New York Night Read online

  ‘Whatever you’re having is fine,’ he said.

  She took a bottle of Chianti from the fridge. ‘I prefer my wine cold,’ she said, giving him the bottle. ‘There’s a corkscrew in the top drawer by the sink.’

  She busied herself preparing spaghetti as he opened the wine and poured it into two glasses. He gave her a glass and sat down at the table. He watched as she made a carbonara sauce.

  ‘So how was your day?’ he asked. ‘Before I called up to ruin it.’

  ‘I’m looking for similar killings,’ she said. ‘A girl I went to the academy with works at Quantico and she’s helping me access the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. They’ve got countrywide information on all sexual assault cases, solved and unsolved homicides, missing persons.’

  ‘Any luck so far?’

  ‘Depends what you mean by luck. Cases like the one’s we’re looking at are few and far between,’ said Perez. ‘People get cut and stabbed all the time, but not butchered the way our victims were. There are two serial killers active at the moment who use knives but they are both very precise in what they do. One is on the west coast and he cuts the body up into pieces with the skill of a butcher. The other cuts his victims to death but with lots of very small cuts, probably with a razor. There’s been nothing like this for the last twenty years.’

  ‘I guess it was always a long shot.’

  Perez sipped her wine as she stirred her sauce. ‘But if you go back twenty-three years, there were four similar killings over a two-month period.’

  Nightingale’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Now that is interesting.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Two in Miami, one in Richmond, Virginia and one in Washington DC.’

  ‘Connected?’

  ‘Two men, two women. Not kids back then. Middle-aged. No one was ever caught, the only thing in common was the severity of the wounds.’

  ‘What about crime scene photographs or post mortem photographs.’

  ‘We call them autopsies, Jack. Same as you call our sidewalks pavements. And yes, my contact is emailing them to me. I should get them first thing tomorrow. But obviously there’s no connection. There can’t be. Matthew Donaldson wasn’t even born then.’

  ‘No, but demons are eternal. The demons behind the killings then could be at it again.’

  Perez went over to him and held out the spoon. ‘What do you think?’

  He licked it tentatively and nodded. ‘Yummy.’

  She grinned. ‘Yummy?’

  ‘Yeah, yummy.’

  She laughed, went back to the stove and finished the sauce before pouring it over spaghetti. Nightingale refilled their glasses as she sat down at the table.

  ‘This is great, thank you,’ he said. ‘I was getting fed up with takeaway food.’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s nothing special. I have just one house rule.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘No shop talk while we’re eating.’

  ‘That’s fine with me.’

  She held out her hands and he took them and lowered his head. ‘Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen.’ She crossed herself.

  ‘Amen,’ said Nightingale, and did the same. Nightingale realised pretty quickly that once they took the case and police work out of the equation they didn’t have much to talk about. They settled on sharing movies and books they’d enjoyed but even then it was a struggle to avoid discussing crime. Eventually they had cleared their plates and drunk most of the wine. Perez picked up his plate and took it with her over to the sink. Nightingale poured the last of the wine into their glasses. When she came back to the table, she stood in front of him and he could sense that she was nervous. He looked up at her expectantly.

  ‘I need your help with something,’ she said.

  ‘Sure, whatever I can,’ he replied, but he had a tight feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  ‘Sitting room,’ she said.

  ‘Okay.’ He stood up and followed her out of the kitchen. She went over to a Chinese-style cupboard, painted with large ornate brass hinges. She opened it and took out a box. Nightingale knew immediately what it was and he had to fight the urge to swear out loud. Perez closed the cupboard door and carried the box over to the coffee table. It was an Ouija board, the Parker Brothers version marketed in the United States in the early Seventies. There was a picture of two hands holding the planchette and above it the words OUIJA and MYSTIFYING ORACLE. Below that, in smaller type, was printed William Fuld Talking Board Set.

  ‘Cheryl, seriously…’

  She sat down and opened the box. Inside there was a plastic planchette and board. She unfolded the board and placed it on the coffee table.

  ‘Where did you get it from?’ he asked.

