Текст книги "American Devil"

Автор книги: Oliver Stark

Соавторы: Oliver Stark
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

Chapter Forty-Five

Madison Avenue

November 23, 2.33 p.m.

On the Upper East Side, Kitty Hunyardi entered Lush & Low on East 67th Street. It was her weekly appointment. A salesman was blocking the entrance as he tried to get to speak to the manager. Kitty tutted loudly until he moved his large case out of the way. She moved across and sat in her favourite leather chair without speaking to anyone, placed her Gucci lizard clutch bag on her lap and clicked her bright blue snakeskin Mary Janes on the chrome foot rail. She had only to wait a few seconds before Antonio appeared behind her, his hands on her head, letting her long blond hair fall through his fingers.

The salesman turned and stared at her. It was hard not to. Kitty was the beautiful twenty-three-year-old daughter of some dead line of Hungarian aristocracy. Her family had lost its title in the forties, but they had emigrated and invested in rubber. And rubber had come good.

Across the street, a man in a black suit with grey hair stared in at the salon. Kitty didn’t notice him at first. He was just part of the background, part of the noise that she needn’t bother herself about. But there was something about him that caused her to turn and look.

As she did so he turned and walked away. Kitty had noticed some guy a couple of times now. She thought she was being followed. The night before, someone had been overly interested in her in a cocktail bar. She was sure that the same guy followed her outside and tried to get his hand in her bag as she waited for a cab in the road, but a couple of cops had been close and the guy just walked by. A week earlier, someone had been waiting around near her apartment. The first time, she’d just let it go, but now it was three times and Kitty was superstitious. She didn’t like threes. Especially not if it meant someone was stalking her.

Kitty’s instinctive reaction was that it was her father’s protectiveness again. The man in the suit was probably hired to look out for her, make sure she walked in safety at all times.

But he wasn’t quite like the bodyguards she’d known before and bodyguards didn’t swoop in so close you could smell their cologne. What was it about him? When a guy won’t let go of you with his eyes? That was it. He stared at her. She could feel it. Drilling into her. Anger? Hatred? Something that just felt wrong.

Kitty left the salon forty minutes later with her hair trimmed and blow-dried. She looked up and down the street but the black-suited man was nowhere to be seen. She looked at her diamond-encrusted watch, checked her lips in the window of the salon and walked across the street to Madison Avenue. She was due at her mother’s in an hour, enough time to see if anything caught her eye.

Kitty walked up Madison, her eyes fixed ahead, her long legs moving with practised precision and her mind far away in some fantasy land of her own making. She always imagined that the paparazzi were trailing her and she acted with the exaggerated gestures and look of disdain she’d seen in so many magazines. Only Kitty Hunyardi wasn’t famous. Not yet, anyhow. She’d talked to her PR firm that morning and they’d found a producer willing to give her a meeting. It was the first step. That’s all you ever needed. Just one step.

A distance behind her, the grey-haired man in the black suit appeared from a doorway and started to follow her. Kitty turned into the Versace store. The man in black walked straight past the boutique and stopped on the corner of East 69th Street. He waited for about ten minutes. This was how it was supposed to be. He pulled out his schedule. Following the plan was important. Keeping exactly to the plan. He knew exactly how long Kitty would spend in each shop and he waited accordingly. When people kept such rigid routines, it was easy to track them.

Across the street from Versace, the mobile CCTV unit filmed the store entrance. Kitty was an obvious target for the American Devil. In the van, Kasper was watching her closely.

‘Zoom,’ he called into the microphone. The camera caught Kitty swaggering into the store. She was stunning to look at. Film star looks and attitude too. Plastic bottle beauty. Kasper raised his eyebrows in appreciation and ordered one of his undercover agents into the store.

The report came back quickly. Subject was in visual contact. No suspects. Kasper sighed and kept scanning all seven screens. Kitty appeared again on the screen. She was carrying a Versace bag and turned right. She walked about a block and then entered the Prada store. Kasper watched her, camera to camera.

Inside the Prada store, Kitty flicked through the rails, half interested, and picked out a zip-fronted silver dress. The man in black was already in the store, as the plan dictated, and he was on her in an instant.

‘Can I help, madam?’

Kitty didn’t even look up. The staff always crowded her. ‘No, go away,’ she said absently.

The man picked out another silver dress and held it up. ‘I should think Madam would look fantastic in this.’ Kitty looked up at the dress. ‘What do you think?’ said the man in black.

‘I think you didn’t hear me,’ said Kitty and turned away.

