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
Shuffling forward, the killer leaned in close to her face and ground his teeth. “Are you getting out of here alive?”
Kylie sobbed while Ryan sat chuckling to himself, the alcohol already taking its effect. She cleared her throat as her lip quivered and a tear rolled down her cheek. “Yes.”
Satisfied with the response, the killer sat back as a smile broke out across his face—a genuine one this time. With his gloved right hand, he poked the bottle her way, scraping it across the metal floor of the RV. “Drink.”
It was early morning when Mason slipped out of the house, careful to avoid Bill and Christine. He didn’t want to have to explain himself, so he headed straight for the station and directly to the tech lab.
Inside was buzzing with technicians both young and old whizzing around their computers or testing something on what looked like a miniature target range.
But John was nowhere to be found.
“He’s late today. Should be here any minute,” said a helpful young woman.
John soon arrived and dumped his satchel onto the desk, looking at Mason with frustration. He was pushing his luck. “Hand me the damn phone, will you?”
Mason wanted to scream at the guy for his attitude, but for as long as he needed something from him he would have to play it safe. Then again…
“Just do your job, and I won’t have to send Detective Harvey down here to give you an earful.”
John shot him a look of angry submission, then snatched the phone and ran it under a microscope. It was a laborious process that stiffened Mason’s back over the course of several hours, but eventually they had something of a result.
“Okay, the memory card is a broken piece of junk, so hopefully any data was saved to the phone itself.” He placed it on the desk between them and turned it on with latex-gloved hands. “What are you hoping to find on here?” he asked as it was loading up.
Mason couldn’t tell if he was genuinely curious or if he was just making an awkward scene more comfortable, but he graced him with an answer nonetheless. “Anything that might give an ID of the killer.”
The screen lit up, and John scrolled to the gallery. “She’s all yours.”
“Thanks.” Mason held it with both hands, careful not to dislodge the broken pieces. He scanned through the photos, finding a couple of dark and blurry images. The timestamp said they were taken around the right time on the day of the murder. Feeling hopeful, Mason located the video folder.
He was horrified by what he found.
While the video was dark and blurry, all sound muffled by the ambience of heavy rainfall, there was the unmistakable groan of a van door sliding closed. The camera was all over the place, until it focused on the silhouette of a man. He had a baseball cap on, and it was tough to make out his face.
“It’s not enough,” Mason whispered to himself.
“What?”
“Shh.”
Listening closely to nothing more than the thrumming of rain and Sampson’s heavy breathing, Mason hoped for a clue. When the boy came into view, Mason felt his heart clench at the thought of little Thomas Chance and the horrific way he’d been tortured before his murder.
What kind of sick bastard does this?
And then the camera moved.
The cameraman was climbing out of his car, swooping around an enormous RV.
“Is the RV of use to you?” John asked.
“No. There are literally thousands just like that one around the city. Even my aunt had one.”
But then his luck changed. The camera was pointed directly at the license plate of the RV before Sampson stepped back to allow the whole vehicle into the camera’s view. Smart kid, Mason thought, to have gotten all this information on record.
“It seems too suspicious,” James Sampson said on the video.
Mason pressed his ear to the phone when he heard the voice.
“I’m going to follow them.”
Then the video stopped. The recordings and pictures ended there, but at least something useful had come from them.
“Seems informative,” John said.
“Yeah.” Mason was thrilled to have something work out okay for once, and through all the excitement of catching up to the killer he barely noticed his current heartache. “Send that to my phone, will you? And a screenshot of the man.” It was blurry, but it was better than nothing. At least now he had the license plate number to an RV.
He just had to find its owner.
The RV was registered to a Mr. Frank Marley but had been reported as stolen a few weeks ago. As Marley lived outside the city, Mason took his number from the registration and called to make sure he’d be home. More than anything, Marley seemed grateful his vehicle had been found. Mason would have to break it to him that it hadn’t actually been recovered.
It took a couple of hours to reach him, and he was greeted at the door of a large and well-kept house by a man who looked like he was the good model in a dentistry commercial.
Mason introduced himself and was shown into a room, which was even more impressive than the exterior. Sandalwood beams reached across the high ceiling, propped up by beautiful red pillars. Everything tiled was white and shiny. It was a posterworthy home.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you, but your vehicle is not within our possession,” Mason told him, noticing the man’s frown. “Have you ever heard of the Lullaby Killer?”
“Of course,” Frank said. “Wait… I knew I’d seen you somewhere before! You’re the PI working the case, right?” He was smiling now, his eyes alight as if he’d met a celebrity and was suddenly starstruck.
“How did you know?”
“I read your sister’s blog all the time. Fascinating stuff, man! You’re like that detective from the TV! Hey, listen, if there’s any way I can help you, just tell me how.”
Mason had no idea he was known outside of his own working circle. Evie must have been doing better than she’d let on. He felt his face heat to a deep red. “As a matter of fact, that’s what I’m here for. We think it was the killer who stole your RV. Did you see anything suspicious around the time it was taken?”
Frank showed Mason to the couch and sat with him. “I had, sure. I was being followed for a couple of weeks before it went missing by a weird-looking guy who appeared everywhere I turned. At first I thought it was just coincidence.”
“I see,” Mason said, flicking through his cell phone. He found the picture of the man and held it out. “Is this the man you saw?”
Frank squinted. “It’s hard to say. But he was wearing a baseball cap, just like this guy. And the gloves, too.”
“Gloves?” Mason recalled Susan Chance saying the same thing.
“I remember because it was summertime. His hands must have been roasting in those things.” His eyes darkened with horrific realization. “Oh shit, do you think he’ll come back to kill me?”
“I sincerely doubt that, Mr. Marley.” Mason’s cell phone rang, vibrating in his hand. It was Bill, and his timing was bad as usual. He put the phone to one side, balancing it on the armrest of the couch. “And nothing else came of it? No threats? No freak occurrences?”
Frank shook his head. “Not really. A couple crank calls, but that could have been anyone. Hey, why do you think he chose to steal from me?”
The cell phone rang—Bill again.
“You live outside the city. Other than that, I’d say it’s random. Mind if I take this?”
“Go ahead.” Frank left to give Mason privacy. He was a curious guy, eccentric and humble, yet inquisitive and excited. Shaking off the oddity of the man, Mason answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, buddy,” Bill said. “Listen, I need you to run an errand for me.”
“I’m kind of busy right now.”
“No, this will benefit you, believe me. Two kids have gone missing from Pickerage School. Nine-year-old twins.”
“That’s the same school Daniels
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