  ‘Found it at a flea market.’

  ‘That’s a dumb thing to do right there,’ he said. ‘You’ve no idea who has used it before. Or what they did with it.’

  ‘So you do believe in it?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether I believe or not. It’s not about belief.’

  She was gently stroking the white plastic planchette that came with the board. It was almost as large as her hand with a large circle cut into it. The idea was the planchette would move across the board and stop with the hole over the intended letter.

  ‘Despite what it says on the box, it’s not a game,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘I want you to show me what to do with it,’ she said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I want to talk to Eric.’

  Nightingale sighed and shook his head. ‘It doesn’t work like that,’ he said. ‘It’s not Skype. If you open it up, you have no idea who will come through.’

  ‘But Eric might.’

  ‘Eric’s dead. You know that.’

  ‘And I also know that people use this to talk to those that have passed over. If there’s any chance, any chance at all, that I can reach Eric, then I’ll take it.’

  ‘First, it’s a very bad idea. But second, you’ve been drinking and drink and Ouija board’s don’t mix. Third, to do it properly, and by that I mean safely, there are precautions you have to take.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘A safe board for a start. Then you need flowers in the room. Jasmine, lilies, gardenias and mimosa are the best. And you should burn lavender, mastic, orris root and frankincense in a brass bowl.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘You asked. You need to forget about this, Cheryl. It’s not a good idea.’

  ‘I’m going to do it with or without you. I mean it. I’ve made up my mind.’

  Nightingale sighed and leant back on the sofa, rubbing his hands down his face. ‘Fine,’ he said eventually.

  ‘So you’ll help?’

  ‘If that’s the only way I can stop you getting into trouble, yes.’

  She smiled and held out the planchette. ‘Show me what to do,’ she said.

  ‘Not today. I told you, alcohol and Ouija boards don’t mix. And I’ll have to get us a safe board. One that I’m sure hasn’t been defiled.’

  Perez pointed at the line of type under MYSTIFYING ORACLE. ‘Who was this William Fuld?’

  ‘He’s credited as the father of the Ouija board but he didn’t actually invent it. Talking boards have been around for centuries. But he was a clever marketer and applied for dozens of patents and trademarks that pretty much made his name synonymous with Ouija boards throughout the late Eighteen Nineties and Nineteen Hundreds. Parker Brothers took over his company in 1966 and they kept his name on the sets.’

  ‘And why don’t you think this set is safe?’

  ‘Like I said, you don’t know who used it before. Suppose it was used to contact a mischievous spirit. Or an evil one. Open it up again and that spirit would be first in line to come through.’

  ‘So what should I do with this one,’ she said, nodding at the box.

  ‘Burn it,’ said Nightingale. ‘And to be on the safe side, scatter the ashes in a
church.’

  ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Then I’ll do it. But I want you back here tomorrow morning, okay? First thing?’

  Nightingale sighed. ‘If you insist,’ he said reluctantly.

  She smiled brightly. ‘I do.’

  CHAPTER 42

  ‘I’m still hungry,’ said Steve. He waved over at a waitress. ‘Can I see the menu again?’ He was sitting in one side of a booth. Matt and Dee-anne were sitting opposite him.

  The waitress came over. She was in her fifties with tightly-permed hair and a name tag that said her name was Hillary. She handed Steve a menu. ‘You still hungry, son? You’ve already had Brooklyn Spaghetti and Meatballs, Country-Fried Steak and the Prime Rib Philly Melt.’ She waved at the empty plates in front of him.

  ‘I’m a growing boy,’ said Steve. He licked his lips as he studied the pictures. ‘What’s in the Grand Slamwich?’ he asked.

  ‘Two scrambled eggs, crumbled sausage, bacon, shaved ham and American cheese on potato bread grilled with a maple spice spread. It comes with hash browns.’

  ‘I’ll have one,’ said Steve. ‘And a Philly Cheesesteak Omelette. And I’ll take a Strawberry Banana Bliss Smoothie.’

