The House on West 10th Street

by Helen Phifer

  The House on West 10th Street

  An Absolutely Gripping

  Horror Story

  HELEN PHIFER

  Fabrian Books

  Copyright © Helen Phifer 2018

  Helen Phifer has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations,

  Places and events other than those clearly in the public domain are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Gina Dickerson @Rosewolf Design

  Contents

  ALSO BY HELEN PHIFER

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  A LETTER FROM HELEN

  Acknowledgments

  ALSO BY HELEN PHIFER

  The Annie Graham Series:

  The Ghost House

  The Secrets of the Shadows

  The Forgotten Cottage

  The Lake House

  The Girls in the Woods

  The Face Behind the Mask

  The Good Sisters: A stand alone horror story

  Detective Inspector Lucy Harwin Series:

  Dark House

  Dying Breath

  This book is dedicated to Gail and Paul O’Neill, the kindest, most supportive friends a writer could ever hope for.

  xx

  Prologue

  December 3rd, 2014

  Homicide Detective Maria Miller stared at the television screen as the camera panned around the crowds of spectators; thousands of them all crammed into the Rockefeller Plaza underneath the huge Christmas tree. Sam passed two cardboard coffee cups over to her. ‘Have a good one Maria.’

  ‘You too Sam, thanks.’

  She juggled the scalding cups of coffee along with the heavy door of Sam’s Deli on Waverly Place. Frankie Conroy, her partner, watched her with a grin on his face. He knew there was no point in jumping out and opening the door for her. She’d complain that she could manage, so he pretended to be interested in the woman across the street on the second floor of the Brownstone, who was decorating her window with Christmas lights. Maria reached the car and he leant across to open the door for her. As she got in, the aroma of the fresh coffee and a hint of perfume filled the front of the Toyota Prius.

  ‘Do you miss working the streets on days like this?’

  He turned to stare at her. ‘Let me see, it’s cold and there are probably around thirty thousand people currently in midtown. Every single one of them trying to get a glimpse of the tree-lighting ceremony. We would be stood there for a full shift smiling and talking to tourists and you miss standing around for hours.’

  ‘You know what I mean. It’s always such a good atmosphere. Sting and Mary J Blige are singing tonight. I like both of them.’

  ‘You’d be lucky if you got to hear them; you never get close to the plaza unless you’ve been ass kissing all year. No thank you, give me my warm car, hot coffee and a homicide any day of the week.’

  ‘You’re so full of crap. I bet you’d be there if Frank Sinatra was playing.’

  He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t be there even if old Frank had come back for one night only just to croon to the crowds and flick the switch on that tree.’

  Maria rolled her eyes, took a sip from the cardboard coffee cup and sighed. ‘You can keep your Starbucks, this is the real deal.’

  Both of their cell phones rang in unison and Maria shook her head.

  ‘Hell no, tis the season to be jolly. What’s wrong with people? Where’s their Christmas spirit?’

  Maria smiled. ‘It’s probably in the same place as yours.’

  She answered the call. ‘Yep, we are. What address?’

  Tucking her cell under her chin, she pulled a pen from her top pocket and wrote the address on the back of her hand. ‘Right, on our way.’

  ‘Homicide West 10th Street. Officers on scene, suspect at large.’

  ‘Be nice for once if we weren’t the ones catching all the calls.’

  ‘Quit complaining, we get paid, don’t we? Did you not just wish for a homicide? You need to watch your mouth Frankie, the universe is always listening.’

  Frankie parked as close to the circus as he could. The usually quiet tree-lined street was lit up with flashing red and blue lights. Maria looked around. The street was deserted apart from the police cars and an ambulance. She took a large gulp of the coffee knowing that it would probably be cold by the time she got back into the car. Frankie did the same. ‘Just as well we haven’t eaten yet.’

  She nodded, put the cup in the holder and got out of the car. Tugging her ID out of her pocket she flashed it at the officer standing in front of the door to the large Brownstone. She looked around the street. All of them were nice properties. This one had steps that went down to the front entrance, the ones on either side had steps that went up. She wondered why it was different to the others. The officer stepped aside to let her go in, she felt as if she was going down into the depths of hell. As quickly as that thought entered her mind it was gone, pushed out and scorned at. Maria Miller was tough; she lived on her own and didn’t believe in ghosts or demons. What she believed in was that there were good and bad people in the world. Unfortunately for her and Frankie they rarely got to see the good as they dealt with the murdering scumbags who didn’t care about anyone except themselves. Even so, as she stepped into the entrance of the once grand house, which had been turned into apartments, she felt a cold shiver run down her spine. It was so violent that her whole body shuddered. She heard Frankie’s voice as he whispered in her ear.

  ‘You okay?’

  She nodded. Two paramedics were coming down the stairs carrying their heavy bags.

