Текст книги "The Executioner"

Автор книги: Chris (2) Carter

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Eighty-Two

In Compton High, Hunter got his hands on a 1985 students’ yearbook – Father Fabian’s graduating year. He also managed to dig up some of his old report cards and records. The young priest had been suspended seven times during his junior year. The interesting fact was that all seven suspensions had been requested by the same teacher – Mrs. Patricia Reed, who taught algebra 2, the priest’s weakest subject, according to his grades. Teachers tend to remember their worst students better than their best ones. If anybody would remember Brett Stewart Nichols, Patricia Reed would, Hunter was certain of that.

The day was sliding from pale blue to dark night when Hunter walked into his office. Garcia had arrived only a couple of minutes before him and was standing in front of the picture board, attentively studying one of the photos. He turned and faced Hunter.

‘You won’t believe what I found.’ Excitement coated his words as he wiggled a six by twelve photo in his hand.

Hunter arched an eyebrow and took a few steps towards his partner.

‘I got this from an old storage room in Gardena High.’ He handed Hunter the photo.

‘Storage room?’

Garcia quickly summarized his day at Gardena High before stabbing at the picture with his index finger. ‘Second girl from the left.’

Hunter studied the girl Garcia had indicated. It didn’t take him long. ‘Amanda Reilly,’ he said confidently.

‘That’s right.’ Garcia retrieved an old-fashioned, Sherlock Holmes-style magnifying glass from his desk and handed it to Hunter. ‘But that’s not all. Take a look at the last girl on the right, the one who has a sort of amused look on her face.’

Hunter analyzed the picture once again, this time for a while longer. There was nothing peculiar about the girl, and he was about to ask Garcia ‘What about her?’ when he saw it and stopped.

‘You’re kidding me?’

‘Looks familiar?’ Garcia said, arching his eyebrows.

Hunter turned to the picture board and unpinned the woman’s photo they’d found on the fireplace inside the Malibu mansion. The one with the number two written on the back. He brought it back to his desk and sat it next to the schoolgirls’ photo. His eyes jumped from one picture to the other several times before he looked at Garcia. ‘It’s her.’

Garcia nodded slowly. ‘That’s what I thought, but I didn’t have that photo with me.’ He pointed to the woman’s picture on Hunter’s desk. ‘I needed to come back here to confirm it. Now I’m positive. They went to the same school, Robert. Amanda and the alleged second victim hung out together.’

‘What’s her name? Who is she?’

‘That, I still don’t know.’

‘Did you get a yearbook?’

Garcia told him about the stolen yearbooks and the burned down printer. ‘The school might have a graduating picture, but I’m not sure. As I said, I needed to first confirm my suspicion, and by the time I got out of the storage room everyone was gone. Today was the last day for the faculty. The school is closed for the holidays.’ Garcia returned to his desk. ‘If they have a graduating picture and it hasn’t been stolen, it will probably be in the library.’

‘Won’t this Mr. Davis have the keys?’

‘Probably, but I wouldn’t know where to start. Their library is massive. I would’ve ended up just wasting time. We need the librarian or someone who works there, and as of today they’re all on vacation.’

Hunter thought it over. ‘OK, let’s try and get back in contact with the school principal or anyone who might know where to find these graduating pictures.’ He glanced at the girls’ photograph. ‘Two out of four girls on that picture are dead. The other two are probably in great danger. We need to find them, and we need to find them fast.’

Clang. The office door slammed shut with a thundering noise, making both detectives turn around. Captain Blake was standing inside the room. She looked furious.

‘What the fuck do you two think you’re doing?’ The question was spat out between clenched teeth.

Eighty-Three

Both detectives frowned as they exchanged puzzled looks before facing the captain.

‘Are you sure you’re yelling at the right detectives, captain?’ Hunter answered, cocking his eyebrows.

Captain Blake’s piercing gaze focused on him. ‘Are you sure you wanna get cute with me today, Robert?’

