by Oliver Stark
‘Ten sessions? Fuck that. I want the minimum.’
‘That is the minimum, Detective. I had planned a couple of sessions, but after meeting you I realize we’re going to have to go in deep and that’s going to take time.’
‘No way. I’m fine. You know that and I know that, so sign the form and let me get back out on the streets.’
‘You don’t sign up for ten, I’m not letting you out on the street at all. You’re not fit.’
‘How do you know? You haven’t even assessed me!’
‘I can see everything I need to - you’re spoiling for a fight, you’re resentful and negative, and you have no idea what to do with those little things called emotions. So, in my view, you’re not ready to be issued a gun. But if you sign up for ten sessions, then that’s going to convince me that you do want to help yourself and help resolve the anger. You sign up, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.’
‘So it’s Catch-22?’
‘No, it’s CBT. Cognitive behavioural therapy. We focus on practical strategies to manage your behaviour and we focus on the now. I don’t need to go back to your childhood and I don’t go looking for your subconscious. I don’t try to interpret your world. I couldn’t give a damn about why you do things or what you think. All I know is that I can change those things.’
‘You sure about that?’
‘We agree behaviour we want, call it Behaviour A, and we agree behaviour we don’t, call it Behaviour B. In stage one, we set about noticing how much we are drawn to Behaviour A and Behaviour B. Stage two, we put in some rewards for Behaviour A and some sanctions for Behaviour B. So you see, we just retrain your mind a little and maybe your emotions, but they are secondary. We focus on getting the actions we want; the emotions will follow. But first, we got to agree what the problem is.’ Denise laid her arms on the desk. She was tanned and her silver charm bracelet rattled against the wood. She looked towards Tom for a reaction. ‘If there is a problem,’ she said.
‘Not my problem.’
‘Still a problem, though.’
‘Not worth your time. Nice as you are.’
‘Let’s dispose of the attitude,’ said Dr Levene. ‘I get it. I get it you don’t like me or trust me. I get it you don’t really think psychologists can help, period. I get it you like being angry. You’re a man. I get it. Why don’t you try to be a little more interesting? I could tell right from the moment you walked in that you’re a very emotional guy. I can see it in your curled lip and your twitching hands. So be emotional. Make my day.’
Tom half smiled. She was good. He could see why the guys liked her. And she was good to look at too, if you didn’t mind the stuck-up, college-educated aura.
‘Looks like you’re the one with the attitude,’ he told her.
‘But I didn’t screw up my job. That was all you, and looking at you I’d say you did it all by yourself. Hope she was worth it.’
Harper stood. He walked over to her desk.
‘That simple, is it?’ he growled. ‘This is some problem you’re about to turn around? Solve my anger? I don’t care what you do. I’m here because this is my only option to save some lives.’
‘You’ve got this saving-lives fantasy to a T,’ she said. ‘Hero cop with bad attitude cos he cares too damn much. Lover walks out, again, because he loves too damn much. Why the hell is the world mistreating Mr Perfect? You need to get your head out of your ass. If she left you, she left you for reasons belonging to both of you.’
Harper was riled. He stared hard at Dr Levene. ‘Don’t believe what you hear, Levene. I read people too. You talk tough and act tough, but you’re scared of me. I can smell it.’
Levene smiled, but his aim was good.
‘You want more?’ Tom said. ‘I come in the door. You’re writing but you’ve got nothing to write. Look on your pad. It’s empty. You’re play-acting. You’ve done your second blouse button up too, but I can see by the crease that it’s been open all morning. You’ve turned your personal photos away from me and you’ve turned your certificates out . . . Jesus, you’re the one hiding, not me. Main motivation with you - to get what you want.’
‘Right on all but the last point. Main motivation is wildly off the mark.’
‘You know what? I think you’re flirting with me, Dr Levene.’ Tom leaned right over the desk.
‘You’re in my space, cowboy. Back right off.’
‘Get you excited when I’m that close?’
‘Yeah, the smell of whisky at ten in the morning really turns me on.’
‘Quit your games.’
