Once again, the killer stopped digging, staring at her until he at last shook his head no. It was fun to see the relief in the twins’ eyes. They probably hoped to be home safe by this time tomorrow. He would put a stop to that. “See, all I’m going to do is bury you to your necks. It’s the tide that’s gonna kill you.”
The twins shook in fear, clutching each other’s hands as the killer howled with laughter. Although darkness was fast approaching, he could still make out their bloodshot eyes before he finished digging the first of the two holes.
“Our dad’ll kill you,” Kylie said, weeping. “He’ll find you and kill you.”
The killer uttered a callous chuckle and started on the second hole. “And how’s he gonna manage that? San Francisco’s finest have been looking for me for years. This is my city, little girl. Nobody can get in the way of my fun.”
“But he’s got money. He can hire anyone he needs to find you.” The girl sniffed as her brother squeezed her hand tighter.
Wait.
The killer paused.
No. No, no. He continued with the last of the sand, but with less enthusiasm than before. He couldn’t, could he? It ain’t about money, he told himself. It’s about curing America’s problem. But if I had the money…
“How much?”
Kylie wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “What?”
“How much money’s he got?”
She shrugged. “A lot, I guess. We have maids.”
The killer didn’t want to believe it, but they did seem to have been of a higher class than his usual choice. Sure, they attended a public school, but they spoke correctly and their posture was far too proper for normal kids of their age. But he couldn’t risk it. “Don’t make no difference.”
He raised the shovel and dug it deep into the sand. As he drove his foot onto it for more pressure, the girl must have seen her opportunity—or was consumed by desperation.
She leapt from where she’d been sitting, clawing at the sand as she scrambled to her feet and blazed up the shore into the distance, screaming in high-pitched wails.
If anyone heard them, it would all be over.
“Get back here!” The killer took off after her, pausing only briefly to tell Ryan he’d gut him if he moved. He hadn’t run like this in a long time but was still fast enough to gain some distance before they reached the rundown neighborhood.
Kylie dived out of sight behind a small white-paneled church. The killer had to stop. If he went any farther, he risked the boy running off, too. Turning, he could see him in the distance. Maybe he could head off just a little, but…
But then you’d lose them both, stupid.
“Fuck! Shit!” he yelled, then marched back toward Ryan and the two empty graves.
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was something Mr. Carter had said about his daughter: You be sure to take care of her.
And how could he not? Paying no mind to the incoming calls from Bill, Mason sped the Mustang toward his house. Even if he couldn’t patch things up completely with Sandra, there was still hope he could repair some bridges.
What about Joshua? queried the voice in his head as he shifted into fifth. It was as though a ten-ton block was tied to his heart. Could he really forgive her? Even if he tried his damndest, could he really remove the image of somebody else touching his wife with such intimacy? Every second he spent wondering convinced him he could not.
But he had to try.
When he arrived, the front door was open and Sandra was leaving. Mason left his car and went to her, just as she was about to open her own car door.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her teeth grinding.
“I just wanted to talk.” Mason raised his hands in mock surrender.
“Well, now’s not a good time. I have to collect Amy from school.” Sandra opened the door and threw in her purse. She was about to climb in when Mason held the door open.
“How about after? We could go somewhere for dinner. My treat.”
“Joshua’s taking us out.” Sandra got in the car.
He could see it now: the straightened black hair, the polished nails, the not-too-revealing top, which was just provocative enough to be suggestive. “Right, Joshua.”
“Excuse me.” Sandra tried to pull the door shut, but he held it firmly.
“He’s back,” Mason blurted, but he was no longer talking about Joshua. He waited for a reaction while Sandra sat staring through the windshield. He knew that look—she was assessing her options.
And then she stared up at him.
“You’re sure?”
Mason nodded. “I want you to take extra care around Amy, you hear? Whatever feud exists between you and me, don’t forget about her safety.”
Sandra rolled her eyes. “I know how to take care of my daughter.”
Our daughter, Mason thought, but saying it aloud would only raise a rattlesnake.
“I have to go.” Sandra tried once more to close the door.
“Where did we go wrong?” Mason hated to put himself out there so desperately, but everything had happened so fast. Even if she’d doubted their marriage for years, surely it’d been her responsibility to tell him. Now, here he was, begging for some kind of explanation while his wife ran into the arms of some other guy.
“You went wrong the moment you put your work before your family.”
“That was two years ago. I left the force for you. In the middle of a case, no less.”
“And now what’re you doing with your time?”
It stung enough that he let go of the door and watched her pull out of the drive. Mason simply could not understand what he’d done wrong. Sure, he could admit to putting in too much overtime at the office, but was it not for a good cause? Or had she been looking for a reason to move on to someone new anyway?
For the next hour he sat in his car, ignoring further calls from Bill and thinking of the woman he’d just spoken to, who now seemed nothing more than a stranger.
Can’t you see I was trying to do some good? To catch a killer?