Hunter straightened his body. ‘Captain, we were out all day. I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ He looked at Garcia.

‘Me neither.’ Garcia shook his head, his stare jumping from Hunter to Captain Blake.

‘Would you care to explain?’ Hunter said calmly.

‘I thought I’d made myself clear about you going after that psychic girl, if that’s what she is.’

Hunter’s confused look intensified. ‘Did she call?’

‘How the hell would I know that? Do I look like your personal answering service?’

Hunter glanced at Garcia, who was staring at the captain wide-eyed. ‘Maybe you should get to the point before that bulging vein on your forehead pops, captain. We still don’t know what this is all about.’

‘Did you see the paper today?’

Garcia shook his head. Hunter held a blank stare.

‘Oh, I forgot. You don’t read the paper ’cos it depresses you, isn’t that what you said?’

Hunter was in no mood to carry on with the irony game. ‘What’s in the paper, captain?’

‘The two of you – front page.’ Captain Blake slammed the copy of the LA Times she had with her on Hunter’s desk. The paper was folded in half. A black and white photograph of Hunter and Garcia sitting at an outside table in the company of a young woman occupied a quarter of the page. Hunter snatched the paper. Garcia joined him by his desk, trying to read the article over Hunter’s shoulder. The girl in the picture was Mollie Woods.

Hunter read the small article in silence. It went on to explain how detectives Robert Hunter and Carlos Garcia of the HSS were so stuck for leads in their investigation into the murders of Father Fabian and Amanda Reilly that they had to resort to asking for the help of a psychic girl. The article had been written by Claire Anderson.

‘Bitch,’ Hunter murmured.

Garcia grabbed the paper from Hunter when he was done.

‘You went behind my back on this,’ the captain said angrily.

‘We were just talking to her, captain, listening to what she had to say. That’s what we do in investigations, remember? We talk to people, we ask around.’

‘According to that article, you asked her to help with the investigation. Did you do that?’

No reply.

‘Without clearing it with your superior officer? In this case, me.’ The captain stood with her hands on her hips.

Hunter ran a hand over his face and breathed out. ‘It’s psychology, captain.’

‘What?’

‘She was nervous, hesitant. I had to make her feel at ease and unthreatened. By telling her that we needed her help I shifted the power balance.’

‘So you did ask her for her help?’ the captain pressed.

‘It was a play on words to get her to talk to us, captain. I’m the lead detective in this investigation. I did what I thought I should do. That’s how I work.’

‘Hold on.’ Captain Blake lifted a hand, stopping Hunter and glaring at him. ‘Did you just throw a title at me? You’re the lead detective in this investigation because I said so, a decision I’m starting to regret. We’ve now become the laughing stock of LA’s law-enforcement agencies. The article called us the mystic police, Robert. The tarot cops.’ She paused, and her stare bounced between Hunter and Garcia for a while. ‘No surprise the mayor’s been on the phone screaming like a lunatic, and he’s now accusing me of being unable to run this department properly. He said I lack authority, unlike my predecessor. Do you know how much that pissed me off?’ She didn’t wait for a reply. ‘He’s on a crusade to get you busted down to traffic duty if not off the force for good, and let me tell you, he’s gaining momentum.’ She started pacing the room. ‘I told you I wanted this to go by the book. That if you found this girl, you were to bring her here. She needed to be interviewed under caution and I wanted to observe.’

Hunter rubbed his eyes and leaned against his desk. ‘She was scared, captain,’ he said slowly. ‘She wanted to talk, but not here. She felt nervous in the interrogation room. She wanted to meet in a public place.’

‘So you disobeyed my order because that’s what she wanted?’

‘I had to make a decision, captain,’ he replied firmly. ‘Go by the book or hear what she had to say. We couldn’t have both.’

‘How the fuck did the paper get to know what we talked about?’ Garcia asked. ‘High-powered directional mikes?’

