Missing - Adam Nicholls (ready player one ebook txt) 📗

Mason pulled up to the beachfront parking lot and immediately saw the commotion. An officer recognized his car and waved him through. He parked, squeezed his way through the nosey crowd, and soon arrived at the police cordon.

“Well, you have a face like thunder.” Evie stopped him, a concerned look behind her thick black-rimmed glasses. She looked exactly like the intellectual she was. The fancy camera in her hand suggested she was press, but in reality she was more like an independent blogger, famous for publishing a hasty report revealing the shady shenanigans of a government agency the previous year. Entrepreneurship ran in the family.

“It’s a long story,” Mason told her, keen to focus on the task at hand. “Have you seen Bill?”

“Yep. This way.”

Evie raised the yellow police tape and he ducked under. Approached by a police officer, Mason flashed his PI badge and flicked up the collar of his trench coat before walking on. The chilled rain was heavy enough to soak through, but it was the least of his worries.

“Mason,” said Detective Bill Harvey, who shook his hand with a firm grip. “Thanks for coming.”

It comforted Mason to know his ex-partner was still a close friend. Ever since leaving the force, Bill had remained a solid and reliable part of his life.

“I’ll give you boys a minute,” Evie said before disappearing into the crowd.

“It’s a confirmed match, Mason. Missy Daniels. Apparently you were working the case?”

“I was.” Mason paused and shook his head. “I am.” He looked down at the body and felt immediate sadness. “What happened here?”

“Strangled to death. We believe the body was moved here afterward.” Bill knelt and pointed at the deep lacerations. “These cuts were made prior to death, we think.”

The scene before him was a bloody mess. The girl was naked, her body spread into the shape of a grisly star. The pinky finger of her left hand had been removed, either with expert surgical precision or one swift swipe of a hefty blade. Her tormented eyes were wide with fear, and her skin was already pale. Leaning in, Mason thought she’d begun to smell, but hoped it was his imagination. Most concerning of all, however, was the message.

“None for the dame?” Mason asked, reading the arranged pile of rocks by the girl’s feet.

“That’s why I called you, buddy. We think it’s him.”

Mason felt his heart skip a beat, his face flushing with rage and panic despite the coolness of the rain. “I thought he’d stopped. I hoped—”

“I know, but it matches the pattern,” Bill interjected. “Look, this is ‘Baa, Baa, Black Sheep,’ right? I was thinking it might be because the girl is black?” But as a detective of the San Francisco Police Department, he should have been smart enough to know better.

“No. It’s just a stupid lullaby. His own twisted way of showing off.” Mason turned and stalked away, shielding his eyes against the harsh flashing red/blue of the parked cruiser lights.

“Where are you going?” Bill called after him.

Mason stopped. “I took the case. I want to tell the girl’s mother before she sees it on the news.”

Bill simply nodded as a cruel gust of wind swept across the ocean and blasted rain at them in a furious wave.

Drenched, freezing, and disturbed, Mason headed back to his Mustang, where Evie stood with her back pressed to the door.

“Get off.” Mason waved a hand. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m coming with you.” She removed her rain-speckled glasses, the usual signal that she was ready for action. “I need a ride home.”

Mason sighed, too drained to argue. “Get in. I need to make a stop on the way.”

“Sure,” Evie said. “Whatever it takes to spend time with my brother.”

If only she’d known what was really happening.