Rise of a Phoenix: Rise of a Phoenix (7 page)

“That’s why the most was taken from her,” Tina finished the sentence, catching on to his theory.

“What, you mean our guy is seeking out women for body parts? For what?” McCall’s patience was thin and this guy was stretching it to the limit.

“Look, you said you could help,” McCall continued. “But frankly if all your ideas are as half-assed as this we are better off without you. I’m sorry.” And with that she stormed out, not because the idea was wrong, no. It was more maddening than that.

What
really
annoyed her was the possibility that he could be right and she had failed to see what he had.

The newcomer walked up to Tina and took her right hand. “I’m very sorry for the intrusion, Madam,” and, so saying, he gently raised her knuckles to his lips and planted a small kiss there, then left. Tina grabbed for the side of the table as her knees gave way. All she could say to herself was “WOW!”

As he got out of the elevator he saw the chaos of the office. Phones were ringing, computers flashed with information, and detectives were running here and there with documents in their hands. He stepped off and looked round to find McCall attacking a vending machine. Tooms and Tony were going through paperwork and arguing about what should go in a filing system, while the Captain was on McCall’s phone yelling at some poor SOB about press at the crime scene. A smile crept over his face, as he nodded to himself reassuringly, deciding that it was time to tell them who he was.

The stranger walked up to the Captain and whispered into his ear, and the other man stood bolt upright as though a sudden shock of electricity had been passed through him. He said something in return and beckoned the others to follow him into a small briefing room. The tall mysterious man was already inside, and as they came in, he asked them to sit down. Shutting the door, he moved to the centre of a wall on which there was a large map of the city.

He took stock of the situation and held his two pressed-together index fingers against his lips, as if planning what he was about to say. Describing him as nervous and uncomfortable would have been an understatement.

“My name is John Steel,” he began. “At this present moment I am assigned to your department to assist with these homicides. Unfortunately I cannot disclose any more information than that at this time. I understand that my presence will cause some issues with our working relationship, however details about what I am working on is classified information. Thank you for your time.”

He waited for some comeback, a snide comment or remark, but there was nothing. Everyone just left the room as though nothing had happened, simply nodding in acknowledgement, leaving a somewhat puzzled Englishman.

Steel walked over to McCall’s desk with a sheepish look on his face, that turned into a smile.

“Look I’m sorry. We got off on the wrong foot, but—”

She cut him off in mid-sentence by raising a hand. She shuffled through some paperwork, searching for something, then standing up they both moved across to the information boards.

“He isn’t done yet, is he?” She looked at him with saddened eyes; John Steel shook his head, the bright fluorescent lights in the room glinting on his sunglasses.

“No, he’s not finished. But we will catch this guy,” he said, turning back to the board. “We have to.”

This left her with an even more puzzled look on her face. This time it was over the mystery man Steel. Who was he and what was his connection with the killer?

Dr. Colby Davidson sat in his black leather office chair jotting down notes as his patient rambled on about how life was meaningless without her little ‘Candy’. The elderly woman was clutching a photo of her dearly departed Chihuahua in one hand and a pink diamond studded collar in the other. The doctor, who was in his early forties, listened patiently to what she was saying, appearing to be interested, touching her shoulder to comfort her, while he heard about the dog’s grand funeral that cost more than he had paid for his Mercedes. He was a tall thin man with black greased-back hair and small black-rimmed glasses that covered his large dark eyes. He did not require spectacles, no, the ones he wore were more for show, to give him an intellectual air. His face was long, and a large Roman nose supported the unnecessary spectacles.

“Please go on, Mrs. Burnett.” His voice was soft and sickly, like honey. He crossed one leg over the other, resting a three-thousand dollar shoe on the knee of an eight-thousand dollar suit trouser leg.

He smelt of money and so he should, for he was in fact one of the top psychiatrists in New York, if not the country. His clothes and the furnishings in his office spoke volumes about the man. How had it come to this, he thought? How had years of training and hard work led him to a life of put him with listening to the ramblings of tired old women? He looked towards his
wall of fame
, where trophies and diplomas filled shelves, photos of him shaking hands with famous people, even the President himself, and a cabinet full of trophies.

