Denise smiled across the room at someone she didn’t recognize. She was tired now and wanted to get off home. As the party was slowing down, Denise managed to find an office off the reception room in which to call her partner, who was out somewhere on the campaign trail. Daniel was a fitness-obsessed, carrot-juice-loving liberal but he was hers. They’d been together five years. He worked long hours as an adviser on environmental issues to a Democrat senator. He was one of the good guys looking after the planet. Denise listened to the ringing. She could see him sitting on a lazy chair in his vest and shorts, a running magazine on his knees, the news on in the background. He picked up.

‘How did it go, darling?’ Daniel asked in his slow West Coast tones. He’d been unable to attend her lecture and had sent her flowers by way of an apology. The senator always came first, but Daniel made sure it never felt that way to Denise and she appreciated those little touches.

‘That’s my last one for a while,’ she said. ‘It felt hard seeing everyone again. But it went well. How was Fahrenheit when you left?’

‘He was missing you, but he’s got your sister with him now, so he’ll be in doggy heaven with chocolate biscuits at every meal.’

Denise loved her dog and her partner in that order. Daniel was wonderful when he had the time but her spaniel offered her the unconditional, uncomplicated affection that she remembered from her childhood.

‘I might not stay long,’ Denise said. ‘I want to go home, get out of this suit and eat a tub of Ben and Jerry’s watching Angels with Dirty Faces.’

‘I’d love to join you.’

‘Let’s say a prayer to a boy who couldn’t run as fast as I could,’ said Denise in a terrible James Cagney impression.

‘It’s a good thing you’re not taking up acting.’

‘Yeah, it’s also a good thing you’re out of reach right now.’

‘Not like you to be violent,’ he said. ‘Maybe it’s working with the NYPD.’

Denise paused. ‘Heh, it’s the same cops who put their lives on the line trying to keep the city safe so that liberal assholes can make like they own the place.’

‘Apologies,’ said Daniel. ‘I’m sure they’re doing all those liberal assholes a great service.’

‘Apology accepted, you liberal asshole.’

Daniel laughed. ‘God, I love it when you talk dirty. If I was with you right now—’

‘You’re big with the mouth, Daniel, but you’re never at home to follow these promises through.’

‘Saving the planet’s an important job. Can’t just switch it off.’

‘It’s not the job I want switched off, it’s you. You need to lie back once in a while.’

‘Hey, are you watching the news?’ Daniel leaned forward and watched the ticker tape crossing the bottom of Fox News.

‘No, I’m in an office. What’s going on?’

‘They’re reporting a homicide in New York.’

‘What happened? When was this?’

‘It’s just breaking now. A woman was found dead out on Ward’s Island.’

Denise focused. ‘Is it linked to Mary-Jane’s murder?’

‘They’re speculating. Fox News are right on the scene with live feeds. You should take a look.’

‘I can’t here. Tell me what happened.’

‘Like I said, a woman killed and dumped on the rocks. It looks as though you might have your work cut out, Denise.’

‘Yeah, well, I want to help.’

She remained on the phone to Daniel for another minute, until she signed off with her usual ending: ‘Love you till tomorrow.’

She opened the door and looked into the crowded reception room, full of bright and smiling faces, all there to wish her well. Denise’s eyes were not focused on any of them. She had to leave quickly. She wanted to see the homicide report.

Chapter Seven

East Harlem

November 16, 6.00 p.m.

Harper’s suitcase was sitting packed on a chair, but he hadn’t gone anywhere. Not yet, at least. In the background the radio crackled updates on the pattern killer they were calling all kinds of names. Harper had been listening and watching closely since he’d seen the victim’s face the day before.

The murder had kept him awake all night. After four hours of restless turning, he just couldn’t shake the image of the girl on the rocks from floating around his head. She wouldn’t go away. Harper wanted to get out there. He wanted to know how a killer got cherry blossom in the fall. Unlike his endless thoughts about Lisa, he knew what to do with homicide cases. He knew the right questions to ask.

His head buzzed with ideas and possible leads already, but he had resisted a call to Lafayette. He had lost his cool once already with Officer Cob. He’d let the anger get the better of him - he still didn’t trust himself to be returned to the unsentimental wisecrackers of North Manhattan Homicide. Every weakness was fair game on the homicide squad.

But there was a violent sociopath out there and one thing Tom Harper knew for certain was that he was only just creeping out of the shadows. It was clear that the killer seemed to have spent an extended time with each corpse. The killer had found his voice: a demented voice that wanted to be heard.

Tom kept thinking as he walked down to the subway, took the south train to 51st Street and walked towards Fifth Avenue.

The main entrance to St Patrick’s Cathedral was special to Tom. Lisa was a Catholic and loved the place more than any other. When she walked out on him, it was the first place he looked for her. If Lisa was in trouble, this was where she’d come. And on the odd occasion when they’d argued, this was where he knew to find her. This was the place where she lit candles for her grandmother and grandfather, where she attended Mass and went to confession. The cathedral had been her place of refuge and Harper had often wandered in by her side and watched her walk down the centre aisle towards the altar. What she thought about, Tom didn’t know.

Outside, the Gothic spires and pointed arches thrust upwards between the big blue glass windows of the office blocks. Harper looked up at the rose window that formed a perfect point of focus like some magical point of connection, then walked through the great doors. Inside, you could disappear from New York into a vast space for reflection and thought. Harper wasn’t sure if he was religious or not, but the place moved him.

The cathedral was just about emptying out. The stone still resonated with the voices of the crowds. Harper found a pew near the back, slipped across and felt the reassuring smooth wood against his hand. He stared up into the great open height and the stained glass. He needed to think about his life and this was the only place he could think of to come for some kind of direction. He put his elbows on the pew in front of him and lowered his head.

He tried to push negative thoughts away and let his mind drift. He let recent images flit through his mind: Lafayette, the photographs, the girl on the rocks, Lisa, the nuthatch, a family of four all hand in hand by the lake . . .

Half an hour later, a tall figure appeared at the back of the cathedral. He looked around, his eyes widening in surprise, and then he spotted Harper in the back pew. He slid in behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.

Harper’s eyes opened as a familiar voice whispered in his ear. ‘I heard on the grapevine that the department asked you back in. What you waiting for? You can’t refuse that. It’s not right. Fuck that. It’s serious. Come with me, my friend. I’ll save you from this cult.’

Harper turned and smiled. His partner of three years, Eddie Kasper, was sitting there, his bright street clothes incongruous in the vast stone space, his voice even more so. No one in the department dared to rattle Harper, but this young black man had no fear at all, and, what’s more, he even seemed to like the big guy.