American Devil (43 page)

He ran out into the darkness, the sound of women screaming behind him.

 

T
he Senator’s estate was bright with flashing lights and the noise of radios. Helicopters were hunting the grounds with powerful spotlights and there were already two teams of dogs, barking and straining to get out on the hunt.

Special Agent Baines from the FBI got out of a car and approached the house. He’d already been briefed by the deputy director himself. How the hell did two NYPD cops, one on suspension, outpace the fucking FBI? Baines took the shots. The truth was, he had no idea. Two NYPD officers stood securing the door. Eddie and Tom moved out of the house to meet Baines.

They shook hands and Baines looked to the floor. ‘Sounds like you two saved his wife and one of his daughters. How are they?’

‘Devastated,’ said Harper. He paused. ‘We weren’t quick enough. Senator Stanhope and his daughter Rose are both dead. We missed the killer. We saw the bastard with our own eyes. And we let him take out the senator, so it doesn’t feel like a success story.’

‘You saved him from being tortured throughout the night. You guys acted fast. Good going. Pat yourselves on the back.’

‘Not yet,’ said Harper.

‘Tell me what happened when you burst in,’ said Baines, walking through the house.

‘The killer ran out, skewering Senator Stanhope. Rose must have been stabbed just as my shot hit the bulletproof glass. He went out through the window I’d bust. I must’ve been thirty seconds behind him and he was nowhere. We’ve been looking ever since. Don’t know how he does it.’

‘Well, he’s getting careless, that’s one good sign. Leaving the psychologist alive and scared was a stupid move.’

‘Yeah. Dr Levene thinks he needs someone to talk to, so he couldn’t kill him.’

Baines and Harper looked into the living room. The Feds and the NYPD were working harmoniously and their speed and efficiency was impressive. A meticulous operation was already under way with forensics and weapons experts combing every inch of the place for any signs or clues. Baines stopped at the FBI investigation leader, Special Agent David Mace. ‘Tell me, what goes?’

‘Two saved, two dead, sir.’

Baines had the look of a dead man. ‘Signs of a break-in?’

‘No. We found evidence that he waited in the roof space.’

‘Fuck,’ said Baines. This was way beyond belief. This was the worst he’d seen. They stepped into the living room and Baines stood still and let his eyes move the full length of the sight before their eyes. A beautiful home. A dead man in a chair. A half-dressed girl dead on the floor. Spots of blood on the carpet and sofa. ‘Who else was injured?’ asked Baines.

‘Caroline Stanhope, sir. He stabbed her left side.’

‘What’s he up to, Harper? I need an answer. I need one right now. What does this mean? Why the fuck does he want to kill a senator’s family?’

Tom looked at the senator. ‘He’s going for the best he can get. He wants to shock the world. But it’s also personal. He even took the time to take another trophy.’

‘What? How?’

‘He took Rose Stanhope’s right ear. He must have cut her before killing her.’

Baines looked at Harper. ‘I hope to God we can find something here. We are going to be destroyed on this one.’

Harper was keen to look at how Sebastian had passed the time in the roof and one of the CSU detectives took him up there. It was a comfortable little spot. He’d made a seat out of blankets and had left a little torch in the corner. There were remnants of fruit and water bottles. There was also a book.

Harper crawled over and tried to read the title. It was a book Tom knew well,
The Mask of Sanity
by Professor Hervey Cleckley. It was a classic study of psychopathic behaviour, running through various case studies. It read at times like a novel with cause for depraved curiosity on every page.

Was Sebastian studying himself? Was he interested in himself as a subject? Tom Harper had been trying to work something out since he’d seen Sebastian through the window of the living room. He looked similar to Redtop, was about the same height, but it wasn’t him. And if the killer was not Redtop, then who the hell was Redtop?

Was Redtop another red herring that Sebastian had thrown their way? Another half-mad patient that he’d met, along with Winston Carlisle? They’d thought that Redtop was the link, but he was maybe just another poor duped guy brought in on this mess.

Was Sebastian trying to outdo all the other killers he’d read about? Was he learning how to be a psychopath? Teaching himself, testing himself? Turning killing into art? Tom didn’t know. But the notion was interesting to him. No doubt, if he had a work like
The Mask of Sanity
, he’d have read many books on the subject.

Harper bristled. Next time, he needed to be certain his shot was fatal. He needed to get him. No more red herrings. He had seen the real thing. Now he just had to catch him.

 

I
t 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.

 

M
o 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.

 

T
he 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.’