The Night Stalker

body forward towards Andrew. Garcia did exactly the same. Both of them collided with Andrew at the same time, sending him thundering against the wall. He slammed head first into it with incredible force. The roles had completely reversed. Andrew was totally blinded by the explosion of light, and entirely disoriented by the heavy knock to his head. Just like Hunter moments earlier, Andrew swung his arm around in a desperate attempt to defend himself. But how do you defend yourself from opponents you can’t see?

Garcia immediately delivered a well-placed and powerful punch to Andrew’s solar plexus. Hunter followed it up with one to his jaw. Andrew’s head jolted backwards and hit the wall again with a dull crack.

He passed out immediately.

The last thing Hunter and Garcia saw just before the flare extinguished was Whitney Myers’ lifeless body lying on a pool of her own blood on the floor. Her throat slit the entire length of her neck.

One Hundred and Fifteen

Thirty-six hours later — USC University Hospital — Los Angeles.

Hunter knocked twice and pushed the door open. Captain Blake was sitting up in her adjustable bed. Its backrest inclined about forty-five degrees. Her face had been cleaned of all the dried blood, but it still looked black and blue and very battered. Her left eye, lips and nose were still swollen. She looked exhausted, but she certainly didn’t sound that way. Her good eye moved towards the door and widened in surprise at the sight of what Hunter and Garcia had brought with them.

‘Flowers and chocolate?’ she asked skeptically. ‘Are you guys getting soft on me? ’Cause two soft detectives is the last thing I need in my department.’

Hunter stepped into the room, and placed the flowers on the small table next to her bed. Garcia did the same with the chocolates.

‘You’re welcome, Captain,’ Hunter said. His bottom lip was also cut and swollen. His eyes carried only half of the sparkle they usually did.

‘I’m sorry about Whitney Myers,’ the captain said after an uneasy silence.

Hunter said nothing, but the sadness in his eyes intensified. He knew that Myers’ dedication and determination had led her to the killer’s clutches, and he could do little to save her. He felt guilty for not answering her call when he was in Healdsburg, and for not calling her back.

‘How did Andrew Harper get to her?’

‘She was at the airport the day I came back from Healdsburg,’ Hunter said. ‘And so was Andrew. He spotted her after making the call to me, followed her, and took her as she climbed into her car.’

‘How did he know who she was?’

‘He probably started following me after Carlos and I talked to him in his office. That same night Whitney and I met in a restaurant in Baldwin Hills. It wouldn’t have taken him long to connect the dots.’

‘And why was she at the airport?’

‘Because she knew I wasn’t telling her everything. She had contacts everywhere, even inside Parker Center.’

Captain Blake didn’t look surprised.

‘Through them she found out I was onto something. She guessed I knew about the kidnapper. And if I wasn’t prepared to share information, then she’d find out for herself. She was a very good detective.’ He looked away. ‘And a very kind person.’

‘So she decided to tail you?’

‘According to her partner, that was the initial idea, yes.’

The silence returned to the room for a moment longer.

‘The other woman?’ the captain eventually asked. ‘The kidnap victim.’

Hunter nodded. ‘Katia Kudrov. She’s the violinist concertmistress for the LA Philharmonic. She was the woman who Whitney was hired to find.’

The captain nodded. ‘How is she?’

‘Terrified, a little dehydrated and malnourished, but Andrew Harper never touched her. Physically she hasn’t been hurt.’ He paused for an instant. ‘Psychologically. . she’ll need help.’

‘Is he talking?’

Hunter tilted his head to one side. ‘The psychiatrists are making progress little by little. But this will be a long process. Understandably, Andrew’s mind is in a complete mess. We were right. He was kidnapping women who reminded him of his mother, but we were wrong in the assumption that sooner or later they did something to break his projection spell — and made him realize that they weren’t who he wanted them to be.’

‘On the contrary,’ Garcia took over. ‘They reminded him of her too much. That remembrance awoke a 20- year-old suppressed feeling that he probably didn’t even know it was there. . and it wasn’t love.’

‘Hate,’ Captain Blake guessed.

‘Anger,’ Hunter corrected her. ‘Violent anger. Subconsciously he blamed her for betraying his father. . destroying his family. He used the knowledge he gained through his interviews and the questions about true love to mimic what happened that day in his house. To punish his mother time and time again.’

‘How come he wasn’t killed by his father?’ the captain asked.

Hunter explained that Andrew’s father never intended to kill him in the first place. ‘Andrew saw everything that happened that day from the attic, and then hid there for three days. When he escaped the house, he hid in the back of a truck at the interstate gas station. By chance, the truck was destined for Los Angeles.’

‘He’s been here all this time?’

Garcia nodded and took over. ‘He slept in the ghettos in South Central and shined shoes in West Hollywood for money. At the age of fourteen he managed to get a job in a clockmaker’s and locksmith shop in South Gate. The shop was a family-owned business, run by a childless couple in their sixties — Ted and Louise Coleman. That was where he learned about time triggers, precision mechanisms, building complicated devices, and to pick locks. In fact, he became an expert. It was also where he adopted his new name and identity.’

‘Sonofabitch,’ the captain said, reaching for the glass of water on the side table.

‘He joined Contemporary Painters magazine as a runaround boy at the age of nineteen.’ Garcia carried on. ‘The magazine belongs to the DTP Corporation. They also own Art Today magazine and several others, together with the A & E TV network. He was very intelligent, and moved up the ranks fast.’

‘A great place to keep an eye out for any female painter or musician who reminded him of his mother,’ Hunter added.

‘And here’s the surprise fact,’ Garcia again. ‘The St Michael’s Hospice building. . he owns it.’

‘Owns it?’ The captain’s stare jumped from detective to detective.

Garcia nodded. ‘Bought it a year ago, eight years after a fire destroyed it.’ He shrugged. ‘What was left of the building was just rotting away. Nobody wanted it, least of all the old owners. He got the whole thing for two thousand bucks. The building was way too far out of town to be crawling with teenagers, drug addicts and drifters. A perfect isolated location. Nobody ever went up there. Few people even knew it existed.’

‘What I don’t get,’ the captain said, ‘is why he didn’t kill his victims at the hospice? Why take them somewhere else?’

‘Because no matter what, they still reminded him of his mother,’ Hunter said. ‘Despite his anger for what he considered her betrayal, his love for her was undeniable.’

‘And that’s why he created those trigger mechanisms,’ Garcia added. ‘So he didn’t have to be there when they died. A sort of detachment.’

‘Exactly,’ Hunter agreed.

‘He still could’ve done that at the hospice,’ Captain Blake pushed. ‘He could’ve locked them in a room and left them to their fate.’