by Chris Carter
Hunter had forgotten all about their quick lunch in the afternoon. He grinned and at the same time felt guilty for having to run out on her for the second time. He quickly typed a reply message.
Can I call you? He pressed the ‘send’ button and went back to the sofa.
A minute later the phone vibrated and played its message alert, breaking the silence in the room.
Yes.
Hunter had another sip of his single malt and pressed the ‘call’ button.
‘Hello . . . I thought you’d be asleep by now,’ she said softly.
‘I thought the same about you. Isn’t this a little late for a researcher? Don’t you have to be in the lab early tomorrow?’ Hunter asked with a little smile.
‘I never sleep much. Usually five to six hours max every night. My brain is always busy. Research work does that to you.’
‘Five to six hours only. That really isn’t much.’
‘Look who’s talking. Why aren’t you asleep?’
‘Insomnia is part of the package. It comes with the job.’
‘You need to learn how to unwind.’
‘I know. I’m working on it,’ he lied.
‘Talking about the job – is everything OK? You looked a little distressed after that phone call this afternoon.’
Hunter paused for a minute and rubbed his tired eyes. He thought of how innocent the majority of the people were, not knowing the evil that awaits just a stone’s-throw away. Part of his job is to make sure these people stay innocent.
‘Everything is alright. It’s just the job. It always carries that sort of pressure.’
‘I’m sure . . . more pressure than I can imagine. Anyway I’m really glad you called.’
‘I’m sorry I had to leave in such a hurry again. Maybe I can make it up to you.’ He could swear he heard her smile.
‘I’d like that . . . and that’s what I was thinking about. How would you like to have dinner with me at my place on Saturday evening?’
‘A dinner date?’ Hunter teased.
‘Well, now that the check out lunch date is out of the way, I thought dinner would be nice. Are you busy this Saturday?’
‘No, no, I’m free. Saturday is fine. What time shall I come over?’
‘How about six o’clock?’
‘That sounds great. I’ll bring a bottle.’
‘Fantastic. Do you remember the address?’
‘You’d better give it to me again, just in case. I was pretty drunk that night.’
‘Don’t I know it?’
They both laughed.
Twenty-Nine
The next morning Hunter and Garcia went back to the County Department of Coroner. Doctor Winston had called them at around ten o’clock, after he’d completed the autopsy on the new victim. He wanted both detectives to be the first ones to hear the results.
George Slater’s body rested on the metal autopsy table near the far wall. A white sheet covered him from the waist down. Most of his internal organs had been remo`ved, weighed, and placed over the organ tray. Doctor Winston had buzzed the two detectives into the basement autopsy room and left them waiting by the door as he finished analyzing a small piece of human tissue.
‘Well, one thing is for certain, our killer is very inventive,’ the doctor said, lifting his eyes from the dissecting microscope. Only then Hunter realized how tired Doctor Winston looked. His thin hair was messy, his complexion heavy and his eyes exhausted.
‘So he’s a murder victim?’ Hunter asked, pointing to the ghostly white body on the table.
‘No doubt about that.’
‘From our killer?’
‘Oh yes, unless someone else knows about this,’ the doctor said walking over to the body followed by both men. He lifted the victim’s head about four inches off the autopsy table surface. Hunter and Garcia bent over at the same time, almost hitting head against head. Their eyes met the unmistakable symbol.
‘It’s the same killer alright,’ Garcia said getting back to an upright position. ‘So what was all that crap about him dying from some sort of disease?’
‘That was no crap. A disease is exactly what killed him.’ The confusion and frustration intensified in Garcia’s face. ‘Have you ever heard of streptococcus pyogenes?’
‘What?’
‘I guess not. How about staphylococcus aureus?’
‘Yes, doc, Latin is a constant part of my everyday vocabulary.’ Garcia’s sarcastic tone brought a quick smile to Hunter’s lips. ‘What the hell is it?’
‘It sounds like a bacterium,’ Hunter said.
