American Devil by Oliver Stark Page A

punishment going on here. And then the strange confessional poses and blossom. The poses that suggested the killer didn’t feel like he had the right to do what he’d done. He seemed to show remorse.
    Harper spent an hour walking through each room, piecing together the last few minutes of Mary-Jane’s life. ‘All three kills show confidence and hatred,’ he told Eddie as they left. ‘There’s an increasing degree of overkill. In all cases, the killer posed the corpses and took a trophy, and he sprinkled cherry blossom like confetti over the first two. Why is that?’
    ‘He’s a fucking mental case. That’s the only explanation you ever gonna get from me.’
    ‘Yeah, he’s crazy, but he took time to shift each body to expose them. He wants to degrade them - to hide their faces and expose them as if he was suggesting that that was all they were worth. I know they were all wealthy, but if you want my opinion, I think this is personal. He sees something in these girls that no one else sees.’

Chapter Twelve
    One PP
November 17, 10.00 a.m.
     
    A couple of hours after walking the crime scene, Tom Harper left Eddie Kasper to talk to the profilers at the FBI’s New York field office. Later he arrived right on time for his appointment at One PP. He knocked on the fake mahogany door of the suite on the fifth floor. The little brass sign read Dr Denise Levene, Ph.D.
    On the wall hung a little certificate: Dr Denise Levene, a fellow of the American Psychological Association, was honored as Distinguished Psychologist of the Year in 2003-4 for her pioneering contributions in cognitive behavioral psychotherapy.
    A warm voice from inside the office shouted, ‘Come in.’ Harper did as he was told. He had to these days. He pushed the heavy door across the thick carpet and stepped inside.
    There she was, Dr Denise Levene, sitting in a high-backed black leather chair in a white blouse, writing in her desk diary.
    Harper stood in the entrance and waited for her to look up. She didn’t. It gave him a second or two to run his eyes over her. Blond hair. He hadn’t expected that. Young, too. She had a petite frame. Then she looked up and a pair of bright blue eyes held his gaze directly. She was pretty, for a shrink.
    ‘Welcome. Take a seat,’ she said.
    Harper remained standing.
    ‘Take a seat, please ,’ she said and smiled, all nice and accommodating.
    ‘Look, if you’re going to get all hooked on me, why don’t you just say something now and we can end this.’
    She didn’t blink. Good on her.
    ‘Take a seat, Harper.’ She was forceful now.
    He stood his ground, unsure how to play this one. Levene leaned back in her leather chair and chewed the end of her pen. ‘I get it. I’m blonde. I’m a woman. I’ve got letters after my name. You don’t know what to do with me, do you, Mr Harper?’
    ‘It’s Detective Harper,’ said Tom, flexing the muscles in his shoulders.
    ‘Not according to your file, cowboy. Not unless I agree you’re fit for duty. Officially, you’re still on suspension.’
    Harper sighed. She was a smart-ass. Just what he needed. A curt little city girl with an answer for everything. ‘All right, let’s get this over with,’ he said, moving into the room and sitting reluctantly on a wide brown couch. He was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. After he’d hit Jarvis the first time, they had made him sit through sessions with some tight-faced therapist who responded to every remark with ‘Well, that’s good. So gooood.’ He’d ended up blaming the therapist for destroying his career. Too much thought can kill you as surely as too little.
    Levene tipped further back in her chair. She studied Tom for a moment, unafraid of his negativity or of the silence. She was trying to get some angle. Tom felt her eyes on him and he lifted his head and stared back. She was confident. Dealt with his type before, maybe. Knew the road.
    ‘Let’s get some shit out of the way first,’ she said. ‘You