Hunter nodded slowly. That was one task they both could do without.
‘I’ll do it tonight,’ Hunter said.
As Garcia parked his car back by the RHD building Hunter wondered if he looked as tired and defeated as his partner did.
‘I’ll talk to Captain Bolter about the warrant and hopefully we’ll have it first thing tomorrow morning,’ Hunter said. ‘I’ll meet you here at around ten-thirty, first I’ll try and get another list of patients from one more hospital.’
Garcia rested his head against the headrest and took a deep breath.
‘Go home, rookie,’ Hunter said stealing a peek at his watch. ‘It’s not even nine o’clock yet. Spend the night with your wife. You need it and so does she. There’s nothing more for us to do tonight.’
There was always something to do in the office, but Hunter was right. There was nothing else they could accomplish tonight. Garcia thought of what had happened the night before with Anna and he could do with being home before she’d gone to bed at least once this week. They’d been working on casino time for weeks, never knowing what time it was. Even a tiny break would be welcome.
‘Yeah, Anna will appreciate me being home tonight.’
‘That’s right,’ Hunter agreed. ‘Get her some flowers on the way home. Not some cheap bouquet, something nice. Remember, buying somebody a present indicates your knowledge of that somebody’s personality, so get her something that you know she’ll like,’ he said with a reassuring smile.
Fifty-Three
Garcia took Hunter’s advice and dropped by Markey’s, a small convenience store on North Rampant Boulevard. It stocked just about everything, from flowers to booze, and their meatball sandwich and freshly brewed coffee weren’t bad either. Garcia had stopped there plenty of times back when he used to be a detective for the LAPD. It was a small detour from his way home, but he was sure Anna would appreciate his effort.
The tall, very attractive blond behind the counter greeted Garcia with a wide smile showing beautifully formed teeth. Garcia smiled back and ran his hand through his hair in an attempt to look a little more presentable.
Garcia decided to take a nice bottle of red wine home as well as the flowers. It’d been some time since he and Anna shared a bottle and she loved a nice bottle of Rioja. The flowers were displayed right at the store entrance, but Garcia ignored them for the moment.
‘Excuse me, where do you keep your bottles of wine?’
‘Right at the back,’ the blond girl replied with a new smile.
Their selection wasn’t exactly impressive, but then again Garcia wasn’t exactly a connoisseur. He chose a bottle by price. The more it costs, the better it should taste, he thought. He went back to where the flowers were and chose a nicely arranged bouquet of red roses.
‘I guess this will be all,’ he said placing everything on the counter.
‘That will be 40.95 please!’
Garcia handed her three twenty-dollar bills.
‘She’s a very lucky lady,’ the blond girl said, handing back his change.
‘Excuse me!’
‘The lady those flowers are for . . . very lucky lady.’ She smiled again and Garcia noticed how young and pretty she was.
‘Oh! Thank you,’ he blushed.
‘Do you live around here?’
‘Umm . . . no, I just needed to get a few things. This is on my way home,’ he lied.
‘Oh . . . that’s a pity, but maybe you can stop back here again some time?’
Garcia had no reply but a timid smile.
Outside, as he approached his car, Garcia couldn’t believe the store attendant had come on to him. That hadn’t happened in a very long time.
Other than a brand-new-looking Chevy van there was no other car on the parking lot. He opened his passenger door and carefully placed the roses on the seat. His thoughts going back to the day’s developments. He still found it hard to come to terms with how alike Jenny Farnborough and Victoria Baker looked. Garcia didn’t believe in coincidences, but he also didn’t believe that both women going missing at the same time had been planned. This killer didn’t keep his victims for long. Once they were abducted, they would turn up tortured and dead within a few days. Vicki Baker had been the victim. Jenny Farnborough had probably just gone missing, he thought.
Suddenly Garcia remembered they still had a police tail on D-King. With the events of the past few hours happening so fast he’d completely forgotten about it. He’d have to call them off as there was no need for them now. He grabbed his cell phone and searched its address book for the correct number. He’d been so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the presence behind him. The reflection of the dark figure against his shiny car came too late. Before Garcia had a chance to turn around and face his attacker he felt a sharp prick against the right side of his neck.
The drug reacted almost instantly. Garcia’s vision blurred and he felt his knees buckle. He dropped his cell phone and heard it smash as it hit the ground. He tried holding on to the car door for balance but it was all too late, the stranger was already dragging him to the nearby van.
Fifty-Four
Jerome had one more stop, one more person to see before he went back home to face another nightmarish night. D-King had given him one job and one job only – find the people who’d taken Jenny.
He’d seen many people die in many different ways, a good number of them by his own hands and it had never bothered him. Their dying faces had never lingered in his memory, but the scenes from the DVD he’d watched inside D-King’s limo had never left him. He found it hard to sleep, to eat. He missed her. Jenny had been his favorite girl. She was always smiling, always positive about everything. No matter how bad any situation might’ve looked, she’d always find the good, the funny side to it.
Jerome had been at it for almost two weeks. He’d called favors from every dirty underground contact he had on the streets. All information leading to another scumbag. The newest one on his list was a low-life junkie named Daryl.
The web of filth that surrounded the snuff-movie business was weaved tight. No one seemed to know anything, or if anyone did they weren’t talking. The information Jerome was given was that Daryl wasn’t involved with snuff movies, but he might’ve come across something that could give him a lead.
Daryl lived on the streets, sleeping in any hole that would offer him a shelter for the night. Tonight he was sharing the luxury ruins of a semi-demolished building in South Los Angeles with a few other homeless junkies. All Jerome had to do was find him.
He’d been waiting patiently, observing the building from a safe distance. He’d been given a good enough description of Daryl, but it seemed that everyone around there looked pretty much the same. Jerome’s advantage was that Daryl was supposed to be six-foot four and that would make him an easy target to spot.
It wasn’t until just past one in the morning when Jerome noticed a tall, awkward figure crossing the street
