Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection

by Adam Nicholls

  It was everything Mason could have asked for, and all together in one place. Smiling, he took a seat at the end of the table and gazed at his family.

  Diane leaned over his shoulder, embracing him from behind as she kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, Mason Black.”

  Mason looked up at her and kissed her on the lips. “I love you too, Diane Black.”

  And for everything they would go through, from petty quarrels to anniversaries and birthday parties, he prayed she would never forget it.

  He knew he wouldn’t.

  Want to meet the new detective?

  Keep reading to find out more

  about Morgan Young.

  Let Me In

  Chapter One

  The killer pressed his shaking finger against the doorbell, licking his lips as he anticipated tonight’s big kill. Shadows moved behind the door’s blurred pane, making his blood rush through him like a flood. This was it, he realized: another brutal murder.

  It was a man who answered the door. He was tall, handsome in an obvious kind of way, but the killer couldn’t understand what the fuss was about. There was nothing special about him—no particular feature that made him a good catch. But he supposed that didn’t matter.

  After all, he had less than a minute to live.

  “Pizza time,” the killer said with the biggest grin he could muster. That cheesy smile would take him a long way, especially when coupled with the uniform he’d so easily acquired. He reached into the delivery bag, feeding his arm deep inside to reach the empty box.

  “We didn’t order any pizza,” the man said, hidden behind his door.

  We. That was the word he’d been looking for. That was all the proof he needed that Mr. Handsome wasn’t the only one in the house that night. Another flood of excitement coursed through him like fuel hurled into a fire. He fought to control himself.

  “Are you sure?” the killer asked. He froze with his hand inside the bag for dramatic effect.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Now if you don’t mind, I have—”

  “I’m so sorry,” the killer said, removing his hand and clipping the bag shut. “I didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just that we get a lot of crank calls. You know, kids ordering to other places as a sort of stupid game. We’ve all been there.”

  “Right.” The man nodded, stepping back to close the door.

  The killer reached out and stopped it. “Actually…”

  “What now?”

  “Could I maybe use your bathroom? I have a long night of rounds, and I can’t hold my water too well.”

  Mr. Handsome studied him with the too-stern eyes of a school principal. Maybe he was—the killer hadn’t done any research on this man outside of social media, which could only tell so much. All the same, his eyes bulged with the same arrogance as in his pictures.

  Finally, he sighed and opened the door. “Fine. But be quick. Second door on the left.”

  The killer forced out another smile and hurried inside, dumping his delivery bag on the polished hallway unit. Assaulted by the powerful scent of potpourri, he hurried into the bathroom and locked the door, his adrenaline taking over. He could barely believe he was actually in their home—after all this time watching the man’s wife and feeling like a filthy dog who wasn’t allowed in, it came down to something as easy as stealing a uniform and asking to use the bathroom. It seemed too good to be true.

  Catching his breath, he stood over the sink and gawked at himself in the mirror. He looked as ridiculous as he felt, and he quickly grabbed the stupid cap from his head, tearing it off and tossing it to one side. His sweaty hair was matted to his head, but that was okay; he was still recognizable, and that was all he wanted. The look on her face would be priceless, and he couldn’t wait to see it.

  The next thing he did was final. He pulled the kitchen knife from his pocket, knowing there was no coming back from it now. He was too far invested, and giving up when he was so close was both stupid and cowardly. There was no way he could live with himself if he didn’t finish what he’d set out to do, and with that, he reached for the bathroom doorknob, gave it a twist, and received an unsettling shock.

  The husband—the son-of-a-bitch do-gooder—stood right beside the door. The empty pizza box in his hand must have told him a lot, but it undoubtedly left a lot of questions. His piercing eyes turned fierce, and those principal vibes returned to his red face. “What the hell’s going on here? Who are you?”

