by Oliver Stark
An outcast.
Just beyond the door, the senator put his arm round his wife. ‘You know what you are, Caroline? You’re a saint. No one else would let me get away with it.’
Caroline arched her eyebrows. ‘I do it because I get to go to a fancy dinner and see all the handsome men in their military attire. No other reason, darling.’
‘Well, I’m glad someone is admiring those guys. They take a lot of time to look that good.’
His two daughters were both in party dresses in honour of his birthday. They sat together on the sofa and watched their parents, sipping wine. ‘You tell him, Caroline.’
‘I’m not afraid to admit that he’s a trophy husband.’
‘And a trophy father.’
‘Yeah,’ said the more cynical one. ‘Just right for a glass cabinet.’
They laughed. The sound of four different tones of laughter met in a single chime.
I’m an outcast, thought Sebastian.
‘Here’s to you and a happy birthday!’
‘You gonna croon for me?’
‘We’re going to do better than that.’
‘What?’
‘We’re going to dance too.’
Cast out.
The door opened slowly. The four faces turned. The white gloss door swung all the way in. In the doorway, a stranger, his face still and intense. Terrifying. Unknown. At that moment, all five people were silent. Sebastian waited. Who would break? His big smile moved from face to face.
The senator took a step forward to defend his family.
‘Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?’
Sebastian let the uncertainty hang in the air for a moment longer. He stared at each of them again, weighing them up like a predator. He looked particularly hard at the two daughters. He liked to feel their eyes try to hold his and then fall to the pale carpet.
‘You heard me - I’m asking you politely to leave my house.’ Senator Stanhope moved to the phone and picked it up. Sebastian just stood. ‘The goddamn phone’s dead.’ The senator stared at Sebastian. Could he take him? Did he want to with his two daughters in the room?
He turned to his wife. ‘Caroline, would you take Mary and Rose through to the drawing room and let me talk to this gentleman?’
‘Okay, John,’ she said slowly, ‘so long as you’re sure.’
‘I’m sure. Thank you.’
Sebastian moved to an armchair covered in beige silk. He sat and crossed his legs. ‘Nobody leaves.’
‘What do you want?’ said Caroline. ‘Do you need money?’
Sebastian gazed at her. He recalled her lithe naked figure in the shower. ‘I’ve been watching you. I liked how you looked in your little shower unit. Real pretty.’ Caroline took an involuntary step backwards.
‘Please take anything you want,’ she said. ‘Just leave us alone.’
‘Anything?’ said Sebastian, staring at Rose. He shook his head and tutted. ‘You sure you’re offering anything?’ He smiled and stood, walked to the fireplace and picked up a poker. ‘Are you familiar with the works of Neville Heath?’ They all shook their heads. ‘You will be soon,’ he said, and smiled.
‘What the hell do you want?’ shouted Senator Stanhope, moving forward.
Sebastian stood and swished his cane. ‘Fra Angelico is my favourite artist. Do you like him?’
The Stanhopes looked at each other. Caroline put an arm round each of the two girls.
‘He’s a Renaissance artist,’ said Sebastian.
‘Yes, I know Fra Angelico,’ said Stanhope.
‘Beautiful angels he painted. I like to paint too. I like to paint wings in bright colours just like he did. He’s quite an inspiration to me. But I like to use real people, not paint.’
The two girls held on to Caroline.
‘I want Rose to come over here to me, Senator.’
‘No. You leave Rose alone.’
‘I never ask more than once.’ Sebastian drew a long sword from the cane. ‘Is it dawning on you yet, Senator?’
‘What?’
‘That I’m here to kill you.’
Caroline screamed. She hadn’t even dared to imagine anything like that. This guy was strange but she imagined he was something to do with politics. Not now. Now she saw what he was and she was scared and both the girls were sobbing against her.
‘Now, Rose. Please come to me. Your father’s a very famous man, but I’m famous too. You might have heard of me. They call me the American Devil.’
