While Gary worked the night shift, Morgan spent hours working through the file to get a clear sense of what Mason Black was like. From the outside looking in, he was an effective cop who loved his family, even if he did have a bit of a temper. There were articles claiming that he’d bullied people aside to enter crime scenes and one even speculating that he’d killed Marvin Wendell—the infamous Lullaby Killer.
Morgan found himself fascinated by this guy’s life, and he read until the sun rose, only putting his head down for a couple hours of rest before the alarm on his phone began to chime. Immediately, he got up off the couch, washed the drowsiness away in the shower and then he drove over to Gary’s to pick him up.
When he arrived, Gary climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up. Morgan couldn’t help but notice his eyes were bloodshot, and the faint shadow of a beard covered his thin cheeks. “Christ,” he said. “You look like death warmed up.”
“You don’t look so great either.” Gary pointed at the road. “Drive.”
Morgan obeyed the command, taking a quick glance at himself in the mirror. It turned out Gary was right—the long night of research proved to have a huge impact on his appearance, giving him the same redness as his friend. Not that he had a choice though; he was working, and time was of the essence.
They reached the Heidi’s parking lot within minutes, stepping out into the cold winter air and glancing around. The first thing Morgan noticed was that there were a lot of cars here—far too many to pick out Mason’s black Mustang. The second thing was that there was a vendor in a burger trailer on the exterior of the lot. Instead of wheels, the trailer rested on cinder blocks, indicating this was its permanent position.
Morgan figured it couldn’t hurt to try. “Let’s check it out,” he said to Gary.
They approached side by side, standing at the empty counter while a tall black man hunched inside. He wore a pink shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a stained, white apron that covered most of his body. He smiled, but it wasn’t authentic.
“What can I get you?”
“Some information,” Gary said.
“You cops?”
Morgan always opted to avoid that question. Sure, Gary was a cop, but he didn’t want to lie and say he was with the MPD too. His go-to response was to ask another question, throwing the receiver off balance. “We’re looking for a man who was here over five nights ago. White, over six foot, built like a warrior, and drove a Mustang. You see him?”
Behind the man, a young woman—maybe around twenty years old—entered the trailer with a big bag of buns. She slipped them onto the side and smiled at Morgan, then disappeared behind the chef.
“Nah, I don’t see many white folk around here,” the man said.
“You’re sure?” Morgan dug into his pocket and pulled out a copy of Mason’s photo. He held it out, forcing it into the man’s view. “This is him. Please take a good look. Are you certain?”
The young woman peered over the counter, staring down at the photograph with all the curiosity of a hungry kitten. When she got a good view, her eyes widened, and she tapped the man on the arm. “Hey, there’s that guy you were talking about.”
Morgan shot a sideways glance at Gary. “So you did see him?”
The chef rolled his eyes and pulled his arm away from the woman, telling her to go and buy some more condiments. He pulled a thin roll of dollars from his pocket and shoved it into her open palm. “Look,” he said, turning back to them and leaning on his hands, “this isn’t the kind of neighborhood where white folk do so well. There are rules here, you understand? That means if you see something strange, you keep it to yourself. If a white man goes missing and cops come asking for him, you just go about your business.”
“That’s a coincidence,” Gary said. “Because we never told you he was missing.”
“Didn’t I just—”
“I know you saw something,” Morgan intervened, putting the photo back in his pocket. “And I respect that you’re trying to keep yourself under the radar, but this man’s wife and daughter are waiting for him to come home. We have no idea where he is, but it’s important that we find him. If someone you knew went missing, wouldn’t you want them back?”
“Depends if it’s my wife or not.”
Morgan laughed under his breath, but he maintained his pleading stare.
The man stared back. He finally sighed. “Fine. All right. I was packing up a few nights ago, and I saw someone creeping around the outside of the parking lot. It looked suspicious, so I followed them. Eventually I lost them, but in the corner of the lot was the man in the photograph. He was next to his Mustang. A black one, right? Nice body kit?”
Morgan nodded.
“Anyhow, I returned to my work. A few minutes went by, and that Mustang rolled out of the gates. Only it wasn’t the man driving. Now, don’t ask me who it was—I only got a brief glimpse—but I know the driver had longer hair than him.”
“Longer hair?” Gary said. “Was it a woman?”
“Like I said, I don’t know.”
Morgan thanked the witness for his time. His heart was heavy with grief for Amy and Diane Black as he stepped back into the parking lot and stood looking at the corner where Mason Black had vanished. That area of the lot was now busy with people coming and going, so any evidence was probably corrupted. There was, however, a security camera on the corner, and although it didn’t cover the right spot, maybe it could help.
“Come on,” he said to Gary, storming toward the Heidi’s entrance.
“Where are we going?”
Morgan only pointed to the camera, and behind him he heard one word.
“Right.”