by Chris Carter
Isabella stood quiet and motionless for a minute, her eyes fixed on Hunter. When she spoke, her voice was unsteady.
‘So you’re talking about a serial killer? I could’ve been face to face with a serial killer?’
‘Not necessarily,’ he tried to calm her down. ‘The textbook definition of a serial killer is – “someone that kills three or more people in three or more separate events.” We’ve only had two murders so far,’ he lied again.
‘That doesn’t make him less of a psychopath.’
Hunter agreed but said nothing. ‘Isabella, I need you to tell me about that symbol. Where did you see it?’ He gently held her shaking hands.
‘I’m not sure. I’m too nervous to remember now.’
‘Please try.’
She let go of his hands and massaged her closed eyelids for a moment. ‘About two or three months ago,’ she finally said. ‘I was having a drink with a friend of mine in some bar.’ She reopened her eyes.
‘Can you remember which bar?’ Hunter asked.
A shake of the head.
‘It’s OK. We can come back to it later. What happened next?’
‘We were sitting at the bar and my friend had to go to the ladies’ room.’
‘So you were by yourself?’
‘For a minute or two, yes.’
‘Carry on.’
‘This guy approached me and asked me if he could buy me a drink.’
‘What did he look like, can you remember?’
She looked at the floor for a few seconds. ‘He was very tall, maybe six two, six three. Shaved head, looked quite strong and fit and his eyes . . .’ She paused for an instant.
‘What about his eyes?’
‘They seemed different.’
‘Different how?’
‘Cold . . . no emotion . . . scary even, like he hated me from the moment he saw me.’
‘What color were they?’
‘Green. I remember that very well.’
‘Contact lenses maybe?’
‘No, I don’t think so. They looked natural.’
‘OK, what did you say after he offered to buy you a drink?’
‘I said no thanks, I already had a drink.’
‘How about the symbol?’
‘He leant forward placing both of his arms on the bar and asked me if I was sure. He said something about it being just a friendly drink. Anyway, both of his sleeves hitched up revealing his wrists, and that’s when I saw them, he had it tattooed on both of them.’
‘On both of his wrists?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure it was the same symbol?’ Hunter showed her his rough sketch again.
‘Yeah, it was just like that. I even asked him about it.’
‘What did you ask him?’
‘I asked if the tattoos had something to do with the military. You know, sometimes Marines or army people like to brand themselves with special emblems, as if reaffirming their devotion.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He was very evasive. He quickly pulled his sleeves back down and said they were nothing, just something personal.’
‘Can you remember anything else?’
‘The tattoos didn’t look like they were done by a professional. They looked rough, like the ones you do yourself using a needle and some ink.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘That’s how it looked to me.’
‘Did he say anything else? Did he give you a name or something?’ Hunter knew he wouldn’t have given her his real name, but it could be a start.
‘No. After I asked him about the tattoos he seemed a little irritated. He said “Sorry to have bothered you” or something like that and left.’
‘When you say he left, do you mean he left the bar or he just left you alone?’
‘I’m not sure. I think he left the bar, I don’t really remember.’
‘It’s OK, you’re doing really well. The tattoos, where exactly were they?’
Isabella pointed to the inside of her wrist, just below the base of her palm. ‘Right about here.’
‘And how big were they?’
‘Not that big, maybe just about an inch, in dark ink.’
‘Have you ever seen him again since then?’
‘No.’
‘How about his voice, was there anything particular about it?’
‘Not that I remember.’
‘Let’s go back to the bar, Isabella. Can you try and remember the name?’
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
‘Was there anything specific about the bar, like a neon sign, a wall decoration or maybe its location?’
‘It was a while ago. Just give me a minute and I’ll remember it.’
Hunter sat silently for a few seconds.
‘I’m pretty sure it was by the beach somewhere,’ she said squinting.
‘OK, let’s try this. Instead of trying to think about the bar, try to think about the friend you were out with that evening. Your brain will have a better recollection of your night out with your friend than it will of the bar itself. And one thing will trigger the other,’ Hunter explained.
‘I was out with Pat that night. We haven’t been out together for a while,’ she said staring at the floor. A few seconds later she gave Hunter a warm smile. ‘You’re right. Thinking of Pat made me remember. We were at the Venice Whaler Bar and Grill in Venice Beach.’
‘I know that bar. Been there a few times,’ Hunter said with excitement. ‘Can I ask you one more thing?’
‘Sure,’ she said with an unanimated nod.
‘Do you think you could give our sketch artist a description of what this man looked like? That could really help us.’
‘Yes, I’ll do my best,’ she said with a shy shrug.
Hunter moved closer and kissed her lips. ‘I’m sorry for losing it earlier. You caught me by surprise when you said that you’d seen that symbol before, and this really is the first break we’ve had in this case.’
‘It’s OK,’ she said, kissing him back. Hunter reached for the loose knot she had tied around her waist and the button-less shirt dropped to the floor. They still hadn’t had any breakfast.
Thirty-Eight
It was another hot day in Los Angeles with the temperature getting up to 90 degrees. The streets were full of life with people walking their dogs, strolling, jogging or simply hanging out.