Hunter shook his head. ‘Eavesdropping could lead to prosecution. Claire Anderson can be a bitch, but she ain’t stupid, she wouldn’t risk it. Plus, if she had eavesdropped, she would’ve published everything Mollie told us about what she saw.’

‘And what exactly is it that this girl told you?’ The annoyance in the captain’s voice was now reaching new heights.

Hunter related the whole conversation he and Garcia had had with Mollie Woods the day before. The captain listened without interrupting, her perfectly threaded eyebrows lifting slightly at times, showing surprise.

‘She knew about the numbering?’ the captain asked, her eyes fixed on Hunter, who nodded in silence.

‘I’ve always been skeptical about this whole extrasensory perception thing, captain,’ Garcia interrupted. ‘But after yesterday, I think this girl’s the real deal.’

‘Even if she is, the fact of the matter is that you disobeyed my orders. You made me and this whole department look stupid.’ She paused for a moment, considering what to do. ‘It’s obvious that your reporter friend has talked to this Mollie girl. Now, she’s gonna have a ton of reporters descending on her. Where is she?’

Silence.

‘Don’t fucking tell me you don’t know.’

‘I told her we needed to keep in touch. She said she’d call me today. She hasn’t yet.’

‘Why don’t you call her?’

‘She doesn’t have a cell phone.’

The captain let out a deep breath. ‘Did she tell you where she lives?’

‘No, and I couldn’t force her.’ Hunter took a seat behind his desk.

‘We won’t be able to find out either, will we?’ The captain massaged her neck, trying to relax her tense shoulder muscles. ‘She’s too young to have a proper tenant agreement, and I’ll be very surprised if she used her real name to rent a room anywhere. If she saw the papers, and my guess is that she did, she’s running scared. The problem is, vision or not, she knows details about this investigation that can’t be leaked. Do you understand what I’m saying, Robert?’ Her voice calm and authoritative. ‘You’re not the only one who knows psychology. If some of these reporters catch up with her, they’ll persuade her to talk, I can guarantee you that. Find her.’ She opened the door but spun around before leaving to face both detectives. ‘If you ever pull another stunt like this or disobey a direct order from me again, I swear to God the next job you’ll be doing will involve touching shit with your hands.’ The door slammed behind her hard enough to make the room shake.

Garcia punctured the silence that followed with a nervous sigh. ‘Do you have any idea where Mollie could be?’

‘I’ll find her,’ Hunter replied. ‘Trust me.’

Eighty-Four

The luxurious Hilton Hotel in Beverly Hills – known as the Beverly Hilton – stands imposingly at number 9876 Wilshire Boulevard. Just a short walk away from the famous Rodeo Drive and Century City, the hotel is a favorite retreat for stars and for those who appreciate being treated like one.

At 8:30 p.m. Hunter sat alone at a corner table near the entrance to the busy and stylish lobby bar. Other than the small saucer filled with assorted peanuts, the only other object on the table was an empty whiskey tumbler. His eyes followed a well-dressed thirtysomething man as he walked in and grabbed the attention of the absurdly tanned barman. Hunter waited a few seconds before approaching him. They talked for less than a minute.

Trader Vic’s Lounge, a meticulously decorated Polynesian-themed indoor/outdoor restaurant and cocktail bar, is one of two gourmet restaurants inside the Beverly Hilton. That’s where the well-dressed man had come from. That’s where Hunter was heading.

She was sitting alone, sipping champagne at a candlelit table by the east wall.

‘Have you seen any famous people yet?’ he asked, standing in front of her table. ‘I heard this place is a must if you wanna play spot the celebrity, but I haven’t seen any.’ He smiled. ‘I probably wouldn’t recognize them anyway. I don’t watch much TV and I barely go to the movies.’

She put her glass down and stared at him, surprised. It took her a few seconds to overcome the shock and string a sentence together. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘What, are you kidding? This is one of my favorite hangouts.’

Claire Anderson chuckled cynically. ‘Somehow I doubt that very much, Detective Hunter. But the blazer and tie suit you.’

