Chapter Six
The safe house wasn’t far from Finnegan’s, making it simple to leave and head to Broadway and the pub. Kieran had gone there to help out, which she often did when she was anxious and waiting for Craig.
But by the time Sarah and Tyler reached Finnegan’s, it had grown quiet and Kieran was back in the office. Declan, Kevin and Danny, Sarah had learned, had become accustomed to having their office turned into a conference room for Craig and Kieran when something other than inventory and payroll needed to be attended to.
An undercover agent, someone who worked with Craig, was sitting at the bar, watching the crowd while sipping a Kaliber, Guinness’s entry on the nonalcoholic side of beer.
He greeted them with a friendly nod when they arrived. Declan, behind the bar, cheerfully sent them to the office. Kieran was at the desk.
“Everyone is good—safe?” Kieran asked as they entered and took up chairs in front of the desk.
“Safe and sound,” Sarah said. “I’m just so glad Davey is there now. I have a feeling that Perry Knowlton must know Davey was the key to ending everything that night.”
“Maybe not,” Tyler said. “He didn’t try for Davey first.”
“No, he went for Hannah, who, sad to say, was an easy target. She wouldn’t have recognized him, but maybe he recognized her. And she would have been an easy first mark because...because she would see men. She was working as a hooker,” Sarah said sadly.
“And that makes sense—go for the easiest victim first,” Kieran said, nodding.
“And we think we have a lead, though where it can take us, I don’t know,” Tyler said.
Craig went on to explain what they’d discussed.
“And no one really saw him, right? What he really looked like?” asked Kieran.
“I never saw him at all, and neither did Davey. We think he was pretending to be an automaton in the music room. From what they said, he scared Suzie half to death when they went through. But there was no such person—or automaton—by the time Davey and I arrived. He could have run out already—or he could have gone through any one of half a dozen emergency exits.”
“But his picture was in the papers, on the web and TV screens, right?” Kieran asked.
“Yes, of course,” Tyler said. “I did see him. He was very distinctive. Tall, at least my height. And lean. With a long face with sharp cheekbones and jaw.”
“Well, at least not a medium height—someone who blends in with the crowd. But there are a lot of men over six feet in New York City,” Craig said.
“Maybe you should be staying at the safe house,” Kieran said thoughtfully.
“No,” Sarah said.
“Well, Tyler, too—he’s one of you,” Kieran pointed out.
Tyler shook his head. “I think Sarah and I will be all right. If he comes for one of us, it’s going to be when we’re alone. He isn’t going to come to a hotel room. He doesn’t kill with a gun, but with a knife. I have a gun. And it’s always best to bring a gun to a knife fight. As long as you’re steady, the gun is going to win every time.”
“And we should have something to work with soon enough,” said Craig. He looked at Sarah and nodded an acknowledgment. “Sarah had it right, we think, from the beginning. We found no less than ten unsolved murders that had to do with total or near decapitation, ranging from Westchester County—Hudson Valley and the Sleepy Hollow area, as Sarah found—to Connecticut and New Jersey. Regional police are sending us everything they have on those killings. We’ll be able to go over them tomorrow. But most importantly, our tech department has entered the last known picture of Perry Knowlton into the computer. Tomorrow, we’ll be starting off the day with images of what Perry Knowlton might look like now, and we’re putting out pictures of Hannah and Suzie. Hopefully, someone might come forward, having seen them somewhere. Our appeal to the public will contain a subtle warning, of course. No one is safe while this man is at work.”
“We should call it a night,” Kieran said. “And get started again in the morning. I have a court appearance at nine, so I’ll be out part of the day. Sarah, you should hang at the safe house during that time.”
Sarah knew she probably should. That fear did live within her somewhere.
But she was going to be with Tyler.
She smiled. “I’ll be safe,” she promised.
Everyone stood. Out in the bar and dining area, they said good-night to Declan, the only one of Kieran’s siblings still working.
