American Devil th&dl-1

by Oliver Stark

  The murder of Chloe Mestella was real all right. She was a beautiful young West Virginian prom queen from a wealthy farming family and she’d been raped and murdered in her own bedroom while her parents entertained downstairs. It was a savage murder. Marty had read the details and winced. She was real. Chloe was a real girl, not a character from Nick’s imagination. She was real and she was dead and Nick was still not over it. Marty had to consider why that might be.

  He tried to forget about it, but his curiosity and the media’s obsession with a rubber heiress called Kitty who was stalked on the day that Nick turned up with her photograph on his phone wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t get to grips with what he was thinking. Maybe, Nick had killed Chloe out of rage and jealousy. Maybe Nick had killed Kitty. He couldn’t be sure: Nick was a delusional paranoid — fantasy was his modus operandi. It was all just coincidence, right?

  Marty felt better when Nick didn’t turn up for his session. But later even that got to him. What if Nick was watching him? Marty was a self-confessed, T-shirt-wearing coward. He wanted to run away and hide. He wanted to tell his wife. He wanted her to look after him again, to sort out the big problems.

  His wife appeared from the bathroom. She was smiling as she struck a pose in her underwear. She was still gorgeous to look at — all dark eyes and lush dark hair. He’d just stopped seeing it. Somehow, the woman that all other men would still drool over had become too available to him. His eyes had glazed over.

  He smiled up at her and put his arm round her waist. She moaned a little as he moved his hands over her soft skin. This was just what he needed, a little afternoon of relaxation. He kissed her stomach as she ran her fingers through his thinning hair.

  She pushed him back on the bed. She wanted to please him. That had been her undoing. Wanting to please a guy like Marty. It had spoiled him, no question. She unbuckled his belt with a flourish and unzipped him. A minute passed and her expression changed from that of a sultry mistress to sadness and disappointment. Marty lay there feeling a sweat form on his brow. What the fuck is happening, he was thinking as he tried to bring to mind all the sexy things he’d ever thought, but all he could see was Chloe and Kitty Hunyardi. Fuck! This hadn’t happened before. Not ever! Fuck me, he pleaded, not with her, it’s not fair.

  His wife raised her head. Her face was a picture of self-loathing. ‘I just don’t attract you any more, do I, Marty? I’m sorry.’

  Marty looked at her in despair and shook his head. ‘You do, I promise you, you do. I’m just…’ He reached out to her and tried to hug her, but she pulled away.

  ‘I bet this doesn’t happen with your lovers, does it?’ She stared at him and he had nothing to say. The look of disgust on her face would remain with him for life.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  East Harlem, 7-Eleven

  November 27, 2.23 p.m.

  The air outside had dipped a few degrees and the sky had darkened. In the gloom, Harlem looked more deserted than ever. Only a few stragglers were about, propped up by steel fencing posts and drinking direct from the bottle.

  Tom Harper and Eddie Kasper drove to the 7-Eleven. This was Lottie Bixley’s last known location. According to the statement of Lottie’s brother, she had left her two young children in the apartment while she went out to get cigarettes. It was only a five-minute walk on foot, through some dangerous territory if you were the wrong type of person or just happened to meet the wrong type of person. If Lottie Bixley had been in a hurry, she might have taken one of the many side alleys and who knows who she might’ve met.

  ‘What do you make of it, Eddie? How did Lottie’s killer take her? What’s his style?’ asked Harper, tapping on the Buick’s cheap plastic dash.

  ‘Posed as a john, probably.’

  ‘Dangerous for the kids, isn’t it?’ said Harper. ‘Given that she wanted to clean up her act. She would’ve returned home if she could have. The 7-Eleven was a short walk. If she’s going to jump in a car with a trick, she’s going to make sure someone is with the kids, and she’d thrown Carl out.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Kasper, nodding to some tune in his head.

  ‘If she’s not going to get in with a john, either someone took her by force, or maybe she knew him.’

  ‘That’s a big jump, Tom. You got any evidence on that piece of bread or you just going to eat that big surmise sandwich all by itself?’

