Текст книги "American Devil"

Автор книги: Oliver Stark

Соавторы: Oliver Stark
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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

Chapter Seventy-Four

Senator Stanhope’s Home

November 29, 5.20 p.m.

It took a whole day before the Feds and NYPD had finished with the senator’s house. Special Agent Baines and Tom Harper kept it going for as long as they could, but pressure from above forced them to withdraw. Continuing the search for Sebastian was pointless.

Harper and Baines were the last to leave. The Feds’ four black cars were parked in the gravel yard between the main house and its small annexe. Baines took one more look around the empty grounds and then pulled the front door shut.

The team of twelve agents and Harper walked across to the black sedans. There was no talking between them as they walked. They got into the cars and quietly closed the doors. Last was Baines. He shut the door with a heavy clunk and the Federal cars drove off towards the gates in a trailing cloud of fine dust.

Baines was reflecting on the fact that they had been chasing shadows, being made to look fools. He hadn’t experienced this before. It was a new feeling. It was called failure and it didn’t feel good at all.

Back in the drive by the house, the dust settled on the faint tracks left in the gravel. In the late-afternoon sun, the motes of dust took several minutes to disperse and settle, long enough for the sound of the high-powered diesel engines to have disappeared into the distance.

The house had been left alone again, left to return to normal. All was still, very still. The birds had not yet returned, there was no wind and nothing was moving.

Then, after another hour had passed, a line of small stones moved ever so slightly under one of the tyre tracks. The surface of a dust ridge started to collapse as the top layer of stones fell away. Then a larger movement in the stillness: a large rectangular area of gravel moved and shook. The straight sides of what looked like a trapdoor became visible underneath.

It shook as if it were being banged from below. Then a small crease of darkness appeared at the corner and a large wedge of shade opened up. The trapdoor suddenly creaked wide open and hit the ground.

Sebastian emerged into the evening gloom, his eyes squinting in pain. The stink from the cesspool burst into the fresh air, but Sebastian was free.

The small brick-built cesspool was just over six metres from the annexe and fed by a single six-inch pipe. It was nothing more than a semi-permeable pit where the sewage and waste from the guest house slowly degraded before gradually seeping into the surrounding soil. Senator Stanhope hadn’t wanted to pay for connections to the main sewers for a house his in-laws would use for a couple of weeks a year. So he built a cesspool. All night and day it had been Sebastian’s hideout. He pulled Rose’s ear out of his pocket and ran it between his thumb and forefinger. His sculpture could be completed.

His main issue had been how to breathe, but he fixed a tube to run from the cesspool up the side of the inlet pipe and out through the soil. It was a tube the size of his thumb. If any one of the black sedans had landed on it, Sebastian would have suffocated in shit.

That would’ve been what he deserved, no doubt. The irony pleased Sebastian. He liked irony. That such quality agents didn’t even investigate the sewage system of the scene of a gruesome murder also amused him.

He had out-thought them all. His feet, however, were a concern. A day in putrid water had left them a real mess. He couldn’t walk very well, and that would require some explaining at home. But then again, maybe he wouldn’t have to go home if he went to the one person who never asked awkward questions.

Chapter Seventy-Five

East 126th Street

November 29, 6.20 p.m.

Mo had stayed away from his building all night. All through the long night. It had been one of the hardest nights of his life. He imagined that he could hear Lucy James crying and calling for him. He decided that he had to take her away. Take her from the cops and find a new home where they could be together. He didn’t return to East 126th Street until darkness had fallen again, when at last he felt safe enough to approach the corner. He stared down the street. There was no cop. Not a single person who looked like a cop. Mo gulped with unexpected excitement. Maybe the cops had gone home. He couldn’t hide his delight.

He had a chance now. A chance to take Lucy somewhere safe, but first he wanted to surprise her. Lucy had suffered too and she needed a present. Mo had got her one, too. Something nice from the store.