  There was no time for questions. The killer didn’t hesitate. The knife came up in a flash, and he thrust it into the man’s stomach. The squelching noise was satisfying, but nowhere near as electrifying as the adrenaline that flooded through the killer’s veins. He watched the man buckle, sinking forward and reaching for the knife with all the strength of a gnat. His mouth opened, and he mouthed a word that looked like “Carrie.”

  A foolish choice of last words, if you asked the killer.

  The twitching body showed only a little sign of life as it slumped to his feet, falling off the knife like warm butter. The thud echoed down the hallway. The killer stood over his fallen victim, his skin growing hot while a new shadow grew across the rug in front of the open doorway.

  “Richard?”

  The killer smiled for real this time, his lips parting as he sucked in a large breath. He gripped the knife tighter and stormed forward, his heavy footfalls padding on the thick rug. This was the one he’d come for—the one he’d spent years thinking about. This was the one he fantasized about when he lay in bed late at night, dreaming of taking yet another human life.

  This was the one that would start it all.

  After that, there would be others.

  Chapter Two

  “You should answer it.”

  Morgan’s ears popped like a balloon at the sound of her voice. It was a soft, gentle voice, but when it broke his exhausted stare from the passing city of Washington outside the car window, it made him start. He craned his neck toward her, examining her pale cheeks as the passing lights brightened them. She was still as beautiful as the day they’d met. Now, at the mutual age of thirty-four, he felt as though he was aging far worse than she was.

  “Honey?” she prompted, gesturing to the cradle by the vents where his phone sat.

  It wasn’t until then that he noticed it: his cell phone lit up like Times Square, his best friend’s name plastered across the long screen. It was always great to hear from Gary, but after putting so much effort into finding the perfect restaurant for his wife’s birthday dinner, he didn’t want to tear away from the perfect evening for whatever morbid crime Gary had stumbled upon. Besides, Gary worked for Washington’s homicide department, whereas Morgan was a breed of his own—a private investigator. It sounded sophisticated, but the bottom line was that he was a cop who chose his own hours, and eight o’clock on his wife’s birthday was hardly the time to be working.

  “Let it go to voicemail,” he said, returning his gaze to the outside world, where the black sky was lit up by illuminated signs and the orange glow of streetlights. “Have you enjoyed your birthday? Was the meal okay? I know you like the restaurant, so I thought—”

  “It’s been the best. But don’t let me keep you from your friend.”

  “You think I want to work tonight?”

  Rachel giggled. “When do you not want to work?”

  “I guess you got a point.”

  There was rarely any point in trying to hide his work obsession from her. Hell, she was just as bad; there was no limit to her efforts over at HUCINS, a children’s charity founded by herself and two others who were no longer in the picture for their own reasons (it stood for: Help for Underprivileged Children in Need of Saving). The difference was that Morgan was paid reasonably well for his work, while Rachel considered the knowledge she’d changed a kid’s life payment enough, taking only a small paycheck as CEO. To take more would feel like she was taking advantage, she’d said, and Morgan had always admired her altruism—it was one of the many reason
s he loved her, and he often believed his understanding of that was one of the reasons she loved him back. It was, as he always put it, a match made in Heaven.

  The phone went dark only for a moment before it lit up again. Gary’s name stretched across the screen once more, causing Morgan’s heartbeat to speed up. Gary wasn’t exactly the kind of person to call a second time unless it was important, and in their line of work, “important” meant some kind of tragedy had taken place. Morgan knew, however, that picking up that phone would be the start of a new job, which in turn would mean the end of Rachel’s birthday. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that to her.

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” Rachel said. “Please get the damn phone.”

  Morgan felt a smile tug at his lips. “Why, do you want to get rid of me?”

  “Always,” she teased.

  “You won’t feel bad?”

  “Why should I?”

  Morgan shrugged, his eyes still on the phone. “Because it’s the one night of the year you’re absolutely guaranteed to have my undivided attention.”

  “Just one? Is that all?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  Rachel sighed, leaned forward, and pushed the green icon.

