Текст книги "The Executioner"

Автор книги: Chris (2) Carter

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Ninety-Three

Debbie Howard, Amanda Reilly’s old school friend and the possible second victim of the Executioner Killer, was an only child. She was brought up by her mother after her father left when she was eight years old. Her mother never remarried and now lives in an old people’s home dedicated to dementia sufferers.

Just like Amanda Reilly, Debbie grew up in Gardena. She finished high school in 1986 and moved to Seattle shortly afterwards to study at Washington State University – School of Law. She graduated with honors and immediately landed a job with Foster Harvey, one of the largest law firms in the Pacific Northwest. Five years after joining the firm she married William Clark, an attorney and associate of Foster Harvey. Their marriage lasted only three and a half years. After her quick divorce, Debbie decided to leave the company and Seattle behind and head back to Los Angeles. Her record as a lawyer spoke for itself, and after passing the California bar exam she was offered a job with the Los Angeles District Attorney’s office – Antelope Valley branch.

Debbie was intelligent, ambitious, pushy and a fierce opponent in a court of law. Since moving back to California, she tried and convicted over five hundred criminals, their offences ranging from misdemeanors to felonies and capital crimes. Two years ago she met, fell in love and married Jonathan Hale, a very successful architect. She was found dead in their home in the city of Lancaster two weeks ago. There was no mention of a number drawn onto her body.

By the time Hunter and Garcia got back to their office, Hopkins had already gathered all the information into a neatly typed two-page report.

‘How did she die?’ Hunter asked, checking the report.

‘According to the detective I spoke to from the LA County Sheriff’s Department, she was found dead inside her bathroom. Because the case is still open and the victim is a prosecutor from the LA DA’s office, they wouldn’t disclose any more information. I talked to Captain Blake and she got on the phone to them with an urgent and very demanding request.’ Hopkins nodded. ‘They’ll share.’

‘So where are the files?’ Hunter pressed.

‘On their way here. Detective Ross from the Sheriff’s Department in Lancaster is making copies of everything they have on Debbie Howard’s death. Captain Blake told them to send us whatever they could get their hands on, immediately. That was just half an hour ago. They should be here soon.’

‘Good. What else you got?’

Information on Peter Elder, Father Fabian’s high school buddy James Reed identified via the yearbook, was a lot easier to come by. He never graduated, and, unlike Brett, Peter never reformed. He escalated from bullying to shoplifting, muggings, armed robbery and finally homicide.

Hopkins handed the detectives Elder’s shorter report.

‘He’s in CCI State Prison?’ Garcia asked, surprised.

The California Correctional Institution State Prison in Tehachapi is one of only three Californian prisons with a Security Housing Unit. The most secure area within a Level IV prison, designed to provide isolation and the highest possible coverage to maximum-security inmates.

‘He was found at the scene of the crime covered in blood with a body at his feet – a shop owner,’ Hopkins explained. ‘The only reason he isn’t sitting in death row is because of some technicality. The cops screwed up at the crime scene. He got life, with no possibility of parole.’

‘How about the two other girls in the Gardena High photo?’ Hunter stood up. ‘Emily Wells and Jessica Pierce. Have we found them yet?’

A quick head shake. ‘I’ve got several searches running at the same time, but so far nothing. You gotta give me a little more time.’

‘Time is something we seem to be running out of very quickly,’ Garcia said, glancing at Hunter. They didn’t want to reveal Mollie’s latest vision about New Year’s Day.

‘I was lucky with Debbie Howard’s search,’ Hopkins said. ‘She opted for keeping her maiden name instead of taking on her husband’s. That and the fact that she worked for the District Attorney’s office made things a lot easier. Her name popped up almost instantly in the Homicide database query. Emily Wells and Jessica Pierce are probably married. I’ll have to track down old records and possibly their parents. I’m working as fast as I can. I’ll get there, but I need a few more hours.’ He ran a hand over his tired-looking face.

‘How about our possible first victim, the unidentified male and the watch search?’ Garcia asked. ‘Any luck?’