The undercover cop strolled into the store on Kasper’s command. ‘Nothing to report. Female shopper and male shop assistant. That’s it.’

In the van, Kasper sat back. Maybe it was going to be another day with nothing to show.

‘I think it’s gorgeous,’ said the man at her shoulder. ‘You’ve got a hint of silver in your eyes, a kind of stone colour.’ He smiled broadly. ‘I’d love to talk about them over lunch.’

Kitty reacted to his tone. She didn’t like his attitude or his smell. She suddenly realized what she could smell on him, too. It was the cologne from the night before. She turned and looked at him. It was the guy who’d been following her. If he was following her, he was taking things too far. She would get out quick, get home and tell Daddy. Daddy was real mean when he wanted to be. ‘I don’t need advice or a lunch date from the hired help,’ she said. She pushed the dress into the man’s chest and shot him a look of disdain. Then she left the store in a hurry, feeling the anxiety rise in her chest. Inside, the man in black replaced the dress with slow, careful movements. She’d had her chance. He always gave people a chance. Funny, they never took it.

Kasper watched Kitty leave Prada alone and head up East 68th Street, away from their surveillance towards Park Avenue. It was another three minutes before he caught a glimpse of the figure of the man in black leaving Prada. He sat up.

‘Where did he come from?’

The team on the street responded. ‘He’s been in there a while. He’s the shop assistant.’

‘When the blonde was in there?’

The cop confirmed it. Kasper watched the figure with the grey hair move past the final camera. He zoomed in. ‘Get me closer, Ali.’ Ali shot across to the control desk and moved the zoom. The face was partly obscured but Kasper thought it was similar to that in the photofit. This was a grey-haired man. He whispered through his radio to the team, ‘We got a visual on a possible suspect. Male, six foot plus, black suit, greying hair, walking south down Madison.’ He looked back at the screen. ‘Shit! Have we lost the blonde?’ He called across to Lol Edwards, ‘Get her ID from Prada or Versace – wherever she made a purchase. We need to know who she is.’

‘We’re on it,’ said Edwards.

The last team to follow her reported in. ‘She went straight past us. She’s out of shot on Park Avenue.’

Tom arrived in his Buick and parked half on the sidewalk on East 68th Street. He had the killer’s profile from Denise on his knee, and had been listening to the radio conversations as he drove. As he picked up the latest thread, he saw the blonde woman with the shopping bags hurry past. She was uneasy and even glanced behind her. Tom looked right down the street and saw the man in black.

Tom felt his nerves prick up and slowly opened the car door. ‘Kasper, this is Harper. I’m going to get in tight and see if I can follow him,’ he said on his radio.

Camera Three zoomed in, but the blonde and now the man in black had gone out of range. It was difficult to tell anything about the latter’s intentions. He was doing nothing but walking up the street. He walked out of shot and out of the range of the final camera just as Tom stepped on to the sidewalk and crossed the street.

Kasper thought for a moment. ‘Team Four, the blonde in Prada was talking to a male shop assistant. Can you give me a brief description?’

Detective Elaine Fittas came back over the airwaves. ‘Yeah, boss. We’ve got a guy, mid-thirties, greying hair, black suit.’

Kasper stood up. ‘Team Four, one more thing. Is he or isn’t he on the staff of Prada?’ He waited as Elaine went to check.

Her voice crackled back. ‘Negative, boss. They’ve never seen him before.’

That was all Kasper needed. He had to make a quick decision. ‘I think it’s him. Put the teams on standby, we’ve got to follow on foot. Team Four – get going. Has anyone got a visual?’

Team Four couldn’t get near the suspect. The crowds were so thick that they couldn’t progress. Harper was closest, only a few yards behind, watching the man in black as he closed in on the gorgeous blonde. What was he planning? A public execution? Or was he in the stalking phase? This guy was capable of anything. Was the American Devil on a busy Manhattan street about to do serious damage? Harper started to run.

Chapter Forty-Six

Upper East Side

November 23, 3.58 p.m.

The killer could see Kitty on the street, walking in her perfect bright red coat and dress. He wanted to taste her blood so much he could feel the sweet metallic flavour already rolling around his mouth. He wondered when he became a killer. Was it the first time he held someone’s throat and watched them pass from life to death? Or was it long before that? Was it some time way back in the past?

Perhaps it was just an art, like poetry, but with human blood and human remains to be savoured. Or perhaps he became a killer at high school. He had strange thoughts sitting in those classrooms.

