“I’ll be around,” the woman said indifferently, and continued through the group as though she was passing out canapés.
Paulo lowered his voice to a whisper. “You got anything new for me?”
“Not yet. I’m working on it.”
“That’s not going to get the monkey off my back, and we both know it.”
“Buy me more time. I have some prospects coming in tomorrow who are furnishing their Irish chateau.”
“What happened to the couple who were going to commission a mural for their Hampton getaway?”
“They’re still thinking about it. The art world is very particular, as you know. These sorts of things can’t be rushed.”
A whistle pierced the room, and Gunter and Paulo spun in its direction. An obese man with an American flag painted on his back, clad in only a diaper, stood facing an emaciated vagrant wearing panties and a bra over his thin frame. A white sheet lay spread on the lawn beneath them. The obese man stepped toward his counterpart and punched him in the stomach, and then in the face. The thin man’s skin split like parchment at the second blow, and blood streamed from his cheekbone. The obese man continued to beat him until he collapsed in a tumble, at which point he kicked him several times for good measure before cutting a victory jig.
When the performance was finished, Paulo moved out to the lawn area, clapped his hands, and then faced the audience of several dozen well-heeled men and women, all with their masks in place, most festooned with elaborate feathers like those from at a Venetian fête.
Paulo cleared his throat and paused theatrically. “Honored guests. In a few moments, the star attraction will be taking place in the performance area. Everyone knows the rules: no photographs, no phones, no recordings of any sort, no exceptions. Thank you for your cooperation.”
Two muscular young men carried the bloody vagrant out wrapped in the sheet, and then returned with a silver tarp, which they spread on the lawn before leaving the area. A shiver of anticipation swept through the gathering at the sight. Rumor had it that an iconic performance artist notorious for his edgy tableaus was going to perform a onetime piece for their unique enjoyment, and the covering augured that it would be particularly memorable.
Gunter and Paulo moved to the half circle of spectators and stood beside Stibling, whose leather outfit reeked of opiated hashish and expensive Scotch. As the music faded, a short Japanese man in a white kimono cinched at the waist with a red sash emerged from the back of the house, carrying a blue aluminum suitcase. A pair of Asian women in their twenties, dressed as geishas, took seats on silk cushions by the edge of the tarp.
The women began beating drums, occasionally punctuating their pounding with monosyllabic war cries from some forgotten Samurai past, as the man reached the tarp and bowed. A hushed murmur sounded from the audience, and the man opened the suitcase and extracted a glass jar filled with nails, tacks, and broken glass. He wordlessly dumped the contents onto the tarp and then tossed the jar aside, stripped naked, and urinated on the scattering before turning to face the gathering and defecating on the pile.
The drumming increased in tempo as he stepped toward the broken glass. He threw himself onto the shards and proceeded to roll around, the glass and spikes slicing him ragged. Soon he was covered in blood and his own filth, panting, his eyes wild.
One of the drummers rose and moved to the suitcase, from which she removed a bottle of rubbing alcohol and tossed it to him. He poured the bottle over his head, screaming at the sting, and then the other geisha threw him a lighter. He dropped it, groped for it, and then raised it to his chest, his expression now calm. Gunter realized that he was holding his breath and exhaled noisily, transfixed by the display, as was the crowd. The first woman handed the Asian man a black strip of cloth, which he tied around his head as a blindfold.
A collective gasp came from the audience as the man screamed something indecipherable in Japanese, flicked the lighter to life, and held it against his chest. The alcohol ignited, and he threw himself onto the burning pool at his feet, thrashing around until the assistant removed a small fire extinguisher and doused him with the contents, extinguishing the blaze in a cloud of white foam.
Stibling applauded, his eyes feverish, and cried, “Bravo!” The others joined him as the bloody, singed Japanese man gasped for breath on the tarp. One of the women approached him with his kimono, and the other stopped drumming with a final exuberant war cry. The lights flickered off, and Paulo spoke in a loud voice.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the one, the only, Hitoshi Sato! And now, if you’d give the artist room, the show is over.”
Stibling drew near and whispered to Paulo and Gunter as the crowd moved back inside. “Is he going to live?”
Paulo shrugged. “I presume so.”
“It was…I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ll remember it forever.”
Paulo laughed harshly. “In my nightmares, maybe.”
“Good art stays with you,” Stibling said. “It was a masterful piece, blending the futility of rising above one’s essential self and one’s waste, symbolizing the digestion of everything we’re exposed to, even as the world damages us. And the spiritual cleansing of fire…the metaphor is breathtakingly profound in its simplicity.”
Gunter tilted his head, the drug now roaring through his system with a familiar rush of euphoria as he watched the two geishas attend to Sato, who was quivering in a coating of foam.
“You have a discerning eye.”
Chapter 4
The Toro restaurant near Lincoln Center was packed, with a line at the door and an hour wait. Tess fidgeted with her cell phone to kill time while she waited for Ron. She’d ordered a vodka and tonic when she was shown to the table, and after half an hour, it was nearly gone. She debated ordering another, but was saved from making the decision by Ron, who pushed through the front doors and made straight for her table.
