by Chris Carter
Peterson took one last drag of his cigarette and dropped it onto the floor. He nodded to both detectives and started walking back up to his house.
‘Mr Peterson,’ Hunter called.
‘Yes,’ he replied with irritation.
‘It’s a really nice day. Why don’t you spend a few hours outside with your daughter? Maybe play a few games. Take her out for some ice cream or donuts. Just enjoy the day together.’
The little girl was still staring at them from the second-floor window.
‘I told you, she’s got schoolwork to do.’
‘It’s Sunday. Don’t you think she deserves a break?’
‘Are you trying to tell me how to raise my daughter, Detective?’
‘Not at all. Just a suggestion so you don’t lose her. So she doesn’t grow up hating her parents like so many nowadays.’ Hunter waved goodbye at the little girl who replied with a bashful smile. ‘As you’ve said, she’s adorable.’ He turned his attention to Peterson once again. ‘Don’t take that for granted.’
Thirty-Nine
The address they were looking for was number 535 Ocean Boulevard in Santa Monica. Garcia decided to take the scenic route along the Pacific Coast Highway.
The PCH is where most American car commercials are filmed. The highway follows the Pacific coast from the sandy beaches of Southern California to the rugged coastline of the Pacific Northwest. Along the way, it passes through quaint coastal towns, numerous national parks and wildlife refuges.
With the sun high in the sky and the temperature now soaring to 95 degrees, Santa Monica Beach was jammed. If it were up to them, both detectives would just grab a cold beer at one of the many ocean front bars and lazily watch the day go by, but it was never up to them.
Her name was Rachel Blate, but to her clients she was known as Crystal. Hunter knew the renowned drug dealer would be going after whoever had killed Jenny with everything he had. He knew the streets better than Hunter. He had contacts under every dirty rock and inside every filthy hole. If D-King came up with anything, Hunter wanted to know.
As Garcia parked the car, Hunter quickly checked all the information they had on Rachel Blate.
‘Is this it? Is this everything we have on her?’ he asked as he studied the single-page document Garcia had given him.
‘Yeah, she’s clean, no prior convictions, no arrests. Her prints aren’t even in the database. A model citizen.’
Hunter screwed up his face in disappointment. That meant he couldn’t use a little police blackmail to persuade her to cooperate.
Both detectives were impressed by number 535. A glassy, twelve-floor apartment block that stood imposingly on Ocean Boulevard. Every apartment had its own balcony, every balcony at least twenty feet by fifteen. At the entrance lobby they were greeted by marble floors, leather sofas and a chandelier that belonged more in Buckingham Palace than in Santa Monica.
Rachel’s apartment was number 44C, but as they approached the building’s concierge, Garcia gently touched Hunter’s arm making a quick head movement towards the lift. An impressive-looking African American woman had just walked out of it. Her straight black hair fell matter-of-factly over her shoulders. She was wearing skintight shorts cut from a pair of ice-blue jeans, with a light yellow T-shirt tucked in at her narrow waist. Her figure was worthy of a Playboy centerfold. A pair of Gucci sunglasses hid her eyes from the bright daylight. Hunter immediately recognized her as one of the girls sitting at D-King’s table on Friday night.
They waited as she obliviously walked past them and onto the street. It took them just a few strides to catch up with her.
‘Miss Blate?’ Hunter called now coming up to her side.
She stopped and turned to face both detectives. ‘Hello, do I know you?’ she said cheerfully.
Hunter quickly displayed his badge – Garcia did the same. ‘Can we have a few minutes of your time?’
‘Am I in some kind of trouble?’ she asked unconcerned.
‘Not at all. We actually wanna talk to you about one of your friends.’
‘And which one would that be?’
‘Jenny Farnborough.’
She threw them a quick look of assessment, her eyes resting on each detective for no more than a couple of seconds. ‘Don’t know who you’re talking about, sorry,’ she said facetiously.
‘Yes, you do.’ Hunter was in no mood to play games. ‘She worked for D-King, just like you.’ His stare was cold and firm.
