by Chris Carter
Hunter moved on. At 9:49 p.m. Mr. Wang jumped into his pickup truck and left, leaving only Kelly’s car in the parking lot. At 10:26 p.m. Hunter slowed the footage down once again.
‘What the hell?’
He leaned closer to the screen and watched the events that unfolded in the next minute as his jaw dropped.
‘Sonofabitch.’
Sixty-Eight
In complete darkness she sat shivering, curled up into a tight ball. She felt lightheaded, nauseous and every muscle in her body ached with feverish intensity. Her throat scratched as if she’d swallowed a ball of barbed wire.
She had no real idea of how long she’d been locked up in that cell. She guessed a few days. There was no way she could be sure. The room had no windows and the weak light bulb inside the metal mesh box on the ceiling only came on for a few minutes at a time. The intervals were uneven. Sometimes four, sometimes five times a day. But the light always came on just before she was given food. It was like training a lab rat.
She was given four meals a day, slid to her on a plastic tray through a special hatch at the bottom of the cell’s heavy wooden door. The cell was small, ten paces long by eight wide, with bare brick walls, concrete floors, a metal-framed bed and a bucket on the corner, which was emptied once a day.
She moved her head and felt the room spin around again. The dizziness seemed to never go away. She wasn’t even sure if she was awake or asleep. It felt as if she was caught somewhere between the two states. The only thing she was sure of was that she was scared – really scared.
He watched her bring her hands to her face and wipe away the tears that never seemed to stop. He wondered how much more scared she’d be if he made a noise. If he made her realize that she wasn’t really alone. If she knew he was right there, hiding in the darkness, just three paces from her. How would she react if he extended his hand and touched her skin, her hair? How terrified would she be if he whispered something in her ear?
He smiled as he watched her shiver one more time. Maybe it was time she found out.
Sixty-Nine
Between pausing and fast-forwarding, Hunter spent another half an hour studying the CCTV camera footage from Kelly Jensen’s studio parking lot. There were three main sections that interested him. The first was timestamped between 10:26 and 10:31 p.m. The second from 11:07 to 11:09 p.m. And the last one from 11:11 to 11:14 p.m.
The drive from Hunter’s apartment in Huntingdon Park to Parker Center took him twenty-five minutes. He went straight into the IT Division, but at that time in the morning there was no one there except a new eager-to-impress recruit to the team. He was wearing a freshly ironed white shirt and a conservative gray tie. His matching suit jacket was resting on the back of his chair. No one in IT ever wore a shirt and tie, never mind a suit.
The young recruit told Hunter that Brian Doyle would probably come in late. He’d gone out celebrating the night before. The long-standing investigation he’d been personally involved in had finally come to an end. They’d successfully apprehended a serial pedophile after a sting operation that had lasted the whole day.
‘The guy they caught . . .’ the recruit told Hunter, ‘he’s married with two kids – one is ten, the other is twelve years old. Those are exactly the ages of the kids he used to groom online.’ He shook his head as if the entire world had lost its logic. ‘Is there anything I can help you with, Detective?’ the recruit asked, jerking his head towards the laptop under Hunter’s arm.
‘What’s your name, kid?’
‘Garry, sir.’ He offered his hand. ‘Garry Cameron.’
Hunter shook it. ‘I’m Robert, and if you call me sir one more time, I’ll arrest you for defamation.’
Cameron smiled and nodded.
‘I’m afraid I need to talk to Jack, Garry. I need him to run a few pieces of video footage through one of his super applications.’
Cameron’s smile widened. ‘Well, that’s my field of expertize – video and audio analyses. That’s the main reason I was transferred here.’
Hunter let out a surprised chuckle. ‘I’ll be damned. So I guess you’re just the man I need.’ He placed the laptop on Cameron’s desk and they both waited in silence while it booted up. Hunter brought up the video player application and queued up the pre-selected segments. ‘This is the original footage, taken from a private CCTV camera,’ he explained before pressing play.
