It was possible that the footage was sold to online sites, a thought that made Nick feel a little sick. He was no prude, that was established, but the idea of a bunch of losers watching him while they jerked off made him ill.
The most likely explanation was blackmail. And maybe Alison wasn’t running some kind of racket, maybe it was just insurance in case any of the clientele got violent or refused to pay or wronged her in some other way. But surely trying to blackmail a cop would be a mistake. Unless cops were the best people to blackmail. They certainly had plenty to lose. Look at how he was losing his shit over the possibility of being found out.
Nick leaned forward, sticking his head between his knees. She wouldn’t do that to him. He was a cop and he was always good to them. Alison had no reason to screw him over. Everything would be fine. He’d be fine.
Somewhere in the office a phone rang and Nick sat up. He waited for it to stop. Technically, he wasn’t working. But when it kept going after a dozen rings, he pushed himself up and walked over and answered it.
33
Karen
Karen knocked back another shot despite Jamie suggesting they stick with the beers. They both had to work the next day. But Karen didn’t care about being presentable for Peter fucking Aronsen. He was an asshole. She never should’ve invited him. Plus, because of the short notice, he was going to bring his own books to sell so she wouldn’t even get a cut. Basically, she was just giving him a platform to make money for himself. Why hadn’t she put her foot down? What happened to her plan to change? To stand up for herself?
She raised her hand, catching the bartender’s eye, and gestured for another round, wondering if you could still call it a round if all the drinks were for one person. The bartender brought over two more shots, placing them on the table in front of them. Jamie looked at Karen like he was daring her to do it. As if she was a child threatening to throw her food all over herself. She picked up the first glass and knocked it back, wincing at the bitter taste.
Jamie shook his head. She wondered if he was pissed off because she was getting drunk on a school night again, or if he was jealous. Turns out when she said it didn’t matter that Mark was with another woman, she was lying. Turned out it mattered a lot.
Karen insisted on sitting by the window so she could keep an eye on the bar across the street. She had wanted to go over there and see what was going on for herself, but Jamie had held her back. So now she was getting drunk.
She wasn’t even sure why she was so pissed off. Was it that she actually liked this guy? Or was she angry that she’d been played for a fool? She couldn’t say. But with each drink that was supposed to make her stop caring, she ended up caring a little more.
She downed the second shot and as she did, she saw the door open across the street and Mark and the woman came out. Karen reached across the table, tapping Jamie’s hand. When she finally swallowed the disgusting drink, she said, ‘Look.’
By the time Jamie had followed her gaze, Karen was on her feet, trying to pull on her coat. She didn’t take her eyes off the couple across the street and though he had a hat pulled low and was pulling a scarf across his chin, Karen knew it was him, recognizing the blonde hair of his date.
‘Karen, no,’ Jamie said, refusing to get up.
‘I just want to see what’s going on.’
‘No. It’s ridiculous. I’m not chasing two strangers down the street.’
‘He’s not a stranger,’ she said, although that wasn’t really true. ‘Come on, they’re getting away.’
‘They’re getting away?’ Jamie laughed. ‘You’ll be saying “follow that cab” in a minute.’
‘Come on,’ she said, finally managing to get her arms in her sleeves. She tossed some money on the table and ran to the door.
She was already halfway down the block when Jamie came out of the bar. He caught up and grabbed her sleeve, stopping her.
‘Come on, let’s get you home,’ he said, but Karen pulled away. Mark and the woman were already a block ahead of them.
‘No. I want to talk to him. I want to know what’s going on.’
‘You know what’s going on. He’s on a date.’
‘But he said he wanted to go out with me.’
‘And you knocked him back. I think he’s entitled to go out with someone else.’
‘But he showed up at my place, telling me he really liked me. And now he’s with her? So either he works fast or he was already seeing her.’
‘You never told me he came to your place,’ Jamie said, but Karen waved him away and started walking again, desperate to catch up to Mark.
She could see them in the distance, the woman linking her arm through his, leaning her head against him. It didn’t look like the behavior of people who’d just met.
Karen walked faster and Jamie struggled to keep up, still trying to convince her to give it up and go home.
Karen stopped abruptly and Jamie ran into her. ‘They’re going into that building,’ she said.
‘Great. Then it’s too late.’
‘No. I’m going after them,’ Karen said, walking on with determination.
‘You don’t even know which apartment it is.’
‘So, I’ll knock on every door.’
‘Or who this woman is. She could be his wife for all you know.’
Karen stopped and looked at Jamie. Was it possible she was his wife? Could nice guy Mark be married? Was he trying to make her into the other woman?
She felt another surge of anger and pulled away from Jamie, more determined than ever.
34
Michael
Michael followed Elena into the building, a four-floor brownstone that was big enough to house a dozen families rather than just Elena, her husband, and occasionally her much-despised stepson. Michael was trying to keep up the act, trying to make it look like he didn’t care she’d uncovered his dirty little secret. But he did care. He was furious. Furious she’d derailed his project, that he’d have to find yet another replacement because he’d have to make this one quick. Quick and ordinary.