He was carrying two shopping bags, one from the food store and a special one from the department store. He was feeling all excited. The best thing about having your own girl at home was coming home to her. Especially if you’d been kept apart. He knew that if you could get them to feel at home and safe, then it would all be all right and they would cooperate. He entered the living room and called out, ‘Hello, Lucy!’

There was no reply, but he heard a muffled grunt. She was such an optimistic girl. Maurice put his food bag in the kitchen and then went through to the bedroom. There she was, but she didn’t look good. She was still real pretty, though. Her eyes were nice. He went across to her and sat on the bed. His big hand reached out and stroked her hair gently.

‘I got some things for you, Lucy. Nice things. Would you like to see them?’

‘Water,’ she mouthed.

Mo fetched a cup of water and held it to her lips. She drank it down in one and asked for more. He liked that she needed him. It felt like heaven that she needed him and drank from his cup. He was smiling broadly. She was lovely. The best he’d ever had.

‘No screaming, Lucy.’

‘No,’ she croaked.

She had to be obedient. It paid to be obedient. If she was good, he would be kind to her.

Maurice stroked her face. ‘How you feeling?’

‘Hungry. Dirty.’

‘I got you things.’ Maurice opened his bag and took out a sequined red top. Lucy winced as Maurice showed it to her. He then picked out a long red satin skirt. ‘I want you to look nice again. I’m sorry I couldn’t come home. I’ll run you a nice bath and get these dirty sheets all cleaned up. Would you like that?’

Lucy nodded. Maurice took out red pantyhose and red panties. ‘You’ll feel nice in these.’ Maurice stood up and went to run the bath. ‘We’re gonna do something special – just the two of us. So I want you to feel real nice.’

Lucy was waiting for whatever it was this maniac wanted to do to her. Perhaps it would come. Perhaps he would grow in confidence. Perhaps he would kill her tonight.

Chapter Seventy-Six

The Station House

November 29, 6.22 p.m.

The lights in the investigation room in Manhattan North didn’t go out all night following the killing of Senator Stanhope. The FBI needed to see everything they had on the case and that meant no sleep for Blue Team.

Harper was interviewed over and over again throughout the day, but was left out in the cold as far as the investigation was going. His part in the assault on Senator Stanhope’s home had to be covered up. He was off active duty. He shouldn’t have had a gun. Late afternoon, a tired and unwashed Tom Harper appeared around the door of Denise Levene’s downtown office. He watched her a moment with a feeling close to melancholy. Then he pushed the door further. ‘Hi there, Doctor, you got a moment?’

Denise looked up, saw Tom and smiled. ‘Hey, the elusive Mr Harper. Come in. It’s good to see you. I called you six times. What’s been happening?’

‘Sorry, we’ve been strung out, looking for something.’

‘I guess you’ve been through the mill. You look like shit.’

‘I feel like shit. We’ve been tied up like we’re under some fucking investigation. It’s off the scale, this one. Off the fucking scale.’ Tom wandered into the office. He smelled like something that hadn’t seen a shower in days. ‘It’s nice to see you, Denise. You know, I never thought I’d say that.’

Denise smiled and laughed a little. ‘How are you coping with the case?’

‘Not quite come down, yet.’

Denise sat down on the couch. ‘I’ve seen what the news stories are saying about the senator and his family and I guess it was a lot worse than that.’

Tom nodded and sat opposite. ‘Doesn’t go away. That’s the hard thing. Pictures just floating around your head. Awful pictures of what he might’ve done to them. It’s hard to disengage. It’s so fucked up, Denise.’

‘You seen all of these?’ Denise picked up the day’s papers and put them on the glass table. ‘You seen what they’re saying? “Cops Save Senator’s Family”. You did good, Tom.’

‘I guess I tried, but the senator and Rose died.’ Harper flicked through the papers, glancing at the headlines. ‘Our killer just went platinum by the look of this. I tell you, Denise, every fucking deadweight from administration wants a piece of the investigation. They can’t take a piss without writing a report and sending it to the deputy commissioner. And guess what? It’s not going to make a blind bit of difference.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s not that kind of case. You can put pressure on investigations when there’s loose ends and shoddy work, but this one is tight. They’ve just got nothing to go on. They’re all out of leads.’