An antique gold-and-black clock chimed in the background, signalling the end of the lady’s session. She slowly got off the leather chaise longue and dried her eyes with the corner of a white embroidered handkerchief.

“Now, Mrs. Burnett we are making progress.” He held her gloved hands.

“Don’t worry, these things take time, dear lady, now if you speak to Beatrice she will make you another appointment.” Mrs. Burnett thanked him and left. As he shut the door, his back rested against the cool oak timber, and he raised his head and closed his weary eyes, and thanked God that the session was over.

Moving to the drinks trolley next to a large dark wood cabinet, he could not help but think: was this it?
Is it over, is there nothing more to challenge this brilliant mind?
Stopping, he poured himself a drink of whisky and downed it in one.

He sat down on his heavy-looking office chair, and turned to look out of the huge windows that revealed a magnificent view of the park. He took a sip from a freshly poured drink, and he sighed as he watched the people walking carelessly in the midday sun then he smiled just for a moment until the intercom broke his concentration.

“Sorry to disturb you, doctor. But you have the police on line one.”

“Thank you, put them through, Beatrice.” He was confused. Police? What on earth could they want? He had done nothing wrong!

He picked up the receiver gingerly and placed it slowly to his ear.

“Hello, this is Dr Davidson, how may I be of assistance?” His voice slow and tentative, but still ringing with his usual treacle tones.

“Yes, hello, doctor. This is Captain Alan Brant of the New York Police Department. I wondered if you would be so kind as to come down to the station. Sir, we could really use someone of your expertise to help with a case we’re working on.”

Davidson’s face cracked an eerie smile. “I would be delighted to help you with your little case, Officer.” He preened himself, arrogantly wallowing in this sudden recognition.

“Um yes thank you, and that’s Captain, not Officer.”

Davidson was suddenly taken aback by the policeman’s correction;
he must think a lot about himself
, thought the doctor, admiring himself in the reflection from the window.

“Yes, yes whatever you say,” They agreed on a time.

“Till tomorrow then,” and he put down the receiver before the Captain could reply. He sprung up out of his chair and raced to the door. Swinging open the heavy panel he stuck his head round the corner to see his secretary, a pretty young thing dressed all in black, apart from a white frilly blouse which left not much to the imagination.

“Oh, Beatrice,” She looked up with a start as the fringe of her long red hair fell over her blue eyes. “Yes, doctor?” Her voice was slightly bouncy, with the tone of a young teenager.

“Listen, I will not be available as of tomorrow, so could you cancel my appointments for the week? Thank you.” He gazed at her from head to toe.

“Nothing the matter, I hope, doc,” she said, the gum in her mouth clinging between the upper and lower molars.

“No, no, just consulting on a little case for the police, that is all.”

He was back in his office.
At last
, he thought, newspapers, press; he would be back up there again.

The caretaker , a friendly, plump woman with large brown-rimmed glasses, had let Tooms and Tony into Karen’s apartment. The place was large with lots of windows, and the white walls enhanced the natural light in the sitting area, and as they looked round there appeared to be a kitchen next to this space with only a breakfast bar to separate the two. As they went through Karen’s belongings it became apparent to them that she had little social life: pretty much everything she had appeared to be work-orientated.

Tony went through her fridge while Tooms checked her mail; they both came up empty.

“This girl was super clean, I mean the fridge is laid out in some sort of order, even the stuff in her cupboards is labelled where it should go, nah, this is freaky, bro,” Tony said, shutting the fridge and joining Tooms in the sitting area.

“Why is it whenever we come to a victim’s home we try and find some dirty secrets in their life, or something to try to make sense and explain the bad things that happened to them?” Tony continued, going through her sock drawer. He found nothing.

