‘Why? I already told you your theory is shit. Your killer killed a girl who wasn’t part of the gang.’
Time to play the last card. Hunter retrieved a photograph of Darnell Douglas and placed it on the table. ‘Do you recognize him?’
From his leaned-back position Elder lowered his eyes to the picture, studying it for a moment. A few seconds later his relaxed expression morphed into a frown. He craned his body forward and picked the picture up with both hands.
‘Motherfucker. It’s Double D,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘He put on some weight.’
Hunter took a deep breath. ‘He was found murdered yesterday.’
Elder’s head snapped up.
‘It was the same killer.’ Hunter had to think quickly. ‘Maybe Jessica Pierce wasn’t part of your gang, but she might’ve pushed him around anyway. Maybe the killer had a crush on her and she made fun of him, embarrassed him in front of others.’ Hunter pointed to the pictures again. ‘Brett, Strutter, Double D and the girls’ paths never crossed in their adult lives. You all went your different ways. Nothing connects the five victims except their school days and your old gang. That’s no coincidence.’
Elder’s left eye twitched slightly.
‘We can still save them.’ Hunter tapped the girls’ picture, making sure his finger landed on Amanda Reilly. ‘But they need your help.’ He extended his hand offering the convict a blue crayon.
Elder paused for a long instant before taking the crayon and drawing a circle on the table around the yearbook. ‘There you go. We messed with just about everyone in that school.’
‘OK, how about if you narrow it down to the ones you messed with not only in but outside school as well? Just the ones your gang pushed around.’
‘Why should I give a shit? None of them ever came to visit me. They didn’t give a fuck for how I was doing. Not even BS came to see me. He was my best friend.’
Hunter tried to think of something he could say. He could lie and tell Elder that it wasn’t true. That Brett and Amanda had requested visitation rights but were denied. But that would play in Elder’s mind until his last days, and no one deserved that kind of psychological torture. ‘I can’t answer that question,’ he finally said. ‘Only you can find a reason why you should care.’
The silence that followed as they stared at each other seemed interminable.
‘This could take a fucking long while, cop,’ Elder said, flipping open the yearbook and reaching for the crayon.
Hundred and Five
Hunter was on the phone to Doctor Winston as soon as he left CCI. The autopsy had confirmed their suspicions. Darnell Douglas had died of severe blood loss. Toxicology showed he’d been injected with succinylcholine, a paralyzing agent used for surgery that doesn’t affect the nervous system. The subject wouldn’t be able to move, but he’d still feel everything. The black Cadillac found outside the crime scene gave the forensic team nothing; not even Darnell’s prints were found. The killer had done a thorough job of wiping the car clean.
It took Hunter just short of two hours to drive back to LA. At Parker Center he went straight down to the basement and the Investigative Analysis Unit. Hopkins wasn’t at his desk and neither was Jack Kerley. Hunter called the young officer’s cell phone.
‘Ian, where the fuck are you?’
‘I’m at the morgue.’
‘What the hell are you doing there?’
‘Going over personal possessions’ inventories. They’re handwritten forms, remember? I can’t search them using a computer.’
‘Well, get someone else to go over the forms for now. I need you back at the RHD.’
‘OK, I’m on my way.’
Garcia was at his desk going over a few files when Hunter entered the office.
‘How did it go with Peter Elder?’ he asked eagerly.
Hunter quickly summarized his interview while checking the fax Doctor Winston had sent.
‘Debbie Howard’s case files only got here this morning from Lancaster,’ Garcia said, making a face and handing Hunter some of the documents he’d been studying for the past hour.
Hunter took them and sat at his desk, quickly flipping through the crime-scene pictures and frowning several times in the process.
‘Do we have an autopsy file?’
‘The green folder on your desk.’
Hunter scanned it. ‘According to the autopsy report, Debbie Howard drowned.’ He arched his eyebrows at his partner. ‘The crime-scene pictures show her inside an empty bathtub.’
Garcia handed him a new file. ‘Debbie’s husband, Jonathan Hale’s account of events. He found the body.’
Hunter read his statement in silence.
Jonathan Hale had been out of town for four days on an architects’ convention. His flight back from Dallas on 13 December was delayed by three hours, and by the time he made it home from the airport it was past midnight. He didn’t manage to get through to Debbie on the phone, but he left her a voice message explaining about the delay. Debbie worked late more nights than not, so finding the house quiet with the lights turned off didn’t come as a surprise to Jonathan. The burglar alarm was armed and there was no sign of a break-in. He spent some time in the kitchen preparing a sandwich and a cup of coffee before making his way up to their room. The room looked tidy and unperturbed. No sign of any struggle. He walked into the bathroom to get cleaned up and that’s when his life shattered.
Debbie Howard was naked, hanging from her feet upside down over their large bathtub. Only her head and shoulders were submerged in water. Jonathan panicked, jumping into the tub and trying to lift her lifeless body. He cut her down and sat hugging her for what must’ve been at least an hour before emptying the tub and calling the police.
‘By cutting her down and emptying the bathtub, Jonathan Hale completely destroyed most of the evidence from the crime scene,’ Garcia said as Hunter reached the end of the file.
‘It’s understandable, though,’ Hunter said, rubbing his eyes. ‘You come home to find your wife hanging upside down in your bathroom, her head submerged in water, what do you do?’
Garcia’s eyes saddened, and Hunter knew he was thinking of Anna.
‘Most people would do what Jonathan did. They’d go to her and hug her… and cry… and ask why. Preserving the crime scene didn’t even enter his mind.’
Garcia let out a deep, heartfelt sigh, and the room went silent for a short moment. ‘Check the autopsy report again,’ he said. ‘At the bottom of the first page.’
Hunter glanced at it. ‘She was pregnant.’
Hundred and Six
Garcia used his index finger to rub between his eyebrows. ‘Three weeks,’ he confirmed.
‘Has the lab tested her blood against the one used to draw the number three on Father Fabian’s chest?’
‘No. This was two weeks ago, and though the investigation is still ongoing, Jonathan Hale, with the support of the DA’s office, did everything he could to get the body released. She was cremated two days ago.’
‘Fantastic,’ Hunter said, running his fingers through his hair.
‘It doesn’t matter, Robert. She was pregnant just as you said the second victim would be,’ Garcia said in a more animated tone. ‘Her picture was left in Amanda Reilly’s crime scene by the killer, who drew the number two on the back of it. I don’t think there’s much doubt Debbie Howard was a victim of this same lunatic.’
‘It’s dismissive to think this killer is a lunatic. Don’t make that mistake, Carlos.’
Garcia picked up a new sheet of paper from his desk. ‘In a later interview, Jonathan Hale said Debbie was petrified of water. I mean, going into deep water. We live in a tropical weather city where the sun shines almost throughout the year. They were a very well-off family. Their house is massive, but it’s the only one in their street without a swimming pool. The reason for it is because Debbie never wanted one. She wouldn’t even go close to pools or the beach or anything. Apparently, she came this close to drowning when she was young.’ He brought his thumb and index finger close together. ‘Just like the other victims, Robert, she was killed in the way that scared her the most. As you said, this guy goes after their fears.’