Текст книги "One by One (Роберт Хантер 5 Поодиночке)"

Автор книги: Chris (2) Carter

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Back at the PAB, Garcia was just about to call Hunter with some news when the phone on his desk rang. Captain Blake was in the office with him.

‘Detective Garcia, Homicide Special,’ he answered it.

‘Detective,’ the caller said. ‘I have a very special show for you today. The last in the series. Something you might like to call – the grand finale.’

Garcia paused for a split, hesitant second. His gaze found Captain Blake’s, and something in it made her shiver.

‘Graham?’ Garcia said, switching the call to loudspeaker.

‘That’s correct, Detective. And now that we have been properly introduced, would you care to log onto pickadeath.com? I’m sure you will enjoy this last show.’

Garcia quickly got to his computer and typed the web address onto his browser’s address bar.

Captain Blake joined him behind his desk in a hurry.

This time there was no green tint indicating night-vision lenses. The image was bright and clear. It showed the same woman they’d been searching for all day. The one on the photograph they’d found inside Graham Fisher’s basement – the next victim. She had been gagged and securely strapped to a heavy metal chair, similar to the one they found bolted to the concrete floor inside the glass enclosure they’d discovered that morning. But this time there was no glass enclosure. Instead, the chair had been placed inside a large metal-bar cage, like the ones used to hold animals in a zoo. The woman’s eyes were wide with fear and blood-red from crying. She had been completely stripped of all her clothes. Despite all that, she did not appear to be injured. But what frightened the hell out of Garcia and Captain Blake was the strangely shaped wire-mesh panel that had been placed directly in front of her face. It looked like some sort of odd, medieval, torturing metal mask.

‘Oh my God. He already had her,’ Captain Blake whispered.

‘Do you see her?’ Graham asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Keep watching.’

As in the previous broadcasts, the word GUILTY appeared in big letters, centered at the bottom of the screen.

‘Where is Robert?’ Captain Blake mouthed the words at Garcia.

He gave her a subtle headshake, while at the same time pressing a speed dial button on his cellphone. A second later there was a barely audible beep, followed by Hunter’s ‘unavailable’ message. Garcia frowned. That meant Hunter’s cellphone was switched off. Hunter never switched his phone off.

‘I decided to change the rules yet again,’ Graham calmly said. ‘This time there will be only one death method, not a choice of two. You see, Detective, I want to test how benevolent the people of California are. If they care enough, she lives. If they don’t, she dies. It’s that simple.’

About halfway down the right-hand edge of the screen, the word SAVE appeared followed by the number zero and a green button. Directly underneath it, the word EXECUTE appeared, also followed by the number zero and a second green button.

‘This will be a simple race to the finish line, Detective. Ten minutes, at the end of which we count the votes. SAVE – she lives. EXECUTE – she dies. Does that sound fair?’

No reply.

‘All she needs is for the people of this great state we live in to care enough.’ Graham laughed out loud. ‘So what do you think, Detective Garcia? In the days of today, are people more inclined to give a complete stranger the benefit of the doubt, or condemn her to die simply because they see the word GUILTY on the screen? Can people really be that gullible?’

No reply.

‘I guess we’ll find out in ten minutes. But there’s something else I want you to do. Are you listening?’

‘Yes.’

‘Exactly two minutes before time is up, I want you to use a different computer and log onto the following IP address.’ Graham dictated the address to Garcia. ‘Two minutes from time up, not a second before. If you log onto it anytime before two minutes, I’ll know it, and the deal is off. I will kill her no matter what, and I will kill her slowly. Is that understood?’

‘Yes.’

The line went dead.

The digital clock at the bottom left-hand corner of the screen started counting down – 9:59, 9:58, 9:57 . . .

