by Chris Carter
As she stumbled out of the ladies’ room the entire place spun around her. She wanted to go back to D-King’s table but her legs weren’t responding. Jenny was about to collapse on the floor when a pair of hands grabbed her.
‘Are you OK, babe? You don’t look so good.’
‘I don’t feel too well. I think I need . . .’
‘You need some air. It’s too stuffy in here. Come with me, I’ll help you. Let’s step outside for a while.’
‘But I . . .’ Jenny had started to slur her words. ‘I need to tell D . . . I have to go back to . . .’
‘Later, babe, now you just need to come with me.’
No one noticed Jenny and the stranger walking towards the club exit.
Four
‘Yes, Detective Hunter speaking.’ Hunter finally answered his cell phone after the sixth ring. His voice was deep and the words came out slowly, giving away how few hours sleep he’d had.
‘Robert, where the hell have you been? The captain’s been after you for two hours.’
‘Rookie, is that you? What time is it?’ Hunter’s new sidekick, Carlos Garcia, had been assigned to him only a week ago after the death of his long-term partner.
‘Three in the morning.’
‘What day?’
‘Shit man . . . Monday. Look, you’d better come and have a look at this, we’ve got a really screwed up homicide on our hands.’
‘We’re Homicide Special Section 1, Carlos. Screwed up homicides is all we do.’
‘Well, this one’s a real mess and you’d better get here quick. The captain wants us to run this show.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Hunter replied indifferently. ‘Gimme the address?’
He put his cell phone down and looked around the small, dark, unfamiliar room. ‘Where the hell am I?’ he whispered.
The thumping headache and the terrible taste in his mouth reminded him of how much he’d had to drink the night before and he sunk his head deep into the pillow hoping that would soothe the pain. Suddenly there was movement next to him on the bed.
‘Hi, does that phone call mean you have to go?’ The woman’s voice was soft and sexy with a hint of an Italian accent. Hunter’s surprised eyes fell over the half-covered body lying next to him. Through the little light coming into the room from the lamp posts outside the window he could just about make out her outline. Quick memories of last night flashed through his mind. The bar, the drinks, the flirting, the cab ride to a stranger’s apartment and the long dark-haired woman whose name he couldn’t remember. This was the third woman he’d woken up next to in the past five weeks.
‘Yeah, I do have to go. I’m sorry,’ he sounded casual.
Hunter got up and started looking for his trousers; his headache was more prominent now. His eyes quickly got used to the dimly lit room allowing him to see the woman’s face better. She looked to be thirty or thirty-one years old. Her silky, dark hair hung about four inches past her shoulders framing a heart-shaped face with delicate sculpted nose and lips. She was attractive, but not in a Hollywood-movie-star way. Her uneven fringe suited her perfectly and her dark-green eyes carried an unusual and captivating sparkle.
By the bedroom door Hunter found his trousers and underwear – the pair with blue teddy-bear prints.
Too late to feel embarrassed now, he thought. ‘Can I use your bathroom?’ he asked zipping up his trousers.
‘Sure, it’s the first door on the right as you come out of the room,’ she said sitting up and resting her back against the headboard.
Hunter entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him. After splashing a handful of cold water onto his face, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His blue eyes looked bloodshot. His skin paler than normal. His face unshaven.
‘That’s great, Robert,’ he said to himself, splashing some more water onto his tired-looking face. ‘Another woman who you barely remember meeting, never mind coming back to her apartment. Casual sex is great. It’s even better when you can recall having some. I have to cut down on this drinking business.’
After squirting a little toothpaste on his finger he tried to finger-brush his teeth. Suddenly, a new thought entered his mind. What if she’s a hooker? What if I owe her money for something I don’t even remember doing? He quickly checked his wallet. The little money he had was still there.
He hand-combed his short blond hair and returned to the bedroom where she was still sitting against the headboard.
‘Were you talking to yourself in there?’ she asked with a shy smile.