‘D-King?’ She frowned and very slightly shook her head as if she had no idea who they were referring to.
‘Look, we’ve all had a long week and just like you, we’d rather be enjoying the sun than doing this. So the quicker we disperse with the bullshit the faster we can get back to doing whatever it is that we do. We were at the Vanguard Club on Friday night, you were sitting with him, so don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you, and as I’ve said, you’re in no trouble, we just need your help.’
Now she remembered where she’d seen them before. She also remembered finding the blue-eyed, muscular detective quite attractive. She removed her sunglasses and placed them on her head using it to hold her fringe back. She realized there was no point in trying to deny she knew D-King or Jenny. If they wanted to arrest her, they would’ve done so already.
‘OK, but I haven’t seen Jenny since she decided to quit. I’m not sure how much help I can be.’
‘Quit?’ Garcia’s baffled look giving away his surprise.
‘Yes, I think she decided to go back home.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘That’s what we were told.’
‘By D-King?’
Rachel took a deep breath and held it for a second or two. ‘Yes.’
Hunter knew why D-King had lied to Rachel and the other girls. They would’ve panicked if they found out Jenny had been kidnapped, tortured and killed. He was supposed to be their protector, their guardian as well as their boss. Hunter debated how much he was willing to reveal. If he told her what had really happened, he’d be the one starting the panic in D-King’s camp. He decided not to stir anything up – for now.
‘Have you ever seen this man?’ Hunter showed her a picture of George Slater.
Rachel analyzed it for a few seconds. ‘Umm . . . I’m not sure.’
‘Look again.’ Hunter was sure she had recognized him but on instinct she’d lied.
‘Maybe . . . in a club or party.’
‘Private party?’
‘Yeah, maybe one of the extreme parties if I’m not mistaken.’ She bit her bottom lip as if trying to recall something. ‘Yes, I’m pretty sure of it, he liked the extreme parties. I don’t know his name if that’s your next question.’
‘That’s not my next question,’ Hunter said with a quick shake of the head. ‘Extreme parties? What are those?’
‘That’s what we like to call them. Some people like to party, some people like to party hard and everyone has a fantasy, something that turns them on. Extreme parties are basically fantasy, fetish parties.’
‘Like what for example?’ Garcia looked more interested now.
Rachel faced him and took a step closer. ‘Anything that gets you excited, honey.’ She softly ran a finger over his left cheek. ‘Rubber clothing, PVC, bondage, pain . . . or maybe you just like it rough.’ She gave him a sexy wink. Garcia stepped away from her touch half blushing, half embarrassed.
‘I’m sorry to have to break up this beautiful moment, but what exactly goes on at these parties?’
Rachel leant back against a parked car. ‘Anything and everything. Why? Are you interested?’
Hunter disregarded her question. ‘And you’ve attended some of these parties?’
‘A few,’ she said casually.
‘How about Jenny?’
‘Yeah, she’s been to some.’
‘How many girls at a party?’ Garcia asked.
‘Depends on how many guests there are, but it’s usually somewhere between ten to fifteen of us, plus s
ome others.’
‘Some others?’
‘If it’s a big party, twenty or thirty guests, they’ll need at least fifteen to twenty girls, plus guys.’
‘Guys?’
Garcia’s naivety made Rachel laugh. ‘Yeah, honey, male models. As I’ve said, people have all kinds of fantasies, including bisexualism and homosexualism. If that’s what they like, that’s what they get. Does that turn you on, hun?’
Garcia’s shocked look amused Hunter. ‘No, of course not,’ he replied in a firm voice.
‘I’m glad.’ Another sexy wink.
‘Do you remember ever seeing Jenny and this man together at any of the parties?’ Hunter cut in.
‘Probably, it’s very hard to say. At these parties everyone plays with everyone if you know what I mean, but I do remember seeing him playing with other guys.’
Both Hunter and Garcia’s eyes widened in surprise.
‘I guess you weren’t expecting him to be into men, right?’
