Just like the crime-scene photos showed, the floor was littered with dirty rags, used condoms and discarded syringes. Hunter moved inside, taking short steps, carefully checking the floor before each one. The temperature in the room seemed to be at least five degrees higher than outside, and he felt sweat trickling down the small of his back. As he approached the stainless steel counter, the buzzing noise coming from the flies got louder.
Despite the flies, the nauseating smell and the melting heat, Hunter took his time. He knew the Forensics team had done the best job they could, but crime scenes could offer a lot more than simple physical evidence. And Hunter had a gift when it came to understanding them.
He carefully circled the metal counter for the fifth time. The main question swimming around in his mind was whether the victim had died in that room, or whether the butcher’s shop had been nothing more than a simple dumping ground.
Hunter decided to take the victim’s place.
He hopped onto the metal counter before lying down in the exact position the victim had been found and switching off his flashlight. He kept absolutely still, allowing the sounds, the smell, the heat, and the darkness of the room to envelop him. His shirt was clinging to his body, wet with sweat. From the photographs, he remembered the look in her eyes, the horror expression frozen on her face.
He switched on his flashlight but remained in the same position, his eyes taking in the graffiti that adorned the entire ceiling.
A moment later, something caught his eye. He squinted and sat up. His gaze locked onto the ceiling directly above the metal counter. The realization came in three seconds flat and his eyes widened.
‘Oh Jesus!’
Eight
Katia Kudrov stepped out of her bathtub and wrapped a fluffy white towel around her shoulder-length black hair. Scented candles illuminated her luxurious bathroom in the penthouse of an exclusive apartment block in West Hollywood. The candles helped her relax. And tonight she wanted nothing more than to unwind.
Katia had just finished her first American tour as the principal violinist concertmistress with the Los Angeles Philharmonic. Sixty-five concerts in as many cities in seventy days. The tour had been a tremendous success, but the grueling schedule had left her exhausted. She was looking forward to a well-deserved break.
Music found its way into Katia’s life at a very early age, when she was only four. She remembered vividly sitting on her grandfather’s lap while he tried to rock her to sleep to the sound of Tchaikovsky’s
Katia stepped out of the bathroom, paused in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, and studied her reflection. Her features were nearly perfect — large brown eyes, a small nose, high cheekbones and full lips that framed a faultless smile. At thirty, she still had the body of a high-school cheerleader. She checked her profile, sucking her stomach in for several seconds before deciding that she’d gained a small potbelly. Probably from all the junk food she ate at the many cocktail parties she’d had to attend during the tour. Katia shook her head in disapproval.
‘Back on the diet and in the gym from tomorrow,’ she whispered to herself, reaching for her pink bathrobe.
The cordless phone on her bedside table rang and she looked at it dubiously. Not many people had her home number.
‘Hello,’ she finally answered after the fifth ring, and could swear she heard a second click on the line, as if someone had picked up the extension in her study, living room or kitchen.
‘How’s my favorite superstar?’
Katia smiled. ‘Hi Dad.’
‘Hi there, baby. So how was the tour?’
‘Fantastic, but extremely exhausting.’
‘I bet. I read the reviews. Everyone loves you.’
Katia smiled. ‘I’m so looking forward to two weeks of no rehearsals, no concerts, and certainly no parties.’ She made her way out of her bedroom and onto the mezzanine that overlooked her spacious living room.
‘But you have some time for your old man, right?’
‘I always have time for you when I’m not touring, Dad. You’re the one who’s always so busy, remember?’ she challenged.
He chuckled. ‘OK, OK, don’t rub it in. I’ll tell you what. I can tell you’re tired by your voice, how about you have an early night and we catch up over lunch tomorrow?’
Katia hesitated. ‘What are we talking about here, Dad? One of your quick “I gotta go, let’s grab a sandwich” deals, or a proper sit-down, three-course, no-cells-allowed lunch?’
Leonid Kudrov was one of the most famous film producers in the USA. His lunch engagements usually never lasted more than thirty minutes, which Katia knew well.
There was a small pause and this time Katia was sure she heard a click on the line. ‘Dad, are you still there?’
‘I’m here, baby. And I’ll take option number two, please.’
‘I mean it, Dad. If we’re having a proper lunch, there’ll be no phone calls, and you’re not rushing away after half an hour.’
‘No cells, I promise. I’ll clear my afternoon schedule. And you can pick the restaurant.’
Katia’s smile was more animated this time. ‘OK. How about we meet at Mastro’s Steak House in Beverly Hills at one o’clock?’
‘Great choice,’ her father agreed. ‘I’ll make the reservation.’
‘And you won’t be late, will you, Dad?’
‘Of course not, honey. You’re my superstar, remember? Look, I gotta go. An important call just came in.’
Katia shook her head. ‘What a surprise.’
‘Have a good sleep, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘See you tomorrow, Dad.’ She rang off and placed the receiver in her bathrobe pocket.
Taking the stairs down to the living room, Katia made her way into the kitchen. She felt like having a glass of wine, something to relax her even more. She selected a bottle of Sancerre from the fridge. As she fumbled inside one of the worktop drawers for the corkscrew, the phone in her pocket rang again.
‘Hello?’
‘How’s my favorite superstar?’
Katia frowned.
Nine
‘Oh please, tell me you’re not cancelling on me already, Dad?’ Katia wasn’t impressed.
‘Dad?’