Hunter left Isabella’s apartment around lunchtime, after finally having some breakfast. She was still a little shaken up, but she’d assured him she’d be fine.
‘Jesus, if that’s our guy, she could’ve been a victim,’ Garcia commented after Hunter told him the news.
‘I know and I’ll get the police artist to her apartment this afternoon, right after we’re done talking to this Peterson character from Tale & Josh. By the way, did you get his address?’ Hunter asked.
‘Yep, Via Linda Street in Malibu,’ Garcia replied, checking a note he’d stuck to his computer monitor.
‘Malibu huh?’ Hunter cocked both eyebrows.
Garcia nodded. ‘I guess some lawyers do live the high life.’
‘I guess they do. How about one of D-King’s girls? Any news on that?’
Since his conversation with D-King on Friday, Hunter had worked hard to convince Captain Bolter to have him under twenty-four-hour surveillance.
‘Yes, our tail followed one of them home after the club last night,’ Garcia said, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket.
‘Great, we can drop in on her right after Peterson. Let’s go, you drive.’
Malibu is a twenty-seven-mile strip of spectacular coastline northwest of Los Angeles. It’s a retreat for people like Barbra Streisand, Tom Hanks, Dustin Hoffman, Pierce Brosnan and scores of other rich and famous Hollywood stars.
Most of the long drive to Peterson’s house was made in silence. Hunter’s thoughts were divided between the amazing night he’d had with Isabella and the astonishing breakthrough she might�
�ve brought into the investigation. Had she really stood face to face with the killer? If so, was he wearing no disguise? Had she scared him off by noticing the tattoos on his wrists? Hunter knew this killer never left anything to chance, but there was a minute possibility that his meeting with Isabella had been accidental. Hunter felt his luck was changing.
‘This is his road,’ Garcia said as he turned into Via Linda Street.
‘Number four, that’s his house right over there,’ Hunter said, pointing to a pale-blue-fronted house with three cars parked on the driveway, one of them a brand-new-looking Chevy Explorer van.
By Malibu standards Peterson’s house wasn’t anything spectacular, but by Hunter and Garcia’s standards it was simply huge. The house itself was a three-story modern development and the generous lawn in front of it had been mowed to perfection. A curved cobblestone walkway led from the street to the enormous front door, its landing decorated by beautifully arranged flowers producing a riot of color. Whoever took care of this house was a perfectionist.
Hunter loved the element of surprise. Forewarning gave people the chance to prepare their lies, get them organized in their heads. If he could get away with it, he preferred not to make interview appointments, just show up. A homicide cop with a bag full of questions tended to make the regular citizen nervous.
On the front door they found a brass lion’s head with a knocker coming out of its mouth.
‘Eccentric,’ Garcia commented and knocked three times. ‘I bet they have a swimming pool in their backyard.’
‘This is Malibu, rookie, all the houses around here come with a swimming pool, whether you want it or not.’
A few seconds later the door opened to reveal a fair-haired, brown-eyed little girl no older than ten. Not who they were expecting.
‘Hi there, is your daddy home?’ Garcia said with a broad smile and bending over to draw level with the little girl.
She took a step back and studied the two men in front of her for a short moment. ‘May I ask who I should announce?’
Garcia was taken aback by the little girl’s eloquence. ‘Of course you may,’ he replied trying to match her pompousness. ‘I’m Detective Garcia and this is Detective Hunter,’ he said, pointing to Hunter.
‘May I see some identification please?’ she asked with a skeptical look.
Garcia couldn’t help laughing. ‘Sure.’ Both detectives produced their badges and watched in amusement as the little girl checked their credentials.
‘Is there some sort of problem, detective?’
‘No. But we do need to speak to your daddy if you don’t mind.’
‘I’m not to call my father “daddy.” “Daddy” is for little kids. Please wait here,’ she said dryly and closed the door on them.
‘What just happened?’ Garcia asked turning to face Hunter who shrugged. ‘She’s what? Around ten years old? Can you imagine what she’ll be like when she’s fifty?’
‘It’s not her fault,’ Hunter said with a head tilt. ‘Her parents probably force her to behave like an older child, not allowing her to come out and play, not allowing her to have many friends, pushing her to become an exemplary student. Without knowing they are doing more harm than good.’
They heard heavier footsteps approaching. An adult finally. The door opened and this time the same tall, skinny man they’d talked to at Tale & Josh stood in front of them.
‘Mr Peterson, we talked on Friday. Detectives Garcia and Hunter,’ Garcia said first.
‘Yes, of course I remember. What’s this about, gentlemen? I’ve told you everything I know.’
‘It’s just a follow-up call, sir,’ Hunter this time. ‘We just wanna tie up some loose ends.’
‘And you wanna do this in my home?’ Peterson asked in an irritated tone.
‘If we could have only ten minutes of your time . . .’
‘It’s Sunday, gentlemen,’ he cut in. ‘I like to spend Sundays with my family . . . uninterrupted. If you wanna tie anything up, my secretary would gladly arrange an appointment. Now if you’d excuse me.’ He started to close the door but Hunter pushed his foot forward stopping it.
