Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection

by Adam Nicholls

  “Nothing as yet, but we’re working on it.”

  Mason stared at the numbers. Was this a message for him? It seemed too far a stretch to be anyone else—not with his initials spelled out in blood. Was this Lady Luck, playing her sick and dangerous game? If so, why was she being so cryptic? Something wasn’t right, and it didn’t feel like it would reveal itself anytime soon. “Leave it with me.”

  “It’s in both our hands now.” Bill pushed away from the side of the bridge and headed toward the steps, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. “But whatever you do, stay out the way of the police. The captain’s decided you’re purposely evading us, and now she has a warrant for your arrest.” He left, his final words doing nothing for Mason’s unsteady nerves.

  Great, he thought, before getting swiftly out of sight.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  While Mason stood out the way and waited for the man to arrive, he transferred the numbers from his current cell phone to his new prepaid phone. The important contacts were Bill, Diane, Sandra, and—just in case—Evie.

  Now it was untraceable, having been smashed and discarded into a nearby bush. Mason waited by a row of garages and watched as the man approached. He was tall and skinny and had a grade-one haircut. He looked like a weasel, someone who should never be trusted, but Mason had no choice.

  “Are you the guy?” he asked, his wimpy voice too childlike to take seriously.

  Mason assessed him with skepticism. “I’m the guy.”

  “It’s eighty bucks for a fortnight. Hundred for the month.”

  “And nobody else has a key?”

  “I keep a spare.”

  Mason shifted his weight to the other foot. “But nobody else?” He knew how these backstreet dealings could sometimes end in violence. If his Mustang got damaged, or worse, stolen, there would be hell to pay. Unless, of course, he was serving time for murder.

  “Nobody else.”

  “It’s settled, then. I’ll take it a week at a time.” Mason stowed his gun in the glove compartment, handed over the money, parked the Mustang inside, and tucked it under a sheet.

  He stood on the corner by the butcher’s, found Diane’s name in the address book of his new phone, and dialed the number. As it rang, he recognized his own insecurity—that he may never catch Lady Luck, and thus never prove himself innocent of a crime he had, in fact, committed.

  Chapter Forty

  It was a suitable front page:

  LADY LUCK. KILLER?

  She’d envisioned other headlines while cleaning the blood and gunk off the floor. But mopping up was damn near impossible. With a big smile on her face from the thrill of her latest outing, she kicked the mop bucket toward one of the girls, whose name she’d entirely forgotten. “Clean this up.”

  The girl, tatty-clothed and filthy from head to toe, hurried to pick up the mop. She dunked it onto the floor in one soggy heap, then dragged it back and forth. It couldn’t have been nice to clear up her own sister’s blood, but the girl had to make herself useful somehow.

  Lady went into the room with the drawing board, where her plan of action was spread across wooden beams. Lengths of appropriately colored bloodred string linked them together. They were removable, of course, so she could reattach them to suit her plan as it evolved.

  “Please, some water! Please!” The voice came from the back of the bunker, desperate and shrill. It didn’t sound like Evelyn or Rosa. Linda, maybe? Whoever it was, only the females got the one-in-six odds of survival. The men, on the other hand, could all die.

  “Please!” That voice again. Nails on a chalkboard.

  Lady huffed and went to the nearby wall, where her cattle prod hung from a lamp. She took it and switched it on, storming toward the cell area. When she arrived, Linda (at least she thought that was her name) was cowering and still uttering that same cringeworthy cry.

  “Shut it. Right now,” Lady said through gritted teeth.

  Linda screamed, crying and trembling. She was edging to the back of her cell—a cage made of timber by Ben. “Just let me go,” she pleaded, her face an ugly red smear of tears.

  Lady opened the cell door, rushed toward her, and jabbed her with the prod. It made a beautiful pztt sound as it met with her skin, zapping an electrical charge into her leg. She prodded again, unsatisfied by the first cry of pain. Now she was satisfied.

  “Don’t you get it, you stupid fool?” Lady spat, driving the prod into her leg once more for good measure. “There’s no leaving here. This is your home now, until fate demands that you die.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Diane had welcomed him over, and her place wasn’t too hard to find.

  Only a few blocks of fast-paced walking and he was there, looking up the stone steps at a perfectly varnished door. The lights were on and the drapes were open, allowing the outside world to see her fancy chandelier and cabinet of antiques.

  Mason, having taken her for more of a modernized-apartment type of girl, was surprised. He’d had no idea she could afford such a home and wondered what she did for a living.

  Diane greeted him at the door and let him in. The inside didn’t disappoint. Everything was oak or crystal, suggesting some serious wealth.

  “I don’t mean to pry,” Mason said, sliding off his coat, “but how did you…” He whirled his finger around the room, letting out a slow whistle.

  “Afford all this?”

  “I mean… Yeah.”

  Diane smiled, her teeth a perfect row of whites. “I have a job, darling.”

  Right, of course. On the night they’d spent together, they’d been so deep in conversation about Evie that they’d barely scratched the surface of their own personal lives. “And what might that be?”

