Текст книги "The Executioner"

Автор книги: Chris (2) Carter

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Forty-Nine

Two distinct groups of crime-scene photographs, separated by a white marker line, were now pinned onto the corkboard in Hunter and Garcia’s office. On the left, the Seven Saints Catholic Church and the brutality of a priest’s decapitation; on the right, the mansion in Malibu and the sadism of a body left to roast in front of an enormous fireplace.

With the discovery of a new body, Captain Blake had demanded a team meeting from now on, every day, at nine in the morning. Hunter and Garcia made it to the office with ten minutes to spare.

The forensics report from Amanda Reilly’s crime scene revealed that they’d found a partial print in one of the rooms upstairs. They’d also found a utilities room and a vacuum cleaner that’d apparently been used recently. The lab report would take a few days to come through.

The information they had so far on Amanda Reilly was basic. Born and raised in Los Angeles. Left high school before graduating and had been in the property business ever since. Her mother passed away seven years ago. Her father was never a strong presence in her life – alcohol and gambling problems. His location is unknown. Amanda was divorced. Ex-husband ran his own restaurant in San Diego. He’d been living there for six years. He was working all through the weekend. Alibi verified. She was also experiencing heavy financial difficulties. Her agency wasn’t doing well. The house in Malibu is owned by a stock market investor millionaire named Dan Tyler.

At 9:00 a.m. Captain Blake entered the room without knocking, carrying a copy of the LA Times.

‘Have you seen this?’ she asked Hunter.

‘I tend not to read newspapers. They depress me.’

‘Well, then this will make your day.’ She calmly placed the paper on his desk with the front-page headline facing up.

Hunter let his eyes glide towards the paper without reaching for it. Garcia stood up and approached Hunter’s desk, curious to read it himself.

THE EXECUTIONER STRIKES AGAIN. NEW VICTIM SCORCHED TO DEATH BY SADISTIC SERIAL KILLER. LOS ANGELES POLICE BAFFLED.

Hunter read the headline in silence before quickly checking the reporter’s name – Claire Anderson. I could’ve guessed that.

As Hunter made no attempt to read the rest of the article, Garcia was quick to snatch the paper from his desk.

‘My question is,’ the captain said, annoyed, ‘how the hell have they linked these two murders together?’

‘She’s got contacts in the police and probably at the morgue,’ Hunter replied casually.

‘She?’ the captain asked with a worried frown.

‘Claire Anderson, the reporter who wrote the article.’

Captain Blake stared at Hunter with inquisitive eyes. ‘By the look on your face, I gather you know her.’

‘We’ve met.’

The captain held Hunter’s gaze for a few seconds, but he was giving nothing away. ‘No one else at the RHD, apart from the three of us, knows that these two cases are connected.’ She started pacing the room. ‘If neither of you talked to her, the tip couldn’t have come from here. Doctor Winston has guaranteed me that only he and three very reliable forensic agents know about the connection. He’s sure the leak isn’t on his side.’

‘It says here,’ Garcia interrupted, reading from the paper. ‘Special Homicide Detective Robert Hunter is leading the investigation. Though he’s declined to comment, there’s no question that both murders have simply baffled the police. The Executioner . . .’ he paused and raised his eyes at Hunter. ‘Cute name. Who the hell comes up with these?’

Hunter shrugged indifferently.

Garcia continued reading. ‘. . . The Executioner is now roaming the streets of our city, and once again the police seem to have no real direction, no suspects and, as we understand, no clues. For all our sakes, this reporter sincerely hopes that Detective Hunter gets to the Executioner faster than he did to the infamous Crucifix Killer.’

‘Bitch,’ Hunter said under his breath.

‘All this doesn’t really bother me . . . yet,’ the captain said, locking eyes with Hunter. ‘I don’t care if this reporter somehow managed to link both cases together. What we must, at any cost, keep from the press is the numbering on the victims. If the press gets hold of that, we’re screwed. We’ll have a citywide panic on our hands. Not to mention the nuclear pressure to find the first two victims.’

‘They obviously don’t know anything about that,’ Garcia said, waving the paper in his hand. ‘Or else it would’ve made the headlines.’

‘And we’ll do our best to keep it that way,’ the captain countered. ‘I want this case completely sealed off. No one else is to have access to this room or the investigation files without you clearing it with me first. Is that understood?’

Fifty

Captain Blake approached the corkboard and studied the new photographs. Hunter noticed she visibly flinched before falling back into her usual controlled demeanor. ‘Did the killer use blood again to draw the number?’ She pointed to one of the pictures.