‘Mr Peterson,’ Hunter said before Peterson had a chance to voice his discontentment. ‘Your colleague, your friend, was murdered by a total maniac who respects nothing. That wasn’t a vengeance killing, and it sure as hell wasn’t a chance one either. We’re not sure who will be next, but what we do know is if we don’t stop him, there will be another victim.’ Hunter paused, staring Peterson straight in the eye. ‘I’d love to have Sunday off, to spend it with my family and I’m sure so would Detective Garcia.’
Garcia raised an eyebrow at Hunter.
‘But we’re trying to save lives. Ten minutes, that’s all we ask.’
Peterson compressed his lips still looking annoyed. ‘OK, let’s talk out there, not in here.’ He made a head movement towards the road where Garcia’s car was parked. ‘Honey, I’ll be back in ten minutes,’ he called to the inside of the house before closing the door behind him.
As they reached Garcia’s car Hunter stole a peek back at the house. The little girl was looking down at them from a window on the second floor with sad eyes.
‘Great kid you’ve got there,’ Hunter commented.
‘Yes, she’s adorable,’ Peterson replied uninterested.
‘It’s a beautiful day. Doesn’t she like playing by the pool?’
‘She has schoolwork to do,’ he said firmly.
Hunter moved on. ‘Is that a new Chevy van?’ He pointed to the car.
‘I’ve had it for a couple of months.’
‘What kind of mileage do you get per gallon?’
‘Detective, you’re not here to talk about my daughter or my new van, so how about you cut to the chase.’
Hunter nodded. ‘We need to find out a little more about George’s Tuesday nights. We know he wasn’t playing poker. If you have any information, we need to know.’
Peterson retrieved a cigarette from a pack in his pocket and placed it on his lips letting it hang loosely. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked, lighting it up.
Hunter and Garcia both shrugged at the same time.
‘George was a quiet person, kept himself to himself,’ he said, taking a long drag.
‘Anything out of the ordinary?’
‘Well . . .’ Peterson paused.
‘Yes?’ Hunter pressed.
‘He might’ve been having an affair.’
Hunter studied Peterson for a few silent seconds. ‘With someone in the office?’
‘No, no. Definitely not.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘We have no women lawyers in the firm. All the secretaries and assistants are senior women.’
‘So? A lot of men like older women,’ Garcia offered.
‘Still too risky, it could’ve cost him his job. George wasn’t stupid,’ Peterson replied, shaking his head.
‘So why do you say you think he was having an affair?’ Hunter asked.
‘By chance I’ve overheard him on the phone a few times.’ Peterson made sure he emphasized the words ‘by chance.’
‘And what did you hear?’
‘Lover’s talk – “I miss you and I’ll see you tonight.” That kinda thing.’
‘He could’ve been speaking to his wife,’ Garcia suggested.
‘I doubt it,’ Peterson shot back, twisting his mouth to the left and blowing a thin cloud of smoke.
‘Why do you doubt it?’ Hunter asked.
‘I’ve heard him speaking to his wife before. He didn’t talk to her like that, you know, all sweet and all, like newlyweds do. It was somebody else, I’m sure of it.’ He paused for another drag. ‘Most of the secret calls came on Tuesdays.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes I am. So when you guys came around the firm asking about George’s Tuesday-night poker game, I figured it must’ve been some sort of lie he’d told his wife. I didn’t wanna be the one to rat him out, so I kept my mouth shut. His wife
already has a lot on her plate as it is . . . poor woman.’
‘Have you ever met her?’
‘Yes, once. She’s a very nice woman . . . pleasant. I’m a family man, Detective, I also believe in God and I don’t approve of cheating, but George didn’t deserve what he got. Even if he was cheating on his marriage.’
‘How about gambling? Did you know he used to gamble?’
‘No!’ Peterson replied surprised.
‘Have you ever heard him say anything about going to dog races, greyhounds?’
Another shake of the head.
‘Internet gambling?’
‘If he was gambling he would’ve kept it really quiet from everyone in the office. The senior partners wouldn’t approve of it.’
‘How about friends from outside the firm? He must’ve known other people. Have you ever met any of them, you know, at a party or something?’
‘No, I can’t say I have. His wife was the only person he’s ever taken to any of the firm’s social engagements.’
‘How about his clients?’
‘As far as I know, strictly professional relationships. He didn’t mingle.’
Hunter started to feel like he was trying to force blood out of a stone.
‘Is there anything else you can tell us about him, anything peculiar you’ve noticed?’
‘Other than the sweet-talk phone calls . . . no. As I’ve said, he was a quiet man, kept himself to himself.’
‘Was there anyone else in the firm who was closer to him, like a buddy?’
‘Not that I know of. George never hung around. He never came out for a drink with any of us. He did what he needed to do in the office and that was that.’
‘Did he stay late?’
‘We all do when the case demands it, but not for fun.’
‘So the only reason why you believe he was having an affair is because you, by chance, overheard him sweet-talking on the phone?’
Peterson nodded and blew another thin cloud of smoke to his right.
Hunter scratched his chin wondering if there was any point in continuing the interview. ‘Thanks for your help. If you can think of anything else, please let us know.’ He handed him a card.