They all felt the fear grab hard. Caroline tried to hold on to Rose but she moved forward and stood in front of Sebastian. He smiled. She was trying to be fearless, displaying the pride that had attracted him to her so many months earlier. He couldn’t wait to bite into her. He felt the desire welling up in him like a force. ‘Thank you, Rose. Now take off that pretty dress.’
Chapter Seventy-Two
Senator Stanhope’s House
November 28, 11.28 p.m.
This was their man, thought Harper. On the drive to the senator’s home, Eddie went through everything the psychologist had said on the phone. It seemed to fit, and what was more it fitted Denise Levene’s profile better than Redtop did. This wasn’t some loner simpleton; this was a white-collar Jekyll and Hyde with an inability to stop himself.
Eddie and Tom drove in silence for the next ten minutes as the car neared the home of Senator Stanhope. Harper took out his Glock and checked the magazine. Sebastian would not give himself up without a fight. He was dangerous and would be desperate.
They got to the entrance of the secure residential area and could see a line of street lights all the way up to Senator Stanhope’s house.
Tom was worried that if it was the American Devil, he might have killed already. Or would he? They’d never worked out how long he kept Jessica Pascal or Elizabeth Seale alive. But they knew he liked to torture his victims for a long time. He liked to see them weakening. They didn’t know how he got away, either. This guy was a chameleon, or a magician. Or perhaps he had a trick they hadn’t heard of yet.
They turned right and stopped at the huge steel-gated residence of Senator Stanhope. There were no security guys on duty and they didn’t want to alert anyone inside. Eddie parked the car up close to the high wall and they both jumped on top. Eddie threw his leather jacket over the razor wire and they hopped over the wall.
They dropped on to the ground on the other side and listened out for dogs. Nothing. The house ahead was bright with lights in all the windows. They could smell a log fire and see smoke twirling from a high chimney. Without a sound, Harper motioned to Eddie to flank left while he flanked right. Crouching low, they both sprinted towards the house, moving silently on the thick lawn.
At the front door, there was no sign of forced entry, but that wasn’t Sebastian’s style. He was too clever for that. He saved all his violence for those who could fear him. Harper pulled Eddie close.
‘We’ll stick together and do a circuit. When we get a picture of what’s inside, we can split.’
‘Okay,’ said Eddie. ‘Let’s do this.’
They crouched and circled the house, moving quickly under each window and checking for signs of people inside. They came to the windows of the largest reception room. Eddie looked, and pulled back sharply.
‘We got a single male suspect standing. There’s a girl in front of him in her underwear. The suspect has a sword of some kind.’
Harper leaned down into the grass, out of the pool of light, and looked up into the room. ‘There’s one woman and another girl on the far sofa. They look tied up somehow. Clasped together.’ He moved back close to Eddie. ‘Okay, this is it. We can’t wait for back-up. I’m going to move back into the darkness of the garden and line up a shot, you want to take the front door. You hear my shot, you bust the front door and go in quick.’
‘Make sure you get a good shot.’
‘I want him alive, remember. He might be the only key to Lucy James.’
‘Wel
l, make sure he can’t get up.’
‘I will.’
Eddie and Tom clasped their hands together. ‘Get going,’ said Tom.
Inside the living room, the mother and father were in tears. The killer had brought the second daughter to stand before him. She was now taking her dress off. Then Harper noticed that the mother was holding her side and blood was pouring through her hands. She must’ve tried to stop him. The senator’s face was grey and he looked like the life had been drained out of him. He had cut marks across his face and blood down his shirt.
Tom knelt in the near darkness as the living room gleamed ahead. Inside, the tall black-suited figure stood before the senator. John Stanhope looked terrified. The other man was talking. He was still, but talking. Then he raised a long thin blade. Harper pulled his gun up to eye level. He lengthened his left arm and placed his grip in the palm of his right hand. He took aim and let his breathing still.
