‘Big mistake.’ Hunter again. ‘By the time they actually start searching their memory for an answer, three maybe even four out of the five seconds the killer gives them are gone. And they know this, because he counts them down, which adds to the pressure. Now we have one more element. One that even if the numbers and dates are there...’ Hunter pointed to his own head... it could cause them to mix them up.’
‘Panic,’ Captain Blake said.
‘Almost, but not yet,’ Hunter disagreed. ‘What we’ve got is anxiety, nerves kicking in, maybe even a little fear. So just before the killer counts them down to zero, they blurt out the wrong answer, either because they don’t really know it — Tanya Kaitlin’s case — or their time is up and anxiety causes them to mix up the dates — John Jenkinson’s case.’ Hunter stepped away from the picture board. ‘With that, the killer finally shows them his trump card — the punishment for their wrong answer.’ He nodded at the captain. ‘Now we’ve got panic. And that’s why he used a pointy chisel instead of the hammer on its own.’
‘Too soft an impact,’ Captain Blake said, the puzzle finally solved in her head. ‘And all he would’ve had would’ve been a victim with a bump on the head. No pyramid splinter fracture. Too hard an impact and the victim would’ve either been dead too soon or have been knocked out with a concussion.’
‘Correct,’ Hunter agreed. ‘Neither case would’ve worked for our killer because with the first strike he needed two things to happen. One: He needed Cassandra Jenkinson to be in pain but stay conscious. Two: He needed to drive panic deep into her husband’s heart and consequently his brain. And what better way to do that than to make him watch his wife bleed?’
Captain Blake closed her eyes for an instant while shaking her head.
‘A light hit with a blunt instrument wouldn’t have caused her scalp to rupture,’ Hunter added. ‘For that, he would’ve needed a much more powerful strike, and controlling that would’ve been a problem.’
‘As soon as he’s got blood pouring down his victim’s face,’ Garcia took over again, ‘it’s game over, Captain. Even if the answer was right at the tip of his tongue, he wouldn’t be able to get it out because the final psychological element is the most destructive of all.’
Captain Blake had thought that ‘panic’ would’ve been the last of those elements. She frowned at both detectives.
‘Guilt,’ Hunter explained. ‘John Jenkinson now knows that whatever is happening is not a prank, and the reason why his wife is bleeding, the reason why his wife is in pain, the reason why his wife is dying... is him. It’s because he can’t remember their anniversary date. As the five-second count starts again, his brain is mush. In less than five minutes it’s been through surprise, confusion, shock, doubt, panic, terrifying fear, and now soul-destroying guilt. Add to that the fact that he’s watching his wife being tortured inside his own home and there’s nothing he can physically do to stop it, and any dates or numbers won’t make any sense in his mind anymore. It’s not a fail-proof plan, by any means, but it’s very clever because it tips the odds heavily in the killer’s favor.’
‘And that guilt will sit with him for the rest of his life,’ Captain Blake said.
Her confirmation came in the form of silence from both detectives.
Sixty-Nine
‘Wow! You look stunning,’ Detective Julian Webb said as Dr. Gwen Barnes pulled open her front door. She wore a white knee-length cocktail dress with spaghetti straps, revealing well-toned arms and legs. Her clutch bag, decorated with rhinestones, matched her platform evening sandals. Her hair sparkled under the dying rays of the late afternoon sunlight.
‘Thank you so much,’ she replied, giving him a smile that was as inviting as it was mysterious. ‘You look very nice yourself.’
Dr. Barnes didn’t know this, but Webb was pretty much wearing his everyday work attire — a dark suit with a white button-up shirt and a striped tie. The shoes were black, comfortable and shiny.
Dr. Barnes checked her watch: 6:00 p.m. sharp. ‘You are... exactly on time. I’m impressed.’
‘If at all possible, I try to be,’ Webb replied. ‘But in my line of work, it gets hard sometimes. Things don’t really happen by appointment, if you know what I mean.’
Her smile widened. ‘Yes, I can imagine.’
‘So, how have you been?’ he asked, looking past her shoulder and into the house. ‘Everything OK? Did you manage to get any sleep during the day?’
As he had promised, Webb had called Dr. Barnes in the morning to check on her. She had told him that other than having almost no sleep overnight, everything else was fine.
She shook her head. ‘No, no sleep at all, hence the heavy makeup under my eyes, but...’ she turned her head to look over her own shoulder, ‘everything seems to be all right. Thank you.’
The look in her eyes as she delivered her last few words made Detective Webb wonder if she was now debating what she seemed so confident about before — that her bracelet had really been taken from inside her bedroom. He decided to leave the subject alone, at least for now.
‘Look,’ he said, renewing his smile, hoping to cheer her up a little. ‘I know that we sort of agreed on having coffee, but I was thinking, what do you say if we grab some dinner?’
‘I was about to suggest the same thing,’ Dr. Barnes said. ‘But with one condition.’
‘And what is that?’
‘That you take me to a place where you and your detective friends usually go to.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘You know, during your regular day, where do you usually stop to eat?’
‘During a regular day I barely have time to breathe, never mind eat.’
‘Yes, I understand that, but you do eat, don’t you?’
‘Yeeeeees?’
‘And I bet you have a couple of favorite places you like dropping by, don’t you?’
Webb tilted his head from side to side two or three times, accepting it.
‘Great, because it’s to one of those that I would like you to take me.’
‘Oh no, you really don’t want to go to any of those places.’
‘But I do. I really do.’
Webb looked at Dr. Barnes from head to toes. ‘But you’re dressed so nicely, and those places are proper dumps. Believe me.’
‘I can change. It’s not a problem.’ She began swerving her body around.
‘No. Please don’t.’ He stopped her. They locked eyes. ‘That really is where you’d like me to take you?’
‘Yes.’
Webb chuckled to himself. ‘OK, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
Just over thirty minutes later, Webb parked his car on Hollywood Boulevard, just in front of a tiny pizza place called Joe’s Pizza.
‘Here we are,’ he said.
Dr. Barnes looked at it from the passenger seat and smiled.
‘I told you that the places we go on the job are dumps.’
‘Is the food good?’
‘The food is awesome. Best pizza pie in Hollywood Boulevard. It’s just not the place where anyone brings a date to.’
‘Did you say pizza pie?’
A short pause.
‘I did. Do you like them?’
‘I love pizza pies.’
Webb’s face lit up. ‘Oh, in that case, get ready for this then,’ he said, with a proud twist to his tone, ‘because this will change your life.’
Dr. Barnes was unsure if she could call it a life-changing experience, but it certainly was a habit-changing one. The special Grandma Pie they shared was the best pizza pie she had ever tasted, and she hadn’t laughed so hard in years. As it turned out, Detective Webb was a very amusing person.