‘Not worth your time. Nice as you are.’
‘Let’s dispose of the attitude,’ said Dr Levene. ‘I get it. I get it you don’t like me or trust me. I get it you don’t really think psychologists can help, period. I get it you like being angry. You’re a man. I get it. Why don’t you try to be a little more interesting? I could tell right from the moment you walked in that you’re a very emotional guy. I can see it in your curled lip and your twitching hands. So be emotional. Make my day.’
Tom half smiled. She was good. He could see why the guys liked her. And she was good to look at too, if you didn’t mind the stuck-up, college-educated aura.
‘Looks like you’re the one with the attitude,’ he told her.
‘But I didn’t screw up my job. That was all you, and looking at you I’d say you did it all by yourself. Hope she was worth it.’
Harper stood. He walked over to her desk.
‘That simple, is it?’ he growled. ‘This is some problem you’re about to turn around? Solve my anger? I don’t care what you do. I’m here because this is my only option to save some lives.’
‘You’ve got this saving-lives fantasy to a T,’ she said. ‘Hero cop with bad attitude cos he cares too damn much. Lover walks out, again, because he loves too damn much. Why the hell is the world mistreating Mr Perfect? You need to get your head out of your ass. If she left you, she left you for reasons belonging to both of you.’
Harper was riled. He stared hard at Dr Levene. ‘Don’t believe what you hear, Levene. I read people too. You talk tough and act tough, but you’re scared of me. I can smell it.’
Levene smiled, but his aim was good.
‘You want more?’ Tom said. ‘I come in the door. You’re writing but you’ve got nothing to write. Look on your pad. It’s empty. You’re play-acting. You’ve done your second blouse button up too, but I can see by the crease that it’s been open all morning. You’ve turned your personal photos away from me and you’ve turned your certificates out.. Jesus, you’re the one hiding, not me. Main motivation with you — to get what you want.’
‘Right on all but the last point. Main motivation is wildly off the mark.’
‘You know what? I think you’re flirting with me, Dr Levene.’ Tom leaned right over the desk.
‘You’re in my space, cowboy. Back right off.’
‘Get you excited when I’m that close?’
‘Yeah, the smell of whisky at ten in the morning really turns me on.’
‘Quit your games.’
‘You first.’
‘You sit here in Suite No. 32B. All the signs that you are a made-it lady. You even solve people’s problems. I bet you feel great. But out there, Dr Levene, out there is a maniac who tortures his victims and takes body parts. Watching them die and convulse as he.. Shit, lady. He tore open a woman’s chest, cut out her heart and then went home. Went off to his day job.’
Levene nodded. ‘That’s the emotion I was talking about. Nice to see it as it really is.’ The smile had left her face.
‘My problems don’t amount to anything worth State dollars, so yes I resent the waste of everyone’s time.’
A lesser doctor would have ended the session right there and then. Pressed the small red security button and had this psycho cop from the dark ages towed away. But that wasn’t Levene’s way and that wasn’t how Levene succeeded when others failed. She smiled. Unbuttoned the second button on her blouse, turned the photos out and the certificates in.
‘Just seeing how good you are, cowboy. Now let’s get to work.’
Tom went for the door. ‘I’ve signed to ten sessions, right? Well, let’s keep them short. Session one over. Nine more to go.’
‘Then you agree to come back?’
‘If it’s the only way I can get out there to work this killer, then I’ll endure you.’
‘Fine. But I want you back here tomorrow. I need to get started right away if you’re going to stay out of trouble, Detective.’
Chapter Thirteen
Blue Team Major Investigation Room
November 17, 2.34 p.m.
Harper spent the rest of the morning trying to get Denise Levene’s voice out of his head, so he went back to the other two crime scenes at Ward’s Island and the underground parking lot. He didn’t get much further with his thinking and drove back to the precinct. He wanted desperately to call Lisa, but resisted it. She’d told him not to. She’d said they both needed to work out how to live apart. He parked up, bought fresh coffee and a bagel from a street vendor and walked up into the open-plan sixth-floor office of Manhattan North Homicide.
The detectives who made up the elite Blue Team were all sitting around in the far corner facing Nate Williamson. He’d just received the feedback from the Fed’s violent criminal apprehension programme, ViCAP — a database of sickening crimes.
Williamson was a hard-nosed veteran of nearly twenty years. His age alone demanded respect, but he still worked out and he could floor a perp half his age. The Romario case had been his lead at the start. After four months they’d put Harper in charge. It wasn’t easy for Williamson, but he knew the younger guys were just that little bit smarter and faster. And Harper had done a good job. Williamson knew that he wouldn’t have made the links Harper had made. Not in a million years.
Harper walked into the centre of the room for the first time in a long while. ‘Nice time last night, Harper?’ asked Williamson, looking at Harper’s fists. ‘We wondered where you got to.’
Harper tried to shrug it off. ‘Got them caught in a door.’
‘Yeah,’ said Williamson, ‘we’ve just seen the door wearing a face mask.’
‘Eddie and me walked the crime scene again. I need to speak to the team, Nate.’
‘When I say so, Harper,’ said Williamson. ‘Now listen up, all of you. The street teams are still scratching around and nothing’s giving — a few witnesses with contradictory stories. There’s nothing on ViCAP. Forensics have nothing yet, but they reckon he’s been careful with his prints again. They’ll be able to confirm whether they’ve got any DNA samples in a couple of days. They found some microfibres in Amy Lloyd-Gardner’s hair and mouth and a half-print of the killer’s lips on her mouth, but nothing much to go on. He took her clothes. The autopsy will get under way soon, but the ME confirmed that Amy’s heart had been removed. Any luck on finding the silver Merc, Garcia?’
Garcia shook his head. ‘Nothing. No sighting at all. He maybe has it locked up.’
‘Unlikely,’ said Harper. ‘It’s full of evidence. Most likely scenario is he took it to a scrap yard and torched it. You should check all the yards.’
‘Will do,’ said Garcia.
Kasper nodded from the side. ‘I’ve been speaking to the FBI profile coordinator and we’ll put the package together for him if we want his help. Our own profiler is out of action.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘Long term sick. He’s probably the killer.’
‘Yeah, and I bet he wouldn’t even be able to work that one out,’ said Garcia. The guys laughed.
‘Nothing else?’ asked Williamson. There was nothing from the floor. Harper filled the silence.
‘I called the Medical Examiner this morning. She found a bite mark on Amy Lloyd-Gardner’s breast. Fairly deep, too. They’ll get a pretty good imprint from it. He’s growing already. Getting more aggressive. Getting to like the thrill, but he needs to do more each time to get the same buzz. I’ll work up the details to send off to the Feds, but my hunch is that this is a serial killer and he’s just beginning to express himself.’
‘Express himself? What do you mean?’ asked Garcia.
‘I mean, some take time to dare to do all the things they dream about, but this guy is getting there real quick. It’s not a good sign. And he’s professional — ambush, cosh, drag out of sight and then strip and cut. It looks like he’s recording his crimes, too. They like to replay the memories.’
