by Chris Carter
‘It looks that way.’
‘Thanks, bud.’
‘Sure, man. Don’t be a stranger.’
With his badge in hand Hunter forced his way through the small crowd at the gym’s entrance lobby to reach the reception desk.
‘Is Joe Bowman the manager here?’ he asked even before one of the two receptionists had a chance to check his credentials.
‘Yes.’ The reply sounded a little shy.
‘We need to speak to him.’ His voice was demanding.
Both detectives watched as the blond receptionist quickly picked up the phone and dialed the manager’s direct line. A quick murmured conversation followed.
‘Trish, can you handle it out here by yourself for five minutes?’ the blond girl asked, putting the phone down and turning to the other receptionist, a short, red-haired girl with a handful of freckles under each ocean-blue eye.
‘Yeah, I’ll be alright,’ Trish replied with a slight Texan accent.
The blond receptionist pressed a button behind the counter and the light on one of the turnstiles went green. ‘Please come through, gentlemen,’ she said to both detectives before joining them on the other side. ‘Please follow me.’
The manager’s office was at the far end of the packed main gym floor. The receptionist knocked three times and as the door opened they were greeted by a striking-looking African American man, about two inches taller than Hunter and at least twenty pounds heavier, all of it muscle. He was wearing a black, skintight T-shirt that seemed to be two sizes smaller than he needed and his crew-cut hairstyle made him look like an army sergeant. He introduced himself as Joe Bowman.
‘This is about Vicki I presume,’ he said, showing both detectives into the room.
‘That’s correct,’ Hunter said as they occupied the two leather chairs facing an attractive black and white desk. Joe sat behind it.
Hunter studied the man behind the desk for a quick second. ‘You look familiar, have we met before?’ he asked, squinting as if searching his memory.
Bowman stared at Hunter for a moment. ‘I don’t think so, not that I can remember anyway.’
Hunter dismissed the thought after a few seconds with a quick shrug of his shoulders. ‘You were the one who reported Victoria Baker missing, is that right?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And why was that?’
Bowman looked up from his hands with a dubious smile. ‘Because she’s gone missing.’ He pronounced every word slower than normal.
Wise-ass, Hunter thought. ‘What I mean is why you? Are you her husband, boyfriend, lover?’
Bowman’s eyes moved to the receptionist who was still standing by the door. ‘That will be all, Carey. I’ll take it from here.’
In silence she stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.
His attention came back to the detectives. ‘I’m not her husband, boyfriend or lover. I’m married.’ He made a head movement towards a picture on his desk of a woman with short black hair and a contagious smile.
Hunter acknowledged the photograph but the sorrow in Bowman’s eyes betrayed him.
‘She was supposed to be back at work on the twenty-sixth, but she never showed up. That’s very unlike her. She’s a very responsible person, very professional, never takes sick days or time off, always on time.’
‘But why you and not her family, husband or boyfriend?’
‘Vicki isn’t married and she’s not in a relationship at the moment. Her family is from Canada. She was flying back there to see them. She lives alone in a small rented apartment a few miles from here.’
‘Has her family contacted you?’ Hunter asked. ‘If they were expecting her and she didn’t turn up, wouldn’t they be worried?’
Bowman looked at Hunter nervously. ‘They didn’t know she was going up there. Sort of a surprise you see? What do you mean, she didn’t turn up?’
‘We checked with the airline, she never boarded the plane.’
‘Oh my God!’ Bowman said, running his hands through his hair. ‘She’s been missing for all this time?’
‘You said she was supposed to be back here on the twenty-sixth of last month, still you only reported her missing two days ago – the thirty-first. Why did you wait five days?’
‘I just got back from Europe on the thirty-first. I was in a bodybuilding competition.’
‘When did you leave for Europe?’ Garcia asked.
‘Two days after Vicky left.’ He stared down at his trembling hands. ‘I should’ve tried calling her when I was in Europe; we spoke on the day she was supposed to go to Canada,’ he murmured in a sad tone.