‘Nothing so far from the personal possessions’ inventories, but believe it or not, in this day and age, those inventories aren’t entered into a database.’ Hopkins shrugged as if he didn’t get it. ‘They are handwritten forms.’

Hunter threw his head back and let out a tired sigh while running both hands over his face. ‘I’ll get some people over to the morgues to go through those forms. We’ve gotta find this guy.’

Ninety-Four

Captain Blake entered the room without knocking. Her makeup seemed a little heavier than normal, and Hunter deducted it was to hide the dark circles under her eyes.

‘Is this for real, Robert? Is Debbie Howard the second victim?’ She tilted her head towards the pictures on the cork-board.

‘There’s a good possibility, yes. But I need the case files before I’m able to say for sure.’

‘They’ll be here soon,’ the captain confirmed. ‘A prosecutor with the DA’s office?’ she shook her head disapprovingly. ‘The shit will certainly hit the fan once the chief of police and the mayor hear about this.’

‘For now we’re only checking leads, captain,’ Hunter said calmly. ‘No one has to hear about anything.’

‘Since you made the front page of the Times yesterday, the chief wants a daily report from me on this investigation. He wants to keep an eye on us, the “Mystic Cops”, as I’m sure so does the mayor.’

‘So give him a report. Does anyone know you requested the files in connection with our investigation?’

The captain shot Hunter an arctic look. ‘I’m not that dumb, Robert.’

‘So we don’t have to tell them, at least not yet.’

‘Are you asking me to lie to the chief of police, Robert?’

‘No, captain, just to manipulate the truth for a day or two.’

The captain glared at Hunter and then Garcia. ‘What’s your problem with authority and following rules, detective? Have you forgotten that we answer to the chief of police and the mayor? I’m not sure how William Bolter used to run this department, but lying and disobeying your superior’s orders will no longer be officially sanctioned. Not as long as I’m captain. If we get confirmation that Debbie Howard really was our killer’s second victim, it will make the report.’ She paused. ‘So what have we got so far?’

Hunter told her about the graduating pictures from Gardena Senior High and their meeting with James Reed.

‘And this Peter Elder, the priest’s old high school buddy, he’s in CCI in Tehachapi?’ she asked.

‘A homicide crime scene that the cops messed up,’ Hopkins confirmed. ‘He should’ve been in San Quentin.’

‘I’d like to talk to him ASAP, captain.’ Hunter consulted his watch. ‘How fast do you think we can get a prisoner’s interview request?’

The captain sighed, looking at Peter Elder’s file. ‘Elder is in a maximum-security prison – Secure Housing Unit, Robert. Visitation privileges are few, if any. I’ll need to send a formal request to the warden. Even if I overstress the urgency of it, it’d still probably take at least twenty-four hours.’ She returned the file to Hunter’s desk. ‘I have a very good friend in the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation board, who might be able to speed things up. But how do you think this Peter Elder can help? He’s been in prison for—’ She made quick eye contact with Hopkins.

‘Fourteen years,’ he confirmed.

‘My guess is that he hasn’t seen his old school friend for at least that long.’

Hopkins checked his report. ‘That’s right, captain. His visitation records show only one name, his mother, and that stopped five years ago when she passed away.’

Hunter rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. ‘We already know that Amanda Reilly and Debbie Howard were school friends,’ Hunter pointed to the picture of the four girls together. ‘But we’ve still to make a connection between the girls and a young Father Fabian. We know they didn’t know each other from school, but look at this, captain.’ Hunter called her attention to the large LA neighborhood map on the wall. ‘Those pins indicate where Amanda and the young priest lived when they were teenagers, not that far from each other.’ He picked Debbie Howard’s report from his desk. ‘Debbie lived in the same street as Amanda.’

‘You think they were a gang?’ the captain asked.

‘Something like that.’ Hunter nodded and leaned against the edge of his desk. ‘But the only way I can confirm that is if we find someone who knew them when they were young. Someone who was a good friend, maybe part of the gang.’ He pointed to Compton High’s yearbook. ‘Peter Elder is that someone.’

‘And if he confirms your assumption, what do you get?’

‘Motive.’

Everyone stood still. All eyes on Hunter.