Tess stood and Ron kissed her cheek in the European fashion before taking a seat across from her, his eyes locked on her face. She was relieved to see that he was handsome as ever in his quirky, nondescript way, his shock of unruly brown hair hanging over his forehead exactly as she remembered.
“You look incredible,” he said in a low voice. “Sorry I’m running late. It was a long one.”
“No problem. You did warn me, after all.”
A server approached with another menu and took Ron’s drink order, a Seven and Seven, and when she departed, he sat back and smiled. “Kind of a crummy week. I’ve been on this damned trial for almost a month, and the verdict came back yesterday evening. It wasn’t a great one for the white hats.” He paused. “You might have seen it in the paper today.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t look. What happened?”
“This is the trio of kids from the right side of Park Avenue who we placed killing homeless people for kicks. I thought we had a solid case, and so did the DA, but the jury didn’t.” He shrugged. “What can I say? It happens. Juries can be unpredictable, which is why we generally try to plea bargain to avoid trial. But these punks’ parents were having none of it – they hired the best lawyers money can buy, and it paid off. Just enough doubt so they got an acquittal.”
“That’s…that’s terrible. And you’re positive they were guilty?”
“Absolutely. But we didn’t have DNA, and it was circumstantial after the only witness changed her testimony at the last minute – enough to torpedo our case.”
Tess frowned. “You think they got to her?”
Ron nodded with a look of disgust. “I’m sure of it. She’d been coached. They were subtle changes – not enough to charge her with perjury, but enough to make her sound uncertain, when before she’d been convincing.” The server returned with his drink and a refresher for Tess, and Ron toasted her before swallowing half the glass in a gulp. “I wonder what it costs to buy a witness in a serial-killing trial. Had to be expensive.”
“I can’t believe that happens in this day and age.”
&nb
sp; “When the money’s big, all bets are off. I tried telling the DA that, but he wanted to press forward with it in spite of my reservations. Which I understand. I mean, they killed four people, although the jury didn’t buy it.” He shrugged. “It didn’t help that they’re seniors at the best school in Manhattan, on the honor roll, and the victims were bums.”
“Bums have rights, too.”
“I know,” he said morosely, and then shrugged. “But enough about that. Tell me all about Europe. How was it? What was your favorite place?”
“Paris, no question. It’s an incredible city – so much history, such a presence. And the people weren’t mean, like everyone warned me about. Most were nice.”
“After New York, anything’s an improvement. Besides, beautiful women generally have an easy time no matter where they are.”
It was Tess’s turn to smile. “That’s very kind.”
“It’s true, which makes it easy. So what did you do all day?”
“Mostly went sightseeing, taking tours and walking the city. There are so many museums you could spend a year there and not see everything. Have you ever been?”
“No. But it’s on my bucket list.”
The server came over to take their order, and Ron downed another swallow of his cocktail. When she left with the menus, he set his drink down. “You see the news about the snuff film?”
“I did. I was thinking about you. Did you get that one?”
He nodded. “Of course. Any time some twisted bastard gets up to no good, I’m on it. And this one sort of takes the cake.”
Tess’s expression turned serious. “How bad is it?”
“Imagine the worst and then triple it, and you’re still low.”
She made a face. “Yikes.”
“You have no idea. I can’t talk about it, but it’s ugly.” He sighed. “So you’re back. You seem relaxed. Rested.”
“Overfed, too, and looking forward to getting on my bike again.”
He looked surprised. “You’re not going back to work at the messenger place, are you?”
She laughed. “No. I meant riding for pleasure. I miss it.”
“That’s a relief. Wouldn’t do to have a wealthy young lady schlepping around for table scraps.”
Tess regaled him with stories from her travels, and by the time dinner arrived, they were laughing easily, their mutual attraction clearly as strong as ever. His fingers occasionally lingered on her hand as he made a point, and her eyes flashed interest in an unmistakably flirtatious way. She told him about her father’s apartment and her dread of going there, and he offered to accompany her for moral support, as well as to her storage unit, where she’d parked her bicycle and her few possessions.
“That’s kind of you, Ron, but I can do it on my own. Besides, I’m not completely alone these days in New York.”
His face froze. “Oh?”
Tess touched his arm and shook her head. “It’s my cousin. Dakota. She’s with one of the ballet companies. Just started with them.”
Ron appeared visibly relieved. “Dakota, huh? That’s got to be fun for you.”
“It is. We had lunch today. She’s an angel. I’m supposed to see her dance tomorrow.” Tess hesitated. “Do you have anything going on tomorrow night?”
“Me? No, other than catching bad guys. The usual. But I’ll warn you that I’m not much of a dance guy.”
“How about you skip the performance, then, and meet me after for a late drink? That gets you out of having to sit through it, and there’s booze involved.” She winked.
“You make a compelling argument,” he said, and toasted her again. “What else do you have planned for your week?”
“I need to find a place to live. Decide what I want to do with the rest of my life. Maybe get another tattoo. You know. The usual.” She beamed at him, warmed by the alcohol, along with the company.
“If you need moral support for the tattoo, I’m always available.”
“You should totally get one!”
