Praise for Thomas O’Callaghan and Bone Thief
“O’Callaghan has scorched his way into the first rank of writers exploring the psychology and methods of serial killers alongside those of their often-troubled opposite numbers, police inspectors. Bone Thief sweeps the reader along in its breathless, tumbling course—just the thing for an autumn evening, a comfortable chair in front of the fireplace, a measure of single-malt Scotch, and, from deep in the surrounding woods, the howls of faraway madmen.”
—Peter Straub
“Sharp as a scalpel, chilling as ice, Bone Thief takes you on a relentless and harrowing ride into the disturbed world of a serial killer who steals his victims’ bones. From dark beaches to immaculate hospitals, police back rooms to the mansions of the wealthy, O’Callaghan peels back the layers of the human soul with informed surety.”
—Gayle Lynds
“From its chilling opening to its slam-bang conclusion, Bone Thief delivers the goods. You won’t soon forget this truly creepy serial killer—or the haunted cop who struggles to bring him to justice.”
—P. J. Parrish
“Authentic cop details, a compelling plot, and a twisted killer who’ll make you look over your shoulder with every page.”
—Lynn Hightower
“Chilling psychological suspense that will leave you at the edge of your seat, white-knuckled and still turning pages. Keep the lights on and lock the doors.”
—Alex Kava
“With expert pacing and plotting, Bone Thief will keep you riveted until the surprising, satisfying end. Be warned, however—this one should be read in the light of day.”
—Alafair Burke
“Bone Thief is that rare commodity in murder-mystery fiction which can actually give the reader nightmares. O’Callaghan twists imagination into unspeakable shapes.”
—Alan Paul Curtis, www.who-dunnit.com
“A strong, sharply written debut—there’s a fast-paced plot, intrigue, and a smart cop facing off against an evil-but-clever serial killer. O’Callaghan’s writing style perfectly reflects the tense plot.”
—Lisa Yanaky, www.bookbrothel.com
“Riveting, tightly written, an exceptional read. I thoroughly recommend it to anyone who loves an engrossing thrill ride.”
—Sheila Leitzel, www.bookfetish.org
“But if you are a reader who likes chills running up and down their spine, this is a book for you.”
—Anne K. Edwards, www.NewMysteryReader.com
“Bone Thief is one of the best debut novels I’ve read in this genre. If this suspense thriller does not scare the bejabbers out of you, nothing will.”
—L. A. Johnson
“This one will definitely give you the creeps…a thrill a minute. I didn’t want to put it down.”
—Pilot (Southern Pines, NC)
BY THOMAS O’CALLAGHAN
Bone Thief
The Screaming Room
THE SCREAMING ROOM
THOMAS O’CALLAGHAN
PINNACLE BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
For Kelliann
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I owe a very special round of gratitude to:
Eileen O’Callaghan, my loving and supportive wife, who shares life in so many wonderful ways; Matt Bialer, a magician of an agent and trusted friend; Michaela Hamilton, a conscientious and extremely talented editor, who is a true delight to work with; Dick Marek, a man from whom I have learned much; Stephen Ohayon, PhD, a true gentleman who inspired me tirelessly from day one; Barry Richman, MD; Marla Feder; the Group; and, of course, Noreen Nolan, a gifted woman who shares her gift with me.
Lieutenant William F. Nevins, CDS, Commanding Officer of the Queens Homicide Squad (retired), for his expert technical advice and skillful guidance. He represents the New York Police Department at its finest.
My dear friend Priscilla Winkler, whose support through the years has been steadfast.
And to my loving granddaughter, Kristin, who calls me PaPa and watches me melt.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Prologue
The rain had stopped. The afternoon sun had resumed its assault on rotting corn shocks, casting distorted shadows across the abandoned farm. A pair of cicadas sounded, silencing the chirping of the nearby sparrows, sending them into flight.
In the middle of the field, a sturdy youth stood silently, eyes fixed on a mound of fresh clay.
A rush of cool air stirred wisps of his ripened wheat–colored hair. Bending down, he used a finger to inscribe the name Gus in the collected soil.
A second youth, a female, approached. “Can we go now?” she asked, wearily. “This is our tenth field and there’s nothing left of him to bury.”
“In a minute.”
The girl looked around. “Someone could be watching, you know.”
“Just need a minute.”
“Well, you’d better make it a quick one.”
