Текст книги "The Executioner"

Автор книги: Chris (2) Carter

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Hundred and Eight

He took a deep breath before studying the photographs taped to the brick wall inside the candlelit basement room. The faces that stared back at him each had their own different history – told their own different story. A wave of excitement rushed through his body at the thought of what he’d already accomplished and what was still to come.

‘It won’t be long now.’ He smiled before running his tongue over his cracked lips. ‘Five are gone; only two more to go.’ He consulted the large calendar hanging from a rusty nail. ‘Plenty of time to achieve it.’

His eyes rested on the sketches and plans on the oversized metal table and he laughed. He’d decided to leave the best for last. He knew exactly what scared them to death – one was petrified of spiders and the other of rats. That knowledge filled him with a mind-boggling feeling of power. What he had in store for them was a masterpiece – a whole new dimension of panic and pain. He couldn’t wait to be face to face with them. To see the fear in their eyes. To taste their blood. To make them suffer. But he knew the importance of being patient.

He opened the miniature fridge at the corner of the room, and carefully ran his fingers over the small glass vial of blood he’d extracted from his last victim.

So far everything had gone to plan, but something unexpected had come into play. He glared at the photograph on the front page of the LA Times. This was something he could’ve never foreseen. But this was also something he could easily deal with. Nothing and nobody would keep him from achieving his goal.

Hundred and Nine

‘Motherfucker! He lied to us,’ Garcia whispered, staring at the picture Hopkins had showed them.

‘I asked you to run a check on him. Did you find anything out?’ Hunter asked Hopkins.

The officer nodded, searching his folder. ‘Unlike Brett, James Reed was an exemplary everything – student, citizen, you name it. He maintained a 4.0 average all throughout high school and graduated with honors in ’87. He didn’t lose any time either, starting university the same year – UCLA. Two majors, mathematics and physics, and again his grades were outstanding. He got involved with computer software design right after university and for several years worked for a games company right here in LA named Konami. They’re one of the big boys. He made a lot of money using his math and physics knowledge to develop ‘shoot ’em up’ game engines. His mother, who used to be Father Fabian’s algebra 2 teacher in Compton High, fell ill about three years ago, and that’s when he quit the company.’ He looked at Hunter. ‘You asked me to also check where he lived when young. Guess what?’ He smiled. ‘When he was in high school, they used to live just a few houses from our young priest.’

‘And that’s why Elder has highlighted him. If they lived on the same street as Brett, Strutter’s gang must’ve picked on him no end.’

‘Funny how he failed to mention that when we talked to him yesterday,’ Garcia commented with irritation. ‘I think we should pay him a less cordial visit this time.’

‘You were right on the money again when you suggested I check everything about him, including who his neighbors were and if they had kids the same age,’ Hopkins said, nodding at Hunter. ‘I would’ve never thought of that.’

‘What did you get?’

‘One of their neighbors had two kids, a boy and a girl, both around James Reed’s age. Neither of them went to Compton or Gardena High. They went to Centennial High on North Central Avenue. The boy’s called Keyon Powell. He’s now a doctor and lives in Colorado, but his sister, Kelly Powell, now Kelly Sanchez, is an attorney at law and lives in Santa Monica with her husband and two children.’ Hopkins handed Hunter his sheet.

He studied it for a moment before checking his watch.

‘Maybe we should talk to her first – like now.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Garcia said, reaching for his jacket.

Hundred and Ten

Hardgrave and Mortimer Law Firm occupied the third, fourth and fifth floor of the large, all tinted-window modern office building on the corner of Sixth and Broadway in Santa Monica. Hunter had called from the car just to make sure Kelly Sanchez was in her office and not in court this afternoon.

At the reception, a young and immensely attractive red-haired woman told them that without an appointment it was very doubtful Mrs. Sanchez would be able to see them today, but the magic of Hunter’s detective badge created a last-minute opening in her schedule.

They still had to wait a few minutes before the receptionist was given the all clear to guide them inside. They tailed her down a corridor where photographs and framed newspaper articles hung on the walls, passing a display case filled with golf trophies and into a second corridor. Kelly Sanchez’s office was the second to last on the right. The red-haired receptionist knocked gently and waited precisely three seconds before opening the door and showing them into a spacious and luxurious office. Delicate furniture, oil paintings on the walls, a broad window behind an imposing Victorian mahogany desk and an entire wall covered in books. An office certainly decorated to impress clients.

Kelly Sanchez came to meet them at the door. A statuesque black woman in her late thirties with lush, straight shoulder-length hair and razor-sharp hazel eyes. They shook hands and Kelly scrutinized their credentials before offering them a seat.

‘How can I assist you, gentlemen?’ she asked, taking her place behind her desk.

