ryan sat chuckling to himself, the alcohol already taking its effect. She cleared her throat as her lip quivered and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Yes.”

  Satisfied with the response, the killer sat back as a smile broke out across his face—a genuine one this time. With his gloved right hand, he poked the bottle her way, scraping it across the metal floor of the RV. “Drink.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  It was early morning when Mason slipped out of the house, careful to avoid Bill and Christine. He didn’t want to have to explain himself, so he headed straight for the station and directly to the tech lab.

  Inside was buzzing with technicians both young and old whizzing around their computers or testing something on what looked like a miniature target range.

  But John was nowhere to be found.

  “He’s late today. Should be here any minute,” said a helpful young woman.

  John soon arrived and dumped his satchel onto the desk, looking at Mason with frustration. He was pushing his luck. “Hand me the damn phone, will you?”

  Mason wanted to scream at the guy for his attitude, but for as long as he needed something from him he would have to play it safe. Then again…

  “Just do your job, and I won’t have to send Detective Harvey down here to give you an earful.”

  John shot him a look of angry submission, then snatched the phone and ran it under a microscope. It was a laborious process that stiffened Mason’s back over the course of several hours, but eventually they had something of a result.

  “Okay, the memory card is a broken piece of junk, so hopefully any data was saved to the phone itself.” He placed it on the desk between them and turned it on with latex-gloved hands. “What are you hoping to find on here?” he asked as it was loading up.

  Mason couldn’t tell if he was genuinely curious of if he was just making an awkward scene more comfortable, but he graced him with an answer nonetheless. “Anything that might give an ID of the killer.”

  The screen lit up, and John scrolled to the gallery. “She’s all yours.”

  “Thanks.” Mason held it with both hands, careful not to dislodge the broken pieces. He scanned through the photos, finding a couple of dark and blurry images. The timestamp said they were taken around the right time on the day of the murder. Feeling hopeful, Mason located the video folder.

  He was horrified by what he found.

  While the video was dark and blurry, all sound muffled by the ambience of heavy rainfall, there was the unmistakable groan of a van door sliding closed. The camera was all over the place, until it focused on the silhouette of a man. He had a baseball cap on, and it was tough to make out his face.

  “It’s not enough,” Mason whispered to himself.

  “What?”

  “Shh.”

  Listening closely to nothing more than the thrumming of rain and Sampson’s heavy breathing, Mason hoped for a clue. When the boy came into view, Mason felt his heart clench at the thought of little Thomas Chance and the horrific way he’d been tortured before his murder.

  What kind of sick bastard does this?

  And then the camera moved.

  The cameraman was climbing out of his car, swooping around an enormous RV.

  “Is the RV of use to you?” John asked.

  “No. There are literally thousands just like that one around the city. Even my aunt had one.”

  But then his luck changed. The camera was pointed directly at the license plate of the RV before Sampson stepped back to allow the whole vehicle into the camera’s view. Smart kid, Mason thought, to have gotten all this information on record.

  “It seems too suspicious,” James Sampson said on the video.

  Mason pressed his ear to the phone when he heard the voice.

  “I’m going to follow them.”

  Then the video stopped. The recordings and pictures ended there, but at least something useful had come from them.

  “Seems informative,” John said.

  “Yeah.” Mason was thrilled to have something work out okay for once, and through all the excitement of catching up to the killer he barely noticed his current heartache. “Send that to my phone, will you? And a screenshot of the man.” It was blurry, but it was better than nothing. At least now he had the license plate number to an RV.

  He just had to find its owner.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The RV was registered to a Mr. Frank Marley but had been reported as stolen a few weeks ago. As Marley lived outside the city, Mason took his number from the registration and called to make sure he’d be home. More than anything, Marley seemed grateful his vehicle had been found. Mason would have to break it to him that it hadn’t actually been recovered.

  It took a couple of hours to reach him, and he was greeted at the door of a large and well-kept house by a man who looked like he was the good model in a dentistry commercial.

  Mason introduced himself and was shown into a room, which was even more impressive than the exterior. Sandalwood beams reached across the high ceiling, propped up by beautiful red pillars. Everything tiled was white and shiny. It was a posterworthy home.

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you, but your vehicle is not within our possession,” Mason told him, noticing the man’s frown. “Have you ever heard of the Lullaby Killer?”

  “Of course,” Frank said. “Wait… I knew I’d seen you somewhere before! You’re the PI working the case, right?” He was smiling now, his eyes alight as if he’d met a celebrity and was suddenly starstruck.

  “How did you know?”

  “I read your sister’s blog all the time. Fascinating stuff, man! You’re like that detective from the TV! Hey, listen, if there’s any way I can help you, just tell me how.”

