by Oliver Stark
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Marty Fox’s Home
November 28, 11.00 p.m.
Marty Fox was sitting at home waiting for his wife. The decanter of brandy was three-quarters empty. He stared from his window and looked at his watch. 11.00 p.m. His wife usually returned by 10.30 p.m. and Marty had been at the window for an hour.
He shouldn’t have let her go. He should have taken her and got in the car and headed to the hills. God, this was killing him. And what about Rose Stanhope? Marty felt the horrible sickness of guilt and inaction.
If Nick was right and Sebastian was more than a fantasy, then this girl was in danger, but so was he, so was his wife. Sebastian had shown that vividly enough. Those pictures constituted a threat, not to him, but to his wife.
Marty could still feel the vomit in the back of his throat. He loved his wife, didn’t he? He wanted to protect her, but protecting her meant that someone else was in danger. ‘I’m not an ethical man,’ he said to himself. ‘I’m a self-serving rat, a coward, a fucking liar and a cheat.’
He wanted to believe it. He wanted to stop the thoughts, the guilt, the terrible gnawing. He wasn’t a hero. No. And if he wasn’t a hero, then he had to stay quiet. Whatever happened to Rose Stanhope, happened. Right?
Right?
Come on, Marty! Am I right?
He drowned another quick brandy and walked to the front door. He opened it. The night was quiet, so quiet he could hear the wind in the high treetops. He stepped out in his socks and looked out into the darkness. ‘Come on, baby, please make it home.’
He walked further, out to the end of the pathway, and looked up and down the street.
Nothing — not a car anywhere. The world seemed deserted. He looked again. 11.06 p.m. Time was moving so slowly. He turned back to the house and walked towards it. He felt unusually tired. It was a mixture of drink and exhaustion. He felt his body slump as he walked two steps on to the veranda.
Something to his left moved. A sound. He looked across into the darkness.
On the porch, sitting there in the blackness, something.
Marty shook and looked for a weapon. He picked up a broom. Maybe it was just an animal of some kind. A squirrel or a cat. Marty reached his hand inside the porch and felt for the light switch. He clicked it on. The lights on the veranda blazed and blinded him for a moment.
He looked across. A squirrel darted along the handrail and into the darkness. Marty sighed. He was shaking, though. Behind him he heard a car, and holding the broom he ran to the end of his drive. He picked out a set of headlights coming down the street. He stood and waited. As he waited he prayed. ‘If it’s Christine, I promise, I’ll call the cops. Just let me have her back. Please.’
The car approached. It slowed as it neared the drive. Marty smiled as he made out the face of his wife in the dark of the car. It was her. He felt a shudder of joy. He opened the passenger door.
‘What is it?’
‘We’re leaving. We’re leaving right now. I’ve got a lot to tell you, but we’ve got to go. Drive. I’ve got to call the cops.’
Marty dialled 911.
Chapter Seventy
East 126th Street
November 28, 11.15 p.m.
Tom Harper was cold and wet through. He had been on constant vigil on East 126th Street since the rest of the team had headed off at dusk, but no one fitting Redtop’s description had been by. It was their best chance of getting some leverage on the case, but Tom was beginning to think that this guy Redtop might have flown.
At quarter past eleven, Eddie arrived with a burger and fries. He handed the food to Harper. ‘Still here? You’re committed, we can say that at least.’
‘I’ve spent longer looking for a lifer.’
‘A what?’
‘A lifer — a bird I haven’t ever seen before.’
Eddie nodded, but he didn’t get it. ‘What’s the attraction of looking at birds, Harps? I never did get that.’
‘What’s the attraction of anything?’
‘Well, the attraction of a beautiful woman is that she makes me tingle with pleasure and if I’m lucky…’
‘Well, seeing a new bird makes me tingle just the same.’
‘That sounds like a medical condition, Harps. You told Denise you got a feather fetish?’
‘It’s not that kind of pleasure, Eddie, not that I’m expecting you to understand that.’
‘Damn right I don’t understand,’ said Eddie.