Without giving too much away, Hunter explained the purpose of their unannounced visit.

‘James Reed? Wow, that’s a blast from the past.’

‘You were neighbors, is that correct?’

Kelly nodded skeptically. ‘Many years ago.’

‘Do you remember a boy they used to call Strutter and the group of kids he used to hang out with?’

Kelly’s sweet demeanor hardened, and she leaned back on her chair, clinically studying both detectives. ‘Yes, I remember them.’

‘Did you or your brother know any of them? Did you know their names?’

She shook her head. ‘The only name that was ever mentioned was Strutter’s, and that’s a nickname. I knew who they were if I saw them on the street. Every time I did I went the other way.’

‘In Strutter’s gang there was a girl they called Lipz and a skinny boy they called JayJay. Did you know them at all?’ Garcia pressed.

She frowned. ‘I just told you I didn’t know any of them.’ Her stare moved from Garcia to Hunter. ‘What’s this really about, detective? James was never part of that gang.’

‘Yes, we know. Were you and your brother friends with James Reed? Did you know him well?’

‘We were friends, but I wouldn’t say we knew him well.’

‘Do you remember if he got along with Strutter and his gang?’

Kelly chuckled. ‘Nobody got along with Strutter’s gang. In fact, everyone did their best to avoid them.’

‘Including James?’

‘Especially James, but it was harder for him.’

‘How’s that?’ His leather seat squeaked as Hunter leaned forward.

Kelly gave them a subtle shrug. ‘James went to Compton High. His mother was a teacher there, and I think some of Strutter’s gang members were students of hers. James paid the bill every time they got bad grades or detentions in her class.’

‘Or suspensions,’ Garcia noted quietly.

‘Strutter’s gang sought him out. He got more heat than most.’

‘How about you and your brother?’

‘We went to a different school, Centennial High. None of Strutter’s gang were students there. It was easier for us to avoid them.’ Kelly rested her elbow on the arm of her luxurious leather chair and her chin on her closed fist. ‘We got pushed around every now and then, but nothing extreme, mainly just name-calling.’

‘And that wasn’t the kind of pushed around James got?’ Garcia asked.

She shook her head. ‘James was very timid, very insecure. I’m not sure if that was the reason or if it was because his mother was a teacher, but Strutter’s gang made his life hell.’ Kelly tucked her hair behind her ears. Her eyes moved slightly up and to the right. ‘James used to have this little white dog. It was very cute and tiny and it was always running around, full of energy. Even my mom liked that dog, and she definitely wasn’t a dog person.’ Her expression saddened at the memory. ‘The dog went missing one day and James went absolutely nuts. He probably knocked on every door in our neighborhood, but no one had seen it. I don’t think he got any sleep that night. I’m not sure of all the details, but the next morning a cardboard box was left at his door. Inside was the little dog. Its head was missing.’

Garcia shifted uncomfortably in his chair and glanced at Hunter, who kept a steady face.

‘James buried its body in the park. He cried for weeks.’

The room fell silent for a long moment. ‘James blamed Strutter’s gang.’ Hunter concluded.

Kelly nodded. ‘Poor little Numberz,’ she said sadly.

‘What did you say?’ Hunter frowned.

‘James’s tiny white dog.’ She nodded. ‘It was called Numberz, with a “z” at the end.’

Hundred and Eleven

One of the busiest freeways in the state, busiest time of the day. From Santa Monica to Pomona they moved at a snail’s pace, averaging twenty-five miles an hour. On their way they encountered gridlocks, foul tempers, compulsive horn blowers and some frightening risk-takers.

‘We should just take him in and put him under pressure in an interrogation room, I’m sure he’ll crack. Especially if you interrogate him.’ Garcia said as they slowed down behind a truck.

‘You wanna arrest him on what charge? Being bullied by a street gang over twenty years ago and having a dog called Numberz? At the moment we’ve got nothing.’

‘We’ve got motive.’

‘Probable. You have to work that word into your vocabulary, Carlos.’

‘OK, so we’ve got probable motive. James Reed was severely bullied when young and he blamed Strutter’s gang for what happened to his dog, whether they did it or not. A dog called Numberz that was beheaded. The killer numbers his victims, Robert. Father Fabian was decapitated and his head replaced by a dog’s one. Coincidence? And did you notice that he’s—’

‘Your height, six-two,’ Hunter interrupted, nodding.

‘The man we’re looking for is six-two.’