‘What? Oh yeah, I do that sometimes, it keeps me sane. Look . . .’ He finally managed to find his shirt on the floor next to the bed. ‘Do I owe you any money?’ he asked sounding breezy.
‘What? You think I’m a prostitute?’ she replied clearly offended.
Oh shit! He knew he’d blown it. ‘No, look . . . It’s not like that, it’s just . . . It’s happened to me before. Sometimes I drink too much and . . . I didn’t mean it as an offence.’
‘Do I look like a hooker to you?’ she asked in an annoyed voice.
‘Definitely not,’ he replied firmly. ‘It was stupid of me thinking such a thing. I’m sorry. I’m probably still half drunk,’ he back-paddled as fast as he could.
She regarded him for a moment. ‘Look, I’m not the kind of woman you clearly think I am. My job carries a lot of pressure and it’s been tough the last few months. I just wanted to let out some steam and have a few drinks. We got talking. You were funny, nice, quite charming even. You could actually hold a decent conversation. Unlike most of the other jerks I meet when I go out. One drink led to another and we ended up in bed. Obviously a mistake on my part.’
‘No . . . Look . . .’ Hunter tried to find the right words, ‘ . . . sometimes I say stuff without thinking. And the truth is . . . I don’t remember much of last night. I’m really sorry. And I feel like an asshole now.’
‘So you should.’
‘Believe me, I do.’
Her eyes were fixed on Hunter. He sounded sincere.
‘Anyway, if I were a hooker, judging by your underwear and clothes I don’t think you’d be able to afford me.’
‘Ooh. That was low punch. I was already embarrassed enough without you mentioning it.’
She smiled.
Hunter was glad his back-paddling had worked. ‘Do you mind if I make myself a quick cup of coffee before I go?’
‘I don’t have any coffee, only tea, but you are more than welcome to it if you like. The kitchen is just down the hall.’
‘Tea? I think I’ll pass. I need something stronger to wake me up.’ He finished buttoning up his shirt.
‘You sure you can’t stay?’ She pulled the covers back revealing her naked form. Great curves, nicely formed breasts and there was no hair anywhere on her body. ‘Maybe you could show me how really sorry you are for calling me a hooker.’
Hunter stood there for a moment as if debating what to do. He bit his bottom lip and shook the thought from his head. His headache reminded him not to do that again.
‘I promise you, if I could stay, I would.’ He was now fully dressed and ready to go.
‘I understand. Was that your wife on the phone?’
‘What? No, I’m not married. That was work, trust me.’ The last thing Hunter wanted was for her to think he was a cheating husband.
‘OK,’ she said matter-of-factly.
Hunter’s eyes ran the length of her body once again and he felt an exciting tingle. ‘If you give me your number, maybe we could meet up again sometime.’
She studied him for a long moment.
‘You’re thinking I won’t bother to call right?’ Hunter said sensing her reluctance.
‘Oh, you read minds as well? That’s a neat party trick.’
‘You should see what I can do with a deck of cards.’
They both smiled.
‘Plus, there’s nothing I like more than proving people wrong.’
She reached for the notepad on her be
dside table with a smirk on her face.
Hunter took the piece of paper from her hand and kissed her right cheek. ‘I gotta go.’
‘That will be one thousand dollars, babe!’ she said gently running her fingers over his lips.
‘What?’ he asked with a shocked look. ‘But . . .’
She was already smiling back at him. ‘Sorry. I couldn’t resist after you called me a hooker.’
Outside her apartment Hunter unfolded the piece of paper in his hand. Isabella! Sexy name, he thought. He searched the street for his old Buick Lesabre. The car was nowhere to be seen.
‘Shit! I was too drunk to drive,’ he cursed himself before flagging down the first cab he saw.
*
The directions Garcia had given him took Hunter to the middle of nowhere. Little Tujunga Canyon Road, in Santa Clarita, is eighteen miles long running from Bear Divide to Foothill Boulevard in Lakeview Terrace. Almost all of it is within the Angeles National Forest. At times the woodland and mountain views are simply breathtaking. Garcia’s directions were precise and soon the taxi was driving down a tiny, bumpy, dirt road surrounded by hills, bushes and rough terrain. The darkness and nothingness was overwhelming. Twenty minutes later they finally came to an uneven lane that led up to an old wooden house.