‘You first.’
‘You sit here in Suite No. 32B. All the signs that you are a made-it lady. You even solve people’s problems. I bet you feel great. But out there, Dr Levene, out there is a maniac who tortures his victims and takes body parts. Watching them die and convulse as he . . . Shit, lady. He tore open a woman’s chest, cut out her heart and then went home. Went off to his day job.’
Levene nodded. ‘That’s the emotion I was talking about. Nice to see it as it really is.’ The smile had left her face.
‘My problems don’t amount to anything worth State dollars, so yes I resent the waste of everyone’s time.’
A lesser doctor would have ended the session right there and then. Pressed the small red security button and had this psycho cop from the dark ages towed away. But that wasn’t Levene’s way and that wasn’t how Levene succeeded when others failed. She smiled. Unbuttoned the second button on her blouse, turned the photos out and the certificates in.
‘Just seeing how good you are, cowboy. Now let’s get to work.’
Tom went for the door. ‘I’ve signed to ten sessions, right? Well, let’s keep them short. Session one over. Nine more to go.’
‘Then you agree to come back?’
‘If it’s the only way I can get out there to work this killer, then I’ll endure you.’
‘Fine. But I want you back here tomorrow. I need to get started right away if you’re going to stay out of trouble, Detective.’
Chapter Thirteen
Blue Team Major Investigation Room
November 17, 2.34 p.m.
Harper spent the rest of the morning trying to get Denise Levene’s voice out of his head, so he went back to the other two crime scenes at Ward’s Island and the underground parking lot. He didn’t get much further with his thinking and drove back to the precinct. He wanted desperately to call Lisa, but resisted it. She’d told him not to. She’d said they both needed to work out how to live apart. He parked up, bought fresh coffee and a bagel from a street vendor and walked up into the open-plan sixth-floor office of Manhattan North Homicide.
The detectives who made up the elite Blue Team were all sitting around in the far corner facing Nate Williamson. He’d just received the feedback from the Fed’s violent criminal apprehension programme, ViCAP - a database of sickening crimes.
Williamson was a hard-nosed veteran of nearly twenty years. His age alone demanded respect, but he still worked out and he could floor a perp half his age. The Romario case had been his lead at the start. After four months they’d put Harper in charge. It wasn’t easy for Williamson, but he knew the younger guys were just that little bit smarter and faster. And Harper had done a good job. Williamson knew that he wouldn’t have made the links Harper had made. Not in a million years.
Harper walked into the centre of the room for the first time in a long while. ‘Nice time last night, Harper?’ asked Williamson, looking at Harper’s fists. ‘We wondered where you got to.’
Harper tried to shrug it off. ‘Got them caught in a door.’
‘Yeah,’ said Williamson, ‘we’ve just seen the door wearing a face mask.’
‘Eddie and me walked the crime scene again. I need to speak to the team, Nate.’
‘When I say so, Harper,’ said Williamson. ‘Now listen up, all of you. The street teams are still scratching around and nothing’s giving - a few witnesses with contradictory stories. There’s nothing
on ViCAP. Forensics have nothing yet, but they reckon he’s been careful with his prints again. They’ll be able to confirm whether they’ve got any DNA samples in a couple of days. They found some microfibres in Amy Lloyd-Gardner’s hair and mouth and a half-print of the killer’s lips on her mouth, but nothing much to go on. He took her clothes. The autopsy will get under way soon, but the ME confirmed that Amy’s heart had been removed. Any luck on finding the silver Merc, Garcia?’
Garcia shook his head. ‘Nothing. No sighting at all. He maybe has it locked up.’
‘Unlikely,’ said Harper. ‘It’s full of evidence. Most likely scenario is he took it to a scrap yard and torched it. You should check all the yards.’
‘Will do,’ said Garcia.
Kasper nodded from the side. ‘I’ve been speaking to the FBI profile coordinator and we’ll put the package together for him if we want his help. Our own profiler is out of action.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘Long term sick. He’s probably the killer.’
