remained. There were scratch marks all around her mouth. Hunter could tell that Jessica herself had made them in blind panic, as she desperately clawed at the stitches with whatever was left of her nails. How much she’d suffered, no one could even begin to imagine.
‘We were right,’ the doctor broke the silence. Her voice was throaty. ‘The killer burned her from the inside.’
Garcia shook off a shiver. ‘How?’
‘Using exactly what we thought he’d used. He inserted a signal flare inside her.’
Garcia closed his eyes and took a step back. Last night, it had been the faint smell of burned human flesh inside the old depot that had made him sick to his stomach. It was one of those smells you never forget. And Garcia had never forgotten it.
‘Well, not exactly a signal flare,’ the doctor corrected herself, ‘but a variation of one.’ She indicated the long counter behind her where a metal tube had been placed inside a metal tray. The tube was five inches long by half an inch in diameter. ‘This is the aluminum tube that was placed inside her.’
Hunter moved closer to take a better look. The tube was sealed at one of its ends. No one said anything, so Doctor Hove moved on.
‘Signal — or warning — flares are the most common type of flares out there. They’re also quite easy to obtain. You’ll find them in any boat at the marina or even in road safety kits, which can be easily purchased from pretty much anywhere. But they aren’t the only type of flares you can get. .’ she paused and allowed her eyes to return to the aluminum tube inside the tray, ‘. . or create yourself.’
‘Heat flares,’ Hunter said.
The doctor nodded. ‘Precisely. Unlike signal flares, their main purpose isn’t to burn bright and produce a warning signal. Their purpose is just to burn
‘How long did that burn for?’ Hunter asked.
The doctor shrugged. ‘Depends on what chemicals were used and how much of each. This is going up to the lab straight after here. But the killer wouldn’t have needed much at all. Heat flares burn at ridiculously intense heat. Just a few seconds of direct contact would be enough to completely carbonize human flesh.’ She paused and slowly rubbed her face. ‘The damage that that fan-out knife caused to the second victim. .’ she shook her head, ‘that’s cotton candy compared to what we have here.’
Garcia drew a deep breath and shifted his weight from foot to foot.
Doctor Hove turned the tube over and showed them a small click button at its sealed-off base. ‘Same sensitive impact-activated trigger mechanism. When her feet touched the ground, this thing clicked and produced a tiny spark. Enough to ignite the chemicals inside the tube. Similar to an oven lighter, really.’
‘How can a fire ignite and keep on burning inside a human body?’ Garcia asked. ‘Doesn’t it need oxygen?’
‘The same way a flare ignites and burns underwater,’ Hunter said. ‘It uses an oxidizing agent, which directly feeds the fire with oxygen atoms. Underwater flares carry a higher oxidizer mixture, so even in an environment with no oxygen, the fire never dies.’
Garcia looked at Hunter as if he were from outer space.
Doctor Hove nodded again. ‘The higher the oxidizer mixture, the stronger the initial deflagration.’
Hunter hadn’t thought of that.
‘And in English that is. .?’ Garcia asked.
‘When the initializing spark hits the chemicals, it produces an. . impact, so to speak. That impact causes the whole thing to ignite at once, but not to explode. That uniform ignition is a deflagration — a combustion a few steps short of an explosion. Deflagration creates a bubble of super-heated gas. In this case, that bubble would’ve shot out the top of the flare canister like a bullet a millisecond before the fire. That bubble had to expand until it lost strength.’ Doctor Hove closed the fingers of her right hand into a fist and then reopened them slowly, creating a bubble-growing illusion. ‘It wouldn’t have propagated much, probably only millimeters, but while it was expanding, whatever it touched, it completely vaporized it.’
Garcia felt his stomach start to churn again.
‘The pain she must’ve suffered is. . indescribable,’ the doctor confirmed. ‘Most fire victims die from smoke inhalation, not from the injuries sustained. Basically, their lungs collapse because they can’t process the smoke and they suffocate — sometimes even before they feel any pain at all from their scorched flesh. But that’s not the case here. There was no smoke. She felt every last pinprick of pain that came to her.’ She placed the metal tube down and let go of a deep breath. ‘As you know, the second victim was severely mutilated from inside. She suffered a lot, but that mutilation caused intense loss of blood. We all know that when a human being loses a certain amount of blood, the body simply shuts down, like going into hibernation or being anesthetized. The person starts to feel cold and tired, the pain disappears and they fall asleep before dying.’ She ran her hand over her mouth. ‘But not if you’re burned. The blood loss is minimal. There’s no hibernation or anesthetized effect. There’s only grotesque pain.’
Eighty
Doctor Hove pointed to a clear plastic bag on the metal counter behind her. Its contents seemed to be a small gooey mass of soft tar.
‘That’s all that was left of her entire reproductive system. It’s been scorched beyond any recognition by heat and fire. Even
Not a word from Hunter or Garcia. The doctor carried on.
‘Her uterus, ovaries, and bladder exploded inside her abdominal cavity. Death came from a series of major organ failures, but that would’ve taken some time. During that time, she felt every ounce of pain her body could’ve taken. Until it could take no more.’
Garcia’s eyes kept going back to the plastic bag with the blackened contents.
‘Was she drugged?’ Hunter asked.
‘Without a doubt, but toxicology results will take a couple of days. My guess is that the killer used Estazolam again.’
‘Any signs of malnutrition or dehydration?’
Doctor Hove shook her head. ‘None. And just like the previous victim, I won’t be able to tell if she was sexually assaulted or not.’
By the time Hunter and Garcia made it back to Parker Center, their research team had compiled a three-page report on Jessica Black.
Born in South Los Angeles, she had turned thirty less than a month ago. The report went on to explain about her poor childhood, how she lost her mother when she was only nine, and about her fascination with acoustic guitars because of an old blues guitar man she saw in the park when she was a child. It also explained about her rise to fame once her videos were posted onto YouTube. Her concerts were sold out weeks in advance. She and her boyfriend, Mark Stratton, who was also a guitarist, but with a metal band called Dust, shared an apartment in Melrose.
Hunter tried the apartment phone number — no answer. He tried Mark’s cell phone — straight to his voicemail. He didn’t leave a message.
Hunter and Garcia made it to Melrose in forty-five minutes. Jessica and Mark’s apartment was on the top floor of a private condo surrounded by a forest of California Bay trees in North Kings Road. The building’s concierge, Scott, was a tall and reedy man in his late-twenties with a shaved head and a trendy goatee. He said that he hadn’t seen Jessica for a few days. Five to be exact.
‘How about Miss Black’s partner?’ Garcia asked.
‘Mark? He’s been away for. . four days now,’ Scott replied. ‘His band, Dust, is just about to release their new album, so they hit the road for a bunch of pre-tour gigs before the real tour begins.’
‘Do you know when he’s supposed to be back?’