‘And you’re right on the money, Robert. Come here, let me show you.’ Doctor Winston took a` moment to search for a slide from a small portable archive and then walked back to the microscope desk. ‘Have a look,’ he said after placing the slide over the stage.
Hunter moved closer, bent over and positioned his eyes over the eyepiece. He rotated the coarse-focus knob and analyzed the slide for a moment.
‘What the hell am I looking for here, doc? All I can see is a whole bunch of . . . little worm-like things moving around like headless chickens.’
‘Let me have a look,’ Garcia said like an excited college student and gesturing for Hunter to move out of the way. ‘Yep, I see the same thing,’ he commented after looking through the viewer.
‘Those little worm-like things are streptococcus pyogenes, my dear students,’ Doctor Winston said assuming a professor’s tone. ‘Now, have a look at this one.’ He retrieved another slide from the portable archive and replaced the one on the microscope stage.
This time Hunter saw green circular shapes that moved at a much slower pace than the previous worm-like ones. Garcia had a quick look right after Hunter.
‘Yes so? Green round things this time.’
‘OK, those are staphylococcus aureus.’
‘Do we look like biology students to you, doc? Give it to us in English.’ Garcia wasn’t in the mood for playing games.
Doctor Winston rubbed his eyes with the back of his right hand. He pulled a chair and sat down resting his right elbow on the microscope desk.
‘The first slide that you looked at – streptococcus pyogenes, the worm-like bacteria, once inside the human body it releases several destructive toxins. One of these toxins is the one responsible for scarlet fever.’
‘He didn’t die of scarlet fever, doc. The symptoms are all wrong,’ Hunter shot back.
‘Patience, Robert.’
Hunter threw both hands up in an ‘I give up’ gesture.
‘Another toxin that can be released by the bacteria causes necrotizing fasciitis.’
‘And that is?’ Garcia now.
‘That’s the disease from hell,’ Hunter said as his brow creased with worry. ‘Flesh-eating disease.’
‘That’s what it’s commonly known as,’ Doctor Winston agreed.
‘Wait, wait, wait,’ Garcia said making a ‘T’ sign using both of his hands. ‘Did I hear you guys right? Did you just say flesh-eating disease?’
The doctor nodded, but before he was able to say anything Hunter started to explain.
‘The term is widely used but not actually correct as the bacterium that causes it doesn’t really eat the flesh. It’s a rare infection of the deeper layers of the skin and subcutaneous tissues. It causes the destruction of skin and muscle by releasing toxins, but the overall effect makes it seem as if the victim is being eaten from the inside out.’
Garcia shivered and stepped away from the microscope. ‘How do you know that?’ he asked Hunter.
‘I read a lot.’ The answer came with a shrug.
‘Very good, Robert,’ Doctor Winston said with a smile before picking up from where Hunter left off. ‘The victim starts to show flu-like symptoms, quickly moving to very strong headaches, a drop in blood pressure and tachycardia. The skin then starts to develop extremely painful, large, mucus-filled blisters and sunburn-type rashes. The victim will then go into toxic shock losing and regaining consciousness peri
odically. Health deteriorates lightning fast and then . . . death.’
Garcia and Hunter both looked at the corpse. The blisters had all burst, revealing dried and scabby flesh sores.
‘In 2004 a rare but even more serious form of the disease started to appear with increasing frequency, and the majority of those cases were found here, in California,’ the doctor continued. ‘In those cases, it was discovered that the bacterium causing the disease was a strain of the staphylococcus aureus – a much stronger strain of it.’
‘That’s the second slide we looked at, the green round things?’
Doctor Winston nodded.
‘I remember that story,’ Hunter said. ‘It didn’t really get the attention of the media. Just a sideline in the papers.’
Doctor Winston stood up and walked over to the autopsy table. Garcia and Hunter followed him with their eyes.
‘The way the disease works is as follows – the bacterium enters the body and reproduces itself. The more bacteria there are, the more toxins they release. The more toxins they release, the quicker and more painful the death. Unfortunately for our victim, these little bastards reproduce like crazed rabbits. They can double their number in the space of a few hours.’
