Senator Stanhope’s Home
November 29, 1.00 a.m.
The Senator’s estate was bright with flashing lights and the noise of radios. Helicopters were hunting the grounds with powerful spotlights and there were already two teams of dogs, barking and straining to get out on the hunt.
Special Agent Baines from the FBI got out of a car and approached the house. He’d already been briefed by the deputy director himself. How the hell did two NYPD cops, one on suspension, outpace the fucking FBI? Baines took the shots. The truth was, he had no idea. Two NYPD officers stood securing the door. Eddie and Tom moved out of the house to meet Baines.
They shook hands and Baines looked to the floor. ‘Sounds like you two saved his wife and one of his daughters. How are they?’
‘Devastated,’ said Harper. He paused. ‘We weren’t quick enough. Senator Stanhope and his daughter Rose are both dead. We missed the killer. We saw the bastard with our own eyes. And we let him take out the senator, so it doesn’t feel like a success story.’
‘You saved him from being tortured throughout the night. You guys acted fast. Good going. Pat yourselves on the back.’
‘Not yet,’ said Harper.
‘Tell me what happened when you burst in,’ said Baines, walking through the house.
‘The killer ran out, skewering Senator Stanhope. Rose must have been stabbed just as my shot hit the bulletproof glass. He went out through the window I’d bust. I must’ve been thirty seconds behind him and he was nowhere. We’ve been looking ever since. Don’t know how he does it.’
‘Well, he’s getting careless, that’s one good sign. Leaving the psychologist alive and scared was a stupid move.’
‘Yeah. Dr Levene thinks he needs someone to talk to, so he couldn’t kill him.’
Baines and Harper looked into the living room. The Feds and the NYPD were working harmoniously and their speed and efficiency was impressive. A meticulous operation was already under way with forensics and weapons experts combing every inch of the place for any signs or clues. Baines stopped at the FBI investigation leader, Special Agent David Mace. ‘Tell me, what goes?’
‘Two saved, two dead, sir.’
Baines had the look of a dead man. ‘Signs of a break-in?’
‘No. We found evidence that he waited in the roof space.’
‘Fuck,’ said Baines. This was way beyond belief. This was the worst he’d seen. They stepped into the living room and Baines stood still and let his eyes move the full length of the sight before their eyes. A beautiful home. A dead man in a chair. A half-dressed girl dead on the floor. Spots of blood on the carpet and sofa. ‘Who else was injured?’ asked Baines.
‘Caroline Stanhope, sir. He stabbed her left side.’
‘What’s he up to, Harper? I need an answer. I need one right now. What does this mean? Why the fuck does he want to kill a senator’s family?’
Tom looked at the senator. ‘He’s going for the best he can get. He wants to shock the world. But it’s also personal. He even took the time to take another trophy.’
‘What? How?’
‘He took Rose Stanhope’s right ear. He must have cut her before killing her.’
Baines looked at Harper. ‘I hope to God we can find something here. We are going to be destroyed on this one.’
Harper was keen to look at how Sebastian had passed the time in the roof and one of the CSU detectives took him up there. It was a comfortable little spot. He’d made a seat out of blankets and had left a little torch in the corner. There were remnants of fruit and water bottles. There was also a book.
Harper crawled over and tried to read the title. It was a book Tom knew well, The Mask of Sanity by Professor Hervey Cleckley. It was a classic study of psychopathic behaviour, running through various case studies. It read at times like a novel with cause for depraved curiosity on every page.
Was Sebastian studying himself? Was he interested in himself as a subject? Tom Harper had been trying to work something out since he’d seen Sebastian through the window of the living room. He looked similar to Redtop, was about the same height, but it wasn’t him. And if the killer was not Redtop, then who the hell was Redtop?
Was Redtop another red herring that Sebastian had thrown their way? Another half-mad patient that he’d met, along with Winston Carlisle? They’d thought that Redtop was the link, but he was maybe just another poor duped guy brought in on this mess.
Was Sebastian trying to outdo all the other killers he’d read about? Was he learning how to be a psychopath? Teaching himself, testing himself? Turning killing into art? Tom didn’t know. But the notion was interesting to him. No doubt, if he had a work like The Mask of Sanity, he’d have read many books on the subject.
Harper bristled. Next time, he needed to be certain his shot was fatal. He needed to get him. No more red herrings. He had seen the real thing. Now he just had to catch him.