Ninety-Five

‘I’m listening, Robert,’ the captain urged Hunter.

‘Bullying.’

‘Bullying? You mean school bullying?’ the captain asked doubtfully.

‘We found out today that in school Father Fabian was a bully, and a nasty one at that. He and his little gang of friends pushed students and teachers to their limits. Peter Elder was not only part of that gang, but according to James Reed he was the leader.’

‘The priest was a bad bully in school?’

‘Hard to believe, isn’t it?’ Garcia commented.

‘Wait a second. Amanda and Debbie didn’t go to their school.’

Hunter searched his desk. ‘Have a look at this.’ He handed the captain Amanda Reilly’s high school records.

Her eyes scanned the sheet for a moment. ‘Bad grades, a few detentions and poor attendance.’ She shrugged. ‘Half the students in LA have a record similar to this one. So she wasn’t an exemplary student, and . . .?’

‘Most bullies aren’t.’

The captain’s eyes widened. ‘Are you saying she was a bully simply because her grades weren’t good? That’s quite a harsh conclusion, Robert.’

‘No.’ Hunter shook his head calmly. ‘Look at the number of detentions she got.’

Another quick look at the sheet. ‘Quite a few . . . your point is?’

‘No student gets a load of detentions because of bad grades, captain. They’ve gotta be disruptive, argumentative, even aggressive. All I’m saying is that there’s a good chance Amanda Reilly was also a bully. If she wasn’t, she still might’ve hung out with Brett and Peter’s gang.’

The captain considered this. ‘You think this killer is going after the people who bullied him when he was young?’

‘I think so.’ Hunter nodded.

‘That’s over twenty years ago,’ Hopkins commented. ‘You think someone could hold a grudge for that long?’

‘People can hold a grudge indefinitely,’ Hunter answered. ‘But I wouldn’t call it a grudge in this case.’

The captain tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Carry on.’

‘Young people are very susceptible to psychological traumas. Teenagers are insecure by nature, no matter how tough they might want to appear. At that age the doors to those insecurities are wide open, and nothing is stopping a bully from going in and making a mess of their subconscious without them even knowing.’

‘A mess strong enough that it’d make someone wanna do this?’ the captain asked, pointing to the gruesome pictures of both murders.

‘Bullying can be extremely destructive, leaving behind psychological scars that can take years to heal, if they ever do.’

‘But why come after these people twentysomething years later, when their bullying days are well and truly over? You’re not gonna tell me that Father Fabian and Amanda Reilly were still bullies, are you?’

‘Psychological traumas can sit in someone’s subconscious for years just waiting to come out.’ Hunter approached the window and stared at the busy street down below. ‘Haven’t you ever wondered about homeless people?’

Everyone in the room frowned.

‘Are you on medication? What the hell does that have to do with anything, Robert?’ the captain asked, shaking her head.

‘Sometimes, when I see a homeless person sitting in a corner, cold and hungry, I wonder how far back I’d have to trace that person’s life to find the exact moment in time that broke him.’ Hunter watched an old man cross the street below. ‘It could be the moment he lost his job, or his wife, or his kid. It could be anything. But there’s always something, captain. The proverbial “last straw”. Everyone has a breaking point.’ He faced the room. ‘Now imagine if this killer was desperately bullied when he was a kid. His subconscious is full of rage and anger that not even he’s aware of. Twenty-five years later, his life isn’t going that well. He lost his job or his wife is about to leave him or whatever. He’s at boiling point. Then finally the “last straw” happens. Something pulls the trigger inside his head and reopens the wound. All of a sudden, all that rage and anger isn’t hidden in his subconscious anymore.’

‘And he goes back to what he considers to be the root of everything bad. The bullying when he was a kid,’ Garcia said, following Hunter’s line of thought.

Hunter nodded. ‘Whatever that “last straw” was, it’s awakened a monster.’

‘I can see that.’ Captain Blake nodded at the picture board.

‘In one of his journals,’ Hunter continued, returning to his desk, ‘Father Fabian mentions a group of street kids he used to hang out with, and from what we gathered those kids were bad news.’

‘And you think maybe Amanda Reilly, Debbie Howard and Peter Elder were part of that group,’ the captain commented.

