Chapter Eighty
Outside in the street, the man looked up. He knew she lived on the fifth floor and counted until he imagined where she was sitting right now. He walked up the stone stoop and took out the key. He had had the key ever since he’d taken Capske out. The cops hadn’t noticed that one of the keys on his fob was missing. Subtlety was lacking in their investigation. He pushed it into the lock and turned it. The lock was on some kind of electronic catch and the bolt buzzed and released. He entered the lobby.
The building was old and crumbling, with post-boxes half-torn off or covered with graffiti. It smelled of mold and damp. The panels to the basement door were smashed out and the lower-ground laundry odors mixed with the heat from the apartments and the whiff of old carpets.
He didn’t like the dirt or the idea that he was breathing in spores. He moved toward the stairs and started to climb. The key to the apartment remained in his hand as he ascended to the fifth floor. He took a look over his shoulder and felt the excitement rising through his body, lifting him up with the sensation of flying.
In his coat pocket was his World War Two German Luger. A fine piece of engineering and beautiful to hold, the semi-automatic Pistole Parabellum 1908, to give it its correct name. He pulled the Luger out of his pocket as he reached the floor, took out an 8-round magazine and pushed it into the grip. Taking the toggle-joint between his thumb and forefinger, he pulled it back, then let the breechblock snap back into place, with a metallic clunk. A new cartridge was now waiting in the chamber. Lucy’s bullet was primed.
Chapter Eighty-One
The street Lucy Steller lived on was quiet and tree-lined. There was a row of shops and that afternoon people were peaceably walking along either side of the street. A moment later, a distant squawk of sirens could be heard getting closer and closer. Soon, the sound was screeching and a few people on the street turned to look.
Eight police cars turned into the street and drove hard down towards them. The first car braked and skidded, then the other seven cars followed suit. Down the street, in a car, a man observed them closely. He checked his watch.
The people in the grocery store watched as every car door opened and several plain-clothed detectives got out. Three of the cars were squad cars and uniformed officers started to form a boundary.
The men and women hurried across to a building and in a moment they’d all disappeared. Only two uniformed officers stood on the street, telling the public that they ought to stand back.
Harper was first at Lucy Steller’s door. He knocked, lightly at first. Then harder and finally, he was shouting her name. There was no response. ‘Okay, break the door,’ he said.
Two cops moved in with the battering ram. They hit the door once and the door jamb split. Harper pushed it open. He walked in.
‘Lucy!’ he called. There was no reply, but there was a smashed cup on the floor and an overturned table with a broken leg lying by the couch.
Harper knelt and touched the cup with his palm. ‘It’s still warm,’ he said.
‘Signs of a struggle,’ said Eddie. ‘We’re too late.’
Harper led the cops through the rooms. ‘Just look around. Anything you can find that might tell us something.’
Denise looked at the bookshelves. There was a row of diaries going back for several years, but two were missing. She ran her finger over the year on each diary. ‘Harper, two of the last three years are missing.’
‘Is that significant?’
‘They might be somewhere, but if the killer is targeting her, maybe he thought she’d have information. He’s getting very worked up, Harper. He’s trying to close down anyone with knowledge of him. She might have seen him stalking her.’
Harper moved to the desk. ‘The PC, take a look at this,’ he said. ‘There’s no hard drive — another place that she might leave evidence.’
Harper then glanced at the small hook by the door. He walked across. ‘How do you think he got in?’
Denise raised her head. ‘Either he just rang the buzzer or he had a key. Point is, what’s he going to do next?’
Chapter Eighty-Two
Harper and the team left Crime Scene at Lucy Steller’s apartment. Harper called Blue Team together.
‘The coffee cup on Lucy Steller’s floor was still warm, which means that the killer was only a few minutes ahead of us,’ said Harper. ‘He’s coming out of the shadows. We should have protected this woman. She’s in real danger now.’
‘We didn’t see it coming. It’s a form of escalation,’ said Denise. ‘He’s trying to cover his tracks and he’s likely to try something more dramatic, something that gives him a bigger thrill than the kills.’
‘It’s hard to think what,’ said Greco.
‘We need to get going. We’ve got the vigil at Union Square to help with. The killer risked himself with Lucy, just like with the children. That means Lucy holds a clue to his identity, right?’ The cops nodded. ‘I’m going to leave Denise and Ratten here to go through everything from Lucy’s apartment. My guess, based on the stolen diaries and hard drive, is that she either knew who he was or met him in the last two years. So we need to know when it was, who he was and how they met.’
Denise nodded.
Harper then pulled up the map of Union Square. Eddie looked at it. ‘How the hell are they going to police that place?’
‘It’s going to be hard, that’s all we know,’ said Harper. ‘But it’s going to be peaceful. We’re there with Hate Crime Unit, just to keep an eye out. We don’t know that he’ll try anything, but he may enjoy turning up, so we’re videoing every entrance and exit. We’ve got face recognition software, and Heming’s face plus every face that Hate Crime has on record is now in the database.’
‘How does it work?’ asked Garcia.
‘Mathematics,’ replied Ratten. ‘Although you’re pretty, your face can be reduced to a number of measurements and ratios. The software calculates those measurements for every face it sees and if it matches anything in the databank, it’ll flag up.’
‘So if Heming or any known neo-Nazi turns up, they’ll be flagged and arrested.’
The team were just taking in the information when Captain Lafayette flew through the door. He was red- faced and full of excitement. ‘Listen up, the press have just had another communication from the 88 Killer. A new email.’ He held up a piece of paper. ‘He emailed all the newspapers again. The boys downstairs have traced it, it’s no fake. This comes from the same account.’
‘So, what the hell does he say this time?’
Lafayette eyed the room. ‘You’re not going to like this, not one bit.’ He drew the email in front of his eyes.