  Before Morgan could protest, Gary’s firm voice echoed through the speaker. But there was something different about it tonight; his confidence had vanished, the authority drained, leaving only a worried quiver in his pronunciations. “Are you there? Morgan?”

  “I’m here,” Morgan said, staring at Rachel. She was focused on the road with a thin smile edging onto the corner of her mouth. He would get his revenge for that sneaky move, and it was quite likely to come in the form of a savage tickle.

  “Thank God. I could really use your help.”

  Morgan’s heart continued to race as he silently prayed there wouldn’t be work tonight. He’d really been looking forward to settling down with the woman of his dreams, curling up on the couch and watching a trashy romance movie before heading to bed. He needed that, sure, but Rachel had been working so hard lately, and he desperately wanted to reward her with that much. “Let me guess. Homicide?”

  “And then some. Where are you?”

  “Nearly home. Why?”

  “Because I’m on your doorstep.”

  The call ended there, leaving them in silence as Rachel turned the wheel onto their street. As promised, Gary’s car was at the end of their driveway, and his athletic silhouette lurched in front of the light on the front porch. As they pulled over and Rachel killed the engine, Morgan and Rachel paused, staying in the dark for a moment longer.

  “I’m sorry,” Morgan said, loosening his tie and unhooking his top button. There was no way he would forgive himself for how tonight would end, and although he knew she’d understand—even encourage him—he couldn’t help but feel awful.

  “Listen, I’ve had the best birthday in years. I’m going to head inside and draw a bath, throw on some Aretha Franklin, and relax. If you’re home in time you can join me, and if I’m still awake we can celebrate properly, but until then you have a very important job to do.” Rachel leaned over, offering a sweet sample of the same perfume she’d worn for years. It was as enticing now as it had been when they’d met all those years ago. “Now go.”

  Morgan kissed her hard on the lips, swiftly tucking stray strands of hair over her ear. He watched her eyes—kind, loving eyes that glowed in the moonlight—and then reached for the door handle at the same time as Rachel reached for hers.

  That was the end of her birthday, and they both knew it.

  The moment he shut the door, he traipsed around the car and leaned against the driver’s side, watching her bound up the porch steps. From afar, he heard Rachel mumble and laugh, accepting a birthday kiss on the cheek from Gary before disappearing inside.

  Gary took his chance to approach. His solemn expression spoke volumes.

  “Good night?” he asked.

  “It was.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be.” Morgan patted him on the shoulder. He could barely get mad at this best friend and work acquaintance, much less stay mad. They’d known each other far too long for something like work to stand between them. All those sweltering Washington summers they’d spent together as kids—all the teenage dramas and fights over girls—were simply trials for their unbreakable bond. Even now, as grown men who had the poor fortune of seeing the sicker side of human nature for a living, they were yet to find their true test of friendship. “I’m guessing there’s a good reason you’re showing up like this?”

  Gary stood up straight, exhaling in a long, slow breeze as he looked up and down the street. It was a rarity to see him like this; the renowned detective often maintained a cool exterior that everyone on the force envied. But something was different tonight. He shivered in spite of how warm the breeze was, and he avoided eye contact as much as possible. “There’s been a homicide across town. I need your help.”

  “Yeah, you said that. Care to elaborate?”

  “Can’t I just show you?”

  “This sounds bad.”

  “It is.”

  Morgan watched him, taking in every detail of his body language. He knew Gary better than he knew himself, and if it didn’t turn out that something had struck him on a personal level he’d be surprised. Gary had always been one of the good guys—as kids, the amount of beatings he took for being a white guy hanging out with a black guy were countless, but it didn’t stop him for even a second. Morgan always appreciated how easy it’d made his school years, and he supposed he owed him at least something.

  “Well?” Gary pressed. “Are you with me?”

  Morgan stood up straighter and made his way toward Gary’s car. “We’ll see.”