  Mason had no idea he was known outside of his own working circle. Evie must have been doing better than she’d let on. He felt his face heat to a deep red. “As a matter of fact, that’s what I’m here for. We think it was the killer who stole your RV. Did you see anything suspicious around the time it was taken?”

  Frank showed Mason to the couch and sat with him. “I had, sure. I was being followed for a couple of weeks before it went missing by a weird-looking guy who appeared everywhere I turned. At first I thought it was just coincidence.”

  “I see,” Mason said, flicking through his cell phone. He found the picture of the man and held it out. “Is this the man you saw?”

  Frank squinted. “It’s hard to say. But he was wearing a baseball cap, just like this guy. And the gloves, too.”

  “Gloves?” Mason recalled Susan Chance saying the same thing.

  “I remember because it was summertime. His hands must have been roasting in those things.” His eyes darkened with horrific realization. “Oh shit, do you think he’ll come back to kill me?”

  “I sincerely doubt that, Mr. Marley.” Mason
’s cell phone rang, vibrating in his hand. It was Bill, and his timing was bad as usual. He put the phone to one side, balancing it on the armrest of the couch. “And nothing else came of it? No threats? No freak occurrences?”

  Frank shook his head. “Not really. A couple crank calls, but that could have been anyone. Hey, why do you think he chose to steal from me?”

  The cell phone rang—Bill again.

  “You live outside the city. Other than that, I’d say it’s random. Mind if I take this?”

  “Go ahead.” Frank left to give Mason privacy. He was a curious guy, eccentric and humble, yet inquisitive and excited. Shaking off the oddity of the man, Mason answered the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hey, buddy,” Bill said. “Listen, I need you to run an errand for me.”

  “I’m kind of busy right now.”

  “No, this will benefit you, believe me. Two kids have gone missing from Pickerage School. Nine-year-old twins.”

  “That’s the same school Daniels and Chance attended.” Mason’s mouth went bone-dry with anticipation. Has the killer really been sticking to a pattern?

  “Exactly. The police can’t do anything for another day or so. Not officially. But an outside party should have no trouble. Want to have a word with the father?”

  This was exactly the kind of information he’d been hoping to get. “Text me the address, will you? I’ll swing by shortly.”

  “Will do.”

  Mason thanked Frank for his time and left his card in case he remembered something. He barely realized he was running to his Mustang as he hopped in and tore down the road toward the home of the missing twins.

  Chapter Thirty

  Nothing could have stopped Evie from checking in on her.

  As soon as she’d seen her crossing the street, she’d followed as closely as possible. On numerous occasions she nearly lost her, so she picked up her speed to catch up.

  When Amelia headed into the mall, Evie parked the car, went to the ground floor, and worked her way up. After a long and arduous search, she finally spotted her in the clothing department of a store, trying on shoes with a friend. Amelia had no idea what Evie looked like, so she was free to move around as much as she liked.

  It was wonderful to see her again, as heartbreaking as it was. She wondered about the email and whether the sender had actually known where Amelia lived. He couldn’t, could he? And who is this anonymous emailer? The killer? Evie could dig around without difficulty, but she knew it came with a risk of putting the girl in danger.

  Amelia left with her purchases and headed toward the food court, where she took a seat at the center table. This made it a lot easier for Evie to keep an eye on her from the railing on the floor above.

  From out of nowhere, a nightmarish thought occurred to her.

  Is the killer here now, watching us?

  Evie looked all around. Everything seemed perfectly normal, but the killer had blended in for over three years, so he was damn good at staying discreet. Farther along the railing, one man stood looking down at the food court. It was tough to discern whether he was looking at Amelia or not. But when a woman crept up behind and showered him with kisses, Evie understood that the only thing he’d killed was time.

  The phone rang in her pocket, snatching her attention.

  “Yep.”

  “Evie, it’s Mason. Where are you?”

  “Just, you know, hanging around.”

  “Well, head over to Southwell Terrace. There’s been a development.”

  Evie had no idea how to say this, so she just blurted it. “I’m out.”

  There was a pause on Mason’s end. Then, “What?”

  “Yeah, I was thinking about it. I don’t think I have the energy to pursue this thing. But you don’t have to worry, I won’t publish any more news about it.”

  “What the hell, Evie? You were hot for this case only yesterday.”

  He sounded more pissed off than she’d ever heard him before, and she felt awful for letting him down like this. After all, she was his supporting shoulder throughout this difficult time in his life.

  “I’m sorry, I just can’t do it.”

  Downstairs, Amelia got up from her seat. Evie’s heart thumped until she saw that she was only going to the bathroom. “How are you doing, anyway? Have you heard any more from Sandra?”

  “No. Enough of the small talk already. Are you in or not?”

