Текст книги "American Devil"

Автор книги: Oliver Stark

Соавторы: Oliver Stark
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Chapter Forty-Three

Marty Fox’s Office

November 23, 12.15 p.m.

Marty Fox was already late and the elevator seemed to be stuck on the sixteenth. He looked up, rolling his shoulders back as he felt the clammy sweat on his silk shirt. He shouldn’t have run. Rushing through the crowds in a cashmere overcoat really could crease a nice shirt. He was thinking about dollar signs on his credit card bill and how he was going to transfer a thousand bucks without his wife’s persistent questions. He’d park the car two streets away on his way home and tell her it was in for a service. The idea pleased him, and he suddenly looked happier. He had promised his wife that he would never have another affair, but it hadn’t quite worked yet. Some temptations were once-in-a-lifetime and Joanna Anderson was one of them.

He knew he had spent too much money on impressing Joanna Anderson with a first-date lunch. Over four hundred bucks for a piece of poultry with some salty sauce and no fries. Still, French cuisine impressed women; no wonder it was so expensive. Joanna was a rich man’s mistress and looked like it. Hell, he knew she was a totally economically unviable fuck. He could maybe afford getting one night out of her, but he’d have to make it a memorable one. After that, the till was closed and he knew a burger joint wouldn’t spring Joanna’s locks. She was about eight levels out of his league.

The elevator finally arrived and a family of four identical overweight individuals in velour tracksuits came out, all holding hands. Marty thought that family therapy should be deemed illegal as a matter of course. Nothing worse for a family than a psychologist. He was standing in the lift, his back to the shining fake gold interior, when he saw Nick Smith striding towards him. Marty felt uncomfortable. He’d taken Nick off his books and not even told him. He always preferred the coward’s way. Nick put out his hand to hold the door, and entered the lift. He looked at Marty but didn’t speak.

The doors shut and the lift started to climb. Finally, Marty couldn’t bear it any more. ‘Hey, Nick, I passed you to Dr Bartholomew because he’s trained in DID. It’s a specialist area and I’m worried I can’t help you. He’s a great doctor.’

Nick remained silent.

‘Are you going to see Dr B. now, Nick?’

Nick shook his head. ‘I’m coming to see you, Dr Fox. You’re my doctor.’

‘That’s not possible, Nick, I’ve transferred your file. I’ve spoken to Dr Bartholomew. It’s all set up.’

‘I’d prefer to stick with you, thanks,’ said Nick.

‘You don’t quite understand. I’m not willing to treat you. I can’t help.’

‘You are helping, Dr Fox. I rang your PA and got her to transfer me back over to you. I told her it was a mistake. She was happy to oblige.’

Marty was open-mouthed as the two men stood side by side, waiting for the lift door to open on Marty’s floor. Marty decided that small talk with a guy like Nick was pointless and might as well wait for the couch where at least he got paid for it. He looked down, and his eyes focused on Nick’s black leather shoes. They were covered in mud. He looked up to his hand. It was shaking.

In the office, Marty pulled off his coat and watched Nick prowl around the room. He was going to throttle his fucking PA as soon as he got a spare moment. He turned to his unwelcome client. ‘You want to take the weight off your feet there, Nick?’

‘I don’t feel good,’ said Nick.

He didn’t look good, either. His face was pale, his body was shaking more obviously and Marty could see panic in his eyes.

‘Calm yourself down, Nick. It’s a panic attack. It’s not real. Let me get you a glass of water. Just sit down.’

But Nick wasn’t listening. He was shaking and shivering more violently now. His eyes were staring ahead, fixed on some point in the distance. Marty went across and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Sit, my friend.’

Nick cried out as the pain in his head increased. Marty sprang back, frightened, and looked around his office as if there might be someone there to help. Nick started to crouch down, wailing, his head swaying. Marty wanted to run out of there. This guy was seriously strange.

Nick continued to shake for a few more seconds, more and more violently. His eyes closed and he squeezed his fists hard against his temples until, after a minute, the shaking subsided and his body went still. Marty walked over and sat next to him on the floor. He felt for his pulse. It was still high and erratic. ‘What just happened?’

The patient opened his eyes and stared at Marty. His stare was cold and intense. ‘He tries to stop me, Doctor. He tries all the time. I know what he wants. He wants me to leave the girls alone.’