Tyler and Sarah were silent as they drove to the hotel. The valet took the car; the hotel lobby was quiet. There was no one in the elevator with them.
“You think we’re really safe here?”
“I think I’ll shoot first and ask questions later,” Tyler said.
She smiled.
“You should think about going to the safe house,” he told her quietly. “It’s one thing for me to take chances with my life, but...I’m not so sure you should have that kind of faith in me.”
“I have ultimate faith in you.”
That night, she didn’t have to join him in the shower. The door was barely closed, his gun and holster were barely laid by the bed before he had her in his arms, before they were both busy grasping at one another’s clothing and dropping it to a pile on the floor. His kisses had become pure fire, heated, demanding, like a liquid blaze that seemed to engulf her limbs and everything in between. She returned his hunger ravenously, anxious to be flush with him, to feel his flesh with every inch of her own, feel the vital life beneath that skin, muscle, bone, heartbeat, breath...
He pressed her down to the bed and made love to her with those hot liquid kisses...all down the length of her body. The world faded away in a sea of pure sensation. She crawled atop him, kissing, touching, loving, as if she would never have enough.
And then they were together, he was in her, and the sensation was so keen she could barely keep from crying out, alerting the world to their whereabouts and exactly what they were doing.
She bit her lip, soaring on a wave of sheer ecstasy. All that lay between them seemed to burst with a show of light before her eyes, a field of stars and color. Then she drifted into the incredibly sweet sensation of climax as it swept over her and shook her with a flow of little shudders and spasms. And then they were still, with the incredible sense of warmth and comfort and ease, her just lying beside him.
She felt she should speak; she didn’t want to. They’d been this close once before, when life had been all but Utopia.
But everything had changed. He’d said that she’d left him—but he had been the one to walk away. Move away. Start a completely new life.
He pulled her close to him.
She thought he might speak.
He did not. He just held her, his lips brushing her forehead as they lay there.
She stared into the darkness for a long time, not sleeping.
There was sound. The slightest sound in the hallway.
Tyler was out of bed, his Smith and Wesson in his hands, before she could really register the noise. He went to the door. And then he came back, returning the gun to the side of the bed. Sliding in beside her, he told her, “Two girls in 708 returning from a night at the bar. They’re trying to be quiet—kind of surprising one of them hasn’t knocked the other over yet!”
She smiled. This time, when he pulled her close, they made love again.
And then she did drift to sleep.
She thought she would dream of sandy beaches, a warm sun and a balmy breeze—and Tyler at her side.
Instead, she dreamed of a tall dark man lurking in the shadows, watching her. She was back in Cemetery Mansion, racing after Davey, trying to stop him. And she was in the music room, with no one else there, and it seemed no matter how fast she ran, she couldn’t reach the dining room, couldn’t find Davey, couldn’t get out. And though she couldn’t really see him, she knew that he was there. The tall dark man.
Watching her.
Calculating when it would be her turn.
* * *
TYLER HAD NEVER needed much sleep, and he was glad of it. At just about six in the morning, he woke; at his side, Sarah was twisting and turning.
He whispered to her, pulling her closer to him, not wanting to wake her, but not wanting her to suffer through whatever was going on in her dreams—or nightmares. He wanted to ease whatever plagued her, even while he marveled at being with her once again. Her body was so smooth and sleek, curved upon the snow-white sheets. Her hair had always been a sunny shade of gold, and it fell around her like a mantle.
“Sarah,” he said gently.
Her eyes opened. For a moment, they were wide and frightened—just for a moment. And then she saw his face, and she smiled and flushed.
“Nightmare,” she murmured.
“So I gathered. About?”
“Cemetery Mansion,” she said softly. “You know, sometimes it takes me a few minutes to remember what I had for lunch the day before—but I remember everything about that awful night.”
“So do I.”
“Do you ever...dream?”
“I’ve had some dreadful nightmares, yeah, for sure.”