Cameron put on his computer glasses and leaned forward. The footage started off with an empty parking lot, except for a candy white Trans-Am T-top with dark tinted rear windows. The picture quality wasn’t good, made worse by the lack of lighting.
‘Nice car,’ Cameron noted.
They watched for only a few seconds before a mysterious male figure approached the lot on foot from the right. He was tall, somewhere between six two and six four with a strong, football player’s physique. He was wearing dark clothing; shoes, trousers, gloves, skullcap and a jacket with its collar pulled up. The problem was: Mr. Wang’s camera was on the east side of the lot, facing west, and so was the stranger. So far he could only be seen from the back. He stopped by the driver’s door to the Trans-Am, reached inside his jacket and retrieved a long, flat piece of metal that resembled a school ruler. Like a professional car thief, the man slid the stick of metal down through the window slot and into the car door. In one quick movement he yanked it up. He tried the handle and the door opened as if he’d used a key.
‘You don’t look like a CATS, Detective,’ Cameron said, referring to the Commercial Auto Theft Section of the LAPD without diverting his attention from the screen.
‘I’m not.’
On the screen, the man bent down, put his hand inside the car and popped the hood.
Cameron frowned.
The man quickly rechecked the lot’s entrance – no one was coming. Without ever facing east he moved to the front of the car and lifted the hood before bending over the engine and reaching for something in the main block. There was no way they could see exactly what he was doing, but whatever it was, it only took him three seconds. He closed the hood and returned to the driver’s side. One more look around before opening the door and disappearing inside and into the back seat.
‘Strange,’ Cameron commented. ‘What’s this about?’
‘You’ll see.’
The video application jumped straight to the next section Hunter had queued up. Cameron checked the timestamp clock at the bottom right-hand corner of the screen and noticed that the footage had jumped forward thirty-six minutes.
‘I take it that our mysterious man is still inside the car?’ Cameron asked.
‘Never moved.’
They carried on watching. This time a slender brunette appeared, coming in from the same direction the man did earlier – Kelly Jensen. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She was wearing blue jeans, flat shoes and a faded brown leather jacket.
‘Oh shit,’ Cameron murmured, already guessing what was about to happen.
Kelly approached the car and searched her handbag for her car keys. Oblivious to the fact that someone was already inside waiting for her, she opened the door and got into the driver’s seat. The darkness, the position of the car, and the angle in which Mr. Wang’s camera was set, made it impossible for Hunter and Cameron to see through the windscreen. Zooming in on the picture didn’t help either.
Cameron pulled his glasses from his face and rubbed his eyes.
Nothing happened for the next two minutes. When the timestamp at the bottom of the screen read 11:11 p.m. the passenger’s door opened and the man stepped out of the car. He paused and looked around slowly, checking he was still alone. Satisfied, he made his way to the other side, opened the driver’s door and retrieved the keys from the ignition before opening the trunk. As if lifting nothing heavier than a shopping bag, he picked Kelly up with both arms. She was knocked out cold, but it was easy to tell she was still alive.
The man carefully placed her in the trunk and stood still for a long while, looking down at her
as if admiring her. He finally returned to the front of the car, opened the hood and tweaked something in the engine block again. Moments later he got into the driver’s seat and took off.
‘Shit,’ Cameron said, looking at Hunter, his complexion paler than minutes ago. ‘What do you need me to do?’
‘I’ve looked at this footage several times,’ Hunter said. ‘That guy doesn’t face the camera once, but he looks around a few times, checking his ground.’
Cameron nodded. ‘Yeah, I noticed that.’
‘OK, so I was wondering – if we slowed this thing down completely, and then moved it frame by frame, we might be lucky enough to get at least a partial face shot in there somewhere.’
‘It’s possible,’ Cameron said, checking his watch. ‘I can start working on it right away. I’ll have to transfer the footage to my computer and then analyze it again using professional software, but it shouldn’t take me more than an hour, two at the most.’
