The House on West 10th Street

by Helen Phifer

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Maria waited for Frankie, he was much slower this morning than usual and she wasn’t sure whether he had concussion or a hangover. Probably both. He took forever getting out of the car as she held the heavy door of Sam’s Deli open. She didn’t tease him when he reached her, instead she smiled and let him lead the way to their usual booth tucked away at the back of the diner.

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  He nodded. ‘I’m always hungry; gut is a bit off today though.’

  They waited for Marge to bring the coffee pot over. When she did, stared at the mess on Frankie’s face.

  ‘Someone try and knock some sense into you?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Well, I sure hope you gave them something back, honey, they’ve ruined your good looks.’

  Maria laughed, Frankie smiled at her.

  ‘You think so? I was thinking it made me look more rugged.’

  ‘If that’s your brain leaking through that dressing you’re in big trouble, buster, you need every cell you have.’

  He gave her the finger and she walked away laughing.

  ‘So what are we going to do? Did Max say she could get here?’

  ‘I’m here.’ Max squeezed into the booth next to Maria. ‘You’re in luck, I wasn’t far away when you called. I’ve come across some more stuff in the archives that might interest you.’

  Frankie arched an eyebrow at her. ‘Is that so? That was lucky because at this current moment in time we’re stumped as to why. We need a motive. What’s the motive for two women being murdered in cold blood and their limbs ripped from their bodies?’

  ‘I think its devil worship at its highest level.’

  Maria looked at her. ‘What do you mean? Its highest level, what other level is there?’

  ‘The thing is I found some articles about how popular devil worship was back in the sixties and seventies, but it was simmering away in the fifties. I can’t help wonder if the first murder in 1952 was some sort of catalyst.’

  Frankie was staring at his coffee cup, his brow furrowed. He looked at the two women opposite.

  ‘Whoever is doing it must have some knowledge and be into the occult. So I think the murders are sacrificial offerings to summon the Devil. We need to start looking where devil worshipper’s hang out.’

  Maria nodded. ‘Yes, I think you’re right. How would they know what to do?’

  Max leant on the table. ‘He must have an instruction manual; there are all sorts of books out there.’

  ‘Like a spell book or a book of devil worship?’ Maria began typing into Google. She looked up. ‘Holy crap you can buy a Satanic Bible on Amazon.’

  ‘So it could be anyone, damn it.’

  Max frowned. ‘No, I think whoever is doing this has more than a second hand copy of a book off Amazon. I mean if you could summon demons for ten dollars wouldn’t we all be at it?’

  Frankie shuddered. ‘Why the hell would anyone want to do anything like that?’

  ‘It’s about power, most of the bad crap that happens in this world is because some egotistical bastard is on a power trip.’

  ‘I think you’re right, Max, it is about power. So James Carter wanted to summon the Devil in the fifties only he didn’t do a very good job of it.’

  ‘No Frankie, I think he did a half decent job. There’s something about that house on West 10th that freaks me out. It has a bad atmosphere. It smells bad inside and I swear to God I heard hooves clattering around on the wooden floorboards of the attic when I was speaking to the old lady. If he didn’t do it properly then whatever he did summon is trapped, half in this world, half in hell.’

  ‘So this punk three years ago was trying to finish the job?’

  She nodded. ‘Only it didn’t work. Why wouldn’t it work? Christ, I can’t believe we’re actually talking about this stuff. Your dad would have a coronary if he heard us.’

  Max spoke. ‘He’d think we were all crazy, but I think I know why it didn’t work, or at least not properly, because wouldn’t we know if a demon had been unleashed onto the streets of New York?’

  Frankie laughed. ‘Not necessarily, have you seen some of the crazies walking the streets?’

  ‘I think he needs another sacrifice. It’s all to do with the power of three. The mocking of the Holy Trinity is prevalent when there is a demonic presence. Have you ever watched those ghost shows on cable? You can guarantee there will be three knocks, three bangs, when anyone gets scratched it’s normally three red marks that are visible on the skin. Why wouldn’t it work when summoning a demon?’

  Both Maria and Frankie stared at her, mouths open and eyes wide. He turned to Maria. ‘You ever get the feeling we might be out of our depth on this one?’

  She pictured herself in the library, something cold and strong squeezing the life out of her. ‘It’s getting stronger.’

  ‘What, you’re a psychic now are you?’

  ‘Get screwed, Frankie. When I went to the library I had this creeping sensation I was being watched and then suddenly I couldn’t breathe. Something was squeezing the air out of my lungs and I thought I was going to die. I was so cold and scared.’

  Frankie, about to say something sarcastic, realized how white her complexion was, instead his hand reached out and squeezed hers.

  Max looked at them both. ‘If it was able to do that it’s stronger and it knows that you’re onto it. It must be worried that you were gonna work it out and stop it.’

