American Devil th&dl-1

by Oliver Stark

  Chapter Ninety-Five

  Interstate 87

  December 3, 2.20 p.m.

  In the ride down from the Catskills, Detective Harper sat one side of Marty Fox with Special Agent Baines on the other. They had to be careful with Marty. He was a definite flake and they needed him to talk.

  Harper shuffled in his seat and looked across. ‘I need to know all about the killer, Marty. Tell me what he’s like.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Marty, scared and confused.

  ‘Just try, goddammit. We know he was being treated by you, so everything’s gotta come from you, Marty. You’re the only guy we’ve got who knows him well.’

  ‘Okay.’ Marty took a deep breath, tried to compose himself. ‘He’s got two personalities, as far as I can see. A guy called Nick who’s married and frightened, and the devil, who he calls Sebastian. He never seems to know when the devil’s coming. Most of my meetings were with Nick.’

  ‘Did you meet Sebastian?’ asked Harper.

  ‘Yeah, momentarily. He’s the face of terror. Quite rational, quite determined. Demented. Evil. Slow and fierce. I don’t know if it’s a game or real.’

  ‘What else did you find out?’ said Harper.

  ‘He told a story about a girl from way back.’

  ‘So what happened?’ said Harper, eager to get some hold on Sebastian’s motive.

  ‘It was a girl called Chloe Mestella,’ Marty said. ‘She was murdered in ’82. Horrific murder. She was fifteen. The killer found his way into her bedroom at night on Valentine’s Day and cut her to pieces. I looked it up. It’s a real case. There was a murdered girl.’

  ‘Chloe Mestella?’ said Harper. He looked at Baines. ‘You know anything?’

  ‘Not a thing,’ said Baines. ‘We got to find out a little more detail. Talk more, Marty. We need everything.’

  Harper looked across expectantly. He had thought a lot about Denise since she’d been taken. He kept thinking of her face. The thought of her pain burrowed inside him. It felt like he was guilty of her murder or something worse. And sometimes it broke through and he imagined her pain. But now they had something to follow. ‘Speak, Marty,’ he urged.

  ‘Chloe Mestella. This guy, Nick, loved her. I don’t know what the hell happened.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘She got killed somehow. I don’t know who did it.’

  ‘That’s good, Marty, just keep it coming.’

  Harper stared across at Baines. They were both thinking the same thing. If this was true, then Sebastian might have killed Chloe Mestella. Someone needed to get out to West Virginia fast and see if they might just have found Sebastian’s first kill.

  Chapter Ninety-Six

  Dresden Home

  December 3, 5.00 p.m.

  The garden was stark and empty in the winter. Nick loved spring most of all. Nick was, by his own admission, heavy on the planting. He loved tulips. Strange plants. Upright and singular. In his back yard, he was digging holes about six to eight inches deep and putting a bulb in each. He had bought over a hundred bulbs. They would look great in the spring. He wanted to see the whole lot thick with the red and white throats of scores of tulips turned upward to the sky.

  His son William was behind him, halfway up a cherry tree. It was great sometimes, thought Nick. It was great to get out of yourself and relax. He felt like he was doing some good.

  He went inside to get himself a soda. William walked in behind him.

  ‘What you up to, little feller?’

  ‘Need a soda like you.’

  ‘You know how to ask for a soda?’

  ‘I say please and thank you.’

  ‘That’s right, but you’re getting water. Water is good for you, right? We remember that, don’t we?’

  William took hold of a glass from the draining board. He turned the tap. Nick watched the water stream into the glass. Then he watched William tilt his head back and drink.

  ‘What are you looking at, Daddy?’

  William’s blond hair was fine and long, his white throat upturned as he drained the glass. Sebastian was crawling somewhere inside, scratching in the distance like a wolf through the undergrowth. Nick felt the tingling rise up his spine and up his neck.

  ‘You need to go away now, William. Go outside and play.’

  ‘I want to be with you.’

  ‘Go now!’ Nick shouted. The tingling was getting worse. He felt the spasm starting.

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘Go! Run!’

