Mimicry, page 2
But her good spirit had met its premature end right then. It was only seconds after, when she sat at her desk (which doubled as a dining table) and opened up her MacBook Pro. Evie typed in her password and began as she always did, sipping on the last few drops of coffee while she perused the morning news. It was usually full of fluff pieces, the following of celebrities and other such trivial nonsense. She had never expected to see that.
Evie dropped her mug. It spilled out the remains of her morning brew. She swiped it to one side and ignored the smash as it hit the tiled floor, her eyes focused on this one thing alone. It was an article from an old friend, and it detailed the potential return of the sickest man she’d ever met.
The Lullaby Killer.
Although she knew the truth about Marvin Wendell’s demise, Evie wasn’t able to take any chances. The last time she’d heard from him, someone very dear to her had been threatened. Was he really back? If so, how? These, along with many other questions, raced through her already scattered mind. They burned a hole big enough for distinct primal fear to ooze in and drown her insides. She went cold as she questioned whether this was the right thing to do. Was her initial instinct the best one? Was this really an option?
Evie stared at the screen, her pulse racing while she made up her mind. Perhaps she should do something about this, even if it was just on the defensive. But was she even allowed to do this? Legally speaking, of course. Probably not, but she doubted that would stop her.
It rarely did.
Chapter Six
Things still weren’t in order. It had taken the whole day—Mason looking after his family while Bill did his job on the latest homicide. Night had come and gone, but the next morning left them with the opportune moment to work through the pending hell.
“I’ll leave you boys to it,” Diane said, scooping MJ into her arms. He giggled, and Diane flew him in for a drive-by kiss before heading into the next room. The giggles went with them, slowly simmering into complete silence.
Mason watched them leave, concerned for their safety. Whoever the killer was, he was bound to retrace his own footsteps like he had this morning—mimicking the crime scene of Missy Daniels from eight years ago.
“I brought everything I could get my hands on,” Bill said.
Mason flipped through the folders, seeing his own handwriting from many years ago. Back when he was a cop. The SFPD folder was padded out with reports from other detectives. Bill included. It was far heavier than when he’d last seen it.
They spent two hours combing through it, studying the Lullaby Killer’s every movement in great detail. Mason had already made a mess of his hair, which was getting too long to control. He must have raked his fingers through it while stress took its toll on him.
“Tommy Chance,” Bill finally said, breaking the silence.
“What about him?”
“He was the next one after Missy Daniels.”
Mason knew this. In fact, he’d had countless nightmares about the boy who had been hanged from a tree. Those dead, crow-pecked eyes still watched him in his dreams, but in real life, he was long gone. Another family destroyed by Marvin goddamn Wendell.
“How are we supposed to track this?” Mason asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m inclined to get ahead of the killer. We practically have his entire plan in our laps, but yesterday’s victim was only a copy of Missy Daniels. What we need is to find out what he’s going to do and beat him to the scene.”
Bill shifted his legs, listening.
“So let’s say he’s going to recreate the Tommy Chance crime scene next. How can we find his victim before the Lullaby Killer does?”
“We could start looking for people with the same name?”
“Good, but not right.” Mason slumped back, his fingers going through his hair again. He quickly realized he was tugging at it with frustration, then stopped. “There’s not a single link between Missy and yesterday’s girl, right? So why bother trying to find another?”
Bill cleared his throat. “You think she was chosen at random?”
“Maybe.”
“But the victim’s name was Daniels.”
Mason sat up.
“No relation,” Bill said. “Suzanne Daniels was her name. And no, I don’t think that’s a coincidence. If you ask me, we should be going for everybody in the phone book with the surname Chance. But that could take hours.”
But Mason was already on his feet, stomping through the living room to snatch his car keys from the bowl by the door. If someone else was going to die, there was no better time to start looking than right now. He took that thought with him as he raced out to his car, with one daunting fact hanging over him like a cloud.
Somehow, the Lullaby Killer was back.
Chapter Seven
For every hour they wasted, the killer could have been out there looking for his next victim. Mason felt the stress of this realization in every bone of his body. His muscles felt tense, like they were being pulled apart inch by inch. They had wasted the day.
Bill parked his car at the far end of the parking lot. Mason, leaning on the hood of his black Mustang, watched him with a fleeting hope that his news was better. He tucked his hands under his armpits, leaving no room for the cold night air to get in as he waited for Bill to approach. But the look on his face resembled how Mason felt inside—hopeless.
“Anything?” Bill asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shivering.
“No. You?”
“I spoke to eleven different families today and got nothing.”
Mason clenched his jaw, refraining from punching his car. While Bill had been doing his rounds, Mason had done the exact same thing but working from the bottom of the list. He, too, had had no luck whatsoever. Only a cold reception from many families who treated him like some lunatic with a conspiracy theory.
“What’s next?” he asked Bill.