  ‘I’m just casting around, Eddie.’

  ‘We’ve taken one big fucking leap from a walk home to a known associate.’

  ‘Hey, that ain’t such a big leap.’

  The sedan drew up outside the worn-out 7-Eleven store. An old white van was parked right across the kerb. ‘Parks like you do, Eddie.’

  ‘Sure does, but I got a shield says I got a right to do it.’

  Graffiti was scrawled across the metal shutters, tagged by hundreds of young artists. In the centre was a cartoon of a half-naked blonde, winking. The legend on her panties read The only Bush you can rely on.

  The detectives approached the store. The door jangled. A small intense-looking guy in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants was sitting on a box of tinned peaches, pricing some tubes of syrup. A big guy in a red top was standing at the counter counting coins.

  ‘How you doing, bro?’ said Kasper. ‘You in charge here?’

  The big guy shook his head. ‘I ain’t in charge. Mr Marconi is the man.’ He pointed at the guy in the Hawaiian.

  ‘Mr Marconi?’ called Eddie.

  The short man stood up and looked Eddie up and down. ‘What the fuck do you want — fashion advice?’

  Kasper smiled. ‘Calm down, feller. We’re cops. Just want to ask a question or two.’

  At the mention of cops, Mo shivered and stepped back from the counter. They had found him out once before, all those years ago. But he had been careful this time. He edged backwards as Benny Marconi gave the two cops a wide sardonic smile. ‘Just what I fucking need, a couple of New York’s finest.’

  Kasper laughed and turned to Harper. ‘See, he likes us.’

  Harper didn’t smile. ‘Sorry to bother you, sir. Can I ask you a couple of questions?’

  ‘Sure. What else do I have to do? This is my store — you get it?’

  ‘We get it, Mr Marconi,’ said Harper. ‘Listen, we’re investigating the disappearance of a woman by the name of Lottie Bixley. She was on her way to this store around Thanksgiving, early morning. Do you work Thursday nights?’

  Benny nodded sarcastically. ‘Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.’

  ‘Well, maybe you can help us. Have you seen this hooker around and about?’ Tom Harper handed him the photograph of Lottie Bixley. It showed a smiling woman about 110 pounds, blue eyes, aged eighteen — beautiful.

  Benny looked at the photograph. The detectives waited. He continued to look. ‘Pretty girl. It’s a fucking shame,’ said Benny, handing the photograph back.

  ‘Did she come and buy anything?’ Kasper went in so close that Benny could smell his breath.

  ‘Back off and I might give you something. Anyway, the answer’s no. I never saw the girl. Or maybe I did. I see girls like that all the time. I got nothing to say.’

  ‘How about the big guy?’ said Harper.

  ‘Try him. He’s slow, but if he saw her he’ll remember all right.’

  Tom Harper walked across to the big guy. Redtop was visibly shaking and standing with his back hard against the wall. ‘Hey there, no need to worry. What’s your name?’

  ‘Mo.’

  ‘Okay, Mo, I just want to show you a picture.’ He handed him the photograph he’d taken from Lottie’s brother.

  Mo looked at the photograph. The detectives waited. Mo continued to look. Harper looked at the suitcase beside the till. It was a large brown leather case. ‘What’s the case for?’ he asked.

  ‘Laundry,’ said Mo.

  ‘Do you know her?’ said Harper.

  ‘Pretty,’ said Mo, handing the photograph back.

&nbs
p; Kasper went in close and put an arm round the big guy. ‘Did she come and buy anything?’

  ‘Sure, yeah, that’s right. She came in one night. Don’t know what day it was. Nearly two a.m. We’re a 7-Eleven, but we never shut.’

  ‘You got a good memory there.’

  ‘Sure. She bought a box of Viceroy Kings.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘A box of Viceroy Kings. She gave me a five-dollar bill.’

  ‘What was she wearing?’ asked Harper.

  ‘Pink dress. White shoes.’

  ‘She say anything to you, big guy? Mention anyone following her?’

  Mo shook his head.

