Read Online American Devil by Oliver Stark - Free Book Online
Authors: Oliver Stark
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Thrillers, Action & Adventure, Mystery & Detective, Suspense fiction, Crime, Police, Police Procedural, Criminal profilers, Serial Murder Investigation
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the body, if he’d wanted to. But he hasn’t, so there’s something important to him in how he’s left her, half in and half out. Visible.’
‘He might’ve been interrupted,’ said Williamson.
‘Yeah. Or he wanted the body found. I think maybe he wanted it found just like it was - posed.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean it looks like he’s been particular in how he’s left her and how he’s opened her up.’
‘Particular, as in flat on her back? How else is he going to leave her?’
‘Particular, as in ...’ Harper took another look over the edge of the railings. He could see her head in a circle of blood and the flaps of skin stretched out beside her. ‘He’s showing us something. The missing heart. I don’t know yet. Give me time. What’s the Medical Examiner say?’
‘He thinks he’s used something like a filleting knife and some kind of bone shears - not the kind of thing you carry around in your pocket. Definitely premeditated.’
‘Any witnesses? Anyone hear anything?’
‘We’ve got near thirty officers from Nineteenth and Twenty-fifth going round the blocks, but nothing yet.’
‘How do you read it, Harps?’ Eddie said. ‘Who is he?’
‘It’s not spontaneous. It was planned. He humiliates and likes hurting. He’s posed the body. It looks to me that he’s got the whole thing figured out - where he kills, how he kills, how he escapes. He’s been dreaming this a long time. My take on the victim is that she’s just like the others. She’s rich.’
‘And how can you tell that?’ Williamson asked.
‘She’s got a half-carat diamond in each ear, she’s had a nose job, her hands and feet are unused to work, and she looks like she spent most of her life in a gym.’
An hour later the scene was a buzz of police activity. NYPD’s Crime Scene Unit was fast, thorough and precise. Staffed, unlike some CSUs, with police detectives - they knew the importance of speed.
The next twelve hours were crucial. If they got a quick lead, they might be able to run this killer down before he got to dispose of his bloody clothes and put his trophies away. Williamson reckoned that he had a car and would put her clothes in the trunk and then maybe leave them until the heat calmed down - but that was a long shot.
Harper stayed at the scene and sat on the low wall at the edge of the lot. He pulled out his sketch pad. A sleek dark greckle stared across the page from a couple of days earlier at the Ramble. He turned over and drew the crime scene with a few quick lines. The dead woman appeared on the page in front of him. Thoughts of Lisa flittered into his mind but he stopped himself. The imagination could be a cruel thing. He focused on the sketch. Without the shock-red blood and bruising, she looked serene - she was positioned with her arms across her pudenda like a Renaissance nude, the butterfly wings either side of her, strange and otherworldly.
What was he doing, this maniac killer? The posing was important. Harper knew that much. It was an act of communication. He was saying something. As yet, Harper didn’t speak the killer’s language. But something was happening. This was the second kill in two days. His rate was escalating dramatically. Why? Was it some kind of kill frenzy? Time would tell.
‘Hey, Harper!’ a voice at the far end of the parking lot called out. Harper looked up and saw the tall, thin figure of Eddie Kasper, dressed in his low-slung pants and bubble jacket, his hair braided tight to his scalp.
‘Yeah, what?’
‘It’s just like old times, ain’t it?’
Chapter Nine
The Station House
November 16, 9.14 p.m.
H arper had a quick decision to make if he was going to make a difference to the case. He drove straight from the parking lot back to the precinct, the mass of information from the crime scene turning in his mind. He needed to know the deal.
Captain Lafayette was not in his office. He was down in the gym, sweating out his frustrations. He’d
‘He might’ve been interrupted,’ said Williamson.
‘Yeah. Or he wanted the body found. I think maybe he wanted it found just like it was - posed.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean it looks like he’s been particular in how he’s left her and how he’s opened her up.’
‘Particular, as in flat on her back? How else is he going to leave her?’
‘Particular, as in ...’ Harper took another look over the edge of the railings. He could see her head in a circle of blood and the flaps of skin stretched out beside her. ‘He’s showing us something. The missing heart. I don’t know yet. Give me time. What’s the Medical Examiner say?’
‘He thinks he’s used something like a filleting knife and some kind of bone shears - not the kind of thing you carry around in your pocket. Definitely premeditated.’
‘Any witnesses? Anyone hear anything?’
‘We’ve got near thirty officers from Nineteenth and Twenty-fifth going round the blocks, but nothing yet.’
‘How do you read it, Harps?’ Eddie said. ‘Who is he?’
‘It’s not spontaneous. It was planned. He humiliates and likes hurting. He’s posed the body. It looks to me that he’s got the whole thing figured out - where he kills, how he kills, how he escapes. He’s been dreaming this a long time. My take on the victim is that she’s just like the others. She’s rich.’
‘And how can you tell that?’ Williamson asked.
‘She’s got a half-carat diamond in each ear, she’s had a nose job, her hands and feet are unused to work, and she looks like she spent most of her life in a gym.’
An hour later the scene was a buzz of police activity. NYPD’s Crime Scene Unit was fast, thorough and precise. Staffed, unlike some CSUs, with police detectives - they knew the importance of speed.
The next twelve hours were crucial. If they got a quick lead, they might be able to run this killer down before he got to dispose of his bloody clothes and put his trophies away. Williamson reckoned that he had a car and would put her clothes in the trunk and then maybe leave them until the heat calmed down - but that was a long shot.
Harper stayed at the scene and sat on the low wall at the edge of the lot. He pulled out his sketch pad. A sleek dark greckle stared across the page from a couple of days earlier at the Ramble. He turned over and drew the crime scene with a few quick lines. The dead woman appeared on the page in front of him. Thoughts of Lisa flittered into his mind but he stopped himself. The imagination could be a cruel thing. He focused on the sketch. Without the shock-red blood and bruising, she looked serene - she was positioned with her arms across her pudenda like a Renaissance nude, the butterfly wings either side of her, strange and otherworldly.
What was he doing, this maniac killer? The posing was important. Harper knew that much. It was an act of communication. He was saying something. As yet, Harper didn’t speak the killer’s language. But something was happening. This was the second kill in two days. His rate was escalating dramatically. Why? Was it some kind of kill frenzy? Time would tell.
‘Hey, Harper!’ a voice at the far end of the parking lot called out. Harper looked up and saw the tall, thin figure of Eddie Kasper, dressed in his low-slung pants and bubble jacket, his hair braided tight to his scalp.
‘Yeah, what?’
‘It’s just like old times, ain’t it?’
Chapter Nine
The Station House
November 16, 9.14 p.m.
H arper had a quick decision to make if he was going to make a difference to the case. He drove straight from the parking lot back to the precinct, the mass of information from the crime scene turning in his mind. He needed to know the deal.
Captain Lafayette was not in his office. He was down in the gym, sweating out his frustrations. He’d
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