He could see the faces of the women. The two younger ones were staring in fear, their faces torn with pain. The other, the wife, did not flinch. Something had been said. Sebastian was raising his sword above the girls.
The killer was shouting now. It was the moment. Something was imminent. Tom moved his sight upwards. He couldn’t risk a shot that would just disarm him; he needed to drop this killer with one shot. His sight rose up the killer’s chest, up his neck, and stopped on his head. Single headshot. No other options.
The Glock 19 was rock-steady. There was an unearthly stillness. Even the wind seemed to drop for a brief second. Harper was praying. He squeezed the trigger. The silence of the garden was broken. The shot boomed and smashed its target instantaneously. Harper looked, the fear wide in his eyes. ‘No,’ he shouted. The glass had not shattered. It turned milky white in front of his eyes. Something he had not anticipated. Bulletproof glass.
‘Fuck!’ he shouted. He started to run towards the window. He heard Eddie’s shots take out the front door locks. He kept shooting the bulletproof glass as he approached, peppering it with holes, and then, with a yard to go, he launched himself through it. His body broke the glass and plastic mesh. He flew through the window, hit the floor, rolled and looked up to see Sebastian’s sword swirling above one of the girls. The other was already on the carpet, a stream of blood flowing from her neck. Harper let off a shot. It gave the girl a chance, and she threw herself to the sofa as the bullet hit the wall. The killer turned and kicked Harper hard in the face. Harper’s head jerked backwards, his Glock flew from his hand and his nose split open. Sebastian ran towards the broken window, running his sword right through Senator Stanhope. Harper scrambled for his Glock. Eddie arrived a moment later and ran to the Senator, throwing his cell phone at the girl on the sofa and yelling at her to call 911. As Eddie tried to staunch the bleeding, Harper was up and at the window. ‘I’m going after him.’
He ran out into the darkness, the sound of women screaming behind him.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Senator Stanhope’s Home
November 29, 1.00 a.m.
The Senator’s estate was bright with flashing lights and the noise of radios. Helicopters were hunting the grounds with powerful spotlights and there were already two teams of dogs, barking and straining to get out on the hunt.
Special Agent Baines from the FBI got out of a car and approached the house. He’d already been briefed by the deputy director himself. How the hell did two NYPD cops, one on suspension, outpace the fucking FBI? Baines took the shots. The truth was, he had no idea. Two NYPD officers stood securing the door. Eddie and Tom moved out of the house to meet Baines.
They shook hands and Baines looked to the floor. ‘Sounds like you two saved his wife and one of his daughters. How are they?’
‘Devastated,’ said Harper. He paused. ‘We weren’t quick enough. Senator Stanhope and his daughter Rose are both dead. We missed the killer. We saw the bastard with our own eyes. And we let him take out the senator, so it doesn’t feel like a success story.’
‘You saved him from being tortured throughout the night. You guys acted fast. Good going. Pat yourselves on the back.’
‘Not yet,’ said Harper.
‘Tell me what happened when you burst in,’ said Baines, walking through the house.
‘The killer ran out, skewering Senator Stanhope. Rose must have been stabbed just as my shot hit the bulletproof glass. He went out through the window I’d bust. I must’ve been thirty seconds behind him and he was nowhere. We’ve been looking ever since. Don’t know how he does it.’
‘Well, he’s getting careless, that’s one good sign. Leaving the psychologist alive and scared was a stupid move.’
‘Yeah. Dr Levene thinks he needs someone to talk to, so he couldn’t kill him.’
Baines and Harper looked into the living room. The Feds and the NYPD were working harmoniously and their speed and efficiency was impressive. A meticulous operation was already under way with forensics and weapons experts combing every inch of the place for any signs or clues. Baines stopped at the FBI investigation leader, Special Agent David Mace. ‘Tell me, what goes?’
‘Two saved, two dead, sir.’
Baines had the look of a dead man. ‘Signs of a break-in?’
‘No. We found evidence that he waited in the roof space.’
