American Devil

by Oliver Stark

  Harper looked again at the cold case details. The brothers were younger than anyone had thought. That’s why Eddie hadn’t found anyone in the yearbooks. Eddie’s maths had been two years out - the killer had been younger than Chloe Mestella, not older. They’d made a poor assumption and it cost them.

  He had found the key to Sebastian - his raped and murdered sister. Tom knew what he had to do. He needed to find out what happened to the Hummels. He had called Eddie and asked him to sit on the door of the social security office in Pendleton County. He needed to know who fostered Sebastian after the Hummel family fell to pieces. He picked up his cell and was about to put in another call to Eddie, but Lafayette rang first.

  ‘What’s up?’ said Harper. ‘I hope it’s good news.’

  ‘Sure is, Harper. The woman from your basement? It’s not Denise. She could still be alive, Tom.’

  Silence.

  ‘Tom, you there? It’s not her, man, you hear me?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tom said weakly. ‘I hear you. Thank you.’

  He put the phone down and sat still for about ten seconds, trying to stop the tide of relief from overwhelming him. Sebastian was true to his word. He wanted Tom to feel pain. More pain than he could imagine. He had to find Sebastian. He had to get Denise back. He called Eddie.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘It’s not Denise,’ said Harper. ‘It’s someone else he used to try to make us think she was dead.’

  ‘Sick fuck,’ said Eddie. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘It’s good it’s not her, Eddie, but we’ve got to nail this and find her. Are you in yet?’

  The line started to crackle. Harper didn’t know it, but Eddie was following a young woman through a low door. ‘What you say, Harper?’

  ‘I want a name. Where are you?’

  ‘We’re in the stacks now. The lovely Julia is giving me a guided tour of their records. Nearly there, Harps.’

  ‘Call me,’ said Harper. ‘The moment you get a name.’

  ‘Sure thing. Julia and I are on it.’

  Harper couldn’t count on Eddie’s news being good, so continued with his own checking. Twenty minutes in, when he was only a fraction of the way down the list, it occurred to him that he hadn’t even run these names through Blue Team’s database. Something might click. He took his list over to Garcia. ‘Stop the phoning for a moment. I want these entered on the database, see if anything comes up.’

  ‘Sure thing,’ said Garcia.

  Twenty minutes later, he called over to Harper. ‘Listen up, we got a hit.’

  Harper rushed across. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing definite, but one of the names cross-referenced with a call we got from a lady in Queens.’

  ‘Which name?’

  ‘Dresden. Woman called in a potential domestic situation and blurted out that she thought her husband was the American Devil.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Call came in under an hour ago. Patrol have been and gone. She was fine. She panicked. Look, Harper, don’t get your hopes up. We get fifty of these a day.’

  ‘Sure we do,’ said Harper, ‘but I got seven names that Mo Macy used when he was being fostered around and I’m thinking Sebastian lived there with him. This woman has one of those names. What’s the address?’

  ‘Just off the Triborough road, I think. Hang on while I check.’ A couple of minutes later he looked up from the database. ‘Got it. And guess what? Your botanical guys came up with five locations for winter-flowering cherry and this address is a couple of minutes from one of them.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Harper. He looked at the address. Was this really him? He couldn’t believe that he’d just kept his name. He’d probably just been happy that he wasn’t a Hummel any more. He called Eddie.

  ‘What is it, Harps? We’re in the files,’ said Eddie.

  ‘Look up Dresden.’

  Eddie was silent for a moment. Harper heard files moving and papers rustling. Then a woman’s voice in the background called out. ‘John and Jamie Dresden took two boys in August 1982. Sebastian and Maurice.’

  ‘You hear that, Harper? What you got?’

  ‘I heard it,’ said Harper. ‘I think we got him.’ He paused. ‘Remember this, Eddie. I want you to remember what it feels like just before we take down this bastard.’