She sighed. “I’m glad to hear it. I mean—I’m not glad you have nightmares. I’m glad I’m not the only one. I guess that’s not really very nice, either!”
“You’re human.”
She stared at him for a moment, blue eyes still very wide, but her expression grim. “Human. So is this killer. He’s human—and he’s done these things!”
Tyler was silent a minute. Then he told her, “There’s something wrong with people like Archibald Lemming and Perry Knowlton. You know that—you’ve been around Kieran enough. When they get to such a point, it’s a fine distinction between psychopaths or sociopaths—whatever wiring they have in their heads, it’s not normal. In a sense, they’ve lost all their sense of humanity. The normal person is heartsick to hear about an earthquake that killed hundreds, but this killer would want the pictures. He would relish the death and destruction. He would wish that it had been his handiwork.”
She shook her head. “I can’t feel sorry for him. He’s sick, but after what he’s done to people...that kind of sickness doesn’t draw any sympathy from me. I guess it should, but it doesn’t.”
“The thing is...even if he were to finish this bit of revenge—”
“You mean, kill all of us.”
“Even if he were to finish, he wouldn’t stop. It’s impossible to know now if he did commit any or all of the unsolved crimes you and the FBI found. It’s impossible to know if he was gearing up, practicing for this—or if, in his warped mind, he realized that he should take his desire to kill and turn it into revenge.”
“He’s got to be stopped!” she whispered.
“He’s careful. Hannah was an easy target. He found Suzie Cornwall—the wrong Suzie Cornwall—and lured her off alone easily enough. But now we’re onto him. And he’ll figure that out. I don’t think he intends to take any chances, so we have to keep the others at the safe house and be incredibly alert and aware ourselves.”
He heard his phone buzzing—it was time to be up and moving.
He reached for his cell. He wasn’t surprised the caller was Craig.
“The pictures are about to go out.”
“That’s good.”
“Yes, but you have to know something.”
“What is that?”
He heard a bit of commotion. The next thing he knew, Craig was gone and Kieran was on the phone.
“Tyler! He’s been at Finnegan’s. This man...this man who appears to be Perry Knowlton...he’s been at Finnegan’s several times. I’m not there all the time so I don’t really know, but...I’ve seen him! I’ve seen him at least three times!”
* * *
IT WAS EARLY and that meant there was no problem for Declan to open the pub just for friends and family. His siblings along with his fiancée, Mary Kathleen, and Craig, Tyler and Sarah sat around two tables that they’d pushed together, drinking coffee.
Sarah made sure Tyler was introduced to Kevin, Kieran’s twin—the one brother he’d not met yet. Kevin couldn’t stay long; he was shooting a “Why I Love New York” commercial for the tourist board at ten.
“We shouldn’t have asked you to come in,” Tyler said. “Nice to meet you—and I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Declan called me as soon as he received the message from Craig with the police computer rendering of Perry Knowlton. I never waited on him, but I know I’ve seen the bastard in here.”
“It’s frightening—and interesting. Because if you recognize him, hopefully others will, too,” Tyler said.
Craig had printouts of the composite lying on the table. He told them, “Perry Knowlton is forty-three years old now. He started his killing binge at the age of twenty-nine, and was convicted of five murders and incarcerated by the time he was thirty-one.”
Tyler picked up the account. “In prison, he met Archibald Lemming, and they probably compared their methods for finding their victims—and for killing them.”
“And,” Kieran continued, “they would remember their crimes. They were probably thrilled to have someone to tell, trying to one-up each other all the time. They liked to enjoy their memories over and over again—just as others would enjoy talking about their vacation to Italy, or a day at a beautiful beach.”
Declan tapped the image of Perry Knowlton that lay on the table. “A few times before—and then less than two weeks ago—he was at the end of the bar. He ordered whiskey, neat. He was polite and even seemed to be charming those around him. Easy, level voice.”
“You’re sure it was him?” Tyler asked.