One Hundred and Thirteen

Still with the hands-free earpiece securely in his ear, Hunter exited the car, unholstered his weapon and cautiously moved toward the door of the high-roofed building at the back of the disused stable. It was a medium-sized, unremarkable brick and cement construction, where unequal patches of green mold covered the walls outside. Old debris and garden weed surrounded the entire property. The only two windows Hunter could see from where he was had been boarded up, but the heavy wooden door he’d just approached on the east wall looked new. So did the two deadbolt locks on it.

Hunter moved closer and placed his right ear against the door. It was too thick and too solid for him to be able to hear anything coming from the other side.

‘It’s not a trick, Detective Hunter,’ Graham’s voice came through the hands-free once again, taking Hunter by surprise. ‘I am not going to shoot you as you walk through the door. That’s a promise. I really want you to see what’s inside. Just push the door. It’s open. And let me remind you – the clock is already ticking.’

Hunter had no other option but to trust Graham. He took a deep breath, cocked his gun and slowly pushed the door open.

The space inside was large and bare, like an empty family house stripped of all the walls. There was an odd smell in the air, a combination of disinfectant with something sweet and sickly, like dried-up old vomit. The light was uneven, coming from the north end of the room. Instinctively Hunter’s eyes moved in that direction, and a suffocating knot immediately formed in his throat.

Pushed up against the wall was a large, solid, metal-bar cage. The bars were at least one inch in diameter. Sitting at the center of it, naked and firmly strapped to a metal chair, was the woman he saw on the photograph he’d found earlier in Graham’s basement. She looked absolutely terrified. As her blurry, full-of-tears gaze found Hunter’s, her whole being was filled with hope, electrifying her entire body. She tried screaming, but her weak voice, made even weaker by her tired and wasted vocal cords, made no impression through the thick gag in her mouth. She used whatever strength she had left in her to try to swing her body from side to side and rock it forward, away from the chair’s backrest, but the straps that held her tight were too strong. Her eyes, though, communicated with Hunter in a clear voice.

Please help me.

A strange, metal-mesh mask had been attached to a mechanical arm and placed just a couple of inches in front of her face.

Directly in front of the cage, Hunter saw an internet camera. To the left of the cage, he saw a large computer monitor displaying the exact same images that were being broadcast over the Internet. The clock at the bottom left-hand corner of the screen was counting down – 6:05, 6:04, 6:03 . . . The voting display at the right-hand edge of the screen read:

SAVE: 12,574.

EXECUTE: 12,955.

Hunter was about to take a step toward the cage and the woman when he heard Graham’s voice again. This time he didn’t need the hands-free. The voice came from a dark spot at the west end of the room, directly in front of him.

‘Not so fast, Detective Hunter.’

Hunter immediately raised his gun in the direction of the voice, but shadows expertly cloaked that corner of the room.

‘I’d be careful with that gun if I were you,’ Graham said.

Hunter searched the darkness for a hint of movement, something he could use as a target. He found nothing.

‘Allow me to explain to you what is happening, Detective Hunter,’ Graham’s voice boomed around the room again. Due to how it echoed across the walls, Hunter couldn’t use it to pinpoint Graham’s exact location. Still, he kept his gun firmly aimed at the west end corner.

In a calm and unexcited voice, Graham explained to Hunter exactly what he had explained to Garcia over the phone.

‘As you can see, Detective,’ Graham said. ‘The hour of truth is almost upon us.’

Hunter peeked at the computer monitor again.

CLOCK: 4:18, 4:17, 4:16 . . .

SAVE: 14,325.

EXECUTE: 14,693.

Hunter slowly and subtly moved the aim of his gun from left to right, still looking for something he could use.

‘Shooting me won’t help you, Detective. The lock on that cage door is unbreakable and unbreachable. Bullets will have no effect on it. Nothing will. Actually, no one can unlock it. Not even me. It’s on a time-release mechanism. When that clock reaches zero, if SAVE is ahead, the door will automatically unlock, and she will be freed. If EXECUTE is ahead, the door will automatically unlock after five minutes, by which time my hand-made metal-mesh mask will have slowly compressed against her face, slicing through her flesh and facial bones like a piece of rotten animal carcass, before reaching her gray matter, finally killing her.’