  ‘Son, you have one awesome appetite there. And I don’t know where you put it all because you’re as thin as a rake. What about you guys? Can I get you anything else?’

  ‘An iced tea for me,’ said Dee-anne.

  Matt shook his head. ‘I’m good.’

  ‘Let me get those empty plates to make room for Mr Hungry,’ said the waitress. She gathered up the used plates and chuckled as she walked away. They were sitting in a booth at Denny’s, away from the window because TV newscasts were still running photographs of Matt. Matt was wearing dark glasses and had a baseball cap pulled down low.

  Steve sat back and beat a quick tattoo on the table top with his hands. ‘I can’t get over how things taste. And smell.’ He grinned at Dee-anne. ‘Cheeseburgers are amazing, aren’t they?’

  ‘You’ll get used to it,’ she said. ‘I went a bit crazy the first few days as well.’

  ‘But you know what I mean, don’t you? Everything feels more real with these bodies. The sensations are…’ He threw up his hands. ‘I can’t explain it.’

  ‘Their lives feel more real because they can end at any time,’ said Matt. ‘They start to die the moment they’re born, there is this constant ticking clock in the background which means that every second is precious.’

  Steve held up his hands and clenched and unclenched his fists. ‘And the feeling you get when you cause pain. It’s so much more real here. The way the bones crunch and the blood flows.’ He shuddered. ‘I fucking love it.’ He sat back in his seat and grinned across at Dee-anne. ‘We should have done this ages ago.’

  ‘It won’t last for ever,’ said Dee-anne. ‘You know that.’

  ‘That’s what makes it so enjoyable,’ said Steve. ‘The transience of it all. Living in the moment.’ He looked around the diner. ‘We could kill everyone in here, right now. We could tear them apart, just because we wanted to.’

  ‘We have to take it slowly,’ said Dee-anne. ‘We have to stay below the radar. We can play but we have to keep a low profile. Fighting armed cops isn’t the way to go, and nor is throwing stools in bars. That attracts too much attention. We need to keep it private.’

  ‘Those cops attacked me,’ said Matt. ‘I was minding my own business and they came at me with guns.’

  ‘I know, but the way you hurt them. They know something’s not right.’

  ‘They started it,’ said Matt, sitting back and sneering at her.

  ‘You should have just run.’

  ‘They think I’m on drugs. They don’t know what’s really going on.’

  ‘And we need it to stay that way,’ said Dee-anne.

  ‘Why don’t we just move?’ asked Matt. ‘Let’s head to the West Coast. They won’t be looking for us there.’

  ‘Us?’ said Steve. ‘They’re not looking for us, they’re looking for you.’

  ‘There were witnesses at the bar,’ said Dee-anne. ‘They’ll be looking for us all.’ She nodded at Matt. ‘You’re right. We should go. But we have to wait for the Master. He’s on the way.’

  ‘How long do we wait?’

  ‘It takes time, you know that. But until he crosses over, we wait here.’ She smiled. ‘I’m not saying we can’t have fun, we just need to be careful, that’s all.’ She looked at her phone screen and flicked a number of unsuitables on Tinder. Too young, Too hairy. Too weird-looking.’

  ‘Then what?’ asked Matt.

  Dee-anne shrugged. ‘He’ll tell us when he gets here.’ She kept her eyes on the screen. Reject. Reject. Reject.

  ‘What do you think human flesh tastes like?’ asked Steve.

  Matt laughed. ‘Probably chicken.’

  The two boys laughed. The table began to vibrate, then the walls began to shudder. Customers looked around nervously.

  ‘Guys, please,’ said Dee-anne, looking up from her screen.

  The two boys stopped laughing and the room went still. Dee-anne turned the phone towards them. ‘What about him?’

  The two boys leaned forward to get a closer look at the man on the screen. His profile said he was forty-five. He was plump with a fleshy neck. His name was George.

  ‘Is he close?’ asked Matt.

  ‘Half a mile. Lives alone. Divorced.’

  ‘Looks perfect,’ said Steve. He grinned and beat another tattoo on the table. ‘I’d better leave some room for dessert.’

