East Harlem
December 2, 11.20 p.m.
Tom Harper had wandered slowly back to his apartment. He was full of thoughts and ideas, some of which were about the case, some not. The thing that really kept him thinking was the idea that Mo and Sebastian were somehow linked.
Tom walked up the steps to his building. He wanted to forget all about the case for a few hours. There was an envelope taped to his front door, with his name written across the front of it. His heart started beating. He pulled a pair of gloves from his pocket and put them on. Then he opened the letter.
Dear Detective Harper,
Are you afraid of dying, Detective? I’ve seen the look on their faces when they are about to die. If you kill them slowly enough, they reveal their secrets. Did you know that? They are at their most beautiful just as they die. What will your face look like, I wonder? Shit-scared like Williamson? Proud like Elizabeth Seale?
I’m after you, now, Detective Harper. Just you. Williamson never was good enough, but I’m going to make an example out of you.
All my girls died in their own particular way. I guess, Detective Harper, that I’m more afraid of dying than any of them. More afraid of loving too.
Artists are like that, unable to love, afraid to die, outcasts from life’s feast. We live for our work, nothing else. My sculpture is complete but for one thing and that’s you, Detective. I want your blood to mingle with theirs. We’ll meet soon, I’m sure of that.
I know you like Denise, Detective, I know you’re going to miss her and you are going to try to find her. I know what it’s like to miss them. It’s like nothing else in the world. I want you to feel pain, Tom Harper.
Think of my taking Denise as a necessary preparation for your ending. First, I will tenderize you with pain and guilt, then I will cut you up and serve you on a plate.
Yours,
Sebastian
Harper swallowed hard. He felt the crawl of fear over his skin. He had not felt this terror before. Not personally. Now he knew what it felt like. Sebastian was after Denise.