The woman in the cage squealed in terror.

‘You can’t stop it from happening, Detective Hunter. You can’t save her, no matter what you do. Her fate will be decided by the people of California in the next few minutes. It’s their choice now.’

Hunter stole a peek at the woman again. She was shivering violently from fright and was about to pass out.

‘But wouldn’t you like to know who she is first before that clock reaches zero?’ Graham asked. ‘How she fits in with my plan?’

‘Graham, don’t do this,’ Hunter pleaded.

Graham simply ignored Hunter’s words. ‘Her real name is Julie, but in cyberspace she goes by the handle MSDarkDays. She is what is known as an Internet troll, Detective. I am sure you’re familiar with the term.’

Hunter knew exactly what an Internet troll was. Someone who deliberately posts offensive and derogative messages in online communities such as social networks, chat rooms, blogs, forums, etc. with the sole purpose of hurting others and provoking an emotional response.

‘When the video footage of my son’s suicide appeared online for the first time,’ Graham continued, ‘MSDarkDays was the first person to post a message. Would you like to hear that message, Detective Hunter?’

Hunter stayed silent.

‘The ugly fuck did the right thing. If my face were that fucked up, I would’ve killed myself a long time ago. Los Angeles has one less ugly freak to deal with. If all the ugly, fucked-up schoolkids who can’t deal with their own problems followed suit and topped themselves, LA would be a much better place,’Graham quoted the post word for word. ‘Not content with what she wrote in that first post, MSDarkDays returned to the site several times over a period of weeks, adding several more posts. But I won’t bore you with them all, Detective. We don’t have the time.’

Hunter let out a deep breath. ‘We all make mistakes, Graham. You, me, her – no one is free of them. Don’t make another one now.’

Graham laughed a slightly crazy laugh.

CLOCK: 2:19, 2:18, 2:17 . . .

SAVE: 21,458.

EXECUTE: 21,587.

‘I’m not making a mistake, Detective. But if you use that gun, you might. You wouldn’t want to shoot the wrong person, would you?’

At that exact moment the clock reached 2:00. A new light came on, weak and yellowish but strong enough to make some of the shadows disappear, bringing Graham out of the darkness.

But Graham wasn’t alone. He was crouching down behind another metal chair, hiding behind the person strapped to it.

Hunter immediately took aim, but as his eyes settled on the person strapped to the chair he felt as if his heart had shot up his throat, blocking his intake of oxygen and making him feel faint.

Graham was hiding behind Anna – Garcia’s wife.

One Hundred and Fourteen

Using the computer on Hunter’s desk, Garcia typed the private IP address that Graham had given him onto the browser’s address bar and hit the ‘enter’ key.

Captain Blake was standing just behind him.

The screen flickered twice before the images loaded and, as they did, Garcia’s world came crumbling down in front of his eyes.

The broadcasting camera had been positioned high, and seemingly at the northeast corner of the room. The diagonal angle allowed it to cover a wide area. Standing on the left of the picture Garcia could see Hunter. His weapon was drawn and firmly aimed at the two people across the room from him. One of those two people was Anna.

‘Oh my God!’ Garcia mumbled the words almost catatonically.

Anna had been gagged and strapped to a high-backed metal chair in the same manner as the woman who was sitting inside the metal-bar cage. The difference was, she hadn’t been stripped of her clothes, and unlike the other woman Anna looked drugged. Her eyes were lazy and unfocused, her body depleted of all energy, her lips drooping to one side.

Cowardly hiding directly behind the chair was someone they couldn’t clearly see, but who they could only assume was Graham Fisher. He was holding a gun to Anna’s head.

Captain Blake was watching the images wide-eyed, her mouth half open. ‘What the hell is going on?’ She finally uttered the words like someone who had just awakened from a deep sleep, still groggy.