  “I’m a reconstructive surgeon. I can’t believe I haven’t told you that.”

  “Me neither.”

  She led him through to the kitchen, where they sat at the breakfast bar and shared a bottle of wine. It was probably the cheapest thing in the house. Mason ran her through his recent findings, including the bloody code from the railway track.

  “To think,” she said, “I usually like puzzles.”

  Mason nodded.

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.” Diane disappeared from the room and returned moments later with a notepad and pen. She wrote the code as he described and listed possibilities underneath. “Let’s get our obvious options out of the way, coordinates, dates—”

  “An address?”

  “Right.” She scribbled that down. “Bank numbers or a safety deposit box.”

  “You really think so?” Mason asked, recovering from a large gulp of wine.

  “We can’t afford to rule anything out, no matter how unlikely it sounds.”

  They were at it for hours, constantly moving positions between the stools, the couch, and the wide, vacant area on the living room floor. Their list had grown to over fifty different possibilities, and they were working through each of them, desperate to find the meaning behind the message—assuming, of course, that it even was a message, and not just a deliberate distraction.

  “You look tired,” Diane said, rubbing her own eyes.

  “So do you,” he said, then added, “but still beautiful.”

  Diane smiled then, placing a hand on his and turning her head in a way that younger shy girls did. When she looked back up, their gazes locked and their lips came closer together in a soft kiss. It was a powerful, euphoric moment that lasted until Mason pulled away.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. What was I thinking—kissing some girl while Evie is still in danger? “That was inappropriate.”

  “Don’t be so stiff,” Diane said, giggling. “Look, let’s figure this out and then head to bed.” She must have realized how it sounded, laughed, then added, “I mean, I’ll go to my bed, and you’re welcome to stay on the couch for as long as you need.”

  “You’re sure?” It was a kind gesture, Mason thought, and was suddenly grateful to have this woman in his life.

&nb
sp; “Sure. It’s not like you can go back to your place now, is it?”

  Mason supposed she was right. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Mason stood staring at the front page of the newspaper, other customers walking around him as he was seized in a trance. He’d only stepped out of Diane’s house to grab some breakfast.

  Now, he wished he was back in hiding.

  His face was on the front page—a photograph from his years of service with the San Francisco Police Department. The headline read:

  Ex-Cop Missing During Murder Investigation

  Suspected Involvement

  Things had gone from bad to worse. Snapping out of his dumb gaze, Mason left the idea of food behind and hightailed out of there. He then headed back to Diane’s, wondering how he could have let it get this far.

  Crossing the street, Mason flicked a glance over his shoulder and saw two police officers in uniform. The same two who’d taken him back to the station following the alley incident? It seemed like it—they were coming his way and were staring at him, hostile expressions on their faces.

  Mason turned in a hurry. If he was going to make it back to Diane, he would have to make sure he wasn’t followed. After all, it was his one remaining sanctuary. He walked faster before he heard their shouts from behind.

  “Mason Black, hold it right there!”

  What other option was there? Mason burst into a sprint, darting around people as best he could. He had the sudden fear that some fucking do-gooder might stick out their foot, thinking they were doing their city a great service.

  If only they knew what was really happening.

  As he ran he knew by now the officers must have radioed in for backup, which left him exposed for as long as he was out in the open. He reached an abandoned building—one familiar from a drug bust a few years ago—and burst through the front door.

  Inside, junkies lay passed out on their scruffy mattresses, their mouths open in surprise at their uninvited guest. But Mason had no time to stop and stare. The officers were coming after him. He hurried between the rooms, praying he wouldn’t take a wrong turn.

  He dashed through the kitchen, shoved the door shut, and pulled the nearby dresser across the floor. In normal circumstances it might’ve been heavy, but the adrenaline lent him an extra dose of strength. When the blockade was in place, he went for the back door.

  The barren yard had a waist-high chain-link fence, and Mason ran toward it. The barrier he’d established in the house would only hold back the officers for so long, so he sprinted as fast as his legs could take him into the gravel driveway.

  But as soon as his foot hit the stones, an astonishing force drove into him. Mason felt the pain shoot through his body as he thudded to the ground. He was on his front now, a knee planted into his back with the gravel scratching dents into his cheek.

  Mason had been caught, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  “Mason Black, I’m arresting you on suspicion of…”

  As the officer droned on and his partner came to his side, Mason’s vision blurred into thoughts of Evie. Where was she now? How could he possibly help her if he was behind bars? Throughout this entire ordeal, only one thing was clear.

  He had let her down.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Cell phone. Wallet. Keys. All taken.

  “You know, you almost had us there,” the bald officer said from the passenger seat. There was something interesting about this man—he could arrest you and still make you feel like an old friend of his.

  “Yeah, well.” Mason bit his lower lip. “I’m an innocent man.”

  Both officers laughed.