  They had Hostage Rescue Team running the show, led by Special Agent Baines and his fierce-looking colleagues in black uniform with a vast array of weaponry. He took control of the operation, keeping the vehicles quiet at both ends of Nick Dresden’s street. Then the teams moved slowly down the suburban road. Four armed men walking in the centre of the road from each direction, flanked by supporting officers running into each house as they passed, keeping the neighbours safe and quiet.

  The rest of the team watched from the end of the street. Nick’s house was an ordinary working home. A couple of kids’ bicycles had been abandoned on the lawn. Nothing but plain everyday signs of normality.

  The Hostage Rescue Team fell into position at the front and back of the house and suddenly rushed the doors. The front door splintered in two.

  From afar, the detectives of Blue Team could hear almost nothing. The whole operation was over in under two minutes. Then the team appeared on the lawn and radioed to Baines.

  ‘House secured. Suspect is not present. I repeat. The suspect is not present. Wife and kids are unharmed but he’s gone.’

  Chapter One Hundred and Ten

  The Lair

  December 4, 9.45 a.m.

  Time drifted in different ways in the dark. It wasn’t linear, it moved in waves and pulses. She was sure it hadn’t been long. Certainly not a whole night and day, but the outer door was opening. It wasn’t easy. It was stuck, but the killer barged through. Denise was still lying on her side. She sat up. This was the end.

  Sebastian was lugging a huge pair of bolt cutters under his arm. He got to the barred door and placed them on the ground. ‘How you feeling, Doctor?’

  She looked at him and stared. There was nothing for her to say, nothing to do. The killer was going to cut through the door. He was going to be able to put his hands on her. She’d been trying to avoid the thoughts about her future that were chasing her breath away.

  Be strong, she kept on saying inside her head. Be strong.

  ‘A little preoccupied, Denise?’ said Sebastian. He picked up the bolt cutters and started to unwind the wire safety grips. ‘It’s a beautiful day outside, you know. It’s one of those days when you really want to take a long walk across a field or by the ocean. Not so cold. You like to walk?’

  Denise stared ahead. Be strong. She turned away from him. She imagined her father. She closed her eyes. ‘What do I do?’ she whispered. ‘Come on, old man, you always said you’d be there for me. What do I do?’

  There was no answer. Her mind was frozen with fear. The sound of Sebastian working away behind her. She saw her father sitting as he always had, his two hands clasped on the prison table, leaning back in his chair, his face pale and still. Light a fantastic sparkler. That was what he said. Light a fantastic sparkler. She heard it again and again. She didn’t know what it meant.

  Her eyes darted about the room. Back to Sebastian.

  ‘You’re going to taste sweet,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking about nothing else. Just you and me. I’ve not slept all night. Nick’s gone now, you know that? I think he’s gone for good.’

  Denise stared past him. She wasn’t listening. She was concentrating hard. A fantastic sparkler was what she needed. She looked up at the single light bulb. There was nothing she could do.

  Sebastian finally released the cutters, opened the small thick jaws and snapped shut its compound hinges.

  ‘We’re ready to roll, Denise. I want to get you ready. I want to get Harper here. I bet you want that too.’

  He saw Denise pull the stool to the centre of the room. She stepped on to it. ‘What you planning to do, Denise? Jump on me?’

  Suddenly, the l
ight went out and the room was pitch dark.

  ‘So that’s your plan,’ came Sebastian’s disembodied voice. ‘You think you can stop me by turning out the light. I lived half my life in the dark, Denise. I’m not afraid. The dark is where I’m happiest.’

  She heard the bolt cutter chink against the first bar. Sebastian took a moment to check the jaw with his fingers. ‘First one, Denise, first cut.’

  He squeezed the long metal handles of the bolt cutters and felt the jaws push through the steel. The resistance increased and Sebastian used all his strength to push until the jaws bit right through. He repeated the operation at the top of the bar and the steel jangled to the floor.

  ‘First one down, Denise. I reckon I could slip through with just two missing, what do you think?’

