The secret of him.

The spoon was in his right hand now. William’s hand was red. The bones were bending in his little arm and the pain was increasing. His face was intense and strange.

Dee was close now. She was pulling at him.

He moved the spoon across to William’s face, until the boy could see his comical reflection in the convex bow of the spoon.

She was his princess. Why did he keep her in his glass cage? He wanted more than anything to let her free, but he couldn’t. The glass cage had no doors, no windows. He had only to watch her suffer and suffer and suffer in silence.

He pushed William’s face against the table. He was looking out at the lawn. A thrush was fiercely pecking the grass. The thin bare branches of the goat willow moved in the soft breeze.

The spoon touched the edge of William’s eye. It was cold. The boy had stopped screaming. His father’s hand was tight against his small jawbone.

Sebastian looked down at William. Dee was hitting him now. A heavy-based pan came down on his arm with all her weight behind it. Nothing entered his world when Sebastian was reigning. Nothing. The edge of the spoon moved under the boy’s lower eyelid. What was the child saying? Sebastian stopped momentarily. Something deep within him recognized a guttural sound. William was saying something. Sebastian remembered it now. It was something the princesses had said. They had said it over and over again. He wanted to hear it. He needed to hear it.

But to hear it, he had to come out of his own cage. He had to break free.

Nick. He needed Nick now. He let him back. Suddenly, Nick was there. The scream of his wife in his ear, his arm throbbing in pain, his son held under his own hand.

He moved his hand from William’s mouth. The spoon fell to the floor and bounced to a stop.

Nick looked down at his son, now able to hear the words he was repeating over and over again.

‘Sorry, Daddy,’ William was saying. ‘Sorry, Daddy. Sorry, Daddy.’

Over and over again.

Chapter Ninety-Seven

East River

December 3, 6.04 p.m.

Nick fled the house and ran and ran until he was at the very edge of Queens overlooking the East River.

This was it. Sebastian had gone too far. He had threatened Nick’s own child. His own boy. Nick loved his boy. He loved him so much. Didn’t he? He was going mad.

Alone by the water, surrounded by silence, Nick shut his eyes, in tears. Sebastian’s girls were banging and thumping the glass. Nick could see them too. He could see them crying in pain. All Sebastian’s women crying out in agony in his glass cage.

Nick moved up close to the cage. He had to see what they were saying. He was so close his mouth was against the glass.

He needed to shatter their prison, set them free. He had to hear them, to know if they forgave him. He had to free them because it was they who brought Sebastian to him. If he let them go, Sebastian would disappear too.

At the water’s edge, he drew the pistol up to his head. He pushed the barrel tight into his ear.

He promised them freedom. He said he would free them. He only had to shatter the glass cage.

It had been a long journey. Sebastian had killed people to get back to them. Back to his girls. Now Nick was going to end it.

His forefinger applied three pounds of pressure to the toe of the trigger. Another three pounds and the spring would be released. The firing pin would move to the primer. The small explosion would ignite the main charge, the bullet would drive from its case.

Another three pounds of pressure was all he needed to be free.

The water glistened with diamond tips, the seagulls swooped with arrogant ease, their dark voices carrying over the river.

Another three pounds of pressure.

Then the girls stopped screaming. Nick saw them turn and look in the other direction. He saw them close their mouths in fear. He saw why. Sebastian was right there. He had returned.

Nick knew he had missed his chance - and he could not be sure he would get another.

Chapter Ninety-Eight

Blue Team

December 3, 6.50 p.m.

Harper arrived back in Manhattan and returned to Blue Team. He pushed the door of the investigation room and stood panting. ‘Anybody got anything?’

Blank faces turned. Nobody had an idea. It was killing him, knowing that there was almost nothing he could do. He called Eddie Kasper and relayed the story of Chloe Mestella.

‘It needs looking into,’ said Eddie.

‘Feds are on their way to West Virginia.’

‘Fuck the Feds, Tom, this is our girl. We got blood ties - we can’t leave it to them. You want me to get over there?’

Harper put his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. ‘You’re a waste of space, but I can always count on you. Thanks, buddy.’

Eddie smiled. ‘You had to do the insult or the nice part wouldn’t come, would it?’

Tom shook his head. ‘Not easy for me to say. Now get going.’

Eddie pulled on his jacket and left the precinct. Tom went to Denise’s board. He looked at her face. He wanted to know why Sebastian had taken her. He wanted to know why Sebastian had killed Williamson and now was after him. It would take time to get to West Virginia. Too much time.

Harper took a cup of coffee and sat down at his computer. He had to find something soon. He called up Chloe Mestella on the internet and read about the murder. If it was still an open case, then the records would be there in the local sheriff’s office. Harper looked up the number and picked up the phone.

‘Sheriff’s office. How can I help you?’

‘This is Detective Harper of the NYPD. I know you’ve got some Feds rushing down your way to look into the Chloe Mestella murder, but I’m looking for some help.’

‘What can I do for you, Detective?’ said the woman on the phone.

‘Have you been following the American Devil case?’

‘Sure have. Isn’t everybody?’

‘I’m Tom, by the way. What’s your name?’

‘Carla.’

‘You could make a big difference up here, Carla.’

‘How so?’

‘Can I speak confidentially?’

‘Sure, go ahead, I’ve got a missing set of tyres that I’ve got to investigate but other than that I’m free the rest of December.’

Harper laughed. ‘Thanks. I appreciate your time.’

‘No problem. I read about you, Detective Harper.’

‘Call me Tom.’

‘Bet you think we’re all a bunch of hillbillies out here, don’t you?’

‘Hey, I’d prefer to be out in the mountains with some spare time to watch the eagles than here in Homicide.’

‘You like raptors?’

‘Have to say yeah. Must have a thing about killers.’

‘So how can I help you, Tom?’

‘Thing is,’ said Tom, ‘Chloe’s murder happened way before they started keeping central records. Long before ViCAP and all these clever little tools that help us see the big picture. Do you remember the murder yourself, Carla?’

‘Yeah, but I was only six years old. Still, it was a big thing here. Felt like we were important for fifteen minutes.’

‘What about the family?’

‘Don Mestella still lives at the old house. Mrs Mestella died a few years back. They still keep Chloe’s room just like it was. Most of the time, they just used to sit together in silence. It killed them.’

‘Could you read me some details of the report?’

‘Sure thing,’ said Carla. ‘I got the big brown boxes out ready for the Feds. What do you want?’

‘Give me the basics. I just want to know if it’s our guy.’

Carla opened the old box and pulled out the police report. She opened the beige folder. The horror of Chloe Mestella’s murder was hardwired into her psyche. As a child, she’d watched the vast opera of a murder hunt unfold in her back yard. Seeing the original report made her shiver.