Echo.
‘Read it for yourself.’
Harper moved towards the table and turned the paper round so that the headline faced him. The byline name under the subheading was Erin Nash. He took up the paper and read the report out loud.
AMERICAN DEVIL STILL AT LARGE PSYCHO SLAUGHTERS BLONDE HEIRESS AS COPS CLAIM CAPTURE
Manhattan’s notoriously sadistic pattern killer, the ‘American Devil’, struck again on the Upper East Side yesterday evening as cops were interviewing the man they believed to be the killer, a source said.
The stripped and mutilated remains of the rubber heiress, Katrina Hunyardi, 23, were found in her apartment an hour after she had been released by the NYPD. She had been raped and stabbed repeatedly with a thin-bladed knife.
The American Devil, who poses his dead victims in macabre and artistic ways, again left his horrifying signature. Kitty Hunyardi was posed like an angel and covered with cherry blossom. As with all his previous kills, the Devil took a trophy — this time, he removed the victim’s hands.
The NYPD yesterday were confident that they had the killer behind bars. So confident, in fact, that only hours after being identified as a target for the killer, Kitty Hunyardi was left without police protection. That mistake cost her life.
Lafayette stared at the team. ‘What the fuck’s going on? I thought we had Katrina Hunyardi? She was in the fucking station yesterday afternoon. Two cops took her home. She ID’d Winston Carlisle. What’s going on?’
Blue Team had no idea. They looked around at each other. ‘It’s got to be some prank,’ said Eddie. ‘Or maybe a copycat.’
‘Have we had any reports? Any homicides yesterday or last night?’ asked Harper. ‘Have we called Kitty? What do we know?’
Lafayette sat down. He was looking close to a coronary. ‘Nothing. No reports, no homicides, but we’ve been calling Kitty and there’s no reply. We’re sending someone over now. Jesus. If something’s happened to her!’
Harper was remembering Denise Levene’s words. All day, they hadn’t heard one fact directly from Winston Carlisle.
‘We’ve got to see this reporter, right now,’ he said.
‘If this is all bullshit, then she’s going to pay,’ said Eddie.
‘She’s been running this story from day one,’ said Harper. ‘Someone’s been leaking to her. We’ve interviewed everyone, but we got nothing.’
‘You sure this wasn’t a little bit of revenge?’ said Lol Edwards. ‘She maybe stopped giving her source what he wanted and he leaked her this false information?’
‘Could be,’ said Tom, ‘but I’d feel a whole lot better if we could get in touch with Kitty Hunyardi.’
‘I think someone’s playing games with Erin Nash,’ said Eddie. ‘It’s gotta be that.’
‘We got to go and see Erin Nash, Captain.’
‘That’s exactly where you’re all going, right now.’
The previous afternoon, Kitty Hunyardi had spent three hours at the precinct while her story was checked and she identified Winston Carlisle in a line-up as the man in the subway. Two officers took her back to her building. She didn’t want to spend any longer than she had to in the company of cops and dismissed them at the door. The whole dirty business was something she wanted to erase from her brain, including the acrid coffee breath that all cops seemed to have.
Inside her apartment Kitty crouched down under the hot stream of the shower and cried. It had been a hell of a couple of days. The worst she’d ever experienced. It was too much. She wanted to be strong and independent but she needed someone. It was hard, knowing a killer had been stalking you for weeks. That’s what the cops had said. That he tended to scope his victims and even take their clothes and shoes. The idea was terrifying. She felt violated and it dragged her out of the privilege and safety of her wealth and into a place she didn’t recognize.
Worse still, the killer had got close enough to her to kill her. He could have put a knife into her right there in the street. He had grabbed her crotch. All her life, she’d been safe and protected. Now she remembered his hand on her, her fear. She felt sickness starting to rise in her stomach and ran to the lavatory. Her wet blond hair flopped over the white bowl of the toilet as she retched up her guts.
Kitty walked out of the bathroom feeling weak and tired. She had promised herself that she’d never ask for her father’s help. She’d made it a point of honour that she would be able to cope in her own apartment. She wouldn’t ask for his help now, either. She had to get through this alone. It was over. She just had to sleep. She lay down on her bed and closed her eyes, feeling a little calmer. She hugged herself. In truth, she wanted to be eight years old again, far away from the present, back in a time when everything was safe and secure and men didn’t grab you on the street. The line-up had been horrible, but there he was, that face, that disturbed face. That horrible, ragged, miserable face.
Warmth. Forgetfulness. She drifted into sleep. Sleep was its own world. Soon enough, Kitty Hunyardi was finally dreaming peacefully again.
An hour ticked by. The still and regular sounds of the night slowly slipped through the apartment.
Just after 4 a.m., the door to the bedroom opened. A man stood there in the doorway, a silhouette in the darkness of a silent apartment. He was tall and wearing a black suit.
Sebastian was smiling. His plan had worked. He’d fooled the cops and now he was five steps away from girl number six. Winston had played his part like a professional. He’d get his fifteen minutes of fame, but the real fame would come to Sebastian. He was better than them all. In his hand he held the morning’s Daily Echo.
‘Kitty,’ he whispered. She didn’t stir. He looked around her room. It was very clean. There was a faint smell of perfume. It was all tastefully done. Homely. You know. In an artless and decadent way.
He shivered. He hated happiness. He had always hated it. Her arms and legs were splayed across the bed, enjoying the space. He wanted her now. Kitty Hunyardi. He took a seat and stared at her, his head tilted to one side. Nice lips, nice skin, nice low relaxed breathing.
These moments lived with him. They were the only moments of quiet he had ever known, the moments before his innocent women became his victims, when he felt a serene sense of power. He was a god now, looking down on his beautiful creations, blissfully unaware they were being watched. Blissfully unaware the devil had come to take away God’s gift.
He shook her shoulder. Her eyes opened. She screamed loud and high-pitched. Sebastian smiled and a gloved hand smacked hard against her mouth. ‘Shh, now, princess, shh and all will be well.’
He watched her eyes. He was waiting until she calmed, until reason returned. ‘I’ve just come to deliver the morning paper,’ he said. ‘But don’t scream. If you stay quiet, I’ll let you live. Do you understand?’
Kitty nodded. She didn’t understand anything at all. A newspaper was placed in front of her. The gloved hand slowly slipped from her mouth and the bedside light flicked on. ‘Read all about it,’ Sebastian said. ‘It’s not often we can see how we’re going to be remembered.’
Kitty’s eyes glanced over the headline.
AMERICAN DEVIL STILL AT LARGE PSYCHO SLAUGHTERS BLONDE HEIRESS AS COPS CLAIM CAPTURE
She started to read but tears were streaming from her eyes and the paper was shaking so hard, she couldn’t take in the words.
Sebastian smiled as he watched her. His right hand moved to his pocket and pulled out a neat little surgical bone saw. It was only about six inches long. He snapped the handle into place as he looked down at Kitty’s shaking hands. He loved her. He always had. She had such beautiful hands.
Chapter Fifty
Blue Team
November 24, 4.38 a.m.
Forty minutes later, a buzzer screeched in the darkness. Erin Nash’s hand had reached out to stop the alarm