Elena let go of his hand and started towards the kitchen. ‘Let’s have something else to drink,’ she said. But Michael grabbed her, pushing her upstairs towards the bedroom. One of them, anyway. He didn’t have time for pleasantries. But if Elena minded, she didn’t show it. She giggled and allowed him to maneuver her as he pleased.
He pushed her down on the bed and she kept talking, kept bringing up his secret. Michael kneeled over her. ‘Aww, are you angry with me?’ she said, pouting. He brought his hands up, needing to silence her.
Her expression changed as soon as his hands went around her neck. She wasn’t mocking him anymore. She reached up and tried to pull his hands away but he held tight, watching as her skin changed color, as the realization showed in her eyes. She knew she was going to die, just not why. He wondered if he should tell her, let her know that where he worked wasn’t his big secret at all. It was nothing.
But his mind was elsewhere. And as he watched the light fading from her, he pondered the idea that maybe there was still time to salvage this mess. She said her husband was away for a few days. What if Michael could come back with his backdrop, set things up afterwards? Would he have time to finish the backdrop? And then he remembered the stepson. Would it be too dangerous to come back?
He gazed down at her, dodging her flailing limbs, and wondered if he could change the project. She didn’t have to be the Dying Dandy. There had to be something else he could do with her, some props already there that would suffice. It would be a shame to waste all his hard work.
Downstairs a door slammed. Michael’s head spun towards the sound. He heard voices, footsteps coming up the stairs.
‘The gold-digger must be here.’ It was her stepson. And he wasn’t alone.
Michael looked at Elena, could still see life in her eyes. If he let go she would survive, she could call out. But if he stayed to finish the job? He looked around the room for anything he could
use as a weapon. He could kill the kid too. But he wasn’t alone.
The footsteps came closer.
‘Hey, Elena?’ the kid said. ‘You got any money? Dad forgot to leave his credit card.’
Michael looked at Elena, could see the hope in her eyes. There was no time.
Michael let go of her and ran, throwing open the window. Where was the fucking fire escape?
He glanced back as Elena sat up, coughing, her hand at her neck. The bedroom door opened.
Michael turned back and jumped. First onto the roof below, rolling over as he landed clumsily, and then again to the ground, cursing as his ankle turned.
But he kept moving. He didn’t look back, didn’t check if he was being followed. All he knew was that he was fucked.
35
Nick
Nick picked up the phone and listened as the desk officer told him there was a woman downstairs saying some guy had tried to kill her.
‘Okay,’ Nick said. ‘And?’
‘And the only reason he didn’t succeed was because he was interrupted by her son. The guy escaped through the window and ran off.’
‘Good for her. But why’re you telling me?’
‘Because she thinks he could be this decorator guy,’ the officer said. ‘So I thought you might like to know.’
Nick heard the weariness in the man’s voice and figured he was just looking to pass it off to someone else. It was Saturday night. If there was any way to make something someone else’s problem, then that was what happened.
‘You coming?’ the man asked, and Nick sighed. Lynch had been right about one thing. As soon as you say “serial killer”, all the lunatics come out to play. They’d already had hundreds of calls and people dropping into precincts all over the city to report their neighbor, to offer their services as psychics, or give their expert CSI-trained opinions. Then there were the folks who were certain they’d almost been a victim of said serial killer, that they’d barely managed to escape with their lives, because the guy they were sure was a killer had once served them coffee or delivered them a package. Nick had no doubt this woman downstairs would fall into one of those categories, but as tired as he was, listening to some Loopy-Lou was better than dwelling on his own problems.
‘I’ll be right down.’
He found the woman sitting in the waiting area amongst the usual suspects, her shock of blonde hair standing out. He looked to the desk officer for confirmation and he nodded before going back to his discussion with a drunk currently standing before him. Nick walked over to the woman and held out his hand. ‘I’m Detective Nick Kelly,’ he said. ‘And you are…?’
The woman shook her head. ‘I don’t want to say.’ Nick sighed. Definitely a crank. ‘My husband can’t know,’ she said. ‘No one can. If it gets back to him…’
‘I thought your son walked in on it.’
‘Stepson. And he did. Sort of. He interrupted but didn’t actually see anything. Francis escaped before he came into the room. He didn’t see him, thank God.’
‘Okay,’ Nick said, his patience wearing ever more thin.
‘I ran into the bathroom. I didn’t know what to do. I was freaking out.’
‘And you didn’t think calling the cops immediately would be an idea?’
‘No, I told you. My husband would kill me if he found out. And that little shit wouldn’t hesitate to tell him.’
Nick almost pointed out the irony but instead ushered the woman into an interview room. She stood and looked around, playing with the scarf around her neck. As she did, Nick could see the bruises, the finger marks.
‘I don’t want to go on record. He can’t find out,’ she said.
‘Okay.’ Nick motioned for her to sit. ‘Tell me what happened and we’ll take it from there.’
The woman reluctantly sat but kept quiet.
‘Tell me about the guy who tried to kill you.’
‘His name’s Francis. He’s tall, about your height. Dark hair. Nice looking.’ She shrugged.