He knew every action had consequences. These things went deep. But did they make him kill? He didn’t know. And he so wanted to know, to solve the problem of himself. Like everyone did. He was just a regular guy trying to solve his particular set of problems. The devil had come to rescue him. Slipped into his skin. He was a devil now – a real-life, walking, talking son of Satan.

He had been reflective all morning, as he showered, as he shaved, as he pissed. He knew why, too. He’d wanted Kitty the night before. He’d been ready. He’d been really ready. And he had to go away empty-handed. Not today. Not at all. The heat was still on. Deep within him, he felt the surge of lust that he knew would swamp him and drag him down to hell.

He strode towards Kitty as she walked up the street. The air was peculiarly stark and bright. It felt incredibly vivid to him. It always did when he was out hunting. He stopped to look at the bursting colours of the sky. It was absolutely magical. He knew that the devil was here. It was only when the devil woke that the world changed so quickly and everything looked like a Technicolor extravaganza. Such a strange night, it was, when the devil killed for the first time.

The killer was now a few yards behind Kitty, who’d crossed Park Avenue and was heading towards Lexington on East 68th Street. He stared at her back as he approached. Then, out of some deep animal awareness, she felt his eyes and turned to look.

‘Hello, Kitty. I’ve been watching you.’

Tom Harper was about ten feet behind the man in the black suit. He lost him for a second in the crowd and then, seemingly from the other side of the sidewalk, saw him swoop towards the blonde. ‘How the fuck did he get so close?’ Harper started to push through the crowd. He saw the man get right up to the blonde and then he saw her turn and shudder.

Kitty swung round and stared into the eyes of the tall figure who towered above her. She couldn’t catch her breath as she felt his hand grab her thigh and squeeze. He was smiling as he did so. Christ! What was he going to do to her?

His hand was grabbing her crotch and pulling at her as he watched her face. Her heart beat hard in her chest and her hands gripped her shopping bags with such force that her knuckles turned white. Her scream was automatic. She felt his fingers dig into her and just freaked. When her eyes opened again, he was gone. He’d moved into the crowd. Where was he? What did he want? Kitty looked round. Then she saw him coming back from the opposite direction. The same black suit surging towards her through the crowds, his head bowed low and purposeful. She saw the Hunter College subway and moved quickly towards it.

Harper knew something was wrong. He yelled, ‘Police! Move, move!’ He was shouldering through the crowds but he was advancing slowly. Then he heard her shriek. The high-pitched squeal rose above the low hum of the crowd. ‘Police!’ shouted Harper again, pushing the shoppers aside. ‘Get out of my way.’ He looked ahead. The blonde had disappeared from view. Maybe the killer had taken her out in the crowd. He was capable of it. Of anything.

Harper had lost both the blonde and the man in black. It was no good. He climbed on top of a trash can and scanned around.

He spotted the blonde heading into the subway, her bright red coat easily visible in the crowd now he had the height. About two hundred yards down the street, the rest of the surveillance operation were heading towards him, but there wasn’t time to wait. Then he caught sight of a man dressed in black at the subway entrance. He was following the blonde.

Kitty’s heart was pounding so much she could hear it loud in her ears. Her heels clipped quickly across the crowded subway station towards the gates. She didn’t have a card or a ticket and looked around, but there was no time, the man was there again. Or was it another man in black? She was confused, but he was heading right for her. She kicked off her Mary Janes and left all nine hundred dollars’ worth of designer shoes behind her as she bundled through the barriers on someone else’s metro card and ran to the escalators.

She took out her cell phone, but as she was dialling 911 she reached the escalator and reception died on her. She looked back. He was still there – putting his card in the gate and staring at her intently. She was terrified. He was a predator. Now she understood. She was being hunted.

The man in the black suit didn’t hurry. There was nowhere for her to run. He made a move towards her, increasing his step. The great thing about the blonde hair was that he could spot it from a distance.

Tom Harper appeared at the subway entrance just as the blonde and the man in black were getting off the escalator down below.

Harper ran and vaulted the gates, then stopped and looked at the crowds. He wouldn’t make it in time. Down the side of the escalator was a wide aluminium slide. Harper jumped and slid the length of the drop, keeping himself from falling by using the shoulders of the shoppers as he passed.

At the bottom of the escalator Harper shoved the crowds out of the way and darted down into the subway. He started to sprint towards the platforms, craning his neck to look ahead. The blonde disappeared down one of the tunnels: behind her and closing in was the killer. If Harper allowed the killer to get on a train, he might lose him for good. He followed their route and came out into another large, central tunnel. He kept his eye on the tunnels leading left and right from the main thoroughfare. Which way?

