Madison Avenue
November 23, 2.33 p.m.
On the Upper East Side, Kitty Hunyardi entered Lush amp; Low on East 67th Street. It was her weekly appointment. A salesman was blocking the entrance as he tried to get to speak to the manager. Kitty tutted loudly until he moved his large case out of the way. She moved across and sat in her favourite leather chair without speaking to anyone, placed her Gucci lizard clutch bag on her lap and clicked her bright blue snakeskin Mary Janes on the chrome foot rail. She had only to wait a few seconds before Antonio appeared behind her, his hands on her head, letting her long blond hair fall through his fingers.
The salesman turned and stared at her. It was hard not to. Kitty was the beautiful twenty-three-year-old daughter of some dead line of Hungarian aristocracy. Her family had lost its title in the forties, but they had emigrated and invested in rubber. And rubber had come good.
Across the street, a man in a black suit with grey hair stared in at the salon. Kitty didn’t notice him at first. He was just part of the background, part of the noise that she needn’t bother herself about. But there was something about him that caused her to turn and look.
As she did so he turned and walked away. Kitty had noticed some guy a couple of times now. She thought she was being followed. The night before, someone had been overly interested in her in a cocktail bar. She was sure that the same guy followed her outside and tried to get his hand in her bag as she waited for a cab in the road, but a couple of cops had been close and the guy just walked by. A week earlier, someone had been waiting around near her apartment. The first time, she’d just let it go, but now it was three times and Kitty was superstitious. She didn’t like threes. Especially not if it meant someone was stalking her.
Kitty’s instinctive reaction was that it was her father’s protectiveness again. The man in the suit was probably hired to look out for her, make sure she walked in safety at all times.
But he wasn’t quite like the bodyguards she’d known before and bodyguards didn’t swoop in so close you could smell their cologne. What was it about him? When a guy won’t let go of you with his eyes? That was it. He stared at her. She could feel it. Drilling into her. Anger? Hatred? Something that just felt wrong.
Kitty left the salon forty minutes later with her hair trimmed and blow-dried. She looked up and down the street but the black-suited man was nowhere to be seen. She looked at her diamond-encrusted watch, checked her lips in the window of the salon and walked across the street to Madison Avenue. She was due at her mother’s in an hour, enough time to see if anything caught her eye.
Kitty walked up Madison, her eyes fixed ahead, her long legs moving with practised precision and her mind far away in some fantasy land of her own making. She always imagined that the paparazzi were trailing her and she acted with the exaggerated gestures and look of disdain she’d seen in so many magazines. Only Kitty Hunyardi wasn’t famous. Not yet, anyhow. She’d talked to her PR firm that morning and they’d found a producer willing to give her a meeting. It was the first step. That’s all you ever needed. Just one step.
A distance behind her, the grey-haired man in the black suit appeared from a doorway and started to follow her. Kitty turned into the Versace store. The man in black walked straight past the boutique and stopped on the corner of East 69th Street. He waited for about ten minutes. This was how it was supposed to be. He pulled out his schedule. Following the plan was important. Keeping exactly to the plan. He knew exactly how long Kitty would spend in each shop and he waited accordingly. When people kept such rigid routines, it was easy to track them.
Across the street from Versace, the mobile CCTV unit filmed the store entrance. Kitty was an obvious target for the American Devil. In the van, Kasper was watching her closely.
‘Zoom,’ he called into the microphone. The camera caught Kitty swaggering into the store. She was stunning to look at. Film star looks and attitude too. Plastic bottle beauty. Kasper raised his eyebrows in appreciation and ordered one of his undercover agents into the store.
The report came back quickly. Subject was in visual contact. No suspects. Kasper sighed and kept scanning all seven screens. Kitty appeared again on the screen. She was carrying a Versace bag and turned right. She walked about a block and then entered the Prada store. Kasper watched her, camera to camera.
Inside the Prada store, Kitty flicked through the rails, half interested, and picked out a zip-fronted silver dress. The man in black was already in the store, as the plan dictated, and he was on her in an instant.
‘Can I help, madam?’
Kitty didn’t even look up. The staff always crowded her. ‘No, go away,’ she said absently.
