New York Night

by Leather, Stephen

  ‘Nasty fun?’ she said.

  He laughed out loud. ‘Oh yeah, real nasty fun.’ He put his arm around her shoulder. ‘Let’s go.’

  The girl winked at the barman, then gestured at the unconscious biker. ‘My friend with the busted balls there’s paying, Billy’ she said. ‘Take a nice tip for yourself while you’re at it.’

  They headed out together. ‘Did you hear them pop?’ Matt asked as they stepped into the street. ‘They popped like grapes.’

  She laughed. ‘Yeah, I heard.’ The door slammed shut behind them.

  CHAPTER 16

  There were six of them on the path, standing in a circle and laughing and swearing. They looked up as Dee-anne and Matt approached. One of them said something and they all laughed, though there was now a harder edge to the laughter.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Dee-anne. They were walking across Central Park. The sun had gone down and the moon was hanging overhead, a perfect white circle, the sky so clear they could make out the craters.

  ‘I think they think we’re prey,’ said Matt.

  ‘Big mistake.’

  ‘Huge.’

  ‘We could turn around and walk away.’

  ‘We could,’ she agreed.

  ‘But we’re not going to, are we?’

  She grinned and slipped her arm through his. ‘Hell, no.’

  The gang split into two as they approached, standing either side of the path. They were all dressed in baggy jeans, gleaming new Nike high-tops and hoodies. They had their hoods up and their hands deep in their pockets. All six were now staring at the two of them. The tallest had the New York Yankees logo stripped across his hoodie and was chewing on a toothpick. He gestured with his chin at Matt. ‘She your bitch?’ He was in his late teens but had the eyes of a man much older. Bored and lifeless.

  ‘I’m nobody’s bitch,’ said Dee-anne.

  ‘I wasn’t talking to you, bitch.’

  ‘Are you hard of hearing?’ said Dee-anne.

  The teenager stepped forward and lifted his hand to strike her. She stared at him with unblinking eyes. ‘I dare you,’ she said.

  ‘Bitch!’ shouted the man and went to slap her. She didn’t start moving until the hand was inches from her face but when she did it was a blur. One moment she was standing staring at him, the next his arm was at his side, a jagged piece of his ulna sticking out through the sleeve of his hoodie. His mouth opened and closed and his eyes widened as he stared in horror at the shard of bone.

  ‘Bitch broke his arm!’ shouted the teenager next to him. ‘Did you see that? Snapped it like it was nothing!’

  The teenager with the broken arm slowly knelt down, the colour draining from his face.

  Matt moved towards the boy nearest him and grabbed him by the throat. The boy tried to scream but Matt’s grip was so strong no sound escaped. The boy tried to claw at Matt’s face but Matt lifted him off the ground so that his feet dangled in the air. Matt grinned up at him. ‘Cat got your tongue?’ he said.

  The boy’s eyes were bulging and spittle was dribbling from between his lips. One of his companions grabbed at Matt’s arm but Matt kicked him between the legs. The attacker flew backwards, across the path and smacked into a large rock at the side of the path. His head hit the rock with a loud thwack and blood sprayed across the grass. Matt laughed out loud, turned and in one smooth movement threw the boy he was holding at the rock. His aim was slightly off and the boy fell to the side of the rock, scrambled to his feet and began running away as fast as he could.

  The three remaining teenagers had huddled together like sheep. Their hands were out of their pockets. One had his hands up to his face, his mouth open in shock, the other reached behind his back and pulled out a hunting knife. The third turned to run but Dee-anne kicked his legs out from underneath him and he fell on the path. She stamped down on his right knee and grinned savagely at it cracked. The teenager screamed and curled into a foetal ball. Dee-anne drew back her leg and kicked him hard in the kidneys.

  The teenager with the knife was slashing it back and forth as he moved towards Matt. ‘Oh no, please don’t hurt me with your big bad knife,’ said Matt.

  ‘Fuck you, man,’ said the teenager. He stepped forward and lunged with the blade but Matt had already moved to the side and the knife went wide. Matt’s eyes turned a bright red and when he grinned his teeth had turned into sharp points that gave him the look of a shark about to strike. The teenager pulled back the knife but Matt reached out and grabbed the boy’s wrist and broke it with a single twist. He carried on twisting and flipped the boy into the air and then brought him crashing down onto the path.

