panicking. What should she do? The image of William held down by the neck kept recurring. She needed help, advice, support… something. She dialed 911 as she listened to the sound of the water running.
‘Come on, come on, come on,’ she whispered. Her hand went into the drawer for a knife. Her hand trembled, the blade flickering in the light.
‘911, what’s your emergency?’
‘It’s my husband… He’s acting real strange.’
‘Are you in danger?’
‘I don’t know. We might be.’
‘Has he attacked you or threatened you?’
‘I don’t think so. I don’t know.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Dee Dresden.’
Just then, she heard a splash from the bathroom, followed by laughter. She breathed in. Perhaps she was going mad. Perhaps she was the one with frontal lobe atrophy, whatever that was.
‘I think… maybe… maybe I’m just paranoid.’
‘Has he hurt you before, miss?’
‘No. Yes. He’s frightened us before. He gets these moods.’ She paused. Did she say or didn’t she? What should she do? Suddenly she broke. ‘He held William down. Yes! He nearly broke his arm. He’s seven years old.’
‘Does he have the children with him now, Mrs Dresden?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where are they?’
‘What?’
‘Where are your children?’
‘In the bath…’
‘Can you ascertain that your children are safe?’
‘I don’t know. God! I don’t know. I think he’s the man you’re all looking for. I think he’s the killer. The American Devil. Help us!’
Just then, there was another big splash. This time the splashing continued, but without any laughter. More splashing. Then it stopped and there was silence. No screams or shrieks. Nothing. She held her breath. Her hand gripped the carving knife and she dropped the phone.
She darted up the stairs. The bathroom door was ajar. Still no noise. No noise at all. Her lips were trembling with fear. My children, my little babies. What’s happened to my children?
She pushed open the door and entered the bathroom. She saw him. His sleeves were rolled up and he was leaning over the bath, his hands under the water. The water was quite still. She saw her children’s faces under the surface. They were staring out, motionless, their eyes wide open.
All at once, both children burst from the water and gulped air. ‘How many seconds, Dad?’
‘Nearly forty. A house record!’ Nick turned to Dee. ‘What’s up, Dee? You look scared half to death.’ He smiled at her.
‘Nothing,’ she said, hiding the knife behind her back. ‘Just wonder if you want me to take over, is all.’
Chapter One Hundred and Nine
Blue Team
December 4, 8.30 a.m.
It took four hours for Harper to piece the story together. He had been searching for names in directories and databases throughout the night. It was unlikely that Sebastian still called himself Hummel. At some point, the brothers must have decided to change their names again. Mo had changed his to Macy. But what had Sebastian changed his to? Harper’s list held over four hundred names already. He was looking for all the Fosters, Hummels, Dresdens, Dobermans, Quillers, Ashes and Macys across New York. All he had to do now was to go through the list one by one and check it out. It would take time. Maybe too much time. There had to be a quicker way. He drummed his thumb on the keyboard. Time was running out.
Harper now understood why the killer was after him, though. He had killed Sebastian’s brother.
Now, Harper could see how it had happened those first times. The murders of the Hummel girl and Chloe Mestella were even more horrific than the cops realized; too horrific for anyone to suspect. They were killed by a child. By Sebastian Hummel, a thirteen-year-old boy.
Harper looked again at the cold case details. The brothers were younger than anyone had thought. That’s why Eddie hadn’t found anyone in the yearbooks. Eddie’s maths had been two years out — the killer had been younger than Chloe Mestella, not older. They’d made a poor assumption and it cost them.
He had found the key to Sebastian — his raped and murdered sister. Tom knew what he had to do. He needed to find out what happened to the Hummels. He had called Eddie and asked him to sit on the door of the social security office in Pendleton County. He needed to know who fostered Sebastian after the Hummel family fell to pieces. He picked up his cell and was about to put in another call to Eddie, but Lafayette rang first.
‘What’s up?’ said Harper. ‘I hope it’s good news.’
‘Sure is, Harper. The woman from your basement? It’s not Denise. She could still be alive, Tom.’
Silence.
‘Tom, you there? It’s not her, man, you hear me?’
‘Yeah,’ Tom said weakly. ‘I hear you. Thank you.’
He put the phone down and sat still for about ten seconds, trying to stop the tide of relief from overwhelming him. Sebastian was true to his word. He wanted Tom to feel pain. More pain than he could imagine. He had to find Sebastian. He had to get Denise back. He called Eddie.
‘What’s up?’
‘It’s not Denise,’ said Harper. ‘It’s someone else he used to try to make us think she was dead.’
‘Sick fuck,’ said Eddie. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘It’s good it’s not her, Eddie, but we’ve got to nail this and find her. Are you in yet?’
The line started to crackle. Harper didn’t know it, but Eddie was following a young woman through a low door. ‘What you say, Harper?’
‘I want a name. Where are you?’
‘We’re in the stacks now. The lovely Julia is giving me a guided tour of their records. Nearly there, Harps.’
‘Call me,’ said Harper. ‘The moment you get a name.’
‘Sure thing. Julia and I are on it.’
Harper couldn’t count on Eddie’s news being good, so continued with his own checking. Twenty minutes in, when he was only a fraction of the way down the list, it occurred to him that he hadn’t even run these names through Blue Team’s database. Something might click. He took his list over to Garcia. ‘Stop the phoning for a moment. I want these entered on the database, see if anything comes up.’
‘Sure thing,’ said Garcia.
Twenty minutes later, he called over to Harper. ‘Listen up, we got a hit.’
Harper rushed across. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing definite, but one of the names cross-referenced with a call we got from a lady in Queens.’
‘Which name?’
‘Dresden. Woman called in a potential domestic situation and blurted out that she thought her husband was the American Devil.’
‘When?’
‘Call came in under an hour ago. Patrol have been and gone. She was fine. She panicked. Look, Harper, don’t get your hopes up. We get fifty of these a day.’
‘Sure we do,’ said Harper, ‘but I got seven names that Mo Macy used when he was being fostered around and
