However, all readers - sooner or later - find for themselves a literary genre that is fundamentally different from all others. Missing by Adam Nicholls (top e book reader .TXT) đź“–
- Author: Adam Nicholls
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Book online «Missing by Adam Nicholls (top e book reader .TXT) 📖». Author Adam Nicholls
“Please,” the guy begged, choking.
“One fucking reason!” Mason couldn’t control himself, the red mist rising.
Joshua taking his wife; the Lullaby Killer returning to wreak havoc; now these assholes trying to hurt his sister.
He was a man on the brink.
“Mason!” Evie yelled, snapping him back into the moment.
Mason swung the guy around and kicked him up the ass to encourage a swift departure, his blood still boiling as he tried to recover his breath. “Get the hell out of here, and call an ambulance for your little buddies.”
“It’s all right,” Evie said when they were alone. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Mason said, wincing at the pain in his arm. “It’s you I’m worried about. I told you there’re people like this out there.”
Evie put a hand on her hip. “And you just thought you’d be a hero, huh?”
There was silence before the clouds rolled into each other, making the sky grumble its own anger.
“I know what this is about,” she went on.
“You do?”
“Of course. After the way mom and dad died, you feel as if you have to protect your sister. But I’m doing just fine. I really am. Look, you need to get some rest. It’s a big day tomorrow, right?”
Mason was too pissed off to argue. “Right. Let’s go.”
They climbed into the car and drove off, leaving the thug whimpering to the 911 dispatch, standing over his friends’ unconscious, battered bodies.
Mrs. Sampson was a tall woman, and much younger than expected. She walked out of the arrival gate with a suitcase in tow and a lost expression on her face. That was, until she read the card with her name on it.
“Mrs. Sampson? I’m Mason Black, your escort.”
She offered a smile, no matter how forced. “The detective I spoke to on the phone?”
"Well, no,” he said. “That was my contact, Bill Harvey.” Mason wanted to tell her that he was only a PI; that helpful dose of honesty was always nice to get out of the way. But when it wasn’t necessary, like right now, he didn’t see much point. Besides, the longer she thought he was a cop, the more information she’d be willing to give. “I’m so sorry about what’s happened. If there’s anything I can do—”
“Just the ride home,” she said. “And please, call me Mandy.”
Mason showed her to his Mustang, addressing her worried look by telling her he was a slow driver. Most people reacted the same when they got into his car, climbing in with a look of curious anticipation, but leaving with a pale face and shaky legs.
“So, Mandy, I want to ask some questions about your husband, if that’s okay? Anything you don’t want to tell me, you’re not obligated to answer. And if you’d like a break, don’t be too shy to stop me.”
Mandy adjusted her position as they drove away from the airport, and turned her face away, probably to hide her sadness. “Anything I can do to help. We have to pass the time somehow, right?”
Mason smiled at her charm and admired her courage. Most people would have been in pieces by now. “When did you last hear from your husband? Did you know he was going up the trail?”
“Sure I knew,” she said. “He called me beforehand.”
“From home?”
“From the parking lot at the base of the trail.”
Mason knew the spot from when he’d parked there yesterday. But that means… “He called you from a cell phone?” He had difficulty focusing on the road with his heart beating so fast.
“Yeah. He said he saw somebody suspicious… a man with a crying child. He called me for advice, seeing if he had a right to intervene. I told him to stay away, but…” Mandy’s voice cracked, and she wafted air at her eyes.
Mason glanced over at her, watching her dry her eyes. Could that have been the killer? He said nothing, letting her decide for herself whether to carry on talking. He turned back to the road.
“He followed anyway,” Mandy continued.
“Mrs. Sampson, no cell phone was recovered from the crime scene.”
She looked right at him, and a quick glance told him that her makeup was a runny mess. He opened the glove compartment, rifled through the paperwork and spare gun, and plucked out a pack of tissues and handed them to her.
“Thank you.” She blew her nose. “But there must be some mistake. He definitely had his cell on him.”
Mason thought hard. “What’s the betting that if I find that phone, I’ll find something on it?”
“James was a careful man. I wouldn’t put it past him to have taken a photo or two. Keep it for evidence if you need it. I have no use for it.”
“You’re very kind, Mrs. Sampson.”
“Mandy,” she corrected again.
Mason drove her home and walked her to the door. The police would be around soon, but at least he’d gotten what he needed from her, and he’d gotten it quicker than they ever would have. He left his card with her, and she wished him luck in finding the killer.
Mason got back in his car and sped off to the crime scene.
Finally, he thought, a missing detail that might lead to a clue.
It was dusk when Mason arrived, and the parking lot was empty. It was eerie, but worth the possibility of finding something.
Using the flashlight on his phone, he stumbled back up the trail, ducking into the row of trees where the path split in two. It was odd positioning for a murder scene; just out of the way enough so not everyone would see it, but still not too hard to find.
Rummaging through the growing darkness, Mason followed the tracks back to where the man had been found. He tried hard not to look at the tree where the body of little Thomas Chance had been hanging only a day ago. The image sickened him.
How many more children have to die before I find this son of a bitch?
Mason reached the clearing, scanning the ground for the missing cell phone. It could have been anywhere around the area, if it hadn’t already been stamped into the mud, then picked up by a kid who lucked into finding a lost phone. Mason only hoped that if someone had taken it, they would soon hand it in to the police.
But as past experience told him, that rarely happened.
Giving up on his search, he hustled back down the path to the parking lot. He was just about to call it a day, had even pulled the keys from his pocket, when something occurred to him. Above him, attached to a lamppost, a security camera was pointing down. The police had checked the tapes but had found nothing.
But the camera wasn’t pointed at the protected parking area.
It was a small shelter, made of old, thin wood, perhaps wide enough for six or seven cars though the ground wasn’t marked for them. Mason glanced around inside the dark area, looking up for a camera. Again, there was nothing.
He shone the flashlight down, and now something caught his eye. Minding his step, he approached and kneeled to find the remains of a crumpled cell phone. It looked as if it was beyond repair, but at least it hadn’t suffered any water damage—the shelter had seen to that.
Mason snagged an evidence bag from his coat pocket, turned it inside out, and scooped the wrecked phone into it. If he could get this back to the tech team at SFPD, he might have a chance of recovering any data from it.
That was, if he got lucky.
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