‘Except Redtop,’ she said.

‘No one believes Redtop has anything to do with Sebastian. Not since I saw Sebastian and it wasn’t the same guy.’

‘But you still think they are linked?’

‘I do, but what do I know?’

Denise went over to the door and opened it. Tom was still sitting on the seat, looking unwilling to move. ‘I think you underestimate yourself. Come on, let’s go out,’ she suggested.

Harper stood and followed Denise out of the door. At noon, the President would mention Senator Stanhope at a press conference. He would offer his sincere condolences and fiercely condemn the killings. He would promise every resource available for the brave professionals searching for this killer. Then he would stamp his fist on the lectern and look hard and serious into the camera.

Out on the street, Harper was expecting a cup of coffee and a doughnut, but Denise Levene had other plans. She took him to her car and stood with the door open. ‘I know that everyone thinks you’re off-beam about the kidnappings and Redtop but I believe you, Tom. And it’s the only possible link that hasn’t been exhausted, so we’ve got to find out as much as we can about Redtop.’

‘Can’t I sleep first?’ said Harper. ‘Deal with this tomorrow?’

‘You could try,’ said Denise. ‘But you’d just lie there and see dead bodies running around your head. What’s the attraction? Come on. We’ve got to get you back to the only link you’ve got with the killer and that’s East 126th Street.’

Chapter Seventy-Seven

East 126th Street

November 29, 7.15 p.m.

o patted Lucy’s hand. ‘The bath is ready. You take a bath and put on your dress, and I’ll cook us something nice.’

Lucy nodded. The hallucinations had faded and she felt almost normal after the water and the prospect of a bath, but she was trying hard to still appear weak. She had learned quickly that you had to humour Mo. It was the only way with him – he was like a great big kid. But she was excited about the bathroom, about being able to wash at leisure. Mo looked at her as she sat on the side of the bed. ‘You gotta be a good girl, okay?’

‘I’ll be good for you, Mo. I will be ever so good.’ It was no good just enjoying the freedom, she’d also been thinking through her escape plan. This was a real chance. She would be much quicker than Mo, she would have the element of surprise and her returning strength and balance would give her the advantage. He wouldn’t be expecting it.

She had seen that Mo kept his keys round his neck but she would need him to be out cold or disorientated for a moment. She stood up unsteadily, took her armful of shiny red gifts and took them into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. The room had no window so Mo knew it was safe. He retreated to the kitchen. He was going to make pasta for her – something more than tinned mince for his special princess.

Lucy searched the bathroom. She needed a knife or a club of some sort. She found a pair of nail scissors, but they were tiny. The blades were only an inch and a half. She found Maurice’s razor next. She unscrewed the cap and pulled out a razor blade. Her armory was placed on the white toilet lid. Then she found a can of deodorant. She wasn’t sure if that would do anything or not, but she put it with the scissors and blade. Then she got in the bath.

Lying in the deep bath, even in these circumstances, was a real pleasure. She felt as if she’d been lying in her own filth for a week, sweating unconscious all night and day. She lay in the bath thinking about what she needed to do. How to incapacitate him, take his keys and flee. She’d have to be braver than she’d ever been before.

She heard music coming from the kitchen. He would be off guard. Perhaps he would give her a knife to eat with, but it would be a blunt old thing. She picked up the scissors, turning them in her hand. Looking at them, considering what damage they could do.

When Lucy emerged from the bathroom, Mo let out a squeal of excitement. ‘Wow!’ he exclaimed. She looked fantastic. All in red with her hair done up and lipstick on. Like a real girlfriend.

‘Does it all fit?’

‘Just perfect, Mo. How do I look?’