A shrug. “I really don’t know. Any ideas?”
“None.”
“It could just be a one-off, you know. Some crazy asshole wanting some attention from the press. Could be that his first kill scared the hell out of him and we’ll never hear from him again.”
“Doubtful, but possible, I guess.”
“I’m trying to be optimistic.”
“Yeah.” Mason sucked in a deep breath and glanced around the parking lot, a knot forming in his stomach. Was Marvin Wendell really alive? If so, how had he survived being burned? Was he here now, watching? Just the thought of it sent an icy chill down Mason’s spine. “We need to make a plan, pal. Something—anything—so we’re not sitting on our thumbs and hoping for the best. Because if this secret comes out…”
Bill put his finger to his lips to shush him. “Not out in the open.”
“But if it does come out, we’re going to prison.”
“It won’t come to that. Just calm down.”
Mason tried to get a hold of his breathing. This was too much. Sure, Mason hadn’t been directly involved in the murder itself, but he had damn near beat Wendell to death in that shipping container. At the time it had felt justified—nobody hurt his family and got away with it—but now he felt like a completely different person. He had learned his lesson, but by now, it was too late. Because whether it was Wendell or not, someone had his eye on them.
And it wouldn’t stop there.
Chapter Eight
Another night, another murder.
That was what the killer thought as he drove around the streets of San Francisco. The fact that he drove an RV was a little on the nose, but if it meant the difference between replicating his previous run-in with the Black family, he was willing to let it slide. Anyway, it wasn’t like this city didn’t have thousands of RVs. He had done his research before the purchase. Paying in cash, of course.
Where the night offered little more than a bitter chill, the killer demanded more. He was making the rounds, searching high and low for his next victim. It wasn’t set in stone that he had to be of a Chance family. In fact, if the pattern remained similar, he could do whatever he pleased. As long as Mason got the point. His little cop buddy, too, but it was Mason he really wanted. He had done the most damage that night.
They killed you. Just kill them and have it done.
“Shut up,” he told himself, as if it were that simple. But it managed to silence his inner thoughts all the same. His head was getting too crowded with all these thoughts. All the years in the making, all the ideas he’d come up with to make the investigator suffer, and now the time had come. It was like Christmas had come early.
The killer ploughed on through the night, a long range of hills rolling past the RV’s window to his left. Lights from other drivers drove an invisible spike through his head. The pain was surreal. He avoided it by taking the next left onto a dark, winding road. The RV coughed and wheezed as it crawled up the steep hill, choking like it was about to die.
That was when he saw it.
Ahead of him, two lean figures stood in the dark. Their faces were cloaked by the night, but the large backpacks and jutted-out thumbs spoke volumes. It was a pair of hitchhikers asking for a ride. It made the killer think back to his previous spree. So long ago, yet the memory was so vivid. She had been a defenseless little lady, and she had let him take the kid so easily. But these weren’t children. They could take the pain.
The killer pulled over to the side of the road and pushed the button to let the window roll down. Then, using his most friendly and welcoming expression, he waved to the hitchers and beckoned them over. They came like lambs to the slaughter.
“Howdy, strangers. Need a ride?”
“You betcha,” the male hitcher said. His voice was young and barely broken. Maybe eighteen years old or so. Slightly nervous but otherwise oblivious to the fact they were both going to die tonight.
“Hop in.”
The killer watched his grateful expression. He waited patiently while his victims circled the front of the vehicle and opened the large door on the other side. The cab shook as they both climbed in. The young woman introduced herself, but the killer didn’t hear it. He was too distracted by the boy saying his name was Tommy.
Irony is sweet, the killer thought, and then drove toward seclusion.
Chapter Nine
The party was alive, but Mason couldn’t focus. The balloons and streamers, party poppers, and playing kids were a solid distraction, but it was no use. Even the sudden flux of MJ’s young friends and their parents, who filled up the backyard with enough noise to wake a coma victim, couldn’t keep him from his dark, cynical thoughts.
“Can you keep an eye on them for a moment?” Mason asked one of the parents.
“Sure.”
Mason thanked her and tapped Diane on the shoulder. She had been so distracted by the fun their young son was having, she jumped the second she was touched. She spun around and placed her hand on her chest, smiling at the foolishness of her own reaction.
But she would soon learn just how apt a reaction it was.
They went inside. Mason went to the office and took the Lullaby Killer’s letter from his desk drawer and brought it back to her. He handed it over, let her read it, and watched the blood drain from her face. When she finally gaped up at him, Mason took the time to explain that he’d received it a while ago. Her reaction was less than calm.
“And you’re just telling me this now?”
“I had no choice. It could have been a hoax.”
“And it could have been real. I could have watched my back. And MJ’s.”