‘Fuck,’ said Baines. This was way beyond belief. This was the worst he’d seen. They stepped into the living room and Baines stood still and let his eyes move the full length of the sight before their eyes. A beautiful home. A dead man in a chair. A half-dressed girl dead on the floor. Spots of blood on the carpet and sofa. ‘Who else was injured?’ asked Baines.
‘Caroline Stanhope, sir. He stabbed her left side.’
‘What’s he up to, Harper? I need an answer. I need one right now. What does this mean? Why the fuck does he want to kill a senator’s family?’
Tom looked at the senator. ‘He’s going for the best he can get. He wants to shock the world. But it’s also personal. He even took the time to take another trophy.’
‘What? How?’
‘He took Rose Stanhope’s right ear. He must have cut her before killing her.’
Baines looked at Harper. ‘I hope to God we can find something here. We are going to be destroyed on this one.’
Harper was keen to look at how Sebastian had passed the time in the roof and one of the CSU detectives took him up there. It was a comfortable little spot. He’d made a seat out of blankets and had left a little torch in the corner. There were remnants of fruit and water bottles. There was also a book.
Harper crawled over and tried to read the title. It was a book Tom knew well, The Mask of Sanity by Professor Hervey Cleckley. It was a classic study of psychopathic behaviour, running through various case studies. It read at times like a novel with cause for depraved curiosity on every page.
Was Sebastian studying himself? Was he interested in himself as a subject? Tom Harper had been trying to work something out since he’d seen Sebastian through the window of the living room. He looked similar to Redtop, was about the same height, but it wasn’t him. And if the killer was not Redtop, then who the hell was Redtop?
Was Redtop another red herring that Sebastian had thrown their way? Another half-mad patient that he’d met, along with Winston Carlisle? They’d thought that Redtop was the link, but he was maybe just another poor duped guy brought in on this mess.
Was Sebastian trying to outdo all the other killers he’d read about? Was he learning how to be a psychopath? Teaching himself, testing himself? Turning killing into art? Tom didn’t know. But the notion was interesting to him. No doubt, if he had a work like The Mask of Sanity, he’d have read many books on the subject.
Harper bristled. Next time, he needed to be certain his shot was fatal. He needed to get him. No more red herrings. He had seen the real thing. Now he just had to catch him.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Senator Stanhope’s Home
November 29, 5.20 p.m.
It
took a whole day before the Feds and NYPD had finished with the senator’s house. Special Agent Baines and Tom Harper kept it going for as long as they could, but pressure from above forced them to withdraw. Continuing the search for Sebastian was pointless.
Harper and Baines were the last to leave. The Feds’ four black cars were parked in the gravel yard between the main house and its small annexe. Baines took one more look around the empty grounds and then pulled the front door shut.
The team of twelve agents and Harper walked across to the black sedans. There was no talking between them as they walked. They got into the cars and quietly closed the doors. Last was Baines. He shut the door with a heavy clunk and the Federal cars drove off towards the gates in a trailing cloud of fine dust.
Baines was reflecting on the fact that they had been chasing shadows, being made to look fools. He hadn’t experienced this before. It was a new feeling. It was called failure and it didn’t feel good at all.
Back in the drive by the house, the dust settled on the faint tracks left in the gravel. In the late-afternoon sun, the motes of dust took several minutes to disperse and settle, long enough for the sound of the high-powered diesel engines to have disappeared into the distance.
The house had been left alone again, left to return to normal. All was still, very still. The birds had not yet returned, there was no wind and nothing was moving.
Then, after another hour had passed, a line of small stones moved ever so slightly under one of the tyre tracks. The surface of a dust ridge started to collapse as the top layer of stones fell away. Then a larger movement in the stillness: a large rectangular area of gravel moved and shook. The straight sides of what looked like a trapdoor became visible underneath.
It shook as if it were being banged from below. Then a small crease of darkness appeared at the corner and a large wedge of shade opened up. The trapdoor suddenly creaked wide open and hit the ground.