  It was Frankie who spoke. ‘If it’s worried we’re onto it that means we can do something about it. We can stop it before it gets any stronger.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know…., what do they always do on the TV?’ He directed his question at Max.

  ‘They call in a priest.’

  ‘That’s it. We go to the church, grab a priest and get them to go to the house and send it back to where it came from.’

  Max began to laugh. ‘Easy, peasy. Why didn’t I think of that?’

  He shrugged then pointed to his head. ‘You either got it or you don’t.’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  As they left the diner and waved goodbye to Max, Maria got the feeling they were being watched. She turned around and scanned the street, the cars and the pedestrians. Nobody stood out. There were very few people around, only the ones that were too busy talking into their headphones to give a damn about her. Still she couldn’t shake the feeling and a part of her wondered if it had anything to do with the thing at the house. She was too scared to call it by its name in case it somehow gave it strength.

  ‘We need to go to the station, I want to get some stuff out of my desk drawer.’

  ‘You need to go maybe, but I don’t. I’ll wait outside in the car for you.’

  They got into his car and he drove to the Precinct, parking up front instead of in the car park. Maria got out, walked the short distance, and went in through the front doors. She did her best not to make eye contact with any of the people hanging around. It always ended badly: she’d get caught up in some search for an old lady’s cat; stuck in the middle of a domestic; be screamed at by some angry person who was off their meds. About to push through the doors that led her out back she paused.

  ‘Please, you have to help. I’ve just come back after being home to Russia and I can’t find her. It’s been three years since anyone last saw her. This is very important.’

  She turned to stare at the tall woman leaning against the counter.

  ‘Look ma’am, like I told you before. Take the form and fill in the report, I’ll get someone to come and speak to you.’

  ‘How long will this take?’

  The officer shrugged. ‘Honey, if you haven’t seen her for three years and have only just realized your friend is missing it’s not what we would call a high priority. She could be married and living in Florida, or maybe she doesn’t want you to find her.’

  The woman muttered a whole sentence of Russian that Maria was
convinced included lots of expletives and stormed back to the chair with the clip board. She crossed the room towards the woman and held out her hand.

  ‘I’m Detective Miller, perhaps I can take your details and get this sorted out a little quicker for you.’

  The woman looked Maria up and down, then stood up, taking her hand.

  ‘Petra Orlov.’

  Maria led her towards an empty interview room. ‘How come you are only just reporting your friend missing?’

  Petra shrugged. ‘We had a falling out, I went back home. Broke my phone, lost her numbers.’

  ‘What about Facebook, email? Did you not speak to her again after your argument?’

  The woman’s blue eyes began to fill with tears as she shook her head.

  ‘I went home, family problems. I didn’t think about Anya very much if I’m honest. I was angry with her; my mother was dying, and my father couldn’t cope.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. So you’ve come back and you decided to look her up only you can’t find her?’

  Petra nodded. ‘We both worked at The Russian Bar on 52nd, I felt bad. I left her on her own, I wanted to go and make it right. Only they haven’t seen or heard from her since the day after I left.’

  Maria felt every nerve in her body tense up. When something was about to happen she got the most intense feeling in her gut. Was she about to be able to identify their Jane Doe from West 10th St?

  ‘When did you leave?’

  ‘The second of December.’

  Maria wanted to punch the air and shout yes as loud as she could. This might be the break they were looking for. If they could identify the victim and trace her last movements, they might be able to place her with her killer, who could then explain to them what the fuck was going on with that house. Instead of jumping up and yelling, Maria smiled at her.

  ‘I’m going to take as many details from you as you can give me. I know it’s been a while, but the more information you can give me about Anya the better chance I have of finding her. Do you have a photograph of Anya? Does she have any tattoos or scars?’

  Petra nodded and began to dig into her purse. ‘Yes, a big one, roses across the side of her body. Thank you, yes of course. Where do you want me to start?’

  Forty minutes later Maria was heading back to the car where Frankie was snoring so loud she could hear it from twenty feet away. She felt bad, he looked terrible. His normal tanned complexion was pale, his face was a mess and he was exhausted, probably suffering from a delayed hangover as well. He needed to go home and sleep. She opened the door which made him jump. He sat up, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

  ‘Was I drooling?’

  ‘No, sorry. I didn’t realize you were asleep. Look there isn’t much we can do right now. I’ll go and see a priest at the local church and ask them if they can come to the house with us tomorrow. There’s probably all sorts of crap you have to go through to even get them to do that. Why don’t you go home, get some rest and you’ll be feeling brighter tomorrow?’

  ‘I’m okay, I’ll go with you.’

  ‘No Frankie, you’re not. I have a headache just looking at your face and I can’t be bothered. Let me take you home, we’ll call it a day. Start fresh in the morning.’

