March 12, 11.47 p.m.
Jerry and Ruth Glass were being held in a well-used temporary safe house in the city on 14th Street. It was a two-story building with an anonymous-looking façade, a used Chevy out front and a yard scattered with kids’ toys like any normal family home.
Inside, a female cop was sitting reading, as the social worker assigned to the children sat beside her watching television. Upstairs, the two kids lay fast asleep in the same room, where they felt safest.
There were usually two cops on duty, but at the moment there was only one. The rota only changed one cop at a time to ensure continuity, but that meant that often, the cop at the end of his or her shift would leave dead on time, while the relief cop often turned up late – so at shift changeover, the house was at its most vulnerable.
Unknown to anyone in the safe house, a car was heading towards them, the driver looking down at his watch. His slot was narrowing. A few minutes had gone already. He had to be quick.
On the other side of town, speeding towards the house, were Denise and Tom. Harper reached his hand out of the open window and put a siren on his car. He drove like a bullet through the greasy streets. It was coming together in his head.
‘How do you read it?’ she asked.
‘Someone made the connection. We put out the information about what the child said. We didn’t mention the children, but the killer must’ve worked it out. The papers were full of it. And they reported the fact that Becky had two children. He spotted the link.’
‘Who called it?’
‘They’re protecting the organization, I guess. Heming might be on it himself, or even Sturbe.’
‘You think they’re different people?’
‘I don’t have time to think. I know we’ve got two names, that’s all.’
They shot through dark streets, their fear palpable. Harper called through to the house, but the line was dead. They called the police radio. It was switched off. A major violation. Harper hit the steering wheel.
He then called the precinct. ‘Swanson, I’ve got someone after the kids in the safe house. I need a number. Find out the name of the officer on duty or the social worker, and get me a cell-phone number.’
‘I’m on it,’ said Swanson.
The killer turned into the street. He felt his neck tensing and twisted his head around. He was gripping the wheel too damn tight as well. He parked on the opposite side of the street and got out of his car. He breathed deeply. He was a little late. The world seemed silent for a second. He moved around to the trunk and opened it. He took out two body bags, a thick rope and a climbing grapple. Then he walked across the street, checked his gun and looked up. He saw the lights go out in a downstairs bathroom. They were not expecting any trouble.
He walked around the back of the house. He needed to silence the children. It was as simple as that, but it didn’t feel good. It wasn’t part of what he wanted to do. He felt angry about it, angry and disappointed that he’d left a clue. He looked up at a large oak. It wasn’t close enough to the window, but that didn’t matter. He climbed up the tree, eased himself out on a branch, and then tied the grappling hook to the rope and swung it in a large circle. He released it. It skittered on the tiles and slid down, missing the chimney stack. He tried again, leaning out more. The throw went further. The hook slapped on to the higher tiles and went over the peak. He tugged slowly until the hook bit, and then dropped the rope. It hung down the guttering and right in front of the bedroom window.
He climbed down the tree, sweating from the exertion. When he reached up and tested the rope, it was fixed nice and firm.
He put one hand as far up as he could and jumped, reaching up higher with his second hand. His upper body was strong and he slowly pulled himself up the rope. One hand over the other, slowly advancing towards the window where the kids were sound asleep.
Harper’s cell phone finally rang. He switched off the sound of the siren and answered.
‘Garcia here. I’ve got the cell phone of the officer.’
‘Go ahead.’
Harper took the number and immediately cut Garcia off and dialed the officer. He waited as the ringer started up. The cop finally answered. ‘Hi there, it’s Candy.’
‘Candy, nice to know your first name. My name is Detective Tom Harper of North Manhattan Homicide. Are you with anyone?’
‘Just me and the social worker.’
‘Where’s the second officer?’
‘They haven’t turned up yet, but they should have been here by now.’
‘Okay, Officer Candy, listen up. We’ve got reason to believe that someone has the location and identity of the kids. Have you seen or heard anything at the house?’
‘Nothing, Detective, it’s all quiet here.’
‘That’s good. But this killer is smart. Listen to me. Don’t get alarmed, but I want you to stay on the phone and go upstairs.’
‘Have you called patrol?’
‘Yeah, everyone’s on their way. We’re on our way. Just keep calm.’
‘Okay, I’ll go check.’ The officer stood up and walked to the stairs. She pulled out her gun and switched on the light. The cell phone returned to her ear.
‘Anything?’ said Harper.
‘Check the kids.’
‘I’m going up,’ she said and walked slowly up the stairs. She felt a cool breeze down the corridor and edged into the children’s room.
‘What do you see?’ asked Harper.
‘They’re both sleeping,’ she said, feeling relief rise in her stomach.
Harper thought for a moment. ‘How about the window?’
‘It’s wide open. I’ll shut it.’
‘Was it open when you left them?’ said Harper.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Candy.
‘Then it might be too late,’ said Harper. ‘Pull your gun. He’s there already.’
‘Oh, Jesus Christ, oh no,’ she said.
‘What?’ Harper said urgently. ‘Come on, Candy, keep it together.’
‘Shit, shit, shit.’ Her voice was high and trembling.
‘Help me here, Candy.’
‘I’m looking outside. There’s a rope hanging down from the roof.’ She leaned out of the window and saw the rope swinging right down to the ground. Across the street, she noticed a red car that hadn’t been there before.
‘There’s a car parked across the street. It wasn’t there earlier. It’s red. License-plate is not visible.’
‘Shit,’ said Harper. ‘Check the beds now.’
The police officer raced over to the beds. Neither child was visible. For a moment, she dared not look, the only sound Harper’s breathing in her ear.
‘Are the kids there?’ said Harper. The officer placed the phone on a bedside cabinet, took a deep breath and pulled back both covers. She picked up the phone.
‘Harper,’ she whispered. ‘They’re safe. Still sleeping.’
‘Thank God. We’re on our way – we’ll be there soon as we can.’
The police officer put down the phone and checked the children’s breathing, the fear subsiding slowly. She turned to the door and the fear returned immediately.
He was standing in the dark, behind the door, no face, a gun out in front of him. He motioned her towards the window, his finger on his lips to indicate that she should remain quiet. Her heart felt as if it had stopped.
He pulled the gun from her hand and threw it on the bed. He then took her handcuffs and cuffed both hands behind her back.
The officer couldn’t help herself. ‘Please stop. You can walk away from this. This house is surrounded by cops. You’ll never get away. Just leave the kids and walk. You’ve still got time.’
He pulled the rope through the window, wrapped it three times around her shoulders and arms and tied it.
‘Please don’t hurt the children,’ she said.
He forced her to the window and pushed her out. She dropped a few feet then jerked to a halt. Her body strained as the rope pulled around her shoulders. She dangled there beside the tree.
The man turned to the now waking children. He opened his backpack and took out the body bags. He looked at the phone on the side. All he could hear was a voice calling for the officer. He picked up the cell and put it to his ear, then he killed the call.
On the other end of the line, Harper hit the wheel. ‘We’ve been cut off.’ He screeched around a corner.
‘What?’ said Denise.
‘It means he’s in the house.’