‘It’s nothing new. I’ve been checking every day for the bodies, hoping it’s not Abby.’

The news channel was throwing out information about a crime scene up in Harlem. A dark-haired reporter with hair blowing about was live at the scene, speaking in an urgent voice with very little to say. The red tickertape across the top of the screen declared Breaking News and the voices of the two anchormen in the studio could be heard as they tried to piece together the story. Someone had died. It was someone connected to some case in the news, but they couldn’t say any more. It was big news, but they were unable to report the facts until the family had been informed.

Denise leaned in and her hands started to shake. A body found. As yet unidentified, read the tape. Her mind immediately started to imagine how they might find Abby. But what was the likelihood? She stared at the screen.

‘Over to Kirsty, down on 112th Street. Can you tell us what’s happening?’ There was a pause, a crackle, then a different tone as Kirsty’s voice came on. Behind her, the chaotic noise of a hundred media teams clamoring for news.

‘We’ve just seen another team of detectives head to the crime scene. As yet, the NYPD have not made a statement. We’re just waiting to hear. That’s all we can do. We’ll let you know the moment things change.’

‘But what do we know, Kirsty? Is anything confirmed?’

Kirsty pushed several strands of hair out of her face. ‘All I can say is what we were told this morning. We received an early-morning email which told us that there was a body. It gave a name, but we can’t confirm.’

Then out of the chaos, a familiar face appeared. Denise watched Tom Harper move towards the camera. He was surrounded at once by a group of baying reporters. He wasn’t saying much, but was showing signs of irritation. The camera went in close. Denise saw his face — the bruised, swollen eye, the cut lip. She shivered. What had happened to him? She couldn’t help feeling for him and it wasn’t anger. That was strange. The anger wasn’t there.

Denise remembered what her therapist had said. ‘You’ve got to work out what’s going on in yourself, in the past and in the present.’ Tom Harper was in the present. It was the first time in three months that she’d seen his face, although not the first time she had thought about him.

Up to that point, she’d kept herself physically away from him, connecting him so strongly with her experience at the hands of a serial killer that she couldn’t cope with the thought of seeing him. Somewhere in her mind, she blamed him for dragging her into the case and for what happened to her. But looking at the man on the television, she realized that he was just the fall guy. He was easy to hate, because Harper didn’t want to be hated and Denise needed a reaction. Tears formed in her eyes.

On the screen, Harper was framed by the building and two other cops. He pulled out a piece of paper, stood still and stared into the camera. ‘The NYPD were called to an incident early this morning. Two officers responded to the call and found a single victim. The body was tightly wound in barbed wire making identification difficult. We have now been able to confirm the identity of the victim and we have informed the family. I can now let you know that the victim’s name is David Capske, aged twenty-seven. As soon as we have further information we will let you know. No questions, please.’

Denise felt a sudden strong sense of relief. It wasn’t Abby’s body in the alley. She turned to Sarah who seemed to feel the same.

She continued to watch as he came on screen again and appeared close to the camera. Tom Harper. He was her problem in the present, the problem she had to resolve. She had to let herself forgive him, but more than that, she had to let herself try to be part of something that mattered to her.

She stared at Harper — his hair ruffled, his damaged face, his coat torn at the shoulder. Tom Harper. Always at the scene, always in her thoughts, always at the center of everything, always where the trouble was. But if there was one man she’d like at her shoulder now, looking at the mass of information about Abby Goldenberg, it’d be Harper every time.

Chapter Thirteen

Investigation Room, North Manhattan Homicide

March 7, 5.05 p.m.

Harper returned from interviewing Lucy Steller and Capske’s family. He called Blue Team together for a briefing and pulled up a chair.

‘We’ve spoken to Lucy Steller. She’s twenty-nine, works in a 7–Eleven store and writes novels. She’s badly shaken up, but her story seems simple enough. She left the club with David, walked home but when they got to her building, David Capske received a phone call. He told Lucy that he had to go to help a friend. He wouldn’t tell her why. He said he’d be an hour. The only other thing she said is that they saw a car outside the club. A red car. Someone inside was smoking. We’re checking CCTV on that. Eddie’s pieced together a tape of Capske’s last walk.’

Eddie Kasper dimmed the lights and clicked on the laptop in front of him. ‘We got every piece of CCTV tape between Lucy Steller’s apartment and the crime scene. I’ve got Capske in seven different shots.’ The team watched the grainy images of Capske walking up various streets.

‘Here,’ said Eddie, pointing. ‘He took out a thousand dollars from this ATM. It was found in his wallet. Later, he received a second phone call. We’ve got to guess that the first phone call told him how much money was needed, the second was for directions. So this might suggest that he was lured up there due to drugs or some kind of deal or blackmail. We got nothing else, but we’re going over this tape frame by frame.’

‘We got a trace on these calls?’ asked Garcia.

‘Damn right,’ said Harper. ‘Greco, what did you find?’

‘We’ve got one cell-phone number used in the two calls to Capske and the 911 call this morning. Untraceable account and the phone is not transmitting. The killer bought a cell, used it, dumped it.’

‘So the person who called Capske also called the cops,’ said Harper. ‘Why did he do that? We need answers. What else? Ricky? We got any new witnesses with anything to say yet? I can’t believe no one heard anything.’

‘We’ve done four hours of door-to-door. We leafleted the whole area. We got a woman in Jensen House who heard a single gunshot at around 3.30 a.m. Two more witnesses give the same time.’

‘That’s good, we’ve got a TOD right there. Eddie, what’s your best estimate on when he arrived at the alleyway?’

‘Last frame is clocked at 1.38 a.m. It’s five minutes from Jensen House. Let’s say he arrived at 1.43 a.m.’

Harper stood up. ‘We’ve got a guy leaves his fiancée after an unexpected phone call. It’s something he doesn’t want his fiancée to know about, so we presume it’s trouble. He takes out a thousand dollars, walks to East 112th and arrives at 1.43 a.m. Between that time and 3.30 a.m. he is wrapped in barbed wire. That’s an hour and forty-seven minutes the killer spent with his victim. Does that sound like a hit to anyone?’ No one spoke up. ‘Another detail we got is the weather report. Rain started at 2.41 a.m. The ground under the victim was dry. He was lying in barbed wire in that spot for fifty minutes before he was shot. Why?’

‘Maybe the killer was talking to the vic,’ said Mary Greco.

‘Well, that’s one possibility. One thing we can assume is that this killer is confident. More than that, he’s fearless. Two hours with the vic in a public alley — that’s no gangbanger or deranged killer. That’s an organized and planned mind. Garcia, you getting anything on these right-wing groups who have been targeting the Judge?’

‘Ratten found these right-wing assholes getting heated on the forums,’ said Garcia. ‘A lot of celebratory shit about the murder. They read it as a direct political attack.’