Garcia shook his head.
‘Are you sure?’ Hunter asked.
‘Oh yeah. He puts on quite a show too.’
‘How can we get into one of these parties?’
‘You can’t. Unless you’re invited. They aren’t paid parties. The host, usually some rich jerk, hires the models and invites whoever he wants. You ain’t friends with him, you ain’t getting invited,’ she explained.
Hunter feared that was the case. ‘Do these parties happen on Tuesday nights?’
‘There isn’t a specific day for them. Whatever day the rich jerk decides to throw them I guess.’
‘Was there one last Tuesday?’
Rachel thought about it for a few seconds. ‘If there was, I wasn’t one of the girls.’
‘Did you ever notice anyone strange in these parties?’ Hunter asked.
Rachel laughed. ‘Other than the people who like to be peed on, stepped on, tied down and spanked, burnt with hot wax or have things shoved up their ass?’
‘Yes, other than them,’ Hunter answered.
‘No, nobody stranger than them.’
‘Do other women apart from the models attend these parties?’
‘Sometimes. I’ve seen guests bring their wives or girlfriends to them. I guess some couples are very liberal,’ she replied with a chuckle.
‘So no one in particular caught your attention?’
‘I don’t pay much attention to the people in the parties. I’m just there to do a job. People’s looks play no part in my job. If it did, I wouldn’t be doing it.’
Hunter could easily understand why.
‘Did Jenny live in your building?’ Garcia asked.
‘No. I don’t know where she lived. I don’t know where any of the other girls live. D-King prefers it this way. Anyway, her old place would be cleared out by now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘All the apartments belong to him. When one girl goes, another comes in. He takes good care of us.’
‘I can see that,’ Garcia said, tilting his head towards the glassy building. ‘What happens to her stuff? If she left anything behind I mean.’
‘Most of the stuff also belongs to D-King. He decorates the place, gives us clothes, perfume, make-up, you name it. He knows how to pamper us girls.’
The three of them fell silent for a few seconds.
‘Can I go now?’ Rachel asked with an impatient tone.
‘Yeah, thanks for your help. Oh, just one more thing,’ Hunter called out as she’d started to move away from them. She stopped and with a loud sigh turned to face both men. Her sunglasses back over her eyes.
‘Do you remember seeing anyone with a tattoo that looked something like this?’ He showed her a small drawing of the double-crucifix.
She looked at it, frowned and shook her head. ‘No, never seen it before.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Very.’
‘OK, thanks again.’ Hunter folded the paper and placed it back in his pocket before handing her one of his cards. ‘If you ever see anyone sporting a tattoo that resembles this one or if you see this symbol anywhere, please get in touch.’
She took Hunter’s card and regarded it with a smile. ‘I might just call you anyway.’
‘I think she likes you,’ Hunter said, giving Garcia a pat on the back as soon as Rachel was out of earshot.
‘Me? You’re the one she wants to call. Maybe you guys can get together and who knows, she might even take you to one of those extreme parties,’ Garcia teased.
Forty
Hunter lay awake in darkness staring at the ceiling, his mind too full of thoughts to fall asleep.
Was that how the killer chose his victims? From bars, clubs and parties?
This killer wasn’t one to stick to any routine and Hunter had a feeling he was missing something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He felt exhausted and drained of energy. No matter how hard he tried, his brain would never disconnect for more than just a few seconds. He knew he was starting to fall into the same abyss as before, and his partner was following on the same path. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
The room was silent except for the tender breathing sound of the brunette sleeping next to him. Her hair soft and shiny, her skin beautifully smooth. Her presence calmed him.
After their quick interview with Rachel Blate, Hunter and Garcia had gone back to their office. There, Hunter met up with Patricia Phelps, the RHD sketch artist, and they both went back to Isabella’s apartment. Garcia had decided to stay behind, saying he wanted to check up on a few things. Isabella had done her best to remember everything she could about the tattooed man she met a few months ago. It had taken her fifty-five minutes and three cups of tea, but in the end Patricia had sketched an image that Isabella agreed was pretty close to the man she’d seen.