She was right. Mason couldn’t deny that, but it was too late now. He stared out of the kitchen window, grateful his son had reached his sixth birthday. All seemed fine in his life right now, but with Wendell back on the streets, he couldn’t help feeling like his ideal little situation was temporary at best. After losing Amy, he was more aware than ever that everything could be torn away from him with the simple flick of a knife.
“Is it real?” Diane asked.
“I think so.”
“Are we in danger?”
Mason shrugged and sighed. “Hopefully not, but we can’t be too careful. Bill and I have been looking into it, and we’ve been pretty aggressive.” He turned back to her, staring into her big, almond eyes as they searched for safety in his expression. He took her hand. “Whatever happens, I’m going to do my best to—”
The doorbell rang. Diane jumped again. Mason sent her back outside and headed for the door. Every instinct in his body prepared him for the worst. Was it an overreaction? Maybe, but they couldn’t be too careful. Not right now.
Mason pulled open the front door. There was no killer in front of him, but it was no pleasant sight, either. The woman stood on the doorstep, her gaunt face sheet white behind her too-big glasses. She clutched a laptop toward her chest with one hand and held a gift-wrapped package to her hip with the other.
“Can we talk?” she asked.
Mason let Evie in. Talking was all they could do.
For now.
Chapter Ten
They went into his office, not a single word spoken between them until the door was shut. Evie went straight to the window, setting down her things on the ledge. As she stared out at the fun in the backyard, Mason couldn’t help but worry for her. He closed the door and slumped into his desk chair, which they had barely used since hiring a building for the investigation business.
“What’s bugging you?” he asked, resting his hands in his lap.
“Is it true? Is he back?”
Mason had a myriad of replies to this, but none of them offered the peace of mind she was after. The truth was, he was just as unsettled as she was. The only difference being that he could do something about it. It felt like Evie’s only option was to wait and hope. And when he got right down to it, Mason supposed he was in the same boat.
“He’s back,” he told her.
Evie lowered her head. She didn’t turn around. “How is this possible?”
“You’re asking the wrong guy.”
“How can you be the wrong guy, for crying out loud? You quarantined him, tortured him, then burnt his body to a crisp.” Evie turned then, with ire lighting up her eyes. “How can that even happen? You saw his corpse, didn’t you?”
Mason fell silent. In fact, he had not seen Marvin Wendell’s corpse. After the torture—though he hated to use that word when he truly believed it was mere punishment—it was Bill who had taken the Lullaby Killer away and finished him off. That had been the deal, and when Bill had said he didn’t want to talk about it, Mason had granted him that peace. He just didn’t know it would come back to bite them in the ass eight years down the line.
“I’m confused,” he confessed. “Same as you. But I’m on top of it. I think.”
“You think?”
“I’m doing what I can, Evie.”
Evie stormed toward the desk, placed her hands on the dusty wood, and stared him down. “I’m going to ask you one question, and I need you to be totally honest with me. I won’t be mad, but I want the truth… Is she safe?”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
Mason paused for thought. It became clear quite quickly who she was talking about, but even hearing her name inside his head felt unnatural. After all, he hadn’t heard it in so many years, and now… “Maybe you should keep an eye on her. From a distance.”
“Goddamn it.”
Evie stood up straight and began to pace. Mason watched her, anxiety flooding his body as the tension ramped up in his brain. The truth was, he didn’t know what to make of this whole situation. Whether they should all run and hide, or stand and fight was anybody’s guess. All he knew for certain was that they couldn’t do a damn thing until the Lullaby Killer emerged from the woodwork like the insect he was.
Until then, they could only wait to die.
Chapter Eleven
“Get out,” the Lullaby Killer said before cutting the engine.
Dead silence fell among them. Uncomfortable glances were exchanged. Heavy breathing filled that silence, and the killer got sick of waiting. He pulled out a gun—a revolver, the only thing he could get his hands on without an ID. The hitchhikers’ eyes widened with raw panic.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
The girl reached for the door with a trembling hand. She missed the handle twice but finally got it open and slid out. Only she didn’t walk away just yet. She waited, unlike Tommy Chance’s mother all those years ago. This Thomas made a move to exit, too.
“No, not you,” the killer told him, and the way they looked at each other made him laugh hysterically. “You really think I would let you both go? Shut the door, lady. I’m keeping your man.”
The woman hesitated, her thin jaw shaking wildly. She looked once more at her man, and then, all within a fraction of a second, all hell broke loose.
“Run!” the man yelled.
The woman disappeared from sight. The man made a desperate attempt to climb out. The Lullaby Killer, who was still overcome with shock, hesitated before reaching out. He grabbed the man, but he found no purchase. Suddenly, he was alone in the RV.
Get them, he told himself. Get them or get caught!
The killer exploded from the RV, sprinting around the side. He was just in time to see the woman running for her life. The man was closer, a sure thing but no less desperate in his effort to flee the scene. While his heart raced, the killer knew what he had to do to end this. He took one deep breath and raised the gun. He took aim. Locked onto the target.
