Oliver Stark - American Devil

‘Freeze or I shoot!’ shouted the captain, and six weapons pointed into the room.

On the bed, a man was writhing naked on top of a woman.

The man turned and stared at the six monsters in black, a look of panic frozen on his face. ‘What the hell is going on?’

The next few seconds were brutal. The team floored the naked man and had him cuffed in moments.

‘Are you Elizabeth Constantine?’ asked the rearguard. The woman on the bed nodded, her face terrified.

Down below, Williamson listened. This was not a dead end, this was the fucking guy. He waited for the words. Then he heard them. ‘We apprehended the suspect. Threat nullified. She’s alive.’

‘Is the suspect in the apartment?’ asked Williamson.

‘Yes. He’s on the ground, sir. Victim is unharmed, Detective.’

Williamson felt a surge of pride. He ran to the stairwell and started up the stairs. His heart was beating with joy. He had come good. Harper was wrong. Williamson had backed the right horse for once.

Five floors up, Harper and Eddie arrived at the door to Elizabeth Seale’s apartment. Harper put his head to the door. ‘We’ve got no choice.’

‘No.’

‘How do we get in?’

‘Lucky I thought ahead,’ said Eddie. He held up his shotgun.

‘Well, what are you waiting for?’

Eddie crouched in front of Elizabeth Seale’s apartment door. He swung the shotgun butt to and fro and then let the full force smash against the lock. It split and shattered at once and the door yawned open. Harper and Kasper threw themselves to the floor and looked into the apartment. The first room was clear. They looked to the bedroom. The door was ajar and a light was on. The muzzles of a Glock 19 and a SIG pointed towards the door.

‘What are you waiting for?’ said Eddie.

Harper breathed in deeply. ‘Wait a moment.’

‘Why, you see something?’ said Eddie.

Harper shook his head. ‘Breathe in.’

Eddie sniffed and turned back to Harper. ‘What is it? I got nothing.’

‘I can smell blossom,’ said Harper. ‘We’re too late.’

Williamson’s voice came through on the radio. ‘We’ve got the bastard, boys, we’ve got him. And Elizabeth is alive.’

Eddie looked at Harper. They stood up and walked slowly to the door of the bedroom. The whooping continued on the shortwave as the cops below congratulated each other. Harper pushed open the bedroom door with the muzzle of his Glock. The door swung open and they stared at the body of Elizabeth Seale, who was propped up on some pillows, staring right back at them with cold dead eyes. Harper rushed across and put his fingers to her pulse.

‘She’s dead,’ he said, turning to Kasper, ‘but she’s warm. The killer might still be in the building.’ He went out on the shortwave. ‘Nate, this is Detective Harper. We’ve got a dead woman in Apartment 146. Elizabeth Seale. She’s only just died, Nate. He could still be in the building.’

‘There was no Elizabeth Seale,’ said Williamson. ‘There was no such girl.’

‘Thing is, she wasn’t registered. It was her father’s apartment. He fucked us, Nate. We need to get the CSU crew here soon as we can and get the whole area sealed. We need to search this building. He could still be here.’

There was no response from Nate Williamson, just the crackle of static.

The Laker Building

November 21, 1.47 a.m.

The proud, glass-fronted lobby of the Laker Building reflected a massive light show of flashing red and blues. It looked like carnival time, but it wasn’t. Not even close.

The small crowd that had started to form a couple of hours earlier as seventeen patrol cars swooped, full of authority and optimism, had swollen to a great sea of wide-eyed gawping faces, all flickering with the dancing lights of the NYPD.

Harper looked out at the crowd. He knew that the killer may well be out there watching them all, enjoying the scene he’d created. They liked to do that sometimes. Watch their own show. They couldn’t resist. Harper scanned left to right. It could’ve been any of them.

Harper had just walked the perimeter. He had yet to figure out how the killer had left the building. He knew damn well that the killer had duped them, and that made him doubly dangerous. This killer had sidestepped a SWAT team and executed a young woman, then walked out of a murder scene. He would be walking tall, feeling supercharged and invulnerable.

The two partners went across to the concierge, who was talking to a uniformed cop. Tom wanted to know one thing only. ‘How many ways can a guy get out of here?’

‘Two ways,’ said Marvin. ‘Out through the front, or through the service doors, but they’re electronically sealed. We don’t open them until seven a.m.’

‘So this is the only way out?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And no one saw a thing? Not one of the patrol? There were thirty to forty guys out there. How did he do it?’

The concierge shook his head. ‘I ain’t the detective.’

Elizabeth Seale’s apartment overlooked Central Park. It was a stunning apartment. Worth a fortune. At the door, two uniformed officers stepped aside. They knew Harper from the Romario case and nodded respectfully.

There was something different about this crime scene and Harper was trying to pin it down. Two officers were still there hanging just inside the apartment talking to CSU detectives. The crime scene had been secured and no one had moved the body.

The patrol supervisor nodded across to Eddie. The two detectives walked over.

‘You been in yet?’ the broad-backed, silver-haired supervisor asked. Both Eddie and Harper nodded. ‘We should’ve protected this girl better,’ the big guy sighed.

Harper looked at him directly. ‘We tried, we were just too late this time. The truth is, he was probably watching us all arrive as he killed her. Bastard. He was torturing her as we were running around like headless chickens. That was his plan. Kill her with the cops in the building. Another buzz.’

‘We’ll know more later,’ said Eddie, ‘but as yet it’s as clear as Mississippi mud.’

Harper shuffled past into the living room where Williamson was waiting. It was bad. He felt it. He wished he had something to say.

The supervisor called out, ‘Williamson has the reins, Detective. We’re waiting on next steps.’

Williamson was staring at Harper. ‘I messed this up, Harper. I should’ve listened.’

Williamson was granite hard and chewed constantly, but his cold grey eyes were full of sadness. Harper shook his head. ‘He was playing us, Nate. It made no difference. He knew what he was doing. He knew that there was only one Elizabeth on that resident list. He knew what we would do, too.’

‘How did you know my guess wasn’t right?’

‘He’s an obsessive planner, Nate. He wouldn’t have dared to do this if she’d moved in two weeks ago. She had to be a phoney.’ Harper looked about him, embarrassed with Williamson’s awkwardness. Finally he walked away and opened the bedroom door. Garcia was already inside. ‘We’ve got a crime scene to get through. Let’s make like it matters.’

The crime scene detectives were combing the scene, taking photographs, sketching and lifting prints. Detective Williamson called to Garcia.

‘Anything gives?’

‘No, sir, nothing.’

Williamson lowered his head and slipped out the living room. The bureau chief, Ged Rainer, moved through to the bedroom. He was shaking his head as he passed Harper and Eddie at the door.

The two detectives looked at each other. Whoever Elizabeth Seale was, she clearly mattered. The top guys were already there. That’s what felt so strange. A crime scene was usually a lonelier place.