  Chapter Three

  The murder site was a buzz of reporters, police officers, and onlookers from the local community. Camera flashes lit up the bustling crowd as people pushed and shoved to get a better view of nothing; the police had the scene wrapped up so tight nobody could get in.

  Nobody except Morgan.

  He kept close to Gary, squeezing through the civilians with his heart in his throat. There was no telling what he would find inside. There was a double homicide—he knew that much—but the details had remained a mystery. Gary probably thought it would be more impactful this way, and Morgan had to admit it worked.

  Gary flashed his badge to an officer and said something Morgan couldn’t hear with all the ambient noise. Waiting on his own for only a second, Morgan scanned the crowd out of curiosity but found nothing. Still, that kind of inquisition was never wasted; the clues were often in the small things, and it never hurt to be aware of your surroundings.

  A minute later, Gary waved him in. Morgan trailed behind him with his hands stuffed into his coat pockets, careful not to touch anything. They entered the house, where forensics took more photographs and officers hurried between the rooms. Morgan had never been a police officer, but he’d been let onto enough crime scenes to understand the anarchy that surrounded him. Everyone in a position of authority liked things a certain way, and that made it a nightmare for those on the ground. Morgan didn’t envy them.

  “This is where the husband was stabbed,” Gary said, gesturing to the stained rug outside an open bathroom door. “Careful where you stand.”

  Morgan noted the bloodstain and took a deep breath to steady himself. If this was only a sideline feature, he was scared to imagine what the main event looked like. “Where’s the body? With the coroner?”

  “It will be soon. Follow me.” Gary held out an arm to make his way through a gathered group of officers, everyone huddled close together in the narrow hallway. “The killer dragged the body into this room, but we don’t know why. The other victim… Well, see for yourself.”

  Morgan’s eyes took control then, leading him to view one of the worst things he’d ever seen. If he’d been more prepared, he would’ve taken a few seconds to collect himself before looking, but the heat o
f the moment had consumed his senses and put him on edge.

  What he looked down at was beyond disgusting.

  The husband lay at the feet of a seated woman—presumably his wife—whose legs were laced with thick trails of blood. A thick patch of scarlet covered her stomach, likely a result of multiple puncture wounds. Probably what killed her, Morgan thought, but he could only pray that’d happened before her face had been torn to shreds; flaps of skin and chunks of flesh hung from her bloodied face, obscuring her identity. The wide circle of horror on her mouth, however, promised little in the way of a swift, painless murder.

  The image knotted his stomach.

  “There’s an official ID on the body,” Gary said, turning his back to the gruesome scene as he ran a shaking hand through his thick, messy hair. “I’d ask if you recognize her, but you can see as well as I can.”

  Morgan turned away too, his stomach unsettled and a vile watery taste filling his dry mouth. It was beginning to make sense now—the way Gary had been acting about this particular murder, why he’d been so unusually demanding that Morgan attend the crime scene. All the pieces fell into place too easily, and the identity of the female victim became clear in a heartbeat. “This is her, isn’t it? Carrie?”

  Carrie Whittle had been Gary’s first love. They were high school sweethearts and went on to live together for two of the nine years they’d been an item. Whatever happened after that had been kept a secret, and Gary later went on to start a new life with Hannah, a woman perfectly suited to him, as far as Morgan could see. Everything had turned out for the best, but although Gary would never admit it, it was obvious he’d never truly gotten over Carrie.

  “The bastard hurt her,” Gary said, his voice weak again. He spun around, locking his moist eyes with Morgan’s while he scratched his moustache—a thing he often did as a kind of reset before he took action. Some people blew out a breath or simply said, “Right,” but not Gary. A ruffle of his facial hair seemed to be all he needed. “Here’s the thing: the captain knows I have a past with the victim and doesn’t want me on the case. I’ve tried telling him I want to be the one investigating, but he thinks a desire for revenge might cloud my judgment.”