The youth’s eyes lingered
on the newly formed grave. With a nod of satisfaction, he uprighted himself. As a smile lit his face, he used the heel of his boot to eradicate their victim’s name. “Lovee,” he said, “may the bastard rest in peace.”
“You mean in pieces. Let’s go.”
Chapter 1
Cassie turned her head on the pillow as a sudden flash of light woke her.
“What the hell are ya doing?” she hollered. “It’s two o’clock in the morning!”
Her brother, Angus, who was sitting up in bed next to her, grinned, his attention riveted to the gleam coming off the three-quarter-inch ball bearing he was holding between his thumb and index finger. The narrow beam of a pencil-thin flashlight had reflected off the ball’s chromelike finish and shone directly onto her eyelid.
“I liked you better when you got off pulling wings off flies,” she said, hiding her head under the pillow.
Angus, flashlight still directed at the ball bearing, brought his face to within inches of the tiny sphere, watching the reflection of his pupil get bigger and bigger, the closer he got. Hopelessly bored, and somewhat blind, he turned off the flashlight, slid his hand under the covers, and fondled his sister’s rump.
“Not tonight, we ain’t,” she said through clenched teeth. “We got lots to do tomorrow. Get some sleep!”
Angus slid out of bed, slipped into a pair of boxers, and ambled toward the door, opening it. A blast of warm air caressed his body. The sensation aroused him. He glanced over his shoulder. His sister was snoring. He pushed open the screen door, sat on the top step, and glanced upward. It was a cloudless night. The moon, just shy of full, cast shadows on the weeds and tall grass that surrounded home sweet home; a fitting salute, perhaps to what would begin at dawn. The thought of finally executing what they had planned brought on a surge of adrenaline. He wouldn’t sleep. Unlike his sister, he’d stay up and wait out the darkness.
A slug, slithering toward him on the surface of the step, caught his attention.
“I can kill ya, little fella. But I won’t.”
He had the urge to pet the small mollusk but decided instead to dabble his finger in the slime that trailed behind it. He brought it to his lips, applying it as a woman would lipstick.
Women. They fascinated Angus. Every curve. Every smell. Every everything. In his next life, he planned on returning as one. He could feel what they feel. Think as they think. God! Even screw as they screw!
He heard a rustling. It was not the willow tree, which was as limp as he was. No, something was pushing through the grass. A deer perhaps. He hoped so. He liked the sound they made just before dying, after he stalked them and twisted their neck, snapping their cervical vertebrae.
There it was again!
The rustling.
Following the example of the snail, he slithered down the rickety steps and began his pursuit, certain his sister wouldn’t start their big day without him.
Chapter 2
The Greyhound’s Michelins groaned over the roadway scarred with jagged potholes. But Angus and Cassie didn’t let it interfere with their game. Despite the jostling, the plastic markers held firm, their bottoms magnetized to the shimmering surface of the game board. But the cards were a different story. Using an index finger, Angus pressed down on the Time of Your Life deck while Cassie did the same to the Pay the Piper pile, containing the cards tenaciously inside their holding trays.
Angus picked up the dice.
“C’mon ten,” he whispered, releasing the cubes, which rolled across the board and settled as a six and a three.
“Close enough!” he said, counting off nine squares on his trek along the path that meandered around and about the game’s playing field: a map of the city of New York, featuring its landmarks.
“That puts me on topa the town at the Empire Freakin’ State Building!” He slammed down his blue marker on the prized square.
His action activated a tiny speaker embedded under the skyscraper’s icon, and music sounded, replete with vocals: Frank Sinatra’s rendition of “New York, New York.”
He reached for a Time of Your Life card.
“Well, lookee here. I’ve just been awarded a three-hour shopping spree at Paragon Sports. And it entitles me to disregard the next Pay the Piper Card.” He reached in his pocket and ran a finger across the blade.
Touching the weapon aroused him.
Cassie sneered. She palmed the dice and blew into her fist.
“Mama needs a new paira shoes,” she said, letting loose the dice, which skittered across the board and settled as a one and a two. “Shit! I gotta pay the piper!”
Cassie counted off the three squares. Angus handed her the Pay the Piper card.
“Read it and weep,” he said.
Cassie’s lower lip jutted forward.
You’ve been caught shoplifting at Macys.
Lose a turn.
“Hellhole of a city,” she muttered.
“Lemme show ya how it’s done.” Angus reached for the dice for the first of his next two turns, his and the one she had lost.