‘What are you talking about, Nick? What girls?’

He turned his head sideways and his eyes rested on Marty’s. ‘They used to call it demonic possession, Doctor.’

Marty got up from the floor and moved back. ‘You seem all right now, Nick. Speak to me. You went into a fit. Are you okay? Is this how the DID comes on? Should I call emergency?’

He smiled. ‘My name is Legion, for we are many. Isn’t that how the old book goes?’

‘Yeah, I’m sure it is. Listen, I’d like to be able to help you, Nick, but I’m not sure I can. You got to explain to me what just happened.’ Marty Fox was at his desk. He wanted to be close to the phone in case anything else erupted. He imagined living with this man, this poor broken specimen, torn apart by his own demons. He imagined what the man’s wife must be going through. He suddenly thought of his own wife and felt a pang of guilt.

‘Can I have another drink of water?’

Fox moved across to the water cooler. ‘Sure, sure. So what just happened? Can you go through it?’

Suddenly, Nick pulled his legs close together and rested his forehead on his knees. ‘I don’t know if I can tell you.’

Marty Fox handed him a glass of ice-cold mineral water. Nick sipped slowly and stared up at him.

‘Sure you can tell me, why not? Come on, Nick, that was some weird shit.’

‘I think I hurt people,’ he said.

Marty sat down, feeling the power of his patient’s gaze. ‘How do you know?’

‘I was trying to explain it to you in the last session. It’s not my fault, I can’t control it. I wake up sometimes and I find blood on my hands. I can’t say any more.’

‘I won’t tell anyone else, you know. Physician-patient privilege, Nick. I can’t tell anyone. We’ve got a confidentiality and liability clause.’ Marty was trying to figure out if Nick was just deluded or whether something serious had happened. It was difficult to tell.

‘I’m afraid, you know that? I’m afraid of what I’m going to do. I’m afraid of what I’ve done.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That girl I told you about. You remember her?’

‘Yes, I do.’

There was an awkward silence. Nick started to push his cuticles back. ‘The girl in the dell,’ he said, ‘the one I loved, Chloe.’

‘Yes?’

‘Her name was Chloe Mestella. She was found dead.’

‘Dead?’

‘Yes. A week after I saw her in the dell.’

‘What was it? Automobile accident?’

‘No, Marty, she was cut to pieces in her own bed.’

Marty’s face went pale.

‘Someone got into her house after dark and raped her and killed her.’

Marty was trying to work out what was going on. His arm twitched. He put it on his desk to steady himself.

‘Her heart was missing. It was a gruesome thing to happen to a young girl.’

‘I don’t know the case—’

‘When someone dies, Doctor,’ Nick went on, putting his arms tight around his own waist, ‘you truly miss them. You truly miss them. It’s like nothing else, the way you miss them.’

‘It’s okay. You’re safe here,’ said Marty. The beeper on his desk went off and Nick looked up automatically.

‘I want to know if you can stop it,’ said Nick. ‘Is it possible?’

‘What?’

‘That I killed her? That I killed Chloe?’

‘No, Nick, that’s just the guilt. You feel responsible. It doesn’t mean you did it.’

‘I can’t take much more.’

‘I can’t stop the delusions, Nick, but maybe I can help to find their source. We have to find out what you’re feeling so guilty about.’

‘I think he’s after someone else,’ Nick said. ‘I want to stop him before he hurts her.’

‘Who is he? What’s he after?’

‘I don’t know. But on my phone there’re photographs. Lots of photographs. She’s blonde. I don’t know who she is.’ Nick pulled out his phone and pressed a couple of buttons. He held up a picture of a beautiful, rich-looking girl outside a shop.

‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ said Marty. ‘It’s just a photograph. ’

‘Why did he take it?’

‘I don’t know, Nick. I don’t know.’

Nick stood up. ‘I’ll tell you why. I’ll damn well tell you why. She looks like Chloe, that’s why. She’s looks the spitting image of Chloe.’

Chapter Forty-Four

Madison Avenue

November 23, 12.42 p.m.

