‘Sorry, we’ve been strung out, looking for something.’
‘I guess you’ve been through the mill. You look like shit.’
‘I feel like shit. We’ve been tied up like we’re under some fucking investigation. It’s off the scale, this one. Off the fucking scale.’ Tom wandered into the office. He smelled like something that hadn’t seen a shower in days. ‘It’s nice to see you, Denise. You know, I never thought I’d say that.’
Denise smiled and laughed a little. ‘How are you coping with the case?’
‘Not quite come down, yet.’
Denise sat down on the couch. ‘I’ve seen what the news stories are saying about the senator and his family and I guess it was a lot worse than that.’
Tom nodded and sat opposite. ‘Doesn’t go away. That’s the hard thing. Pictures just floating around your head. Awful pictures of what he might’ve done to them. It’s hard to disengage. It’s so fucked up, Denise.’
‘You seen all of these?’ Denise picked up the day’s papers and put them on the glass table. ‘You seen what they’re saying? “Cops Save Senator’s Family”. You did good, Tom.’
‘I guess I tried, but the senator and Rose died.’ Harper flicked through the papers, glancing at the headlines. ‘Our killer just went platinum by the look of this. I tell you, Denise, every fucking deadweight from administration wants a piece of the investigation. They can’t take a piss without writing a report and sending it to the deputy commissioner. And guess what? It’s not going to make a blind bit of difference.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s not that kind of case. You can put pressure on investigations when there’s loose ends and shoddy work, but this one is tight. They’ve just got nothing to go on. They’re all out of leads.’
‘Except Redtop,’ she said.
‘No one believes Redtop has anything to do with Sebastian. Not since I saw Sebastian and it wasn’t the same guy.’
‘But you still think they are linked?’
‘I do, but what do I know?’
Denise went over to the door and opened it. Tom was still sitting on the seat, looking unwilling to move. ‘I think you underestimate yourself. Come on, let’s go out,’ she suggested.
Harper stood and followed Denise out of the door. At noon, the President would mention Senator Stanhope at a press conference. He would offer his sincere condolences and fiercely condemn the killings. He would promise every resource available for the brave professionals searching for this killer. Then he would stamp his fist on the lectern and look hard and serious into the camera.
Out on the street, Harper was expecting a cup of coffee and a doughnut, but Denise Levene had other plans. She took him to her car and stood with the door open. ‘I know that everyone thinks you’re off-beam about the kidnappings and Redtop but I believe you, Tom. And it’s the only possible link that hasn’t been exhausted, so we’ve got to find out as much as we can about Redtop.’
‘Can’t I sleep first?’ said Harper. ‘Deal with this tomorrow?’
‘You could try,’ said Denise. ‘But you’d just lie there and see dead bodies running around your head. What’s the attraction? Come on. We’ve got to get you back to the only link you’ve got with the killer and that’s East 126th Street.’
Chapter Seventy-Seven
East 126th Street
November 29, 7.15 p.m. o patted Lucy’s hand. ‘The bath is ready. You take a bath and put on your dress, and I’ll cook us something nice.’
Lucy nodded. The hallucinations had faded and she felt almost normal after the water and the prospect of a bath, but she was trying hard to still appear weak. She had learned quickly that you had to humour Mo. It was the only way with him — he was like a great big kid. But she was excited about the bathroom, about being able to wash at leisure. Mo looked at her as she sat on the side of the bed. ‘You gotta be a good girl, okay?’
‘I’ll be good for you, Mo. I will be ever so good.’ It was no good just enjoying the freedom, she’d also been thinking through her escape plan. This was a real chance. She would be much quicker than Mo, she would have the element of surprise and her returning strength and balance would give her the advantage. He wouldn’t be expecting it.
She had seen that Mo kept his keys round his neck but she would need him to be out cold or disorientated for a moment. She stood up unsteadily, took her armful of shiny red gifts and took them into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. The room had no window so Mo knew it was safe. He retreated to the kitchen. He was going to make pasta for her — something more than tinned mince for his special princess.
Lucy searched the bathroom. She needed a knife or a club of some sort. She found a pair of nail scissors, but they were tiny. The blades were only an inch and a half. She found Maurice’s razor next. She unscrewed the cap and pulled out a razor blade. Her armory was placed on the white toilet lid. Then she found a can of deodorant. She wasn’t sure if that would do anything or not, but she put it with the scissors and blade. Then she got in the bath.
Lying in the deep bath, even in these circumstances, was a real pleasure. She felt as if she’d been lying in her own filth for a week, sweating unconscious all night and day. She lay in the bath thinking about what she needed to do. How to incapacitate him, take his keys and flee. She’d have to be braver than she’d ever been before.
She heard music coming from the kitchen. He would be off guard. Perhaps he would give her a knife to eat with, but it would be a blunt old thing. She picked up the scissors, turning them in her hand. Looking at them, considering what damage they could do.
When Lucy emerged from the bathroom, Mo let out a squeal of excitement. ‘Wow!’ he exclaimed. She looked fantastic. All in red with her hair done up and lipstick on. Like a real girlfriend.
‘Does it all fit?’
‘Just perfect, Mo. How do I look?’
‘Lovely, lovely, lovely,’ he said. He led her through to the kitchen/living room. There was a small Formica table set for two, two chairs and music playing in the background. Mo pulled her seat back and Lucy sat.
All through dinner as they talked, Lucy was calculating, trying to identify the right time for her escape. When they’d eaten, Mo stood up and gestured to her with his hands.
‘What do you want, Maurice?’
‘Will you dance with me?’ he asked.
Lucy stood up and joined him in the middle of the stark room in the dilapidated building, swaying to the music. It was beyond strange.
Maurice leaned his head on Lucy’s shoulder and said, ‘You smell pretty.’
Lucy took his head in her hands. ‘You look real nice too, Maurice. Close your eyes.’ Maurice closed his eyes and turned his face to hers. She stroked his cheek. ‘You’ve been real good to me, Mo. I want to reward you. Would you like that?’
Mo nodded as her finger moved across his lip. Her right hand moved inside her top and found the nail scissors. She withdrew them. Her plan was to plant them firmly in one eye. The shock might be enough to topple him. She was holding them in her fist when a violent knocking broke into the room. Someone was hammering on the door. Lucy quickly hid the scissors. Mo stopped, paralysed. He knew who it was. It was the police, come to get him and take him away. He quickly took Lucy and pushed her into the bedroom. ‘It’s the police, Lucy. They’ve been following me and now they’ve come to get me.’ He was shaking all over as the knocking continued. ‘I won’t ever answer.’
‘You’ve got to answer,’ Lucy pleaded from the bedroom door. ‘I’ll tell them that you were looking after me. They just want to help.’
Mo looked at Lucy. ‘Would you?’
She nodded and stepped back into the bedroom. The knocking continued. Mo moved to the door. His hands were shaking as he opened each lock.
The door opened. Lucy was confused. It wasn’t a cop.
