The post office was small and dirty. A friend of Bill’s had told him over the phone where they needed to go, and they had expected somewhere a little more… normal. This building was falling to pieces, with no signs of life except for the clerk behind the counter.
“Can I help you?” the old man asked, clasping his liver-spotted hands together.
“We’re with the San Francisco Police Department,” Mason said, noticing Bill flash his badge in the reflection of the dirty glass. “Can you find out who sent this letter? It would have been a day or two ago.” At least that was what he hoped. Any longer than that and the twins could already be dead. Mason’s mouth turned stone dry as this thought occurred to him.
The old man reached out and took the letter. He studied it, handing it back only a second later. “I’m afraid there’s not much I can do about that. People come and go every day, so there’s no hope of me remembering any particular item of mail.”
Mason glanced over his shoulder at Bill. They shared the same doubtful expression. “What about security cameras?” he tried with a certain amount of desperation. “If we can get a look at some security footage, maybe we’ll find what we’re looking for.”
“No security in here, Detective.”
“Shit,” Bill mumbled from behind.
Mason excused himself and took Bill to one side. He was feeling the stress fill up every pore of his body. It was all he could do not to drive his fist through the closest inanimate object. Until an idea popped into his head. It wasn’t a bright idea—certainly, it relied on hope—but it was something. “Do you have the internet on your phone?”
“No, it’s 1999,” he said with an eye roll. “Of course I do.”
“Can you get me a picture of Wendell?”
Bill looked down, his attention disappearing into his phone. Seconds later, a photo of the Lullaby Killer, smug and devious, appeared on the screen. Mason snatched it from his hand and marched back to the clerk, placing it against the glass.
“This is the man we’re looking for. Have you seen him before, sir?”
The old man leaned forward, squinting. His eyebrows raised as he pushed the glasses further up his bulbous nose. His mouth opened into a perfect O of surprise, and then he pointed a shaking finger. “Yes, I know him. Couldn’t tell you his name though.”
Mason cursed inside. “What can you tell us?”
“Well, he’s got something of a reputation around here. A few of the locals are scared of him. They say he gives them a creepy vibe, you know?”
“I know,” Mason said, remembering those eyes with horror. “Anything else?”
“Yes, actually.” The old man sat up, shrugging his shoulders with pride. “I can’t say it’s for absolute certain that he lives there, but every now and then, I see him parking that hideous old recreational vehicle just up the road here.”
Finally, a break. Mason’s heart could have done backflips in his chest. He snuck a peek at Bill, who wore the biggest smile he’d seen in weeks. Mason turned back to the clerk, feeling a hopeful wave of energy. “Can you point us in the right direction?”
“I can do better than that,” the clerk said. “I can write down the address.”