‘Can it be treated?’ Garcia this time.
‘Yes, if found early enough, but that rarely happens due to how fast the bacteria spread.’
‘And how do you get it? How does the bacterium enter the body?’
‘Funnily enough, the bacterium is frequently found living on the skin or inside the nose of a healthy person.’
Garcia placed both of his hands over his nose as if he was about to blow it. Hunter couldn’t help but laugh.
‘It’s in a dormant state,’ Doctor Winston said with a smile. ‘But the bacterium can easily infect an open flesh wound. Sometimes it’s picked up in hospitals from infected surgery incisions.’
‘Wow, that’s reassuring,’ Garcia joked.
‘Necrotizing fasciitis is one of the fastest-spreading infections known to man. In regular cases it takes only three to five days for a patient to go from early symptoms to death. In the case of our victim, and I’m sure you both have probably guessed it, the killer has injected him with the staphylococcus aureus bacterium.’
A morbid silence took over the room. What else could this killer come up with?
‘But the dog race was only two days ago, how can a disease have such a quick reaction time?’ Garcia asked shaking his head.
‘Dog race?’ Doctor Winston frowned.
Garcia waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘Too complicated to explain it now, doc.’
‘Anyway, as I’ve said, the bacterium multiplies fast and the more there is the more damage it causes. Our victim was injected with a phenomenal amount of it and straight into the bloodstream. Within ten to twelve hours he would’ve gone from healthy to knocking on death’s door.’
Doctor Winston approached the organ tray. ‘His liver and kidneys were thirty-five percent destroyed. There was also great deterioration of the heart, the intestines and esophagus, and that would explain the blood when he coughed, he was hemorrhaging internally very badly when we got to him at the park. It was probably his body’s last struggle before death.’
Garcia contorted his face remembering the images from the park.
‘And there’s one more thing,’ the doctor continued.
‘And what’s that?’
‘The victim’s nails on both hands are all broken, as if he’d tried to scrape his way out of somewhere. A wooden box probably.’
‘Wood splinters under the nails?’ Hunter concluded.
‘Yep. Under what’s left of them and on his fingertips.’
‘Wood analysis?’ Garcia asked excitedly.
‘Common pine wood. Very easy to come across. The killer could’ve nailed him shut inside a regular wardrobe.’
‘Why would the killer do that if he’d already injected the victim with the bacteria and death was a certainty?’ Garcia asked intrigued.
‘To speed up the process as much as possible,’ Hunter answered first.
Garcia frowned.
‘The heart speeds up when a person panics. Blood is pumped faster, so the bacteria spread faster.’
‘Correct,’ Doctor Winston said with a nod.
‘And what easier way to make someone panic than nailing him shut inside a wooden coffin.’
‘This killer knows the business of killing better than anyone I’ve ever encountered,’ the doctor said staring back at the body.
‘So if we’d gotten to the park earlier?’ Garcia asked.
‘It would’ve made no difference. Our victim’s fate was sealed the moment the killer injected him with the bacteria,’ Hunter said. ‘It was all part of his plan. Nothing was left to chance.’
‘How can someone come across this bacterium? Where could the killer have gotten it from?’
Doctor Winston and Hunter both understood where Garcia was coming from. The killer had to have had access to the bacteria from somewhere, a hospital, a laboratory perhaps. They could check visiting and employees’ records and maybe come out with a lead.
‘Our problem is that every hospital and lab in California will probably have a sample of the bacterium,’ the doctor explained. ‘As I’ve said, it reproduces itself extremely fast and the killer would’ve only needed a few drops of infected blood. No one would’ve missed it. No one would’ve reported it. Cultivating it and transforming the few drops of infected blood into the deadly amount that was injected into our victim is also very easily done. This was a very clever death. Not very difficult to achieve if you know what you’re doing, but very, very hard to trace the source.’
‘So it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack?’
Doctor Winston nodded.
‘We’ll look into it anyway,’ Hunter said. ‘At this point I’m not discarding anything.’
