“Exactly.”
“And that will lead you to Lady Luck?”
“I hope so.” Mason slumped back in his chair. “If I find her, chances are I’ll find Evie.”
Diane bit her lower lip, staring at the ground in contemplation. “I really hope you find her, Mason. She’s been a good friend to me over the years. If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.”
“I appreciate that.”
Silence settled around the room, but it wasn’t awkward. It was out of mutual upset.
“Listen,” Diane said, “Wendell’s therapist won’t be at the office at this time of night, right?”
“Right. And?”
“Why don’t you clear your head and go up there in the morning? I’m sitting here in this silly dress, so we might as well have a conversation.”
It was just the encouragement he’d needed to slow down for a while. Like when you’re thinking of calling in sick and you need that final nod to tell you it’s okay. “I don’t think I’d be good company.”
“Then,” Diane said as she looked around her, “do you have anything to drink? We can have a sip, and you can tell me some stories about Evie. When your eyes start to close, I’ll head out and lock the door behind me.”
Well, this is chivalrous. Mason wasn’t used to being the nurtured one—so far his life had forced him to be protective over women; first Evie, then Sandra, and most recently Amy. It felt wrong to be on the other side of the scale. Nice though. “All right.” Mason stood and went to the drinks cabinet. “What’re you having?”
Diane perked up. “What do you have?”
“Only strong drinks. It’s all I ever seem to need.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
It’s time to send another message, and I want to write it in blood.
Lady Luck grinned at the thought of another victim. Sure, she could’ve used one of the women in the bunker, but tonight she wanted male blood. The blood of a pervert. Someone who truly deserved to die.
Leaving her subjects locked up tight, she headed into the city. It’s a nice night, she thought as she gazed out of the cab window, seeing all the neon illuminate the night. It was her favorite time. Lady, the night owl.
She paid her fare with a small tip and walked four blocks in high heels. She was dressed to impress—blonde hair, blue contact lenses, and a fancy dress. Her bust was on show, and her legs were bare. It was cold out, too, which pricked her nipples into a teasing stance.
An SUV slowed as it passed by, and a young man with a backward baseball cap leaned from the open window. “Wow. I gotta get me some of that!” he yelled. Other howls of excitement emanated from inside the vehicle—a wolf whistle, too.
They drove onward and out of sight.
Hooligans, thought Lady as she wrapped her arms around her stomach and moved on. Would’ve made nice prey, too. It was a shame they were gone so soon.
A few blocks on, Lady found the perfect place to stand. It was quiet enough that she wouldn’t be hounded by the police, and lively enough that she could grab the attention of any man. For a half hour, she stood in the cold, waiting.
Men passed by and gave her a momentary glance, but nothing more. Maybe she was in the wrong neighborhood for this kind of business, but she couldn’t go back to Marcy Larkin. Not after last time. She continued down the street to find a new location, and that was when she saw the familiar SUV.
It pulled up alongside her, the engine still humming as it crawled to keep up.
“Working tonight?” the capped man asked, arms dangling from the window. His friends were behind him, chuckling at some inside joke.
Lady put on a smile. “I might be. But only for real men.”
Everyone in the car laughed, except for the capped man. His playful grin turned into a frown. He was handsome, no doubt, and probably wasn’t used to the rejection. Which only begged the question: why would he have to pay for sex? But Lady knew these types—they usually wanted things too filthy to try with their own girlfriends.
“I’m all man, baby. I promise you. So, uh… you do orgies?”
Again, there was chatter from behind him.
“Afraid not, no.” Lady actually had engaged in group sex, and even enjoyed it. But something seemed off about this lot. She had a feeling it would be more than just sex they wanted.
“Oh, come on, you fucking whore,” he said, fury lacing his voice. “You’re a slut and you’ll fuck whoever pays you.” He opened the door and sat back. “Now, get in.”
Lady looked up and down the street—not for help, but to make sure she hadn’t been seen. “Fine,” she muttered and climbed in next to him. He stank of cinnamon and some powerful masculine fragrance. It made her sick.
The SUV moved off, and she felt his fingers curl around her hair. He was sniffing at her neck, his other hand on her thigh. “Relax, baby.”
But Lady was relaxed. Her mind was just elsewhere, imagining the many different ways this filthy son of a bitch could die.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The SUV stopped at the railway tracks, dark and desolate. And dangerous.
The driver was the first one out, then Lady, and then the man with the baseball cap climbed out. “Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand.
Lady hesitated before she took his hand. He escorted her around to the hood of the vehicle and pushed her against it with her back to the grill. She hadn’t seen the others come out of the car, but now they were at her sides, holding her still. She tried not to panic.
The driver and the capped man both laughed while removing their pants. The driver pulled a condom from his jacket pocket, while the other one touched himself, preparing to go.
Lady didn’t struggle. She had to remain calm. “So, about that orgy. If you guys go easy on me, I’ll give you a discount.”
They all laughed at her then, snorting and cheering. The driver stepped forward. “We don’t pay, baby face. See, you’re just a fucking whore, and you’ll do your job. Us? We don’t have to pay. We’re doing you an honor.”