Garcia couldn’t find the strength to answer back.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, Graham’s voice came booming out of the small speakers on Hunter’s desk.

One Hundred and Fifteen

‘I must apologize for this crude improvisation,’ Graham said to Hunter. ‘This certainly wasn’t how I had planned this final broadcast, but since I underestimated you and your partner, Detective Hunter, this was the best I could come up with in the few hours I had.’ A very short pause. ‘But enough with the apologies. I bet that you’re wondering how on earth I managed to get to your partner’s wife when she had a police unit following her everywhere she went.’

Hunter remained quiet.

‘Well, knowing the exact police car identification number, how difficult do you think it would be for someone like me to hack into the LAPD radio frequency, pretend I’m dispatch and call off the police escort, Detective?’

‘You’ve got to let her go, Graham,’ Hunter finally spoke, his aim still uncertain. ‘She’s not part of your plan. She’s never been part of your plan. I’m the one you want, not her. I’m the one you blame, not her. She had nothing to do with what happened to your son, before or after the bridge incident.’

‘That’s true,’ Graham admitted. ‘She was never part of my original plan. But as I’ve said, due to very late developments, I had to improvise, and if I’m honest I think it’s going quite well so far.’

CLOCK: 1:27, 1:26, 1:25 . . .

SAVE: 29,783.

EXECUTE: 29,794.

Hunter steadied his aim.

‘Go on, Detective, take a shot,’ Graham challenged him. ‘I know you want to. I also know how good a shot you are. I read your whole file. From this distance you can practically shoot the wings off the back of a fly. All you need is a chance, right?’

Hunter said nothing.

‘What’s wrong, Detective Hunter, confidence wavering a little? Not so certain of that kill-shot right about now? Oh, that’s right. If you miss, you could kill your partner’s wife. How would you explain that, then?’

No reply.

‘I have one more surprise for you, Detective Hunter. The camera high on the wall to your right is also broadcasting. Not to the World Wide Web, but to your partner back at the Police Administration Building, and whoever else he has in the room with him.’

Hunter’s attention didn’t flicker.

‘Oh, and he can hear us too. The microphone is on. So let me ask you this, Detective Hunter. What do you think your partner would say to you right now? Would he want you to take a shot or not? Bearing in mind that if you miss me, and by some miracle also managed not to hit his wife, then it will be my turn to pull my trigger.’ He pressed his gun harder against the side of Anna’s head. ‘From this distance, I know Iwon’t miss.’

Hunter tensed.

As if teasing Hunter, Graham shifted behind Anna for a split second.

Hunter held his breath. His left-hand grip tightened on his gun, while his right hand relaxed just a fraction, allowing his trigger finger to become more flexible, and his arms to better control the recoil. But the fact that Anna was Graham’s shield played in Hunter’s mind and he hesitated, giving Graham the chance to disappear behind her again.

CLOCK: 1:01, 1:00, 0:59 . . .

SAVE: 31,125.

EXECUTE: 31,148.

‘Sartre once said,’ Graham spoke again, ‘that the only real choice a man has in life is whether or not to commit suicide. Are you familiar with that quote, Detective Hunter?’

Hunter felt an uncomfortable anxiety run through him.

‘Yes or no, Detective?’ Graham demanded.

‘Yes,’ Hunter replied.

Graham paused for an instant. ‘Good, because I’m forcing that choice upon you right now, Detective Hunter. You want to save your partner’s wife’s life? Then I want you to put your gun to your head and pull the trigger.’

Absolute silence ruled over the room. Even the air seemed to stop moving.

‘You have until that clock reaches zero,’ Graham said. ‘Not a second more.’

CLOCK: 0:47, 0:46, 0:45 . . .

SAVE: 33,570.

EXECUTE: 33,601.