“I’d bet a hell of a lot on it,” Declan said.
“And I’m damned sure, too,” Kevin said.
“He was at a table, maybe a month ago,” Mary Kathleen told them all. “And he was quite amicable, very nice, complimented the potato soup and the shepherd’s pie.”
“I served him when he was hanging around with a number of the regulars,” Danny said. “He had them all laughing.”
“The all-around guy-next-door,” Kieran murmured. “Historically, there have been several truly charismatic serial killers, the poster boy being Ted Bundy. He worked for a suicide crisis center, for God’s sake, with Anne Rule—long before he was infamous for his crimes and she was famous for her books. But he wasn’t the only one. I don’t know that everyone would have fallen for Charles Manson, but he knew how to collect the young and disenfranchised. Andrew Cunanan—Versace’s killer—was supposedly intelligent and affable. Paul John Knowles was known as the ‘Casanova Killer.’ The list can go on, but...”
“A charming, bright, handsome psychopath,” Sarah murmured. “Great.”
“But he’s been exposed now,” Tyler reminded her. “Someone knows him. Someone has seen him and knows his habits.”
“Oh, aye, and sure!” Mary Kathleen said. “He likes good shepherd’s pie, tips well enough and has lovely laughing green eyes. Ah, but how they must look when—” She broke off, shivering. “Horrible. Don’t just shoot him. Skin him alive, saw him to pieces!” she said passionately.
Sarah set her hand on Mary Kathleen’s. “But that’s what makes the difference between us...” she said. “We wouldn’t do those things to another human being. Although I understand completely what you’re saying. I was there. The idea that killers find a little torture themselves does have its appeal.”
“Do any of you remember the first time you saw him—and the last time?” Tyler asked.
“The first time...” Declan mused.
“Last October!” Mary Kathleen said. “Oh, I do remember—because I had to leave early that day. Me niece was coming over from Dublin. He offered to pay his check quickly.”
“That was nearly five months ago,” Kieran murmured.
“Do you think he’s been looking for Sarah all that time?” Kevin asked.
“How would he have known that she worked here at all?” Declan murmured.
“He might have found her by accident. He might have seen her one day and followed her... It’s a huge city, but we all know that sometimes it can be a very small world. And it’s easy to discover personal details on social media,” Tyler said.
“My address was never out anywhere!” Sarah said firmly.
“Of course not,” Declan said. “But you might have written something about the pub. And that brought him here.”
“Maybe,” she murmured.
“He must have figured out after the first month or so that she wasn’t working here anymore,” Declan commented flatly. “But...”
Craig’s phone rang and he excused himself.
“He thought that she’d come back,” Tyler said. “He knew you worked here at some time or another, Sarah. And when was the last time anyone saw him?”
“Like I said,” Declan told him. “Ten days to two weeks ago. Sorry I can’t be more definite.”
“He knows some things, but obviously not enough,” Kieran said, looking at Sarah. “He didn’t know Suzie wasn’t using Cornwall anymore—he didn’t know she and Sean Avery were married. He tries to find what he’s looking for, but he hasn’t the resources he’d surely love to have. That means we’ve got an edge on him,” she added softly.
“Director Egan called,” Declan told them. He was, Sarah knew, Craig’s direct boss. “He says he’ll keep Josh McCormack in here, watching over us and the pub, during opening hours. We are licensed to have a gun, which is behind the bar. But only the family has access.”
“Oh! If something were to happen to someone in the pub, or to Finnegan’s... I’m so sorry I seem to have brought this on you!” Sarah said.
“You didn’t,” Declan said. “We’re tough. We’ll manage, as we always have.”
“Sláinte!” Mary Kathleen said, raising her coffee cup.
Smiles went around; coffee mugs were lifted in cheers.
Craig returned to the table. “Tyler, there’s been a break in the case. The bartender at Time and Time Again also recognized Perry Knowlton from the composite. I think we should talk to him again.”