  The metallic chink started up again. Sebastian’s breathing emanated from the dark, like the sound of a beast. A low thumping in her ears was the sound of her own pulse. She was focused but terrified. She just kept on hearing her daddy’s voice. ‘Light a fantastic sparkler, like I always used to do. Then you can see for miles and miles and miles.’

  Chapter One Hundred and Eleven

  Dresden Home

  December 4, 10.20 a.m.

  At Nick Dresden’s suburban home, Dee was taken into one of the small back bedrooms and interviewed. There was no time for taking people down to the precinct; they needed information now. The two children were taken by social services and the house was pulled to pieces by a team of forty officers from the CSU, Blue Team and the Bureau.

  The Feds had their control truck out on the lawn and had everything on Nick Dresden in an instant. He was a nobody from nowhere. His record was clean.

  Harper worked on the lair. He knew a thing or two about a man’s lair. It had to be close enough to dispose of the trophies and return to the wife. He looked at the blue Merc in the driveway. ‘A blue car,’ said Harper. Denise’s profile had brought them to this address. It was her profile that Dee had read and recognized. Denise’s profile had worked.

  ‘If he’s been anywhere recently, then this car is going to tell the story,’ said Harper. He called in the CSU. ‘Give us anything you can on the car.’ There would be forensic evidence, but Harper knew it would take time. Too much time.

  The Crime Scene detective looked at the car. ‘We’ll need to do a chemical spectroscopy analysis on the material. We need the lab.’

  ‘Fuck the lab,’ said Harper. ‘What can you tell me in the next ten minutes?’

  ‘Okay, but it won’t be much.’

  ‘I want a grain of sand. Anything.’

  Harper watched as a team got the car lifted and slid underneath it, scraping the tyres and the undercarriage. He looked into each little clear Petri dish. They looked full of plain old dirt.

  ‘Can you tell anything?’

  ‘We’ve got four minutes left, give us a break.’

  A microscope was brought from the van and the samples were quickly put on slides. Each slide was then passed through the microscope.

  ‘Okay,’ said Harper. ‘Ten minutes is up. This could save someone’s life. Where’s this car been?’

  ‘Well, it’s been somewhere with sand. Probably coastal. There looks like there’s faecal bacteria here too. Algae too from the footwell. Possibly somewhere damp, somewhere underground. Sewers?’

  ‘Yeah, well, that narrows it!’ said Harper. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Just one more thing. Don’t know what it is, but there are chemical traces here too. We’ll have to check, but these are refined chemicals. Medical or industrial supplies, possibly.’

  Harper chewed over the information. There weren’t many places in New York City that stored chemicals. He was near water. Sewers possibly. Industrial zone. It was something. Better than nothing.

  Harper crossed to the Feds’ operations truck. ‘Give me his employment history in New York.’

  ‘Okay. Most recently, he’s working in marketing and sales. He supplied beautician salons with nail polish remover.’

  ‘That’s how he came across the girls,’ said Harper. ‘What else?’

  ‘He’s got a long history of short-term employment. We’ve got a two-year stint as a salesman selling art materials to schools; another two years working at MoMA in the acquisitions department. He’s worked many places as a salesman - he worked a year at Senderos, Mace Crindle, KCs, Andersons. Take a look.’

  ‘I don’t know the names. What are they?’

  ‘Senderos sells paper. Mace Crindle is the old chemical plant. KCs is food, Andersons is art supplies again.’

  ‘Show me more about Mace Crindle. Can you get it on a city map?’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Quick as you can. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover. He can’t go home any more, so he knows this is it. And that’s going to make him very dangerous.’

  Chapter One Hundred and Twelve

  The Lair

  December 4, 10.40 a.m.

  Deep underground, Denise crawled forward towards the bars. She could hear the cutters snip through the bottom of the second bar. There was one more cut to go. Then he would be in.

  ‘It’s going to be nice to get some pictures of you,’ Sebastian said. ‘I’ve not shown you my exhibition, but you’re going be an important part. So is Tom Harper. I’m going to put you out like bait to get him here, then I’m going to kill you. You understand that? I’m going to cut your heart out.’