  The final teenager was backing away, his hands up defensively. ‘I don’t want no trouble, man,’ he stammered.

  ‘It’s no trouble,’ said Matt. He sprang forward as the boy turned to run. He grabbed his head with both hands and twisted savagely. The spine cracked and he felt the body go limp. He tossed him to the side and as he turned to smile at Dee-anne his eyes returned to their usual blue colour and his teeth went back to their normal all-American smile. ‘That was fun.’

  Dee-anne grabbed his arm. ‘We need to go.’

  ‘Why the rush? No one can hurt us.’

  ‘We don’t want to cause a fuss. Low profile, remember? Until it’s time.’

  She hurried him down the path.

  ‘But it was fun, right?’ he asked.

  ‘Hell, yeah,’ she said.

  ‘The sound when their bones break, isn’t it the best sound ever? And the way they react to pain. The terror in their eyes.’ He shuddered. ‘You can feel the fear, can’t you? It’s better than anything.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’ asked Dee-anne.

  ‘I’m still at home.’

  ‘You should move out.’

  Matt shrugged. ‘They might call the cops. And it’s easier just to be there.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  ‘What about Baalberith?’

  ‘He’s here already. He’ll be coming to Manhattan soon.’

  ‘And the Master?’

  ‘That’s more complicated. He needs to get all his ducks in a row. But when he does arrive, we can take it up to the next level.’

  Matt laughed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I can’t wait,’ he said.

  A woman with two small poodles was walking their way. She was small and almost circular, wrapped up in a fur coat. Dee-anne smiled at her. ‘Lovely dogs,’ she said, with a smile.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the woman. Her face was unnaturally smooth but her hands were liver-spotted and wrinkled.

  ‘I wonder if they taste like chicken,’ said Matt. The woman’s jaw dropped but her forehead stayed perfectly smooth as Dee-anne hurried Matt down the path.

  ‘You need to stop drawing attention to yourself,’ she said. ‘We have to stay below the radar. How are you getting home?’

  Matt shrugged. ‘I was going to walk.’

  ‘We’ll get a taxi. I’ll drop you.’

  ‘What about you? Where do you stay?’

  She held up her phone. ‘I’ll find somewhere,’ she said. ‘I usually do.’

  CHAPTER 17

  Matt unlocked the front door and stepped into the hallway. He didn’t bother switching on the light and headed for the stairs. He was half way up the staircase when the lights came on. ‘Not so fast, young man,’ said a voice. ‘Down you come.’

  It was his mother, and it was clear from the look on her face that she wasn’t happy.

  ‘It’s late,’ he said.

  ‘Exactly.’ She snapped her fingers and pointed at the sitting room door. ‘We need to talk.’

  Matt sighed and walked slowly down the stairs. His mother stood in the Japanese kimono she wore as a dressing gown, her arms folded.

  ‘I’m tired,’ he said.

  ‘And I’m tired of you treating this house like a hotel.’

  Matt walked into the sitting room and stood by the fireplace. His mother went over to the
sofa and sat down. There was a glass of red wine on the coffee table in front of her. ‘Now, young man, what time do you call this?’

  Matt made a show of looking at his watch. ‘One o’clock,’ he said.

  ‘One forty-five,’ she said. ‘Almost two o’clock.’

  Matt shrugged but didn’t say anything.

  ‘And Mrs Cohen phoned this afternoon. She wanted to know when you’d be back in school. Apparently you told her you were sick.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘You don’t look sick to me.’ She frowned as she saw the grazes on the knuckles of his right hand. ‘What have you done to your hand?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Show me.’

  ‘There’s nothing to show.’

  ‘Have you been fighting?’

  Matt glared at her. ‘I’m sick of your fucking nagging.’

  Her jaw dropped. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ said Matt. He started walking to the door but his mother jumped to her feet and blocked his way.

  ‘How dare you talk to me like that!’ she said.