They intend to rape me?
Lady wouldn’t take it. She struggled, the men moving toward her, half-naked and dangerously horny. They were like a pack of animals, the stench of alcohol and body odor rancid.
“Hold her.”
Their grips tightened as the driver moved in first. Lady could feel his parts touch her leg, and one of their hands was slipping under her skirt. If they went any farther, they’d find what she’d been trying to hide.
“Wait,” she whispered, desperate for some kind of distraction from the horrific act of abuse. “I can use my mouth, too. All of you can have my mouth.”
They paused, looking at each other. The capped man started to protest—wanting most of her to himself—but the two holding her down made their intentions heard.
“You can still have what you want, man, but if we can get blown we will.”
The capped man snarled before stepping back. “Make it quick. And don’t blame me if she bites your dick off.”
The two men holding her let go and dropped their pants in a hurry. Lady began her show by biting a nail and slipping her finger down her front with a teasing smile. The men were growing already as they watched her inch toward them, her hand going down, down, and underneath her skirt.
Acting fast and feeling lucky, Lady wrapped her hands around the Colt .25 she’d stowed in her panties before heading into the city. It was lucky she’d had murderous intentions, and now the perfect victims were caught literally with their pants down.
“What the fuck?” the driver yelled, tripping back and landing in the dirt.
Lady had the drop on them. She shot the first man in the eye, shocking all those around her. The other two— the driver and the one who’d grabbed her arm—each took a bullet to the knee, falling and clutching their legs with wild screams.
Only the one with the cap remained.
He held up his hands, tears forming in his eyes. “Please. I was going to pay y
ou. I-I was. I swear. Here, my wallet’s in my pants. Just let me get—” He made a sudden move for it as she squeezed the trigger. A puff of dust exploded at his feet.
“You do not get to do what you want to women,” Lady snarled, grinding her teeth. “That embarrassing little dick of yours will never go near another woman again. You hear me?”
His lips quivering, he bobbed his head in short sharp nods.
Lady wanted to shoot him, and was going to until she heard the electric hiss from the nearby railway track. It gave her ideas she could never have dreamed of. She coiled her finger around the trigger and shot a bullet into his leg, making him squeal in agony.
“What the… Please…” He was sobbing now.
Pitiful.
Lady marched forward, flipped off his baseball cap, and dragged him by his thick wavy hair. They were going to the track, and he was totally powerless. “You strike me as the kind of daddy’s boy who’s never had to deal with consequences. Am I right?”
The man only managed a whimper.
“Of course I’m right. You’ve never had to work. You’ve never been humiliated. You do what you want, when you want, right?”
The train was in sight, its whistle howling through the night. The hissing sound sizzled off the tracks, announcing its imminent arrival.
“You’ve never felt pain!” Lady screamed over the deafening noise of the train, its lights illuminating her demonic, furious face. “Until now!”
With all her strength, she threw him backward onto the track. At first came a high-pitched screaming sound as the electricity tore through his body. A split second later, the train impacted with his torso. His blood spattered all over her as his body was carried away in what could only be described as a buffet of meaty chunks beneath the speeding train.
Lady could feel electricity of her own—raw, excitable adrenaline. She licked the dripping blood from her face and cackled, shaking like a leaf in a wild storm. Yes, she thought, laughing. Yes, yes, yes!
Chapter Thirty-Six
Mason awoke early, his cheek pressed to his desk and a blanket draped over his back. Diane must have left it there. Sweet girl.
Before starting his day, he made a call to the therapist’s office.
“Dr. Tidwell’s office,” the receptionist said with happiness so forced it was sickening.
“Hello. I’d like to book an appointment with Mr. Tidwell, please.” Mason paced the office as he spoke, rearranging the chairs to their rightful positions.
“That’s no problem at all. He’s currently booked until Wednesday. Shall I put you in for midday, sir?”
Shit. I need to get in today. “It’s actually pretty urgent.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I—”
“I’m going to kill myself.” Mason felt horrible saying it. He’d known people so racked with the struggles of depression they’d put a gun to their heads or leapt off a bridge. Trying to claim that pain for himself felt awful. “I need to see him today. I’m desperate.”
The line went quiet for a second. Then the receptionist cleared her throat and softened her tone. “I can squeeze you in at eleven this morning. Is that okay?”
“Thanks,” Mason said, pulling off his tie to have a quick wash. “Thanks a lot.”
“My pleasure, sir. And, uh… hang in there, okay?”
Mason left a fake name, hung up, and splashed some water on his face before heading to Tidwell’s office. He wondered what to expect from this doctor. The stereotypical turtleneck sweater? Perhaps a Robin Williams type, bearded and condescending?
He sat for twenty minutes in a small waiting room, the only sounds the tedious ticking of a wall clock and the receptionist’s skinny fingers rattling her keyboard as she went about her business. Assuming this was the same woman he’d spoken to on the phone, her face didn’t match her voice. She was thin, younger than thirty, and missing a front tooth.