‘I know.’ Hunter leaned against the passenger door and pinched his chin. ‘Look, all I’m saying is that we can’t panic. If we do, this killer will get away. The only thing we have that can tie anyone to one of the crime scenes is a partial fingerprint found in the mansion in Malibu. That’s good, but it’s not enough and you know it. Even if we take him in and match his fingerprint to the one we have, he could easily beat it in a court of law. The house was on the market for quite a while, remember? Anyone could have gone for a viewing. If that’s all we’ve got, no jury in the country will convict. There are still two members of Strutter’s gang out there, and I know the killer will be going after them. We’ve gotta play this tactfully. If James Reed’s our guy, he knows we’re closing the circle. We knocked on his door yesterday, and we’re about to do it again.’

‘And that might make him nervous,’ Garcia concluded.

‘With nervousness comes mistakes. One mistake is all we need.’

The short winter LA afternoon was sliding to an end when they finally reached Pomona. Hunter consulted his watch and decided to go straight to Cal Poly University.

The main campus of the California State Polytechnic University sits on almost fifteen hundred acres of suburban district, making it the second-largest campus in the California State University system. Once inside the grounds, it didn’t take them long to spot the famous CLA building – Classroom/ Laboratory/Administration. Its daring futuristic architecture has earned the structure a place in several sci-fi Hollywood productions as well as numerous TV commercials. But the building also sits directly above the San Jose Hills Fault. It has a very high seismic risk, and its connections and beams don’t meet California earthquake safety standards.

‘Cool building,’ Garcia commented as he parked his car.

‘Let’s just hope we don’t get a quake in the next few minutes.’

‘Huh?’

Hunter shook his head dismissively. ‘Don’t worry about it. Useless information, really.’

Garcia’s brow furrowed and he doubled his step, following Hunter into the building.

The reception area wasn’t busy. A heavyset man with friendly eyes and long dark hair tied back in a ponytail smiled with bright white teeth as they approached his desk. ‘How can I help you, gentlemen?’ he asked giddily.

‘We’re looking for Professor Reed, James Reed.’ Hunter returned the smile.

‘Do you know what subject he teaches?’

‘I’m not sure. Is there a way you can find out for us?’

‘Sure, give me a minute.’

‘Computer Science and Software Engineering.’ The answer came from a tall angular woman with a delicate and attractive face framed by ash-blond hair. She was standing next to the receptionist’s desk, reading through some sort of report. Both detectives turned to face her. ‘Professor Reed teaches Computer Science and Software Engineering,’ she confirmed. ‘But he’s not around.’

‘Oh.’ Hunter nodded disappointedly. ‘You are?’

‘Doctor Nicola Pate.’ She offered her hand. ‘I run the computer science department. Are you looking to enroll?’

Garcia coughed and Hunter’s smile widened. ‘Wow, do we look that young?’

‘You look old enough to me,’ the receptionist said, flashing Hunter a new smile followed by a discreet wink, which made Garcia almost choke.

Doctor Pate chuckled comfortingly. ‘You don’t have to be a teenager to enroll in university.’

‘Does that mean we don’t look like teenagers?’ Hunter teased and got a ‘don’t push it’ look from Doctor Pate.

‘I’m at a loss here,’ she said, running her hand through her hair. ‘I know you’re not looking to enroll as students, but I still don’t know who you are.’

They stepped away from the receptionist’s desk and Hunter went through the proper introductions.

Doctor Pate’s aura changed as she checked their badges. ‘Homicide?’

‘Don’t be alarmed,’ Hunter reassured her. ‘James Reed is just helping us.’

‘Is there a problem with one of his students?’

‘No, nothing like that. An investigation we’re conducting might involve someone James Reed knew a very long time ago. He might be able to help us obtain a better insight.’

The doctor’s gaze bounced between both detectives for a moment and her worried expression relaxed.

‘Do you know where we can find him?’

A gentle head tilt. ‘You’re a day too late.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘We’re three days away from Christmas, detective. Classes have been dying down for the past week. Professor Reed finished his last scheduled class yesterday afternoon. He told me he was going away for a few days.’

‘Did he tell you where?’

Doctor Pate shook her head. ‘Reed’s a very introvert person. A great professor, but he keeps himself to himself. He said he needed a change of scenery, at least for a few days, and I don’t blame him. Life as a university professor can be very demanding. I think he likes going to the mountains somewhere, but don’t quote me on that. I didn’t even know he was going away. The first I heard of it was yesterday.’

Garcia glanced at Hunter.

‘If you leave me your number, I’ll give you a call if I hear from him.’ This time her smile was more than friendly.

Hundred and Twelve

Night had already descended over LA by the time Garcia pulled up in front of James Reed’s house. The black Dodge Journey they saw parked in his driveway the day before was gone. From outside, the house looked deserted. The curtains were drawn shut and the lights were all off. They insistently rang the doorbell, knocked on the door and called his name, but after a few minutes they knew they’d be getting no reply.