“Human nature, bro,” Tooms replied. “We can’t really accept bad things happen to good people, there is no social justice in it, but if bad things happen to bad people, well that’s all right. Unfortunately we know that aint always the way it works and it sucks.”

“Yeh, I guess you’re right. I got nothing, just her diary and planner, let’s get back.”

The two friends left for the precinct, leaving CSU to check for any more evidence about the girl.

Charlene Walters had had a long day at the club, the wives’ meeting had gone on forever. The society ladies meeting only met once a month and it was a chance for her to get out of the house for a bit. She had mingled but it was time to go, so she said her farewells and made for the door.

The grey suit she wore clung to her body. Even though she was in her late fifties she had the looks and body of a hot forty-year-old, and she knew it.

A young twenty-something guy brought round her car; she observed him closely as he got out and held the door of the Mercedes for her, and she slid into the driver’s seat of the sports car, pressed a hundred into his hand, and winked. He shut the door and she sped off into the distance. As he opened the folded note her business card fell out, and he picked it up and stuck it into his vest pocket with a grin.

It was a long drive from the Hamptons; however, it could not be helped, it was that or stay home with him. And it was a beautiful night, the stars shone like diamonds in the dark of the heavens, shards of light smudged across the windshield as she sped past the streetlights guiding her path towards the city. As Charlene got into Manhattan, she was aware it was not as late as she thought and decided to do a little stop-off.

The park house was almost empty but she still decided to park as she always did, near to an exit or elevator and close to another expensive car if at all possible; she found the perfect spot next to a black 911.

The new Porsche’ paintwork glinted in the light as she stopped and put on some lipstick. Fluffing her short brown hair Charlene exited the vehicle.

Looking round she saw a couple of people here and there, parking or getting ready to depart. Pressing the small transmitter on her key, the lights flashed and the horn emitted a
meep meep
to confirm the operation of securing her car. Charlene opened her brown leather bag and placed the keys in it; reaching inside she pulled out a compact, and a stick of lipstick. She removed the cover and twisted the lower part of the stick, exposing the deep red lipstick’s business end. With her other hand she flicked open the compact and stared into the mirror. Charlene stopped for a brief moment, staring at her own reflection, but all she saw was a sad middle-aged woman. A car sped past, shocking her back to reality. She regarded her face once more, then shrugged at the reflection and smiled. After freshening up her make-up, she put the lipstick and compact back into the bag, then closed the flap using the gold-coloured crossed CC buckle. As she approached the elevator in silence and pressed the call button, Charlene watched quietly as the small round disks above the sliding doors illuminated, showing which floor the elevator was on. The light held position on the floor below, as her foot tapped impatiently on the hard concrete.

She smiled as the light went out and she could hear the faint rumble of the heavy metal box that was heading upwards through the shaft towards her. Just as the elevator approached, her bag gave off a faint tune as her cell phone played the theme from the musical
Cats
. As she looked down to answer it, the elevator’s door slid open and a bright stream of light shone out. She looked up, shielding her eyes from the blinding torchlight. A powerful hand reached out and dragged her in. As the doors closed and the elevator made its way upwards, a terrified scream filled the shaft, then abruptly it stopped.

Tooms and Tony had returned from their trip to ‘I haven’t seen anything and I don’t know anything’ land that was Karen’s apartment block.

“What’s up, guys?” asked McCall, who was busy looking to see where John Steel was.

“Well, as usual, nobody knew her apart from some guy in 4c who said, and I quote: ‘she was really smoking’,” Tooms replied, putting down the notepad he was reading from, and his voice carried an ‘
I’m not surprised’
tone.

“Nobody saw her and she lived in a block with over thirty people in it. Apart from that she was clean living, quiet, always paid her rent on time.” He put the pad into the pocket of his thick unyielding brown leather jacket.

“We didn’t find pictures of family or anything, no boyfriend pictures, nothing.” Tony added, sitting at his desk as he started to dial a number on the desk’s phone while McCall worked on the white board, which was now covered with photos and scribbles.