and waited for the printout to come through.
‘Voce ta de sacanagem!’ Garcia suddenly said after staring at the received fax for half a minute.
Hunter didn’t understand Portuguese but he knew that whatever it meant, it wasn’t good.
Fifty-One
Hunter stared at his partner and waited, but Garcia kept his eyes on the fax, still mumbling something in Portuguese. ‘What the hell is it?’ Hunter shouted impatiently.
Garcia extended his hand displaying a black and white picture of a woman. It took Hunter a few seconds to realize what he was looking at. ‘Is that Jenny Farnborough?’
Garcia shook his head. ‘No this is Vicki Baker.’
‘Who?
‘Victoria Baker, age twenty-four, works as a manageress for a gym called 24 Hour Fitness in Santa Monica Boulevard,’ Garcia read from the foot of the picture.
‘I know that gym,’ Hunter cut in.
‘Apparently she was supposed to have gone to Canada on the second of July.’
‘And did she?’
‘It doesn’t say.’
‘Who sent us this?’
‘Logan from the Missing Persons’ Department. We still have a flag up on anyone that looks like the computer-generated image we got from Doctor Winston remember?’
Hunter nodded.
Because the first victim hadn’t been positively identified yet all protocol measures were still in place and that included constant checks against new entries to the MUPU database.
‘When was she reported missing?’
Garcia checked the fax’s second page. ‘Two days ago.’
‘By who?’
Another check. ‘Joe Bowman, the head manager of the gym.’
Hunter grabbed the fax from Garcia’s hand and studied it for a minute. The resemblance was there, but then again attractive, tall blonds seemed to grow on trees in Los Angeles. Hunter could clearly see how easily Vicki Baker and Jenny Farnborough could both be matched to the original computer-generated image. On their rush to identify the first victim they’d simply assumed Jenny Farnborough was their girl.
‘When did Jenny go missing from the Vanguard Club?’ Hunter asked.
Garcia flipped through a few pieces of paper he’d taken from his top drawer. ‘On the first of July. Vicki went missing one day later.’
‘This girl might not have gone missing on the sixth. She might’ve taken the plane to Canada and gone missing there, or when she got back, we don’t know yet. Let’s call the gym and check if this Joe Bowman is on duty today. If he is we’ll be on our way. The head of Customs at LAX is an old buddy of mine. I’ll get him to check if she boarded the plane on the sixth.’
Garcia quickly went back to his computer and with just a few clicks he had the gym’s information in front of him. He dialed the number and sat back on his chair waiting impatiently for someone to pick it up at the other end. It took only three rings for Garcia to get an answer. The conversation was restricted to about five sentences.
‘He’s on now until eleven-thirty tonight,’ Garcia said as he replaced the receiver.
‘Let’s go, you drive. Let me just call Trevor first.’
Trevor Grizbeck was the head of Customs and Immigration for the Los Angeles International Airport – LAX. Hunter knew there was no way he’d get an airline to disclose passengers’ information without a warrant, and he didn’t have time for one. It was time to call in some favors.
The sun had already set, but the heat seemed almost as intense as in the afternoon. Hunter sat in silence and read Victoria Baker’s fax sheets over and over again, but it still looked too surreal. Just as they were arriving at the gym in Santa Monica his thoughts were disrupted by his cell phone.
‘Trevor. What have you got for me?’
‘Well, as you know I have no access to airline records, but I do have access to Immigration records. Just to be on the safe side I checked from the 1st to the 12th of July. Victoria Baker never cleared passport control.’
‘She never boarded the plane.’
‘It looks that way.’
‘Thanks, bud.’
‘Sure, man. Don’t be a stranger.’
With his badge in hand Hunter forced his way through the small crowd at the gym’s entrance lobby to reach the reception desk.
‘Is Joe Bowman the manager here?’ he asked even before one of the two receptionists had a chance to check his credentials.
‘Yes.’ The reply sounded a little shy.
‘We need to speak to him.’ His voice was demanding.
Both detectives watched as the blond receptionist quickly picked up the phone and dialed the manager’s direct line. A quick murmured conversation followed.
‘Trish, can you handle it out here by yourself for five minutes?’ the blond girl asked, putting the phone down and turning to the other receptionist, a short, red-haired girl with a handful of freckles under each ocean-blue eye.
‘Yeah, I’ll be alright,’ Trish replied with a slight Texan accent.
The blond receptionist pressed a button behind the counter and the light on one of the turnstiles went green. ‘Please come through, gentlemen,’ she said to both detectives before joining them on the other side. ‘Please follow me.’
The manager’s office was at the far end of the packed main gym floor. The receptionist knocked three times and as the door opened they were greeted by a striking-looking African American man, about two inches taller than Hunter and at least twenty pounds heavier, all of it muscle. He was wearing a black, skintight T-shirt that seemed to be two sizes smaller than he needed and his crew-cut hairstyle made him look like an army sergeant. He introduced himself as Joe Bowman.
‘This is about Vicki I presume,’ he said, showing both detectives into the room.
‘That’s correct,’ Hunter said as they occupied the two leather chairs facing an attractive black and white desk. Joe sat behind it.
Hunter studied the man behind the desk for a quick second. ‘You look familiar, have we met before?’ he asked, squinting as if searching his memory.
Bowman stared at Hunter for a moment. ‘I don’t think so, not that I can remember anyway.’
Hunter dismissed the thought after a few seconds with a quick shrug of his shoulders. ‘You were the one who reported Victoria Baker missing, is that right?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And why was that?’
Bowman looked up from his hands with a dubious smile. ‘Because she’s gone missing.’ He pronounced every word slower than normal.
Wise-ass, Hunter thought. ‘What I mean is why you? Are you her husband, boyfriend, lover?’
Bowman’s eyes moved to the receptionist who was still standing by the door. ‘That will be all, Carey. I’ll take it from here.’
In silence she stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.
His attention came back to the detectives. ‘I’m not her husband, boyfriend or lover. I’m married.’ He made a