‘Why didn’t the killer wait for the victim to die like all the previous ones before calling in?’ Garcia asked.
‘The shocking effect,’ Hunter shot back in a calm voice. ‘A person dying of flesh-eating disease is a very disturbing and powerful image. Blisters bursting open to release pus and mucus, the victim hemorrhaging from the eyes, nose, ears, gums . . . the putrid smell, the certain and imminent death. This is his show. He’s showing off. And it all adds to my guilty feeling. He wanted me to see what I’d done when I picked the wrong dog.’
‘What’s this dog thing you keep on talking about?’ the doctor asked looking puzzled.
Hunter gave him a quick explanation of what had happened, how they’d come so close to saving the victim.
‘Do you think the killer would’ve really let him go if you had picked the winner?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Hunter said shaking his head. An uneasy silence followed.
‘What did he take?’ Garcia asked rubbing his chin.
‘What do you mean?’ Doctor Winston looked hesitant.
‘You said the killer always removes a body part from the victim, like a trophy.’
‘Ah yes.’ He lifted the small white sheet, revealing the victim’s groin region.
‘Oh God!’ Garcia brought both hands to his mouth. He knew that had been done while the victim was still alive.
Half a minute went by before Hunter spoke. ‘Let me guess, the forensic team found nothing inside the car, right?’
‘Ah-ha!’ the doctor replied, lifting his right index finger with an enthusiastic smile. ‘They found a hair. And it isn’t the victim’s.’
Thirty
As they approached the Vanguard Club entrance on Friday night, Garcia was surprised to see such a big crowd waiting in line to get in.
‘I can’t believe this club is full, this is supposed to be a massive club.’
‘The club ain’t full,’ Hunter replied confidently.
‘How do you know?’
‘It’s a psychology trick,’ Hunter continued. ‘If they make you wait in line it increa
ses your expectations of the club. You’ll be more eager to get in. A busy club usually means a good club.’
‘That’s true.’
‘But the trick is to make you wait in line just long enough. Get the timing wrong and it’ll put punters in a bad mood. No one likes standing in line for too long.’
‘That’s also true.’
They ignored the line of people and walked straight up to the two muscle-bound bouncers at the club’s entrance.
‘Sorry, gentlemen, you gonna have to join the line like everyone else,’ one of the bouncers said, placing a hand on Garcia’s shoulder.
‘Oh no, you see we’ve got special VIP passes,’ Hunter said in a funny voice and producing his detective badge.
The bouncer checked Hunter’s police credentials and removed his hand from Garcia. ‘Is there some sort of a problem, Detective Hunter?’
‘No, we’re just looking for someone.’
The two bouncers exchanged a worried look. ‘We don’t want no trouble here.’
‘Neither do we, so if you get out of our way, we’ll be off to a good start,’ Hunter said, pinning the bouncer down with a firm gaze. Without losing eye contact, the bouncer took one step to his right and opened the door.
‘Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.’
The two detectives stepped into the luxurious lobby entrance. The thumping music instantly caused an impact. It was loud, very loud. There were a handful of people standing around in this first room, some dancing, some just chatting. Hunter and Garcia made their way through the small mob and into the main dance floor area.
The music in there was twice as loud as in the entrance hall and out of instinct Hunter placed a finger in each ear.
‘What’s the problem, old man, can’t handle the younger generation’s music?’ Garcia said with a cynical grin.
‘Music? This is just . . . loud repetitive thumping noise. Give me heavy metal any day.’
‘This place is enormous!’ Garcia said as the giant dance floor inside the 20,000-square-feet venue stood majestically in front of them. Hunter widened his eyes to try and take in the enormity of the place. The dance floor was busy with a colorful and vibrant crowd moving to the beat of the latest ‘drum ’n’ bass’ and dirty-funk sounds. The club lights and lasers cast different shapes on the crowd as they danced. The atmosphere in the Vanguard was contagious. People came in here to have fun and it showed. Hunter and Garcia weren’t in the Vanguard to appreciate it or to take part in the fun, they needed to find D-King.