Rockaway Beach, Long Island
November 26, 3.12 p.m.
Out on Rockaway Beach, the Atlantic winds snapped across the two walkers’ faces in sharp icy bursts. Up above, the sky spread out bright and cloudless. ‘It’s cold as hell,’ shouted Denise Levene as she struggled along with her chin deep in her collar. Ahead, the athletic figure of Tom Harper continued to push its way along the edge of the surf, binoculars scanning left to right.
Kitty Hunyardi’s death had knocked everybody off their feet, including Harper. The investigation went from elation to sudden meltdown. Then it got worse. The press had been primed by the police commissioner to hunt for their victim down at North Manhattan Homicide and they descended like a swarm of angry bees. And Harper got stung, along with everyone else who worked Homicide that day. The public were frightened, the press were stoking the sense of outrage and wouldn’t let up. Winston Carlisle was not the American Devil. He was a set-up.
It had been a tough time for Tom, but worst of all was the horrible realization that the American Devil was still out there, planning his next kill. Harper found himself wishing that the battle-hardened Nate Williamson was at his side as they fielded press questions. Nate would’ve told it how it was. No soft soap, no apologies, just iron with a sprinkling of lead. He’s a maniac killer who’s trying to fuck the city up, confuse us and throw us patsies. It’s a fucking game to him — what do you think he would do, hand himself in? Tom heard Williamson’s voice in his head and couldn’t believe he missed the guy as much as he did.
And there was one other piece of bad news that Harper hadn’t yet told Denise. At the end of the twelve-to- four shift the previous day, Captain Lafayette had called Harper into his small glass office on the fourth floor and twisted his mouth sympathetically. That wasn’t a good sign. Harper saw it and shook his head. He was off the case. He was off Homicide. He was off active duty. Harper was asked to hand his shield and gun over. He did so in silence, the two men awkward and clumsy.
They needed a carcass to throw to the press pack and it was the lead detective first. They needed to say that a new lead was being given the ball. If that didn’t calm the situation down, the commissioner would just keep humping bodies out the door. Lafayette would be next. ‘I’m sorry,’ the captain had said. Harper had smiled thinly and walked out.
The long white sands reached out as far as they could see. From Jacob Riis Park all the way to Atlantic Beach, the sea rolled white crests over and over with a relentless crashing beat. The two friends were buttoned up against the wind, their hair flapping wildly. Denise’s spaniel was running all over the beach, his big soft ears flopping around in the wind. Denise had heard about the murder of Kitty Hunyardi on the news but could only guess how Harper was feeling. She tried to contact him all through Sunday, but he’d gone for a long walk.
‘I thought you wanted to talk,’ said Denise.
‘Yeah, but walking is better.’
‘Better to keep it all inside till it ruins you. Just what I would’ve recommended, as your psychologist. It’s a surefire way to mental health.’
‘Not much to say, Denise. I’m here for some R and R — and I want to show you something.’
‘There’s nothing here that could possibly be worth seeing.’
They walked up the low dunes that reached towards the streets running across Long Island. Tom stopped by a low sign cautioning against the tide.
‘The great unknown,’ said Tom, staring out across the vast ocean.
The grey water was churning and beating the shore with a frightening regularity. Denise pushed her hands into her coat and sat down. ‘You got a hat or something? My ears are gonna fall off.’ Fahrenheit appeared between Denise’s legs and placed his muzzle on her lap. She stroked his warm fur.
Harper reached into his backpack and handed her a green hunting hat with ear flaps. Denise pulled the hat over her head and tied it under her chin, then turned to Harper. He nodded in approval. ‘You look like Kyle from South Park.’
‘God, you know how to make a woman feel special,’ said Denise.
He raised his eyebrows and looked out to the ocean.
‘Listen, Tom, at least tell me what happened,’ she said, reaching out and putting her hand on his arm for comfort.
‘I got moved off the case. That’s it. I got moved off the damn case.’
Denise felt a lump in her throat but controlled it. ‘Remember what I taught you about revealing the detail, Tom?’
Harper’s head shook slowly. ‘The detail is I failed. The detail is that this maniac killer just duped us all and got me and half the team canned. So they’re going to start again with a new lead. Someone from Manhattan South. It’ll take them weeks to catch up. The killer’s going to be laughing. I feel so fucking useless, Denise, if you want the truth. So fucking impotent. And more women will die because of this.’
‘The killer set you up?’
‘Yeah, but we don’t know how, exactly. It looks like Winston Carlisle was being controlled and manipulated by someone. Witnesses saw another man visiting Carlisle on several occasions. Winston is a little vague himself but said he thought he was a doctor from the hospital. This guy, who we presume is the American Devil, sent Winston this list of instructions about how and when to stalk Kitty. Winston followed them to the letter. Let’s face it, I called the chase at the subway and it was the wrong guy.’
‘You didn’t fail, you took a chance. What do they want, police by numbers?’
‘That’s exactly what they want. Statistics don’t lie. We’ve got a serial killer in Manhattan, they asked me to catch him and I didn’t close the deal. I’m embarrassing some serious players up at the top of the tree.’
‘They want him caught in under three weeks? What the hell do they expect?’
‘Kitty Hunyardi died when we were busy interrogating an innocent man. The way it looks, we went way, way down the wrong track.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘I made a mistake. I’ve been going over it in my head. I don’t know where it happened.’ Tom looked across at Denise. ‘I’m sorry for what I said about the profile. You were right to doubt Carlisle. I was pumped up. I saw what Sebastian wanted me to see.’
Levene stared up to catch his expression. ‘How did this Carlisle guy get caught up with Sebastian?’
‘Carlisle had a history of minor sexual assaults, and my guess is he made a good ringer. The killer must’ve come across him in the hospital on Ward’s Island somehow. They’re looking into it, but Winston said that the first time he saw this guy was at the halfway house. Sebastian chose him to make us look like fools. He could’ve left us to stew for a while, but he went for Kitty as soon as he could. I think he got jealous of all the attention Winston was getting. Maybe he had to show the world that the great killer was still top dog. And that the cops had fucked up.’
‘What was Erin Nash’s part?’
‘Sebastian met her in a bar, told her he was a cop, fed her information and ended up in her bed. He set that up too. He wanted the world to know what he was doing in all the detail.’
‘How is she? Quite a shock to discover you’ve been sleeping with a killer.’
‘Yeah, the shock lasted a good ten minutes, then she realized that she was sitting on a gold mine. You could see the book title running before her eyes: My Nights With a Killer by Erin Nash.’
Denise shook her head and started to pound her feet on the ground to keep warm. ‘Is there a cafe around here?’
‘Not at this time of year.’
‘Hell, it’s freezing.’ She stood up and they began moving on. ‘My thoughts on the profile have changed a little, Tom. He’s not going to be like the statistical norm, he’s one of the pathfinders. An original.’
‘It’s not my case any more, Denise. You’ll have to find another cop.’
‘Come on. Don’t give in so easily. What about the girl in the dumpster? Any leads on her?’
‘We identified her as far as we could. She had two tattoos that people recognized. We think her name is Lottie Bixley. She was a hooker. She went missing for four days and then turned up dead. No one thinks it’s his kill. It’s not his style. There’s no prints, no DNA, nothing.’
‘What about you, what do you think?’
‘I can’t quite believe it’s nothing to do with Sebastian. I found a cherry blossom petal in the dirt by the
