started walking back up to his house.
‘Mr Peterson,’ Hunter called.
‘Yes,’ he replied with irritation.
‘It’s a really nice day. Why don’t you spend a few hours outside with your daughter? Maybe play a few games. Take her out for some ice cream or donuts. Just enjoy the day together.’
The little girl was still staring at them from the second-floor window.
‘I told you, she’s got schoolwork to do.’
‘It’s Sunday. Don’t you think she deserves a break?’
‘Are you trying to tell me how to raise my daughter, Detective?’
‘Not at all. Just a suggestion so you don’t lose her. So she doesn’t grow up hating her parents like so many nowadays.’ Hunter waved goodbye at the little girl who replied with a bashful smile. ‘As you’ve said, she’s adorable.’ He turned his attention to Peterson once again. ‘Don’t take that for granted.’
Thirty-Nine
The address they were looking for was number 535 Ocean Boulevard in Santa Monica. Garcia decided to take the scenic route along the Pacific Coast Highway.
The PCH is where most American car commercials are filmed. The highway follows the Pacific coast from the sandy beaches of Southern California to the rugged coastline of the Pacific Northwest. Along the way, it passes through quaint coastal towns, numerous national parks and wildlife refuges.
With the sun high in the sky and the temperature now soaring to 95 degrees, Santa Monica Beach was jammed. If it were up to them, both detectives would just grab a cold beer at one of the many ocean front bars and lazily watch the day go by, but it was never up to them.
Her name was Rachel Blate, but to her clients she was known as Crystal. Hunter knew the renowned drug dealer would be going after whoever had killed Jenny with everything he had. He knew the streets better than Hunter. He had contacts under every dirty rock and inside every filthy hole. If D-King came up with anything, Hunter wanted to know.
As Garcia parked the car, Hunter quickly checked all the information they had on Rachel Blate.
‘Is this it? Is this everything we have on her?’ he asked as he studied the single-page document Garcia had given him.
‘Yeah, she’s clean, no prior convictions, no arrests. Her prints aren’t even in the database. A model citizen.’
Hunter screwed up his face in disappointment. That meant he couldn’t use a little police blackmail to persuade her to cooperate.
Both detectives were impressed by number 535. A glassy, twelve-floor apartment block that stood imposingly on Ocean Boulevard. Every apartment had its own balcony, every balcony at least twenty feet by fifteen. At the entrance lobby they were greeted by marble floors, leather sofas and a chandelier that belonged more in Buckingham Palace than in Santa Monica.
Rachel’s apartment was number 44C, but as they approached the building’s concierge, Garcia gently touched Hunter’s arm making a quick head movement towards the lift. An impressive-looking African American woman had just walked out of it. Her straight black hair fell matter-of-factly over her shoulders. She was wearing skintight shorts cut from a pair of ice-blue jeans, with a light yellow T-shirt tucked in at her narrow waist. Her figure was worthy of a
They waited as she obliviously walked past them and onto the street. It took them just a few strides to catch up with her.
‘Miss Blate?’ Hunter called now coming up to her side.
She stopped and turned to face both detectives. ‘Hello, do I know you?’ she said cheerfully.
Hunter quickly displayed his badge – Garcia did the same. ‘Can we have a few minutes of your time?’
‘Am I in some kind of trouble?’ she asked unconcerned.
‘Not at all. We actually wanna talk to you about one of your friends.’
‘And which one would that be?’
‘Jenny Farnborough.’
She threw them a quick look of assessment, her eyes resting on each detective for no more than a couple of seconds. ‘Don’t know who you’re talking about, sorry,’ she said facetiously.
‘Yes, you do.’ Hunter was in no mood to play games. ‘She worked for D-King, just like you.’ His stare was cold and firm.
‘D-King?’ She frowned and very slightly shook her head as if she had no idea who they were referring to.
‘Look, we’ve all had a long week and just like you, we’d rather be enjoying the sun than doing this. So the quicker we disperse with the bullshit the faster we can get back to doing whatever it is that we do. We were at the Vanguard Club on Friday night, you were sitting with him, so don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you, and as I’ve said, you’re in no trouble, we just need your help.’
Now she remembered where she’d seen them before. She also remembered finding the blue-eyed, muscular detective quite attractive. She removed her sunglasses and placed them on her head using it to hold her fringe back. She realized there was no point in trying to deny she knew D-King or Jenny. If they wanted to arrest her, they would’ve done so already.
‘OK, but I haven’t seen Jenny since she decided to quit. I’m not sure how much help I can be.’
‘Quit?’ Garcia’s baffled look giving away his surprise.
‘Yes, I think she decided to go back home.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘That’s what we were told.’
‘By D-King?’
Rachel took a deep breath and held it for a second or two. ‘Yes.’
Hunter knew why D-King had lied to Rachel and the other girls. They would’ve panicked if they found out Jenny had been kidnapped, tortured and killed. He was supposed to be their protector, their guardian as well as their boss. Hunter debated how much he was willing to reveal. If he told her what had really happened, he’d be the one starting the panic in D-King’s camp. He decided not to stir anything up – for now.
‘Have you ever seen this man?’ Hunter showed her a picture of George Slater.
Rachel analyzed it for a few seconds. ‘Umm . . . I’m not sure.’
‘Look again.’ Hunter was sure she had recognized him but on instinct she’d lied.
‘Maybe . . . in a club or party.’
‘Private party?’
‘Yeah, maybe one of the extreme parties if I’m not mistaken.’ She bit her bottom lip as if trying to recall something. ‘Yes, I’m pretty sure of it, he liked the extreme parties. I don’t know his name if that’s your next question.’
‘That’s not my next question,’ Hunter said with a quick shake of the head. ‘Extreme parties? What are those?’
‘That’s what we like to call them. Some people like to party, some people like to party hard and everyone has a fantasy, something that turns them on. Extreme parties are basically fantasy, fetish parties.’
‘Like what for example?’ Garcia looked more interested now.
Rachel faced him and took a step closer. ‘Anything that gets you excited, honey.’ She softly ran a finger over his left cheek. ‘Rubber clothing, PVC, bondage, pain . . . or maybe you just like it rough.’ She gave him a sexy wink. Garcia stepped away from her touch half blushing, half embarrassed.
‘I’m sorry to have to break up this beautiful moment, but what exactly goes on at these parties?’