  William stared, unable to move or understand.

  Nick put his hand in his pocket and grabbed at the nails. He squeezed hard, but it was no good. It wasn’t working. The pain streaked across his frontal lobe. Nick felt Sebastian rise in his throat. All at once, Nick was gone and Sebastian’s arm lurched forward and grabbed William’s hand. He stared hard at the boy. William stared back. It looked like his father but it was not his father staring at him. It was someone else. His wrist was hurting. He began to cry, but his father didn’t stop. Soon, William was howling.

  Dee suddenly appeared from another room and asked what was wrong. She saw her husband gripping her son and then she began to scream. Inside Sebastian’s head it was quiet. The world had stopped. Nick loved these people. He wanted to hurt Nick now. That was all. Hurt the things Nick loved. That was all he ever wanted. To hurt what Nick loved. He hated Nick. Nick was weak. Nick was an embarrassment.

  His cold silent gaze moved to the right. A shining spoon caught his eye. He picked it up.

  The faces in front of him were red-eyed and twisted in pain. Dee was screaming violently. He could see her mouth open and close. The inside of her mouth was red like a fresh cut. He could see the dangling flesh at the back of her throat. Her teeth, her fillings, her saliva.

  At times like these, he felt so cold, yet so full of emotion. He wanted to clean the world up. All the flesh and movement. He wanted everything dead. The whole world. Nick’s wife, his children, everything.

  Sebastian saw his princess — little Bethany — bright sunlight in her blond hair. Was it real? It was the secret of himself. He held the image for as long as he could. He saw her sweet, open face. Blond hair. Bright, white, sun-starved skin. Naked, she was lily white. Whiter than he thought possible. White, naked, dead.

  The secret of him.

  The spoon was in his right hand now. William’s hand was red. The bones were bending in his little arm and the pain was increasing. His face was intense and strange.

  Dee was close now. She was pulling at him.

  He moved the spoon across to William’s face, until the boy could see his comical reflection in the convex bow of the spoon.

  She was his princess. Why did he keep her in his glass cage? He wanted more than anything to let her free, but he couldn’t. The glass cage had no doors, no windows. He had only to watch her suffer and suffer and suffer in silence.

  He pushed William’s face against the table. He was looking out at the lawn. A thrush was fiercely pecking the grass. The thin bare branches of the goat willow moved in the soft breeze.

  The spoon touched the edge of William’s eye. It was cold. The boy had stopped screaming. His father’s hand was tight against his small jawbone.

  Sebastian looked down at William. Dee was hitting him now. A heavy-based pan came down on his arm with all her weight behind it. Nothing entered his world when Sebastian was reigning. Nothing. The edge of the spoon moved under the boy’s lower eyelid. What was the child saying? Sebastian stopped momentarily. Something deep within him recognized a guttural sound. William was saying something. Sebastian remembered it now. It was something the princesses had said. They had said it over and over again. He wanted to hear it. He needed to hear it.

  But to hear it, he had to come out of his own cage. He had to break free.

  Nick. He needed Nick now. He let him back. Suddenly, Nick was there. The scream of his wife in his ear, his arm throbbing in pain, his son held under his own hand.

  He
moved his hand from William’s mouth. The spoon fell to the floor and bounced to a stop.

  Nick looked down at his son, now able to hear the words he was repeating over and over again.

  ‘Sorry, Daddy,’ William was saying. ‘Sorry, Daddy. Sorry, Daddy.’

  Over and over again.

  Chapter Ninety-Seven

  East River

  December 3, 6.04 p.m.

  N ick fled the house and ran and ran until he was at the very edge of Queens overlooking the East River.

  This was it. Sebastian had gone too far. He had threatened Nick’s own child. His own boy. Nick loved his boy. He loved him so much. Didn’t he? He was going mad.

  Alone by the water, surrounded by silence, Nick shut his eyes, in tears. Sebastian’s girls were banging and thumping the glass. Nick could see them too. He could see them crying in pain. All Sebastian’s women crying out in agony in his glass cage.