‘Yeah, and I bet he wouldn’t even be able to work that one out,’ said Garcia. The guys laughed.
‘Nothing else?’ asked Williamson. There was nothing from the floor. Harper filled the silence.
‘I called the Medical Examiner this morning. She found a bite mark on Amy Lloyd-Gardner’s breast. Fairly deep, too. They’ll get a pretty good imprint from it. He’s growing already. Getting more aggressive. Getting to like the thrill, but he needs to do more each time to get the same buzz. I’ll work up the details to send off to the Feds, but my hunch is that this is a serial killer and he’s just beginning to express himself.’
‘Express himself? What do you mean?’ asked Garcia.
‘I mean, some take time to dare to do all the things they dream about, but this guy is getting there real quick. It’s not a good sign. And he’s professional - ambush, cosh, drag out of sight and then strip and cut. It looks like he’s recording his crimes, too. They like to replay the memories.’
Williamson turned to Lol Edwards, a balding red-haired cop from Maine. ‘How about anything from the stores? Anyone following Amy?’
Lol shook his heavy jowls. ‘Nothing to report. Can’t get anything from the stores in Madison and Park Avenue. We got a better photograph from Amy’s husband and it’s doing the rounds with the store owners, see if we can get someone to remember something. We should know where she went and what she bought by the end of the day. Her credit card records just came through, so we’ll have pieced it all together soon.’
Williamson nodded. ‘Garcia, the rest of your report. What you got?’
Mark Garcia stood up. ‘Got some good stuff from the eyewitnesses. Seems like there was a guy in a silver SUV next to a woman. We’ve got three separate sightings of a Caucasian male in a green uniform with grey hair. One saw him when he was in the car, two saw him sweeping the garage. He was wearing these orange shades that some of the gangbangers wear, so they can’t do much with his face. But we got this drawing finished. It’s only his lips, jaw and nose, but it’s pretty good as a likeness - it’s a mix of the three separate sightings. They all saw this guy in the underground lot.’
Garcia moved over to the board and tacked the drawing up. The team looked at it. The face was regular and symmetrical, but the eyes were hidden. ‘What doesn’t he want us or them to see?’ said Harper. ‘I think he’s hiding something that might identify him.’
‘What like?’ said Williamson.
‘Different coloured eyes, something like that. Something he wants hidden because if it went out on a profile, he’d be recognized.’
‘That’s not a bad piece of deduction, Harper, but he might just be trying to hide his identity like any criminal would. So let’s not go chasing guys with eye problems until we got some evidence.’
‘Oh, and they said he smiled,’ said Garcia.
‘When?’ asked Harper.
‘In the car. He gave this woman a smile and a wave.’ Garcia looked to his notes. ‘A big smile, she said. She also said the lady in the car was naked. Maybe they were having sex.’
‘How were they having sex?’ asked Harper.
‘It’s easy to do, Tom. We’ve got books and everything if you need them,’ said Eddie.
Garcia half smiled. ‘Maybe they weren’t, but what do you think they’re doing if she’s naked?’
Rick Swanson, all five foot and 180 pounds of him, sniffed. ‘So, there’s this couple in a silver SUV and they’re naked.’
Garcia interrupted. ‘She was, he wasn’t. He had a green uniform on.’
‘Okay, good,’ said Swanson. ‘So she’s naked. They make out and have a row. He pushes her out of the car, she runs for it. He is in a rage about something, gets out and pulls out her heart.’
‘You’re a real nice storyteller, Swanson,’ said Eddie.
‘Fuck my style, is that what we’re saying happened?’
Harper tapped the desk. ‘No. They weren’t making out. He was forcing her and threatening her life. This isn’t a trick or affair gone wrong, this is a whole life gone wrong.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Look, the statement says that he was in the passenger seat. It was her car. He’s got in beside her, threatened her and then hit her and dragged her across to the arch.’
Williamson stood. ‘No use all this speculating like we’re all still in the academy. We need more street work. Okay, guys, let’s keep up the hunt. This is a nasty piece of work. Let’s get out there.’