Fueled by a confusing mix of hurt and anger, he slid the keys in the ignition and the car roared to life. At least he could head to Bill’s house now, lock himself in the spare bedroom, and welcome nurture from a bottle of something strong.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The press swarmed him as he arrived at Bill’s house.
All over the drive and across the lawn, reporters surrounded his car like hungry puppies begging to their master. Mason could barely get out of the car, and when he did, the same problem kept him from the front door.
“Mr. Black, is it true the Lullaby Killer is back?”
“Are you working with the police?”
“Have you exchanged words with Mr. Carter?”
The noise was unbearable. The last thing Mason needed now was his face all over the media. Was this a backlash of having Owen make press statements? Had his name been dropped without his knowledge?
Mason finally reached the door and had to squeeze through, covering his face to prevent more photos of him. The more he was exposed, the more danger he’d put his family in.
“Where the hell have you been?” Bill was inside, storming toward him with a phone in his hand and Christine awkwardly smiling behind him. “I’ve been trying to call you.”
Mason knew that tone. “What’s happened?”
“Those missing twins? One of them was found running down Elmgrove. She was struck by a car, but she’s okay.”
He should have been overjoyed that one of them had been recovered, but that was just it… “Only one of them?”
“The daughter, Kylie. She was screaming her head off, something about how her brother was being buried under the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“Have you had it searched?”
“Every square inch, but nothing’s turned up. The killer probably hightailed it out of there as soon as the girl got away.”
Mason rubbed his palms over his eyes and took a deep bre
ath. Was the boy dead, or had he gotten away, too? “All right. So where’s the girl now?”
Bill grabbed his coat from the hook and slid his arms inside. “At the hospital. Come on, we’ll take your car.” He turned to Christine. “I’m sorry you have to put up with the cameras, honey. Just keep the doors and blinds closed. Call me if you need anything.”
Mason opened the door, and they headed for the car, battling through another assault of unanswerable questions. They got in and dashed to the hospital, where Kylie Carter lay unconscious. Mason felt like a monster for having to extract information from her, but if she was able to talk, he’d need to hear everything she had to say.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Evie had drawn the drapes and not seen a shred of daylight since. With a pillow as her cuddle companion, she had no further reason to leave the couch. Even her laptop remained in the corner, unused.
The news was playing on the TV—something about a false Val Salinger sighting in Paris—but she paid it no mind. Instead, she continued to stare at an open book, the page unturned in a long time.
All she could think about was Mason, and how she’d let him down. Evie tried to convince herself she wouldn’t have been much use to him anyway, but she knew it was far from the truth. Without her counsel he would go off the rails, like he had before he’d met Sandra—a rapid downward spiral into alcoholism.
The news report moved on to the next story, and Evie’s ears pricked up. It was the voice of her brother, saying “no comment” as he shoved through a crowd of journalists. Watching them now, she cringed at the idea she used to be one of them.
Such insensitive pricks.
Mason looked different, there was no denying that. He looked scruffier, his skin paler and his cheeks unshaven. The darkening bags under his eyes spoke volumes.
Evie wanted to help him, but what about Amelia? She just couldn’t risk letting any harm come to her. So, what else was there to do?
Well, she thought, there is one thing…
It was a bad idea. A terrible idea, really. She’d be breaking the law. But if it was for a good cause, perhaps she could justify it. If it would allow her to continue providing information to her brother, and vice versa, then why shouldn’t she do it? Besides, there would be no written proof—it was more of a verbal arrangement.
Evie sat upright, sniffed her armpits, and tugged on her hair. She then threw on something warm and grabbed her keys. It was an exhilarating feeling, like the one you get when you’re spending money on something you know you can’t afford.
Stumbling in the dark, she quickly opened her laptop and confirmed the address hadn’t changed, then headed for the door with her nerves in tatters.
I can’t believe I’m doing this after all these years.
Chapter Thirty-Six
They soon arrived at the hospital to meet a relieved but distressed Owen Carter.
“How are you, sir?” Mason asked, noting the red-raw eyes.
“I don’t know what to think. I’m so pleased to see Kylie again, but I can’t stop thinking about where Ryan is.”
“How is she?” Bill asked as they moved from the waiting room into the corridor.
“A few bumps and scratches. She woke up a half hour ago. I told her you were coming.”
Mason felt useless. He kept walking with his head up and his hands buried in the pockets of his trench coat.
When they reached the door, Owen lowered his voice. “Please don’t put too much of a strain on her. She’s as scared as I am.”
“Just relax. She’s going to be fine.” Mason entered the room, shutting Bill and the girl’s father out. The truth was, he was just as concerned about what he might hear.
Inside, a machine was beeping and a girl lay prone in a bed across the room. Her skin was bruised like a peach, her appearance nothing like her picture now. A cast covered her arm, and a lost expression adorned her face.
“Kylie, my name’s Mason Black. I’m the lead investigator assigned to your case.”
The girl looked at him and blinked big hazel eyes. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Mason realized he was staring. He snapped himself from his trance and pulled a chair over beside her bed. “I’m here to ask you some questions. You don’t have to answer them all, but the more you tell me, the better chance I have of finding your brother.”