‘It’s a simple choice, Detective Hunter,’ Graham continued. ‘An innocent life for a guilty one. If you put the gun to your head and pull the trigger, she lives. I guarantee it. No harm will come to her. But if that clock reaches zero and you are still standing, I willblow her brains all over this room with no hesitation and no equivocations.’ He cocked his gun. ‘What happens after that makes no difference to me. Like I said, MSDarkDays’ fate isn’t in your hands. There’s nothing you, or I, can do to change it. But your partner’s wife’s is. Do you understand what’s happening here, Detective? I want to know if you are prepared to save her in the same way you were prepared to save my son, or will you try harder this time?’

Hunter said nothing.

CLOCK: 0:28, 0:27, 0:26 . . .

SAVE: 33,888.

EXECUTE: 33,903.

‘I want you to take your own life just like my son took his,’ Graham said in an indignant, disgusted voice. ‘I want to watch you do it just like you watched him do it.’

A million things were going through Hunter’s mind at that moment, but he knew he had time to consider none of them.

‘Police officers have to be prepared to put their lives on the line for others, isn’t that right, Detective Hunter? But are you really prepared for it or is that just a bullshit motto? Would you give your life for someone else’s, Detective? Would you give your life to save an innocent one?’

CLOCK: 0:16, 0:15, 0:14 . . .

SAVE: 34,146.

EXECUTE: 34,155.

Hunter knew he had run out of time. He also knew that he had underestimated Graham Fisher, because out of all the possibilities he had run through in his head of how his encounter with Graham could’ve ended up, blowing his own brains all over the floor had never been one of them.

He now understood that Graham had indeed played him all along. This had always been the grand finale to his master plan. As Graham had said, he wanted to watch Hunter take his own life, just like Hunter had watched his son, Brandon Fisher, take his. Only then would Graham’s revenge be complete. And he played it to perfection. Even broadcasting the final act to Garcia so he could watch Hunter decide if his wife lived or died.

Hunter had no counterplan, no more time left, and in truth only one option. He knew Graham wouldn’t falter. When that clock reached zero, he wouldend Anna’s life right there and then. He had the same determination in his eyes and in his voice as his son did that night on the bridge. He wasn’t looking for help, or salvation. His decision had been made a long time ago.

‘Ten seconds, Detective,’ Graham said.

Hunter looked at Anna, not an ounce of doubt in his mind anymore.

He brought his gun to him and placed it under his own chin, but didn’t shut his eyes like most people would have. He kept them open . . . proud . . . staring straight ahead.

A 9mm bullet will enter someone’s skull and exit at the other side in three ten-thousandths of a second. It will shatter the cranium and rupture through the subject’s brain matter so fast the nervous system has no time to register any pain. If the angle in which the bullet enters the head is correct, the bullet should splice the cerebral cortex, the cerebellum, even the thalamus in such a way that the brain will cease functioning, resulting in instant death.

Hunter placed his gun in the best possible angle to achieve such a result.

CLOCK: 0:04, 0:03, 0:02 . . .

Hunter held his breath.

One Hundred and Sixteen

Neither Garcia nor Captain Blake could believe what they were witnessing through the computer monitor on Hunter’s desk.

CLOCK: 0:10, 0:09, 0:08 . . .

SAVE: 34,146.

EXECUTE: 34,155.

‘Is this for real?’ Captain Blake asked, and for the first time ever Garcia heard fear in her voice.

He didn’t answer, didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. His eyes were cemented to the computer screen. Dread was pumping through his veins like poisoned blood. He didn’t even notice his hands shaking.

CLOCK: 0:06, 0:05, 0:04 . . .

SAVE: 34,184.

EXECUTE: 34,196.

Hunter finally moved, and, as he did, time seemed to slow down for everyone.

First, his left hand let go of its grip to his gun. Then his eyes saddened in a way Garcia had never seen before, as if he knew there was nothing else he could do. As if he knew he had been outwitted and outplayed by a smarter opponent.

After that, Hunter’s right arm folded back in the direction of his body, bringing his gun with him.

