Mason cruised the Mustang just behind Bill’s Civic, following so close he almost caused a collision. The truth was, Mason was so eager to get to the crime scene that he didn’t have the patience to hang back. This was the biggest moment of his life after all. For the time being.
They stopped close to the growing crowd of spectators. Mason met Bill, and they both went through the police tape together, heading into the park. They said nothing the whole time, mostly out of fear for saying the wrong thing. The police were swarming around them, and there was too much risk of letting out their biggest secret.
Bill showed power and authority as he stormed through the scene. Mason, who was bigger and simply had more presence, broke his usual stride and shrank back behind him, following quietly and failing to make eye contact with anyone. It was just enough to keep him comfortable. All until he saw it.
The body lay naked on a narrow patch of grass between the path and a bush. Mason studied her body for signs of a wound or struggle. It took all of two seconds before he saw the reddish-purple marks on her neck. She had been strangled to death.
“What happened?” he asked.
“We’re not sure yet,” Bill said. “Bruises on the neck indicate strangulation though.”
“Was she raped?”
“No.”
“Then why is she naked?”
Bill stared at him with narrow eyes that said, You know why. And Mason did. It was because the Lullaby Killer’s first victim had been found in exactly the same way. Eight years ago, when the killer had first come out of the darkness to make a point, little Missy Daniels had been the first to suffer. She, too, had been strangled, her body dumped. The similarities didn’t end there, either.
Mason’s eyes rolled reluctantly to the side, where a message had been drawn onto the concrete. He had happily ignored it until now, but each passing second made it harder to deny. It had been left for him, but how? The Lullaby Killer—Marvin Wendell—was dead. They had seen to that themselves, capturing him and torturing him before burning his body. Well, it was Bill who had torched the son of a bitch, but they shared the secret together.
Until now.
“None for the dame,” Mason mumbled, staring glumly as he read the words. The same words that had haunted him all those years ago. But it wasn’t just those that struck fear into his heart. It had only been a matter of weeks since he’d received a letter. A soul-crushing, dread-inducing letter written in red ink from Marvin Wendell. The Lullaby Killer himself. And Mason had thought about nothing ever since. Nothing but the words it had said:
I’m back, and I’m coming for you.
Yours,
Marvin Wendell
(AKA ‘The Lullaby Killer’)