The Friday Killer, page 10
Mason uttered a sharp, condescending laugh. “Doesn’t it?”
“I’m not out to make enemies, Mason. Especially not with you. We’ve been through way too much together to let petty grievances stand in the way.”
“Oh, I agree with you.”
“Yeah? Something tells me you don’t.”
Mason smiled then. He had always found Bill’s honesty refreshing. “I don’t hate you. I’m just having a hard time with this. I guess I’m so used to relying on you for inside information that I don’t know what to do without it.”
“You seem to be doing all right.”
“Stop blowing smoke up my ass.”
They both grinned at that. Mason took a breath, perching on the corner of Bill’s desk and fidgeting with the button on his trench coat. “So how are things going with Barry—.”
“Shh. The press are in the building and we haven’t released the killer’s name yet.”
“Still keeping it close to the chest, huh?”
“Because I have to. Not because I want to.” Bill looked over both shoulders, paying special attention to the new police captain, who sat in his office typing quickly into a computer. When Bill turned back around, he lowered his voice. “For what it’s worth, the killer is playing hardball. The asshole lawyer is protecting him. But it gets worse.”
“How?”
“He actually has an alibi for some of the girls’ disappearances.”
“And they check out?”
Bill nodded and cleared his throat, then pulled himself in closer to the desk. “Okay, I can only say so much. Just be grateful I gave you that much and carry on with your day. You can do that, right?”
“Of course.”
Mason got up to leave, stopping only briefly when he heard a few more words. They weren’t words he was expecting to hear, but they sure went a long way to making him feel like he wasn’t completely alone in all of this.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Bill told him. “It’s good to have you around.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
Her eyes were fixed on him, and she watched him like a hawk.
“You’re thinking about the killer, aren’t you?” she asked.
Mason snapped out of his miserable daydream. They had officially closed the case and returned to the office. They each sat at their own desks in the small room, computers on in front of them. No phones were ringing, which was good news—Mason didn’t have what it took to concentrate on something new right now.
“It crossed my mind,” he admitted.
“Well… don’t.”
She went right back to work, alternating between typing on the keyboard and jotting something into their ledger. There was a focus there he envied, and Mason caught himself wishing he didn’t care about the Friday Killer. That was sadly not the way of it: one harmful, stupid idea kept circling his mind like a buzzard circling its scavenged find.
Something isn’t right.
It was a feeling he’d had many times before, more frequently when working the big cases that involved San Francisco’s biggest serial killers. But it got worse than that, too: usually that gut instinct was right, which made him worry he was just wasting time.
There were thirty minutes of silence before he cracked.
“Could you watch the office for the rest of the day?” he asked, already making for his coat, which hung near the front door that hadn’t seen action in months.
“That depends on where you’re going.”
“I’m just going to take a drive around and clear my head.”
“Something wrong?”
“No, I just… you know how it gets. I need a little closure.”
Diane stood up and walked slowly around the desk. She cupped his face in her warm hand and kissed him softly on the lips. “If closure is what you need, then go and get it. But come home to us, all right? No more running around after Loony Toons.”
“Sure. But you should lock up tonight and expect me home late. You know, just in case.”
Diane wrinkled her nose. “If that’s what you need.”
Mason slipped on his coat and opened the door, stopped by Diane’s voice once more.
“Mason?”
“Yeah?” He peered back in at her, dreading that she’d tell him she’d changed her mind or that she hadn’t been serious to begin with. Hearing such a thing would step right in the way of what he needed to do right now. He was desperate to get out.
But Diane only smiled at him, false as it was. “Take your gun. You know… just in case.”
FIFTY-EIGHT
The Friday Killer stuck to the shadows, watching his prey from afar. The house across the street was full of life and joy again, but it still surprised him to see there were no cops watching the place. It made him curious as to whether they were hidden, dotted up and down the street in more discreet hiding places, or maybe even inside someone’s house with binoculars.
Either that, or it was good ol’-fashioned paranoia.
Just to be sure, he waited until the sun went down. The alley he hid in ran along the backyards of many houses. Over time, a few people passed him, but he redirected their suspicions by pretending he was on the phone and adapting his voice to avoid future recognition. They seemed to buy it, but just to stay on the safe side, he occasionally swapped one hiding place for a similar one, waiting, watching…
Until finally, the girl stepped out of the front door.
She stood there in cheap, casual clothes as she hugged her friend goodbye. It was the friend he’d recently kept hostage in the factory. The Y in their little plan. The Friday Killer fought to remember her name, but it eluded him. It didn’t matter anyway. She wasn’t the one he was here for, after all. Not anymore.
This time, he was here for the blonde.
A little digging had told him she was the daughter of a private investigator named Mason Black, and a quick Google search had brought up a picture of him. He easily recognized the tough, jaunty face, the strong jaw, the warm but somehow still-aggressive eyes. There wasn’t a single doubt this was the man who’d caught Barry.