  ‘She just left?’

  Mo nodded.

  ‘Think some more, Mo. Did she have anyone with her?’

  Mo shook his head. Benny appeared by his side. ‘Are you this slow on the uptake all the fucking time, gentlemen? She bought cigarettes and left. What more do you want? Now let this guy earn his living.’

  ‘Just one more thing,’ said Harper. ‘Is that your van outside blocking half the sidewalk, the one with MARCONI all along the side?’

  ‘Hey, you going to ticket me? The fucking axle broke.’

  ‘Get it off the sidewalk or I’ll have it towed.’

  ‘Tow the thing, you’ll be doing me a favour.’

  It was all they were going to get. So they knew she got the cigarettes, left the store alive and headed home. And then, in the five-minute walk, something happened to her and she ended up four days later in a dumpster.

  Eddie looked across at Harper. ‘What next, boss? You think we should take the big guy in for questioning? Not that we’d get much, by the looks of him.’

  ‘You should, but it’s not my call any more. You back on duty tomorrow?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Keep me posted, will you? Anything come up, I’d like to know.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Missing persons have a database and she might have been logged. I want to check it out. I’ll catch up tomorrow. And Eddie.’

  ‘Yeah, man?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Chapter Sixty

  Marty Fox’s Suite

  November 28, 11.30 a.m.

  There were about 70 million hits for the word ‘Viagra’. Marty Fox raised an eyebrow. Thank shit, I’m not alone, he thought. It was terrible news that his stresses since the last meeting with Nick had hit the bedroom. But there were different approaches to problems in life: one was to face them head-on and talk to someone, the other was to try to hide from them and hope a quick fix with some strong drugs would help.

  Marty was going for the quick fix. What am I going to do if I lose my one talent? He put in an order and hoped that this would solve his problem. God, he was sorry about his wife. He’d insulted her in a way he hated himself for. Never again, he declared, typing in his credit card details.

  He had also done what he could to get rid of his disturbing client. He’d asked his PA to cancel the next session with Nick and, in fact, cancel all sessions. He told her if she re-booked him this time he’d fire her. That would do it, he thought. Refuse to see Nick, bury his head in the sand and buy Viagra for the droop. Welcome back to normality.

  He smiled. He was beginning to feel himself again. He picked up a carton of cigarettes and lit one, leaning back in his leather chair. So what if he was breaking the law. It felt good. He inhaled deeply and felt the tingle of nicotine ripple through his veins. Sweet heaven!

  At that moment, the door opened and Nick entered the room.

  ‘What the hell do you want?’

  His PA ran in after him. ‘Sorry, Dr Fox, he just pushed past.’

  ‘I need help, Doctor. It’s urgent.’

  Marty leaned forward. His problem had just come back. He waved his PA out of the office. ‘It’s okay. I’ll handle this.’

  ‘I need to see you, Doctor. You saw the news in the paper. Do you know what that means? You saw the photograph of the girl. Kitty Hunyardi. You must’ve thought what I thought. I’ve been terrified. Do you think I had anything to do with it?’

  ‘Nick, Nick,’ said Marty, taking control. ‘I reflected on our last session. Therapy needs trust and confidence and objectivity. I don’t think I can provide you with those elements. I have a list of other therapists you might want to see. I’m not a specialist in this area. They will be able to help you. Unfortunately, I can’t. I’m sorry.’

  Nick was wearing a cheap suit with a faint pinstripe. He looked like he’d slept in his car or something. ‘I have to know. I have some more information for you.’

  ‘Information?’ said Marty. ‘What kind of information?’

  ‘Can I sit down?’

  ‘No! I told you… Nick, you’ve gotta listen…’

  Nick sat. ‘I can’t tell anyone else. What I’m about to tell you, Marty, will shock you. I’ve thought about telling you before but I’ve been afraid. But we have a connection. I feel that I can tell you. I can trust you.’

  ‘Whatever it is, Nick, I don’t want to know. I’m not going to listen.’ Marty got up and walked to his desk. ‘This session is over. You need to leave.’