‘It’s very possible.’

‘So we aren’t talking about school bullying,’ the captain concluded. ‘We’re talking about street bullying.’

‘Most students live close to the school they attend,’ Hunter said evenly.

‘Shit!’ Captain Blake closed her eyes as she realized what Hunter meant. ‘Double bullying. In and out of school. Double the possibility of a severe psychological trauma.’

‘Bullies have favorite targets,’ Hunter continued. ‘Maybe, if I’m persuasive enough, I can get Peter Elder to identify them.’

‘Why would he cooperate?’ she challenged.

‘Because he’s got nothing to lose.’

Captain Blake let out a deep breath, but she was convinced. ‘I’ll put in a CCI prisoner interview request straight away and contact Clayton on the rehabilitations board. If we’re lucky, we might get you in tomorrow.’

‘That works.’ Hunter nodded. ‘I can drive. Tehachapi is less than two hours away.’

The captain retrieved Debbie Howard’s file from Garcia’s desk and read through the little information they had. ‘How about Jonathan Hale, Debbie’s husband?’

‘I can’t interview him without having read the case files. We don’t even know exactly how she died.’

‘I’ll call Lancaster again,’ the captain said resolutely, ‘check where the hell these files are. They should’ve been here by now.’

The phone on Hunter’s desk rang.

‘Detective Hunter.’ He listened for a few seconds before putting the phone down and facing everyone in the room. Even before he said a word, they all knew.

Ninety-Six

This time, Captain Blake wanted to see for herself the brutality the Executioner was capable of. They arrived at the derelict construction site in Marina Del Rey thirty-five minutes later. Several police vehicles were already at the scene. Hunter recognized Doctor Winston’s silver convertible BMW parked next to the crime-lab van. A tall black female police officer was leaning against a black and white unit, being attended to by a paramedic.

‘What have we got?’ Hunter asked, approaching the officer who was standing by the yellow crime-scene tape at the building’s entry point.

‘I know very little, sir,’ he replied, worried, and proceeded to explain about the APB put out on the black Cadillac the day before. ‘Officer Williams—’ he nodded in the direction of the tall officer with the paramedics ‘—located the vehicle about two hours ago. No occupants, so she decided to check in here.’ He lifted his thumb over his shoulder. His gaze met Hunter’s and he shook his head. ‘God only knows what’s in there.’ He crossed himself.

Garcia popped a couple of anti-acids in his mouth, and Captain Blake frowned at him. They put on their Tyvek coveralls in silence. The expectation of what this new murder scene would bring seemed to electrify the air.

They stepped into the first room clattered with debris. The air was cold and pungent, laden with the sharp smell of urine and feces. The captain screwed up her face and cupped a hand over her nose. Moving through the plastic door drape at the far end of the squared structure, they delved deeper into the building. The uncomfortable cold intensified and the light got weaker the further they went. After clearing the fourth room, they saw the powerful brilliance of the forensic lights shining through the dirty plastic curtains at the door to a new area. A crime-lab agent was standing outside the door frame, his eyes gazing at a distant nothing. He didn’t register the three new arrivals.

Hunter, Garcia and Captain Blake stepped into the brightly lit room together. The cold that’d accompanied them throughout the building evaporated from Hunter’s body. Not because of the heat produced by the powerlights, but because of the extra blood his heart was pumping into his veins. It was beating twice as fast as moments ago. All three pairs of eyes stared at what occupied the center of the room.

‘Sweet Jesus!’ the captain whispered, bringing a trembling hand to her mouth.

Ninety-Seven

A naked black man was sitting in a high-back metal chair. His skin was a dull shade of gray. His head was slightly tilted back. Protruding from his open mouth was a thin, clear plastic tube. But what was causing Captain Blake to shiver wasn’t the tube shoved deep down the man’s throat. It was the two hundred and fifty ten-milliliter syringes filled with blood that had been plunged all over the man’s body. From his eyes to his ears, head, torso, genitals, legs and feet.