‘Why would you call her? She’s just an employee, right?’ Hunter pushed him.
Joe Bowman looked uncomfortable. He tried giving Hunter a pale smile but failed.
Hunter pulled his chair closer to his desk and leaned forward, resting both elbows on it. ‘C’mon Joe, it’s time to come clean now, she was more than just an employee, right?’
Silence.
‘Look Mr Bowman, we’re not the marriage police. We’re not here to question you about your relationship with your wife,’ he pointed to the framed picture over the desk. ‘But Victoria Baker might be in some serious trouble and all we wanna do is help, but for that we need your cooperation. Whatever you tell us, will stay between us. If she means anything to you, please help us.’ Hunter gave him a confident smile.
Bowman hesitated for a moment, staring at his wife’s picture. ‘We are in love,’ he finally gave in.
Hunter kept his eyes on Bowman, waiting for him to carry on.
‘We’re thinking about moving in together.’
Garcia’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘How about your marriage?’ he asked.
Bowman massaged his eyes with his right hand taking his time to answer. ‘My marriage died a couple of years ago.’ His eyes were back on the picture over the desk. ‘The love is gone . . . the conversation is gone . . . it’s like we’re total strangers to each other. We tried patching things up a year ago, but there’s nothing there to patch up.’ His tone was firm with a hint of sadness.
‘When did you and Vicki start seeing each other?’
‘About eight months ago. She has this thing about her, this contagious happiness . . . she made me happy again. So a couple of months ago I decided I would ask my wife for a divorce and do what makes me happy, and that is being with Vicki.’
‘Did Vicki know? Did you tell her about your plans?’
‘Yes, that’s why she was going back to Canada.’
Hunter gave him a puzzled look.
‘She wanted to let her parents know that she was thinking about getting a place together with me. She wanted their blessing.’
Hunter’s confused look didn’t go away.
‘She comes from a very traditional family,’ Bowman explained. ‘She wanted them to accept me.’
‘Accept the idea that their daughter was moving in with a married man?’ Garcia asked intrigued.
‘No,’ Hunter answered first. ‘Accept the idea of their daughter moving in with an African American man,’ he concluded.
‘Black,’ Bowman corrected him. ‘We like to be called black. That’s what we are and black is not an offensive word. This political correctness thing is all bullshit if you ask me, but you’re right. You can say her family would disapprove of our relationship.’
‘And you didn’t keep in touch with her while you were in Europe?’
‘No . . . I should have . . .’ his voice trailed off.
‘Why not?’
‘She wanted it that way. She said she needed time to get the idea through to them. I knew she was supposed to be back here on the thirty-first, so I tried calling her from Europe then, but I never got a reply. There was nothing I could do from where I was. When I got back I panicked when I couldn’t find her, so I called the police.’
‘You said she lives just a few miles from here?’ Hunter asked.
‘Yes, in North Croft Avenue.�
�
‘Do you have the keys to her apartment?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Bowman’s eyes were unable to meet Hunter’s. ‘But I’ve already been through all this with the other officers.’
‘From the Missing Persons’ Department?’
‘That’s right.’
‘We’re not Missing Persons. We’re Homicide.’
Bowman glared in surprise and fear. ‘Homicide?’
Hunter took out a copy of the sketch Isabella had given them together with the twenty different permutations of it and placed it on Joe’s desk.
‘Have you ever seen this man?’
Bowman picked the sketches up with shaking hands and looked at them attentively.
‘No, I can’t say I have. Who’s he supposed to be?’
Without saying a word, Hunter produced the computer-generated portrait of the first victim and placed it on the desk. Joe stared at it confused. His eyes pleaded for an explanation. ‘Why do you have a digital image of Vicki?’ he offered in an unsteady voice with watery eyes before Hunter had a chance to ask the question.
‘What does this have to do with Vicki going missing? Why do I have Homicide detectives in my office? Why do you have a digital image of Vicki?’
‘There might be a connection to a different investigation we’re conducting,’ Garcia explained.
