‘What about the car, Tom? Where do we go?’
‘I’m thinking,’ said Harper.
‘So am I. And I think the reason the kids aren’t dead is because he’s not tortured them yet. That’s what he needs to do before he kills. Mark them and torture them. We’ve got time, but it’s not much.’
Harper looked at her for a second. ‘Let’s go.’
As they sped back to Brooklyn, Harper reckoned that the kids would soon be in a lock-up or worse. He knew the driver of the red car wouldn’t risk speeding, but would keep to the legal limit. That was their advantage. They had the license-plate out there. Someone had to spot it.
He called up Eddie Kasper who was back at the scene in Borough Park, helping the clean-up. ‘I need to know the places these guys go when they’ve got something to hide. You’ve got twenty or more prisoners — find out which ones are most afraid and cut them a deal. I need a lock-up, a location, anything.’
‘I’ll see if anyone knows anything,’ said Eddie.
Harper hung up.
‘How did he know where they were?’ asked Denise when they arrived at McRory’s.
‘I don’t know,’ said Harper. ‘But I will find out.’
It took ten minutes for the red car to turn up on the police radio.
‘What have you got?’ asked Harper.
‘There’s a red car parked in Bedford-Stuyvesant. Plates match. It’s just been taken inside a lock-up of some sort.’
‘Don’t spook him,’ said Harper. ‘He’s got the two children. Just give us the location and tell them to set up roadblocks. If he drives off again, I don’t want him getting far.’
They traveled for about ten minutes. There was silence in the car. Harper turned into the street that Dispatch had given him and killed the lights. He then called the patrol car.
‘I’m going in direct. Got to see if the kids are still there. Most likely, he’s switched cars, come from the side street.’
Harper and Levene got out of their car. Ahead of them was a row of lock-up garages in a courtyard. Tall buildings flanked the lock-ups and two alleyways led between these buildings on either side.
‘You hold back,’ said Harper. Denise stood at the car as ordered. She watched as Harper walked towards the row of garages. He looked inside the one that was open, but it was pitch black. There wasn’t much light in the courtyard. The greasy asphalt shone in the moonlight, but the whole area was full of shadows and alleys. Whoever had taken them could be anywhere.
Harper held his Glock firmly in his right hand. He crept to the left of the lock-up, down a side street then came back. Hearing something, he turned quickly. It was a low thump. He listened intently. Someone was inside the garage, kicking at something. That meant that the driver had probably left the kids.
His pulse raced. The two children were still in the car then, still alive. Harper started to run back towards the lock-up. He only half-caught sight of something over to his right — a red cigarette end or a glint of light. The sound of a gunshot woke the night. A bullet hit the ground by Harper’s feet and ricocheted into a large metal door. Harper heard the patrol cops in the distance; they had started to run towards the sound. He pointed his gun into the alley and fired six shots into the darkness.
Nothing. Whoever had been there, had gone. Harper stared at the scene, trying to work out what had happened.
Denise was standing by the car, hidden in darkness. Harper decided he couldn’t wait another minute for patrol. He had to chase the killer down. He got up and started towards the alley, trying to get cover before heading into the darkness.
Harper hit the wall and leaned into the alleyway, gun first. It was too dark to see a goddamn thing. He stepped into the shadows. It was a risk, but he figured the sound of the uniformed officers running and shouting could have spooked the killer.
As Harper disappeared into the alleyway, a figure appeared from the next alleyway up and moved to follow him.
From the far side of the alleyway, Denise stared out, her hands shaking. Alone and exposed, she could hear the running footsteps of the two patrolmen coming up behind her and suddenly felt afraid. Her heart beat fast, and her legs felt weak.
‘It’s all going to be okay,’ she told herself and moved a couple of steps towards the alleyway. She stopped by the side of the car. At that moment, a shadow emerged about fifteen yards in front of her — a figure holding a gun. Denise stared across at the killer. The shaking moved throughout her body. She steadied herself and tried to breathe.
From where she was, she could see the garage and the alleyway where Harper had followed the killer, but the killer had doubled back and was now behind him. What could she do? Her throat was dry.
Denise tried to remember what Mac had told her, but she couldn’t. The whole psychological change that Mac talked about was already happening to her. ‘You’ve got to be a predator to stop your body preparing yourself to die.’ She knew she couldn’t shout to Harper. She was unarmed. The killer would turn, take her out and then wait for Harper.
She reached into the car and pulled out the keys. Slowly, she moved around to the back of the car and lifted the trunk, her eyes on him as he walked down towards the first alleyway.
She reached in and felt around until she gripped the handle of the lug wrench. She pulled it out and felt the weight in her hand. ‘Become the predator,’ she whispered.
Denise needed to get across to the killer just as he turned into the alleyway. She would have to move silently, so she removed her shoes. Watching and waiting, she was the predator now, both eyes forward, body still, ready to pounce. He was moving to the corner of the alley: if she left it any longer, he would be able to catch up with Harper. She had to act now.
Denise sprinted across the open ground, her feet making a low slapping sound, nothing more. She hit the wall within a few seconds and moved quickly to the corner. She leaned in, held the wrench hard, raised it to her shoulder and then turned the corner.
His head twisted into the ground, he lost control of himself and his gun hit the ground and skidded into the dark.
‘Harper!’ shouted Denise. ‘I got him!’
The killer rose slowly. ‘What the fuck…’ he said, but the lug wrench came down again, hard on the head. No mercy. One specific target. She hit him again on the same spot. ‘On the floor!’ she screamed. ‘On the fucking floor.’ He didn’t obey. She hit him twice, as hard as she could. Blood splattered her hand, but she kept him there and screamed, ‘On the floor, flat on the floor!’
She could hear Harper running up the alleyway. The man stirred and tried to speak. She hit him again. ‘Do not move,’ she shouted.
The body at her feet lay still on its front, a large wound on his head, blood creeping across his skull and on to the ground.
Harper appeared, his gun trained on the body on the ground. ‘What the hell?’ he cried. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s him, Tom. He doubled back on you. I saw him coming after you. I had to take him out.’
Harper just stared. Denise stood, her heart pounding, her body feeling strong and powerful, the lug wrench poised for another blow.
The killer lay prostrate, groaning in pain, his right hand clutching the wound. Harper flashed the light over him then pulled out his cuffs and jumped on the body, cuffing him.
‘Well done, Denise,’ said Harper. He rolled the body over. ‘Let’s see what we got.’ Harper’s flashlight illuminated the face staring up at them and he felt the shock jolt him.
‘It’s Jack Carney,’ said Harper. ‘You’ve attacked a cop.’
Carney groaned. ‘I tried to fucking tell her. She’s brutal. Just kept hitting me. Jesus Christ, my head.’
‘Save your strength, Jack,’ Harper said. ‘Where did you come from?’
