One by One (Роберт Хантер 5 Поодиночке) - Carter Chris (2) - Страница 16

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Hunter had no reply.

‘This guy just wants to kill. Period. Who he kills makes no fucking difference to him.’

Hunter still said nothing.

‘You were right in your assessment,’ Garcia continued. ‘If we don’t stop this guy soon, Kevin Lee Parker won’t be the only victim we’re going to find. He’s just going to pick someone else at random off the streets, put him in that torture chamber and start the nightmare again. Maybe Baxter is right. Maybe this psycho is playing a game. Showing off how sick and creative he can be at the same time. You’re the psychologist here, what do you think? I must say that when he was talking to you on the phone, I had never heard anyone sound so cold and without emotion. The victim’s life meant absolutely nothing to him.’

Garcia had picked up the exact same apathy in the caller’s voice as Hunter had. There was no anger, no revenge tone, no satisfaction, no amusement, nothing. The caller had dealt with taking a life in the same way a person would deal with opening a tap and filling a glass with water. Hunter and Garcia both knew that that was the worst type of killer any detective could be faced with. The one to whom it seemed that nothing mattered. Killing was just a game.

Twenty

Hunter and Garcia drove straight to the Next-Gen Games Shop in Hyde Park where Kevin Lee Parker used to work. According to Anita, Kevin’s best friend was another employee of the same store – Emilio Mendoza.

The videogames shop occupied a double corner unit in a small shopping mall in Crenshaw Boulevard. At that time in the morning business was slow, with only a handful of kids browsing the shelves.

‘Excuse me,’ Hunter said, grabbing the attention of a shop assistant who was reorganizing a couple of displays at the front of the shop. ‘Could you tell me if Emilio is working today?’

The man’s stare slowly zigzagged between both detectives for a brief moment.

‘I’m Emilio,’ he said, placing one last game on the shelf and offering them a cheesy smile. ‘How can I help you today?’ His Puerto Rican accent was subtle, charming.

Emilio looked to be in his early thirties, with a heavy and oddly shaped body – round and bulbous around the shoulders and stomach, a little like a child’s party balloon that had been squeezed into shape. He had short dark hair and a thin, perfectly groomed mustache.

‘We’re with the LAPD,’ Hunter said, displaying his credentials. Garcia did the same. ‘Is there a place where we could talk with a little more privacy?’

Emilio shifted on his feet uncomfortably. His quizzical gaze started bouncing between both detectives again.

‘It’s about Kevin Lee Parker,’ Hunter clarified, but Emilio seemed to become even more confused.

‘Is Kev OK?’

Hunter’s eyes circled the shop before returning to Emilio. ‘Maybe we should talk back at the parking lot?’ he suggested, jerking his head to one side.

‘Yeah, sure.’ Emilio nodded and turned to address the tall and skinny assistant behind the counter. ‘Frank, I’ve gotta take a ten-minute break. Will you be OK?’

Frank’s eyes lingered on the two men with Emilio for a quick moment. ‘Yeah, I’ll be fine.’ He nodded. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yeah, we’re all good. I’ll be back in ten.’

Emilio followed Hunter and Garcia back to the parking lot. ‘Kevin isn’t OK, is he?’ he asked once they reached Garcia’s car. Hunter detected real fear in his voice.

‘When was the last time you saw Kevin?’ Garcia asked.

‘Monday,’ Emilio replied. ‘He was working Monday. He was supposed to be working every day this week, but he didn’t turn up on Tuesday morning, or any day after that. Anita, his wife, called me on Tuesday morning. Kev didn’t go home on Monday night. She said that she had called the police, but they didn’t pay her much attention.’

‘What time did he leave work on Monday, do you know?’ Hunter asked.

‘Yes, same time as always,’ Emilio said. ‘He closed the shop at around 7:00 p.m., as he does daily. We usually walk up to the bus stop on Hyde Park Boulevard and 10th Avenue together, but on Monday evening I decided to grab dinner at Chico’s, just around the corner.’ Emilio pointed east. ‘I asked Kev if he wanted to come along, but he said that he just wanted to go home and play with his daughter.’

‘Do you know if he made it to the bus stop?’

‘I don’t.’ Emilio’s response was followed by a headshake.

‘On Monday, did Kevin look or sound different in any way?’ Garcia asked. ‘Nervous, anxious, agitated, worried, scared . . . anything?’

Emilio pulled a face as if that was the strangest question in the world.

‘No. Kev was . . . ’ He shrugged. ‘Kev. Always smiling. Always happy. Nothing different about him at all.’

‘Was he a gambler of some sort?’

Emilio’s eyes widened and he chuckled nervously. ‘Kevin, a gambler? No way. He was into videogames and online gaming, more specifically “Call of Duty – Modern Warfare, Black Ops 2” and “Ghost Recon”, but that was it. No casino games. Kev wouldn’t throw money away like that.’

‘How long have you known each other?’ Hunter asked.

Emilio gave them an uncertain headshake. ‘A long time. Over fifteen years. We met in lower school back in Gardena. Kev is the one who got me this job two years ago, after he became shop manager. I was struggling, you know? I was laid off a few years back and couldn’t get a job nowhere. Kev is a real friend . . . my best friend.’

‘So you don’t think that he was in any sort of trouble?’ Garcia asked.

‘I don’t think so. Look, if Kev is in any kind of trouble . . . anything, really, he would’ve told me, I’m sure of it; if not, I would’ve picked it up anyway. He isn’t very good at hiding things. He’s a very average guy, quite shy sometimes. He loves his family, and he loves his job. There really isn’t that much more to him. Something must’ve happened. And I mean something bad, you know what I’m saying? I’m telling you, he wouldn’t just take off. He has no reason to. He’s not a heavy drinker or anything, and I know he doesn’t sleep around.’ Emilio paused and looked back at both detectives, now visibly shaken. ‘Something did happen to Kevin, didn’t it? That’s why you’re here. You’re not from Missing Persons.’

‘No, I’m afraid we’re not,’ Garcia replied.

Twenty-One

It was twenty-eight minutes past five in the afternoon when Hunter finished going through the road camera footage he was sent by the Valley Bureau’s Traffic Division. The closest, constant recording traffic camera to the alleyway in Mission Hills, where the victim’s body had been found, was just shy of a mile away, on the intersection of two major freeways – San Diego and Ronald Reagan – an escaping man’s dream. The problem was the killer didn’t have to take any of those freeways at that junction. He didn’t have to take a freeway at all. He could’ve easily gone from one side of LA to the other via city streets, where the largest majority of traffic cameras were activated only if you broke the speed limit or drove through a red light. He could’ve dropped the body in that back alley and driven all the way across town without a single camera ever picking him up.

Nevertheless, Hunter sped through four hours of traffic footage, spotting thirty-seven pickup trucks joining one of the two freeways at that junction. Twenty-one of them were dark in color, but none of them seemed to have a dented back fender. Hunter passed the license plate number of all thirty-seven vehicles to his team, just in case Keon had been wrong. He didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

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