  “I’m…” It was impossible to help Mason find the killer and protect Amelia. The choice was never going to be easy. “I’m not.”

  Mason sighed. “Fine,” he said, before the line went dead.

  What am I supposed to do?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Mason hung up the phone and continued driving toward the twins’ house. He trawled through his memory, clawing away at the darkest corners to remember lullabies that included twins. Nothing sprang to mind.

  He arrived at a huge and expensive-looking house that reminded him of his own home—or what had been his home, up until recently. Mason strode up the pathway and was met by a distraught man with obvious pain in his sunken brown eyes.

  “I was led to understand Detective Harvey would make an appearance,” he said, looking at Mason with understandable suspicion.

  “The police have rules, sir, and can’t get to you for another day or so. But Bill is a good friend of mine, and I assure you I’ll do everything I can.”

  Although reluctant, the man introduced himself as Owen Carter and let Mason in. He zipped around the kitchen, hastily cleaning up. “I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m stir-crazy, you know?”

  Mason could see exactly what he meant. It wasn’t uncommon to fidget when you were expecting bad news. “So, about the twins…”

  “Detective Harvey said something about this Lullaby Killer I’ve been seeing in the news. Do you think it’s him? Do you think he’s responsible?”

  “It’s hard to say at this point,” Mason explained. “It certainly follows the pattern, but we shouldn’t jump to any conclusions. For all we know, they just decided to run away from home for a while.”

  “They just wouldn’t do that. They’re happy children. They… Do you think they’re alive, Mr. Black?” He looked as if he only wanted one answer, but Mason didn’t like to bullshit people if he could help it.

  “I think they are at the moment, yes. But in these kinds of situations, we have to act fast. I take it you’ve not had any kind of note, or a ransom? Nothing like that?”

  “No.” The man’s eyes widened. “Should I expect one?”

  “I wouldn’t rule it out, but we don’t want to depend on it. If this is who we think it is, we don’t have long to act. The first thing I need you to do is start an appeal. Do you use social media? Facebook? Twitter?”

  “I… Yeah, I use Twitter.” Owen finally stopped shuffling around.

  “Good. Get a picture out as soon as possible. If either of your kids passes someone in the street, we’ve got to increase the chances of that person recognizing them. Got it?”

  Owen went straight for his laptop, not wasting a second. It was obvious he just wanted his pain to end. To his right sat a framed picture of two kids—a boy and a girl of equal age.

  “Is that them?”

  Owen glanced over and nodded.

  Mason picked up the frame and aimed his cell phone directly at the photo, taking a snapshot of his own. The girl especially caught his eye—she looked a little like Amy, only younger and with mouse-brown hair.

  “Done,” Owen said. “What happens next?”

  “Next, contact every blogger and independent press agent you can. Newspapers take too long, so stay local and get your plea viral. If we can get the abductor to realize you have money, there might be chance of a ransom—if there isn’t already.”

  “Got it,” the man said, his voice croaky. He stood, staring at Mason. “I’m going to have a drink. Would you like one?”

  “If it’s Jack or stronger, sure.”

  While
the man splashed alcohol into a couple of tumblers, Mason went on.

  “I’m going to do everything I can to get your kids back. I assure you. Meanwhile…” He took the Jack and sipped it, the droolworthy scent lifting his senses. “Thanks. Meanwhile, keep up all the presswork. Here’s my card, should you need it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Black. Do you have kids?”

  “I have a girl. She’s thirteen.”

  Owen sipped his drink. “Be sure to take care of her. You’ll never realize just how much you love her until something happens.”

  But Mason didn’t want to think about Amy right now. He needed to stay sharp, alcohol buzz and all. “Anyway, I’ll be in touch. You’ve got my number. Let me know if you hear anything.”

  Mason downed his drink and left the Carters’ house with no expectation of anything, other than finding two more dead bodies accompanied by a gruesome message.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “This is where you’re going to die.”

  The children trembled on the shadowy sands beneath the Golden Gate Bridge, with dusk setting in and icy roars blasting at their skin from across the bay. Even the Lullaby Killer was freezing his rocks off. He would have to make this quick.

  He continued to dig, both frightened and excited at the possibility of getting caught with these kids. The last time had been such an intrusive interruption, but the payoff had been something sweet. He could still hear the thunk of the hammer as it crushed the man’s skull.

  “What are… th-those for?” Ryan asked, pointing at the heavy craft scissors.

  It was surprising to hear him speak up for once. It seemed he finally understood the danger of this scenario.

  “Hehe.” The killer crooked his pinkie finger, then carried on scooping shovel-loads of sand across the beach.

  Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, he thought. This one would be particularly special.

  “You’re going to kill us, aren’t you?” little Kylie asked, trying to disguise her fear. It wasn’t working. “Is that your plan?”