  Nick moved up close to the cage. He had to see what they were saying. He was so close his mouth was against the glass.

  He needed to shatter their prison, set them free. He had to hear them, to know if they forgave him. He had to free them because it was they who brought Sebastian to him. If he let them go, Sebastian would disappear too.

  At the water’s edge, he drew the pistol up to his head. He pushed the barrel tight into his ear.

  He promised them freedom. He said he would free them. He only had to shatter the glass cage.

  It had been a long journey. Sebastian had killed people to get back to them. Back to his girls. Now Nick was going to end it.

  His forefinger applied three pounds of pressure to the toe of the trigger. Another three pounds and the spring would be released. The firing pin would move to the primer. The small explosion would ignite the main charge, the bullet would drive from its case.

  Another three pounds of pressure was all he needed to be free.

  The water glistened with diamond tips, the seagulls swooped with arrogant ease, their dark voices carrying over the river.

  Another three pounds of pressure.

  Then the girls stopped screaming. Nick saw them turn and look in the other direction. He saw them close their mouths in fear. He saw why. Sebastian was right there. He had returned.

  Nick knew he had missed his chance — and he could not be sure he would get another.

  Chapter Ninety-Eight

  Blue Team

  December 3, 6.50 p.m.

  Harper arrived back in Manhattan and returned to Blue Team. He pushed the door of the investigation room and stood panting. ‘Anybody got anything?’

  Blank faces turned. Nobody had an idea. It was killing him, knowing that there was almost nothing he could do. He called Eddie Kasper and relayed the story of Chloe Mestella.

  ‘It needs looking into,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Feds are on their way to West Virginia.’

  ‘Fuck the Feds, Tom, this is our girl. We got blood ties — we can’t leave it to them. You want me to get over there?’

  Harper put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. ‘You’re a waste of space, but I can always count on you. Thanks, buddy.’

  Eddie smiled. ‘You had to do the insult or the nice part wouldn’t come, would it?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘Not easy for me to say. Now get going.’

  Eddie pulled on his jacket and left the precinct. Tom went to Denise’s board. He looked at her face. He wanted to know why Sebastian had taken her. He wanted to know why Sebastian had killed Williamson and now was after him. It would take time to get to West Virginia. Too much time.

  Harper took a cup of coffee and sat down at his computer. He had to find something soon. He called up Chloe Mestella on the internet and read about the murder. If it was still an open case, then the records would be there in the local sheriff’s office. Harper looked up the number and picked up the phone.

  ‘Sheriff’s office. How can I help you?’

  ‘This is Detective Harper of the NYPD. I know you’ve got some Feds rushing down your way to look into the Chloe Mestella murder, but I’m looking for some help.’

  ‘What can I do for you, Detective?’ said the woman on the phone.

  ‘Have you been following the American Devil case?’

  ‘Sure have. Isn’t everybody?’

  ‘I’m Tom, by the way. What’s your name?’

  ‘Carla.’

  ‘You could make a big difference up here, Carla.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Can I speak confidentially?’

  ‘Sure, go ahead, I’ve got a missing set of tyres that I’ve got to investigate but other than that I’m free the rest of December.’

  Harper laughed. ‘Thanks. I appreciate your time.’

  ‘No problem. I read about you, Detective Harper.’

  ‘Call me Tom.’

  ‘Bet you think we’re all a bunch of hillbillies out here, don’t you?’

  ‘Hey, I’d prefer to be out in the mountains with some spare time to watch the eagles than here in Homicide.’

  ‘You like raptors?’

  ‘Have to say yeah. Must have a thing about killers.’

  ‘So how can I help you, Tom?’

  ‘Thing is,’ said Tom, ‘Chloe’s murder happened way before they started keeping central records. Long before ViCAP and all these clever little tools that help us see the big picture. Do you remember the murder yourself, Carla?’

  ‘Yeah, but I was only six years old. Still, it was a big thing here. Felt like we were important for fifteen minutes.’

  ‘What about the family?’