The cubes clattered across the board. A five and a six.
He eyed the board and counted off eleven squares.
“I’m halfway through their beloved Kings County! C’mon twelve!” He rattled the cubes in his hand.
Cassie groaned as a double six rolled to a stop.
“Yes!” he cheered, reaching for his marker.
“Hold it!” she said, gesturing at the Greyhound’s rain-slicked window. The bus had entered the terminal and was coming to a stop. “Remember what we said. Once the bus arrives, we set it all in motion at the tourist traps closest to our pieces.”
Angus eyed the board and grinned.
“Well, then, Coney Island’s my next stop.”
“And me?” said Cassie. “I get to start settling the score at the American Museum of Natural History.”
Chapter 3
The sun cast slivers of light through the glass cupola of the American Museum of Natural History. Below the rotunda, Jurassic skeletons welcomed the sunrise.
A chime alerted the night watchman that his shift was over. It also prompted the electric illumination of all halls and galleries throughout the vast labyrinth. Light from halogen lamps flooded the museum, revealing the “Star of India”, the world’s largest blue sapphire; the fossilized skeleton of the “Turkana Boy,” a one-point-six-million-year-old specimen of Homo erectus, along with countless other natural and cultural treasures.
At 10:00 A.M., a second chime sounded and the watchman unlocked the massive entrance door. Within minutes, a swarm of seven-year-olds, chaperoned by the field-trip coordinator, Harriet Robbins, poured into the marble-floored lobby, shattering the repository’s silent solemnity with giggles and laughter.
“Boys and girls, first we are going to visit Triassic Hall. Who can tell me what marked the Triassic period?” asked Miss Robbins.
“Me! Me! Me!” echoed a chorus of young voices.
“Okay, Elizabeth, tell the class.”
“It comes before the Jurassic period. It’s when the first dinosaurs were born.”
“Very good,” said Miss Robbins. She led the pack inside the enormous exhibit hall.
The children, with wide-open eyes, approached a pair of teratosaurus skeletons.
“Our first meat eaters,” Miss Robbins said.
Matthew, the know-it-all, strayed from the group, hoping to find a critter he had not yet encountered on his dinosaur CD-ROM. He drew near a towering assemblage of bones he knew to be the plateosaurus, but what he saw between its legs didn’t fit. Maybe Miss Robbins could explain. He rejoined his classmates and tugged on the teacher’s skirt.
“Matthew, do you need to go to the boys’ room?”
“No, Miss Robbins.”
“Then what is it?”
“Isn’t the plateosaurus a plant eater?”
“Of course it is.”
The boy pointed his finger at the assemblage of bones.
“Then how
come that one’s got a dead lady coming out of its butt?”
Chapter 4
For Marian Dougherty, Wednesday, June 4, was a special day. Not only was it her fifteenth birthday but also it was the day she had promised she would try the hot new street drug with her main squeeze, Manuel Ortiz, the leader of a gang known as the Tiburones.
It was ten o’clock in the morning. Marian and her two friends, Donna and Carmelita, were standing on Coney Island’s boardwalk, clustered outside the Wonder Wheel’s ticket booth waiting for the ride to open. It appeared that Manny was a no-show. Could it be he was all talk and no go?
“Marian, you got dissed,” said Carmelita, hands on hips.
“Dissed…dissed…dissed,” Donna echoed.
“No, I didn’t,” the birthday girl gloated as she watched her young Romeo in Nike T-shirt and Hilfiger jeans climb the steps of the boardwalk and strut toward them.
Marian shuddered in anticipation, having looked forward to this monumental step just as much as she feared it. But all her friends had already done the drug and she didn’t want to feel like a wimp.
“Yo! I’m a walkin’ birthday present,” Manuel boasted, sidling up next to the girls.
“Your little honey’s afraida heights, Manuel. You gonna cure her?”
“She’s in for a double dose of magic, Carmelita. She’s with the head of the Tiburones.”
The teens watched as the machinist opened the gates, allowing entrance to the giant Ferris wheel.
“We’re in the red one!” Marian hollered, rushing toward the empty cage, hoping her excitement didn’t make her look like a kid.
“Yo, man! Today she learns how to fly,” said Manuel to the ride’s engineer. “This here’s a twenty. That should cover us all. And here’s an extra ten-spot, just for you. Make sure that red cage stays on top for a while.”