  He tried to get past her but she grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘Matt, will you sit down and talk to me.’

  ‘Fuck off!’ he shouted, spittle peppering her face.

  She let go of his shoulder with her right hand, drew it back and slapped him across the cheek, hard.

  He grinned, then head-butted her. She fell backwards, crashed onto the coffee table and rolled onto the floor. The glass of wine fell over and wine spilled over her legs.

  Matt moved to stand over her. ‘Are you happy now, bitch?’ He kicked her in the ribs.

  Matt’s father burst into the room, his eyes blazing. He was a small man, just over five foot six, but he had a weightlifter’s build with wide shoulders and muscled forearms. He was wearing silk pyjamas, his feet bare. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ he shouted. He saw his wife sprawled on the floor and hurried over to help her up.

  He saw the red mark on her forehead. ‘Honey, what happened? Did you fall?’

  She sniffed and wiped away tears. ‘He hit me,’ she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. ‘Matt hit me.’

  ‘He what?’

  ‘He hit me.’

  She began to sob and he eased her over to the sofa. ‘Did you lay hands on your mother?’ he asked, turning to face Matt.

  ‘She asked for it,’ snarled the boy

  ‘Asked for it? You never hit a woman and you never, ever, touch your mother, do you hear me?’

  ‘Fuck off,’ growled Matt.

  His father rushed over and hit Matt full in the face, knocking him flat on his back. ‘You bastard!’ screamed his father. ‘Get up so I can knock you back down again.’

  Matt chuckled and wiped his mouth. His hand came away wet with blood.

  ‘Allan, no!’ shouted Matt’s mother.

  He ignored her. ‘Get the fuck up!’ he shouted.

  Matt rolled over and got to his feet, his back to Allan. He turned slowly, his head down so that his fringe hung over his face.

  ‘You apologise to your mother right now!’ shouted Allan.

  Matt said nothing. He slowly raised his head. His eyes, usually a pale blue, had turned crimson red. He bared his teeth. Matt’s teeth had always been perfect with a smile that would have done credit to a toothpaste commercial but now they were yellow, like fangs. Matt took a step towards him. His nails seemed longer and sharper, like the claws of a predator.

  ‘Please, just stop it, both of you!’ screamed the woman.

  ‘You need to calm down,’ said Allan, but he could hear the uncertainty in his voice. The thing that was moving towards him looked like his son, but he’d changed.

  Matt’s lip curled back in a wolf-like snarl. He took another step towards his father. Allan turned to run but Matt was too fast for him, he sprang forward and grabbed the neck of his pyjamas, pulling him back. Then he stamped down on the back of Allan’s right knee. The joint snapped like a chicken bone and Allan screamed and went down.

  ‘Stop!’ shouted Matt’s mother. ‘Just stop!’

  Matt lifted his right foot and stamped on his father’s head. ‘How do you like that?’ he shouted. ‘How does that feel?’ He stamped down again. And again.

  ‘Matt, stop, you’re killing him!’ shouted his mother.

  Matt grinned over at her. ‘Well that is sort of the point,’ he said.

  His mother stood up and backed towards the door. ‘Stay where you are, mom,’ said Matt.

  Her whole body was shaking and she continued to move to the door, tears streaming down her face. Matt jumped over his father’s body and grabbed a large marble sculpture, a symbolic depiction of a woman holding a baby. He swung it over his head and smashed it down on his mother’s head. The skull exploded like a watermelon and blood sprayed across the carpet behind her. She slumped without a sound. Matt stood over her and hit her again, and again, until her head was bloody mass of broken skull, blood and splattered brain matter.

  He heard his father moan behind him and he tossed the sculpture to the floor. He went over to where his father was curling up into a ball, his head covered with blood. Allan shuddered and coughed and two teeth fell from between his lips on to the carpet. ‘Please… stop…’ he said, and coughed again. Bloody phlegm trickled from his mouth.

  ‘Stop?’ said Matt. ‘Why would I stop? I’ve only just started.’

  CHAPTER 18

  Nightingale’s cellphone rang and he rolled over and grabbed at it. It was just after eight o’clock in the morning and it was Perez calling. ‘Are you up?’ she asked.