‘Lovely, lovely, lovely,’ he said. He led her through to the kitchen/living room. There was a small Formica table set for two, two chairs and music playing in the background. Mo pulled her seat back and Lucy sat.

All through dinner as they talked, Lucy was calculating, trying to identify the right time for her escape. When they’d eaten, Mo stood up and gestured to her with his hands.

‘What do you want, Maurice?’

‘Will you dance with me?’ he asked.

Lucy stood up and joined him in the middle of the stark room in the dilapidated building, swaying to the music. It was beyond strange.

Maurice leaned his head on Lucy’s shoulder and said, ‘You smell pretty.’

Lucy took his head in her hands. ‘You look real nice too, Maurice. Close your eyes.’ Maurice closed his eyes and turned his face to hers. She stroked his cheek. ‘You’ve been real good to me, Mo. I want to reward you. Would you like that?’

Mo nodded as her finger moved across his lip. Her right hand moved inside her top and found the nail scissors. She withdrew them. Her plan was to plant them firmly in one eye. The shock might be enough to topple him. She was holding them in her fist when a violent knocking broke into the room. Someone was hammering on the door. Lucy quickly hid the scissors. Mo stopped, paralysed. He knew who it was. It was the police, come to get him and take him away. He quickly took Lucy and pushed her into the bedroom. ‘It’s the police, Lucy. They’ve been following me and now they’ve come to get me.’ He was shaking all over as the knocking continued. ‘I won’t ever answer.’

‘You’ve got to answer,’ Lucy pleaded from the bedroom door. ‘I’ll tell them that you were looking after me. They just want to help.’

Mo looked at Lucy. ‘Would you?’

She nodded and stepped back into the bedroom. The knocking continued. Mo moved to the door. His hands were shaking as he opened each lock.

The door opened. Lucy was confused. It wasn’t a cop.

A tall, wild-eyed figure stood in the doorway covered in dirt and shit. Mo stared at him, his hands shaking.

‘What the fuck kept you?’ Sebastian shouted, staring at Mo in disgust.

‘Sorry, Nick,’ said Mo and lowered his eyes to the floor.

Chapter Seventy-Eight

East 126th Street

November 29, 8.15 p.m.

Sebastian looked at the girl in the red dress standing in the doorway to the bedroom, staring out with hope in her eyes. ‘I see you took another girl, Mo. What did I tell you? What the hell did I tell you?’

‘Don’t take no more girls,’ said Mo.

‘That’s right, and what the hell did you do?’

‘I couldn’t help it.’

‘I should kick your ass for this, Mo. You’re a fucking liability.’

‘I kept her all nice,’ said Maurice. ‘Better than Lottie. I gave this one water too. Kept her alive.’

‘Good, Mo, real good.’

Sebastian walked in, walked over to Lucy and hit her hard across the jaw. She fell backwards and Sebastian shut the bedroom door. ‘Speak to me, Maurice. What the fuck is going on?’ Sebastian looked around the dilapidated apartment. ‘What are you doing in here? What’s with the music?’

‘Nothing, Nick. Ain’t nothing.’

Sebastian shoved past Maurice and took a drink of water from the tap. ‘What’s been going on?’

‘The police have been following me, Nick. I had to stay away for two days.’

Sebastian stopped dead. ‘Cops have been here?’

‘They were waiting up and down the street, but then today they left and I got in again. Lucy’s medicine had worn off and she was okay. She looks better now, Nick.’

‘How did the police find you?’

‘I don’t know.’

Sebastian sat at the kitchen table. He thought for a moment. ‘Listen, Mo, this is what you need to do. We got to get the girl out of here right now. I want you to go back to Benny and borrow his van again. We’ve got to take her upstate. You remember the farm. We can use the farm, can’t we? Bring the van back here soon as you can. You understand?’

‘You not going to hurt her, are you, Nicky?’

‘Course I’m not, Mo.’

Mo nodded gratefully and headed for the door. ‘Soon as I can, Nick, I promise.’ Then he was gone.