The man picked out another silver dress and held it up. ‘I should think Madam would look fantastic in this.’ Kitty looked up at the dress. ‘What do you think?’ said the man in black.
‘I think you didn’t hear me,’ said Kitty and turned away.
The undercover cop strolled into the store on Kasper’s command. ‘Nothing to report. Female shopper and male shop assistant. That’s it.’
In the van, Kasper sat back. Maybe it was going to be another day with nothing to show.
‘I think it’s gorgeous,’ said the man at her shoulder. ‘You’ve got a hint of silver in your eyes, a kind of stone colour.’ He smiled broadly. ‘I’d love to talk about them over lunch.’
Kitty reacted to his tone. She didn’t like his attitude or his smell. She suddenly realized what she could smell on him, too. It was the cologne from the night before. She turned and looked at him. It was the guy who’d been following her. If he was following her, he was taking things too far. She would get out quick, get home and tell Daddy. Daddy was real mean when he wanted to be. ‘I don’t need advice or a lunch date from the hired help,’ she said. She pushed the dress into the man’s chest and shot him a look of disdain. Then she left the store in a hurry, feeling the anxiety rise in her chest. Inside, the man in black replaced the dress with slow, careful movements. She’d had her chance. He always gave people a chance. Funny, they never took it.
Kasper watched Kitty leave Prada alone and head up East 68th Street, away from their surveillance towards Park Avenue. It was another three minutes before he caught a glimpse of the figure of the man in black leaving Prada. He sat up.
‘Where did he come from?’
The team on the street responded. ‘He’s been in there a while. He’s the shop assistant.’
‘When the blonde was in there?’
The cop confirmed it. Kasper watched the figure with the grey hair move past the final camera. He zoomed in. ‘Get me closer, Ali.’ Ali shot across to the control desk and moved the zoom. The face was partly obscured but Kasper thought it was similar to that in the photofit. This was a grey-haired man. He whispered through his radio to the team, ‘We got a visual on a possible suspect. Male, six foot plus, black suit, greying hair, walking south down Madison.’ He looked back at the screen. ‘Shit! Have we lost the blonde?’ He called across to Lol Edwards, ‘Get her ID from Prada or Versace — wherever she made a purchase. We need to know who she is.’
‘We’re on it,’ said Edwards.
The last team to follow her reported in. ‘She went straight past us. She’s out of shot on Park Avenue.’
Tom arrived in his Buick and parked half on the sidewalk on East 68th Street. He had the killer’s profile from Denise on his knee, and had been listening to the radio conversations as he drove. As he picked up the latest thread, he saw the blonde woman with the shopping bags hurry past. She was uneasy and even glanced behind her. Tom looked right down the street and saw the man in black.
Tom felt his nerves prick up and slowly opened the car door. ‘Kasper, this is Harper. I’m going to get in tight and see if I can follow him,’ he said on his radio.
Camera Three zoomed in, but the blonde and now the man in black had gone out of range. It was difficult to tell anything about the latter’s intentions. He was doing nothing but walking up the street. He walked out of shot and out of the range of the final camera just as Tom stepped on to the sidewalk and crossed the street.
Kasper thought for a moment. ‘Team Four, the blonde in Prada was talking to a male shop assistant. Can you give me a brief description?’
Detective Elaine Fittas came back over the airwaves. ‘Yeah, boss. We’ve got a guy, mid-thirties, greying hair, black suit.’
Kasper stood up. ‘Team Four, one more thing. Is he or isn’t he on the staff of Prada?’ He waited as Elaine went to check.
Her voice crackled back. ‘Negative, boss. They’ve never seen him before.’
That was all Kasper needed. He had to make a quick decision. ‘I think it’s him. Put the teams on standby, we’ve got to follow on foot. Team Four — get going. Has anyone got a visual?’
Team Four couldn’t get near the suspect. The crowds were so thick that they couldn’t progress. Harper was closest, only a few yards behind, watching the man in black as he closed in on the gorgeous blonde. What was he planning? A public execution? Or was he in the stalking phase? This guy was capable of anything. Was the American Devil on a busy Manhattan street about to do serious damage? Harper started to run.