The girl nodded and winced. The car must have hit her at quite a speed.
He took the cell phone from his pocket and showed her the photo from the National Park. “Is this the man who abducted you?”
Kylie squinted her eyes at the dark and blurry picture. “I think so.”
“Great. And did you happen to see any distinguishing features? A tattoo, a scar, anything like that?” Mason already felt he was putting too much on her. But she was a brave girl, and it seemed she could handle it.
Kylie thought for a moment. “No. Oh, but he wore gloves the whole time.”
There it was again. What was it about the gloves? “The whole time?”
“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice weak. “Even in the RV, which was pretty warm.”
Mason was just about to ask that question. Knowing this was how he’d been taking the children, his chances of finding the killer had improved. It seemed they only had to find the RV, and they would find their guy. “Can you describe the contents of the RV? Did he have any possessions or framed photographs that stood out? Files? Books?”
“No, nothing like that. It was… metal.”
“Metal?”
The girl licked her lips. “It was like a metal box in the back. The walls, the floor. Everything.”
“Like a box?”
“Yes.” A tear rolled down the girl’s cheek and hit her pillow. “The man was so angry when I ran. Before that, he just seemed happy, I guess.”
Mason was confused. “Excuse me, you said he seemed happy?”
“No,” she said. “I mean, when I mentioned money he wanted to listen. I think.”
Although it sent a chill through Mason, maybe this was a good thing. Now he knew the boy’s father was wealthy, their chances of receiving a ransom note had raised considerably.
“Mr. Black, will my brother be okay?”
Mason didn’t want to lie, but he could hardly tell her the truth. “I’m doing everything I can.” The truth of it was, he had no idea. “Thank you for your time, Kylie. I have to go and do some work. I’ll send your father in.”
“Be careful,” she called after him as he went for the door. “The bad man hates you.”
Perspiration brewed under his collar, heat searing his skin as if from nowhere. Mason stopped dead in his tracks. “He talked about me?”
The girl nodded. “He told me you were looking for him, and that you’re his biggest problem.”
He stood staring at the floor. It felt different now he’d been acknowledged. Mason imagined the killer targeting Amy, and he sighed. “You got that right.”
Outside the room, Bill was along the corridor on the phone. He spotted Mason and jogged toward him, hanging up. “How fast can you get to Southside Bay?”
“Why, what’s up?”
“We put out a notice about that RV of yours, and a civilian just called in. Says she just saw it outside her home.”
Mason’s heart thundered in his chest, and he picked up speed. “On my way.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Usually, calls from a neighborhood like this came from some bored, attention-seeking housewives or desperate teenagers, anyone who thought they could turn heads by claiming they saw something they didn’t.
In this case it was a single mother.
The woman who came to the door was a mess: greasy hair matted to her face, stained sweatpants, and too much cheap perfume. Mason empathized with the blue-eyed toddler in her arms.
“Yeah, I seen it,” she said with pride. “A big ol’ thing that parks here every Friday after school. My kids don’t like it too much. They say he creeps ’em out.”
&nb
sp; “They’ve seen the owner?” Mason adjusted his stance in the cool air, wishing she’d invite him in. At least the rain had taken a brief break.
“Sure. One day, I was doing my laundry, and my boy Judas came running in screaming like crazy. Said the man whistled him over and asked him to get in, said he’d take him to a place called Mayfairer.”
“What’s Mayfairer?”
“I ain’t got no idea. Could be a cemetery for all I know.”
Mason tried to think of any cemetery-based lullabies. Nothing. “Did you see him?”
“Yeah, I seen him. Got that creep’s picture, too.”
“You got his picture?” This seemed far too good to be true. “Would you mind if I take a look?”
The woman looked as if she’d been asked to perform a miracle. “Hold on.”
While she was gone, Mason stepped back and took a glance at the house. It was a tacky place, stickers on the windows and dog shit on the lawn, though he hadn’t seen or heard a dog while he’d been standing at the door.
The woman returned and handed him a photo printed on a sheet of paper. “Took it with my cell phone and printed it ma-self. You can keep that.”
Mason’s hands shook as he examined the photo. Is this the guy? he wondered. Is this the guy who’s given the San Francisco Police so much trouble? The one who’s given me so much grief? He’d expected someone bigger and older. Maybe someone more intelligent or devious-looking. But this man was small, younger, and looked kind of harmless.
“Thing is,” the woman went on, “I seen him a few times before, too. Seemed to be wherever I went, I’d turn around and see that damn RV. One day, I even mustered the courage to go and bang on his door, fixing to give him a piece of my mind for following me, but… there wasn’t nobody there. So, I waited to follow him, ya know? Make sure he wasn’t up to no good.”
“I see. Good thinking. And what did you find?” Mason encouraged her to speed up her storytelling. Kylie Carter spoke with more clarity than this woman, for God’s sake.
Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection Page 8