Since 3 p.m. the previous day, Harper had been busting everyone’s gut trying to get the operation up and running. There were many upscale stores on Madison Avenue on the Upper East Side, but the victims had made purchases at only four of the stores. They were all big, fancy names – shops where a handbag would set you back near enough a thousand dollars.

Harper made contact with the department chief of the Technical Assistance Response Unit. They needed the best support for a covert operation of this size and TARU had the capabilities. It was a difficult set-up. First, they didn’t know who they were looking for, and second they didn’t know if the killer would show up. Pattern killers worked in heat cycles. The American Devil had killed five women in quick succession, but he might have been stalking them for weeks or even longer. No one knew his range or the duration of his stalking.

There were two composite images of the killer. Both agreed that he was in his thirties or early forties and had a good smile and grey hair. The killer might be disguised, but the one thing in their favour was that he was a man and not many men visited Prada, Versace, Christian Louboutin or Jimmy Choo.

Harper set up seven teams with three mobile units sited between the stores around Madison Avenue and Park Avenue. Each team consisted of a female undercover cop and a support officer. Harper put Mark Garcia in charge of the other stakeout. Garcia set up three teams around Arrivals at LaGuardia and headed the operation at the airport. TARU’s mobile trucks could beam any video images right back to HQ.

In the precinct, there was plenty of interest in spending time pretending to shop on Madison Avenue, but Harper didn’t want a bunch of low-salaried cops scaring the killer away, so he brought in some advisers. They worked with the cops on the kind of look they needed and the kind of attitude that would help them not to stand out.

Up in the main investigation room, at eleven o’clock the previous evening, Harper had stood looking at his teams. Seven cops looking severely out of place in designer outfits and heels. He was pleased. The advisers had done a great job. Kasper stood at the side and nodded his cynical approval.

The operation was ready to get going at 12.30 p.m., and Harper and Kasper drove to where a white van was parked in the heart of the Upper East Side. Inside, Ali Maakam, the technical supervisor, nodded a hello and showed them the control centre. There was a bank of nine screens. Ali flicked a row of switches on the console and the monitors flickered into life.

‘As requested, Detective Harper, we’ve got seven mobile CCTV units covering the streets. At the moment, they’re focusing on the store entrances. Each unit can be contacted here. Just press the button and let them know what you want. They can trace individuals, zoom, or move location.’

‘That’s great, Ali, thanks.’

‘Well, I hope you find something. This is a bad one. We all want to see him taken down.’

Ali took his seat at the far end of the truck and took out a newspaper. Harper and Kasper looked at him. ‘It’s all about waiting, guys. This could be a long haul.’

A quiet rap on the door preceded the entrance of Captain Lafayette. He huffed his bulk up into the van. ‘You move quickly, Harper. I just hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘We’re watching, that’s all. If he comes we’ll see him, if he doesn’t, we won’t.’

‘It’s Zen policing, Captain,’ said Eddie. ‘Harper ’s got this new world philosophy and we’re gonna really try to pick up any negative karma.’

‘Does he never get tired?’ said Lafayette to Harper.

‘Not yet, he hasn’t.’

‘We should get us some orange robes, Captain. Imagine the NYPD patrolling like that, offering blessing and talking youngsters out of crime. You think City Hall would go for it?’

‘You know, Kasper, the problem is, I think they might.’

Harper laughed, then looked up at Lafayette. ‘No kills yesterday? Looks like the extra patrols worked.’

‘Sure, they worked on the Upper East Side.’

‘Meaning what?’

‘Meaning, we took a lot of men out of East Harlem. We found a body this morning. Some poor hooker by the look of her. You plug one hole and another opens up somewhere else.’

‘No one told me.’

‘This isn’t one of yours.’

‘How was she killed?’

‘We only just got the call. She was found in a dumpster.’

‘I should take a look. Maybe he got put off the Upper East Side by the extra cops and headed north.’

‘You just sit tight down here. If there’s anything to report, you’ll know about it.’ Lafayette patted Harper’s shoulder, said his goodbyes and headed back to the precinct.

‘What do you think, Eddie?’ said Harper, staring at the feeds from the CCTV.

‘About the homicide? Not his style, dumping a hooker.’

‘Just the right day, that’s what’s bugging me. No kills on the Upper East Side. Maybe he couldn’t get to his target. Maybe he wandered uptown feeling hungry.’