Taking his daughter was a fresh idea of his. She was the A in Friday, and he was getting uncomfortably ahead of himself, but he didn’t have to stick to the plan. In fact, now was the best time to shake things up a little. The SFPD would be bowled backward by his sudden change of direction, and besides, he needed a little money to make it through to the next big city. To start over from F, maybe north.
There was only one way to do that, and it began with his actions tonight.
The killer watched as Amy Black crossed the street and headed down the sloped sidewalk, distracted by the phone that lit up her face. It was now or never. All or nothing. Without further delay, he made his way toward the girl, the ransom money on his mind.
Finally, the power was his again.
FIFTY-NINE
The night was dark, the streets dangerous as they embodied a new kind of mystery. Mason drove around them, sunken into thought, entranced by the passing headlights as he cruised through the streets of his great city.
Mason really did love it here, but sometimes the work got to be too much. There were always other avenues to explore, but he’d tried that already. Twice now, he’d joined the SFPD only to leave and start a new business. A little trial and error had set him and his family back a couple of times, but he was finally where he wanted to be.
Or was he?
Diane was unhappy—that much was easy to see—and Amy was hacking away at her own safety. It left Mason wondering if he would ever find the right balance, keeping invested in his job while being the man they expected him to be.
He doubted it.
There were no lights on when he arrived at Barry Williams’s house. It didn’t come as a surprise—the man had been arrested, and God knew what would happen to him next. Mason stopped the car outside and watched it for as long as he needed to get it out of his system. He sat in the dark for over two hours, desperately craving a cigarette but fighting the urge to buy a pack. The last thing he needed was a new vice.
When he’d had enough, he drove over to the FURRY FRIENDS warehouse and found the gates now locked and chained. He watched. He waited. It felt like a lifetime ago that Amy had ventured in here. So much had happened since. None of it good.
But the Friday Killer is in cuffs, he reminded himself as he brought the car to life again. The police will know what to do with him, and the justice system will take care of the rest. You can relax now. Go home, be a dad.
It sounded far easier than it was, but the journey of a thousand miles started with a single step. Mason used that step to press the clutch and shift into first gear, returning home to be with his family. Finally, things were going to be just right.
That positive feeling only lasted until he reached the street he lived on. There were lights flashing all over the place, red and blue blinking in the dark. Mason swallowed nothing through his dry throat as he drove closer. Once more, his nightmares had come true.
The emergency—whatever it was—was in his home.
SIXTY
Mason’s fears escalated as he stopped the car suddenly and yanked up the parking brake. There was no room to park on his drive, so he left the car on the street and climbed out. He ran into the house. One officer he didn’t recognize waited in the hallway. He wasn’t smiling.
“What’s going on?” Mason demanded.
The officer removed his hat. A sign of bad news. Mason, now in full denial, ran into the kitchen and found Diane talking with another officer. Mason Junior stood beside her, clutching onto her leg like it was a tree he intended to climb. They were safe, and that was good news, but then a whole new terror cracked into his heart.
Amy.
He turned immediately, not hearing whatever Diane had to say. Hell, he was moving so fast she probably hadn’t even seen him. He bounded up the stairs, shoving open each door one by one. They banged and crashed into the walls, each empty room leaning more toward the awful confession that things weren’t okay. That Amy wasn’t safe.
Mason saved Amy’s bedroom for last. It stood at the end of the hall, the door already open as it usually was. It gave him both the satisfaction he craved and the ominous dread he so desperately tried to bat away. He stepped forward, inching slowly as the fear wreaked havoc on his mind. Swallowing another dry lump, he reached the doorway and—
Empty.
Double-checking behind the door—a desperate move he could’ve felt embarrassed about—he hurried through the hallway, thumping down the stairs like rolling thunder. The officer stepped back to let him pass, saying nothing. Another bad sign.
He burst into the living room then, and Diane saw him for the first time. Her tear-filled eyes closed as she swept up MJ and ran toward Mason, breaking down as she wrapped her arms around him for comfort. She sobbed, her body trembling as she buried her face in his chest. Mason held her, watching the officer she’d been talking to.
Another expression of regret.
“What happened?” he asked, every inch of him wishing he didn’t have to ask. All he knew was that the answer wasn’t good, and that wouldn’t suffice. He waited, but there was no response. He gently pulled Diane away, wiped her eyes dry with his thumb, then held her face. “What happened?” he asked again.
The dreaded answer lingered on her lips. “It’s Amy,” she finally managed, but her voice cracked again. That was part one of what he didn’t want to hear, and part two only served to riddle his conscience with guilt and regret. “She’s been abducted.”
SIXTY-ONE
The binds were too tight. They dug into her skin and burned as they tore away at a thin layer, drawing blood. Amy couldn’t see it, but she could feel the raw sting with even the slightest motion—motions that weren’t even hers to control.
