‘That’s right. Her mother said she’d received a few fan emails that’d scared her.’
‘Well, that won’t be easy, I’m afraid. The email application on her computer was never used,’ Doyle explained, ‘which means she didn’t download emails, she simply read them online. We checked the computer registry, and at least there she was smart. She never said “yes” when the operating system asked her if she wanted the computer to remember her password every time she logged onto her email online. Her Internet history was also automatically deleted every ten days.’
‘Her email password ain’t the same as her computer’s?’
A quick headshake.
‘How about this algorithm application you ran on her PC?’
‘It won’t work online. Internet security against email account attacks has gotten a lot tougher over the years. All the major email service providers lock you out for several hours, sometimes indefinitely if you try a certain number of incorrect passwords.’ Doyle shook his head again. ‘Also, if she didn’t keep these emails in her account, I mean, if she deleted them after she read them, which is probable since you said they scared her, then the chances of retrieving the full message is basically zero. Unless you find the email provider where the message originated from, the best you gonna get are fragments. And you’ll have to go straight to her provider — Autonet. We can’t do shit from here. You know what that means, right? Warrants and court orders and what have you. Plus, you can be searching for days, weeks. . who knows. . and still get zip.’
Hunter ran a hand over his face.
‘I have people going over the rest of the files on her hard drive now. I’ll let you know if we come across anything.’
Thirty-One
Whitney Myers stood still, staring at the computer screen and the audio lines as they vibrated like electrified worms. Cohen had just loaded the digital recording Gus had given him onto his computer. The once jumbled whisper she’d retrieved from Katia Kudrov’s answering machine was now as clear as daylight.
‘YOU TAKE MY BREATH AWAY. .’ Pause. ‘WELCOME HOME, KATIA. I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU. I GUESS IT’S FINALLY TIME WE MET.’
The recording was on an endless loop, playing through Cohen’s loudspeakers. After the fifth time, Myers finally tore her eyes away from the screen and hit the Esc key.
‘Gus said this is actually his voice, there’s no electronic device disguising it?’
Cohen nodded. ‘But he was clever. He used his own whisper to alter it. If he’s ever caught, we’ll never get a voice match. At least not with this recording.’
Myers stepped back from Cohen’s desk, lightly running two fingertips against her top lip. She always did that when she was thinking. She knew she had to play the recording to Leonid Kudrov when she met him at his house in two hours’ time. She had no doubt it would drive terror into an already petrified heart.
‘Do you still have my Dictaphone with all the sixty messages?’ she asked, returning to her desk and flipping through her notebook.
‘Yep, right here.’
‘OK, play the last message again.’ She paused. ‘Actually, just
‘Eight forty-two in the evening,’ Cohen replied automatically.
Myers’ eyebrows rose.
‘I listened to it so many times it’s etched on my brain,’ he explained.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Positive.’
Myers’ eyes returned to her notebook. ‘According to Katia’s father, he called his daughter from his cell phone at eight fifty-three that night. The call lasted four minutes and twelve seconds.’
‘She answered that call, didn’t she?’
Myers nodded.
‘But eleven minutes earlier the answering machine picked it up. Was she out?’
Myers flipped a page. ‘Nope, the building’s concierge said that she arrived at around eight o’clock. He took her suitcases up to the penthouse for her.’ Myers’ fingers returned to her upper lip for an instant. ‘Of course. The towel on the kitchen floor. Katia must’ve been in the shower.’ She quickly checked her notes again. ‘Shit! Remember I told you we have no CCTV footage from the cameras in her building because there was a power surge that blew the fuse box.’
‘Yep.’
‘Well, the cameras went down just before eight.’
Cohen cleared his throat as he leaned forward. ‘And we already know there’s no fucking way that was a coincidence.’
‘That means the kidnapper knew
Cohen’s whole expression changed. ‘So he made that last call from
‘It looks that way.’
‘Why? Why make the call if he was already there?’
‘I’m not sure. Fear factor? Sadism? It doesn’t matter.’
Cohen felt every hair on his body stand on end. ‘Oh my God.’
‘What?’
‘The background hissing noise that Gus picked up in the recording. At the studio he told me that it sounded like rain hitting a window far away, or maybe even a strong shower somewhere.’ Cohen’s eyes moved to Myers’. ‘The kidnapper was inside her bedroom when he made that call. He was watching her shower.’
Thirty-Two
The next morning Captain Blake was already waiting for Hunter in his office by the time he walked in at 7:51 a.m.
‘Carlos told me you identified the victim.’
Hunter nodded. ‘Her name is Laura Mitchell.’ He handed the captain a two-sheet report.
She scanned it and paused. ‘The killer stalked her from inside her own apartment?’ Her stare quickly bounced between both detectives.
‘That’s what it looks like, Captain,’ Hunter confirmed.
‘How did he get in? Any signs of forced entry?’
He quickly shook his head.
‘She could’ve let the killer inside herself,’ Garcia offered.
The captain nodded. ‘Which means that the killer could’ve used a false identity to sneak into the building and ring her doorbell, or maybe he was known to her, or he posed as a collector or buyer and made an appointment or something. But still, why hide behind a painting? It makes no sense.’
‘Exactly,’ Hunter agreed. ‘And that’s why I don’t think Laura opened the door to the killer and invited him in,