‘Yes,’ Hunter replied, pushing his chair back with a scraping sound and standing up.

There was a knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ the captain called ahead of Hunter and Garcia.

Ian Hopkins entered and was instantly surprised to see Captain Blake in the room.

‘Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were having a meeting.’

‘It’s OK,’ Hunter said, motioning him to stay.

Captain Blake turned to face Garcia with a questioning expression.

‘He’s OK.’ Garcia gently shook his head. ‘He’s the officer you assigned to us to help with the legwork, remember?’

‘I just came in to tell Detective Hunter that no one took down the Monica girl details,’ Hopkins said. ‘When the officer got to the interrogation room, she was gone.’

‘Monica?’ the captain asked, turning around. ‘Is this the girl who came in yesterday saying she had some information on the Seven Saints church murder?’

‘That’s her,’ Garcia replied, leaning against his desk.

‘So what came of that?’

‘We had just started talking to her when we were told about the new victim.’ Hunter joined the captain by the photo board. ‘She never got a chance to tell us what she came here to tell us.’

‘Was she at the church? Did she see anything?’ The captain’s interest grew.

‘No to the first and in a way to the second,’ Garcia replied, scratching his chin.

‘And what the fuck does that mean?’

‘She wasn’t at the church,’ Hunter said calmly. ‘All she told us is that she had a vision.’

The captain’s posture tensed. ‘Hold on,’ she said firmly, lifting her right hand. ‘She came in claiming she was psychic?’

‘Not as far as we know,’ Hunter replied.

The captain stared around the room and came to rest on Garcia. ‘Somebody better tell me something.’

‘According to the officer who first talked to her, she didn’t say anything about being a psychic or having any visions. She claimed she had some information, but she’d only talk to the detectives in charge.’

The captain took a packet of mints out of her dark blazer’s breast pocket and popped one in her mouth. ‘I’m sorry.’ She turned to Hunter. ‘But if she is a crackpot claiming she’s psychic, why are we after her?’

‘She’s not a psychic, captain,’ Hunter said cautiously. ‘She seems to feel things deeper than most people.’

‘She what?’ The captain almost choked on her mint.

‘Extrasensory perception.’ Hunter didn’t hesitate.

‘Please tell me you’re joking,’ she shot back. Her hands on her hips. Her voice half an octave higher.

‘I’m as skeptical about this as you are, captain,’ Hunter replied, ‘but the fact is, whether we believe it or not, people with ESP do exist.’

‘It doesn’t matter, Robert.’ The captain crushed her mint with a loud crunch. ‘We’re not the supernatural freaking police. The press is already out in force to get us, and so is the mayor. We are under severe pressure. Now imagine what would happen if they found out we enlisted the help of a psychic. How incompetent would we look?’

‘I’m not enlisting anyone’s help, captain. I just wanna talk to her. Find out what she has to say. If it all turns out to be bullshit, we’ll disregard it like we’ve done with one hundred percent of the tips that have come in so far.’

She popped a new mint in her mouth and rolled it from one cheek to the other. ‘What makes you think she’s the real deal?’

Hunter stood behind his chair and leaned his elbows against it. ‘As I was rushing out of the interrogation room yesterday, she stopped me to tell me something.’ He looked at Garcia. ‘You’d already left.’

‘And what was that?’

Hunter paused for a moment. ‘She said, “He knew about the fire. He knew what scared her.”’

Fifty-One

The room went silent and all eyes fell on Hunter.

‘It couldn’t have been a guess.’ He shook his head and moved from behind his desk. ‘But at that moment I had no idea what she was talking about.’

‘Maybe she’s using this hyper-sensitivity thing as a smokescreen,’ the captain said. ‘Maybe she’s more involved than she’d like us to believe.’

‘Whatever the reason is, I think we should talk to her.’

‘Unfortunately,’ Hopkins interrupted, ‘as I’ve said, no one got her details. She left no last name, address or phone number at the front desk.’

‘Yes, but we have CCTV in the interrogation room.’ Hunter nodded at Hopkins. ‘Ask the tech guys to get a snapshot of her from the tape and run it against the MUPU database.’

‘The Missing Persons database?’ Hopkins asked, looking puzzled.

‘I have a hunch she’s a runaway. Start the search with Pennsylvania.’

‘Why Pennsylvania?’ the captain asked.

‘She had a slight Pennsylvania Dutch accent. I think that’ll be the best place to start.’

‘I’ll get right on it.’