“Ready when you are,” Tyler said, standing. He looked down at Sarah.
“Hell, no,” she said. “I’m not staying anywhere. I’m coming with you.”
* * *
WHEN THEY REACHED the bar in the theater district, Detective Bob Green and his photographer, Alex Morrison, were already there.
Tyler almost ran into Morrison. “Hey, you all made it,” the man said, watching him curiously. “There are no security cameras here, so they want pictures of the bar and the entry. Seems our fellow Knowlton liked to hang around here a lot. He flirted with Hannah—sorry, you can talk to the bartender yourselves. I’ll get on with it.”
He seemed to be taking pictures of all aspects of the bar.
The place was still closed; it was ten thirty and Tyler imagined it opened by eleven or eleven thirty. They needed the time alone with Luke, the bartender.
Luke was already talking to Detective Green, who was seated on one of the bar stools. He saw Sarah coming and smiled and waved—obviously a bit taken with her. That was good; she had said she could be helpful, and though Tyler really wanted her safely far away from the action, she was useful. So far, she’d actually garnered far more info than he had, just by being friendly and curious, and he was supposedly the investigator.
Luke greeted them all and offered them coffee.
For once, Tyler thought he’d been coffee’d out.
“I should have been able to meet you wherever,” Luke said. “I don’t usually work days, but...the other bartender quit. She saw the picture and she just quit. That guy’s been in here lots. He was teasing and flirting with Hannah the night...the night she...the night she was murdered. But can it really be him? He seems really decent. Nice—he tips big, unlike a hell of a lot of people around here. Are you sure that it’s him?”
“We’re sure we need to find him,” Tyler said.
“Have you seen him since Hannah was killed?” Sarah asked.
“Oh, yes.”
“Yes?” Tyler asked.
“Hell, he was in here last night! And, I mean, until the news this morning, I had no clue. No clue at all. I was nice, he was nice. Oh, God, he’s good-looking, you know. Flirtatious. He talked to so many girls. I just hope...oh, God! I hope none of them turn up dead!”
“We’re hoping that, too,” Craig said.
Detective Bob Green looked at Craig. “You guys are handling the safe house. We’ll see to a watch on this place.”
“He won’t come back here now,” Sarah said.
“Well, he’s pretty cocky,” Luke said.
Sarah shook his head. “He didn’t think that we’d know it was him—but now he knows we’re looking for him, thanks to the picture we released to the press. I think he’ll lie low for a while. But hey, sure—keep an eye on the bar.”
“We don’t have a hell of a lot else,” Green said.
“She’s right, though.”
Tyler swung around. It was the photographer, Alex, who had spoken, and he was now coming up to join them. He flushed and said, “Hey, I’m with the forensic unit—civilian. Not a cop. But I’ve taken a hell of a lot of photos, and...well, here. Here’s some of what I got at the park the other day. The park where Suzie Cornwall was found. If you look...”
He held his camera forward, twisting it around so that they could gather close and see the images right-side up.
“We’re looking at the body of Suzie Cornwall in situ,” Green said.
“Yes, yes, but I just realized what else I have here—studying it all. Let me enlarge it for you... Look at the people,” Alex said. He clicked a side button; the image honed in on the crowd, growing larger.
And there he was.
Perry Knowlton, aged just as the computer suggested he would age.
Tall, with a headful of blond hair. Lean face, rugged chin, broad, high brow. Lean, long physique. Tall, yes, standing next to a rabbi with a tall hat—and a guy who looked like a lumberjack. He almost blended in with the crowd.
“He does come back to the scene of the crime,” Sarah murmured.
“He’s been everywhere!” Alex murmured. “He’s been here. God knows, the man might have been in the city since the Cemetery Mansion massacre.”
“You remember the massacre?” Sarah asked him.
“Anyone who was in the city at the time remembers it,” Detective Green said.
“Some more than others,” Tyler said, studying Alex. “Were you at the theme park?”
