Mimicry, page 12
Mason hunched over, confused. “That’s what this is about? You want me dead?” He shrugged. “It’s a done deal. Let her go, then come and get me. I won’t fight you. Just keep the innocent people out of this, all right?”
The silence stretched on for an eternity. Mason wanted to encourage an answer, but he knew better than to push. People like Wendell were so unstable that the slightest interruption to their thought process could cause them to snap at any moment.
“Mason?” the killer said smoothly.
“What?”
“I’ll be in touch.”
The line went dead. Mason hurled his phone into the dirt and kicked a protruding sod of grass. “Goddamn it!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, kicking viciously over and over while the rage blasted through every cell of his body. The killer wouldn’t stop until he had things exactly the way he wanted them, and Mason had nobody to blame but himself.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
“Where did you go?” Amelia asked, sitting on the carpet in front of the couch. She had her legs spread far apart, where MJ sat with his nose buried in some phone game. He lay back against her, completely unaware of the conversation between them.
Evie slurped her coffee from the armchair, letting the hot mug warm her hands. She had always run a little cold, but Diane’s disappearance wasn’t helping her discomfort. “It’s a long story involving a trip to New York on a desperate mission to find myself.”
“Sounds a little optimistic.”
“Just naïve, really. Let me put it this way: if it were a book, nobody would read it.”
Amelia giggled. “You weren’t worried that Uncle Mason would lose control?”
“Sure. What he did with you-know-who made me worry about the person he was becoming. But the thing to admire about him is that he’s always questioning himself. Even when he’s the best man in the room, he’s always looking within to see how he can become better. It’s a part of why I left in the first place.”
“To try doing the same?”
“Kind of. And also because I couldn’t stand to look at him.”
“But you forgave him eventually?”
Evie raised her lip, nodding. “Yeah, I guess. We all screw up sometimes. But for Mason… I don’t know. Until you stumbled back into my life, he was the only family I had. There wasn’t much of a choice other than to come back to him eventually.”
There was more truth to this than she had initially realized. It wasn’t that she couldn’t live without Mason and all the drama he came with, but she needed someone in her life. Evie had always been more of a lone wolf, but not because she wanted to be. Becoming orphaned so young forced a solitary feeling into her from the early days of her life, and now she was coming to realize that she didn’t need Mason—she just needed someone, and that someone could be sitting right in front of her.
“So what’s next for you?” Amelia asked.
“I actually have no idea. First, I want my business to reach a stable point. Then maybe I’ll sell it on and use that money for a fresh start. I don’t mind flipping businesses for a time, keeping things fresh.”
“And where would you go? I think Paris.”
“Why Paris?”
“Because it looks beautiful in the movies,” Amelia said, smiling as she checked down on MJ over his shoulder. “Doesn’t everyone want to travel the world, seeing all the things the world left behind for us to view?”
Evie crooked an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to be a journalist.”
“Not necessarily a journalist. Just a writer. Maybe a travel writer.”
“Okay,” Evie said with a slight sigh, setting down her mug. “I get it. Every part of you says you need to write, but you just haven’t figured out what to put on paper. I’ve been there. Always will be there, I guess, but first you need to learn to do it.”
“And how do I do that?”
“By… well, by doing it.”
“Practice makes perfect, then?”
“Practice makes practice. It’ll never be perfect.”
Evie checked her phone, flipping it over on the table. There was still no word from Mason about Diane. Each passing hour made her worry more and more about whether she was still alive. Having met the Lullaby Killer himself, she was becoming less confident that her sister-in-law was still in one piece. Given that this family had already lost so much, she couldn’t bear the idea that Mason could soon be without a wife.
“What’s wrong?” Amelia asked.
“It’s nothing,” Evie told her, trying to keep the news from reaching MJ. “Let’s just focus on the future, shall we? Tell me where you would go after Paris.”
Chapter Seventy
Mason arrived at the police station with a lot to think about but nothing to say. It had been over an hour since he’d scooped his phone out from the dirt and walked off as much stress as he was able to. The call from Bill had come shortly after, offering potentially positive results.
He went straight for the elevator, riding it up to the Homicide Department. When the doors slid open, he immediately saw Bill waiting by the interrogation rooms—now titled “interview rooms,” courtesy of the sensitive new generation. He was surrounded by colleagues, all asking for advice while he sent them in different directions. When his gaze swept the room and landed on Mason, his eyes lit up, and he waved him over.
“What have you got?” Mason asked, expecting little.
“Room Two, no recordings,” Bill said to another officer, then led the way into the room. He turned on the lights, ignoring the small table in the middle and closing the door to give them both a little privacy.
Mason stirred uncomfortably. He folded his arms and leaned back against the wall, getting a good look at his ex-colleague and friend. “You’re starting to worry me a little.”
“You should be worried,” Bill said, taking a breath. “They’re starting to ask questions.”