Harper ate hungrily. He chewed through the processed meat, which offered no resistance and dissolved in his mouth. His eyes continued to look up and down the street.
‘Any movement?’ said Eddie.
‘Nothing at all. I got a feeling Benny Marconi gave the game away.’
‘You want us to get a warrant and blow the place apart?’
‘Yeah, I think we should.’
‘I think so too. That’s why I brought you this.’ To Harper ’s amazement, he saw that Eddie was holding out an NYPD-issue Glock 19. Bemused, he took it.
‘How the hell-’
Eddie looked solemn. ‘Don’t ask, my friend. Just don’t let me down.’
They watched the street together in the damp air. Eddie’s cell went off. He pulled it out and listened for a full minute before he put it back in his pocket.
‘What you got?’ asked Harper.
‘We got a call. Someone telling us the name of the next victim.’
‘Who is it?’
‘Rose Stanhope.’
‘Was it the American Devil?’
‘No, an anonymous call from a psychologist. It’s a long story. Seems he was treating a guy who had pictures of Kitty on his phone the day before she died and today he showed up with pictures of Rose Stanhope.’
‘What are they doing about it?’
‘Getting the Feds involved, checking out the story. They’ll send someone over but they’ve had quite a few calls telling us who’s the next blonde to get it, so they’re sceptical. The guy wouldn’t give his name.’
‘Is she blonde?’
‘Yeah, she’s blonde, twentyish and get this — she’s the daughter of a senator.’
Harper felt the tension kick in. ‘That’s his kind of girl, Eddie. He’s been going higher and higher up the food chain since the beginning, hasn’t he?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘Come on, this would be his best yet.’
‘No one kills a senator’s daughter.’
‘Exactly. Let’s check it out. If it’s nothing, we lose nothing.’
‘You’re off the case. What do you want me to do?’
‘Fuck that. Give me the senator’s address, call his home, get a patrol on to it. If Sebastian’s there, we’ve got no time at all. You and me need to go now.’
‘You’re off the case, buddy,’ said Eddie again. Harper stared at him hard and held it. ‘Okay, Harps, I’ll go with it, but if you’re wrong, they’ll haul your ass out of the city. Listen, I’ll call Blue Team on the way. I hope to God you’re wrong, Harps.’
‘Yeah, but I know what it feels like when you’re close to a killer and it feels just like this.’
Chapter Seventy-One
Senator Stanhope’s House
November 28, 11.20 p.m.
It had all gone to plan. Like clockwork, maybe even a little bit better. Downstairs, Sebastian could hear the tinkle of laughter and glass. He loved that sound. He emerged from his hiding place in the roof, took off his shoes and padded through the house. The very idea that he was there in their house excited the hell out of him. He stood at the top of the stairs. How strange for the intruder to come downstairs to greet the family.
By his side he had a simple cane and he used it carefully. With his suit on, he felt quite the man of the house. That was what he wanted. He was about to end Senator Stanhope’s ridiculous reign and take his last girl.
He arrived at the bottom of the curved staircase and could hear the senator telling his family a story. They listen
ed to him. They laughed. It struck Sebastian as fake. He hated fakes. This whole house was fake. Senator Stanhope’s whole life was a fake. He was going to prove it to them all.
Sebastian stood outside the door of the living room. Conversation crystal-clear now. Smell of burning logs mixed with the scent of cigar smoke. Sebastian felt deeply alone. He let the strange feeling wash over him. He had never understood what he felt or why, but outside this room he knew that somehow that was what it was about. Feeling apart from it all.
An outcast.
Just beyond the door, the senator put his arm round his wife. ‘You know what you are, Caroline? You’re a saint. No one else would let me get away with it.’
Caroline arched her eyebrows. ‘I do it because I get to go to a fancy dinner and see all the handsome men in their military attire. No other reason, darling.’
‘Well, I’m glad someone is admiring those guys. They take a lot of time to look that good.’
His two daughters were both in party dresses in honour of his birthday. They sat together on the sofa and watched their parents, sipping wine. ‘You tell him, Caroline.’