‘I guess this is it,’ Hunter said handing the driver all the money in his pocket.
The lane was long and narrow, just wide enough to fit a standard-size car. Surrounding it were dense, impassable shrubs. Police and official vehicles were crammed everywhere making it look like a traffic jam in a desert.
Garcia was standing in front of the wooden shack talking to an agent from the crime lab, both of them holding flashlights. Hunter had to negotiate his way through the carnival of cars before joining them.
‘Jesus, talk about a place out of the way – any further and we’d be in Mexico . . . Hi there, Peter,’ Hunter said, nodding at the crime lab agent.
‘Rough night, Robert? You look just like I feel,’ Peter said with a sarcastic smirk.
‘Yeah, thanks, you look great too. When is the baby due?’ Hunter asked tapping his hand over Peter’s beer gut. ‘So what have we got here?’ He turned to face Garcia.
‘I think you better see it for yourself. It’s hard to describe what’s in there. The captain’s inside, he said he wanted to talk to you first before letting the boys tag and bag the place,’ Garcia said looking unsettled.
‘What the hell is the captain doing here? He never comes out to crime scenes. Does he know the victim?’
‘I’m as much in the dark as you are, but I don’t think so. She’s not exactly recognizable.’ Garcia’s statement made Hunter’s eyes squint with a new worry.
‘So it’s a female body?’
‘Oh, she’s female alright.’
‘Are you OK, rookie? You look a little shook up.’
‘I’m fine,’ Garcia reassured him.
‘He’s been sick a couple of times,’ Peter commented with a new sneer.
Hunter studied Garcia for a moment. He knew this wasn’t his first murder scene. ‘Who found the body? Who called it in?’
‘Apparently it was an anonymous call to 911,’ Garcia answered.
‘Oh great, one of those.’
‘Here, take this,’ Garcia said handing Robert his flashlight.
‘Would you like a barf bag as well?’ Peter joked.
Hunter paid no attention to the comment and took a moment to study the house from the outside. There was no front door. Most of the wooden planks from the front wall were missing and grass had grown through the remaining floorboards, making the front room look like a private forest. He could tell the house had once been white from flecks of peeled paint on the remains of windowsills. It was obvious that no one had lived there for a long time and that bothered Hunter. First-time killers didn’t go to the trouble of finding such a secluded place to commit murder.
Three police officers stood to the left of the house discussing last night’s football game, all three holding steaming cups of coffee.
‘Where can I get one of those?’ Hunter asked pointing to the coffee cups.
‘I’ll get you one,’ Garcia replied. ‘The captain’s in the last room on the left, through the corridor. I’ll see you in there.’
‘Working hard, guys?’ Hunter shouted to the three officers who glanced at him indifferently before carrying on discussing the game.
Inside the house a peculiar smell hung in the air, a mix of rotten wood and raw sewage. There was nothing to see in the first room. Hunter turned on his flashlight and moved through the door at the far end into a long and narrow corridor that led to four other rooms, two on each side. A young police officer was standing outside the last door on the left. As Hunter made his way down the corridor, he quickly peeked inside each room he passed. Nothing except for spider webs and old debris. The creaking floorboards gave the house an even more sinister feel. As Hunter approached the last door and the officer standing guard he felt an uncomfortable chill. The chill that comes with every murder scene. The chill of death.
Hunter produced his badge and the officer stepped to one side.
‘Go right ahead, detective!’
On a table just outside the door Hunter found the customary overalls together with blue plastic shoes and head covers. Next to them a box of latex gloves. Hunter got himself ready and opened the door to face his new nightmare.
The shocking image that met his eyes as he stepped into the room sucked all the air out of his lungs.
‘Jesus Christ.’ His voice was just a weak whisper.
