killer had to lure Paulson up to his own roof. Or incapacitate him, then bring him to the roof. Revive him. Convince him to step to the edge. Push him. It was too elaborate.
As Dark racked his brain for connections between the two, his cell phone buzzed. A text from Graysmith:
IT HAPPENED AGAIN CALL ME
Twenty minutes later a car picked him up outside the hotel. It had been the fastest check-in/checkout the dull-eyed clerk at the front desk had ever seen. “Something wrong with the room? Sir?” Dark ignored him. There was nothing wrong with the room. There was probably something wrong with his head.
Graysmith had told him that less than an hour ago, Philly PD had been summoned to a triple slaying in a sports bar in West Philly, near the Wharton School of Business. Three women, tortured, throats slit, in a locked bathroom. Their bodies had also been “arranged.”
Now, Graysmith had said, was their chance. She could get him to the crime scene immediately, full access, where he could work the scene—before Special Circs even roused someone out of bed. How? Dark had asked. You let me worry about that, Graysmith had said.
Dark decided that, at the very least, it was a chance to see if Graysmith was full of shit or not.
The car brought him to a private airfield where a Gulfstream jet was waiting. The best thing about owning your own plane? You don’t have to deal with any FAA security checks. He was airborne within minutes of stepping onto the plane. The only other passenger: a woman in a business suit. Dark assumed she was just hitching a ride on the Secret Government Agency express until she stood up and asked if she could get Dark anything to drink.
“No, thanks,” Dark said.
The plane cut through the air like its tail was on fire—faster than most commercial travel was allowed, especially over U.S. soil.
It wasn’t just the buzz of the plane. Dark was amazed how alive he felt, even after a full day of travel. Maybe this was what he was meant to do. It was a compulsion like no other. If he wasn’t chasing predators, Dark knew he might as well just lie down and stop breathing.
But if that was true, where did that leave his daughter?
The plane landed at Philadelphia International not more than twenty minutes later. The twinkling skyline of the city was hazy in the distance. Dark thought about Philadelphia. If this was the killer’s next stop, why? Was it because Stephanie Paulson was originally from Philadelphia? Maybe this was part of a pattern. Green to Jeb Paulson. Paulson to his wife? Would someone in her family be next? Some other arcane connection?
Within minutes Dark was transferred to another car. It was approximately ten miles to West Philly, the driver informed him—they should be arriving in five. On the way, Dark’s cell buzzed against his inner thigh. He fished the phone out of his pocket. It was Graysmith. Never mind that it was the middle of the night. She sounded wide awake.
“I see you’re en route to the crime scene,” she said. “Got everything you need?”
“You said I’d have access,” Dark said.
“Sending it to your phone right now. Just show the lead investigator your screen. Name’s Lankford. He’ll let you in.”
chapter 23
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Without the people, noise, or music, the bar looked like an empty stage. The room was full of props, but no one to inhabit them. The stark houselights highlighted every imperfection—scratches in the wood, dust on the light fixtures, stains on the fabric. In a place like this, you’d only consider drinking or eating if the lights were low.
The bodies had been discovered an hour before closing. After the first screams, a bouncer ran back to the ladies’ room to find it locked, a key snapped off inside the mechanism. Once he had finally managed to pry open the door and saw what was inside, the bouncer couldn’t help it. He’d screamed, too. Panicked patrons fled the bar. The tables were still
As Dark racked his brain for connections between the two, his cell phone buzzed. A text from Graysmith:
IT HAPPENED AGAIN CALL ME
Twenty minutes later a car picked him up outside the hotel. It had been the fastest check-in/checkout the dull-eyed clerk at the front desk had ever seen. “Something wrong with the room? Sir?” Dark ignored him. There was nothing wrong with the room. There was probably something wrong with his head.
Graysmith had told him that less than an hour ago, Philly PD had been summoned to a triple slaying in a sports bar in West Philly, near the Wharton School of Business. Three women, tortured, throats slit, in a locked bathroom. Their bodies had also been “arranged.”
Now, Graysmith had said, was their chance. She could get him to the crime scene immediately, full access, where he could work the scene—before Special Circs even roused someone out of bed. How? Dark had asked. You let me worry about that, Graysmith had said.
Dark decided that, at the very least, it was a chance to see if Graysmith was full of shit or not.
The car brought him to a private airfield where a Gulfstream jet was waiting. The best thing about owning your own plane? You don’t have to deal with any FAA security checks. He was airborne within minutes of stepping onto the plane. The only other passenger: a woman in a business suit. Dark assumed she was just hitching a ride on the Secret Government Agency express until she stood up and asked if she could get Dark anything to drink.
“No, thanks,” Dark said.
The plane cut through the air like its tail was on fire—faster than most commercial travel was allowed, especially over U.S. soil.
It wasn’t just the buzz of the plane. Dark was amazed how alive he felt, even after a full day of travel. Maybe this was what he was meant to do. It was a compulsion like no other. If he wasn’t chasing predators, Dark knew he might as well just lie down and stop breathing.
But if that was true, where did that leave his daughter?
The plane landed at Philadelphia International not more than twenty minutes later. The twinkling skyline of the city was hazy in the distance. Dark thought about Philadelphia. If this was the killer’s next stop, why? Was it because Stephanie Paulson was originally from Philadelphia? Maybe this was part of a pattern. Green to Jeb Paulson. Paulson to his wife? Would someone in her family be next? Some other arcane connection?
Within minutes Dark was transferred to another car. It was approximately ten miles to West Philly, the driver informed him—they should be arriving in five. On the way, Dark’s cell buzzed against his inner thigh. He fished the phone out of his pocket. It was Graysmith. Never mind that it was the middle of the night. She sounded wide awake.
“I see you’re en route to the crime scene,” she said. “Got everything you need?”
“You said I’d have access,” Dark said.
“Sending it to your phone right now. Just show the lead investigator your screen. Name’s Lankford. He’ll let you in.”
chapter 23
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Without the people, noise, or music, the bar looked like an empty stage. The room was full of props, but no one to inhabit them. The stark houselights highlighted every imperfection—scratches in the wood, dust on the light fixtures, stains on the fabric. In a place like this, you’d only consider drinking or eating if the lights were low.
The bodies had been discovered an hour before closing. After the first screams, a bouncer ran back to the ladies’ room to find it locked, a key snapped off inside the mechanism. Once he had finally managed to pry open the door and saw what was inside, the bouncer couldn’t help it. He’d screamed, too. Panicked patrons fled the bar. The tables were still
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