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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The woman shook her head. “Oh, dear. What has he been up to now?”
“So you do know him,” Evie said.
“Perhaps you should come in.” The woman opened up the door and allowed them entry, then showed them into the living room where far too many cats ran around freely.
Mason clutched the gun, still unsure about trusting the old lady.
“I’m afraid the man you’re looking for is my son,” she said, as if revealing a dirty secret.
Her son? It wasn’t exactly what they’d been looking for, but it sure was better than nothing. He looked at Evie, who seemed as surprised as he was, then back at the woman. “Could we please take his full name, age, and anything else you can dig up?”
“If you tell me what this is about, dear, you can have anything you like.”
“We’re investigating a series of murders and have reason to believe your son is involved somehow. We’d just like to ask him a few questions,” Mason lied.
The woman’s jaw dropped in horror. “My son?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I always worried something like this might happen. Hold on a moment.” She disappeared from the room, leaving Mason and Evie to catch their breath. She soon returned with papers, handing them straight over. “Just a few things I could find.”
Mason flicked through them, handing some to Evie. There was so much of use here. Wage slips from hardware stores dating back to a couple years ago, Social Security numbers, phone bills and the like. Even a name: Marvin Wendell. It was very valuable information, but it still wasn’t a set of handcuffs over the killer’s wrists.
“I just wish I could be more help,” Mrs. Wendell said.
“When was the last time you saw your son?” Mason asked, looking up at her.
“Oh, not for some years now. He never really liked me much.”
“Why’s that, Mrs. Wendell?”
She gazed out the window, as if struggling to recall. “He was a very angry boy. You see, I once had a man in my life who was very firm with him. I remember he once chased my son through the house. My little Marvin tried to hide behind a door when my boyfriend swung it open. Took his whole finger off.” She wiggled her pinkie finger. “I think he always blamed me for that.”
“This is our guy,” Mason said, fighting to contain his excitement. Evie nodded along with him. It’s really him. And that would explain the mutilation, he thought. It was probably the reason he always wore gloves, too. “Mrs. Wendell, could I perhaps have a glass of water?”
The woman nodded but looked as if she’d grown tired of the conversation already. As soon as she left the room, Mason stood and opened a nearby drawer, rummaging through it. There was nothing of use.
“I can’t believe we’ve identified him,” Evie said, looking around the room behind him. “It seems too good to be true, after all these years.”
“I’m glad you think so, too.” Mason kept looking around until he saw the photo frame on a high shelf. He took it down and studied it. The picture showed a bearded man in his early twenties with a missing finger. He stood next to a slightly younger version of his mother. “Looks like the same guy.”
Evie came up behind him and took the photo.
“Looks like we have everything except a location,” he said without looking back. “What do you think?” When Mason turned, he saw the horrified look he’d only seen from his sister a handful of times. “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t spot it before, but this photo is clearer.” She looked up from the photograph. “Mason… I know this man.”
“Okay, pull in here,” Evie said, guiding him from the passenger seat.
“Care to explain why you’ve brought me to this shithole?” Mason stopped the car and climbed out, following his sister toward an old, rundown building.
“A few years ago I was moonlighting for a magazine that barely made it off the ground. I used to collect information, but now and then I had to sit in on some interviews.”
Mason held the office door for her. “That’s how you know this Marvin guy?”
“Exactly. I didn’t recognize the newer pictures, as he hasn’t aged well. And that beard…”
Inside the narrow corridor, they walked to the front desk where a stocky man with no hair rose to his feet. “I’ll be goddamned. That ain’t Evelyn Black? It couldn’t be.”
“Hi, Geoff.” Evie hugged the man, then stepped back and introduced her brother.
“A private investigator?” he asked, sounding impressed, although it was probably just a case of good manners. “And what brings you back to the seventh circle of hell?”
“I need a favor, actually,” Evie explained, showing him the photo they’d stolen from Mrs. Wendell when she wasn’t looking. “Do you remember when we interviewed this guy? I think he wanted the key researcher job, if I remember correctly.”
“Remember him? Sweet thing, I still see him.”
“You do?” Evie’s voice pitched up a notch.
Mason hung back. It seemed as though she had this one covered. He was beginning to think deciding to help each other out had been a good move after all.
“That’s right. We didn’t give him the job, but he keeps coming back and asking if we have some information on a string of murders or something.” Geoff rubbed at his beard.
“The Lullaby Killer?”
“That’s the one!” Geoff said. “I had no idea what he was talking about until I googled it. Seemed like something I was better off not knowing about.”
“A reporter with a conscience,” Evie jested.
“Still a comedienne, I see.”
Evie smiled. “Do you know where we might find him?”
“I’m afraid not. Well, actually…” The man glanced awkwardly at Mason. “I, uh… A friend of mine says he saw him over at Keira’s once or twice. It might be worth poking around there, so to speak.”
“Who’s Keira?”
“Keira’s,” Mason corrected, pushing himself away from the wall with his elbows. “It’s a strip club. Geoff, thank you for your time. And offer our gratitude to your friend.” He gave a playful wink and headed for the door.
Evie said goodbye and caught up to Mason, almost being pushed aside by a goofy teenager bursting in from outside.
“It’s that killer I was talking about, Geoff!” the teen yelled across the hall.
Mason and Evie stopped, listening in.
“I told you to let that go,” Geoff said, his voice booming.
“But he’s struck again! Some public display over on Cadwallader Street.”
Mason looked at Evie and saw his own panic reflected in her eyes. They sprinted to the Mustang and climbed in, determined not to miss a beat.
“I’ll be here if you need me.”
Mason left Evie in the car and pushed his way through the mass of curious bystanders. They all seemed to be testing how long they could look at it before their gag reflexes kicked in, but Mason was yet to understand what it was they were looking at.
When he finally got to the front of the crowd, his heart sank to his stomach.
The front window had the drapes drawn two-thirds of the way, and in the middle hung a young girl’s body silhouetted against the light behind. Her legs dangled motionlessly, and her eyes were open and full of pain.
“Jesus.” Mason ducked under the police tape and showed his badge to a nearby officer.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you in,” he said, using his palm as a barricade.
What the hell? “Step aside, Officer, or I’ll break every bone in that hand.”
The officer’s eyes narrowed. “What did you just say to me?”
“I said step aside or—”
“Mason!” Bill stepped out of the house and came over. “You just saved me a phone call. Come on in.” He appeared not to have noticed the hostile exchange.
“Next time,” Mason whispered to the officer as he passed and headed inside, where Captain Cox was barking orders at a swarm of forensic investigators. When she laid eyes on Mason, she offered the
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