'Hundreds of children. Entirely for his own pleasure and physical delight, is how he described it. His 'inexpressible' pleasure, to quote him exactly,' she said, turning several pages. 'Vincenz Verzeni?'
I shook my head. 'No.'
'Italian, nineteenth century. I'm surprised you missed him. Raped and mutilated his victims. Described his unspeakable delight in strangling women, experiencing erections while he did so.'
Nelly Kallin closed the looseleaf book and stacked it on top of one of the piles. 'Shrinks spend a disproportionate amount of their time analyzing motivation, grasping at reasons 'why' these men commit such heinous crimes. You don't need to look much beyond the fact that many of them simply like to do it-something the rest of us can't begin to fathom. It's what gives these sadists pleasure.'
Voices outside the window were closer now, voices of people who seemed to be arguing with each other as they ran up the path next to the house.
Mercer got to his feet as Nelly Kallin grabbed his arm to hold him back.
'It's not a problem, Mr. Wallace,' she said.
But something crashed through one of the panes of the kitchen window at that moment and I jumped as glass shattered onto the floor behind me.
FORTY-ONE
Nelly Kallin wasn't the least bit upset by the baseball that flew into the room like a missile. The thirteen-year- old twins who lived on the other side of the hedge had returned home from summer camp over the weekend, and she explained good-naturedly that it wasn't the first time she would have to replace a window that faced their walkway.
Mercer opened the door for the kids, who came to apologize for the accident.
Mike turned me around to make sure no bits of glass had landed on my head or back. He rubbed my shoulders with both hands. 'You're shaking, Coop. You're really strung out.'
'Overtired. Worried about Kerry. Scared to death that the killer is out there.'
Mike's fingers massaged my shoulders and neck. 'Crabby can't be far behind. This is when you take it out on my hide.'
'Well, you're stuck with me till you find Troy Rasheed. And Kiernan Dylan.'
Nelly Kallin dismissed the two boys and Mike told her we had to get back to work with her files. She took ten minutes to go upstairs and pack a bag, and we all drove away at the same time.
'You want to try the Newark address for Wilson Rasheed?' Mike asked Mercer.
'Yeah,' Mercer said, looking at the paper that Mike handed to him. 'You know the street? It's not far from the Amtrak station.'
There were so many Manhattan perpetrators who commuted from New Jersey to commit their felonies that most cops in each jurisdiction were familiar with the other. It was less than a fifteen-minute ride to the three-story row of attached houses in an as yet ungentrified part of the old city that seemed continually to fight a losing battle with violent crime.
Mike and I waited in the car while Mercer entered the vestibule, presumably to look for the doorbell or some way to identify Rasheed's home. Ten minutes later he emerged to tell us that when he got no answer he gained entry by ringing a neighbor's buzzer. The man knew Wilson but hadn't seen him in more than two weeks. Mercer slipped a card with his name and phone number under the door.
'How about a ride up to Sussex County?' Mike asked Mercer.
'It's after six,' I said from the backseat behind Mike. 'We won't get there till at least eight o'clock.'
'It's going to be eight o'clock no matter where you are, Blondie. Might as well make yourself useful. Close your eyes and enjoy the ride.'
Mercer got on his cell to call the sheriff's office in the small village of Colesville, near the spot where Wilson Rasheed's hunting cabin was located. He asked the sergeant he was connected to if anyone there knew the man. There was a pause, then he gave Mike and me a thumbs-up. We listened as he persuaded the sergeant to lead us up the mountainous area to the property.
'They won't go in without us,' Mercer said when he was off. 'Says Rasheed's a real oddball. Doesn't like people trespassing on his property. They don't exactly want to drop in on him without a reason. He's been known to take a few potshots with a rifle and claim later that he thought he was shooting at a black bear.'
'Damn. You better stay in the car when we get there, pal. Hate for the guy to get you in his sights.'
I must have fallen asleep once Mike reached the interstate. The smooth road and the light rain tapping on the windshield put me out.
I awakened when Mike got off the highway and stopped at a gas station. He filled the tank and bought coffee and sandwiches, which we ate in the car. The attendant directed us to the small building on the outskirts of town that housed the sheriff's office, where the diminutive Sergeant Edenton was waiting to lead us up to Rasheed's hideaway.
'I'll stop at the property line,' he said. 'It's a dark, winding drive up. Then you'll have to walk a bit longer.'
'I understand he doesn't have a phone,' Mike said.
'The man don't believe in creature comforts at all. It's better if he can't see me, 'cause I only show my face when we get complaints about him.'
'You know his son?'
'Troy? Haven't seen that troublemaker since he was a teenager. Heard what he got locked up for and just glad it didn't happen around here. You have flashlights?'
'One,' Mercer said, holding it up for Edenton to see.
'Let me get you two more,' he said, going back into the building and returning with two lantern-sized beams. 'You need to stay on the main path. Wilson's got it all booby-trapped up there. Step in the wrong place, you'll find yourself in a bear trap or a hole in the ground.'
'Wouldn't it make sense to come back in the morning, in daylight, with an Emergency Services team?' I asked.
'The guy's not a criminal,' Mike said. 'He's a kook. We don't have time to waste, Coop.'
'You're fine on the main path,' Edenton said, laughing at me. 'Just announce yourselves when you get close to the house. Maybe you send her in first, saying she's the Avon lady.'
'We always send her in first. That's how come Mercer and I have lived so long.'
Once we followed Sergeant Edenton off the paved town road and up the dirt drive that wound around the small mountain, a blanket of fog descended. Dense evergreens towered over us on both sides, and deep ruts bounced the department car, which had already surrendered its shock absorbers to the potholes of city streets.
Mike had given up air-conditioning in favor of opening all the windows so that we could hear noise, if there was any. Moths attached themselves to the headlights and mosquitoes searched for landing places on my face and hands.
The SUV Edenton was driving tracked the familiar course faster than we did, and he repeatedly stopped to let Mike catch up.
We drove for more than a mile, but the fog made it impossible to tell whether there were any occupied buildings set back from the road. When Edenton finally turned off his engine and got out of his car, his flashlight focused on the red and white metallic surface of the NO TRES- PASSING signs that lined the path.
'You got a plan, Mike?' the sergeant asked.
'Mercer'll back me up. I suppose I'll shout when I get close enough to see the cottage,' Mike said. He took his gold shield from his pants pocket and held it up in his palm. 'Shine your light on it, Sarge. Does it gleam?'
From a distance of five feet, the rays danced off the metallic badge. But the mist would obscure it from any farther away.
'There should be an old jeep next to the place if he's home. And I'm telling you guys, watch your step,' Edenton said.