The captain waited for Hopkins to leave before turning to face both detectives. ‘If you find her, you bring her here, do you understand?’ she said firmly. ‘This has to run by the book, Robert. If she has information about any of our investigations, psychic crap or not, she has to be interviewed under caution and I wanna be in the observation room. Am I clear?’

Hunter nodded.

‘Am I clear, detective?’ She pressed him for a vocal answer.

‘Yes, captain.’ Hunter didn’t break eye contact.

‘OK.’ She furtively checked her watch. ‘Brief me on what we have so far on this Amanda Reilly.’

Hunter quickly explained what the autopsy had revealed.

‘The killer took a bite out of her body?’ the captain asked, feeling a wave of nausea starting to surge.

‘The doctor found indentations just under her right breast.’ Hunter retrieved a photograph from a paper envelope and handed it to Captain Blake. ‘A small chunk of flesh is clearly missing.’ He indicated what he meant on the picture. ‘Due to the state the body is in, it’ll be impossible to confirm the teeth marks, but the doctor is as certain as he can be.’

‘This is insane,’ the captain responded, rubbing her face.

‘It’s one of the very few things that’s consistent with the Seven Saints church murder,’ Hunter replied. ‘The killer drank some of the priest’s blood and now it looks like he ate some of Amanda Reilly’s flesh.’

‘Why?’ Captain Blake asked with a disgusted look. ‘Why would the killer do that?’

Hunter massaged his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. ‘History and textbooks will tell you that the most common reason why a killer would consume his victims’ flesh or blood is because he feels that by doing so the victims become a permanent part of him. Sometimes it gives the killer a sick sense of sexual pleasure.’

A disturbing silence followed.

‘But we know this killer is not after sexual pleasure.’ The captain handed the picture back to Hunter. ‘Why would he want to make the victims a permanent part of him?’

‘Only the killer can really answer that, captain.’

‘Humor me with the psychology stuff,’ the captain said in a commanding voice. ‘Who might we be facing here?’

Hunter pinned the photograph to the board, took a deep breath and faced Barbara Blake. ‘A killer who knew the victims very well. Whose hate for them is so complete that having absolute control over their life and death wasn’t enough for him. He needed more.’

The captain exhaled. ‘And by more you mean drinking their blood and consuming their flesh?’

Hunter nodded, approached the window and looked out into a sunny, cold day.

‘But why the change?’ The captain wasn’t giving up. She wanted to understand the possible reasons behind all this. ‘If the killer drank the priest’s blood, why not do the same with Amanda Reilly? Why go for a bite?’

‘Again, only the killer can answer that, but he might be evolving. Moving up the ladder.’

‘Come again?’

Hunter stretched his body and his muscles tensed. ‘Many serial killers usually escalate in one way or another. It could be the violence, the time interval between kills . . . This one could be escalating from drinking blood to true cannibalism.’

‘Oh, that’s just great,’ Captain Blake said, raising a hand to her forehead as if fighting a headache. She checked her watch. ‘Shit. I have to be in a press conference in ten minutes. For now, I’ll play dumb and say I can’t confirm both murders are linked, but I won’t be able to hold that position for long. If need be, I’ll lie my ass off and say we have very reliable leads we’re pursuing, but you two better come up with something – and quick. And find this Monica girl. I wanna know why she said what she said.’

‘Me too,’ Hunter said as the captain let the door slam behind her.

Fifty-Two

The press conference room at Parker Center was large enough to comfortably accommodate the herd of hungry reporters that had turned up.

Barbara Blake had to admit that when she took the RHD captain’s job only a week ago she never expected to be facing the LA press on a serial killer case so soon. She also never expected to have to see eye to eye with the Los Angeles mayor on her first day at the job. But if this was what the job demanded, this was what she was prepared to give.

As she entered the room, the loud murmur of animated voices died to a whisper. Captain Blake was wearing stylish straight-legged black pants with a light red satin blouse and a black blazer that was the perfect backdrop for her long dark hair. Her makeup, as always, was subtle and elegant. She took her position behind the speaker’s stand, looking completely at ease and self-confident. Without saying a word, she let her eyes travel around the room, waiting for everyone’s attention. It took her less than ten seconds to get it.

‘I’ll answer questions for five minutes and five minutes only. Maybe we’ll be able to do away with some of the fantasy that’s been published in today’s paper.’ Her voice was as firm as it was seductive, combining a soft, girlish tone with a level of self-assurance that was disarming. ‘Before you start, let me say this. I will not discuss any aspect of any of our ongoing investigations, so please don’t even bother asking. If your questions don’t come in a civilized and orderly fashion, this conference is over.’