Harper stood. ‘One more thing - I think the killer is stalking the victims. I think he knows them inside out and exactly where they go.’ Harper took a foam cup and poured strong coffee from the pot.
‘How so?’
‘I took a look at Mary-Jane’s diary. She mentions someone following her on two occasions.’
‘Could be anyone,’ said Williamson.
‘Get this, too. On October 4 a guy stopped her in the street and told her she’s got lovely eyes. I called her parents: she didn’t say anything to them.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘That’s over a month ago. Could be this killer knows his victims very well. That’s why he’s so confident. He knows them and their movements intimately. You went to see Amy’s husband. I bet he wasn’t missing her at all, was he?’
Williamson looked up. ‘No. He was out with his buddies.’
‘The killer knew she wouldn’t be missed. I bet the same is true of Grace.’
‘Damn right,’ said Swanson. ‘She was on her way home and lived alone.’
‘It’s a maybe at the moment, but Mary-Jane was alone for about eight minutes each day as she walked to her apartment. If that was a random opportune strike, it was sure as hell unlucky for Mary-Jane. I think he knew exactly when she’d be vulnerable. I also looked up the police records. Grace Frazer had reported a man outside her apartment on six occasions. Patrol took a look but never found anyone. With Amy, my guess is he’s followed her many a time before and knows where she shops. He also knows her car and where she likes to park - right close to the entrance nearest to Madison Avenue. He found a place where the CCTV wouldn’t spot him, too. I might be wrong, but if he had a uniform it would be too dangerous to wear that disguise over and over again in a place with CCTV just waiting for the type of victim he wants. All three suggest he’s a careful, planned stalker who waits until the time is right. That’s what didn’t make sense. They look like risky kills, but he’s planned these so well they’re actually not.’
The team took it all on board. Harper had got to the heart of the case after a day’s work.
‘Press interest?’ asked Lol Edwards. His skin was pale but he had a red birthmark on his neck that was getting redder by the minute with the excitement or the heat in the room. He looked like his face was going to explode.
‘They don’t know what’s happened exactly and there’s only so many tears they can extract from the paying public, so they’re holding out for now, but when they get the full horror they’ll splash th
is all over.’
Harper went up to the whiteboard. ‘I got one more thing. It’s not something that’s going to lead anywhere, but if you look at Amy’s body from above ...’ Tom drew the outline of a body with wings and a halo. ‘See? The two flaps of skin are positioned like wings and she’s got a halo of blood round her head. She looks like an angel.’
‘Oh, that’s sweet, that is, Harper,’ said Williamson. ‘That’s so fucking poetic. You think she fell from heaven?’ Some of the other guys laughed. ‘You think she got sliced up by the overhead power lines? That’s good. You think someone pushed her out of heaven, or did she jump?’
Harper stood centre stage while the team shook with laughter. Finally he smiled and took out a note from the crime lab. ‘You remember that chalk writing on the wall by Amy’s corpse? We just got it deciphered by the lab.’ He handed it to Nate Williamson. Williamson turned it over and read it out.
‘Every angel is terrifying.’ Williamson looked up. ‘What the fuck does that mean?’
Harper raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. No need to gloat. Ah, hell, how often do you get to gloat? ‘Seems like someone wanted us to think about wings and angels, wouldn’t you say, Nate?’
‘Fuck you. That’s what I would say. We’re a team here, Harper, not a bunch of showoffs.’
‘The line is by a German poet called Rilke. I think he wanted us to see the wings and halo. He’s playing with symbols. He’s trying to say something. I think he’s trying to say he’s a clever bastard. My guess is, he’s not educated beyond high school and he hates that.’
‘So what does the quote mean?’
‘I haven’t got a clue.’
‘Well, find out,’ said Williamson. The team felt the tension and wanted to get back to work. They looked at the photograph of the woman from above and suddenly saw something more than mindless mutilation. Garcia spoke first. ‘You saying, Harps, that he posed her and ripped off her skin so she looked like an angel who’d been destroyed?’
‘Yeah, that’s just what I’m saying.’