Chapter Seventy-Nine

7-Eleven

November 29, 8.45 p.m.

Harper arrived back at Benny Marconi’s store with Denise Levene, having stopped only to take a quick shower at the station. They made quite the investigating couple – a demoted ex-Homicide cop with a suspension hanging over his record and a psychotherapist with a family background in crime and a yearning to be a profiler.

‘I’m going in,’ said Harper. ‘I want to see if I can get anything from Mr Marconi. We can hang around East 126th Street all night, but this guy knows something.’

‘He didn’t give you much before, did he?’ said Denise.

‘I brought a couple of crime scene pictures to see if I can’t jog his memory.’ Harper got out of the car, walked across the street and pulled open the door. Benny Marconi appeared immediately from an aisle, holding a price gun. ‘What a great surprise. I kinda knew you wouldn’t leave this fucking guy alone.’

‘Has he been back?’ said Harper.

‘I don’t keep a close enough eye on his movements.’

‘He hasn’t shown up for work, has he?’

‘No. Not with you clowns on his tail.’

‘Just let me know – does he ever alter his routine? That’s all I want. You’d notice, right, if he did something different?’

‘I ain’t got nothing to say.’

‘I know that, but just nod or something. Does he ever change the routine?’

Benny stood dead still. ‘You going to get that warrant you promised or just waste your time? I’m not in this conversation. You’re ruining my fucking reputation sitting on the door like that.’

‘Hey, I’m just hoping you care about people getting killed. They’re getting fucking cut to pieces.’ Harper threw three photographs across the counter. ‘Look at what he’s done!’

‘I keep myself to myself.’

‘Damn you! Look at these women. Look at the pain they went through. You not interested even if this guy is murdering local girls? What if he goes for one of your family, someone you know?’

‘Hey, this killer takes rich girls, no skin off me. And Redtop, well, he’s no murderer, trust me, he’s gentle as a puppy.’

‘Tell me about his movements. Where is he now? I know that you know.’

‘Get out of here. I’m not no piece-of-shit informant.’

‘He rapes them, you know that?’ Harper watched Benny’s expression change. ‘He tortures them real slowly – you want that on your conscience?’

‘Not Redtop. You’re chasing the wrong guy. You need an arrest, he’ll do. Just cos he’s slow. It ain’t justice.’

‘Mr Marconi, the killer pushed a knife into a young girl sixty-four times. Small, slow, shallow cuts so she wouldn’t die. Sixty-four times, Mr Marconi. Is that not worth your attention?’ Harper looked, but Benny Marconi wasn’t going to talk. Harper turned to leave. As he stood in the open doorway, he noticed the van was missing from the kerb. A thought ticked like a second hand in his mind.

‘Your van got towed?’

‘No, it got fixed.’

‘Where is it?’

Benny Marconi turned away from Harper. ‘I don’t know.’

Harper moved across the store quick and grabbed Benny before he had a chance to pull the Beretta from his waistband. He threw him hard against the wall and jammed his forearm into his neck. ‘I’m gonna kill you, that’s all I’m gonna say,’ whispered Harper.

‘Redtop takes it, sometimes,’ gasped Benny. ‘He goes to the Bronx. Yeah, he drives it to get stuff from the food market.’

‘How long is he gone?’

‘I’m not saying anything. You understand? This is not happening.’

‘I understand.’

‘I let him take the van. Kind of a favour. He works for peanuts. Least I can do.’

Harper froze like someone had hit him. ‘You gave him the van? He’s got it now?’

‘Yeah. Took it twenty minutes ago.’

‘Thank you, Mr Marconi, you’ve been a great help. Shit.’ Harper ran out of the door and straight across the street at speed. He reached Denise Levene’s small car and yanked open the door. ‘Drive. Get going. We need to get to East 126th Street.’

She looked across at him.

‘No questions, just drive! I’ve got to get on to Eddie and the department. We should’ve checked this out. We missed it. We fucking missed the van. He’s going to try to take Lucy somewhere tonight.’