Five
Hunter stood at the door of a large double room illuminated only by two moving flashlights – Captain Bolter and Doctor Winston. Surprisingly the room was in much better condition than the rest of the house. A giant pit welled in his stomach as he stared at the image before him.
Directly in front of the bedroom door and about three feet from the back wall, the naked body of a woman hung from two parallel wooden posts. Her arms spread as wide as they’d go, her knees bent as they touched the floor placing her in a kneeling Y position. The rope restraining her wrists against the top of the poles had cut deep into her flesh and dark lines of dried blood now decorated her thin arms. Hunter stared at the dead woman’s face. His mind struggling to understand what his eyes were seeing.
‘Sweet God in heaven!’
An incessant swarm of flies were swirling around her body creating a relentless buzzing sound, but they left her face alone. Her skinless face. A shapeless mass of muscle tissue.
‘Hunter! You finally decided to show up.’ Captain Bolter was standing across the room next to Doctor Winston, the Chief Medical Examiner.
Hunter stared at the woman for a few more seconds before diverting his attention to the captain. ‘Somebody skinned her?’ he questioned from the doorway, his voice carrying a tone of disbelief.
‘Alive . . . someone skinned her alive,’ Doctor Winston’s calm voice corrected Hunter. ‘She died hours after her skin had been ripped off her face.’
‘You’ve gotta be kidding me!’ Hunter studied the faceless woman. The absence of skin made her eyes puff out of their sockets and they seemed to be staring straight at him. Her mouth hung open. No teeth.
Hunter guessed her age to be no older than twenty-five. Her legs, stomach and arms had defined muscle tone and it was clear she’d taken pride in her appearance. Her hair was golden blond, long and smooth, falling halfway down her back. Hunter was sure she’d been a very attractive woman.
‘There is more. Have a look behind the door,’ Doctor Winston said.
Hunter stepped into the room, closed the door and stared at it confused for a couple of seconds.
‘A full-length mirror?’ he said quizzically staring at his reflection. Suddenly he stepped out of the way and the woman’s body came in full view on the mirror.
‘God! The killer made her watch.’ Her body had been positioned directly in front of the door.
> ‘That’s what it looks like,’ Doctor Winston agreed. ‘She probably spent her last living hours staring at her disfigured reflection in the mirror – mental torture as well as physical.’
‘This mirror doesn’t belong on this door . . .’ Hunter said looking around, ‘ . . . or in this room. It looks brand new.’
‘Exactly, the mirror and those wooden posts were placed in here for a reason – to increase her suffering,’ Doctor Winston confirmed.
The bedroom door swung open in front of Hunter breaking his stare from the mirror. Garcia walked in holding a cup of coffee. ‘Here you go,’ he said handing it to Hunter.
‘I think I’ll pass, rookie, my stomach has seen better days and I’m very much wide awake now,’ Hunter replied with a dismissive gesture.
Captain Bolter and Doctor Winston both shook their heads indicating they didn’t want any either. Garcia reopened the door.
‘Here you go,’ he said to the young officer standing outside. ‘You look like you could use a drink.’
‘Uh! Thank you sir.’ The officer looked surprised.
‘Don’t mention it.’ Garcia closed the door and approached the victim with Hunter. A pungent smell filled their nostrils forcing Hunter to place a hand over his nose. The woman had been kneeling in a pool of urine and faeces.
‘She was kept tied to those posts for several hours, maybe even an entire day. That was her toilet,’ Doctor Winston explained pointing to the floor.
Garcia grimaced in disgust.
‘How long has she been dead for, doc?’ Hunter questioned.
‘It’s hard to be precise at this moment. The human body drops approximately 1.5 degrees in temperature every hour after death. Her body has dropped around twelve degrees which could mean that she’s been dead for eight hours, but that depends on the circumstances. The summer heat would’ve no doubt slowed the process down and during the day I’m sure this room feels like a sauna. I’ll have a better idea of the time of death once I get her into my autopsy room.’
