Seventy
Four days later.
Hunter slowly opened the door to Garcia’s room and peeked inside. Anna was standing next to his bed, her hand gently stroking his arm.
‘Is he awake?’ he whispered.
‘Yes, I’m up,’ Garcia replied with a frail voice, turning his head to face the door.
Hunter gave him a wide smile and stepped into the room. A box of chocolates under his right arm.
‘You’re bringing me presents?’ Garcia asked with a worried look.
‘Hell no… this is for Anna,’ he replied, handing the chocolates to her.
‘Oh! Thank you very much,’ she said accepting the gift and giving Hunter a peck on the cheek.
‘What’s going on here?’ Garcia asked. ‘Chocolates… kisses… next thing you know you’ll be coming over to my house for dinner.’
‘He will be,’ Anna confirmed. ‘I’ve already invited him. As soon as you’re back home.’ She smiled a sweet smile that seemed to light up the room.
‘How’re you feeling, partner?’ Hunter asked.
Garcia lowered his eyes to his bandaged hands. ‘Well, apart from the unwanted holes through the palms of my hands, the deep scratches on my head and feeling like I’ve been dropped from the top of the Golden Gate Bridge I feel peachy, how’re you doing?’
‘Probably as good as you,’ he replied without much conviction.
Garcia shifted his stare towards Anna who understood the signal.
‘I’ll leave you two alone for a moment. I wanna go down to the cafeteria anyway,’ she said, bending down and giving Garcia a soft kiss on the lips. ‘I’ve got some chocolates to attend to,’ she teased him.
‘Save me some,’ Garcia said, giving her a quick wink.
After she left, Garcia was the first to speak.
‘I’ve heard you caught her.’
‘I’ve heard you don’t remember much,’ Hunter replied.
Garcia slowly shook his head. ‘I have no recollection of anything concrete. Little flashes of memory, but I wouldn’t be able to identify the killer if it came to that.’
Hunter nodded and Garcia noticed a hint of sadness in his eyes. ‘I figured it out, but I didn’t catch her,’ he said, taking a step closer to the bed.
‘How did you do it?’
‘Joe Bowman…’
Garcia frowned, trying to remember the name. ‘The gym manager? Steroid man?’
Hunter nodded. ‘I knew I’d seen him before, but he’d convinced me that it’d been in some fitness magazine. It didn’t really click until D-King mentioned something about being the jury, the judge and the executioner.’
‘D-King?’ Garcia said with surprise. ‘The drug dealer?’
‘Long story, I’ll tell you later, but that’s what revived my memory about John Spencer’s case. Joe was one of the jurors. He looked pretty different then. No steroids, a lot smaller, but I knew it was him.’
Garcia’s facial expression urged Hunter to carry on.
‘From that, I found out all the victims were linked to the jurors, some of them family, some of them lovers or affairs, just like Victoria Baker was. She was Joe Bowman’s lover remember, he’s married.’
Garcia agreed in silence. ‘And George Slater?’
‘He had a gay lover. Rafael, one of the jurors. We talked to him yesterday.’
‘Does his wife know?’
‘I don’t think so. I don’t think she needs to know. It would only sadden her further.’
‘I agree. And we were right about him having a lover.’
Hunter nodded. ‘My problem was figuring out the killer. It was obvious that this had all been about John Spencer’s case, about revenge, but who?’
‘Family,’ Garcia said.
‘There’s no love stronger than family love,’ Hunter agreed. ‘But a further check revealed that the only family he had left was his sister… his adopted sister.’
‘Adopted?’
Another nod. ‘Brenda was adopted at the late age of nine. Not because she was an orphan, but because she’d been taken away from her overly abusive biological family by the Department of Health and Human Services. John’s family took her in and gave her the love she never had. She felt protected, she felt secure with them. They became the family she’d never really had. Their deaths triggered something in her subconscious memory. Maybe a scared feeling of being without a family again. Maybe the memories of all the abuse she’d received when she was young. Maybe the fear of being taken away and returned to her original family.’
Garcia looked confused.
‘In traumatic situations like the one she’d been through,’ Hunter explained. ‘Losing her entire family in such quick succession, it’s not uncommon for the brain to make no distinction of age. It simply retrieves the memories from the subconscious. All the fear and anger she felt as a child would’ve come back with the same intensity if not stronger, making her feel like a little lonely girl once again. That might’ve awakened some sort of rage, some sort of hidden evil inside her. She blamed everyone involved in her brother’s case for taking her family from her. Especially the jury, Scott and I. She couldn’t allow it to go unpunished.’
‘When did you know it was Isabella?’
‘When I found out about John Spencer. With his sister being the only living relative, all that was left for me to do was to find out who she was. A new search revealed that she’d been committed shortly after her father’s death.’
‘Committed?’
‘In San Francisco, that’s where she lived. After her father died, rage took over her and she apparently lost her mind… went crazy, destroyed her apartment and almost killed her boyfriend. They lived together at the time.’
‘So she was arrested,’ Garcia stated more than asked.
‘At first, yes, and then taken to the Langley Porter Psychiatric Hospital where she stayed for a couple of years. I called the San Francisco Police Department and they sent me a fax of the arresting report. She looked very different in the picture. Different color and length of hair, in fact she looked older, as though what she’d been through had knocked the life out of her. But there was no doubt. I knew who she was then.’
Hunter walked over to the window and had a look outside. The day looked perfect, not a cloud in the sky. ‘And then I remembered her CD collection and whatever doubt I still had just disappeared.’
‘CD collection?’
‘The first night I had dinner with Isabella at her place, for some reason I checked her CD collection.’
Garcia made a face that silently asked ‘How did that help?’
‘Her entire collection was comprised of Jazz CDs, with the exception of a handful of rock albums, all of them autographed, not by the band, not by the musicians, but by the producer – John Spencer. What I didn’t know at the time was that John never signed his name as John Spencer, that’s not how he was known in the music industry. He signed his autographs Specter J. His rock pseudonym or something, I found that out on the internet. That’s why when I read the autograph inscriptions that night it never occurred to me. The inscriptions said something like, “From Big B with eternal love.” I just assumed that was one of these weird names artists give themselves nowadays, you know like Puffy, or LL Cool J. Specter J and Big B didn’t ring any bells then.’
‘Big Brother?’ Garcia half asked, half concluded.
Hunter nodded. ‘John Spencer was a year older than Brenda.’
‘So her time in psychiatric care gave her all the time in the world to hatch her plan.’
‘A couple of years,’ Hunter confirmed.
‘And that explains the time difference between John Spencer’s case and the first Crucifix killing.’
Another nod from Hunter. ‘And yesterday I found out about her military past.’