‘A Homicide investigation? Do you think she might be dead?’ His voice croaked with dread.
‘We don’t know yet.’
‘Oh my God! Who would ever want to harm Vicki? She is the sweetest person you could ever meet.’
‘Let’s not jump to conclusions yet, Mr Bowman,’ Hunter tried calming him down. ‘About this person,’ he pointed to the sketches. ‘Are you sure you haven’t seen him in your gym?’
‘If he’s been in this gym, the receptionists are the ones to ask.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll ask them. We’ll also need Vicki’s address.’
In silence Joe wrote her address down and handed it to Hunter.
‘Were you guys into clubbing, partying, going out, you know, that sort of thing?’ Hunter carried on.
Bowman looked at Hunter confused. ‘No, not at all. Because of my situation we couldn’t really advertise our relationship to the world.’
Hunter nodded. ‘Did she like going out by herself or with friends to places like that?’
‘Not that I know,’ Bowman answered hesitantly.
‘Do you know if she took part in unorthodox parties?’ Garcia cut in.
Bowman and Hunter looked at Garcia with the same mystified look. Neither of them really certain of what he meant by unorthodox parties.
‘I’m not sure I know what you’re asking me,’ Bowman replied.
Hunter was as interested in Garcia’s explanation as Bowman was.
No point in beating around the bush, Garcia thought. ‘Was she into sex parties, BDSM, fetish . . . things of that nature?’
‘What sort of question is that?’ Bowman asked wide-eyed.
‘The sort of question that pertains to this investigation.’
‘Are you asking me if Vicki was a pervert?’ Bowman blasted in an offended tone.
‘No, just if you know if she was into that sort of thing.’
‘No, she wasn’t.’
Hunter decided to cut in. ‘Is she well off? I mean is she well paid?’
Bowman turned his attention to Hunter with a ‘what does that have to do with anything?’ expression.
‘Can she afford expensive stuff?’ Hunter tried to clarify.
‘What kind of stuff? Drugs?’ Bowman’s expression was even more puzzled now.
‘No. Beauty stuff – moisturizers, creams, make-up, you know, women stuff.’
‘Well, she ain’t rich, not by LA standards anyway, but I’d say she earns enough. Now, where beauty stuff is concerned she spends a fortune. I’ve seen her pay over 300 dollars for an anti-wrinkle night cream and the bottle was the size of a pack of gum.’
Hunter cocked both eyebrows in surprise.
‘That’s not all,’ Bowman continued. ‘Four hundred dollars on an eye cream from Switzerland, 150 dollars on a bottle of nail varnish, not counting what she spends on manicures, pedicures, moisturizers, beauty treatments and spas. She can go without food, but not without her beauty creams and serums. Vicki’s very vain. Maybe too vain.’
‘Does Vicki have a locker or a place where she keeps her stuff?’ Hunter asked.
‘Yes. All members of staff do. We encourage everyone to exercise. We all have assigned lockers.’
‘That’s great. Can we see hers?’
‘It’s got an electronic lock and it needs a four-digit combination code. She’s the only one who knows hers.’
‘Yes, but I’m sure there’s an override code,’ Garcia said.
Bowman twisted his mouth wondering if that was the right thing to do. ‘Don’t you need a warrant to look through her things?’
‘We are trying to find her, not put her in prison. A warrant could take a day or so, meanwhile we are losing precious time,’ Hunter shot back.
‘It’s inside the women’s changing room.’
‘We only need five minutes, just tell whoever is inside the changing room to cover up,’ Garcia said.
A short silence followed.
‘We’re losing time here,’ Hunter pressed.
‘OK,’ Bowman finally gave in. ‘Give me a few minutes. I’ll ask one of the receptionists to make an announcement.’
Hunter studied Bowman as he quickly spoke on the phone to the front desk. ‘Are you sure we haven’t met before? You really do look familiar,’ Hunter asked once he had put the phone down.
