Michael Slade - Headhunter

"The first is to caution all of us against creating a copycat killer. Any and all information going out to the media for public consumption goes through Jack MacDougall.

"The second is to tell you that any interrogation of a possible suspect will be put on videotape. These tapes will be reviewed once a week by each flying patrol. This gives us a guarantee of independent assessment, and also of female perspective. We are dealing with a killer who has a perverted passion for women. No one can know the hunter to the same degree as the hunted.

"And the third is to advise you — and I mean this — that my door is always open. As I said at the beginning, my goal is effective teamwork — and teamwork to be effective requires open communication. If something is important, or you need direction, discussion, resources, you only have to climb those stairs and knock. For let's be certain about one fact: we're working against the clock. Believe me, there is a ground swell of panic out there in this city and all it might take is one more murder to bring out uncontrolled mass hysteria.

"It took the English police more than five years to catch the Yorkshire Ripper.

"It took the Atlanta police twenty-two months to arrest a suspect later convicted on two of those twenty-eight black child killings.

"It took this Force thirteen days to nail Olson for eleven murders.

"Let's get this Headhunter — and shorten our own record."

It was as DeClercq ended the briefing that Sergeant James Rodale handed him the envelope. It was addressed to the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, having been dropped in the mailslot of the central Post Office during the night and delivered this morning. After copying it for broadcasting, the CBC had dispatched it to the Vancouver Police Department by special courier. The envelope and contents were coated with fingerprint powder. A police Xerox copy was also enclosed.

"You'd better look at this," Rodale said. "Before you adjourn the meeting."

The Superintendent opened it and removed a Polaroid print sealed in a clear plastic VPD evidence pouch, plus a note constructed from cut and pasted newspaper headlines, also plastic sealed.

The Polaroid picture was of Joanna Portman's severed head stuck on a wooden pole.

The note read: Welcome aboard, Robert. Do you think you're up to this?

New Orleans, Louisiana, 1957

With her arm around Crystal's shoulders, Suzannah walked the girl out through the door of the vault and into the corridor beyond. The whine from off the river had started up again.

"Love, we're running short of time, so I must ask a favor. Take the flashlight with you and go back upstairs. Turn on the outside lights. The switch is near the door. There's something down here I must do in order to get ready. I'll join you in a minute for another snort of coke."

The thought of wandering through the cavern by herself was not an enticing one. The girl hesitated.

"Well go on. Be a sport. Only one more night's work — and then the thrills of Europe!"

Crystal took the electric torch and began to walk away. >

Suzannah waited until the footsteps had died away. She was definitely worried about the girl's commitment to tonight. And for this sort of money, she couldn't take a chance. But all the doors were locked; Crystal had no way out.

The way Suzannah figured it, if she kept going two more years she'd have a million dollars. Just three more sessions in London, three in Bonn, and two more sessions here. Plus tonight, of course.

Now if only Crystal held together and played her part to the hilt.

The man who would arrive tonight was her favorite john of all. Filthy rich from some business that had to do with nuclear arms (she suspected a past involvement with the Manhattan Project) he had already paid her twenty grand just to set it up. The twenty thousand coming tonight merely reserved him a place next year. What would you say, Crystal, if you knew what you were worth?

Suzannah returned to the torture chamber and took the torch from the wall. Shining it up to the ceiling she located the meat hook in its vault. Next she removed the drip-tray from under the rack and centered it in the floor. She wanted the john to see it the second he entered the room.

Good! she thought, smiling. Now the place is ready.

Leading with the flambeau, Suzannah left the chamber, crossed the hall, and made for the underground river. Finding a bucket, she dipped the container into the stream and carried the water over to a large stone trough. When the trough was a third full, she added the plaster of Paris. A plastic bag around the sack had protected it from the dampness.

She was stirring the powder and water together when once more from far away came the whine of a howling. In this part of the cavern, it sounded nothing like the wind.

She stood up listening, then began to walk the bank that led to the mouth of the river. The wailing grew louder, now a dismal moan.

Halfway toward the mouth that joined the Mississippi, the torchlight from the flambeau glinted off some metal. Here a rusting iron ladder climbed the side of a cylindrical stone bin. The howling — more insistent now — was coming from inside.

"Easy boy," Suzannah said. "Just wait a little longer. You will get what remains when our friend is finished."

Howling mad with frenzy, the Dobermann pinscher gnashed its teeth.

"Put these on!" Suzannah snapped as she threw the lingerie at Crystal. They were back in the bedroom on the second floor. Crystal looked at the white cotton bra and pair of white panties and then began to cry.

"I said put them ON!" The woman almost screamed.

Shaking, Crystal did as she was told. The white garments stood out against her rich, dark skin.

Suzannah crossed to the wardrobe and swung the right door open wide. Inside it was covered with numerous clumps of different colored hair hanging on metal hooks. The woman selected one of the wigs and sat down at the washstand. She pulled on the hair piece and adjusted it just right. When she stood up once again, long black snake-like strands writhed about her shoulders.

She grabbed the girl by the arm and dragged her out of the bedroom. Suzannah then went to one of the walls and took down a half-face mask. It was white with vision slits shaped like cat's eyes and two horned ears. "Put this on," she ordered, handing it to the girl.

Again Crystal did as she was told.

"Now, I don't care what happens, that mask does not come off. Understand? Neither does his. You deride him, shame him, spit on him — and most of all laugh at him while I work. Do you comprehend? All right. Now let's have that cocaine."

Once more Suzannah sat down at the glass table and delicately opened up a bindle. She selected a large rock from the powder and placed it on the surface. When it was chopped and lined she turned to the girl and said: "You snort first." Crystal did.

It was as Suzannah was leaning over to inhale her second line that the girl found the courage to whisper: "I won't do it!" She was staring at the empty eyes all around the room.

The blow hit her square on the cheek as the cocaine powder went flying. The tremendous force in the slap sent Crystal sprawling across the floor. The drug settled like snowflakes on the surface of the table.

Seeing this, Suzannah's mind flashed with a vivid thought. For there he was once again dying in a wasteland of snow She could see his face contorted as the poison took effect, the yellow spittle caking his moustache and freezing to ice as it dribbled from his lips. Outright terror was registered in his eyes.

Suzannah pulled her gaze away from the cocaine on the table. She jerked a leather thong from off a hook in the wall. Then she pounced over to stand straddled above the girl.