Chapter Seventy-One
Mason felt his pulse quicken, flattening his heaving chest behind his folded arms. He’d known it would only be a matter of time before the SFPD caught up with the big mistake they’d made all those years ago, but did it have to be right now, when Diane was missing and there was nothing anyone could do but wait? A sudden horror dawned on him: What if he was held in custody when Wendell next called? Would Diane die just because he couldn’t take the call?
“Explain,” he said in a quick breath.
Bill stuffed his hands into his pockets and glanced up at the security camera. No light meant no recording, which seemed to satisfy him. “There’s good news and bad news. The good news is really exciting, but first I have to express the importance of the bad news.”
“Sounds like you already have.”
“No. When I say they’re asking questions, I mean really asking questions. I had Internal Affairs come down on me like a ton of bricks this morning. They were asking all sorts of questions about my involvement with you.”
“Christ.” Mason raked a hand through his thick hair. “What did you tell them?”
“As much of the truth as possible.”
“You better not have—”
“Relax.” He waved a hand. “And keep your voice down. Look, I gave them what they expected about us being friends—perfectly explainable after so many years of partnership—but they’re not buying that we’re not up to anything.”
Mason chewed his lip, thinking back over the past few days. Considering how many police officers had seen him come and go at different crime scenes, it came as no surprise that they were suspicious. “How much do they know?” he asked.
“Just that you’re paranoid about the safety of others.”
“And the explosion at my house?”
“Directly linked. They just don’t know why you’re a target.”
“I suppose they wanted you to shed a little light on it.”
“Yes, but they got nothing.”
Mason nodded his approval. Maybe this wasn’t so bad.
“It’s getting hot in here though, pal. As soon as they let me out of that room, I saw FBI agents on the sign-in sheet. Maybe I’m overreacting, but it’s worth keeping an eye over your shoulder just in case.”
“I appreciate that.” Mason remained still, only his fingers and toes wiggling to relieve a little of the anxiety that had been building up over the past few days. Whatever happened, he couldn’t let that take over. “What’s the good news?”
Bill grinned from ear to ear. “This should cheer you up.”
“I’m listening.”
“One of my detectives thinks he has a lead on Wendell.”
“What?” Mason lunged forward, patting a hand on his shoulder all too heavily.
“I made him wait before he checked it out. Told him I’ll come as backup. You can follow, but you’ll have to do it unofficially. Try to make it look like you’re being a nuisance to me, all right? We need to distance a little.”
Mason agreed and hurriedly pushed him out of the room. It had been too long since he’d been this eager to pursue a lead, and whether or not he was legally allowed to do so, he had every intention of running to his car and heading over there as fast as possible.
Please, he thought as he took a brisk walk to the elevator. Please let Diane be there.
Chapter Seventy-Two
The killer was almost done putting his finishing touches on the game he had planned. It had taken a lot of work—a lot of hours—but it was finally ready. All he had to do was get one last piece of the puzzle in place, and then he could finally exact his revenge on Mason.
He finished stuffing his gear into the bag of the cold, dark room. There was little here but the artifacts he had collected along the way. Those things had helped him to construct this plan in the first place. They had encouraged him in the direction of his big idea.
As soon as he was finished, the killer double-checked the room one last time and then padded up the steps. Flinging open the wooden door, he emerged into the cool, shaded air and laid eyes upon the RV. It rocked violently back and forth, his hostage causing a scene.
The killer rolled his eyes, dumped his bag by the rear tire, then took out his gun. He held it at the ready, not really wanting to shoot just yet but prepared to do so if necessary. Slowly, he pulled open the door and took aim at the space between Diane’s eyes.
“You really should stop that,” he said.
Diane saw the gun, then slunk back, her eyes widening as she discovered her pitiful attempt had failed. The killer smirked, reached for the bag, then hurled it into the back of the RV. The hostage stared at it, unmoving.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s none of your business. Not yet anyway.”
“I don’t want to die.”
The killer laughed. It was a deep sound emanating from his stomach. His gun hand shook as he struggled to control himself. “Who cares?” he said, his laugh simmering but still hurting his jaw. “This isn’t about you. It’s about that husband of yours.”
“If you even think about hurting him, I’ll—”
The killer slammed the door shut. The woman’s shrill threats silenced immediately, the soundproof walls doing their job. As he headed to the front of the RV, he still couldn’t quite finish laughing at what she had said. Did she really think she was the main player in this game? Had the things he’d done not given a clear indication of what was coming?
Ah well, he thought, shrugging it off. If they didn’t realize yet, they soon would. Because it just took a little bit more time, and then Mason Black could die as he was intended to.
The smile came again.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Mason slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. The Mustang roared and launched forward with a jolt. The power under the hood made an enormous growling sound all the way up the street as he tugged on the wheel and brought the car in behind the police unit. Bill was in that car, probably trying to explain to the officer why they were letting Mason get away with tailing them. Hopefully, he wasn’t making a poor case for the FBI.