“Yeah. Oh, yeah, I was already there—when I was called in to work for the local unit that night! I was still so raw—I’d made it into the academy, but one time when I was sitting around sketching to pass the time, a colleague told me they were short in the forensic department. My curiosity was tweaked, and I figured I could always come back and finish the academy. I never did, but...anyway. I wasn’t making any kind of big bucks, if you know what I mean, so I was moonlighting, too. Working part-time for the amusement company. That night, I was working as a float—you know, I was sent wherever they were missing an employee or actor. That night I was a ticket taker, not far from where the Cemetery Mansion had been erected. I can’t believe I was there—that I might have seen the creepy bastard go running by me—as he escaped. I just remember the blood and the screams and the people who were so terrified, running, running, running...” He stopped, shaking his head. “Hell, I’d give my eyeteeth to help in catching this bastard, so anything—anything at all I can do to help, I’m there. I’m going to go back over the pictures we took of the crime scene when we found Hannah Levine...you know, um, both places where they found her...head and torso.”
“Interesting,” Tyler said. “Maybe you can find some kind of a distinguishing something about him that will give us a clue as to where he’s been living—he has to be in the city somewhere.”
“He wears black in these pictures,” Alex commented. “A black coat.”
“He wears a black coat when he’s in here, too,” said Luke. He cleared his throat. “Do you think he will come back here? I mean, I should be okay, right? He’s going after women.”
Alex Morrison was flicking through his digital pictures. Tyler reached for the camera.
He’d just recently been taking shots of the place. The large, etched mirror behind the bar; the old wooden stools; the rather shabby booths out on the floor; and the tables there. He had taken pictures of the tables inside and of the outside of the establishment.
A large canopy awning hung down over the front of the building, though it hadn’t become a warm enough spring yet for patrons to want to sit outside. Or even have a window open.
But Alex Morrison had taken pictures outside, of the streets leading east and west of the bar. He had caught other buildings in his shots.
And he’d caught a number of pedestrians.
Tyler studied the pictures. He felt Sarah’s hand on his shoulder; she was looking over at them, as well.
Mostly, it appeared to be Manhattan’s daily business crowd—rushing here, there, trying to get to work on time.
People were in line at the coffee shop toward the corner.
A woman had paused to adjust her shoe.
Tyler glanced up at Alex Morrison. He was probably just in his early to midthirties now.
Tyler vaguely remembered him as the photographer back then, but they hadn’t had any real contact at the time. But Morrison had been decent, straightforward, yet gentle due to their ages.
However, not as brave or passionate as he seemed to be now.
His photos were good. He had an eye for focus and detail.
“Touch here, and you can enlarge wherever you want,” Alex told them.
“Thanks.”
“Go back a few,” Sarah said. “There’s a really great long shot. It brings in the street, going toward the Times Square area.”
Tyler flicked back.
And at first, he saw nothing unusual.
No details at all. And then he paused.
There was a woman in the road. The street wasn’t closed to traffic, but she was jaywalking and in the middle of the road as cars went by her.
All around her, neon lights blazed—even in the morning.
The pictures hadn’t been taken an hour ago. Some had just been taken as Alex had entered the bar.
Tyler touched the screen as Alex had shown him. The image enlarged.
She was wearing a white dress, white coat and low white pumps. She had a bobbed platinum haircut—like Marilyn Monroe.
He could see that, compared to other people walking in the vicinity, she was tall. Really tall.
“She...” Green murmured.
“Oh, Lord!” Sarah said.
“What is it?” Alex Morrison asked them, frowning as he turned the viewing screen back toward himself.
“She is a he,” Tyler said quietly. “She is Perry Knowlton. When did you snap that?”
“That’s...that’s one of the last images I took—maybe ten minutes ago.”
Tyler was up and heading out before the others could blink.
No.
She was a he, and the “he” was Perry Knowlton.
And he was out there, close.
Closer than they had ever imagined.