  ‘Evening Maria, Frankie. There’s nothing we can do for that patient. God bless their soul.’

  The paramedic crossed hi
mself.

  ‘How bad is it, Don?’

  He made a swiping gesture with his hand across his neck and Maria nodded; they stepped aside to let them leave.

  ‘We better suit up now,’ Maria said. ‘I was kind of hoping it was a mistake. That it was just a serious assault.’

  ‘You and your wishful thinking, kid. I suppose we better had.’

  Frankie turned to go back to the car and get the protective clothing they needed. Maria waited in the entrance for him. She couldn’t see any forensic evidence, no blood or obvious signs that a killer had come out this way. He came back in, passing her a plastic packet containing a paper suit, gloves, shoe covers and a mask. They both stepped to one side out of the obvious way out and dressed in front of apartment one. Then they went upstairs. There was nothing out of the ordinary on this floor and Maria pointed up. Frankie nodded, so they went to the third floor where there was an officer standing at the foot of the next staircase, his face whiter than the paper suit Maria was wearing. He pointed upwards.

  ‘Next floor. I hope you have a steel stomach because this isn’t pretty.’

  Maria nodded, a gut lined with steel was a requirement for her job. She didn’t ask him what had happened, preferring to take in the scene herself and make her own assumptions. The stairs up to this floor had been brightly lit, and it was warm out in the hallways of the first two floors. She stared up at the uncarpeted, almost black wooden steps which led up to the attic and wondered why it wasn’t as well maintained as the rest of the house. Frankie grabbed her arm. She turned to look at him, his bright blue gloved fingers began to play out rock, paper, scissors. She formed a fist to make a rock at the same time he opened his fingers and he shook his head.

  ‘You won, it’s your call.’

  She tugged up the face mask that was around her neck, covering her nose and mouth. ‘I’ll go first.’

  He shrugged, he wasn’t about to complain. Maria began to walk up the wooden stairs that creaked and groaned. She stayed close to the wall in case the killer had grabbed the handrail on their way down. Frankie followed her. She reached the top and, despite the face mask, got a whiff of the tangy, coppery smell that was too familiar. It was overpowering, but she never faltered, crossing the small landing towards the open apartment door. Maria stood at the threshold and stared at the sight which faced her. There were blood splatters all over the painted, antique white walls and beige carpets.

  That was one of the reasons she preferred to go first. Once she’d seen what was waiting for her she could cope. Her mind would switch to cop mode and she’d be fine. She always was. The hallway opened into a large open-plan living space, this was also light and airy. It was a nice apartment, Maria stared at the kitchen worktop and tried to figure out what it was that was on there. She tilted her head and heard Frankie mutter, behind her. ‘Jesus Christ where’s the head? Where’s the arms and legs?’

  It was then that she realized it was a torso she was staring at, drenched in blood with torn bits of muscle, tendons and bones protruding from where the limbs should be. She stepped closer, her mind trying to process what had happened. She looked at the naked torso with the most beautiful, intricate tattoo of roses and vines which ran from where the thigh should have been up the side and across the body. It snaked across from one side to the other and ended between the two breasts.

  Frankie spoke. ‘Nice tattoo.’

  It was a nice tattoo. It was a quality piece of art done by someone who was very talented. This wasn’t your average drunken girl’s night out, “let’s get matching tattoos done” down a back street in Hell’s Kitchen. Maria tore her eyes away from the bloody torso and looked around. She stepped towards the kitchen area where she noticed smears of blood on the huge fridge. Frankie who was still in a trance staring at the body didn’t notice her opening the fridge door until he heard her shriek. It was so loud that it made him jump. He looked across at Maria in time to see the missing limbs falling out of the fridge. She barely managed to move back in time, narrowly avoiding being covered in blood and gore. Frankie grabbed her arm, dragging her back. He’d never heard her shriek in all the years they’d worked together. He looked at her face – her eyes were wide in horror at the assortment of appendages that had fallen to the floor next to her feet. Maria whispered. ‘Where’s her head?’

  Chapter One

  July 2017

  Frankie drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he stared at the run-down building that had once been the City Hotel but was now abandoned and condemned. Maria, who was trying to decide how many grey hairs had sprouted in her fringe since the last time she’d had it colored, turned to stare at him.

  ‘Give it a rest, I’m bored out of my tree as well.’

  He looked at her and scowled. ‘Two days we’ve been hanging around here and for what?’

  ‘You know what. The perp is hiding out in there. You know it, I know it. He has to come out at some point.’

  ‘You think so? What if he doesn’t need to? What if he’s got lots of supplies and is holed up in there for a month?’

