Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn

March 15, 9.45 a.m.

Harper arrived at the garage on the corner and Jack Carney was already there, waiting.

‘We’ve got a vague location point for the lock-up along this row,’ said Carney. ‘Let’s go.’

Harper and Jack Carney ran up the street searching for some sign as to where the killer was. They did two sweeps of the road but couldn’t see anything.

‘Where the hell are these garages?’ said Harper.

‘They must be somewhere around here,’ said Carney.

Then Harper spotted a broken wire fence and walked over. He looked at the edge. ‘Jack, check this. The wire’s been bent recently. The scratches on the wall are recent too.’

Harper pushed through the fence, quickly followed by Carney. They walked across the wasteland, their eyes scanning every building, before fastening on an old abandoned lock-up. Then Harper stopped. ‘Listen.’

Carney listened. ‘Banging.’

‘And voices,’ said Harper. They moved quickly towards the sound. Harper saw the garage. He looked at the bolts. ‘New bolts in a derelict area.’

‘This must be it,’ said Carney.

The banging became more intense and frightened. They could hear two women crying out for help and looked at each other. Carney stood by the door as Harper moved all around the building. He reappeared at the other side and shook his head.

‘No windows.’

They looked at the door. ‘You kick it in,’ said Carney quietly. ‘Let’s hope to God that they’re okay,’ said Harper. He motioned for Carney to move to the side, raised his gun and indicated the handle. Carney put his hand on it.

‘Let’s take a look,’ said Harper.

Carney depressed the handle and Harper pulled the trigger. The padlock split open and Carney pushed open the door. ‘NYPD. Put your hands in the air.’ Harper raised his gun and moved in. ‘What is that smell?’ he whispered.

‘Cyanide,’ said Jack Carney.

Harper scanned the room with his gun. He saw the two women directly ahead in a strange prison. He saw the pipes running across the length of the room and to the roof of the cell. Just like the gas van.

Inside the cell, the two women were screaming and shaking. They were pointing towards the back of the garage. Harper swiveled round and suddenly felt something hard against his skull.

Jack Carney’s gun was pressed tight to his head. ‘Drop your gun, Harper, or I kill you right now.’

Lock-Up, Bedford-Stuyvesant

March 15, 9.58 a.m.

Harper stared into Jack Carney’s eyes. A hundred tiny inconsistencies and questions suddenly fell into place. He felt sickness in the pit of his stomach. Disgust so sudden and violent that he couldn’t speak.

‘The gun, Harper, or I kill you.’ Carney eased the trigger back.

Harper heard the click of the breech and he dropped his gun to the ground. His hands formed into large, heavy fists, and hatred and anger burned in his eyes.

‘Tom Harper, I thought you were better than this,’ said Carney.

Harper held his gaze and looked directly into the eyes of the ruthless killer.

‘It’s hard to believe,’ said Carney. ‘Move over to the cell.’

Harper edged backwards. ‘You’re dead, you fucking animal,’ he shouted. ‘You know that? There’s no fucking way out. You’re trapped, Carney, you sick fuck.’

‘Anger and hatred, Harper. You feeling it?’ Carney smiled. ‘This is the killer’s Luger. You were the only one who could work this out,’ he said. ‘I knew you were close but I’m not ready to give in.’

‘They all know,’ said Harper. ‘It’s over. Let these two go.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Carney. ‘Now they’re going to have a big problem on their hands. You went off on your own last night. The story is going to go like this — the killer lured you here and you heroically tried to save the girls. But oh, how close you must’ve come.’

Carney moved across to the canister of Zyklon B. ‘I add these pellets in here, they react with the air and Lucy and Abby will die. You will try to open the door and the killer will shoot you.’

‘It’s a good plan, but people know.’

‘Who?’

‘Everyone.’

‘You sure about that, Harper? Don’t bluff the master.’ Carney chuckled.

‘You got to give yourself up,’ shouted Harper. ‘You need help.’

‘I’ve got a mission, Harper. A mission.’

‘Open the cell,’ Harper commanded, but Carney moved across to the cyanide.

‘Lucy,’ called Harper into the cell. ‘Is there any way out of here?’

She shook her head.

Harper turned and looked at the drained and emaciated figure of Abby in the cell behind him. He smashed his fist against the Plexiglass but it was too thick. It wouldn’t break. He turned and stared at Carney. ‘You can’t do this, you’ve got to stop. You’re a cop.’

Carney took the can across to the small tub. ‘This is the Zyklon B. Everything had to be authentic.’ He smiled. ‘It causes a slow and painful death.’

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘The heart has reasons that reason knows not of,’ said Carney. He turned to Harper and moved close to the Plexiglass. ‘And because I hate them. All of them. Jews, her, you, everyone.’ He opened the canister, pulled back the lid of the plastic bucket.

‘How long will it take them to die?’

‘Ten minutes, a little more,’ said Carney.

They heard the sound of the first pellets hitting the base of the bucket. Harper moved across to the door and barged at it with his full weight. He tried again.

‘You won’t rescue them,’ said Carney. ‘That’s not the story I’ve planned.’

Abby Goldenberg pulled herself to her feet with her last reserves of strength and moved up to the front of the cell. ‘I know what you are!’ she called out.

‘Do you?’ shouted Carney. ‘Well, I’m Josef Sturbe and you’re dead.’

‘Your mother was in touch with Lucy. Did you know that? You think you know everything. You couldn’t find her yourself, but Lucy found her. Lucy told her about the beatings, about the man you’d become. She was disgusted.’

Carney stopped and stared across to the cell. He replaced the lid on the pellets. ‘Fuck you, you’re lying. She’s dead. Fucking dead.’

Lucy was crouched in a corner. ‘She’s not dead, Jack. She’s alive. I met her.’

Jack Carney moved across to the cell. ‘Have you been telling secrets? Did you find my mother?’

Abby’s voice was barely a whisper. ‘She’s the only one who knows where your mother lives. You kill her and you’ll never find her.’

Abby was a smart kid, Harper thought. She was buying time. He looked around. What could he do? The gas ran through hastily welded scaffolding pipes, across and then above him.

‘Where is she?’ said Carney. ‘I want her dead. I want you all dead. Fuck her. It’s too late. It’s too fucking late.’

‘It’s not too late,’ said Abby, drawing breath slowly at each sentence. ‘She’s been living right here in Brooklyn all that time. Knew who you were. She’s been keeping clippings of you, your whole life.’

‘Is this true, Lucy? Speak or you die.’

Lucy nodded.

‘Tell me where she is. She’ll be the next one to die.’ Then Carney looked at them and laughed. ‘You’re both lying. You’ll regret that.’

Carney turned and headed back to the Zyklon B. Harper jumped and grabbed on to the scaffolding pole with both hands. It snapped under his weight. Carney turned and shot. It hit the Plexiglass. Harper swung hard and low. He didn’t want to miss. The pole hit Carney’s legs and he fell. Harper moved to him, but Carney was good. The Luger pointed directly at him. ‘Go on, make another move, Harper.’

Harper stopped. ‘You’re not going to gas them, you fucking freak. You can shoot us all, but your sick little experiment isn’t going to work.’

Carney pulled himself up from the floor. ‘I don’t care a damn for her! Lucy, you understand? Fuck you all. Fuck her. I’ll show you. I’ll show her too. I’m going to be written about for years.’ He pointed the gun at Harper’s face.