Doctor Winston was standing to the right of the victim. He slowly approached both detectives and the RHD captain. Hunter had never seen him look so distressed. All four of them stood in silence. Captain Blake was the first to speak. Her usually calm and authoritative voice had a nervous quiver to it.

‘The killer made the victim into a blood-filled pincushion?’

‘In a way.’ A small pause. ‘Those syringes contain about fifty percent of all his blood.’

The captain’s questioning stare moved from the doctor to Hunter.

‘Without help, human beings won’t survive if they lose over forty percent of their blood,’ Hunter stated.

Garcia let out a constricted sigh.

‘Are you telling me that the killer literally sucked the life out of the victim?’ the captain asked.

‘Ten milliliters at a time,’ the doctor confirmed.

The scene was as abhorrent as it was hypnotic. Disgusting, but they couldn’t peel their eyes away from it.

Gingerly, they approached the victim.

The sight of the two blood-filled syringes plunged into the man’s open eyes were starting to churn Captain Blake’s stomach. She forced herself to look away.

‘The number?’ Hunter asked.

In silence, Doctor Winston directed their attention to the victim’s back. Centered between his shoulder blades and six inches long, the number five had been drawn in blood.

Hunter walked around to the front of the chair. ‘What do we know of the victim?’

‘His name was Darnell Douglas. Forty-one years old. Lived in West Hollywood with his wife of seven years.’

Hunter looked up.

‘She hasn’t been told yet,’ the doctor confirmed with a sad head shake. ‘He was a car salesman for Princeton Cars, also located in West Hollywood. You probably already heard how he disappeared yesterday after taking one of the vehicles from his shop out for a test drive.’

Hunter nodded.

‘My team is dusting the entire car as we speak. If the killer left anything behind, we’ll find it.’

‘How did the killer manage to extract so much blood?’ Garcia asked, cringing as he studied the syringes.

‘Very good question,’ the doctor agreed, ‘and the answer is – very slowly.’ He pointed to the internal midsection of the victim’s right arm. ‘As you all know, given its high-pressure blood flow, the arm’s basilic vein is the preferred vein for venipuncture – taking blood. If you move a little closer, you’ll notice that the basilic vein region in both arms have been pricked to exhaustion.’

Due to the victim’s skin color, hematomas were hard to spot, but Hunter had already noticed the exaggerated number of needle pricks on the midsection of the victim’s arms.

‘If you try to extract blood from someone’s leg or chest or anywhere but a venipuncture site using a syringe,’ the doctor continued, ‘unless you were lucky enough to have hit a vein, you’ll get little, if any blood at all.’

Hunter thought about this for a second. ‘So the killer extracted ten millileters of blood at a time from the victim’s arms and then . . .’ His words trailed off.

Doctor Winston nodded and pointed to the victim’s neck, where tens of closely set pinpricks were visible on both sides. ‘Not only the arms. He also used the neck veins. Every time he filled a syringe up, the killer needed a place to store it before moving to the next one.’ He looked at Barbara Blake, who was now staring at him – mouth half open, eyes wide. ‘So he didn’t use the victim’s body as a pincushion, Barbara. More of a storage unit.’

Oh God!

‘The killer could’ve dragged this out for hours,’ the doctor proceeded, ‘and judging by what we’ve seen from the previous victims, I’m certain he did.’

‘And he made him suffer,’ Hunter noted.

‘Immensely,’ the doctor agreed. ‘Every new syringe filled with blood was stabbed into the victim’s body as opposed to inserted.’ He pointed to each body part as he mentioned them. ‘Eardrums, testicles, nipples and eyes were most likely the first to be stabbed, as they’d be the ones to cause the greatest amount of pain. In the less fleshy body parts like the face, shins, knees and so on, the needles hit bone.’

‘The killer wouldn’t have gone for the eyes early.’ Hunter disagreed, having a closer look at the victim’s face.

Doctor Winston and Captain Blake frowned.

‘He would’ve wanted the victim to see the needles being plunged into him,’ Hunter explained.

‘Why?’ The captain this time.

‘Oh my God!’ Garcia whispered, realizing what Hunter meant. ‘The killer always goes after the victim’s fear.’ All eyes moved to him. ‘Darnell Douglas was scared of needles.’