Hunter adjusted his tie. ‘Thanks. I thought we were past the Detective Hunter and Miss Anderson phase.’

‘How in the world did you know I’d be here tonight, Robert?’

Hunter frowned. ‘Is that a serious question? Maybe the hint is in what I do for a living.’

‘Oh yes, I forgot. The mighty Robert Hunter. Shouldn’t you be using your powers to look for a sadistic serial killer instead of stalking me?’

‘You should talk about stalking.’ He took the empty seat directly in front of her. ‘You wrote the book on it.’

‘What’re you doing? You can’t sit there. I’m with someone.’

‘You mean the married guy in the shiny new dark gray suit, short black hair with a cleft chin?’ Hunter nodded and screwed up his face at the same time. ‘He left.’

‘What?’ Her face dropped in realization. ‘That was you, wasn’t it?’

Hunter’s expression indicated he didn’t know what she was talking about.

‘The maître d’ came over a moment ago and whispered something into Sean’s ear. He excused himself and said he’d be right back. That was you.’

Hunter didn’t answer.

‘Who told you Sean was married?’

Hunter leaned back and crossed his legs. ‘I didn’t really come here to talk about your date, Claire.’

The maître d’ came over to announce that their starter was ready. Claire was about to send it back, but Hunter got in before her.

‘It’s OK, you can serve it.’ He turned to Claire. ‘You ordered it, we might as well eat it.’

‘You’re an asshole.’ She ran her hand through her shiny hair, which she had straightened to perfection.

‘Your hair looks nice that way,’ Hunter said, disarming her for an instant.

A tall waiter returned with their starters. ‘Excuse me. What’s this?’ Hunter asked, pointing to the plate in front of him.

‘Crab Rangoon folded in a wonton skin with cream cheese,’ the waiter answered with a polite smile. ‘Anything wrong, sir?’

‘No, no. That’s fine.’

‘I guess you’re upset about the article today?’ Claire said after the waiter left.

‘The article didn’t bother me in the least.’ Hunter pointed to the jug of iced water on the table. ‘Is it OK if I have some water?’

‘Knock yourself out.’

He poured himself a glass and had a sip. ‘What did piss me off no end was the picture.’

‘Why? I thought you looked quite cute,’ she teased.

‘She’s just a girl, Claire.’ Hunter’s tone went from playful to morbidly serious. ‘You put her life at risk.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Claire shot back.

‘You think psychopathic killers don’t read the papers?’

‘So?’

Hunter shook his head. ‘You didn’t do your homework properly, did you? Many killers have an agenda, which they’ll do anything to complete. If they feel that agenda is threatened in any way by someone or something, they tend to try and eliminate that threat. In your article you not only made it clear that she was a threat to the killer, but you also gave him her picture. He now knows what she looks like.’

Eighty-Five

Claire stopped picking at the fancy food and stared at Hunter uncomfortably. Her smile vanished. ‘Do you think she’s in danger?’

‘It’s a little too late to be asking that question, don’t you think? If you wanna be a crime reporter, it stands to reason that you maintain a good relationship with the people in the force, especially detectives.’ He stopped and waved his hand. ‘Oh, that’s me.’ His irony was back. ‘You could’ve called and run the story by me before going to press. It’s actually common practice. That way you don’t piss us off, we get to have a first look at what kind of bullshit you’re about to print, and if there’s anything we judge detrimental to the investigation we can ask you to omit it. By doing that, you keep us sweet and – who knows? – we might even share some information.’

‘I tried calling,’ she shot back with irritation. ‘But you didn’t return any of my calls. Do you even check your messages?’

Hunter ran his hand over his mouth. ‘How did you get her to talk to you?’

‘I’ve got my methods.’

‘You just sounded like a torturer.’

‘There was no torture.’ Claire shook her head and smiled.

Hunter glared. ‘You lied to her, didn’t you? What did you say? That you worked with me and you needed a few more details?’