  George had already approved Dee-anne as a match and within five minutes of her accepting him her phone buzzed with a message. ‘Hi. What are you doing?’ Followed by a smiley face.

  She grinned and held up the phone. ‘He’s on the line,’ she laughed. ‘All we have to do is pull him in.’

  ‘Let me,’ said Matt, holding out his hand.

  ‘You’ve got to be careful not to say the wrong thing.’

  Matt laughed. ‘Look at him and look at you. He’s not going to turn you down no matter what I say.’

  Dee-anne gave him the phone. Matt read George’s message and tapped out a reply. ‘Looking for someone to fuck.’

  Steve laughed. ‘Subtle,’ he said.

  ‘This isn’t the time for subtlety,’ said Matt.

  ‘I’m available,’ George messaged back, this time with two smiley faces.

  Matt showed them both the phone.

  ‘Too easy,’ said Steve.

  Matt typed in ‘I like it rough, what about you?’

  This time they got three smiley faces. ‘I like it any way I can get it.’

  Matt asked for an address and George replied with a phone number and ‘Call me’. Matt gave the phone to Dee-anne. ‘He wants to talk to you.’

  ‘Okay, but no laughing. You’ll spook him.’ She tapped out the number. He answered on the second ring. ‘George?’

  ‘Dee-anne?’

  ‘You were expecting someone else?’

  ‘No, of course not. That’s really you, in the pictures.’

  ‘In the flesh,’ she said. ‘The living, breathing, flesh.’

  ‘And where are you?’

  ‘According to the App, half a mile away.’

  ‘Can you come now?’

  ‘I’m just buying some underwear,’ she said. ‘I can be with you in an hour.’

  ‘An hour’s good.’

  ‘Then send me your address and I’ll see you in an hour.’

  ‘And it’s really you? It’s you in the picture?’

  Dee-anne laughed. ‘Baby, if I’m not the girl in the picture, just shut the door in my face.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ The line went dead and thirty seconds later a text arrived with his address. Dee-anne held up the phone, grinning. ‘Got him!’

  The waitress returned with Steve’s food and put it down in front of him. ‘Can I get you anything else?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m good,’ he
said.

  ‘Son, I’ve never seen anyone eat like you,’ said the waitress.

  Steve picked up his fork and stabbed a meatball. He popped it into his mouth. He looked over at Dee-anne and groaned with pleasure.

  ‘You sure love your food,’ said the waitress, walking away.

  CHAPTER 43

  The taxi dropped Dee-anne, Matt and Steve in front of a modern three-storey terraced house in a tree-lined street. It was one of six almost identical houses and Dee-anne checked the number on her phone before heading to the front door. Matt and Steve walked down the road and waited outside a delicatessen.

  She rang the bell and a few moments later George opened the door. He was older than he looked in the pictures he’d placed on Tinder, and considerably heavier. He was wearing a pink silk shirt and black trousers that were just a little too tight and he smelled of freshly-applied cologne. ‘Dee-anne,’ he said. ‘Welcome to my home.’ His hair was thinning and had been combed over to hide the sparsest area. There was a sadness in his eyes, as if he had been hurt before and expected to be hurt again. It was the most attractive thing about him, thought Dee-anne. She stepped into the hallway. The floor was pine that had been varnished like the deck of a yacht. There were dozens of LED lights embedded in the ceiling and unframed oil paints on the walls that looked as if the artists had thrown paint at canvases rather than bothering to use brushes.

  ‘Let me take your jacket,’ he said, holding out his hand.

  She took it off and gave it to him and he pressed a mirrored panel. It slid back to reveal a large walk-in closet. He hung up her coat and took her along the hallway to a large kitchen, all white marble and stainless steel appliances that had the look of a hospital morgue.

  ‘Champagne?’ he asked.

  ‘Why not?’

  George pulled open the right-hand door of a fridge that was a head taller than he was and took out a bottle of Bollinger. He showed her the label. ‘Vintage,’ he said. ‘I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.’