Missing, Adam Nicholls [book recommendations website txt] 📗
- Author: Adam Nicholls
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The boy hesitated, sobbing and pleading with his eyes.
“I won’t ask again.”
Tommy slipped the rope around his neck and gawped anxiously at the snaking end as the killer took it and tied it securely around a huge rock.
“I think that should do it, don’t you?” He loved every moment of this—everything from the clean slice of the finger to the terrified look in the boy’s eyes. Trembling with anticipation, he knelt and removed the hammer and chisel.
“Excuse me.”
The voice startled him, a wave of heat surging down his neck. He spun around and saw a young man with long, wavy hair, one of the surfer types you saw in the movies. His eyes were accusing, looking from the killer to little Tommy and back again.
“Hey, what the hell’s going on here?” the man asked, stepping forward.
The Lullaby Killer smiled. “We’re just playing a game. Ain’t that right, boy?”
Tommy nodded, still crying. Even he was bright enough not to scream for help.
“It doesn’t look like a game to me. Sir, step away.” The man took a cell phone from his pocket and began to dial—probably for the police.
Acting on instinct, the killer tightened his grip on the hammer’s hilt and smashed it across the man’s temple. It made an exhilarating thump, and the man hit the leaves a second later. You can’t be sure about these things, he thought, and the killer crouched and delivered two more bone-crushing blows to the man’s face until it was nothing more than tenderizing a juicy steak.
Shaking with adrenaline, the killer stood, wiping traces of spattered blood from his face with his sleeve as he turned to the boy. It didn’t look like he was strong enough to move the rock, and his hands were bound, so he wouldn’t be undoing the knots anytime soon. With that in mind, the killer dragged the man away by his feet, scooped up his cell phone, then covered him in a mass of wet leaves and dirt sods.
Checking the phone, the killer’s heart began pounding like crazy as he saw pictures of him leaving his RV.
He knew he had to destroy the evidence, and he thought of his sweet spot underneath the RV’s tire. All he had to do first was finish his work with the kid, then carve a message into a nearby tree.
And move on to find his next victim.
The school’s principal was a petite, polite lady with kind features. She seemed busy, but not so much that she couldn’t take time out of her day for a good cause.
“Thanks for seeing us,” Mason said, leading the charge as they were shown into the office. Everything inside was made of oak, and the greenery added a touch of hominess to the space.
“Absolutely.” She gestured to a seat. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re to understand that Missy Daniels was a student here?” Mason laced his fingers. He’d never had any need for a notepad; the map in his head served as a better guide.
“Oh, yes. Such a shame what happened to her. We’ll be mourning her for a long, long time.” She lowered her head in theatrical sadness.
Mason tried to disguise his amusement at her effort.
Evie took the reins. “And Thomas Chance?”
“Thomas Chance… Thomas Ch—Ah, yes! He is absent today, if I recall.”
Evie looked to Mason, who took a breath. “Thomas was abducted yesterday. We’re here to see if you know any reason why this school may be targeted. Have you seen anyone suspicious, or have the children been spreading any rumors?”
“Rumors?” The principal shook her head, her mouth open and her gaze wandering. “Not that I’m aware of. Is this a police investigation?”
“We’re private investigators working closely with the SFPD, ma’am, and we do appreciate your cooperation in the matter.” This was often the part where he’d be told to go fuck himself. Thankfully, this woman seemed eager to be of use.
“Well, there’s a substitute teacher who a few of us are suspicious of. Charlie Richards, his name is. He hasn’t necessarily done anything wrong, but he has, well… there’s a certain coldness about him, you see.”
Evie remained silent, while Mason wondered how far a simple judgment could take them.
“The reason I bring it up,” she went on, “is because he was supposed to be here yesterday, but called in sick. Said he had some sort of flu, but it sounded exaggerated.”
Mason felt that old excitement swelling inside him again—the stuff that had made him enjoy his work back when he was a detective. “Could you please supply his address?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose that information.” The principal stood, her frail frame edging slowly away from the desk. “However, if I turn my head for a moment, you can see yourselves out?” She pushed a folder across the desk and smiled.
“Thank you for your time,” Evie said, grinning.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Evie was on her feet and flicking through the pages to find Charlie Richards. “Got it,” she said, her eyes lighting up.
But Mason’s attention had turned to his phone, reading a new message carefully.
“What is it?”
“There’s been another murder,” he said, his voice flat and miserable.
“Is it Tommy Chance?”
“I don’t know. Apparently he’s left a message, so it could be.”
Evie sighed. “All right. You head to the scene, and I’ll check out this Charlie guy.”
“No!” Mason could not have been firmer. “I’ll have you at my side, but you can’t go running off to interview a suspect. It might not be safe.”
Evie lifted the leg of her pants to reveal a pocketknife in a shin strap. Mason had bought it for her the previous Christmas and had it engraved. He’d not seen it since then but was amazed to see she was putting it to use, even if as a precautionary measure.
“You suspect anything, you let me know,” Mason demanded.
“I can take care of myself.” Evie led them out of the room.
Mason had seen that kind of overconfidence before, and it had gotten them in trouble on more than one occasion—both of them.
Somehow, he got the feeling this would be one of those times.
Mason stopped in the parking lot and slogged his way up the hill beneath a relentless rain. A sickness started roiling in his stomach as he braced himself for what he was about to see.
“That was fast,” Bill said, meeting him at the top of the slope.
Mason caught up to him, panting. He was in good shape—great shape, actually—but it was still an exhausting climb. “What do you have for me?”
Bill led him over to the body, a pale-faced young boy hanging from a tree. Blood streamed from the sockets of his crow-pecked eyes, making the face difficult to identify. Mason pictured Susan, the boy’s mother, and how she’d cried before. He didn’t want to imagine how much this would hurt her, and prayed this wasn’t her son.
“Christ,” he said.
“Exactly.”
“You said there’s a message?”
Bill led him to a nearby tree, where the words had been carved into the bark: CRADLE AND ALL. It was sloppy work. The killer had been in a rush.
“Sorry to keep asking, but you think it’s a clue?”
“Sorry to keep telling you, but it’s nothing more than a brag-tag. These sickos can’t help themselves. Sometimes they just need the approval. Like when you do something good for someone else and it’s really for yourself, but you still want a pat on the back.”
“Excuse me, Detective Harvey?” A uniformed young officer appeared at Bill’s side and removed his cap. “There’s been an ID on the body. It’s Thomas Chance, sir.”
“The prints match?” Bill asked.
Mason didn’t want to hear this conversation. Instead, he followed the breadcrumbs in his head. If the killer had been in a hurry, as the scruffy chiseling suggested, then he must have made a slipup somewhere.
Staying focused, Mason walked the perimeter of the scene in search of additional clues. Everything was so wet and covered in filth it was hard to make out much of anything. But one thing did catch his eye, and he
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