Hunter placed a card on the desk. ‘Call me the moment you get anything.’
As he turned to leave, Cameron stopped him.
‘Detective, is there a chance she’s still alive?’
Hunter didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.
Seventy
‘Sonofabitch!’
Garcia exclaimed as he watched a copy of the footage Hunter had left with Cameron in ITD. The timestamp on the screen showed that Kelly Jensen had been taken on the 24th February. Their suspicion was that Laura Mitchell, the first victim, had been abducted between the 2nd and the 5th of March.
‘So he abducts Kelly first, but murders her second,’ Garcia said.
Hunter nodded.
‘Why?’
‘If we’re right about the killer projecting the image of the person he wanted them to be onto his victims, then it’s just a matter of time before they do or say something that’d break that spell. Something that’d make him see them for who they really are.’
‘Laura broke the spell first.’
‘It looks that way, yes.’
Garcia returned his attention to the footage Hunter had retrieved from Mr. Wang’s shop. ‘Do we have a facial shot?’
‘No yet, but ITD are working on it.’
Garcia’s eyes returned to his computer screen and the footage. ‘You were right when you said that we were dealing with someone who is patient.’
‘Not only patient,’ Hunter replied. ‘He’s calm, collected and confident. He staked out Kelly’s studio location for several nights no doubt, before making his move. And when he did, he was precise. No time wasted, no struggle, no chance for her to react. This guy is different, Carlos. He takes his victims from places where they are supposed to feel safe; their homes . . . their work studios . . . their cars . . .’
Garcia nodded. ‘Judging from that footage, what would you say he is . . . ? Six two, six three . . . ? Weighs around two hundred pounds . . . ?’
‘That sounds about right. And that is consistent with the perpetrator’s height theory from the skullcap fibers retrieved from the brick wall in Laura’s studio. I’ve called Forensics and told them to pick Kelly’s Trans-Am up from Santa Monica and go through every inch of that cockpit and boot.’
Garcia watched the footage one more time in silence.
Hunter had also gotten in touch with the bureaus’ Traffic Divisions. The killer had driven Kelly’s car out of her studio parking lot and onto Los Angeles’ streets, and there were thousands of traffic and CCTV cameras spread across town. Kelly’s Trans-Am was an easy car to spot, so the killer would’ve wanted to swap vehicles as soon as possible. He probably had a van waiting and ready to go someplace close, but he was clever, he didn’t just dump her car and leave. A classic Trans-Am abandoned on a side street somewhere would’ve raised too many eyebrows. It would’ve alerted the police to start looking for Kelly almost immediately. The killer also knew not to return her car to the studio’s parking lot. From his surveillance, he would’ve known that Kelly never left it there overnight. He wouldn’t want to risk one of the shop owners noticing it and calling the cops. Instead, he’d driven it back to Santa Monica and parked it in the same spot she always did – right in front of her apartment block. Rule one of being a criminal: raise as little suspicion as possible. This guy seemed to have written that rule.
Hunter was hoping that a traffic camera somewhere had picked up some of that journey. It was a long shot, but right now, any shot was worth taking.
‘Anything from Operations on any stitched victims? Anything anywhere in the country?’ Garcia asked.
Hunter had asked the Office of Operations to start a nationwide search – any deaths where a brunette female victim had been found with stitches to her mouth, sexual organ, or both. If the killer was really transferring his feelings and projecting the image of the person he once loved onto his victims, there was a good chance that that person had died in a similar way.
‘Nothing so far.’
‘How far back are we searching?’
‘Twenty-five years.’
‘Really? That long ago?’
Hunter leaned against his desk. ‘We might as well cover all angles.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What if we’re right about the love theory, but the person the victims remind our killer of isn’t an ex-wife, or girlfriend, or even someone he’s been infatuated with all his life. What if it’s someone else? Someone he also loved. Someone he’d never hurt no matter what?’
Garcia thought about it for a brief moment. ‘His mother?’