‘It’s possible. Anything’s possible.’

‘I don’t know.’ Harper took out his cell phone and called Denise Levene. ‘Guess who?’

‘I should be on your payroll, Harper,’ said Denise.

‘Listen, last night there was a kill up in East Harlem.’

‘He’s struck again?’

‘We don’t think so. I just heard about it, but it looks like a prostitute was murdered. Look, Denise, is there any way a guy like this could change victim type?’

‘Difficult to say. We don’t know this guy’s capabilities. He killed Williamson. He might have killed before. I can’t say. Tell me more about it.’

‘Got nothing more. Just a body in a dumpster.’

‘It’s your call, Harper. I can’t be certain.’

‘I want to take a look,’ said Harper. ‘Can you get up to Madison?’

‘Sure. I’ll be thirty minutes.’

Harper hung up and turned to Eddie. ‘I’m going to shoot up to the crime scene. You hold the fort here.’

‘No problem. Watching TV is my specialist area.’

Tom waited outside the van. The sidewalks bustled with shoppers jostling for space in their thick coats. It was almost impossible for the Blue Team to keep an eye on everyone and Harper hoped the stakeout wasn’t going to be an expensive waste of time.

Denise Levene pulled up twenty-five minutes after the call. She’d been working up a profile of the killer and was keen to share it with Harper. As a starting point, she had reduced the profile to seven characteristics. She could’ve given more detail but Harper had insisted that the only words he could share with the team had to be as hard as facts.

Harper was getting bustled around the crowds of rich shoppers as he headed for her car. Blue Team was just up and running at LaGuardia and Madison and the cops weren’t yet feeling the cold. But they would soon, after working all through Thanksgiving and spending hour after hour standing on the street in the ice staring at Christmas presents they couldn’t afford.

They transferred to Harper’s Buick and drove back up through the forgotten streets of Harlem. Harper was going over the case in his mind and feeling the adrenalin kick of anticipation.

‘You said you know a thing or two about this killer. Why don’t you take me through it,’ he said.

‘Okay, but I can do without the cynicism. This is my first attempt.’

‘I know you’re a rookie, that’s why I trust you. You don’t know what it feels like to be wrong yet.’

‘Well, that’s a vote of confidence I could do without.’

‘Hey, look,’ said Harper, ‘I’ve not been suspended once since I started your treatment.’

‘Yeah, and don’t think I haven’t noticed that we’re doing a lot of case work and nothing on you.’

‘I’m healed. You work quick. Take it as a compliment.’

‘Yeah, well, don’t compliment me, just listen to me. I think I’ve got seven incontrovertible facts about the killer. You want to hear them?’

‘Sure, go ahead.’

‘He’s white, mid-thirties, married, high school educated, self-controlled, and works in a sales or marketing job with some background in police or military work.’

Harper listened to the brief summary and then nodded. ‘I hope you’re right. I’ll share it with the team.’

‘You don’t want to ask questions?’

‘I figured this guy had a stable background, or at least something that appears stable on the surface. If not, he would’ve been found out years ago.’ He turned to her. ‘How are you feeling about this?’

‘More curious than scared, I think,’ said Levene.

‘Well, just hang back. A corpse can hang on your retina for a long time. Some stay for years.’

‘Yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks for the warning.’

They arrived at the near-deserted street in East Harlem and got out of the car, seeing the first officer slowly tying off a parking lot and talking into his shortwave. It was a quiet crime scene, with no traffic around – just a dirty street of unused warehouses and old abandoned shops. They could hear the pervasive roar of traffic and the echoing shouts of distant arguments, but here it was still and silent. There were a couple of detectives on the scene and a single crime scene officer.

‘What’s the story?’ asked Harper as he approached the detectives.

‘Nothing, yet. Precinct got a call about a body in a municipal dumpster, so we showed up.’

‘Who called?’

‘No name. Just gave us the location. Patrol came by about two hours ago, had a look and called us in. Might be a gangbanger, a shooting or some crack whore sleeping off her debts for the rest of eternity. Who knows?’

Tom took a look around. This was a real quiet one. Someone getting rid of a body quickly. No showmanship, wealth or extravagance like they’d been dealing with on the Upper East Side. This body was hidden. It wasn’t the American Devil’s style at all.