  Denise stayed silent. She was waiting for the moment when the second bar fell.

  The final cut, then Sebastian’s laugh as the bar hit the concrete floor with a clatter.

  ‘Well now, here we are. Here we are. Now don’t try anything stupid, Denise. If you do, I’ll make this a whole lot worse.’

  Sebastian put his hands on the bars. Denise could hear his clothes brushing against the thin gap.

  Then she lit her fantastic sparkler. She flicked the light back on. Except the bulb was missing and the wires had been pulled out of the damp, decaying plaster and wrapped around the steel bars of the door.

  The cell lit up like a firework. Sebastian was momentarily bright with sparks, then his body was thrown back against the wall. She heard a thump in the darkness.

  Seconds passed. Denise flicked the light switch off. Maybe he was dead. She crossed to the body in the dark. Then a roar of pure rage blasted against her face as two hands grabbed her throat in the darkness.

  ‘I always give my girls a chance, Denise, and that was yours. You failed.’ He took out a flashlight and shone it in her face. He pushed her towards the bed.

  ‘I need to lie down, Denise.’ He forced her on to the bed. He was unsteady on his feet. ‘I feel . . . strange.’

  In the dark, damp cellar, Sebastian lay down on the bed beside her and put his arm around her waist. His hands didn’t touch her. The electric shock must’ve drained his strength. She waited, but he didn’t move.

  Denise Levene lay in terrified silence, feeling Sebastian’s heavy body close against hers and his arm resting over her stomach.

  She felt his breathing become deep and regular. He was unconscious. There was a sleeping monster beside her. There was nothing to stop her pulling away, smashing his head in with the bolt cutters if she could find them.

  For what seemed like a whole hour she considered all her options. She wondered whether she had enough strength to incapacitate him with one blow. She tried to think where she could hit him. Across the bridge of the nose? On his temple? In his groin?

  She didn’t know, and anyway he was very strong and he was insane. She knew that pain was not the same for psychopaths as for normal people. They could sometimes keep going even if they were shot.

  She concluded that she couldn’t be sure of hurting him enough. Her mind suddenly filled with thoughts of escape. She could risk it and try the door. Then what? Trapped underground with a psychopath you’d just betrayed.

  She wanted her life. She didn’t want to die down here. If he was sleeping heavily, she could c
reep out, maybe get ahead of him . . . Get out . . . The thought of it already seemed alien to her. The freedom she longed for was so near and yet so distant. It amazed her to see how quickly she’d become accustomed to this hole. And to him. It terrified her.

  Now here was a chance. Perhaps the only chance that she would ever have. She lay awake, in the dark, planning her escape over and over in her mind. She would act. And by the time she needed to act, she would be ready. It was then she would make her escape.

  Denise lay for another half-hour, rationalizing everything. In the face of all her trauma, she shut her feelings and reactions into a box in her mind. The mind has a capacity for suffering. She imagined a three-inch bubble of gelatinous liquid all around her body. The world was muffled and distant. She promised herself that she would deal with her fears at a later date. She told herself to stop whining on about it. Get over it. People are being slaughtered across the city. You’re the one chance they’ve got.

  Stop being so fucking emotional! Stop!

  With the thought came the clarity that she needed. Denise looked out into the pitch darkness.

  She knew every inch of that cell. She knew how to operate in the dark now. She had that advantage over him. She could find each wall, each corner, the door, almost instinctively. He was not used to it.

  Use your natural advantage.

  He was also fast asleep, his body in shutdown, while she was wide awake. Her mind was as clear as it ever was. Crystal clear.

  Now it was time.

  She counted to ten and then began to move her body away from him. The mattress was so hard there was very little give when she moved. Her left leg left the side of the bed and moved, inch by inch, towards the floor. Her pelvis inched sideways too. This was the important moment. Her body would leave his. Contact would be lost.