‘I want a grain of sand. Anything.’
Harper watched as a team got the car lifted and slid underneath it, scraping the tyres and the undercarriage. He looked into each little clear Petri dish. They looked full of plain old dirt.
‘Can you tell anything?’
‘We’ve got four minutes left, give us a break.’
A microscope was brought from the van and the samples were quickly put on slides. Each slide was then passed through the microscope.
‘Okay,’ said Harper. ‘Ten minutes is up. This could save someone’s life. Where’s this car been?’
‘Well, it’s been somewhere with sand. Probably coastal. There looks like there’s faecal bacteria here too. Algae too from the footwell. Possibly somewhere damp, somewhere underground. Sewers?’
‘Yeah, well, that narrows it!’ said Harper. ‘Anything else?’
‘Just one more thing. Don’t know what it is, but there are chemical traces here too. We’ll have to check, but these are refined chemicals. Medical or industrial supplies, possibly.’
Harper chewed over the information. There weren’t many places in New York City that stored chemicals. He was near water. Sewers possibly. Industrial zone. It was something. Better than nothing.
Harper crossed to the Feds’ operations truck. ‘Give me his employment history in New York.’
‘Okay. Most recently, he’s working in marketing and sales. He supplied beautician salons with nail polish remover.’
‘That’s how he came across the girls,’ said Harper. ‘What else?’
‘He’s got a long history of short-term employment. We’ve got a two-year stint as a salesman selling art materials to schools; another two years working at MoMA in the acquisitions department. He’s worked many places as a salesman — he worked a year at Senderos, Mace Crindle, KCs, Andersons. Take a look.’
‘I don’t know the names. What are they?’
‘Senderos sells paper. Mace Crindle is the old chemical plant. KCs is food, Andersons is art supplies again.’
‘Show me more about Mace Crindle. Can you get it on a city map?’
‘No problem.’
‘Quick as you can. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. He can’t go home any more, so he knows this is it. And that’s going to make him very dangerous.’
Chapter One Hundred and Twelve
The Lair
December 4, 10.40 a.m.
Deep underground, Denise crawled forward towards the bars. She could hear the cutters snip through the bottom of the second bar. There was one more cut to go. Then he would be in.
‘It’s going to be nice to get some pictures of you,’ Sebastian said. ‘I’ve not shown you my exhibition, but you’re going be an important part. So is Tom Harper. I’m going to put you out like bait to get him here, then I’m going to kill you. You understand that? I’m going to cut your heart out.’
Denise stayed silent. She was waiting for the moment when the second bar fell.
The final cut, then Sebastian’s laugh as the bar hit the concrete floor with a clatter.
‘Well now, here we are. Here we are. Now don’t try anything stupid, Denise. If you do, I’ll make this a whole lot worse.’
Sebastian put his hands on the bars. Denise could hear his clothes brushing against the thin gap.
Then she lit her fantastic sparkler. She flicked the light back on. Except the bulb was missing and the wires had been pulled out of the damp, decaying plaster and wrapped around the steel bars of the door.
The cell lit up like a firework. Sebastian was momentarily bright with sparks, then his body was thrown back against the wall. She heard a thump in the darkness.
Seconds passed. Denise flicked the light switch off. Maybe he was dead. She crossed to the body in the dark. Then a roar of pure rage blasted against her face as two hands grabbed her throat in the darkness.
‘I always give my girls a chance, Denise, and that was yours. You failed.’ He took out a flashlight and shone it in her face. He pushed her towards the bed.
‘I need to lie down, Denise.’ He forced her on to the bed. He was unsteady on his feet. ‘I feel… strange.’
In the dark, damp cellar, Sebastian lay down on the bed beside her and put his arm around her waist. His hands didn’t touch her. The electric shock must’ve drained his strength. She waited, but he didn’t move.
Denise Levene lay in terrified silence, feeling Sebastian’s heavy body close against hers and his arm resting over her stomach.
She felt his breathing become deep and regular. He was unconscious. There was a sleeping monster beside her. There was nothing to stop her pulling away, smashing his head in with the bolt cutters if she could find them.
For what seemed like a whole hour she considered all her options. She wondered whether she had enough strength to incapacitate him with one blow. She tried to think where she could hit him. Across the bridge of the nose? On his temple? In his groin?
She didn’t know, and anyway he was very strong and he was insane. She knew that pain was not the same for psychopaths as for normal people. They could sometimes keep going even if they were shot.
She concluded that she couldn’t be sure of hurting him enough. Her mind suddenly filled with thoughts of escape. She could risk it and try the door. Then what? Trapped underground with a psychopath you’d just betrayed.
She wanted her life. She didn’t want to die down here. If he was sleeping heavily, she could creep out, maybe get ahead of him… Get out… The thought of it already seemed alien to her. The freedom she longed for was so near and yet so distant. It amazed her to see how quickly she’d become accustomed to this hole. And to him. It terrified her.
Now here was a chance. Perhaps the only chance that she would ever have. She lay awake, in the dark, planning her escape over and over in her mind. She would act. And by the time she needed to act, she would be ready. It was then she would make her escape.
Denise lay for another half-hour, rationalizing everything. In the face of all her trauma, she shut her feelings and reactions into a box in her mind. The mind has a capacity for suffering. She imagined a three-inch bubble of gelatinous liquid all around her body. The world was muffled and distant. She promised herself that she would deal with her fears at a later date. She told herself to stop whining on about it. Get over it. People are being slaughtered across the city. You’re the one chance they’ve got.
Stop being so fucking emotional! Stop!
With the thought came the clarity that she needed. Denise looked out into the pitch darkness.
She knew every inch of that cell. She knew how to operate in the dark now. She had that advantage over him. She could find each wall, each corner, the door, almost instinctively. He was not used to it.
Use your natural advantage.
He was also fast asleep, his body in shutdown, while she was wide awake. Her mind was as clear as it ever was. Crystal clear.
Now it was time.
She counted to ten and then began to move her body away from him. The mattress was so hard there was very little give when she moved. Her left leg left the side of the bed and moved, inch by inch, towards the floor. Her pelvis inched sideways too. This was the important moment. Her body would leave his. Contact would be lost.
She slid away. Gone. She was free from his touch. It felt good. She lay still for a moment, giving him a chance to react. He didn’t.
It was easier now. Denise’s body inched further sideways; her left foot touched the cold stone floor.
It took her ten minutes to move from the bed. She was so careful, aware that this was her one and only chance. If she failed, he would kill her.
Standing upright on the floor, facing the bed, she knew where she was. She had her bearings. Three steps