‘Anything else? Where did you meet him?’
‘In a bar, a few months ago. We’ve been out a few times.’
‘All right. So you know him. There must be something else you can tell me about him, something more than tall, dark and handsome.’
‘I don’t know.’ She looked as though she was really thinking. ‘Oh! He works in the 7-11 on 54th in Queens.’
‘Okay. What else?’
‘I don’t know. Isn’t that enough? Can’t you just go and get him?’
‘Why did you think he was this serial killer? What made you think that?’
‘I don’t know. A feeling.’ She looked at Nick. ‘You don’t think it’s him?’
‘Doesn’t sound like it. This guy usually brings his kit with him. He…’ Nick wondered what to tell her, how much he could say. He didn’t want it splashed over the papers the next day. ‘He doesn’t just kill his victims, he… makes a song and dance out of it.’
Nick saw the look on the woman’s face, a mix of confusion and disdain. He was too tired for this. But she was kind of hot.
‘I’ll check it out. I’ll go to the 7-11. I can check CCTV, but only if you tell me where you live or where you went with this guy.’
The woman sighed. ‘We were at Bazaar tonight. On 7th.’
‘Okay. And your address?’
‘I told you. My husband can’t find out about this.’
Nick rubbed his eyes. ‘I know how it is. But there could be evidence in there. Isn’t catching this guy who tried to kill you more important than not letting your husband know?’
The woman crossed her arms without answering. Apparently it wasn’t more important.
‘Won’t he find out anyway?’ Nick asked. ‘Won’t your stepson mention it?’
‘He didn’t see anything. After Francis left, I hid in the bathroom. Then I told my stepson I was going to the gym. He didn’t even look up at me when I left.’ She paused, looked a little afraid. ‘Will you catch him?’
‘I can try but you haven’t given me a lot to go on. How did you contact him?’
‘On the phone,’ she said, as if it would be obvious.
‘You have a number for him?’
‘Yeah.’ The woman pulled out her phone and found the number, scribbling it down for Nick. ‘Will that help?’
‘Maybe,’ he said, thinking, probably not. ‘Thing is. You only have his first name and that might not even be real. Same as where he works. That could well be fake too.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘He’d already lied about his job. He told me he was an investment banker but I saw him in the 7-11. I didn’t care. Why should I? But when I told him, I think he was a little pissed off. Embarrassed.’
‘Wait,’ Nick said. ‘You told him you saw him there? You told him that tonight?’
‘Yeah. Why?’
Nick felt a stirring in his gut. If this woman had accidentally found out something true about this guy, that was going to make him nervous. Maybe the reason he had no kit with him was because it hadn’t been the plan to kill her that night.
‘What is it?’
‘I think you should leave your apartment. Find somewhere else to stay for a while,’ he said, but the woman shook her head.
‘I can’t. What would I tell my husband?’
‘Tell him anything. Take him away for a vacation. But you shouldn’t stay there. Does this Francis know where you work?’
The woman nodded. ‘You think it’s him? Oh my god.’
‘I don’t know yet. But until we find out, you need to make sure he can’t find you.’
‘I’m going to go to the gym now. I have an early class anyway.’
‘And after that?’
‘I can’t leave. I can’t tell Leo.’
‘You don’t think he’ll know something’s up when he sees that?’ Nick said, pointing to the bruises on her neck. ‘You need to tell him. And you need to tell me your name.’
‘No,’ she said and opened the door. ‘No. I sh
ouldn’t have come.’
‘Please. If this is who you think it is, you could help us find this guy. Even if I find him, I need you to ID him for us. If you don’t, I can’t stop him. He could come after you. After someone else. Please.’
The woman looked at him with tears in her eyes. She dug into her purse and pulled out a business card. Nick looked at it. Elena Jones. Personal trainer.
‘If you find him, you can contact me on this number. But only this number. Don’t try to contact me at home. And please don’t tell my husband. I have to go,’ she said, and disappeared.
Nick let out a deep breath. Could this actually be their guy? Or was he just trying to make the pieces fit?
He went back upstairs to get his coat, but before he left he googled Elena Jones, wanting to know more. There was something vaguely familiar about her and the first results reminded him why. She was married to Leo Jones, one of New York’s super rich. No wonder she didn’t want him to find out she’d been with another guy. She had a lot to lose. Specifically fifty million dollars. She was also a former actress, and if Nick was right about why this guy was picking his victims, she was exactly his type.
Nick ran back down the stairs, taking three at a time. He wasn’t sleepy anymore. He was going to find this guy, alone. He was in control again and he was going to be the hero.
36
Karen
Karen stumbled through the door into the dark apartment. She wondered if Nick would be asleep, if her drunken fumbling would wake him. She expected him to come out and start an argument. Good, she thought. She wanted an argument. She’d been denied one with Mark so Nick would have to do.
But nothing. She dumped her bag and shoes and made her way to the spare room, shoving open the door. Empty.
It was late. She wondered if something had happened, if The Decorator had struck again.
The Art of Murder Page 13