Hands flew in the air as reporters started shouting questions and thrusting forward microphones emblazoned with insignia from CNN, Fox, CBS, NBC, Court TV and several of the major newspapers.

The captain gritted her teeth. They didn’t hear a damn word I said.

‘Captain Blake,’ an attractive, long-dark-haired female reporter called from the corner of the room.

‘Claire Anderson from the LA Times.’ She identified herself, and the captain turned her attention to the reporter with interest. Claire was tall, slender and her tone of voice carried a distinct arrogance. ‘Are you saying that last week’s Seven Saints church murder and yesterday’s Pacific Coast Highway one aren’t connected?’

‘At the moment we have nothing to link these two investigations together,’ the captain replied in a steady, non-hesitant voice.

‘So why assign the case to Detective Hunter?’ Claire insisted.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean I have a very reliable source who tells me Detective Hunter is supposed to be dealing exclusively with the Seven Saints church investigation. If the cases aren’t connected, how come he’s been assigned to the Malibu murder as well?’

So that was it, the captain thought. There’s been no leak or tip. Claire had simply deducted that if Hunter had been assigned to the Malibu murder, the cases must be connected. Quite clever, really.

‘That’s why your paper printed what it did this morning?’ the captain demanded furiously. ‘Because of your assumption? You chose to spread panic around this city because you made a silly deduction?’

Claire shrugged without shying away from the captain’s angry stare. ‘As I said, my source is very reliable.’

‘Really? Well, if you’re paying this source of yours more than a buck ninety-five, you’ve been had.’

Restrained chuckles echoed throughout the room.

‘Let me clarify this for you,’ Captain Blake said confidently. ‘In an ideal world, this department would have as many detectives as it has cases, and the ratio would be one to one, but this isn’t an ideal world, is it? This is a world where someone enters a church during confession time and decapitates a priest. This is a world where someone ties an innocent woman to a chair and tortures her in front of a large fire until she’s dead.’

The room went completely silent.

‘Unfortunately,’ the captain continued, ‘the number of violent crimes committed in this city surpasses that of detectives exponentially. Detective Robert Hunter and Detective Carlos Garcia were supposed to deal exclusively with the Seven Saints church investigation, you’re right.’ She nodded at Claire, widening her eyes. ‘But all my other detectives are overloaded with cases. Maybe the LA Times could publish a request to all violent murderers out there, asking them to take a few years’ break so we can catch up. How does that sound to you?’

Nervous laughter came from around the room. Claire kept her face steady.

‘So you’re admitting Detective Hunter is leading the Malibu investigation as well?’

‘Detective Hunter brings us the advantage of also being a forensic psychologist. His knowledge and understanding of how the mind of a violent criminal might work proves indispensable in many of my department’s investigations. Due to the extreme brutality of the crime committed in Malibu over the past weekend, I have asked Detective Hunter to take the investigation, yes,’ the captain finally admitted.

‘Why isn’t he attending this press conference?’

‘I can answer all your questions at this moment. Time is of the essence and Detective Hunter has to use it wisely. He’s not needed in this press conference.’

More hands shot up and shouts filled the room once again.

‘I guess Mayor Edwards won’t be best pleased,’ Claire said, raising her voice above all others. ‘It’s my understanding that he wanted your best detective to work exclusively on the Seven Saints church murder.’

‘In this department,’ Captain Blake hit back fiercely, ‘we don’t have a best or a worst detective. We all work just as hard and we all do our job to the best of our abilities. Rest assured both cases will be solved.’ She hoped the slight uncertainty in her voice wasn’t as noticeable to everyone as it was to her.

Fifty-Three

Studio City had gotten its name because of its proximity to the major movie corporations and broadcasting systems. Universal was only ten minutes away. Paramount, CBS and all of old Hollywood were just across the canyon, and if you took a quick fifteen-minute freeway drive you could be in Burbank and NBC. Most of the young and beautiful Hollywood elite liked to spend their free time wandering around the many boutiques, clubs, bars and coffeehouses in the Greenwich Village – a place to see and be seen.

Tania Riggs lived in a wood-sided complex surrounded by tens of lacy elms and giant sycamores. Every apartment had its own private balcony, and the complex had a communal pool, gym and recreational rooms.

Hunter and Garcia climbed the stairs to Tania’s second-floor apartment in silence. Both wrestling with their own thoughts, trying to organize them in their heads.