‘He’s fled,’ Garcia said curtly.

‘We don’t know that yet. He might not be our guy and he’s really just off on a break to clear his head.’

‘Or the panic is already starting to set in. As you said, he knows we’re closing in on him.’

The neighbors confirmed Doctor Pate’s allegations that Reed was an introvert man who liked to keep himself to himself. The woman directly across the road from him said she was watering the flowers in her garden when she saw Reed loading his car with a backpack and what looked to be a few supplies before setting off in the middle of the afternoon.

From the car, on their way back to their office, Hunter called Hopkins and asked him to find out Reed’s license plate number and put a citywide sighting call out on the car. They had no grounds to detain him yet, but Hunter needed to know his location.

‘What if he’s left LA or crossed state lines?’ Garcia asked.

‘Then that’s a good sign,’ Hunter replied, returning his cell phone to his pocket.

‘What?’

‘Doctor Pate said he finished his last scheduled class yesterday afternoon. His neighbor said he set off today in the middle of the day. You know Los Angeles traffic. If you were setting off on an interstate trip this close to Christmas, would you leave in the middle of the afternoon?’

‘Are you kidding? If I had a choice I wouldn’t go from West Hollywood to Long Beach in the middle of the afternoon. You saw how long it took us to get here from Santa Monica. Grid-locked all the way.’

‘Reed is a computer science professor and a jigsaw puzzle aficionado. His brain is conditioned to think logically. If he had this trip planned beforehand, he would’ve been ready to leave last night or early this morning, when traffic wasn’t so busy.’

‘But he didn’t.’ Garcia smiled. ‘I’m telling you, he’s panicking.’

‘When we were in his house yesterday, did you see any signs of a person who was about to leave on a long car trip?’

Garcia shook his head. ‘And if he was, he also failed to mention it when we told him that we might need to talk to him again.’

‘Peter Elder also told me that the two remaining members of their gang, JayJay and Lipz, hated school as much as he did,’ Hunter explained. ‘They flunked out of it as well. Statistically, street kids without a high school diploma don’t move around much. I’m certain they’re still in LA. If James Reed is our man, he hasn’t left this city.’

Hundred and Thirteen

By the time they got back to their office, Hopkins had already covered a new corkboard with photographs.

‘I scanned all the pictures Peter Elder highlighted in the Compton High yearbook and left copies on both of your desks.’ He nodded towards two piles of photographs on both detectives’ desks and chuckled at their surprise. ‘Don’t be alarmed – that’s the whole lot.’ He fumbled for his notes. ‘Out of those, three have passed away, seven aren’t US residents anymore, three are serving time, six are in the military and stationed somewhere else and five are either confined to wheelchairs or have some debilitating physical condition.’ Hopkins pointed to the new corkboard. ‘These are the ones we must concentrate on. Twenty-one in total.’

‘Fuck!’ Garcia looked surprised. ‘How many people did they bully?’

‘A hell of a lot,’ Hopkins confirmed.

The first picture on the board was of James Reed.

‘No feedback from anyone yet on Reed’s car being sighted?’ Hunter asked.

‘Not yet, but I did get more information on our first victim, Gregory Carlson, aka Strutter.’

‘I’m listening,’ Hunter said while his eyes studied the new photo board. Typical yearbook portraits – dated haircuts, fake smiles and acne-covered cheeks. All of the kids would be in their forties now.

Hopkins cleared his throat. ‘Apparently, Greg was a bona fide badass. He dropped out of high school in Rancho Dominguez before completing his freshman year and disappeared under the radar for several years. No job, no social security contribution, nothing. Quite a violent person too. Looks like he beat up every girlfriend he ever had. He was arrested several times, the charges ranging from violent assault to possession of illegal substances. Greg wasn’t a dealer, though. He never made money out of drugs. Instead, he became a technology crook, creating internet companies and conning people out of their cash. Allegedly, he was also involved in several email scams. Due to his background, the LAPD is treating his death as revenge kill. They think Greg finally conned the wrong person out of his money.’ Hopkins flipped a page on his report. ‘Strangely, it looks like he was a good father.’

‘He had a son?’ Garcia questioned.

Hopkins shook his head and faced him. ‘A daughter, Beth, whom he visited four times a week. She suffers from multiple sclerosis. Her mother left as soon as Beth started showing symptoms of the disease. Her present location is unknown.’ He handed Garcia his report.

Hunter kept his attention on the photos.

‘A preliminary list with all their names and locations is on your desk, on top of the photographs,’ Hopkins confirmed. ‘We’ve got addresses, but we haven’t had time to establish the whereabouts of these twenty-one for the past three weeks yet.’

Hunter nodded. ‘Let’s each pick seven and see what we can come up with in the next hour.’