that led into what looked to be a party room – locked. He cupped his hands over the glass and tried to see inside. It all looked lifeless. Taking off his jacket, Hunter rolled it around his right elbow
‘Woah,’ Garcia said, lifting his hands in a ‘stop’ gesture. ‘What are we doing here, Robert?’
‘I have to have a look inside.’
‘Why? This may not be our guy. We have as much reason to doubt James Reed as we have to doubt him.’
‘You saw the transformation on both pictures,’ Hunter shot back calmly. ‘That was no coincidence. This story goes way deeper. And I think it goes murder deep.’
‘Fair enough, but breaking and entering isn’t the solution.’
‘We have a reason to knock on his door, Carlos.’
‘This ain’t knocking. This is kicking the damn door down, and it isn’t legal.’ He looked at Hunter as if he didn’t recognize him. ‘Even if he’s our guy, any lawyer could get this case blown out of the water because we fucked up and didn’t follow procedure, Robert. Is that what you want? We do this and we might be handing this guy a free out-of-jail card.’
Hunter glanced at his watch. ‘I understand, Carlos. And usually I’d be the one giving that speech, but I’m running out of time here. Mollie’s missing, the killer’s after her and she believes he’s gonna get to her tonight. That doesn’t give me a lot of time.’ He stared deep into his partner’s eyes. ‘I promised her nothing would happen to her. This is a good lead. I don’t have time to go through the right channels and do background research. If I do, she dies. There’s no way the DA’s office will give us a warrant to even search his trash can.’ He paused and breathed in deeply. ‘Go back to Parker Center, Carlos. I’ll deny you had any knowledge of my actions.’
‘What?’
‘You said so yourself: this could all be a mistake. I’m not gonna drag you into this. You’ve got a wife to think about, Carlos. You can’t fuck up. I can.’
Hundred and Twenty-Seven
Garcia could barely believe what he was hearing. It was because of Hunter’s stubborn attitude that he was alive today. If Hunter thought Garcia would simply turn and walk away, he had another think coming.
‘Well, knowing that you can’t properly fuck up if I’m not with you,’ he joked, ‘I’m coming with,
‘Are you sure?’
‘Who knows? Traffic duty might be a blast. Let’s fucking do this.’
Hunter smiled and handed Garcia a pair of latex gloves before elbowing the door. There was a muffled crash and shards of broken glass hit the floor. They both looked around instinctively.
Hunter slipped his hand through the glass, unlocked the door and pulled his pen flashlight from his gun holster.
Garcia did the same and gingerly followed him inside.
The first room was a spacious rectangular structure with black marble floors, a few seats and a bar against the east wall.
‘This place’s too big. We’d better split up,’ Hunter whispered, leaning towards Garcia. ‘You stay down here, I’ll check upstairs.’
Garcia nodded. As Hunter cautiously took the steps to the next level, he took the door directly in front of him.
The main sitting room was as ostentatious as the rich foyer he’d just come from, filled with expensive furniture, oil paintings and sculptures. Garcia crossed the room silently and made his way through the French doors at the far end of it. They led him into a sprawling den, warmed by a black marble fireplace on the east wall. The white carpet was lush and spotless. The north wall was framed entirely in full-length windows. On the opposite side of the room Garcia noticed a strange wooden door, not as high as a regular house door. Faint spots of light were coming from underneath it. Tentatively, he walked over, put his right ear against it and listened for a moment – some sort of distant hum. He looked back at the den’s entrance as if debating whether he should go back and get Hunter. He decided to check it out by himself first.
As Garcia twisted the doorknob, he felt his blood warming and his pulse race. Every bone in his body was telling him something was wrong. He reached for his gun.
The door opened soundlessly, revealing a long and narrow flight of concrete stairs dimly lit by a single bulb that hung from a wire. At the bottom, another closed door. Garcia took the steps one at a time. The air was damp and heavy with a musty smell. His left foot caught the edge of a worn step and he slipped. His body was catapulted forward awkwardly, and he reached for the dirty walls, desperately trying to stop him from tumbling down. It worked, but he smashed his flashlight. His heart went into overdrive. Despite the cold, Garcia was sweating.
His eyes quickly moved from the door at the bottom to the one at the top several times, his finger tight at the trigger of his semiautomatic. He took a moment to calm his breathing and reassess the situation. He was sure that if the house wasn’t deserted, his clumsiness had given away his position.
‘Smooth, Carlos, very fucking smooth,’ Garcia whispered between clenched teeth. He stood still for a while, listening for footsteps, waiting for somebody to come from one of the two directions – nothing. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his gun hand and descended the last few steps. At the bottom he pressed his right ear against the door once again. The humming sound was coming from inside.
Extra-cautiously, he tried the handle – unlocked. He pushed the door open just enough for him to be able to take a peek inside. It was a large basement room. Garcia observed from the door for a long moment but saw no movement. Satisfied, he took a deep breath, steadied his trigger finger and stepped inside. A series of brass lanterns mounted at uneven intervals on each of the two long side walls lit the room with a pale glow. He walked forward slowly, giving his eyes time to get accustomed to the poor light. Something caught his eye on the north side of the room and he stopped dead, his gaze fixed on the display in front of him. He knew exactly what it was.
‘Oh God!’ He shivered.
At the edge of his peripheral vision he saw a smudge of movement, too fast for him to be able to react. The first blow hit him perfectly across the face. He heard something crack and blood spurted from his nose. Out of balance, Garcia stumbled backwards, but not far enough. The second blow was delivered a split second later, hitting the tender spot on the back of his head with military precision. Garcia’s world faded to darkness.
Hundred and Twenty-Eight
Hunter stopped suddenly, as if sensing something wasn’t right. He’d been through three of the six upstairs rooms and so far he’d found nothing to substantiate his theory. He unholstered his H&K USP Tactical pistol and turned around, half expecting someone to walk in on him. He heard something, he was sure of it. Some sort of crash.
‘Carlos?’ he whispered at the bottom of the stairwell.
No answer.
He moved into the next room – a large sitting area. ‘Carlos?’
Silence. The house was still. Stealthily, Hunter made his way through the French doors at the end of the room and entered the den.
‘Carlos, goddamnit. I’m getting tired of saving your ass. Where the hell are you?’ But if Garcia was in this room, he wasn’t talking.