She was in the car’s trunk. It was cramped and dark with no trunk rug. The metal was cold against her skin, and small stones and grounds of dirt scratched away at her back where her sweater had ridden up after the struggle. Amy did everything she could to remain calm. She closed her eyes, enhancing the terrible sensation of every bump the car went over. She tried to breathe through her gag. It reminded her of being at the dentist—she had an uncomfortable mouth, but she could still breathe… barely.
The real question was this: Who had taken her?
As far as she knew, the Friday Killer was at the police station. She and her father had seen to that personally after rescuing Yasmine. Was this some other lunatic coming after her as an act of revenge? She had seen such things before, when the Lullaby Killer’s sister had terrorized Amy’s whole family. Was history repeating itself? She hoped not.
But then, who was he? The man had grabbed her from behind shortly after she’d left Yasmine’s house. Amy had dropped her phone in the struggle, and now she was angry at herself for doing so. The man had been strong, capable, holding all the right pressure points to keep her in his grasp while also keeping her quiet. Amy knew she needed to scream, but her kidnapper had stripped her of that option. Now there was nothing left to do but wait.
The car finally stopped. The engine died. Amy waited patiently, her breathing heavy. Panic would do her no good. She listened carefully, putting an image to every sound: the gentle raising sensation as the man left the car. The deafening thud as he slammed the door. Footsteps, heavy like the man who’d put her here. Then a bright streetlight burning her retinas as the trunk popped open with a whining hiss. Amy shut her eyes against it, blinking out the discomfort.
“We’re going inside,” the man said. “I’ll have to blindfold you.”
Amy did nothing, and then there was silence.
“If you put up a fight, I’ll plunge a knife into your heart and end your life right here.” The man took out a knife as if to demonstrate, and that was the first thing Amy saw when she opened her eyes. “Even the slightest struggle and you’ll die. Is that understood?”
It was foolish to argue with a man in such a position of power. Amy knew her best chance of survival was to remain calm and do exactly as she was told. Starting now, she nodded gently and put up no resistance when the man tucked the knife away and tied a handkerchief tightly around her head. Before she knew it, she was lifted out of the car and carried across gravel.
Amy let him take her. There was no use in fighting. That was what her father had always told her. “Do everything they ask until I come to get you,” he’d told her, and she heard his voice in her mind like he was with her right then.
But he wasn’t. She couldn’t kid herself of that. She was alone with this bastard who had taken her, and the clock was counting down the minutes to when he would kill her, too. Amy remained quiet, the handkerchief absorbing her tears. If she was lucky, her father would come to get her, to save her from this wretched man and get her back to safety.
Even she knew that was fiction.
SIXTY-TWO
It was his only chance, no matter how slim.
Mason stood at the front door with bated breath. The porch lights had clicked on when they detected his motion, and now he was just waiting for the silhouette in the living room window to drift toward the door. When it finally did, Bill looked startled.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “I thought we agreed to—”
“It’s bigger than you and me.” Mason let himself in, stepping into the warm hallway where the smell of cooked food made him feel sick. Eating was the last thing on his mind.
Bill pushed the door but didn’t close it all the way. He turned and folded his arms, squinting at Mason like he thought this was some kind of prank.
Mason took the time to explain all that had happened that evening. According to Yasmine, who had told the police everything, Amy had left the house and only made it a few feet up the street before a man wrestled with her and threw her into the car. She had dropped her phone, and it was too dark for Yasmine to identify the car, much less the license plate.
Bill listened intently to every word without interrupting. Mason sped through the explanation without missing a single detail. Every moment he took to explain meant Amy was out there with some madman. The thought of it made him shiver.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Bill finally said.
“Just tell me you’ll help me get her back.”
“Of course I will. It’s my job.”
Mason nodded gratefully. He was under no illusion that this meant he could work side by side with the police again, but he didn’t care. As long as he wasn’t expected to sit around and do nothing while his own daughter was missing.
But the bigger question played on his mind.
“Any idea who might have taken her?” Bill asked, leaning against the wall.
“Not a clue. But is it a stretch to think it has something to do with the Friday Killer?”
“I’d have to say no. Considering she was taken from outside her friend’s house.”
Mason clicked his sandpaper tongue. “What did you get from the killer?”
“Barry Williams? Almost nothing. He’s pretty tight-lipped.”
“But for how long?”
Bill shook his head, adamant. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“Then let’s cut to the chase. Can I come along for the ride or not?”
“Not.”
“Then what can I do?”
They locked eyes. Bill regarded him, sympathy in his expression. Mason stared back, unwilling to budge. If the next words out of Bill’s mouth were about how his hands were tied, he swore he would finally hit the guy. He had been playing with Mason’s patience for too long.
Bill rolled his eyes, then reached for the phone in his pocket. His thumbs danced around the screen, and then he put it against his ear. Quietly, he said, “I’ll call an emergency interview with Williams. You can come to the station, but for God’s sake, keep your hands to yourself.”