Hunter nodded. ‘It’s a possibility. Either his mother or a guardian – like an aunt, an older sister or cousin or something.’ Hunter paused and reached for a folder on his desk. ‘Have you ever heard of Katia Kudrov?’
Garcia frowned and shook his head at the same time. ‘Who’s she?’
Hunter pulled a portrait out of an envelope.
Garcia’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Holy shit. She’s almost the spitting image of Laura and Kelly. Who the hell is she?’
Hunter took his time telling Garcia everything that had happened since he met Whitney Myers.
‘This is a copy of Whitney’s investigation file. She’s covered every angle. She even has her own forensic specialist.’
‘And . . . ?’ Garcia started flipping through the pages.
‘Nothing substantial. The fingerprints found belonged to Katia herself, her father or the person she was seeing at the time.’
Garcia’s eyebrows arched.
‘He’s not a suspect. He wasn’t even in the country at the time of the abduction. It’s all there, have a look through later.’
‘So her father never filed a Missing Persons report?’
Hunter shook his head. ‘Not officially. That’s why she wasn’t in any of the lists MP sent us. Last night was the first I ever heard of her.’
‘Do you think our killer has her?’
‘I’m not sure. Sometimes I think my mind is chasing ghosts.’
‘What kinda ghosts?’
Hunter shrugged and started picking at the scab that had formed on the cut above his eyebrow.
‘I think there are several similarities in the way Katia, Laura and Kelly were abducted. But then again, there are only so many ways a person can be abducted. That’s why I’m worried about wasting time and chasing a connection that might not even be there. As Whitney said, officially Katia Kudrov isn’t even a Missing Persons case, she was never reported.’ He picked at the scab too hard and a tiny blob of blood started to form. Hunter wiped it away with the heel of his hand. ‘Our research team is already looking into the background of Laura and Kelly, searching for any more connections other than looks and profession. I’ve asked them to include Katia in that search.’
Hunter’s cell phone rang and he fumbled for it in his jacket pocket. ‘Detective Hunter.’
‘Detective, it’s Garry Cameron from ITD.’
‘Garry . . . tell me you got something.’ His eyes darted towards Garcia
expectantly.
‘Sorry, Detective, no facial image whatsoever,’ Garry sounded defeated. ‘I went through every single frame of the footage you gave me, enhancing them every way I could. The guy never gets himself into a revealing angle.’ A quick pause. ‘In a couple of frames there’s a flash of skin but that’s all. All I can tell you other that what you’ve already seen is that he’s Caucasian. I’m really sorry, Detective.’
Hunter disconnected and closed his eyes. He needed some sort of break in this investigation. Four people were dead. James Smith was still missing after that bizarre phone call, and if Katia Kudrov had been taken by the same person who took Laura and Kelly, she was running out of time fast.
Seventy-One
Like a contagious disease, Hunter’s bad luck seemed to spread throughout every aspect of the investigation. The documentaries he and Garcia got from the A & E TV network revealed nothing. Bryan Coleman was right about the Canvas Beauty production: it looked low budget right from the starting credits. Laura Mitchell and Kelly Jensen did appear in it, but for no longer than a few minutes each. They mainly spoke about how living in the West Coast had influenced the way in which they painted.
As Coleman had said, the majority of the piece concentrated on Martina Greene, the daughter of the old A & E TV regional director. The whole thing played more like an advertisement than anything else. Besides Martina, Laura and Kelly, only two other female painters appeared in the documentary – one of them, just like Martina, was naturally blonde. The other one was much older – in her fifties. Hunter checked with both of them, neither had seen nor spoken to Laura or Kelly since. Neither of them recognized James Smith from the picture Hunter showed them either.
Hunter’s team was checking the background of every single person whose name was on the Canvas Beauty documentary credits list. So far, everyone had checked out, but the list was long.
The other three documentaries Hunter and Garcia had obtained from the A & E TV network featured several painters from all over the country – none of them brunette females in their thirties.