  ‘If he doesn’t put in an appearance by the end of…’ She stopped mid-sentence and elbowed him. A man wearing a navy hooded sweatshirt with NYPD blazoned across the front of it, and with a matching NYPD baseball cap appeared at a third storey window and stepped out onto the fire escape. With aviator shades covering his eyes, he stood on the top rung of the rusted, metal ladders and surveyed the street. Seemingly happy, he climbed down the steps and began to walk towards 7th Avenue.

  ‘I told you so.’

  Frankie shook his head. ‘Well, I’ll be damned.’ He stared down at the black and white photograph of the man they’d been waiting for. He was wanted for the murder of his wife and attempted murder of her lover. Maria didn’t gloat, she just smiled at him. ‘Follow him as best as you can; when it gets too busy I’ll jump out and follow on foot. As soon as I’m sure it’s him we’ll go for it.’

  The man was walking briskly towards 7th Avenue and she wanted him apprehended whilst they were still on Barrow Street. A taxi pulled in front of their car, narrowly missing them. Instinctively Frankie honked the horn and their guy turned around. He stared at Maria then turned and began to run.

  ‘Crap, he’s onto us.’

  Frankie swerved to the sidewalk and they both jumped out, Maria felt a surge of dread as the newly opened Manhattan Media Corporation loomed into view. The contemporary glass office block was owned by Harrison Williams, who ran a mass media enterprise. The only reason Maria knew this was because she’d read an article about him in the New York Times just a few days ago.

  Jackson Quinn realized the cops were gaining on him and spied the revolving door of the swanky offices just in front of him. He darted into it finding himself in the huge glass, marble and oak entrance. Unluckily for Helena White she was about to go on her lunch break. She walked out from behind the reception desk at the same time that Jackson skidded to a halt. Without thinking he pulled the .38 from his waistband and grabbed onto Helena, pointing the gun at her head. She let out a deafening scream as Maria came through the doors first closely followed by Frankie, both of their weapons drawn.

  ‘Drop your gun, Jackson, come on. Nobody needs to get hurt here, just put the gun down and we can sort this out.’

  Frankie carried on talking whilst Maria moved to where she could get a clear shot.

  ‘Fuck you. Drop your gun.’

  ‘You know I can’t do that whilst you’re pointing a gun at that lady’s head. Come on, man, you know you don’t want this.’

  Helena was whimpering. Frankie whispered to Maria. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

  She didn’t take her eyes away from Jackson but nodded her head. In the perfect situation, Maria would aim for his chest and shoot to kill. Only she wasn’t fond of using her weapon unless it was life or death, which this situation was. Especially for the petrified woman Jackson was holding hostage, she didn’t really have a clear shot of his head either. She glanc
ed down at his legs, aimed and then fired twice. Jackson let out a loud howl as Frankie lunged for the woman and dragged her away from the now rendered powerless male on the floor who was screaming like a baby.

  ‘That bitch shot me, she shot me. Get me a medic.’

  Maria didn’t waste any time and in a matter of seconds had his gun kicked away from him and his wrists cuffed.

  ‘Sorry Jackson, does it hurt real bad?’

  ‘Fuck you bitch.’

  Maria smiled at him. ‘Really? Jackson Quinn, I’m arresting you on suspicion of homicide. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.’

  Sirens filled the street outside and Maria was glad because he was bleeding like a pig all over the new white, pristine, marble floor. Officers streamed in through the doors along with paramedics. Maria stepped aside to let them work on Jackson. A tall, blond-haired man in a pair of Nike shorts and a vest top came running towards her.

  ‘That was outstanding, thank you, officer. I don’t know what to say. You saved her life.’

  He held his hand out and Maria shook it, wondering if he was the security guard who had nipped to the gym on his lunch break.

  ‘Just doing my job, thanks.’

  She turned and walked back to Frankie who was talking to two uniforms. He looked at Maria and grinned. ‘Nice shooting, shame about all the paperwork but at least they’re both alive. Are you okay?’

  She rolled her eyes at him. ‘Gee thanks, Frankie, nice of you to ask.’

  ‘Come on Miss Smarty-pants, let’s go back to the station. Quicker we fill out the forms, the quicker we can call it a day.’

  Chapter Two

  Greenwich Village, June 1952

  The Brownstone situated along West 10th Street was Emilia Carter’s favorite place. She laughed as she helped roll out the dough for the fresh bread for breakfast in the morning. She was never happier than helping Missy down in the kitchen. She loved being in the city, away from her suffocating mother and odd brother. Everyone stayed in the sprawling mansion on Staten Island from June to September; everyone except her father who used the town house as a base for when he had business to attend to in the city. Tomorrow was a big day for Emilia. She was meeting Mae for lunch and it still made her stomach churn thinking about it. Not sure what to call her. Her father’s lover was probably the most appropriate, they’d met under the most peculiar circumstances a week ago. Emilia had been downstairs before bed, helping Missy again and paused when she’d heard the laughter and music coming from the parlour. She’d looked at Missy who shook her head.