  “You don’t need to convince me, Mr. Black. If it were up to me, you could go on a killing spree and I’d let you off with a slap on the wrist. I saw you as a detective and admired you, for the most part.” He turned in his seat. “But the captain? She ain’t your best friend right now.”

  Mason ignored the comment about his past. Although he hated to toot his own horn, he knew he had plenty of admiring followers. How could he not? He’d always done his best and always looked out for his colleagues. “Believe what you want. I’m still innocent.”

  For the next few minutes, the car’s occupants were silent. Mason stared out the window as the street went by. They weren’t far from the police station now. Another ten minutes, depending on traffic conditions.

  “So, what was it about?” asked the other officer, speaking for the first time since the arrest. His dark eyes flicked between the road and the rearview mirror as they stopped at a set of lights.

  “What was what about?” Mason asked.

  “Those numbers on the tracks. That was for you, wasn’t it?”

  “No comment.”

  He chuckled. “It’s not an official statement. I’m just curious.”

  Mason considered telling him, but it was pointless. “No comment,” he said again.

  “Well, I don’t envy you. This wall has your name on it, and it’s coming down hard.” The lights flicked to green. The driver switched gears and pulled out of the spot, carelessly turning his head over his shoulder to look at Mason again. “But if I were you—”

  It happened in a heartbeat. Mason felt a jolt as his body contorted to the left. His cheek hit the seat, and only then did he hear the metallic smash. The windows shattered and rained glass all over him as the car flipped a somersault.

  Everything went blurry then as his ears started ringing. His chest felt like it was on fire, the seat belt having tugged hard against the impact of the other car. Even his temple stung. Had he hit the seat belt buckle? It was hard to tell. All he knew, as he lay on his back in the upside-down car, was that the pain was like nothing he’d ever felt before.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Dazed, Mason summoned his energy and crawled through the broken window. As much as he hated to leave the officers there, he needed to get out. Only after he helped Evie would he turn himself in.

  His legs were ready to buckle under the pain as he pushed himself to his feet, but he forced himself to stand. Hobbling on a sensitive ankle, he made his way to the nearest alley. But he was only twenty yards away when he heard someone shouting.

  “It’s on fire!”

  Mason turned and gasped. The woman who’d shouted was right. The car’s trunk was ablaze, but how fast it would catch the fuel tank was a guess. He couldn’t just leave the officers to die.

  He stumbled back, pain shooting through his entire body.

  When he reached the car, Mason dropped to his knees, leaned in, and unclipped the bald man’s seat belt. He was unconscious, a river of blood running down one side of his face. While his partner begged for help, Mason had to prioritize the one entirely unable to help himself.

  He pulled with all his strength, heaving the man from the car and away to a safe distance.

  But it wasn’t over yet.

  The other officer was screaming, begging for his life. The fire had spread, turning the back tires into a noxious rubbery goo. The fuel tank would blow at any second.

  For a brief flicker of a moment, Mason considered making his escape. But what would Amy think of him if he let an innocent man die just to save his own skin? What would Evie think? What would Diane do if she found out?

  Mason staggered forward and maneuvered around to the driver’s side. The door was buckled and hanging off its hinges. A sharp kick tore it off and sent it clanging to one side, while Mason grabbed the officer under his arms.

  “Please, hurry. I-I can’t feel my legs,” the officer mumbled, freaking out as Mason dragged him clear.

  The tank flashed as the fire spread, leaving them just seconds to get some distance. They were only ten yards away when the car burst into a raucous fireball with a deafening explosion, the destroyed vehicle leaping five feet off the ground before landing on its side in a crumpled mess.

  “Thank—Thank you,” the officer blurted, but he still couldn’t move.

 
The other car—the one that collided with them—was a safe distance from the inferno. It was impossible to tell if the driver was injured, but Mason had no time to check on him. At least that car wasn’t a ticking time bomb.

  This was Mason’s last chance. He was about to run when he saw the bulge in the officer’s pocket. He rummaged through it, found his confiscated cell phone, and limped away as quick as he could. In all the drama, he’d forgotten about his own pain, but right now he was just glad they were all alive.

  “Call an ambulance,” he yelled at a teenager who stood gawking at them.

  “O-Okay,” he stammered and pulled out his phone.

  Mason seized the opportunity to exit the scene. He found a quiet alley, slumped against the wall, and fell to his ass. It was a miracle he’d made it out of there alive. Now he needed to rest.

  But that wasn’t going to happen. Not just yet. The cell phone rumbled in his palm. Mason saw it was Diane and answered in a second.

  “Yeah? Ah.” He felt a jolt of pain and sucked air through his teeth.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Just stubbed my toe.”

  “Right,” Diane said. “Well, I have some news that’ll cheer you up.”

  Mason’s heart pounded a quick rhythm. “What is it?”

  “You won’t believe this, but I think I’ve figured out what the message means.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  “It’s a meeting place, and a time to be there.”

  Mason swallowed down the dry lump in his throat.

  Diane continued. “The MB part is addressing you, of course. FERN is a place—Fern Avenue, which isn’t too far from where we first met.”