For a moment, Williamson felt doubt well up in his chest. He looked at Harper and cocked his head. ‘What is it with you?’
‘Fuck that, this is about saving someone’s life. Call off the SWAT teams. He’s not after Elizabeth Constantine, so we’ve got to keep looking. Call them down.’
Williamson breathed into his mouthpiece. ‘Proceed,’ he said and turned his back on Harper.
Harper took Eddie by the shoulder and they ran to the small concierge office. They were going to have to work this out by themselves.
Outside Elizabeth Constantine’s apartment, the SWAT team could hear the TV going. One of the team pushed a tiny camera through the gap at the bottom of the door. He looked down on the monitor. The living area appeared to be empty, but there was no telling what was on the sofa. They could only see the back of it.
The lead gave the signal and they checked their weapons. The door had a shotgun, assault rifle and two pistols pointing at it. The rearguard moved in with the jamb spreader. They’d decided to go in quiet. Ramming the door would allow the killer the few seconds he might need.
The hydraulic jamb spreader was inserted against the door jambs and the rear guard started to gently crank the pump arm. The idea was simple. Up to three tons of pressure pushed the door jambs until the lock was no longer sitting in its carriage and the door could be quietly pushed open.
The team watched as the pressure began to build up.
Down in the concierge’s office, Harper was questioning the building manager over the phone. He’d already told Harper that Elizabeth Constantine had moved from another apartment on the Upper East Side. ‘Listen,’ Harper said. ‘We’re looking for a woman called Elizabeth, but we’ve got no one else registered in that name. You got any ideas?’
‘I don’t know all the residents,’ the manager said.
‘Well, this one will be a single woman in her early twenties. She’ll be pretty and blond-haired, slender build. Have you got anyone like that?’
‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t spy on them. Look, I’m sorry,’ said the manager.
Marvin had hung back during the conversation but he was nodding even before Harper had finished the call.
‘What is it, Marvin?’ Harper asked.
‘I know a girl like that up in 146. Miss Seale. She’s a real beauty.’
‘Her name’s not on the list,’ said Harper. ‘What’s her first name?’
‘I don’t know her name. It’s her father ’s apartment. Here it is.’ Marvin pointed to a name on the list.
Harper looked down at the name Seale. Miss Seale. He remembered the curious line the killer had used on the phone. ‘Sealed with a kiss.’ Could this be the one? He felt a surge of energy. ‘Describe her to me, Marvin.’
‘Beautiful, blonde, slim, just like you said.’
This had to be her. Harper was sure. He got back on the radio to Williamson.
‘I think her name’s Elizabeth Seale. He’s set us up with the wrong apartment. We should be going for 146.’
‘It’s too late, Harper, we’re going in,’ said Williamson.
Seventeen floors above the SWAT team held steady as the door loosened. The lead gently pushed the door open. The first officer crouched and moved into the room. In less than two seconds, he whispered ‘Room clear’ and pointed to the bedroom. The team of six black-suited officers moved forward into the room. They could hear faint noises from the bedroom. All six firearms were raised. The lead turned the handle and pushed the door.
‘Freeze or I shoot!’ shouted the captain, and six weapons pointed into the room.
On the bed, a man was writhing naked on top of a woman.
The man turned and stared at the six monsters in black, a look of panic frozen on his face. ‘What the hell is going on?’
The next few seconds were brutal. The team floored the naked man and had him cuffed in moments.
‘Are you Elizabeth Constantine?’ asked the rearguard. The woman on the bed nodded, her face terrified.
Down below, Williamson listened. This was not a dead end, this was the fucking guy. He waited for the words. Then he heard them. ‘We apprehended the suspect. Threat nullified. She’s alive.’
‘Is the suspect in the apartment?’ asked Williamson.
‘Yes. He’s on the ground, sir. Victim is unharmed, Detective.’
Williamson felt a surge of pride. He ran to the stairwell and started up the stairs. His heart was beating with joy. He had come good. Harper was wrong. Williamson had backed the right horse for once.
Five floors up, Harper and Eddie arrived at the door to Elizabeth Seale’s apartment. Harper put his head to the door. ‘We’ve got no choice.’
‘No.’
‘How do we get in?’
‘Lucky I thought ahead,’ said Eddie. He held up his shotgun.
‘Well, what are you waiting for?’
Eddie crouched in front of Elizabeth Seale’s apartment door. He swung the shotgun butt to and fro and then let the full force smash against the lock. It split and shattered at once and the door yawned open. Harper and Kasper threw themselves to the floor and looked into the apartment. The first room was clear. They looked to the bedroom. The door was ajar and a light was on. The muzzles of a Glock 19 and a SIG pointed towards the door.
‘What are you waiting for?’ said Eddie.
Harper breathed in deeply. ‘Wait a moment.’
‘Why, you see something?’ said Eddie.
Harper shook his head. ‘Breathe in.’
Eddie sniffed and turned back to Harper. ‘What is it? I got nothing.’
‘I can smell blossom,’ said Harper. ‘We’re too late.’
Williamson’s voice came through on the radio. ‘We’ve got the bastard, boys, we’ve got him. And Elizabeth is alive.’
Eddie looked at Harper. They stood up and walked slowly to the door of the bedroom. The whooping continued on the shortwave as the cops below congratulated each other. Harper pushed open the bedroom door with the muzzle of his Glock. The door swung open and they stared at the body of Elizabeth Seale, who was propped up on some pillows, staring right back at them with cold dead eyes. Harper rushed across and put his fingers to her pulse.
‘She’s dead,’ he said, turning to Kasper, ‘but she’s warm. The killer might still be in the building.’ He went out on the shortwave. ‘Nate, this is Detective Harper. We’ve got a dead woman in Apartment 146. Elizabeth Seale. She’s only just died, Nate. He could still be in the building.’
‘There was no Elizabeth Seale,’ said Williamson. ‘There was no such girl.’
‘Thing is, she wasn’t registered. It was her father’s apartment. He fucked us, Nate. We need to get the CSU crew here soon as we can and get the whole area sealed. We need to search this building. He could still be here.’
There was no response from Nate Williamson, just the crackle of static.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Laker Building
November 21, 1.47 a.m.
The proud, glass-fronted lobby of the Laker Building reflected a massive light show of flashing red and blues. It looked like carnival time, but it wasn’t. Not even close.
The small crowd that had started to form a couple of hours earlier as seventeen patrol cars swooped, full of authority and optimism, had swollen to a great sea of wide-eyed gawping faces, all flickering with the dancing lights of the NYPD.
Harper looked out at the crowd. He knew that the killer may well be out there watching them all, enjoying the