‘I’ve appeared in several bodybuilding magazines. I’m a pro competitor. You look pretty fit yourself. Do you ever buy any fitness magazines?’ Bowman replied.
Hunter snapped his fingers. ‘Once or twice, yes. That’s probably where I’ve seen you before then.’
Bowman gave Hunter an unenthusiastic smile.
Ten minutes later they were standing in front of locker number 365 inside the ladies’ dressing room. Bowman punched in a six-digit code that bypassed Vicki’s original one. The small light on the locking mechanism went from red to green and the door clicked open. Garcia had fetched some latex gloves from his car and Hunter was the one with the task of going through her things.
There wasn’t much in there. A pair of running shoes, two pairs of socks, training shorts, a woman’s top and a pair of fingerless weightlifting gloves. On the top shelf he found what he needed. A spray can of deodorant and a hairbrush. He picked them both up and placed them inside separate plastic bags.
Bowman watched in silence wondering why they were taking only two items and leaving the rest behind.
Fifty-Two
At eight o’clock that evening Doctor Winston was getting ready to finish for the day and go home when he received the call from Hunter. The deodorant spray can and the hairbrush needed testing for prints and DNA.
Hunter knew the results from the DNA test would take around five days to come through, maybe three if they put in a super-urgent request, but the fingerprint analysis could be done tonight. Doctor Winston said he’d wait for them.
Hunter was glad they weren’t inside the basement room where both victims’ bodies were kept. The Coroner’s building made him feel uneasy, but the basement room gave him the creeps. The forensics lab was located on the first floor and Doctor Winston had asked Ricardo Pinheiro, one of the forensic analysts, to stay behind and help him with the fingerprint job. Hunter handed Ricardo the deodorant can and watched while he applied a fingerprint powder made of titanium dioxide to it. The high-reflexive index of the powder against the smooth metal surface of the can reacted almost immediately, revealing several latent fingerprints.
Ricardo dusted the excess powder from the can and proceeded to transfer the prints to several clear cellophane slides.
‘On a fast naked-eye first look I’d say we probably have three sets of pr
ints here.’ Ricardo was rarely wrong. He took the cellophane slides to the nearest microscope and carried on analyzing them.
‘Yep, three different sets, but there’s a predominant one,’ he said after a minute at the microscope.
‘Let’s check the predominant set of prints first then,’ Doctor Winston said. ‘Can you transfer them to the computer?’
‘Sure,’ Ricardo said, taking the slides and moving on to one of the video microscopes, which were already linked to the lab computers. He took a snapshot of each fingerprint and with each shot the photo-analysis software displayed an enhanced image on the computer screen.
‘Do you want me to run the prints against the police criminal fingerprint database?’ Ricardo enquired.
‘No, check it against this one.’ Doctor Winston handed him a small pen drive with the digital image of the first victim’s fingerprint on it.
Ricardo loaded the image into the computer’s hard drive and with just a few clicks he had both images side by side on the analysis software. He clicked the ‘compare’ button.
Several comparison point red dots appeared over both fingerprint shots. It took the software less than five seconds to display the words Positive Match at the bottom of the screen.
‘Yep, they’re the same person,’ Ricardo confirmed.
‘It’s official, we finally have a match for our victim,’ Doctor Winston said. ‘Who was she again?’
‘Her name was Victoria Baker. Canadian . . . had been living in LA for four years,’ Garcia replied.
Hunter kept his eyes on the fingerprint images on the computer. ‘We’ll run the other two prints against the police database just in case,’ he finally said, obviously bothered about something. It wasn’t until they were back in Garcia’s car that he spoke again.
‘We’re back to square one where links between victims are concerned. This screws up our “sex party” theory. George Slater probably never heard of Victoria Baker.’
Garcia ran both hands over his face and rubbed his eyes in the process. ‘I know.’
‘We have to find out where she was abducted from. Her place might give us some clues, but we won’t get a warrant until tomorrow.’
Garcia agreed. ‘We also have to contact her family in Canada and let them know.’