  There was a silence. Marty was hoping that the lunatic would lose interest, but Nick just sat there. If he doesn’t move, thought Marty, I’ll just get up and go myself.

  ‘Okay, Marty, have it your way.’

  ‘Yeah, I will.’

  Nick stood and approached Marty’s desk. He took out a photograph and laid it on the desk before Marty. It was a picture of a beautiful girl.

  Marty didn’t recognize the picture. He looked at Nick. ‘What?’

  ‘Just after I heard about Kitty, I went home. I downloaded pictures from my camera to see some shots of my kids and I found several pictures of this girl. I’ve never seen her before.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Her name’s Rose Stanhope. That’s all I know.’

  ‘How do you know her name, Nick?’

  ‘There’s a picture of her at a conference of some kind. Her name’s on a label on her lapel. Rose Stanhope.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ said Marty. ‘You think she’s next?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything.’

  ‘Then who took the pictures?’

  ‘This is who Sebastian wants,’ said Nick, almost in a whisper. ‘This is his next girl. I think he scopes them and then attacks. Sebastian always sees the worst in people. He killed Kitty, what’s he going to do next? I don’t know what to think.’

  Marty felt the warmth drain from his skin. ‘Hey, Nick, this has to stop. This is a fantasy you’ve got. Kitty was a coincidence. These are just photographs. You’re not a killer, you’re just disturbed. You live in a fantasy. You’re projecting your feelings into these strange murders. You’re from West Virginia, right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Nick.

  ‘And you were around, right, when this terrible thing happened to Chloe. Am I right?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’

  ‘But you didn’t know Chloe yourself, did you?’

  Nick thought for a moment. ‘I wasn’t lucky enough to know Chloe, not me, no. She was at my high school. In the year above.’

  ‘That’s right. It wasn’t you. It was someone else, wasn’t it? But for some reason, you felt guilty for it because you had a crush on her.’

  ‘That’s right, Doc, I did feel guilty. But it doesn’t matter. It was Sebastian who killed her.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Chloe was my angel. He doesn’t like me having angels. He likes to destroy them.’

  ‘What or who is Sebastian?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s just a fantasy, Nick. You’re projecting all your fears on to this killer.’

  ‘I just know I’ve stood by while Sebastian has done these things. I can’t any more.’

  ‘No, you didn’t, Nick. You’ve just got yourself caught up in some fantasy. You need proper help. We need to get you to see Dr Bartholomew. This is a
fantasy. He can help.’

  ‘No, it’s you I need. I’m trying to get help here. Sebastian…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t tell you any more. I don’t know any more. You can help me to stop him. Help me to stop him taking over.’

  Marty’s mind was a white sheet of fear. He couldn’t think at all. He was scared for himself now. Perhaps this man had killed Kitty Hunyardi. He stared at him hard.

  ‘Shocking, isn’t it, Dr Fox? I’m as shocked as you. Please help me.’

  ‘What do you want? I can’t help. Go to the cops. You need to get yourself sectioned or locked up.’

  ‘I want to know what I am. I want to know why something happened to Chloe. I want to know what the hell is going on. I want it to stop.’ He pulled out an envelope and poured the contents on to the glass table. ‘A diamond necklace. I found it in my pocket. Where the hell would I get a necklace like this?’

  Marty didn’t know what to think.

  ‘The American Devil has killed rich girls. Why do I have a rich girl’s necklace in my pocket? What am I going to do?’

  ‘Listen,’ Marty said, ‘we’ve got to get you some serious help.’

  ‘I’ll be put away for the rest of my life. Please help me.’

  Nick was a pathetic, weak figure on the couch. Marty looked across. ‘Look, I can’t help you. Have you not fucking noticed? I’m a fake, a flake, a pathetic excuse for a therapist. I know nothing about how to heal people. I just talk to them. I just want an easy life. We’ll just say goodbye and forget all about it. How about that?’

  ‘Then Sebastian wins,’ said Nick.

  Marty reached for his cigarettes and lit another. ‘I can’t help that. I really can’t.’