Harper looked up. Kasper being up at 6 a.m. wasn’t a good sign. ‘What’s up?’

Eddie Kasper was shaking his head. ‘Are you looking to be sainted or have you lost your sub-prime mortgage and are sorting out alternative accommodation with the homeless doorway rentals?’

‘I’m just connecting, like my psychoanalyst tells me to.’

‘She does, does she?’

‘This is a type A behaviour, for which I get a reward. Type A is the kind of behaviour I’m supposed to do more of, so I’m doing more of it. And you know what, crazy as Dr Levene is, she’s right. It makes me feel a whole lot happier.’

‘Are you thinking of fucking her, is that it?’

‘Your mind is a sewer, Eddie. There are other motivations in life.’

‘So you’re just being good for goodness’ sake?’

‘Goodness is its own reward,’ said Harper.

‘I fucking hate those kinds of rewards.’

‘Cut to the chase, Eddie. What’s happened? What the hell got you out of bed at dawn?’

Eddie shook his head, ‘Sorry, man, they found another body. A girl in Yorkville.’

Harper felt his stomach clench. ‘Damn this bastard. He’s like a machine.’

The two of them walked in silence from the darkness of the doorway into the flurry of New York City. The rain started to fall harder, causing the few people who were out to rush about, covering their heads with any objects to hand. Harper stared at the ground as he walked alongside Kasper, his chin down in his collar.

Eddie’s car was round the corner, so they walked through the rain getting soaked to the sound of tyres ripping up surface water. Harper noticed the changing colour of the asphalt under the rain and the dawn light - it was almost purple. He thought of the water on the rocks at Ward’s Island. He remembered the wet ground by the corpse in the parking lot. Did this killer like water? The waves must’ve kept coming up over Grace Frazer’s body. One more piece of the illogical that would make some kind of sick sense in the killer’s mind.

Eddie pulled a pastrami and mustard sandwich from his deep jacket pocket, held it tightly in his left paw and started eating hungrily. ‘Anyhow, Harps, I’m sorry to break up the dogooding, but this one looks bad.’

Kasper’s red 1996 Pontiac was parked at an angle, half on the kerb. They both looked at it. ‘What?’ asked Kasper. ‘I was rushing to get you.’

Inside the car, Harper finally spoke. ‘What’s the situation? Fill me in.’

‘A college kid, Jessica Pascal, living in the dorm district. One of the students found her. The door of her apartment was left wide open. She was just lying there in the entrance, just like Mary-Jane.’

‘Dead?’

Eddie looked at Tom. ‘Yeah, it looks like it. We’re homicide, right? That’s when we get the call, when people are dead. Did you just think it was bad luck?’

‘Is it the same killer?’ said Harper.

‘If this is his, he’s on some roll. Three kills in a week.’

‘He’s in heat.’ Harper slipped on the seatbelt. The old leather seats crunched under his weight. ‘Any details?’

‘I ain’t got no more details, Church-boy, so don’t do your questions.’

Eddie pulled the car into gear and slipped into the traffic, causing another car to slam on the brakes and honk.

‘Any indication of the method?’

‘Bloody.’

‘How so?’

‘Don’t know. They said we gonna need to get overtime for the cleaners on this one.’

Harper stared ahead. Speeding headlong towards a bloody crime scene hadn’t figured in his plans. He’d wanted to check out his theory on Mary-Jane. He felt the whole case dragging him in.

Harper closed his eyes and rested his head back on the seat. He had already started to prepare himself for what was waiting for them in Yorkville. He was clearing his mind, trying to create a space for what was to come, a place inside his head where he kept all the bloody images and case materials. A room he could close and lock at the end of the day. A fresh murder room.

Chapter Twenty-One

Yorkville Crime Scene

November 19, 6.45 a.m.

The car took forty minutes to pass through the snarl-up and continued noisily towards the crime scene with some mid-range R&B that Harper couldn’t identify. They arrived at the corner of York Avenue and East 82nd Street. Two uniforms were taping off the entrance to the building and a small crowd of seven or eight civilians were hanging round to watch the action. Two Dodge Chargers had cut off the street with their flickering lights, but there wasn’t an ambulance in sight and the Crime Scene Unit hadn’t yet showed up.

‘It’s just the start of the day,’ said Kasper. ‘Everyone works slow for a couple of hours.’

On the fourth floor, Harper and Kasper entered the hallway and saw the entrance to the apartment. It was one of the better buildings in the area, much more expensive than the usual student could afford. They moved past the officer on the door and signed the log.

‘Watch out,’ he said. ‘It jumps right out at you.’

Tom flicked a smile towards him. ‘Thanks for the warning.’

Together, they turned the corner and looked into the interior of a smart and well-kept apartment.

‘Anyone been in yet?’ Tom called to the officer.

The man appeared at the door. ‘No one yet. We just got here, called it in and taped it off. The cavalry are on their way, Detective.’

Tom Harper and Eddie Kasper felt the icy breeze coming through the open sash window at the end of the hall. Someone had already been feeling queasy. The smell of a corpse could choke you, but the sight was worse. They looked down at the body.

The stark glare of a naked 100-watt bulb illuminated the grainy early-morning darkness of the room. Below it, the bloody remains of a sweet college kid, her future now brutally crossed out with yellow police tape: college, life, marriage, career, kids, grandkids - nada. No entrance.

Both men felt their nerves jangle. The girl’s body was directly in the doorway, her legs close together, a white cloth covering just her groin as if hiding her modesty. She was cut to pieces.

Eddie grimaced and popped a strong mint into his mouth. He offered one to Harper, who declined and pressed his palm to the door frame. ‘This bastard wanted that to be the first thing anyone saw.’

They had to step over the body to get into the apartment. The floor was red and slimy throughout with large bloody footprints all over the carpet and linoleum. This killer didn’t care enough to cover his traces.

The victim’s body was lying cruciform and naked, posed like a dead Christ. Harper looked down across the body. Small cuts all over the arms, down the thighs and calves, and even in the feet. The Medical Examiner called them torture cuts. Too shallow to kill, deep enough to really hurt and always on the veins so there was enough blood to cause fear.

‘He’s taken another trophy,’ said Harper. ‘See?’

Kasper was looking round at the room. ‘I ain’t sure I could say what organs you’re supposed to have.’

‘He’s cut off her breasts,’ said Harper.

It was their man again. It had all the savagery of the three earlier kills and the body was again strangely posed. She was a young blond-haired student who had started the day with her whole life ahead of her and ended it cut to ribbons. Tom saw the two highball glasses on the small side table and leaned in. He smelt the vodka and cranberry. ‘Seems like the kid here had a guest.’

‘A date?’

‘Yeah, maybe. They had a drink and then he put enough holes in her to make a sieve. Some date. He likes to cause pain, doesn’t he? And he likes to shock. You see any flowers anywhere?’

Eddie shook his head and then pointed at the white loincloth and screwed up his face.

‘Maybe. You want to take a look?’ said Harper.