‘I’m not afraid to admit that he’s a trophy husband.’
‘And a trophy father.’
‘Yeah,’ said the more cynical one. ‘Just right for a glass cabinet.’
They laughed. The sound of four different tones of laughter met in a single chime.
I’m an outcast, thought Sebastian.
‘Here’s to you and a happy birthday!’
‘You gonna croon for me?’
‘We’re going to do better than that.’
‘What?’
‘We’re going to dance too.’
Cast out.
The door opened slowly. The four faces turned. The white gloss door swung all the way in. In the doorway, a stranger, his face still and intense. Terrifying. Unknown. At that moment, all five people were silent. Sebastian waited. Who would break? His big smile moved from face to face.
The senator took a step forward to defend his family.
‘Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?’
Sebastian let the uncertainty hang in the air for a moment longer. He stared at each of them again, weighing them up like a predator. He looked particularly hard at the two daughters. He liked to feel their eyes try to hold his and then fall to the pale carpet.
‘You heard me — I’m asking you politely to leave my house.’ Senator Stanhope moved to the phone and picked it up. Sebastian just stood. ‘The goddamn phone’s dead.’ The senator stared at Sebastian. Could he take him? Did he want to with his two daughters in the room?
He turned to his wife. ‘Caroline, would you take Mary and Rose through to the drawing room and let me talk to this gentleman?’
‘Okay, John,’ she said slowly, ‘so long as you’re sure.’
‘I’m sure. Thank you.’
Sebastian moved to an armchair covered in beige silk. He sat and crossed his legs. ‘Nobody leaves.’
‘What do you want?’ said Caroline. ‘Do you need money?’
Sebastian gazed at her. He recalled her lithe naked figure in the shower. ‘I’ve been watching you. I liked how you looked in your little shower unit. Real pretty.’ Caroline took an involuntary step backwards.
‘Please take anything you want,’ she said. ‘Just leave us alone.’
‘Anything?’ said Sebastian, staring at Rose. He shook his head and tutted. ‘You sure you’re offering anything?’ He smiled and stood, walked to the fireplace and picked up a poker. ‘Are you familiar with the works of Neville Heath?’ They all shook their heads. ‘You will be soon,’ he said, and smiled.
‘What the hell do you want?’ shouted Senator Stanhope, moving forward.
Sebastian stood and swished his cane. ‘Fra Angelico is my favourite artist. Do you like him?’
The Stanhopes looked at each other. Caroline put an arm round each of the two girls.
‘He’s a Renaissance artist,’ said Sebastian.
‘Yes, I know Fra Angelico,’ said Stanhope.
‘Beautiful angels he painted. I like to paint too. I like to paint wings in bright colours just like he did. He’s quite an inspiration to me. But I like to use real people, not paint.’
The two girls held on to Caroline.
‘I want Rose to come over here to me, Senator.’
‘No. You leave Rose alone.’
‘I never ask more than once.’ Sebastian drew a long sword from the cane. ‘Is it dawning on you yet, Senator?’
‘What?’
‘That I’m here to kill you.’
Caroline screamed. She hadn’t even dared to imagine anything like that. This guy was strange but she imagined he was something to do with politics. Not now. Now she saw what he was and she was scared and both the girls were sobbing against her.
‘Now, Rose. Please come to me. Your father’s a very famous man, but I’m famous too. You might have heard of me. They call me the American Devil.’
They all felt the fear grab hard. Caroline tried to hold on to Rose but she moved forward and stood in front of Sebastian. He smiled. She was trying to be fearless, displaying the pride that had attracted him to her so many months earlier. He couldn’t wait to bite into her. He felt the desire welling up in him like a force. ‘Thank you, Rose. Now take off that pretty dress.’
Chapter Seventy-Two
Senator Stanhope’s House
November 28, 11.28 p.m.
This was their man, thought Harper. On the drive to the senator’s home, Eddie went through everything the psychologist had said on the phone. It seemed to fit, and what was more it fitted Denise Levene’s profile better than Redtop did. This wasn’t some loner simpleton; this was a white-collar Jekyll and Hyde with an inability to stop himself.
