person.’
Mollie watched him walk away before returning to the diner.
‘You can find yourself another job, you little bitch,’ Donna Higgins told her as soon as she walked through the back door into the kitchen.
‘What? Why?’
‘Who told you you could take a break when I have a packed floor in there?’
‘It was only a three-minute break.’
‘I don’t give a shit. You took a break when you weren’t supposed to and you stole food.’
The waitress’s jaw dropped. ‘I didn’t steal any food.’
‘Oh no? How about the cheeseburger and fries and the bottle of milk you took from the fridge?’
Her face tightened. ‘I was gonna pay for that.’
‘Of course you gonna pay for that. That’s why you’re getting no wages for today.’
‘What?’ She could feel panic starting to take over. ‘Please, Mrs. Higgins, I’m very sorry. I shouldn’t have taken the food and I’ll pay for it. I’ll work extra hours if you like. I really need the money for my rent.’
‘Oh poor you.’ Donna Higgins made a silly face. ‘You should’ve thought of that before stealing from me. Now get your stuff and get the hell outta my restaurant.’
He’d been sitting at the same table by the front window of the small diner for over eight hours. His deep-set eyes checking the faces of every passenger who boarded or stepped off any bus that stopped directly opposite the diner entrance.
He ordered another coffee and checked his watch. Three minutes until the next bus was due to arrive, enough time for a bathroom break. He’d been following the same routine for the past few days – arriving at around noon and leaving only when the diner closed at eleven o’clock but so far he’d had no luck.
He splashed some cold water on his face and ran the tip of his right index finger over the ugly scar on his forehead. ‘It won’t be long now,’ he whispered to his reflection.
The bus was just driving away when he stepped out of the bathroom. It had come at least a full minute ahead of its scheduled time. He cursed himself and ran to the front of the diner, his eyes frantically searching, but most passengers had already scattered away.
The brunette in a red and white waitress uniform had to run, but she made it to the bus stop just as the bus was ready to leave. Taking a seat by one of the front windows, she buried her face in her hands and wondered what excuse she could give her landlord.
The man in the diner never saw her.
Fifty-Nine
The smell of burned flesh was still just as strong as the night before, and it made both detectives gag as they re-entered the house in Malibu. Garcia chewed on two anti-acid tablets before cupping his hands over his nose and mouth. His stomach retched as they approached the living room, and he stopped by the door. Bending over, he held onto his knees, concentrating hard not to be sick again.
‘Why don’t you wait here?’ Hunter suggested, pulling a pair of latex gloves over his hands. ‘I’ll check the fireplace.’
‘That sounds like a plan,’ Garcia replied, exhaling a long breath.
Pulling the collar of his shirt up like a mask to cover his nose and mouth, Hunter approached the room’s south wall and the fireplace. Fingerprint powder was everywhere. The armchair Amanda Reilly had been tied to had been taken away for further forensic examination. The once-beautiful living room now felt like a torture chamber, and it made the hairs on the back of Hunter’s neck prickle. He took a deep breath and moved the focus of his flashlight onto the large fireplace. It was decorated with several figurines, four color-coordinated vases and two candleholders, but Hunter’s attention was on the two silver-plated picture frames. One at each end of the mantelpiece. The frames themselves looked pretty common, probably standard issue in any department store. Hunter first checked the one at the far right. There was a gap between the frame and the wall of about eight inches, enough for him to check the back without having to pick it up – nothing out of the ordinary. He checked the second frame, and again found nothing. Finally, he picked them both up.
The photographs weren’t of Dan Tyler or his wife. The first one he examined showed a woman with a pretty smile sitting comfortably on a black leather sofa. A glass of red wine in her right hand. She was attractive in a high-maintenance way; short blond hair, way too much makeup and enigmatic baby-blue eyes. There was something arrogant about her. The second photograph was of a man leaning casually against a white wall. Slender, with neatly trimmed fair hair and unexpressive hazel eyes, he was dressed in a light green T-shirt and faded blue jeans. At first look, there was nothing extraordinary about any of those two characters. But who were they?
‘Everything OK in there?’ Garcia called from the door, startling Hunter.
‘Yeah, yeah. Gimme a minute.’
Turning one of the frames over, Hunter slowly lifted the four security clips that held its back in place. All of a sudden he felt cold. As if someone had opened a window in the room, allowing a chilling draft in. He looked up, his eyes and flashlight searching the room – nothing but the putrid smell of death.
‘Carlos, are you still out there,’ he called firmly.
‘Yeah, what’s up?’ He coughed a couple of times before poking his head through the door.
‘Nothing. Just keep an eye out.’
Something in Hunter’s voice worried Garcia and his hand instinctively moved towards his gun. He pointed his flashlight down the eerie corridor and listened attentively for a long moment – nothing.
Hunter returned his attention to the picture frame. Carefully, he pulled the back cover of the first one apart. As it came unattached, his eyes rested on the underside of the photograph.
‘Oh fuck!’
Hunter closed his eyes for a moment as adrenalin rushed through him.
He put the first frame down and quickly reached for the second one and repeated the process of lifting the security clips. Even though he was certain of what he’d find, Hunter held his breath as he slowly pulled the back cover apart.
‘Sonofabitch.’
‘Everything alright in there, Robert?’ Garcia called, concerned. ‘Have you found the pictures?’
Hunter slowly searched the dark room again. A luxurious room, now forever tainted with evil. The sickening smell was starting to burn at his nostrils and cause havoc in his stomach. He needed to get out of there.
‘Did you find anything?’ Garcia asked as Hunter stepped out of the room.
‘Yeah, I’ll show you outside,’ Hunter replied, pulling his shirt from over his nose and mouth. ‘I need to get some fresh air.’
‘Amen to that.’
Outside, Hunter faced Garcia. ‘I found these.’ He handed his partner both photographs. ‘Those are the photos that were in the picture frames Dan Tyler said shouldn’t be here.’
Garcia studied them carefully for a moment. ‘Who are they?’ He shook his head.
Hunter took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Take a look at the back.’
Garcia turned them over and his pulse surged under the skin of his neck. ‘You’re shitting me.’
‘Apparently not.’
Garcia stared at the photos again. Their faces now taking on a whole new meaning.
Sixty
It was late by the time they left Malibu. Hunter checked in with Hopkins and told him to meet them at Footsie’s in North Figueroa Street.
Take all the snobbish fakery out of most Los Angeles bars and you might be left with Footsie’s. Just a small,