‘Oh my God!’ Captain Blake brought both hands to her face, covering her nose and mouth. Just like Garcia’s, hers were also shaking.

Hunter raised his gun and placed it under his own chin.

The captain felt an enormous pit open up inside her stomach. She knew Hunter well enough to know that he wouldgive his life to save someone else’s, never mind someone he knew, someone as important as his partner’s wife. She felt tears come to her eyes and squeezed them tight, wishing that when she reopened them she’d find herself back in her room, waking up from a terrible nightmare. But she knew that that wouldn’t happen. That day was as real and as hard-hitting as she would ever have.

Captain Blake kept her eyes shut. She knew exactly what was about to happen. She didn’t need or want to watch it happening.

Garcia, on the other hand, kept his unblinking eyes wide open, taking everything in. He saw the moment the look in Hunter’s eyes changed from sad to serene, as he recognized and accepted that he really had only one choice.

CLOCK: 0:03, 0:02, 0:01.

At that exact instant, as if programmed by Graham, the images on the screen faded to total darkness. As it did, and just before the broadcast went completely offline, they heard the faint sound of a single gunshot being fired.

‘No, no, no . . .’ Garcia jumped up and grabbed the computer monitor with both hands, shaking it. ‘What happened? What happened? Where’s the picture?’ His heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. Desperation took over him, because there was no way he could be sure if the shot had come from Hunter or Graham’s gun.

One Hundred and Seventeen

CLOCK: 0:03, 0:02, 0:01.

And that was when Hunter’s gamble paid off.

Graham had been right. From that distance, Hunter only needed half a chance, and he would hit the target ten times out of ten.

Graham had said so himself – he wanted to watchHunter take his own life. The problem was, from where Graham was hiding, his direct line of sight to Hunter was blocked by the high-backed metal chair that Anna was strapped to.

Hunter kept his eyes wide open, staring straight at the chair, waiting for his chance. As the countdown clock reached 0.01, Graham Fisher did exactly what Hunter was expecting him to do.

First, Graham shifted his attention from his own gun and from Anna. Then he subtly moved sideways, partially abandoning the safety of his shield. In doing that he was forced to expose just a little more of his body, while craning his neck to get a better glimpse at something that he just wouldn’t want to miss – the closing act to his master plan.

That was all the chance Hunter needed.

As he dived right, simultaneously extending his arm, time switched to slow motion. In his head, all sounds ceased, being replaced by a vacuum. Hunter became aware of only two things: his target, and his own heartbeat as it pounded inside his chest and thundered in his brain. While in mid-flight, and as his eyes locked with Graham’s, Hunter squeezed the trigger on his gun.

In real time it all happened way too fast for Graham to be able to react.

Hunter’s shot hit Graham’s right shoulder with pinpoint precision, rupturing muscles, shattering bones and slicing through tendons and ligaments.

Graham’s hand instantly lost all its grip, and his gun dropped to the floor. The powerful impact of an ultra-high-performance, center-fire, fragmenting 9mm bullet projected his body backward, throwing him to the ground while a red mist of blood shot up, coloring the air. The bitter tang of cordite filled the room.

Hunter also hit the ground after the shot, rolling sideways twice but expertly keeping his aim on his target.

Graham let out a guttural roar and immediately brought his left hand to his right shoulder, which was now just a gooey mess of blood and torn flesh. He felt the room spinning violently around him, as dizziness, brought on by the tremendous pain and sudden loss of blood, took over. Only in Hollywood films can a person be shot with a high-velocity exploding bullet and still have the strength to dance a jig. A couple of seconds later, Graham fainted.

Hunter shot back to his feet and covered the short distance between him and Graham in a flash.

‘Don’t even think of moving,’ he said firmly with his gun pointing straight at Graham’s head, but Graham was down and out, at least for the time being.

Hunter lost no time in cuffing his hands behind his back, disregarding the new bolt of pain that undoubtedly shot up Graham’s right arm as he did so. After that, Hunter quickly checked on Anna.