Eddie and Tom drove in silence for the next ten minutes as the car neared the home of Senator Stanhope. Harper took out his Glock and checked the magazine. Sebastian would not give himself up without a fight. He was dangerous and would be desperate.
They got to the entrance of the secure residential area and could see a line of street lights all the way up to Senator Stanhope’s house.
Tom was worried that if it was the American Devil, he might have killed already. Or would he? They’d never worked out how long he kept Jessica Pascal or Elizabeth Seale alive. But they knew he liked to torture his victims for a long time. He liked to see them weakening. They didn’t know how he got away, either. This guy was a chameleon, or a magician. Or perhaps he had a trick they hadn’t heard of yet.
They turned right and stopped at the huge steel-gated residence of Senator Stanhope. There were no security guys on duty and they didn’t want to alert anyone inside. Eddie parked the car up close to the high wall and they both jumped on top. Eddie threw his leather jacket over the razor wire and they hopped over the wall.
They dropped on to the ground on the other side and listened out for dogs. Nothing. The house ahead was bright with lights in all the windows. They could smell a log fire and see smoke twirling from a high chimney. Without a sound, Harper motioned to Eddie to flank left while he flanked right. Crouching low, they both sprinted towards the house, moving silently on the thick lawn.
At the front door, there was no sign of forced entry, but that wasn’t Sebastian’s style. He was too clever for that. He saved all his violence for those who could fear him. Harper pulled Eddie close.
‘We’ll stick together and do a circuit. When we get a picture of what’s inside, we can split.’
‘Okay,’ said Eddie. ‘Let’s do this.’
They crouched and circled the house, moving quickly under each window and checking for signs of people inside. They came to the windows of the largest reception room. Eddie looked, and pulled back sharply.
‘We got a single male suspect standing. There’s a girl in front of him in her underwear. The suspect has a sword of some kind.’
Harper leaned down into the grass, out of the pool of light, and
looked up into the room. ‘There’s one woman and another girl on the far sofa. They look tied up somehow. Clasped together.’ He moved back close to Eddie. ‘Okay, this is it. We can’t wait for back-up. I’m going to move back into the darkness of the garden and line up a shot, you want to take the front door. You hear my shot, you bust the front door and go in quick.’
‘Make sure you get a good shot.’
‘I want him alive, remember. He might be the only key to Lucy James.’
‘Well, make sure he can’t get up.’
‘I will.’
Eddie and Tom clasped their hands together. ‘Get going,’ said Tom.
Inside the living room, the mother and father were in tears. The killer had brought the second daughter to stand before him. She was now taking her dress off. Then Harper noticed that the mother was holding her side and blood was pouring through her hands. She must’ve tried to stop him. The senator’s face was grey and he looked like the life had been drained out of him. He had cut marks across his face and blood down his shirt.
Tom knelt in the near darkness as the living room gleamed ahead. Inside, the tall black-suited figure stood before the senator. John Stanhope looked terrified. The other man was talking. He was still, but talking. Then he raised a long thin blade. Harper pulled his gun up to eye level. He lengthened his left arm and placed his grip in the palm of his right hand. He took aim and let his breathing still.
He could see the faces of the women. The two younger ones were staring in fear, their faces torn with pain. The other, the wife, did not flinch. Something had been said. Sebastian was raising his sword above the girls.
The killer was shouting now. It was the moment. Something was imminent. Tom moved his sight upwards. He couldn’t risk a shot that would just disarm him; he needed to drop this killer with one shot. His sight rose up the killer’s chest, up his neck, and stopped on his head. Single headshot. No other options.
The Glock 19 was rock-steady. There was an unearthly stillness. Even the wind seemed to drop for a brief second. Harper was praying. He squeezed the trigger. The silence of the garden was broken. The shot boomed and smashed its target instantaneously. Harper looked, the fear wide in his eyes. ‘No,’ he shouted. The glass had not shattered. It turned milky white in front of his eyes. Something he had not anticipated. Bulletproof glass.