He whistled. She felt her body wake up, the saliva form in her mouth.

‘Come to me,’ said his voice.

‘Why?’ she said.

‘Come to me,’ said the voice. Again the whistle, low and long.

She remained in her seat. She could hear the trickle of water as a small stream slowly reached out from the bucket.

‘Come to me,’ said the voice. He whistled again.

Denise put her foot forward.

The water touched her toe. She recoiled quickly and then regained her confidence. The foot moved back to the edge of the stream. Denise felt the water reaching under the soles of her feet, tickling her.

‘On your knees.’ His voice was terse and severe.

Denise didn’t move. Then the whistle came and she couldn’t stop herself. She needed food. She had nothing but obedience to occupy her mind and body. Her legs bent and she lowered herself to her knees.

The water was ice cold about her shins. She shivered and goose bumps appeared all over her.

Her flesh was alive and awake. He wanted to touch her. Feather-light touches in his dungeon. He wanted to touch this one so lightly, his spirit would soar. He wanted to see the reaction of her flesh to his touch.

‘Crawl to me,’ said the voice. He whistled. She crawled across the ice-cold stream of water. Hooded, bent, cold and vulnerable.

‘Lay your head on my lap,’ he said. He whistled. She obeyed.

‘Good, good girl,’ he said. A small piece of bread was pushed into her mouth.

Chapter Ninety-Five

Interstate 87

December 3, 2.20 p.m.

In the ride down from the Catskills, Detective Harper sat one side of Marty Fox with Special Agent Baines on the other. They had to be careful with Marty. He was a definite flake and they needed him to talk.

Harper shuffled in his seat and looked across. ‘I need to know all about the killer, Marty. Tell me what he’s like.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Marty, scared and confused.

‘Just try, goddammit. We know he was being treated by you, so everything’s gotta come from you, Marty. You’re the only guy we’ve got who knows him well.’

‘Okay.’ Marty took a deep breath, tried to compose himself. ‘He’s got two personalities, as far as I can see. A guy called Nick who’s married and frightened, and the devil, who he calls Sebastian. He never seems to know when the devil’s coming. Most of my meetings were with Nick.’

‘Did you meet Sebastian?’ asked Harper.

‘Yeah, momentarily. He’s the face of terror. Quite rational, quite determined. Demented. Evil. Slow and fierce. I don’t know if it’s a game or real.’

‘What else did you find out?’ said Harper.

‘He told a story about a girl from way back.’

‘So what happened?’ said Harper, eager to get some hold on Sebastian’s motive.

‘It was a girl called Chloe Mestella,’ Marty said. ‘She was murdered in ’82. Horrific murder. She was fifteen. The killer found his way into her bedroom at night on Valentine’s Day and cut her to pieces. I looked it up. It’s a real case. There was a murdered girl.’

‘Chloe Mestella?’ said Harper. He looked at Baines. ‘You know anything?’

‘Not a thing,’ said Baines. ‘We got to find out a little more detail. Talk more, Marty. We need everything.’

Harper looked across expectantly. He had thought a lot about Denise since she’d been taken. He kept thinking of her face. The thought of her pain burrowed inside him. It felt like he was guilty of her murder or something worse. And sometimes it broke through and he imagined her pain. But now they had something to follow. ‘Speak, Marty,’ he urged.

‘Chloe Mestella. This guy, Nick, loved her. I don’t know what the hell happened.’

‘Is that it?’

‘She got killed somehow. I don’t know who did it.’

‘That’s good, Marty, just keep it coming.’

Harper stared across at Baines. They were both thinking the same thing. If this was true, then Sebastian might have killed Chloe Mestella. Someone needed to get out to West Virginia fast and see if they might just have found Sebastian’s first kill.

Chapter Ninety-Six

Dresden Home

December 3, 5.00 p.m.

The garden was stark and empty in the winter. Nick loved spring most of all. Nick was, by his own admission, heavy on the planting. He loved tulips. Strange plants. Upright and singular. In his back yard, he was digging holes about six to eight inches deep and putting a bulb in each. He had bought over a hundred bulbs. They would look great in the spring. He wanted to see the whole lot thick with the red and white throats of scores of tulips turned upward to the sky.

His son William was behind him, halfway up a cherry tree. It was great sometimes, thought Nick. It was great to get out of yourself and relax. He felt like he was doing some good.

He went inside to get himself a soda. William walked in behind him.

‘What you up to, little feller?’

‘Need a soda like you.’

‘You know how to ask for a soda?’

‘I say please and thank you.’

‘That’s right, but you’re getting water. Water is good for you, right? We remember that, don’t we?’

William took hold of a glass from the draining board. He turned the tap. Nick watched the water stream into the glass. Then he watched William tilt his head back and drink.

‘What are you looking at, Daddy?’

William’s blond hair was fine and long, his white throat upturned as he drained the glass. Sebastian was crawling somewhere inside, scratching in the distance like a wolf through the undergrowth. Nick felt the tingling rise up his spine and up his neck.

‘You need to go away now, William. Go outside and play.’

‘I want to be with you.’

‘Go now!’ Nick shouted. The tingling was getting worse. He felt the spasm starting.

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Go! Run!’

William stared, unable to move or understand.

Nick put his hand in his pocket and grabbed at the nails. He squeezed hard, but it was no good. It wasn’t working. The pain streaked across his frontal lobe. Nick felt Sebastian rise in his throat. All at once, Nick was gone and Sebastian’s arm lurched forward and grabbed William’s hand. He stared hard at the boy. William stared back. It looked like his father but it was not his father staring at him. It was someone else. His wrist was hurting. He began to cry, but his father didn’t stop. Soon, William was howling.

Dee suddenly appeared from another room and asked what was wrong. She saw her husband gripping her son and then she began to scream. Inside Sebastian’s head it was quiet. The world had stopped. Nick loved these people. He wanted to hurt Nick now. That was all. Hurt the things Nick loved. That was all he ever wanted. To hurt what Nick loved. He hated Nick. Nick was weak. Nick was an embarrassment.

His cold silent gaze moved to the right. A shining spoon caught his eye. He picked it up.

The faces in front of him were red-eyed and twisted in pain. Dee was screaming violently. He could see her mouth open and close. The inside of her mouth was red like a fresh cut. He could see the dangling flesh at the back of her throat. Her teeth, her fillings, her saliva.

At times like these, he felt so cold, yet so full of emotion. He wanted to clean the world up. All the flesh and movement. He wanted everything dead. The whole world. Nick’s wife, his children, everything.

Sebastian saw his princess - little Bethany - bright sunlight in her blond hair. Was it real? It was the secret of himself. He held the image for as long as he could. He saw her sweet, open face. Blond hair. Bright, white, sun-starved skin. Naked, she was lily white. Whiter than he thought possible. White, naked, dead.