  ‘I am now,’ said Nightingale, sitting up and rubbing his face.

  ‘Andy wants to see us, now.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘A double murder.’

  ‘Yeah, well I didn’t kill anybody.’

  ‘Can the English humour, Jack. He’ll meet us in a coffee shop down the road from where you are. Italian place called Rossi’s. Eight thirty.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ said Nightingale. He ended the call, lit and smoked a cigarette while he looked out through the window at the street below, then headed into the bathroom to shave and shower.

  Perez was sitting outside at a table with a latte in front of her and a croissant in her hand. ‘Andy’s inside,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll buy his coffee, see if that helps.’ Nightingale went inside where a bald, portly man with a sweeping moustache and an apron in the colours of the Italian flag was giving Horowitz an Americano. ‘I’ll have the same,’ said Nightingale. ‘And I’ll get his.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said the detective and he headed outside to join Perez. Nightingale ordered a ham and cheese Panini and took it and his coffee outside where Horowitz was already deep in conversation with Perez.

  Nightingale pulled over a chair from the neighbouring table and joined them. ‘So what’s the story?’ he asked, before taking a large bite out of his Panini.

  ‘There’s been a double murder on the Upper West Side,’ said Horowitz. ‘A Mister Allan Donaldson and his wife Emma. Beaten to death. Kicked, punched, stamped on. Both bodies are in a real mess. Their son Matthew is missing and as of an hour ago we’re treating him as the suspect.’

  Nightingale swallowed. ‘Because?’

  ‘Because the bloody footprints all around the bodies are a match to his shoe size. And his fingerprints are on a sculpture that was used to kill Mrs Donaldson.’

  ‘If he lived there, his fingerprints would be on everything anyway,’ said Nightingale. ‘How do you know he didn’t disturb the attackers and ran away?’

  ‘You think we’re amateurs, Nightingale?’ asked Horowitz. ‘For one, if he did escape he’d have gone to the cops. Two his were the only bloody footprints we found. Three there’s CCTV footage of Matt returning just after one forty-five in the morning and then leaving in a hurry ten minutes later.’ He counted the points off on his fingers and then looked at Nightingale expectantly. ‘Now does that satisfy your Engli
sh criteria for putting someone on the list of suspects?’

  Nightingale held up his hand. ‘Sorry, I’m not a morning person. I need caffeine to kick-start my day.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘And this involves me because..?’

  Horowitz sat back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘Because Matthew Donaldson’s fingerprints and DNA are a match to what we found on the knife that killed Kate Walker.’

  Nightingale’s jaw dropped. ‘What?’

  ‘Matthew Donaldson killed Kate Walker. And at around two o’clock this morning he killed his parents.’

  ‘Motive?’

  ‘We’re looking for one, obviously. But at the moment it’s looking as if he’s a serial killer. And he shouldn’t be too difficult to find. Case closed.’

  Perez looked over at Nightingale. ‘That’s good news, right?’

  ‘I guess so,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘You don’t seem thrilled,’ said Horowitz.

  Nightingale wrinkled his nose. ‘It throws up more questions than it answers,’ he said. ‘I mean, it’s great that you have a suspect, and that we’ve identified him as Kate’s killer. But how did he know her? What was he doing with her in the apartment? Have you found anything to link him to Kate? Other than the prints and his DNA of course.’

  ‘It’s early days. We’ll check phone records, emails, the works.’

  ‘Yeah about that,’ said Nightingale. ‘Why didn’t you check Kate’s desktop for emails?’

  Horowitz’s eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know we didn’t?’

  Nightingale forced a smile, realising he’d made a mistake. ‘I just assumed, you didn’t mention it.’

  Horowitz continued to stare at Nightingale. ‘Did you go around to the house?’ Nightingale sipped his coffee and Horowitz turned to glare at Perez. ‘Please don’t tell me you went around to the Walker’s house.’

  ‘We just wanted a chat, for background,’ said Perez.

  Horowitz shook his head in exasperation. ‘Cheryl, come on. I said I’d help, but your messing with an ongoing investigation.’