Finally, the doctor’s door clicked open and a dark-haired man called for Mr. Hunter, the false name all that had come to Mason at the time. Perhaps it was appropriate.
He stood and walked over toward the doctor, who had a strong jaw but an awful Caesar-like nose. It made him look like a sculpture.
They shook hands, and Mason went inside.
“So,” Tidwell said, his hands in his lap, “is there anything you’d like to tell me about yourself?”
Mason already felt under the spotlight. He shook his head.
“Let’s start simple. Do you have a favorite movie?”
“No.” Mason leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “Actually, I’m not here to talk about me. I came to discuss a certain patient of yours.”
Dr. Tidwell’s expression changed in a flash. It was almost funny seeing his frown flip upside down. His eyebrows contorted with confusion. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss other patients with you. There’s a doctor-patient confidentiality which we strive to maintain.”
Mason nodded and got to his feet. “I thought you might say that.”
“Please don’t do anything careless,” Tidwell warned, watching him go for the door.
Does he still think I’m going to kill myself? Mason pushed the door shut and turned the key, locking them inside. “I’m sorry, Doc, but I need that information.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“You can’t do this!” Tidwell yelled, going for the phone.
Mason sprung across the office and brought the heel of his hand down on the doctor’s fingers. He screamed in pain and sat back, while Mason ripped the cord from the phone and smashed up the handset. “His name was Marvin Wendell.”
“I can’t—” Tidwell stumbled back, landing on his ass.
“He was a patient of yours while he was murdering small children.” Mason grabbed him by his shirt and hauled him to his feet. He didn’t want to do this. It made him feel like a bully. But it was necessary. “Now, show me his file.”
“No.”
Mason gave him the back of his hand, lashing hard across the doctor’s cheek. A rose-pink patch blossomed across his face as he whimpered like a beaten puppy. “Listen, there’s a killer out there, and I need to find her. Wendell’s file is the key.” Twisting his hip, he threw the man across the room.
Tidwell cried out in pain as he struck the wood and retreated around his desk. At first, he cowered behind the tall leather back of his chair, but a firm snap of Mason’s fingers demanded that he sit. Finally, he did.
Mason joined him at his side, towering over him while looking at the laptop screen. “I need to see everything.”
“What was—” Tidwell placed a hand to his cheek and pulled away, checking for blood. There was none. “What was his name again?”
“Wendell, Marvin.”
The screen lit up with a long list of details. It included an address, medical history, and basic background information. Nothing Mason couldn’t have dug up from the police database. “Keep going.”
There was a personal statement, which seemed interesting but irrelevant. Written recordings of Wendell’s meetings with the doctor, and Tidwell’s assessment of his patient. Countless medical prescriptions for antidepressants, and—
“Wait.” Mason pointed at the screen. “Go back.”
Dr. Tidwell scrolled up and left the screen hovering on some vital information.
“No way.” Mason’s mouth hung open as he read through the file. It was so obvious now. It was something Marvin Wendell’s mother had mentioned a year ago, only then it had fallen on deaf ears. Looking back now, it was so evident. Only two questions remained now: how could he find this person, and how had he been so damn blind?
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Mason left the office in a hurry, expecting Tidwell to call the police the instant the door closed. Still blown away by what he’d discovered, he wondered if he looked as rundown as he felt.
In his breast pocket, his cell phone jerked against his chest. He crossed the road, stood inside a store doorway, and answered.
“I have so
mething here that requires your attention,” Bill said, his voice hopeless like a man who’d given up.
“You can’t tell me on the phone?” Mason looked back toward Dr. Tidwell’s office, where a patrol car was pulling up. Thankfully, they were looking for a Mr. Hunter, not a Mason Black.
“Not really. I’m on the railway bridge at Glendown. Come quickly.”
Perturbed, Mason sped over there, arriving in less than twenty minutes. The tracks below were swarming with forensic officers and patrolmen. The scene was taped off, and even Captain Cox had made an appearance. He could see why Bill had chosen to meet on the bridge, up and out the way.
“I don’t have long,” Bill said without turning. “Look down there. Tell me what you see.”
Mason peered over the bridge and at the center of the action. It was a small area, which stretched parallel to the tracks and was shaped something like a giant L. Within that space, two bodies lay on their fronts, while another was mangled and staring up at the sky. But there was an awful lot of blood, and it couldn’t have come from just those three.
“A gang war?” he guessed.
“Is that all? Look closer.”
Mason sighed and looked back down upon the scene. The harder he stared, the more the blood came into focus. Only then did he see it.
The blood had been painted across the stones to form a message.
MB FERN/1018 1230
“Wow.” Mason felt the air leave his lungs. After these people had died, the killer had taken the time to drain their blood, using it as paint. “That’s cheery.”
“Let’s cut to it, Mason. The ‘MB’ part… Do you think that’s for you? I mean, your initials, right?”
“It could be a coincidence,” Mason said, shaking his head and thinking otherwise. “Assuming this was her, how did one woman do all this? Was any DNA recovered?”
Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection Page 24