The drive was long. At least it felt that way. Mason spent the whole time with his sweaty palms firmly gripping the wheel, adrenaline seeming to prick at his muscles as he drove. The police car swerved and weaved between other vehicles ahead, and Mason followed with expert precision. He had always been a strong driver. It was a skill that had come naturally to him almost immediately after sitting behind a wheel for the first time. Now, even he began to swerve as excitement took control of his body and led him to make silly mistakes.
They eventually reached the edge of the city. The traffic became more sparse, the squad car heading in a straight line. As the city shrunk in the rearview mirror, they headed uphill toward a small block of houses that looked like they had been dragged out of the nineteen-twenties. The car slowed to a crawl, then stopped outside one of the homes with a long front lawn that hadn’t been taken care of at all. There were broken plant pots, weeds growing out of every square inch of crisp grass, and filthy, dust-crusted panes for windows.
Mason got out of the car and looked up. Somewhere to his left, the police car door opened and shut. One pair of footsteps crunched along the gravel, growing louder as they came toward him. He didn’t need to look at who it was—the cheap aftershave gave him away.
“It’s quiet,” he said to Bill, still allowing his eyes to roam over the house.
“We’re outside the city limits.”
“I mean it’s too quiet. Something doesn’t seem right.”
They both stared up at the building. Its paint had faded over the years, and its front door was ajar. The houses on either side of it were equally silent. In fact, the only sound up on this hill was the wind brushing through the tall grass and ruffling their clothes.
“We don’t have long,” Bill said. “I had the cop wait for two minutes before he comes out. That gives me just a little time to explain what’s going on here.”
“The floor is yours,” Mason said.
“Right. So, we’ve been getting a lot of calls since we put out the picture of Wendell. You know how it is—everyone wants the attention. A lot of them were completely unbelievable, but there were three different reports saying they had seen Wendell’s RV come out this far. Because there are only five residential buildings on this block, I ran searches on the names to see who owned the properties.”
“Was Wendell one of those names?”
“No, but here’s where it gets interesting.”
Mason turned to look at him.
“I made calls to the owners to ask if they had seen an RV around here, and one of them said he had. He said a strange man approached him and asked if he could rent his home just as a headquarters. And you know what? The stranger went by the name of Brahm.”
A huge grin tugged at the corners of Mason’s mouth. “What are the odds that if we head inside, we’ll find a jar full of pinkies?” And Diane, he thought but didn’t say.
“I like those odds, but you can’t come in.”
“Excuse me?”
Behind him, the police car’s driver’s-side door opened. The officer climbed out and tapped his watch, sending a signal to Bill. Bill raised a hand to make him wait just a moment longer, then gave Mason his attention once more.
“He’ll tell the Feds and Internal Affairs. The best I can do is check it out and then turn my back while you go in and take a look around. I’m sorry it’s not what you want, but it really is the best I can do.”
Mason hated this, but he understood. It wasn’t his case anymore. Some things had to be left to the SFPD, and as much as that hurt, it was just the way it was. The only consolation was that if Wendell was in there, chances were that Diane was, too.
It was a slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Mason watched with bated breath as Bill entered the building. He was growing impatient, unable to stand still as he was forced to stand outside. His concealed weapon felt totally useless, hanging under his arm in a leather shoulder holster that had served him well, back when he was allowed to enter such buildings in pursuit of killers.
The officer followed Bill inside, and they were in there for ages. Mason spent this time pacing back and forth, unable to keep his eyes off the front door. Every minute they were inside produced more doubt that they would find anything of worth in there. He began to think this was simply a discarded hideout that he had used briefly while plotting his return. The thought of another dead end mortified him.
At long last, Bill emerged in the doorway. The look on his face offered consolation and sympathy, and that worried Mason further. He shrugged, sliding the sidearm back into its holster and checking over his shoulder for the officer. Mason watched him, his heart in his throat as he gave up on hope that Diane was in there.
Then, the worst happened.
A flash of light came from inside. Every window of the building spewed out a quick, silent blink. A blast erupted behind the bricks. The damage followed. Bill’s body was flung forward as an explosion of fire escaped the house. Brick and dust puffed outward, the overwhelming sense of burning fleeing up Mason’s nostrils as it shoved him into his car. The building collapsed on itself, falling debris missing Bill’s lifeless body by inches while small rocks of brick rained down on his back.
Mason’s ears were ringing, his breath caught in his chest. He suddenly felt weak, unable to stand up straight. All he could bring himself to do was gaze up at the now half-building that Wendell had rented from its owner, while Bill lay dying in the rubble.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Evie thanked the police officer and hung up the phone. Amelia appeared at her side, apparently reading the signs of anguish on her face. Her eyebrows furrowed with concern and intrigue. The reporter’s inquisitive look, Evie quickly identified.