About fifty yards ahead, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the man taking the southern line. Tom darted left and found himself on a packed platform.

By the time he’d got halfway along the platform, a train had pulled in and opened its doors. He scanned the crowd quickly, letting them get on the train, moving up the platform in the space behind them. As the doors were about to shut, he caught sight of the man in black getting on about four carriages up. There was a flash of red inside the carriage and Tom jumped aboard just as the heavy metal doors skidded shut.

The train pulled away into the darkness of the tunnel ahead.

With no way through the packed carriage, Tom knew he’d never reach them in the short time he had and he’d lose them at the next station. He looked at the emergency stop handle for an instant, then pulled it.

The train started to screech to a halt, the lights flickering on and off. The crowds began to look around, worry and annoyance more than fear crossing their faces. Slowly, Tom began to move through each cabin. The lights kept flickering as his eyes scanned ahead.

As soon as the train jolted to a stop, Tom’s quarry panicked. He could see Kitty up ahead, but he knew the cops must’ve stopped the train. He scanned down through the carriages. He couldn’t see anything, but he had to go. He had to escape. He couldn’t bear the crowds, the claustrophobia, the police on his tail. He felt sweat pouring down his face as he pushed through the throng to get to the driver’s cab.

Ahead of him, Kitty was rushing through the carriages as fast as she could, terrified now and shouting as she pulled herself through the crowds. She could hear the commotion her attacker was making behind her as she reached the end of the train. She saw the man coming through the last carriage, sweat pouring down his face. The driver’s door was shut and locked. Kitty smashed her flat hand hard against it and started screaming, but the door didn’t open. She rattled the handle and pleaded, but she knew the driver wouldn’t open it. It was against all regulations. He had to sit tight and wait.

As her pursuer approached, Kitty gave up. She turned towards him with her back hard against the driver’s door, slid down the door and pulled herself into a tight little ball. She closed her eyes and bent her head as far as possible into her knees.

The man in black had nowhere to go. He turned and looked back down the train. He could see someone moving towards him, close now. He looked down at Kitty. He had no option. He smashed a window with his heel and clambered out. He hooked himself on to the side wall of the tunnel and moved to the front of the train, dropped down, and sprinted into the darkness.

Tom arrived and knelt by Kitty. ‘You’re okay now,’ he said softly. ‘We’ve got him trapped. He’s out in the tunnel. I’m going after him. You’re safe now.’ Kitty didn’t even open her eyes and Tom climbed out of the broken window. He was less than a minute behind his quarry: near enough to hear his footsteps as he sprinted ahead in the pitch dark. Tom started to run, fearing the live electric rail and trying to find a rhythm on the track.

At the next station, the cops had cleared the crowds from the platform and were waiting, staring into the dark tunnel. They heard footsteps in the tunnel and a man appeared in the opening of the station, running from something or someone. Then Harper appeared behind him.

The man tried to get up on the platform but cops spanned its length, their guns pointing down at him. Panicking, not knowing which way to turn, he turned and rushed straight at Harper.

Harper sidestepped him, caught him by the neck and threw him to the ground. A knife clattered across the rails and the man scrambled away from Harper, his heels digging into the dirt.

‘Who are you?’ said Tom.

The man looked up. ‘I don’t know who I am!’ he shouted. Harper saw the manic look in his eyes and watched as his right arm reached out towards the live rail. If he touched the line, over six hundred volts would course through his body, killing him instantly. Harper grabbed hold of his ankle and tried to pull him back, but it was too dangerous: if the man touched the rail while Harper was holding him they would both die. He looked up. Three officers were staring down their sights at them. Harper didn’t want this killer dead, either punched full of holes or fried on a train line. With one last effort, he threw himself on top of him, caught his right arm and rolled him towards the platform. The two bodies rolled twice and then the killer went limp. There was no fight left in him. Harper turned him in the dirt and stared at his face. The fucking guy was weeping. Harper wanted to break his jaw. He jammed his forearm under his chin and pulled his head up. He had the American Devil in his control on the ground. It felt good. Real good.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ he shouted. ‘Who the fuck are you, you sick bastard?’

The man was crying even harder now. ‘I’m nobody. Nobody at all. I was just following her. I wasn’t going to touch her or hurt her.’

‘I want your name,’ Harper screamed. ‘Your name!’

The man looked up. ‘Carlisle,’ he said. ‘Winston Carlisle.’