Oliver Stark - American Devil

‘I don’t think I follow you,’ said Harper.

‘What we might do is release a statement live on air or through a newspaper and say something that undermines him and makes him look weak or even uncontrolled. Piss him off.’

Harper’s mind started to work on the idea. ‘Maybe we could get Erin Nash to run the story, if we promise to give her Williamson for an exclusive. What do you recommend, Doctor?’

‘Go with the paper, but it needs TV too. He needs to see someone bad-mouthing him. He’ll need it to be personal. Let’s set up a press conference and follow it up with an article from Nash. That covers all bases. Can you get it cleared?’

‘I can try. I could do the press conference myself. I’d love to bad-mouth this bastard.’

‘A couple of other things, then. First, tell him you understand the pseudo-intellectual messages he left at the corpses, the kind of messages an uneducated halfwit would leave to make himself look like someone he’s not. You got those poems, didn’t you?’

‘Yeah, random poetry.’

‘You can say this is a message to the poetry-loving American Devil. Say you know where to expect the next kill and when. Say that he’s making errors and leaving a trail and that it’s only a matter of time. Tell him that the NYPD found something at the last crime scene that is central to the investigation and likely to lead to an arrest. Say that he can’t control his emotions and that’s the problem, that’s why he’s making elementary mistakes. And then you’ve got to make that all seem real to him.’

‘How?’

‘By releasing a piece of information about him that will surprise him.’

Harper nodded. Who knew if it would work, but it was worth a go. ‘What do we reveal?’

‘You can reveal the Mary-Jane information. Say that you know what happened. Or else tell him you know that he drives a blue car. A premium brand. Probably a classic model.’

‘And how the hell do you know that?’

Denise raised an eyebrow. ‘Think like him. He’s a low-status guy who wants to look like he’s made it big. He can’t afford a new high-status model because he works in a low income or commission job, but he doesn’t want to be seen to have an old model — what do you do? You go for a classic premium brand: low cost but high status.’

‘Why blue?’

‘That’s the serial killer’s colour of choice. You didn’t know that?’

‘I didn’t know that.’ They both smiled. ‘I like it,’ said Harper. ‘Don’t know if it’ll work but it beats sitting around and waiting. I’ll sell it hard to Lafayette.’

‘Yeah. If you front this up, Harper, remember, he’ll take it personally. And he’s going to be hard pressed to avoid speaking to you. He’ll need to know what you know. You gonna do this?’

It was the first time since the start of the case that someone had spoken any sense about this killer. Tom smiled. ‘Consider it done,’ he said.

Blue Team Major Investigation Room

November 20, 2.23 p.m.

Harper took the script from the printer and held it up. He felt a sense of pride. He and Denise Levene had sent the draft backwards and forwards all morning, trying to get every word right on the button. And now it was ready. What’s more, it was going to be used, live on air. Harper and Levene’s long shot was nearly set up and ready to go.

It was going to be a difficult day. Harper had put his reputation on the line by insisting the department try this technique to lure the killer into speaking to them. It had taken every second of his time to make sure it happened. Everyone needed convincing.

The previous day, Harper had worked until midnight putting together the operation they were now calling ‘Janus’. The most difficult person to convince had been Williamson. He didn’t believe it was right to put out a false report. It wasn’t in the spirit of the homicide squad. It smacked of the kind of thing the Feds would do and boast about endlessly.

In the end, Lafayette overruled Williamson and sanctioned it at Homicide. He knew that even if it failed, it gave the executives down at headquarters a sense that something was happening. He gave Harper the green light and that gave Harper only a few hours to put together the operation, get it approved and set up a press conference.

The idea of putting the same thing out to the press via Erin Nash died at the first phone call. The Daily Echo wasn’t going to lie to its readers. End of story.

Everyone in the homicide bureau knew that they had to be quick. Since the murder of Grace Frazer, the killer had struck every second day; if he was consistent, he’d be planning to hit again.

Harper took the script across to Nate Williamson. ‘Do you want to see it, Nate?’

‘No.’

‘If it doesn’t work, we’ve lost nothing,’ said Harper.

‘I’m okay with it, Tom,’ said Williamson. ‘I’m just not the innovative type, but you’re right to try. I’ve been going over the autopsy protocols again, seeing if we’ve missed anything. Looking at what this guy did to these kids. He’s evil. You understood that straight away, didn’t you? You saw it.’

Tom reached out and put his arm on Williamson’s shoulder. The man was fifty-four. His own daughter must be in her mid-twenties. ‘We’ll screw this bastard into the ground, Nate.’

‘Yeah, well I hope I’m there to see it. I want to put my heel in.’

‘Listen, Nate, I think I ought to do the press conference.’

‘Fuck that, Tom.’

‘This is going to rile him. He might react. It’s dangerous. It was my idea, I’m happy to front it.’

‘I’m lead, Tom, I lead. No question. If he wants to come and get me, I’ll be ready for him.’

Harper worked until the press release was ready to go, then he sat down alone in the bunkhouse and tried to get a few minutes of sleep before the evening sitting by the phone lines.

In the cold, drab room, Harper felt a sudden loneliness. For three months, there hadn’t been anyone to open up to. Lisa had been the only person he’d confided in, and now he didn’t know where to turn. He pulled out his phone and scrolled down to her name. He looked at it for a moment, then pressed call. She picked up.

‘Lisa. It’s Tom, you got a moment?’

‘I’m on my way out, Tom.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Not your business, remember.’

‘I just…’

‘What, Tom? How is this going to help?’

Welcome to my life, he thought. He loved Lisa, sure. And he knew he’d messed the whole thing up. It had gone wrong so slowly, almost invisibly, and then suddenly they didn’t know each other.

‘I love you,’ Harper said. There was a pause. ‘Don’t be angry.’

Lisa’s voice came back all calm and slow: ‘Tom, I know you think you do, but you don’t. You just don’t like to lose, Tom, and that’s ego — not love.’

It didn’t matter what she was saying. For a moment, it was just good to hear the way she spoke in nice neat sentences.

‘I’ll prove it to you.’

‘No. Listen. I don’t want you to prove it to me. It’s not the point. Listen to me. It’s hard. I know it is, and we’ve been doing this the hard way. You know. Love you, love this — just wrong time, wrong place… whatever.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Tom, I don’t love you. This isn’t hard for me. This is good for me. I’m happy. I don’t have to go through it with you any more. I’m not in love with you. I don’t think about you. I’m not waiting. I’m not looking to move backwards. And another thing… I don’t think you can love…’

There was a silence. Lisa knew she had hit out but she knew the big hit was to come. That was all just padding. He knew it too. He sensed what was coming. He’d known for some time now. But he wasn’t going to let it happen.