On the opposite wall he saw the dimly lit, small doorway that led to the stairs going down to the basement.
‘I hate basements,’ he murmured and moved down the steps as quietly as he could. Halfway down, Hunter saw broken pieces of thin glass on one of the steps. He also noticed scratch marks on the walls and a small dent, where Garcia’s flashlight had hit it.
The door at the bottom was ajar, and through the small gap Hunter could see that the room was large and in half darkness. He steadied his back against the wall and pushed the door open with his fingertips. From his outside position, he took in as much of the room as he could before checking his corners and finally stepping through the door. Crude brick walls surrounded the spacious area that was twice the size of the large party room upstairs. The air was saturated with a gagging, fusty smell. But there was something else in that basement room Hunter couldn’t identify. Something that made his skin crawl. Something very evil.
At the far end he could see a long metal table that served as a counter for several instruments, but he couldn’t make them out from where he was. There were seven life-sized dummies lined up against the wall. To their right there were drawings, sketches, timetables and plans. Hunter recognized what they were for before he saw the pictures. Large photographs of seven different people taken from all angles. The photos were divided into distinct groups clearly numbered one through seven. The first five had been marked with a large red cross over them. Hunter held his breath as he stared again at the photographs of the first five victims of the killer the press was calling the Executioner. The killer’s research had been impeccable.
From behind the wide pillar that sat three-quarters of the way down the room, Hunter heard a mumbling sound. A split second later an office chair was wheeled from behind it. Hunter stood fast as he saw Garcia. He was unconscious and bleeding from the nose – it looked broken. His ankles had been tied to the base of the chair, his hands cuffed behind his back to the chair’s backrest. Hunter lifted his gun in expectation. What else would come from behind the pillar?
He saw a black Sig P226 Elite pistol being pointed at his partner’s head. Hunter recognized the weapon as Garcia’s semiautomatic.
‘Put your gun down, detective,’ the man commanded from his hidden position. Only his arm was visible. In such dim light, Hunter didn’t have a clear shot. ‘Put your gun down nice and slowly or I’ll scatter your partner’s brain all over the floor.’
Hundred and Twenty-Nine
Hunter stood still, his aim as steady as it could be. He only needed one chance.
‘You’ve seen what I’ve done,’ the man continued. ‘I’m sure you know I’m not bluffing.’ His voice was as serene as it’d been the first time they’d met. ‘I’ll give you only a second.’ He cocked the gun.
‘OK,’ Hunter called out before cautiously placing his pistol on the floor.
‘Now kick it this way.’
Hunter did as he was told and his gun stopped just a foot away from the chair Garcia was on.
Finally, Dan Tyler, the owner of the house in Malibu and the person who tipped Hunter and Garcia about the photographs on the fireplace, stepped out from behind the pillar and picked Hunter’s pistol up from the floor. ‘Walk towards me, slowly. Any sudden movements, your partner dies first.’
Hunter took baby steps towards Tyler and, as he did, Tyler walked backwards, approaching the metal table. ‘That’s far enough,’ he said as Hunter came side by side with Garcia. ‘Get your handcuffs from your gun holster and throw me the keys. I don’t have to tell you to do it very slowly, do I?’
Hunter followed the instructions.
‘Now cuff your hands behind your back.’
A clicking sound echoed through the room.
‘Turn around and show it to me.’
Hunter obeyed, snapping at them to show they were secure.
‘Now kneel down next to your partner and sit on your heels.’
Hunter’s determined eyes never left Tyler’s face.
‘It’s over, Michael,’ he said evenly. ‘You know you won’t be able to get away with this.’
Tyler looked undisturbed. ‘No one has called me Michael in a very long time.’ He chuckled. ‘I don’t want to get away with anything, detective. I don’t have anything or anyone to get away to. After I’m done, I don’t care what happens to me. My life ended a year ago.’
Hunter remembered the first time they talked. Tyler had told him that his wife had died twelve months ago.
‘Killing these people won’t bring Katherine back.’
‘
‘Killing these people won’t bring Kate back.’ Hunter tried again.
Tyler’s eyes flashed fire. ‘You have no idea what I’m doing or what this is all about.’
‘We know more than you think.’
Tyler smiled defiantly. ‘Is that so?’ He placed both guns on the metal table and checked his watch. ‘OK, I still have some time. Entertain me.’
Hundred and Thirty
Hunter saw this as an opportunity to buy time and maybe fill in some blanks.
‘Alright.’ He spoke slowly. ‘You used to be Michael Madden. Your wife used to be Katherine Davis. You were both students at Compton High. Like several other students you were bullied, pushed around and made fun of, and that extended way beyond the school gates. Back then, there was a particular group of kids who took bullying to a whole different level. They humiliated both of you to such a degree you ended up hating the way you looked. You couldn’t stand looking at yourselves in the mirror.’ Hunter paused, searching his attacker’s face. ‘That group of kids was known as “Strutter’s Gang”.’
Tyler didn’t look surprised. ‘So you finally found out about them? I’m glad. I was worried no one would.’
‘And that’s why you directed us to the pictures on the fireplace. We missed them at first and you couldn’t have that. You couldn’t have those victims being attributed to someone else. You needed us to find out about the bullying.’
Tyler smiled.
Hunter kept his voice steady as he continued. ‘Then you became rich. Very rich. You had money to do anything you wished, including starting a new life someplace else. Someplace no one knew who you were, far away from the bullying, but that wouldn’t be enough. The damage had already been done. Every time you looked in the mirror, you still hated what you saw.’
‘Money can buy anything, detective.’
‘Including a new face,’ Hunter admitted.
Tyler laughed. ‘Please don’t stop now,’ he teased. ‘My life story is just getting interesting.’ He leaned against the wall. A relaxed gesture. Hunter carried on buying time.
‘You created a new identity – Dan Tyler. From then on you had a good life. You’d even forgotten about Strutter and his gang for twenty-five years, hadn’t you? But something brought them back.’ Hunter paused, waiting for some sort of reaction from Tyler. He got none. ‘Was it Kate’s death? Is that why you decided to go after them and their fears? Because your worst fear had become a reality?’
Intrigue colored Tyler’s face. ‘My worst fear?’
Hunter needed to choose his words carefully. ‘Losing the person you loved the most. Your wife. That was your worst fear, wasn’t it?’