  ‘Don Mestella still lives at the old house. Mrs Mestella died a few years back. They still keep Chloe’s room just like it was. Most of the time, they just used to sit together in silence. It killed them.’

  ‘Could you read me some details of the report?’

  ‘Sure thing,’ said Carla. ‘I got the big brown boxes out ready for the Feds. What do you want?’

  ‘Give me the basics. I just want to know if it’s our guy.’

  Carla opened the old box and pulled out the police report. She opened the beige folder. The horror of Chloe Mestella’s murder was hardwired into her psyche. As a child, she’d watched the vast opera of a murder hunt unfold in her back yard. Seeing the original report made her shiver.

  ‘I never looked at this,’ she said. ‘It’s spooky.’

  ‘What’s the MO?’

  Carla flicked through a couple of pages. Memories that were years old came immediately to the surface. Her voice was edgy. ‘Chloe was found naked on her bed by her mother. She was posed like a beauty queen or something with her hair all lying out on her pillow, but she had a big cut all the way up her chest. He cut out her heart. It was a botched job. Very messy.’

  ‘It’s the same MO,’ said Harper faintly.

  ‘She was covered in flower petals. It happened on Valentine’s Day. Nice touch.’

  It was the American Devil all right. The thought was terrifying. A man had started killing some twenty-five years earlier and he was still evading the police.

  Harper and Carla talked through the rest of the details for the next half-hour, but the original investigation had got nowhere. In the end they put it down as a passing vagrant. It was anything but a vagrant.

  ‘What are you looking for, Tom?’ said Carla after they’d exhausted the reports.

  ‘I don’t know. Anything that might open up an angle here.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be here if you need me,’ said Carla.

  Harper put the phone down. Sebastian had killed before. What did that mean? If Denise’s profile was right and the killer was in his thirties, then even if he was approaching forty that put him around mid-teens in 1982. Was that possible? Could this whole horror story have started as someone’s adolescent fantasy?

  Chapter Ninety-Nine

  Mace Crindle Plant

  December 3, 8.30 p.m.

  ‘Dr Levene,’ said the strange, contorted voice. Denise jerked her head. He was back,
but his voice was different. It wasn’t so deep and full. It was kinder.

  ‘Are you listening, Dr Levene?’

  The way he crept silently into the antechamber worried her. Was he studying her? He might’ve been sitting there for hours watching her. A patch of light hit the floor of her prison.

  ‘Please, Dr Levene.’

  Denise didn’t reply. Not yet. Make him work for it.

  ‘I want to talk to you.’

  Stay composed, Denise.

  ‘My name’s Nick.’ Nick felt sick in his stomach. He knew how dangerous this was. Sebastian wouldn’t forgive him for intruding. ‘I didn’t know who you were when I found you down here, then I put two and two together. You’re the woman they’re all looking for, aren’t you? You’re in every newspaper. Every one.’

  Denise listened. What game was he playing? ‘Where’s Sebastian?’

  ‘Sebastian hurt my son today.’ Nick hung his head low. ‘Sebastian took a spoon to his eye. He was going to gouge out my son’s eye. I’ve got to stop him.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Denise.

  Nick moved erratically around the room.

  ‘Please don’t ask any more. I’m not in control of what he does. I can’t stop him. He’s going to kill them all, Dr Levene. He wanted to kill you, but I forced him out. I needed to see you. You can help me. He’s going to starve you in this dungeon and then…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He wants to use you to get to Tom Harper. I’ve got pictures of him on my phone. That’s how I know. He leaves his victim’s pictures on my phone.’

  ‘Why does he want Tom Harper?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just know I can’t stop him.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Denise. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Nick. His voice was low and fearful, with a hint of West Virginia in there somewhere. ‘It’s in the Bible. It’s called demonic possession. He’s evil, Dr Levene, and he’s taking over.’

  ‘He’s inside your head?’

  ‘He’s in my head. He’s in my hands. I don’t want him to kill. He’ll kill my family. He knows I tried to stop him. That’s why he went for William, see. If I go home again, he’ll kill the boy. I love my boy, Doctor. I love my boy.’