Then the girls stopped screaming. Nick saw them turn and look in the other direction. He saw them close their mouths in fear. He saw why. Sebastian was right there. He had returned.
Nick knew he had missed his chance — and he could not be sure he would get another.
Chapter Ninety-Eight
Blue Team
December 3, 6.50 p.m.
Harper arrived back in Manhattan and returned to Blue Team. He pushed the door of the investigation room and stood panting. ‘Anybody got anything?’
Blank faces turned. Nobody had an idea. It was killing him, knowing that there was almost nothing he could do. He called Eddie Kasper and relayed the story of Chloe Mestella.
‘It needs looking into,’ said Eddie.
‘Feds are on their way to West Virginia.’
‘Fuck the Feds, Tom, this is our girl. We got blood ties — we can’t leave it to them. You want me to get over there?’
Harper put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. ‘You’re a waste of space, but I can always count on you. Thanks, buddy.’
Eddie smiled. ‘You had to do the insult or the nice part wouldn’t come, would it?’
Tom shook his head. ‘Not easy for me to say. Now get going.’
Eddie pulled on his jacket and left the precinct. Tom went to Denise’s board. He looked at her face. He wanted to know why Sebastian had taken her. He wanted to know why Sebastian had killed Williamson and now was after him. It would take time to get to West Virginia. Too much time.
Harper took a cup of coffee and sat down at his computer. He had to find something soon. He called up Chloe Mestella on the internet and read about the murder. If it was still an open case, then the records would be there in the local sheriff’s office. Harper looked up the number and picked up the phone.
‘Sheriff’s office. How can I help you?’
‘This is Detective Harper of the NYPD. I know you’ve got some Feds rushing down your way to look into the Chloe Mestella murder, but I’m looking for some help.’
‘What can I do for you, Detective?’ said the woman on the phone.
‘Have you been following the American Devil case?’
‘Sure have. Isn’t everybody?’
‘I’m Tom, by the way. What’s your name?’
‘Carla.’
‘You could make a big difference up here, Carla.’
‘How so?’
‘Can I speak confidentially?’
‘Sure, go ahead, I’ve got a missing set of tyres that I’ve got to investigate but other than that I’m free the rest of December.’
Harper laughed. ‘Thanks. I appreciate your time.’
‘No problem. I read about you, Detective Harper.’
‘Call me Tom.’
‘Bet you think we’re all a bunch of hillbillies out here, don’t you?’
‘Hey, I’d prefer to be out in the mountains with some spare time to watch the eagles than here in Homicide.’
‘You like raptors?’
‘Have to say yeah. Must have a thing about killers.’
‘So how can I help you, Tom?’
‘Thing is,’ said Tom, ‘Chloe’s murder happened way before they started keeping central records. Long before ViCAP and all these clever little tools that help us see the big picture. Do you remember the murder yourself, Carla?’
‘Yeah, but I was only six years old. Still, it was a big thing here. Felt like we were important for fifteen minutes.’
‘What about the family?’
‘Don Mestella still lives at the old house. Mrs Mestella died a few years back. They still keep Chloe’s room just like it was. Most of the time, they just used to sit together in silence. It killed them.’
‘Could you read me some details of the report?’
‘Sure thing,’ said Carla. ‘I got the big brown boxes out ready for the Feds. What do you want?’
‘Give me the basics. I just want to know if it’s our guy.’
Carla opened the old box and pulled out the police report. She opened the beige folder. The horror of Chloe Mestella’s murder was hardwired into her psyche. As a child, she’d watched the vast opera of a murder hunt unfold in her back yard. Seeing the original report made her shiver.
‘I never looked at this,’ she said. ‘It’s spooky.’
‘What’s the MO?’
Carla flicked through a couple of pages. Memories that were years old came immediately to the surface. Her voice was edgy. ‘Chloe was found naked on her bed by her mother. She was posed like a beauty queen or something with her hair all lying out on her pillow, but she had a big cut all the way up her chest. He cut out her heart. It was a botched job. Very messy.’
‘It’s the same MO,’ said Harper faintly.
‘She was covered in flower petals. It happened on Valentine’s Day. Nice touch.’
It was the American Devil all right. The thought was terrifying. A man had started killing some twenty-five years earlier and he was still evading the police.
Harper and Carla talked through the rest of the details for the next half-hour, but the original investigation had got nowhere. In the end they put it down as a passing vagrant. It was anything but a vagrant.
‘What are you looking for, Tom?’ said Carla after they’d exhausted the reports.
‘I don’t know. Anything that might open up an angle here.’
‘Well, I’ll be here if you need me,’ said Carla.
Harper put the phone down. Sebastian had killed before. What did that mean? If Denise’s profile was right and the killer was in his thirties, then even if he was approaching forty that put him around mid-teens in 1982. Was that possible? Could this whole horror story have started as someone’s adolescent fantasy?
Chapter Ninety-Nine
Mace Crindle Plant
December 3, 8.30 p.m.
‘Dr Levene,’ said the strange, contorted voice. Denise jerked her head. He was back, but his voice was different. It wasn’t so deep and full. It was kinder.
‘Are you listening, Dr Levene?’
The way he crept silently into the antechamber worried her. Was he studying her? He might’ve been sitting there for hours watching her. A patch of light hit the floor of her prison.
‘Please, Dr Levene.’
Denise didn’t reply. Not yet. Make him work for it.
‘I want to talk to you.’
Stay composed, Denise.
‘My name’s Nick.’ Nick felt sick in his stomach. He knew how dangerous this was. Sebastian wouldn’t forgive