  She didn’t look at his face in case she’d upset him.

  ‘You don’t mind? You won’t be mad at me?’

  ‘Hey, of course I don’t. Addison has given us free reign for a couple of weeks. We’d be fools not to go a little bit easy on ourselves. One evening isn’t going to hurt, we can make up for it tomorrow.’

  He turned the key in the ignition and pulled out. ‘Yeah, you’re right. What the hell, a few hours off will do us both some good.’

  She smiled to herself. ‘Actually I’m going to get out and walk, I want to go shopping.’

  He stared at her. ‘Are you ill? You hate shopping?’

  She laughed. ‘No, I need some new clothes. I fancy having a stroll down Fifth and doing some window shopping. I need to do something different, take my mind off this case.’

  ‘I’ll drop you off.’

  She opened the car door. ‘No, you won’t, you’ll get stuck in Midtown traffic. It’s quicker for me to walk, you get yourself home. If you need me call me, I mean it.’

  He nodded. She slammed the door shut, waited for him to drive away then hailed a cab. One pulled over and she jumped in.

  ‘The Russian Bar on 52nd please.’

  Whether it was still open she had no idea, but it was worth a shot. Pulling the photo out of her pocket she stared at it; although not the clearest of pictures, it showed a beautiful, young woman laughing with Petra. Their arms draped around each other, shot glasses in hand, raised towards the photographer. Maria was almost sure that Anya was their Jane Doe, even if the bloodied, headless corpse looked nothing like the image in her hand. After all this time they had something to go on, they were one step closer to identifying her. Which also meant they were one step closer to finding her killer.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Missy waited patiently for the priest to finish his last confessional; there had only been four and she’d been one of them. When he stepped out of the box she was surprised to see just how young he was, she’d been expecting an older guy. She stood up from the hard, wooden pew she was perched on and called out.

  ‘Father, have you a minute?’

  He looked at her and she wondered if his instinct was telling him to say no, but he smiled at her showing a set of brilliant, white teeth that any Hollywood movie star would be proud to own and headed in her direction.

  ‘Of course, how can I help?’

  For a split second she felt guilty, she was about to involve this young man in something so horrible and detrimental that it might just put him off the priesthood for life. What choice did she have?

  ‘Thank you for the confession, it’s right what they say. It is good for your soul.’

  He laughed. ‘Well, as long as I helped. That’s what it’s all about.’

  ‘You might regret ever meeting me today, but I need your help. It’s about a matter of life and death and I have no idea who else to ask.’

  ‘Well, now…’

  ‘Miss Green, but please call me Missy.’

  ‘Well then, Missy, how can I be of service?’

  ‘Is there somewhere we can talk, away from the tourists and photographers?’

  ‘I was just going to grab myself my morning Starbucks, you’re welcome to join me.’

  She would rather not have to drink in one of those overpriced coffee shops, but she knew this might be her only chance.

  ‘If you don’t mind an old crone, cramping your style I’d love to.’

  ‘Great, follow me, I know a short cut.’

  He led her out of the Cathedral across the road and into the Rockefeller Concourse. Missy was fit for her age, but he was a gentleman and kept to her pace. Before too long the steamed up windows of a coffee shop appeared in sight. He held the door open and gestured for her to take a seat. She shook her head. ‘You take a seat, I’ll grab the drinks. As long as you don’t want some fancy crap I can’t pronounce.’

  He laughed. ‘No, just a plain Cappuccino with an extra shot. Don’t worry, they know what I like, just point to me when you get to the till.’

  Missy did just that when the kid behind the counter asked her name she pointed to the priest, realising she didn’t know his name, and the kid said, ‘You with Father Michaels?’ She nodded.

  ‘We got his drink down, what would you like ma’am?’

  ‘Coffee, just a regular coffee please with milk.’

  She handed over the money and waited for the drinks. It was like a cattle market. The queue was almost out of the door. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘You sit down, I’ll bring them over.’ She smiled at the kid who looked not much older than eighteen and thanked him, her perception of the staff in the overpriced shops changing dramatically.

  As she sat on the lea
ther bench in the corner, the priest smiled at her.

  ‘Well, this is my first time in one of these shops. I was a Starbucks virgin until sixty seconds ago.’

  Father Michaels began to laugh a lot louder than she’d anticipated and she immediately felt at ease, for he seemed a good man with a normal sense of humour.

  ‘Wow, I take it you’ve lived in the city a few years and you’ve never visited?’

  ‘I have a wonderful delicatessen opposite my apartment, why would I give my money to this?’

  ‘Well, I admire your honesty and your loyalty. So how can I help you, Missy?’

  She felt her stomach lurch at the very thought of talking about it in public, in a coffee shop to a priest. It just didn’t sit right.