Another enigmatic smile.

‘You bitch.’

‘Fuck you, Robert. I tried talking to you, but you didn’t wanna know.’ Her voice got louder, and some of the neighboring tables sent a disapproving look their way.

‘You tried taking me back to your place. You call that talking?’

‘Fuck you. Don’t come telling me how I should do my job.’

‘Someone should, ’cos you’re obviously fucking it up.’

‘Only an arrogant bastard like you could call getting a story on the front page of the LA Times “fucking it up”.’

‘It’s not a story, Claire; it’s a case, and people’s lives are at stake.’ Hunter paused for a deep breath. ‘You scared her away. I need to find her before something happens.’

Claire narrowed her eyes. ‘You want my help, don’t you?’

‘Do you know where she is?’

‘Wait a second. You did all this, played the macho detective, scared my date away, called me incompetent and now you ask me for my help?’ She leaned back on her chair and put on a snobbish face. ‘Oh, this is rich. No wonder you have no wife or girlfriend. You have no tact with women.’

Hunter kept silent, his eyes holding Claire’s.

‘If I tell you where to find her, what information will you send my way?’

Hunter’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you serious?’

She studied him for a second. ‘Dead serious.’

‘Have some decency, Claire. She’s just a girl, and she’s probably scared shitless. I’m just asking you to do the right thing.’

‘If you rub my back, I’ll rub yours.’ A whisper of seduction in her voice. ‘Nothing in this world is free. At least not the good things.’ She gave Hunter the same inviting wink she’d given him the first time they met.

‘Her life could be in danger.’

No reaction.

‘You don’t give a shit, do you?’

‘A lot of people die every day in this city, Robert. It’s a fact of life. We can’t save everyone.’

‘But we can help this girl. That’s all I’m asking.’

‘And all I’m asking is for something in return.’

Hunter’s cell phone went off. He held Claire’s gaze for a tense moment.

‘Aren’t you gonna answer that?’ she asked, conscious that heads were starting to turn.

Hunter reached into his jacket pocket. ‘Detective Hunter.’

‘Detective, it’s Monica.’ A quick pause. ‘I mean, Mollie.’ She sounded like she was crying.

Hunter turned away from Claire. ‘Are you OK? Where are you?’ he asked, but the only reply he got was static noise. He quickly covered the mouthpiece with his hand and looked back at the reporter. ‘You’re wrong, Claire—’ getting up, he placed five twenty-dollar bills on the table ‘—there’re a lot of good things in this world that are free.’

Eighty-Six

Hunter covered the twenty-five miles between Beverly Hills and South Gate in record time. Mollie had told him she’d be waiting in a coffee shop called Café Kashmir in Tweedy Boulevard. Hunter didn’t need the address; he knew the place.

After parking his Buick just outside, Hunter entered the café. At 10:35 p.m., it surprised him how busy it was. Even more surprising was that all of the customers seemed to be younger than twenty-five. Mollie was sitting at a round table by a terracotta-brick wall adorned with several oil paintings – a young artist’s exposition. A small rucksack sat by her feet.

‘Hello,’ he said, smiling as he joined her. She tried to mirror it but failed. The sleepless night and apprehension showed on her face. Telltale dark circles. Bloodshot eyes. Flushed cheeks. She closed the notebook she was scribbling on and put it away.

‘You write?’

Mollie looked embarrassed. ‘Ah, it’s nothing. Children’s stories.’

Hunter sat down. ‘When I was young I dreamed of becoming a writer someday.’

‘Really?’

‘I loved reading so much that it seemed only natural.’

Mollie looked at her rucksack where she’d just stuffed her notebook. ‘Me too.’

‘Were you thinking of going away?’

‘I made a mistake coming to Los Angeles.’ Her voice was firm, but it lacked conviction.

‘Do you think if you’d gone someplace else you would’ve avoided the visions?’ Hunter asked.

No answer. No eye contact.