Denise leaned forward. ‘What’s your feeling, Tom?’

Tom shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. ‘It’s nothing like the others. The killer always left the naked body visible. He likes to show, to shock. This is off his track, too. I don’t know. Maybe it’s got nothing to do with him. Just another sad life coming to an end.’

He didn’t want to go over to the dumpster and look at the body. He breathed deeply as he took a step forward towards the crime scene detective in her whites.

‘Detective Harper, Homicide. What have you got?’

She didn’t look up. There was an expression of fierce concentration on her face.

‘Can’t see much. Strangled by the look of it. Raped, probably – at least, her pants and jeans are round her ankles. It’s difficult to tell.’

It wasn’t the answer Harper wanted. The American Devil raped and strangled his victims. Tom just wanted to be sure he could strike this one from his list. ‘Can I take a look?’

‘You want bad dreams? Go ahead.’

Tom walked over to the side of the big steel dumpster and looked in. The woman in white handed him a torch.

The beam of light caught the flat, smooth skin of the girl’s stomach. Tom passed the light over the rest of her body. A poor young life thrown out with the trash. He didn’t want Denise to see it. How can you look at the destruction that human hands can wreak and show it to someone else? That’s why cops got cynical. You had to keep it to yourself. Crime scenes were usually peopled by those who had been desensitized, and together they created a community of objective observers that protected everyone at the scene. Seeing Denise at the edge of the lot made him realize it was a good thing to keep outsiders away. They bring emotions and emotions create cracks in your own defences.

It brutalizes you, no doubt about it. You see things that take you down notch by notch until all you see around you is the human animal – an aggressive and dangerous beast.

Harper went over to Denise and took her to one side. He told her not to look.

‘What did you see? At least tell me.’ Her hand gripped his arm.

‘Caucasian female. Late teens. Bruising on the neck. Half undressed. Not a lot else.’

‘A sad end,’ said Denise. Then her mind started working. ‘Why did you think it might be him?’

Harper walked with her to the edge of the car park. He looked up at the grey fall sky splintered with dark slashes of storm clouds and wished he had faith in something. ‘I just can’t put my finger on it. But I don’t like the similarities.’

‘It’s not his signature, is it?’

‘No. It doesn’t look like it. It’s not his ritual. We’ll wait for the DNA analysis, see what this looks like. But he might change his style. He took out Williamson with arrows. He’s capable of anything.’

‘What’s your gut say?’

‘It’s telling me that I’m hungry.’

‘Mine too.’

Harper moved Denise across the parking lot as a CSU van pulled up. His eyes scanned the graffiti tags all over the dumpster as he passed by. ‘There’s no posing, no poem,’ he said, ‘but I want to look around a little more.’

Harper put Denise in a patrol car and sent her back to her car on Madison, while he watched the team arrive at the scene. Was it his elusive serial killer? He couldn’t tell. If it was, he’d suddenly taken a different approach. That didn’t help. Patterns caught killers.

Harper spent an hour walking around the scene trying to figure out what had happened. They should be able to ID her pretty quickly on the street if she was a hooker.

The car park was covered in a thin layer of sand and dust. He looked all over it, but there weren’t any car tracks at all. It was strange. How do you hump a dead body around one of the most populated cities in the world without getting seen? Then he saw something that could easily have been overlooked. Leading up to the dumpster were two small tracks about ten inches apart. Harper knelt by the tracks. A small trolley of some kind? He called the CSU detective across and asked her to get the tracks mapped and photographed.

As Harper was walking back to his car, he spotted something else so small that it might easily have been missed. Something on the ground in the dirt, caught in the wet along with the trash. Harper crossed and knelt by the kerb. He pulled on a latex glove and then reached down into the gutter and picked the thing up carefully between his thumb and forefinger. He put it to his eye and turned it. He knew what it was. It was a single pale pink petal. Harper felt the hairs on his neck prickle. Cherry blossom.

He scrambled to his feet and called Captain Lafayette. He was about to give him the whole scenario, but Lafayette broke in real fast. ‘Save it and get your ass back here. I’m watching the Madison Avenue feeds and I think we got ourselves a situation developing. We’ve got a high-heeled blonde and some guy in a black suit is following her.’