She had been heavily sedated. Her pupils were dilated, making her eyes seem lost in time. Her body was unresponsive, but her pulse was strong, and she didn’t seem hurt.

That was when Hunter heard the most terrifying and agonizing scream he’d ever heard. He swung his body around in the direction of the scream and the metal-bar cage, only then his attention returned to the computer monitor to the left of it.

CLOCK: 0:00.

SAVE: 34,471.

EXECUTE: 34,502.

‘Oh God! No.’

He ran toward the cage, but the EXECUTE process had already started. The mechanical arm the metal-mesh mask was attached to had begun pressing it against the woman’s face. The laser-sharp wires were already tearing through her skin and flesh, covering her face with a red mask of sticky blood.

Hunter took a step back, aimed his gun at the lock on the cage’s door and fired twice. The bullets didn’t even seem to scratch it. He fired two more rounds. Nothing.

The wires had now cut through the cartilage on the woman’s nose. Unable to escape the most basic human reaction to pain, she began screaming. Her jaw and head movement only served to shift and grind her face against the sharp wires that had already dug deep into her flesh, making them not only cut horizontally but vertically as well, in a shredding action, mutilating whatever was left.

Hunter took a step to the side and looked around, desperate to help but not knowing how. He needed to find something.

That was when all of a sudden the metal-mesh mask stopped compressing against the woman’s face and began retracting, bringing with it chunks of skin, flesh and cartilage. Hunter then heard a loud buzzing noise, followed by a lock click.

The cage door popped open.

Graham had told Hunter that if EXECUTE was ahead when the countdown clock reached zero, the time-release mechanism would release the door after five minutes, enough time for Graham’s horror-mask to have put the woman through the most agonizing and torturous pain before killing her. But the whole process had lasted less than fifty seconds.

Something had malfunctioned.

Hunter pulled the cage’s door open and quickly got to the woman. She was shaking uncontrollably, just about to enter shock.

Hunter still had the phone the cab driver had given him. He called for help, untied the woman and, cradling her bloody face in his arms, sat on the floor and waited for it to arrive.

One Hundred and Eighteen

Next day

Outside Garcia’s apartment building

5.00 p.m.

As Hunter parked his car, he saw Garcia exiting the building’s entrance lobby, carrying a suitcase.

Captain Blake had ordered them both to take a two-week break, effective immediately.

‘Need any help with that?’ Hunter said, stepping out of his car.

Garcia looked up and smiled. ‘No, I’m cool. Why do women always have to over-pack?’

Hunter had no answer.

Garcia popped open his trunk, placed the suitcase inside it and turned to face his partner. He knew Hunter had spent part of the afternoon at the California Hospital Medical Center in South Grand Avenue.

‘Any news?’ he asked.

‘The doctors have just operated on her again,’ Hunter replied. ‘The second surgery in less than twenty-four hours.’ His eye had a sad gloom to them. ‘And they believe that she will have to undergo a few more in the next few months. But even so, most of her disfigurement will be irreversible.’

Garcia combed a hand through his hair.

‘It wasn’t a malfunction, Carlos,’ Hunter said.

Garcia looked at him.

‘The metal-mesh mask stopping when it did,’ Hunter clarified. ‘It wasn’t a malfunction. Graham Fisher programmed it that way. He lied when he told me that it would take five minutes for the door to disengage, by which time she should’ve been dead.’

‘How do you know? Has he confessed?’

‘No,’ Hunter replied. ‘He isn’t talking . . . yet. But I know that that was what he wanted. He never wanted her dead. He wanted her disfigured.’ Hunter leaned against the car parked next to Garcia’s. ‘If my face were that fucked up, I would’ve killed myself a long time ago. Los Angeles has one less ugly freak to deal with. If all the ugly, fucked-up school-kids who can’t deal with their own problems followed suit and topped themselves, LA would be a much better place.’