Hunter let the moment pass. ‘I’m hungry,’ he said, turning to look at the cake display on the counter. ‘I’d love some cheesecake or something. How about you?’

Mollie looked unsure.

‘C’mon. I feel really guilty eating cake by myself. Just to keep me company. What do you say? How about a slice of that chocolate one?’ He pointed to a chocolate gateau on the top shelf of the display.

She hesitated for an instant before nodding. ‘OK.’

‘Hot chocolate?’ He gestured towards the empty mug on the table.

‘Yes.’

A minute later Hunter returned with two slices of cake, a coffee and a hot chocolate. As Mollie stirred her drink, Hunter noticed that her fingernails had been chewed to the nail beds.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, fidgeting with her teaspoon.

‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.’

‘The woman I talked to. I didn’t know she was a reporter. She said she was working with you. I never told her I was a psychic. You’ve gotta believe me.’

‘I believe you, and it’s not your fault,’ he replied in a serene tone. ‘Unfortunately, this city is full of people who will do anything to try and get ahead. I’m the one who’s sorry for exposing you like that. I should’ve known better.’

Hunter retrieved a brand-new cell phone from his pocket and handed it to Mollie. He explained that his and Garcia’s number were already programmed into it and the phone had the latest GPS chip. It was the easiest way for them to keep in contact. She promised never to turn it off.

‘The photo in the paper,’ she said after a short silence. ‘I’m scared someone might recognize me.’

Hunter picked up on her fear. ‘And maybe tell your father?’

Unconsciously, she ran her right hand over her left arm.

‘Did he do that to you?’

She looked up with questioning eyes.

‘The broken arm?’ Hunter nodded at her arm.

‘How did you know?’

‘Just observation, really,’ he said with a subtle head shake.

She looked at her arm and at the minor irregular curvature just past her elbow. When she spoke, her voice carried a mixture of anger and sadness. ‘He beat me up almost every day.’

Hunter listened while Mollie told him about the beatings. The broken arm and fingers. And the never-ending hate her father had for her, simply because she was born a girl. She told him how much she missed her mother and how her father blamed her for her death. She still never told Hunter about the sexual abuse. She didn’t have to.

Hunter clenched his hands as he thought of the many psychological scars and how they’d affect Mollie for the rest of her life.

‘I know you’re scared, Mollie. But running away isn’t the answer. It never is.’

‘It’s the only answer I have,’ she shot back. ‘You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what it’s been like.’ Her voice urgent. ‘My father will never give up.’

‘I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Mollie,’ Hunter said in an even voice.

‘So don’t.’

Hunter regarded her. Her reaction had been generated by fear, not anger. The same fear that made her run away and kept her running. The same fear that seemed to fuel her existence.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry.’

Mollie took a deep breath and looked down at her mug. A whole minute passed before Hunter spoke.

‘You sounded very worried on the phone, Mollie. Did something happen?’

‘I had another vision,’ she announced quickly and in a steady voice.

Hunter leaned forward.

‘After I saw my picture in the paper this morning I panicked. I wanted to run away again.’ She pointed to the rucksack at her feet. ‘I made it all the way to the Greyhound Bus Station.’

‘Where would you go?’

Mollie coughed a laugh. ‘Anywhere the little money I had could take me. I didn’t care. I just wanted to get away from here.’

‘And the vision changed your mind?’ Hunter asked.

Mollie nodded and started fidgeting with the teaspoon again. ‘It happened while I was at the station, trying to decide where to go.’

‘What did you see?’

Her eyes met his and Hunter saw fear.

‘The visions, since they came back, are very different from the ones I had when I was younger.’

‘You said they’re now in the first person and sometimes they aren’t silent anymore.’ Hunter nodded.

‘What I saw today wasn’t a person or a place or anything like that. It didn’t play like a film. But I know it was something very important to the killer.’

Hunter waited.

‘I saw a date.’

He craned his neck. ‘What date?’

Mollie took a deep breath and shuddered. ‘New Year’s Day.’