After Patricia was done, Isabella asked Hunter to spend the night with her. Hunter’s revelation that she may have met the killer had scared her too much. She felt alone and vulnerable and Hunter was the only person she could think of, the only person she wanted next to her. Hunter was itching to get on with the case. To start processing the new information he got today, but he couldn’t leave Isabella alone. Not tonight.
‘Can’t sleep?’ Hunter hadn’t noticed that Isabella was also awake. He shifted his body to face her.
‘Not really, but I never sleep much anyway, I’ve told you that.’
‘Aren’t you tired?’
‘My body is tired. My brain’s wide awake. My brain always wins that argument.’
She moved closer and kissed his lips softly. ‘I’m glad you decided to stay.’
Hunter smiled and watched as she struggled to keep her eyes open, her head resting against his bare chest. Hunter hadn’t spent two consecutive nights with the same woman in a very long time. He had no time for romance, no interest in sharing his life with anyone at the moment. And he preferred it that way.
He carefully moved her head back to her pillow and skillfully eased himself out of bed leaving her undisturbed. In the kitchen he found the jar of instant coffee she’d bought especially for him and a smile danced on his lips. Hunter made himself a strong cup before walking into the living room and dumping himself on the comfortable sofa, his mind rummaging through both interviews from the day before. Once again it looked like they’d established some sort of link between two of the victims. Jenny and George knew each other, he was sure of it. Sex parties, he thought. Did the killings have a sexual meaning behind them? Was the killer after promiscuous people? Still more questions than answers, but Hunter could feel they were inching closer. For the first time he felt excited about this case. For the first time they had something to go on – a face – maybe.
He had another sip of his strong coffee and wondered how many cups he’d need to get through the day. He checked his watch – 6:00 a.m., time to get ready.
He slowly opened the door to Isabella’s room to check on her. She looked peaceful. She was still asleep when he left.
<
br /> Forty-One
Getting to the RHD before eight in the morning was something Hunter rarely did, but the developments of the past two days had injected new life into him and the investigation. Today he felt as eager as he did on his first day as a detective.
‘Do you ever go home or have you moved into the office?’ he asked, surprised to find Garcia already sitting at his desk.
‘The captain wants to see you straight away,’ Garcia replied, paying no attention to his partner’s comment.
Hunter glanced at his watch. ‘It’s seven-thirty in the morning, are you serious?’
‘I know. He called up here around seven. I’d just got in.’
‘You got here at seven? Do you guys ever sleep?’ Hunter asked, taking his jacket off. ‘Did he say what it was about?’
‘Not to me.’
‘Did we not hand in a report yesterday?’
‘I did. A little later than ten in the morning as he’d requested, but he got it.’
Hunter could smell freshly made Brazilian coffee and that was exactly what he needed before facing the captain.
The detectives’ floor was almost deserted except for Detective Maurice who was standing by a window. Pieces of paper were scattered all over his desk and on the floor. He looked like he hadn’t gone home in days. Hunter said hi with a simple nod but Maurice didn’t even seem to notice his presence. Hunter reached the captain’s office and knocked twice.
‘Come in!’ the captain shouted from inside.
Even though it was still early, the room felt hot. There was no air conditioning, none of the windows were open and the two pedestal fans in the room were switched off. The captain was sitting behind his desk reading a copy of the morning paper.
‘You’re in early,’ Hunter commented.
‘I’m always in early,’ the captain said, lifting his eyes to greet Hunter.
‘So you wanted to see me?’
‘Yep.’ Captain Bolter opened his top drawer and retrieved a copy of the facial sketch Patricia had drawn. ‘Come take a look at these.’ He pointed to his computer screen. Hunter maneuvered past the two large armchairs and positioned himself to the captain’s right. On the screen he could see several permutations of the sketch – long hair, cropped hair, beard, mustache, glasses – twenty different drawings in all.