Hunter’s knock was answered by a woman in her forties; brunette, average height and quite overweight. Her shoulder-length hair was pinned back into a ponytail, and her dark brown eyes seemed heavy and tired, mostly from crying, Hunter deducted. She was wearing dark blue cotton pants and a black sweater. Hunter and Garcia introduced themselves and waited patiently while Tania Riggs studied their credentials.

‘Please come in,’ she said in a quiet voice, taking a step to her left.

There was a hint of scented candles in the air – Hunter guessed jasmine.

‘Please have a seat.’ She indicated a low-slung, mattress-style blue sofa tufted with buttons. Her living space was open and the furnishing sparse. Besides the sofa, there were two armchairs, a wooden coffee table, an acrylic four-seater dining table and a half-full bookcase against the far wall.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ she offered timidly.

‘No, thank you, Mrs. Riggs, we’re fine,’ Hunter replied, taking a seat on the sofa. It was surprisingly comfortable.

‘Please call me Tania. Mrs. Riggs makes me feel even older than I am.’ She took a seat at the armchair furthest from the sofa. A clear sign that she wasn’t comfortable having people around.

‘We’re very sorry about Miss Reilly,’ Hunter said in a subdued tone of voice.

Tania squeezed her eyes tightly and two tears rolled down her face.

‘Were you longtime friends?’

She nodded sadly. ‘Almost thirty years. I started working at Palm Properties just a week before Mandy. We clicked straight away. I was probably the only one who didn’t hate her.’

‘Hate her?’ Garcia asked with interest.

Tania hesitated for a moment as if she’d said something she shouldn’t have. She offered an explanation. ‘Mandy was very pretty, very ambitious and very good at what she did. She was also very charming and she certainly knew how to win clients over. Right from the start, everyone could see she’d go places, and it didn’t take long for the envious looks to start flying around. Every male employee and client wanted to sleep with her.’ Tania thought about it for a second. ‘I’m sure some of the female ones did too. The real estate business is a very tough business, detective. Everyone’s fighting to do better than the next person, and sometimes the punches come very low.’ She anxiously ran a hand from her forehead up to her hair and kept it there for an instant. ‘No one’s ever happy for you if you’re doing well, unless they own the company and you’re bringing them money. And Mandy always did well, very well.’

‘So when you say “hate”, you mean people were envious of her?’ Hunter asked.

‘Yes. Of her beauty and of her success.’

‘But you weren’t?’ Garcia this time.

Tania shook her head. ‘Look at me,’ she said with a coy smile. ‘I’m no Miss America and this isn’t something of late. I’ve always looked like this. I’ve always been a big girl. I knew I could never be like Mandy, so it didn’t really bother me. I never had the sort of ambition she had either.’ She paused and used the back of her right hand to clear her tears. ‘Truthfully, I was happy that she became my friend. In school I had very few friends. People made fun of me all the time because I was fat and not very pretty. I pretended it didn’t affect me, but deep inside it was awful. I’d never cry in school, but when I got home I broke down almost every night.’

Hunter nodded understandingly, and for a brief moment he remembered how skinny and awkward he used to be in school.

‘I knew how Mandy felt in the office with everyone giving her the eye and whispering behind her back. I think that’s probably why we became such good friends.’

‘How was she as a boss?’ Garcia asked, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on them.

‘Fantastic. The best boss I ever had. I guess because of what she went through, she had no patience for bullies. She treated everyone equally.’ Tania reached for the box of tissues on the coffee table.

‘Did she ever have a problem with an employee?’ Garcia asked. ‘She had to let a lot of people go, didn’t she?’

‘Everyone who worked for Mandy loved her. She did everything she could to keep every job in the company intact, but it wasn’t up to her. The property market in LA has collapsed, and everyone in the business knows that. No one held her responsible.’

A brown cat appeared at the kitchen door, looked at both detectives for a long while and decided it didn’t want to come any closer, disappearing back into the kitchen.

‘Do you know if she was seeing someone?’ Hunter asked.

‘Since her divorce, Mandy didn’t care much for relationships. She had flings, but nothing serious.’

‘Any recent ones?’ Garcia asked.

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Did she date clients?’

‘No, never.’ Tania shook her head vigorously. ‘She might’ve flirted with some, but that’s part of the job. We’ve gotta be charming, sometimes flirty, but that’s all. As far as I know, Mandy never broke that rule.’

‘I understand Mandy showed the house in Malibu to a prospective buyer on Saturday evening,’ Hunter said, now using Amanda’s nickname as if they were chatting about an old friend.

Tania dabbed the corners of her eyes with a paper tissue and nodded. ‘He was the killer, wasn’t he?’