He gave her a sheepish grin. “I’m not really a tats kind of guy. Although if anyone could convince me…” Ron paused, thoughtful. “You going to look up any of your buds from the messenger company?”
“I know this sounds terrible, but I don’t want to see anyone from my past. Does that make any sense?”
“Of course. You’ve outgrown that bunch. Frankly, I never saw the attraction. You could do anything you want. That was a waste of your talents.”
She gave him a puzzled look. “How do you know what talents I have?”
Ron blushed and looked away. “You’re smart, funny, charming, beautiful…that’s a powerful combination,” he stammered. His phone trilled from his jacket, saving him any further awkwardness, and he fished for it in his pocket. “Damn. Hang on. I’ve got a call.” He answered, and his shoulders sagged after listening for several moments. When he hung up, he was already rising. “Sorry about this, Tess, but I have to go.”
Her face fell. “You do?”
“That was the job. Duty calls.” He placed a few bills on the table. She waved him off and slid the money back.
“My treat. I invited you, remember?”
Ron took the cash and tried a small smile. “It was great to see you again, Tess. I mean it. And I’d love to meet up tomorrow. Let’s plan on it. Just text me the details, and I’ll be there with bells on,” he said, but sounded detached.
She eyed him with concern. “What is it, Ron?”
He looked around at the other diners and then leaned toward her and whispered into her ear.
“The videos. Another body just surfaced.”
Chapter 5
Four squad cars blocked the street near the East River as an arriving taxi’s headlights swept the area. The cab pulled to a stop and Ron stepped from the car, flashed his badge at the uniforms loitering around the forensics van, and made his way to the front of an old red brick church. A stiff breeze cut through his jacket as he strode to the entrance, which was cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. He glanced inside at the scaffolding that rose toward the vaulted ceiling, and eyed the three high-wattage work lamps illuminating the altar, where a pair of forensics technicians worked in silence.
Ron turned to where Amy Silva, the director of the forensics department and lead pathologist, stood beside the van, speaking in hushed tones on her cell phone. She held up a finger to Ron as he approached. He took the hint and kept his distance as he waited for her to finish the call. When the conversation was over, she slid the phone into her smock and scowled.
“Nice night for it, huh?” she said.
“Could be raining or snowing,” Ron countered.
“Ever the optimist.” Her expression softened. “Sorry about the trial. A shame. We had them dead to rights.”
“Only thing certain is death and taxes,” Ron said. “Speaking of which…”
She motioned to Ron to follow, and led him toward the entrance. “Got a naked female torso missing all appendages and the head,” she explained as she stepped over the threshold. Ron tailed her down the wide aisle to the altar, where the corpse lay on the beige marble.
He sniffed the air. “Been here awhile, huh?”
Amy nodded. “Since this morning, at least. That’s just a preliminary assessment, though.”
“Why wasn’t it discovered until tonight?”
“The church is closed for renovation. The night security guard found it when he was doing his rounds.”
“No daytime guard or construction workers?”
“Yesterday was a holiday, and there’s no day guard in the budget.”
“Ah. So when do you think the unsub got in?”
“Place is unguarded from six a.m., so probably shortly thereafter.”
Ron looked around the dark interior. “How?”
“Pried a board off one of the back windows. There’s nothing inside to steal, so it’s not particularly well secured.”
“Which means he must have known the guard’s schedule.
”
Amy nodded. “That’s likely.”
“Where is he?”
“Ben took him in for questioning.” Amy paused. “You see the little paint job the killer did?”
Ron squinted at the floor. “Is that blood?”
“Yes. It’s a pentagram.”
Ron groaned. “This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”
“First the school, then a church. Someone’s acting out, huh?”
“Safe to say he wants to be noticed.” Ron eyed the russet smears on the dusty floor. “Anything we can use?”
“He bagged his shoes. Nothing stands out but smudges. Probably wore gloves, too, but we’re going through the motions. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a hair or something.”
Ron nodded. “Might as well get this over with.” He moved to the body and inspected it. “Don’t suppose he left the hands or the head anywhere nearby?”
“Not that we’ve found. But hope springs eternal.”
“So they say. What did Ben think?”
“He gave the scene a quick once-over, but as you can see, there’s not a lot here.”
Ron stepped away from the corpse and let the techs continue working. He slowly walked the interior, trying to put himself into the mind of the killer. What had he been thinking? Why a school and then a church? Amy stood by wordlessly, knowing better than to interrupt Ron when he was deep in concentration. They’d worked together long enough for her to know his routine.
Eventually he moved to the rear of the building, where a window was open, letting in a cool draft. He glanced at the fingerprint dust along the ledge and then down at the floor, and spotted the footprints.
“You got photos of all this?” he asked quietly.
“Of course.”
“I see what you mean about them being indistinct. Although it looks like he has big feet.”
Amy frowned. “How many serials are savvy enough to bag their shoes before entering a dumping area? That’s more than a little scary.”
“There’s nothing about this that isn’t,” Ron agreed. “Our boy is definitely a thinker. He’s obviously scouted out his locales. No security cams, no nearby traffic cams, an area of the city that’s deserted on weekend mornings. Doesn’t bode well for us, does it?”
Fatal Deception Page 3